nture against these Norman and Genoese rovers."

"They carry caviare and certain very noble spices from the Levant aboard
of ships from Genoa," quoth Sir Oliver. "We may come to great profit
through the business. I pray you, master-shipman, that when you go on
board you pour a helmetful of sea-water over any of my rogues whom you
may see there."

Leaving the lusty knight and the Mayor of Lepe, Sir Nigel led the
Company straight down to the water's edge, where long lines of flat
lighters swiftly bore them to their vessel. Horse after horse was slung
by main force up from the barges, and after kicking and plunging in
empty air was dropped into the deep waist of the yellow cog, where rows
of stalls stood ready for their safe keeping. Englishmen in those days
were skilled and prompt in such matters, for it was so not long before
that Edward had embarked as many as fifty thousand men in the port
of Orwell, with their horses and their baggage, all in the space of
four-and-twenty hours. So urgent was Sir Nigel on the shore, and so
prompt was Goodwin Hawtayne on the cog, that Sir Oliver Buttesthorn had
scarce swallowed his last scallop ere the peal of the trumpet and clang
of nakir announced that all was ready and the anchor drawn. In the last
boat which left the shore the two commanders sat together in the sheets,
a strange contrast to one another, while under the feet of the rowers
was a litter of huge stones which Sir Nigel had ordered to be carried to
the cog. These once aboard, the ship set her broad mainsail, purple
in color, and with a golden St. Christopher bearing Christ upon his
shoulder in the centre of it. The breeze blew, the sail bellied, over
heeled the portly vessel, and away she plunged through the smooth blue
rollers, amid the clang of the minstrels on her poop and the shouting of
the black crowd who fringed the yellow beach. To the left lay the green
Island of Wight, with its long, low, curving hills peeping over each
other's shoulders to the sky-line; to the right the wooded Hampshire
coast as far as eye could reach; above a steel-blue heaven, with a
wintry sun shimmering down upon them, and enough of frost to set the
breath a-smoking.

"By St. Paul!" said Sir Nigel gayly, as he stood upon the poop and
looked on either side of him, "it is a land which is very well worth
fighting for, and it were pity to go to France for what may be had at
home. Did you not spy a crooked man upon the beach?"

"Nay, I spie