The Settlers | Page 2

still but slightly grizzled. His doublet and
cloak were richly embroidered, though the gold lace was somewhat
tarnished; his breeches, fastened at the knee, were of ample proportions,
while boots of buskin form encased his feet. A man of war from his
youth, though enjoying his ease, he even now wore girded to his side
his trusty sword without which he was never known to stir outside his
door.
At length he stopped; as his eye glanced along the road leading from
Plymouth. "Marry, who can those be coming up the hill?" he said to
himself. "They seem to be making for this--a well-grown youth and a
youngster--by their habits and appearance they are I judge of gentle
birth." As he spoke, the captain advanced towards the gateway to give

the young strangers a welcome, should it be their purpose to pay him a
visit. The elder was of a tall and graceful figure, with delicate features,
a slight moustache appearing on his lip; his habit, that of a gallant of
the day, though modest and free from extravagance.
The younger was of a stronger build; his countenance exhibiting a bold
and daring spirit, full of life and animation, and not wanting in
good-humour.
"Whom seek you, young sirs?" asked the old seaman, as the youths
drew near.
"One Captain Amyas Layton, an please you, sir," answered the elder of
the two. "We were told in Plymouth town, where we arrived last night
on horseback from Dartmouth, that we should find his residence in this
direction; and if I mistake not, we stand even now before him."
"You are right in your conjectures, young sirs," answered Captain
Layton; "I am the man you seek, and whoever you are and whatever
your object, believing it to be an honest one, I give you greeting. Enter,
for after your walk this warm summer's day you need rest and
refreshment; the first you may take at once--the second you shall have
as soon as my daughter Cicely returns from Plymouth, whither she has
gone a-marketing, with our servant Barnaby, on our old nag Sampson,
which I called after a Spanish carvel I sank out yonder--but of that anon.
Come in."
The captain, without waiting to make further inquiries of the strangers,
led the way into the hall, where he bade them take their seats in two
carved oak chairs on either side of the fireplace--albeit the warmth of
the day permitted not a fire to be burning there. The young men,
removing their beavers, obeyed him.
"Though more substantial fare be wanting, I can serve you with a stoup
of Canary, young sirs; and your walk, judging by my own taste, will
render such acceptable," said the captain. Assuring him that they were
in no way fatigued, they declined the wine on the plea of the early hour,
and their not having been in the habit of drinking aught except a glass

of ale at dinner or supper.
"A prudent custom for those not advanced in life," he observed; "and
now, young sirs, to what cause am I indebted for this visit?"
"We have a long story to narrate, kind sir," answered the elder youth,
"and we would first, tell you our names, and whence we come; which,
in your hospitable kindness, you have not yet inquired. We are the sons
of your old shipmate Captain Vaughan Audley, who, it has been
supposed for the last ten years or more, perished among those who
formed the first settlement in Virginia, planted by the brave Sir Walter
Raleigh. For that long period our dear mother, notwithstanding the
reports which reached her, has never altogether abandoned the hope
that he might be alive; and though compelled to assume widow's weeds,
she has remained faithful to his memory and refused again to wed."
"A true wife and honest woman, such as I delight to honour," observed
the captain; "but alack! I received too certain news of my old comrade's
death to make me doubt that he had passed away to that better land
where we all hope to meet."
"Truly, our mother, notwithstanding her expressions to the contrary,
had begun to believe the same," answered the young man; "when about
ten days gone by, there came to the gate of our house near Dartmouth,
where we have lived since our father's departure, a seaman somewhat
advanced in life, whose pallid face spoke of sickness, and his tattered
garments of poverty long suffered. His name, he told us, was Richard
Batten. He had wandered, he said, over all parts of the known globe;
but though his pockets had been often filled with Spanish gold, they
had again been quickly emptied through his own folly, and the greed of
pretended friends; gambling, drinking, and other similar pursuits being
his bane.