His thoughts were still in the
woods of Minstead and the old armory of Twynham Castle, when the
hoarse voice of the master-shipman brought them back once more to
the Bay of Biscay.
"By my troth, young sir," he said, "you are as long in the face
as the devil at a christening, and I cannot marvel at it, for I
have sailed these waters since I was as high as this whinyard,
and yet I never saw more sure promise of an evil night."
"Nay, I had other things upon my mind," the squire answered.
"And so has every man," cried Hawtayne in an injured voice. "Let
the shipman see to it. It is the master-shipman's affair. Put
it all upon good Master Hawtayne! Never had I so much care since
first I blew trumpet and showed cartel at the west gate of
Southampton."
"What is amiss then?" asked Alleyne, for the man's words were as
gusty as the weather.
"Amiss, quotha? Here am I with but half my mariners, and a hole
in the ship where that twenty-devil stone struck us big enough to
fit the fat widow of Northam through. It is well enough on this
tack, but I would have you tell me what I am to do on the other.
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