Doctor Syn on the High Seas

parsons, but wore his own hair long. Also he had buckled on his

father’s sword, so that on the whole he looked more like a sedate young

gentleman of means than a peace-pledged parson. Studious he looked, but

resolute. He handled his sword-hilt with confidence, and his ma

suggested an alert authority. He was quick to make inquiries from the

Captain concerning Nicholas. It happened that the Captain knew him

well, and was much amused in telling Syn how that English rascal had

adopted Spain in honour of a Spanish girl whom he had recently married.

“And he carried himself wonderfully, like a real Senor. He is truly

Spanish in his talk as you and I, and he boats of his blood like the

most

- 66 -

arrogant grandee. He used to make money taking fruit to England when I

first knew him, but now he contents himself with carrying all sorts of

lading from one Peninsula port to another. His Spanish wife has cured

him of England. ‘Tis more than likely we shall meet with him in San

Sebastia n. You know him, too, perhaps?”

Syn answered that he had the honour, and hoped the meeting would be

forthcoming.

On arrival at the harbour, Doctor Syn looked eagerly for his enemy’s

ship, for there were many of similar rigs at anchorage, but he was to be

disappointed for one of the port officials was able to inform them that

Nicholas had sailed that morning for Lisbon, but would be returning to

San Sebastian with cargo.

The house to which Captain Esnada led him was conveniently placed for

Doctor S yn, for it stood up high above the harbour and commanded a fine

stretch of sea, so that when out upon the balcony, the Doctor was able,

through a powerful telescope, to watch and speculate upon any vessel the

moment it topped the horizon.

Finding in Esnada a man of great discretion, Doctor Syn had confided

in him something of his purpose, so that the Spaniard, who owed much to

the Doctor, was equally anxious to bring the affair to a settling.

“Your Odyssey, as you are pleased to call it,” he said, “will be

finished shortly. When his ship arrives, we will be standing out there

on the harbour wall for his reception.”

“Aye, he must come back, as you say,” replied Syn; “and yet I have

the strongest presentiment that he will somehow give us the slip. N o

doubt my grim desire to track him round the world from place to place,

never letting him settle her or there, has persuaded my instincts to

this conclusion. I may be forced to kill him here, and at once, for I

fear that my patience would be uncontrolled at first sight of him. Well,

we shall soon know.”

It was one midday, when Doctor Syn was drinking sherry with Esnada

and his daughter in their cool upper room, that his eyes strayed back

again to the horizon which he always watched. Through the open arches

that led to the balcony and showed such a magnificent sea-scape, he had

seen a sail appear. Up she came, a fine and full-rigged ship. In three

strides he was at the telescope and swinging it round to bear upon the

ship. The unspoken sentence that had struck in the throat on Dymchurch

Wall now passed his lips aloud:

“It is the ship.”

In a second Esnada was beside him. His daughter, on the other hand,

went on reading a broadsheet containing local news, sipping her sherry

at the same time. Curious she may have been, and was, if truth were

known. But her father, with that tactful courtesy for which the best of

his country had ever been famed, had strictly enjoined her never to

notice anything queer about their guest. So much did they both owe him

for his deliverance from England, that she must never by word or look

appear to be sounding the depths of his mystery.

“When I tell you that he has a mystery which is a mystery to me, I am

not boasting of any keen perception, for he did your father the honour

of his confidence. Therefore in his house it must be respected, perhaps

more than in any other.”

Like father, like daughter, she therefore showed not the slightest

interest in the ship, at least not outwardly, for this serenely

beautiful Spanish lady was middle-aged and very sensible. She had never

been married because her soldier lover had been killed in war. Grateful

to Doctor Syn for having brought her father back to her, she allowed

herself a motherly regard for him,

- 67 -

and she somewhat envied her father that this attractive but mysterious

young man had chosen him instead of her as his confessor.

She heard her father say, as he in his turn looked through the

telescope, “You are right, my friend; but it will be a long time yet.

Suppose meantime we eat our meal here on the balcony. A soldier’s

instinct is to snatch what food he can before an action, and we ca

tell when we shall eat again today. At all events, he shall not have

the satisfaction of knowing that he has inconvenienced our stomachs.”

“Just as you wish, sir,” replied Syn calmly. “We can at least watch

while we eat. But for my part, the sight of those sails is meat and

drink to me.”

Esnada gave orders to his daughter, who never questioned his reason

for thus hastening the meal, and before the incoming ship had grown

perceptibly nearer in their eyes, the three of them were served with

omlettes, bread and wine.

So obvious was it that their guest was suppressing a growing

excitement as the vessel drew slowly nearer, that the daughter thought

to put him at ease by saying;

“Can you wonder that my father used to think lovingly of this balcony

when he was in exile? You must own it is a pretty sight. Look at the

ship! I have always thought that there is a weal th of drama in a homing

voyage. How many hearts are fluttering with excitement like those

sails? It is a joyful thing to reach harbour, and home.”

“It is indeed,” replied Syn, and then he added, with a somewhat grim

significance: “Yet, however joyful t he anticipation may be, the wise

heart should prepare itself against uncertainty. For when you think of

it, what terrible surprises, what evil news may not be waiting for

someone on that ship out there? And yet I’ll wager that not one of them

is contempla ting on the possibility of such a shock.”

“Perhaps God in His mercy does not wish them to,” said the lady.

Their meal finished, and the ship growing nearer, Esnada rose and

ordered his daughter to her siesta.

“I’m taking our guest down to the harbour,” he added. “The sun will

be too hot for you, and our complexions do not matter as yours. But

first give me my sword, and our guest’s sword too, for there are

sometimes worse sharks on those ramparts than in the sea, but the mere

wearing of a sword keeps them at a distance.”

So armed for battle, the two men left the house.

But the daughter did not go to her siesta. She watched her father

and his friend striding away through the idle crowds, many of whom were

being drawn by curiosity to see the vessel come to anchorage. But these

made way for two gentlemen of such military bearing, especially when

they saw the worthy Harbourmaster saluting them with the gravest

courtesy. Indeed, this official conducted them to the very end of the

wall, ordering the loiterers back to a respectful distance, so that the

gentlemen, his friends, might not be incommoded. He then bustled off

upon his business.

“There is space enough here for a fight,” said Esnada.

Doctor Syn said nothing, but loosened his sword in the scabbard.