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Foy finally brought back the necessary orders for reinforcements to come in from Castile; but, as a large proportion of the men stationed in that province existed merely on paper, only nine thousand could be spared from those who actually were there. Still Masséna stood like a rock.
Martin, Martin," broke out Foy in a kind of wail, "I was doing my best to keep my own courage; I never dreamt that you would turn coward." "Every well has a bottom, master," whined Martin, "and mine is the rack. Forgive me, but I can't abide the sight of it." Foy stared at him open-mouthed. Could he believe his ears?
"That is what men will die for before to-morrow night," he said. "The treasure?" asked Foy. He nodded. "These five, none of the others." Then still lower down he pointed out other barrels, eight of them, filled with the best gunpowder, and showed them too where the slow matches ran to the little cabin, the cook's galley, the tiller and the prow, by means of any one of which it could be fired.
"Sheriff, you certainly are an easy mark!" returned Nueces, in great disgust. "Foy didn't go on afoot or horseback, because he was never there. I've told you twice: Cowan left that calico horse on purpose for us to find. Vorhis is Foy's friend.
"Unless that bleeding from his mouth stops soon you will not have cause to fear him much longer," replied Foy sadly, "but if you want my opinion about the business, father, why here it is I think that you have made too much of a small matter. Adrian is Adrian; he is not one of us, and he should not be judged as though he were.
"Welcome, Foy van Goorl," said the man in a gentle voice. "Many years have passed since last we met; still I should have known you anywhere, though I think you would not have known me." Foy looked at him and shook his head. "I thought so," went on the man with a smile.
In it were Red Martin and Foy van Goorl. Mother Martha was not there for she had gone alone to an inn at a distance, to gather information if she could.
Hans stood and shifted the tiller ever so little, calculating all things with his eye. Foy watched the boat towards which they sprang like a thing alive, and Martin, lying at his side, watched the burning match. Suddenly the Spanish officer, when their prow was not more than twenty paces from him, ceased to shout, and lifting his piece fired.
"Grab hold of my coat tail. I know my way, feeling the wall. Watch your step or you'll bark your shins." The cave floor was smooth underfoot, except for scattered rocks; it rose and dipped, but the general trend was sharply upward. "You're quite an institution, Pringle. You've made good Stella's word of you the best ever!" said Foy as they mounted. "But you can't do me any good, really.
The wonderful Affliction of Margaret does not draw its power from the neglect of poetic diction, but from the intensity of emotion which would carry off almost any diction, simple or affected; while on the other hand such pieces as "We are Seven," as the "Anecdote for Fathers," and as "Alice Fell," not to mention "Betty Foy" and others, which specially infuriated Wordsworth's own contemporaries, certainly gain nothing from their namby-pamby dialect, and sometimes go near to losing the beauty that really is in them by dint of it.
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