"In God's name, I like
it not. And yet Goodwin Hawtayne is not the man to stand back
when his fellows are for pressing forward. By my soul! be it
sink or swim, I shall turn her beak into Freshwater Bay, and if
good Master Witherton, of Southampton, like not my handling of
his ship then he may find another master-shipman."
They were close by the old north gate of the little town, and
Alleyne, half turning in his saddle, looked back at the motley
crowd who followed. The bowmen and men-at-arms had broken their
ranks and were intermingled with the fishermen and citizens,
whose laughing faces and hearty gestures bespoke the weight of
care from which this welcome arrival had relieved them. Here and
there among the moving throng of dark jerkins and of white
surcoats were scattered dashes of scarlet and blue, the whimples
or shawls of the women. Aylward, with a fishing lass on either
arm, was vowing constancy alternately to her on the right and her
on the left, while big John towered in the rear with a little
chubby maiden enthroned upon his great shoulder, her soft white
arm curled round his shining headpiece.
Pages:
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307