"And that I shall," quoth Amyas."I have been devising brave deeds; and see in the distance enchanters to be bound, dragons choked, empires conquered, though not in Holland.""You do?" asked Will, a little sharply; for he had had a half suspicion that more was meant than met the ear.
"Yes," said Amyas, turning off his jest again, "I go to what Raleigh calls the Land of the Nymphs.Another month, I hope, will see me abroad in Ireland.""Abroad? Call it rather at home," said old Cary; "for it is full of Devon men from end to end, and you will be among friends all day long.George Bourchier from Tawstock has the army now in Munster, and Warham St.Leger is marshal; George Carew is with Lord Grey of Wilton (Poor Peter Carew was killed at Glendalough); and after the defeat last year, when that villain Desmond cut off Herbert and Price, the companies were made up with six hundred Devon men, and Arthur Fortescue at their head; so that the old county holds her head as proudly in the Land of Ire as she does in the Low Countries and the Spanish Main.""And where," asked Amyas, "is Davils of Marsland, who used to teach me how to catch trout, when I was staying down at Stow? He is in Ireland, too, is he not?""Ah, my lad," said Mr.Cary, "that is a sad story.I thought all England had known it.""You forget, sir, I am a stranger.Surely he is not dead?""Murdered foully, lad! Murdered like a dog, and by the man whom he had treated as his son, and who pretended, the false knave! to call him father.""His blood is avenged?" said Amyas, fiercely.
"No, by heaven, not yet! Stay, don't cry out again.I am getting old--I must tell my story my own way.It was last July,--was it not, Will?--Over comes to Ireland Saunders, one of those Jesuit foxes, as the Pope's legate, with money and bulls, and a banner hallowed by the Pope, and the devil knows what beside; and with him James Fitzmaurice, the same fellow who had sworn on his knees to Perrott, in the church at Kilmallock, to be a true liegeman to Queen Elizabeth, and confirmed it by all his saints, and such a world of his Irish howling, that Perrott told me he was fain to stop his own ears.Well, he had been practising with the King of France, but got nothing but laughter for his pains, and so went over to the Most Catholic King, and promises him to join Ireland to Spain, and set up Popery again, and what not.And he, I suppose, thinking it better that Ireland should belong to him than to the Pope's bastard, fits him out, and sends him off on such another errand as Stukely's,--though I will say, for the honor of Devon, if Stukely lived like a fool, he died like an honest man.""Sir Thomas Stukely dead too?" said Amyas.
"Wait a while, lad, and you shall have that tragedy afterwards.
Well, where was I? Oh, Fitzmaurice and the Jesuits land at Smerwick, with three ships, choose a place for a fort, bless it with their holy water, and their moppings and their scourings, and the rest of it, to purify it from the stain of heretic dominion;but in the meanwhile one of the Courtenays,--a Courtenay of Haccombe, was it?--or a Courtenay of Boconnock? Silence, Will, Ishall have it in a minute--yes, a Courtenay of Haccombe it was, lying at anchor near by, in a ship of war of his, cuts out the three ships, and cuts off the Dons from the sea.John and James Desmond, with some small rabble, go over to the Spaniards.Earl Desmond will not join them, but will not fight them, and stands by to take the winning side; and then in comes poor Davils, sent down by the Lord Deputy to charge Desmond and his brothers, in the queen's name, to assault the Spaniards.Folks say it was rash of his lordship: but I say, what could be better done? Every one knows that there never was a stouter or shrewder soldier than Davils; and the young Desmonds, I have heard him say many a time, used to look on him as their father.But he found out what it was to trust Englishmen turned Irish.Well, the Desmonds found out on a sudden that the Dons were such desperate Paladins, that it was madness to meddle, though they were five to one; and poor Davils, seeing that there was no fight in them, goes back for help, and sleeps that night at some place called Tralee.Arthur Carter of Bideford, St.Leger's lieutenant, as stout an old soldier as Davils himself, sleeps in the same bed with him; the lacquey-boy, who is now with Sir Richard at Stow, on the floor at their feet.But in the dead of night, who should come in but James Desmond, sword in hand, with a dozen of his ruffians at his heels, each with his glib over his ugly face, and his skene in his hand.Davils springs up in bed, and asks but this, 'What is the matter, my son?' whereon the treacherous villain, without giving him time to say a prayer, strikes at him, naked as he was, crying, 'Thou shalt be my father no longer, nor I thy son! Thou shalt die!' and at that all the rest fall on him.The poor little lad (so he says) leaps up to cover his master with his naked body, gets three or four stabs of skenes, and so falls for dead; with his master and Captain Carter, who were dead indeed--God reward them! After that the ruffians ransacked the house, till they had murdered every Englishman in it, the lacquey-boy only excepted, who crawled out, wounded as he was, through a window; while Desmond, if you will believe it, went back, up to his elbows in blood, and vaunted his deeds to the Spaniards, and asked them--'There! Will you take that as a pledge that I am faithful to you?' And that, my lad, was the end of Henry Davils, and will be of all who trust to the faith of wild savages.""I would go a hundred miles to see that Desmond hanged!" said Amyas, while great tears ran down his face."Poor Mr.Davils! And now, what is the story of Sir Thomas?""Your brother must tell you that, lad; I am somewhat out of breath.""And I have a right to tell it," said Frank, with a smile."Do you know that I was very near being Earl of the bog of Allen, and one of the peers of the realm to King Buoncompagna, son and heir to his holiness Pope Gregory the Thirteenth?""No, surely!"