Sir Mortimer

Sir Mortimer, by Mary Johnston

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Title: Sir Mortimer
Author: Mary Johnston
Release Date: October 20, 2004 [EBook #13812]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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MORTIMER ***

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Sir Mortimer
A Novel
BY

Mary Johnston
AUTHOR OF "TO HAVE AND TO HOLD" "PRISONERS OF
HOPE" ETC.
1904

TO
J.A.J. AND W.A.J.

Illustrations
"'OH, I ENVIED HER!' SHE CRIED" . . . . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece
"SIR JOHN THRUST HIMSELF BETWEEN THE
TWO" . . . . . . . .Facing p. 16
"IT WAS BALDRY'S SHIP, THE LITTLE STAR" . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
"'DO YOU PURPOSE, THEN, THAT HE SHALL DIE?'
DEMANDED BALDRY" . . . . 138
"'I BEG THE SHORTEST SHRIFT THAT YOU MAY
GIVE'" . . . . . . . . . . 174
"'DAMARIS, THEY CALL HIM TRAITOR'" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
190
'"AH, LOOK NOT SO UPON ME!'" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
"THE FRIAR PRESENTED A BLANK COUNTENANCE TO SIR
MORTIMER'S QUERIES" 260
"'LAD, LAD,' HE WHISPERED, 'WHERE IS THY
MASTER?'" . . . . . . . . . 284

Sir Mortimer
I
"But if we return not from our adventure," ended Sir Mortimer, "if the
sea claims us, and upon his sandy floor, amid his Armida gardens, the
silver-singing mermaiden marvel at that wreckage which was once a
tall ship and at those bones which once were animate,--if strange
islands know our resting-place, sunk for evermore in huge and most
unkindly forests,--if, being but pawns in a mighty game, we are lost or
changed, happy, however, in that the white hand of our Queen hath
touched us, giving thereby consecration to our else unworthiness,--if
we find no gold, nor take one ship of Spain, nor any city
treasure-stored,--if we suffer a myriad sort of sorrows and at the last we
perish miserably--"
He paused, being upon his feet, a man of about thirty years, richly
dressed, and out of reason good to look at. In his hand was a great
wine-cup, and he held it high. "I drink to those who follow after!" he
cried. "I drink to those who fail--pebbles cast into water whose ring still
wideneth, reacheth God knows what unguessable shore where loss may
yet be counted gain! I drink to Fortune her minions, to Francis Drake
and John Hawkins and Martin Frobisher; to all adventurers and their
deeds in the far-off seas! I drink to merry England and to the day when
every sea shall bring her tribute!--to England, like Aphrodite, new-risen
from the main! Drink with me!"
The tavern of the Triple Tun rang with acclamation, and, the windows
being set wide because of the warmth of the June afternoon, the noise
rushed into the street and waylaid the ears of them who went busily to
and fro, and of them who lounged in the doorway, or with folded arms
played Atlas to the tavern walls. "Who be the roisterers within?"
demanded a passing citizen of one of these supporters. The latter made
no answer; he was a ragged retainer of Melpomene, and he awaited the
coming forth of Sir Mortimer Ferne, a notable encourager of all who
would scale Parnassus. But his neighbor, a boy in blue and silver,

squatted upon a sunny bench, vouchsafed enlightenment.
"Travellers to strange places," quoth he, taking a straw from his mouth
and stretching long arms. "Tall men, swingers in Brazil-beds,
parcel-gilt with the Emperor of Manoa, and playfellows to the nymphs
of Don Juan Ponce de Leon his fountain,--in plain words, my master,
Sir Mortimer Ferne, Captain of the Cygnet, and his guests to dinner, to
wit, Sir John Nevil, Admiral of our fleet, with sundry of us captains and
gentlemen adventurers to the Indies, and, for seasoning, a handful of
my master's poor friends, such as courtiers and great lords and poets."
"Thinkest to don thy master's wit with his livery?" snapped the
poetaster. "'Tis a chain for a man,--too heavy for thy wearing."
The boy stretched his arms again. "'Master' no more than in reason,"
quoth he. "I also am a gentleman.