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Updated: May 17, 2025
She was a famous little schooner, the Marie Rose of Winchelsea, and under her daring owner Cock Badding, half trader and half pirate, had brought back into port many a rich cargo taken in mid-Channel, and paid for in blood rather than money.
"Nay, Aylward," said his master, "I order that you stay, for indeed you are a sick man." "But now that the waves have sunk I am myself again. Nay, fair sir, I pray that you will not leave me behind." "You must needs take the space of a better man; for what do you know of the handling of a boat?" said Badding shortly. "No more fool's talk, I pray you, for the night will soon fall. Stand aside!"
When, therefore, swimming like a duck, he reached a rope and pulled himself hand over hand up to the quay, all stood aghast to see what fell fate would befall this bold stranger. But Badding laughed loudly, dashing the saltwater from his eyes and hair. "You have fairly won your place, archer," said he. "You are the very man for our work. Where is Black Simon of Norwich?"
"I tried to save one boy," said he; "but Cock Badding would not have it, and he had Black Simon and the others at his back. 'It is the custom of the Narrow Seas, said they: 'To-day for them; to-morrow for us. Then they tore him from his hold and cast him screaming over the side. By my hilt!
"Then, Master Badding, I must crave the loan of your skiff, for by Saint Paul! the good Lord Chandos' papers are not to be so lightly lost. If no one else will come, then I will go alone." The shipman smiled at the words; but the smile died away from his lips when Nigel, with features set like ivory and eyes as hard as steel, pulled on the rope so as to bring the skiff under the counter.
With one fierce rush the remaining Frenchmen were struck down or were seized by their assailants. Nine prostrate men upon the deck showed how fierce had been the attack, how desperate the resistance. Badding leaned panting upon his blood-clotted hammer. "By Saint Leonard!" he cried, "I thought that this little master had been the death of us all.
The experienced eye of the seaman told him that it was hopeless to expect a breeze before nightfall. He looked across at the Frenchman, which lay less than a quarter of a mile ahead, and shook his gnarled fist at the line of heads which could be seen looking back over her stern. One of them waved a white kerchief in derision, and Cock Badding swore a bitter oath at the sight.
"Only one of you can shoot at a time, for you have no footing," said Badding. "With one foot in the prow and one over the thwart you will get your stance. Do what you may, and then we will close in upon them." The archer balanced himself in the rolling boat with the deftness of a man who has been trained upon the sea, for he was born and bred in the Cinque Ports.
The crossbowman stood under the mast, his terrible weapon at his shoulder, the steel string stretched taut, the heavy bolt shining upon the nut. One life at least he would claim out of this little band. Just for one instant too long did he dwell upon his aim, shifting from the seaman to Cock Badding, whose formidable appearance showed him to be the better prize.
Then in quick succession so quick that two shafts were often in the air at the same instant he discharged a dozen arrows, most of which just cleared the bulwarks and dropped upon the deck. There was a cry on the Frenchman, and the heads vanished from the side. "Enough!" cried Badding. "One is down, and it may be two. Close in, close in, in God's name, before they rally!"
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