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.
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