The Buccaneer - A Tale

"You are always heedless," observed the other; "and would sell your soul

for an hour's mirth."

"My soul thanks you for the compliment, truly, Master Grimstone, and my

body would repay you for it, if there was time, which, I take it, there

lacks just now, for it is past eleven. Observe, gentlemen, Jack Roupall

retreats not--he only retires." As he spoke, he pushed from a corner of

the apartment, a huge settle of black oak, that apparently required the

strength of six men to displace, but which the trooper handled as easily

as if it had been a child's cradle. He then slid aside a panel, that

fitted most accurately into the wall, of which it appeared a part; and

in a few moments the party, consisting of some five or six, had entered

the aperture, carrying with them the remnants of their feast, at the

particular request of the old woman, who exhibited great alarm lest any

symptom of revelling should remain. The last had hardly made good his

retreat, when a loud knock at the door confirmed the dame in her

apprehensions.

"In the devil's name!" she growled, "how am I to shove this mountain

into its place? One of you must remain here; I might as well attempt to

throw Blackburn cliff into the sea."

"I'll stay then, if you'll wait a minute," replied Roupall; "I defy the

devil and all his works; and old Noll himself, the worst of them:--so

here goes."

Another and a louder noise testified the traveller's impatience; but the

summons was repeated a third time before the settle was replaced, and

the room restored to its usually desolate and inhospitable appearance.

Roupall ascended a narrow ladder, that led to the loft of the

cottage-like dwelling, carrying with him a pack resembling those used by

itinerant venders of goods; and Mother Hays (for such was her cognomen)

holding the flickering candle in one hand, unfastened the door with the

other, while Crisp crouched and snarled at her feet.

"You could not have been all asleep, dame," said the stranger, as he

threw off his horseman's cloak, and hung his rapier on the back of the

nearest seat, "for I distinctly saw lights. Is your son within?"

"No, marry, good sir; he is far away, in London, with his master, Sir

Willmott Burrell, who was looked for home to-day, but came not, as I

hear from some neighbours, belonging to East Church and Warden, who were

at Lady Cecil's funeral."

"Do you expect me to believe there is no one in the house but yourself?"