Martin Hyde | Page 3

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This etext was scanned by Aaron Cannon of Paradise, CA.

MARTIN HYDE THE DUKE'S MESSENGER by John Masefield

CONTENTS I. I LEAVE HOME II. I LEAVE HOME AGAIN III. I
LEAVE HOME A THIRD TIME IV. I LEAVE HOME FOR THE
LAST TIME V. I GO TO SEA VI. THE SEA! THE SEA! VII. LAND
RATS AND WATER RATS VIII. I MEET MY FRIEND IX. I SEE
MORE OF MY FRIEND X. SOUNDS IN THE NIGHT XI. AURELIA
XII. BRAVE CAPTAIN BARLOW XIII. IT BREEZES UP XIV. A
DRINK OF SHERBET XV. THE ROAD TO LYME XVI. THE
LANDING XVII. A VOICE AT DAWN XVIII.I SPEAK WITH
AURELIA XIX. I MEET THE CLUB MEN XX. THE SQUIRE'S
HOUSE XXI. MY FRIEND AURELIA AND HER UNCLE XXII.
THE PRIEST'S HOLE XXIII.FREE XXIV THE END

MARTIN HYDE

THE DUKE'S MESSENGER
by
John Masefield

CHAPTER I.
I LEAVE HOME
I was born at Oulton, in Suffolk, in the year 1672. I know not the day
of my birth, but it was in March, a day or two after the Dutch war
began. I know this, because my father, who was the clergyman at
Oulton, once told me that in the night of my birth a horseman called
upon him, at the rectory, to ask the way to Lowestoft. He was riding
from London with letters for the Admiral, he said; but had missed his
way somewhere beyond Beccles. He was mud from head to foot (it had
been a wet March) but he would not stay to dry himself. He reined in at
the door, just as I was born, as though he were some ghost, bringing my
life in his saddle bags. Then he shook up his horse, through the mud,
towards Lowestoft, so that the splashing of the horse's hoofs must have
been the first sound heard by me. The Admiral was gone when he
reached Lowestoft, poor man, so all his trouble was wasted. War
wastes more energy, I suppose, than any other form of folly. I know
that on the East Coast, during all the years of my childhood, this Dutch
war wasted the energies of thousands. The villages had to drill men,
each village according to its size, to make an army in case the Dutch
should land. Long after the war was over, they drilled thus. I remember
them on the field outside the church, drilling after Sunday service,
firing at a stump of a tree. Once some wag rang the alarm-bell at night,
to fetch them out of their beds. Then there were the smugglers; they,
too, were caused by the war. After the fighting there was a bitter feeling
against the Dutch. Dutch goods were taxed heavily (spice, I remember,
was made very dear thus) to pay for the war. The smugglers began then
to land their goods secretly, all along the coast, so that they might avoid
the payment of the duty. The farmers were their friends; for they liked

to have their gin cheap. Indeed, they used to say that in an agueish
place like the fens, gin was a necessity, if one would avoid fever. Often,
at night, in the winter, when I was walking home from Lowestoft
school, I would see the farmers riding to the rendezvous in the dark,
with their horses' hoofs all wrapped up in sacks, to make no noise.
I lived for twelve years at Oulton. I learned how to handle a boat there,
how to swim, how to skate, how to find the eggs of the many wild fowl
in the reeds. In those days the Broad country was a very wild land, half
of it swamp. My father gave me a coracle on my tenth birthday. In this
little boat I used to explore the country for many miles, pushing up
creeks among the reeds, then watching, in the pools