PROLOGUE
PROMOTION AND A BASTING
The happiest day of my life, up to that time, because I should be thebasest and the most ungrateful of men were I not to confess that Ihave since enjoyed many days far excelling in happiness that day, wasthe 20th day of June, in the year of grace, seventeen hundred andforty-seven.
For on that day, being my nineteenth birthday, I was promoted, thoughso young, to be mate, or chief officer, on board my ship, _The Lady ofLynn_, Captain Jaggard, then engaged in the Lisbon trade.
In the forenoon of that day I was on board and on duty. We were takingin our cargo. Barges and lighters were alongside and all the crew withthe barges were hoisting and heaving and lowering and stowing with agrand yohoing and chanting, such as is common, with oaths innumerable,in the lading and the unlading of a ship. It was my duty to see thecasks and crates hoisted aboard and lowered into the hold. Thesupercargo and the clerk from the counting-house sat at a table ondeck and entered in their books every cask, box, chest, or bale. Wetook aboard and carried away for the use of the Portugals or any whomit might concern, turpentine, tar, resin, wool, pig iron and othercommodities brought by our ships from the Baltic or carried in bargesdown the river to the port of Lynn. These were the things which wetook out--what we brought home was wine; nothing but wine; barrels,tuns, pipes, hogsheads, casks of all kinds, containing wine. Therewould be in our hold wine of Malmsey, Madeira, Teneriffe, Canary,Alicante, Xeres, Oporto, Bucellas and Lisbon; all the wines of Spainand Portugal; the sweet strong wines to which our people are mostinclined, especially our people of Norfolk, Marshland, Fenland,Lincoln and the parts around. Thanks to the port of Lynn and to theships of Lynn engaged in the Lisbon trade, there is no place inEngland where this sweet strong wine can be procured better or at amore reasonable rate. This wine is truly beloved of all classes: it isthe joy of the foxhunter after the day's run: of the justices afterthe ordinary on market day: of the fellows in their dull old collegesat Cambridge: of the dean and chapter in the sleepy cathedral close:of the country clergy and the country gentry--yea, and of the ladieswhen they visit each other. I say nothing in dispraise of Rhenish andof Bordeaux, but give me the wine that comes home in the bottoms thatsail to and from Lisbon. All wine is good but that is best which warmsthe heart and strengthens the body and renews the courage--the wine ofSpain and Portugal.
_The Lady of Lynn_ was a three-masted, full rigged ship of 380 tons, astout and strong built craft, not afraid of the bay at its worst andwildest, making her six knots an hour with a favourable breeze,therefore not one of your broad slow Dutch merchantmen which creepslowly, like Noah's Ark, over the face of the waters. Yet she was fullin the beam and capacious in the hold: the more you put into her, thesteadier she sat and the steadier she sailed. Man and boy I sailed in_The Lady of Lynn_ for twenty-five years and I ought to know. We made,for the most part, two, but sometimes three voyages in the year,unless we experienced bad weather and had to go into dock. Bad weatherthere is in plenty: storms and chopping winds in the bay: beating upthe channel against east winds: things are always uncertain in theNorth Sea; sometimes the ship will be tacking day after day, getting aknot or two in four and twenty hours: and sometimes she will be two orthree weeks crossing the Wash, which, as everybody knows, is cumberedwith shallows, and making way up the Ouse when a wind from the southor southeast will keep a ship from reaching her port for daystogether. To be sure, a sailor pays very little heed to the loss of afew days: it matters little to him whether he is working on board orin port: he is a patient creature, who waits all his life upon afavourable breeze. And since he has no power over the wind and thesea, he accepts whatever comes without murmuring, and makes the bestof it. Perhaps the wind blows up into a gale and the gale into astorm: perhaps the good ship founders with all hands: nobody pitiesthe sailor: it is all in the day's work: young or old every one mustdie: the wife at home knows that, as well as the man at sea. She knewit when she married her husband. I have read of Turks and paganMohammedans that they have no fear or care about the future, believingthat they cannot change what is predestined. It seems to me a foolishdoctrine, because if we want anything we must work for it, or we shallnot get it, fate or no fate. But the nearest to the Turk in thisrespect is our English sailor, who will work his hardest in the worstgale that ever blew, and face death without a pang, or a prayer, or atouch of fear, because he trusted his life to the sea and the wind,and he has no power to control the mounting waves or the roaringtempest. It is as if one should say "I make a bargain with the ocean,and with all seas that threaten and every wind that blows." I say tothem, "Suffer me to make my living on a ship that your winds blowacross your seas, and in return I will give you myself and the shipand the cargo--all your own--to take, if you please and whenever youplease." It is a covenant between them. Sometimes the sailor gets thebest of it and spends his old age on dry land, safe after manyvoyages: sometimes he gets the worst of it, and is taken, ship andall, when he is quite young. He cannot complain. He has made thebargain and must hold to it. But if one could sweep the bed of theocean and recover among the tangled seaweed and the long sea serpentsand monsters the treasures that lie scattered about, how rich theworld would be! Perhaps (but this is idle talk) the sea might some daysay, "I am gorged with the things that mankind call riches. My flooris strewn thick with ribs of ships and skeletons of men; with chestsof treasure, bales and casks and cargoes. I have enough. Henceforththere shall be no more storms and the ships shall pass to and fro overa deep of untroubled blue with a surface like unto a polished mirror!"Idle talk! And who would be a sailor then? We should hand the shipsover to the women and apprentice our girls to the trade of settingsails of silk with ropes of ribbons.
I will tell you presently how I was so fortunate as to be apprenticedto so fine a craft as _The Lady of Lynn_. Just now it is enough to setdown that she was the finest vessel in the little fleet of shipsbelonging to my young mistress, Molly Miller, ward of Captain Crowle.There were eight ships, all her own: _The Lady of Lynn_, the ship inwhich I served my apprenticeship; the _Jolly Miller_, named after herfather; the _Lovely Molly_, after herself; the _Joseph and Jennifer_,after her parents; the _Pride of Lynn_, the _Beauty of Lynn_, the_Glory of Lynn_, and the _Honour of Lynn_, all of which you may take,if you like, as named after their owner. Molly owned them all.
I have to tell you, in this place, why one day in especial must everbe remembered by me as the most surprising and the happiest that I hadever known.
I was, therefore, on the quarter-deck on duty when the boy came up thecompanion saying that the captain wanted to speak to me. So Ifollowed, little thinking of what they had to say, expecting no morethan some question about log or cargo, such as the skipper is alwaysputting to his officers.
In the captain's cabin, however, I found sitting at the table not onlyCaptain Jaggard himself, but my old friend and patron, Captain Crowle.His jolly face was full of satisfaction and good humour, so that itgave one pleasure only to look at him. But he sat upright and assumedthe air of dignity which spoke of the quarter-deck. A man who haswalked that part of the ship in command doth never lose the look ofauthority.
"John Pentecrosse," he began, "I have sent for you in order to informyou that on the recommendation of Captain Jaggard here--" CaptainJaggard gravely inclined his head in acquiescence, "and with theconsent of Miss Molly Miller, sole proprietor of this good ship, _TheLady of Lynn_, I have promoted you to the rank of chief officer."
"Sir!" I cried, overwhelmed, for indeed, I had no reason to expectthis promotion for another two or three years. "What can I say?"
"We don't want you to say anything, Jack, my lad,"--the captain camedown from the quarter-deck and became my old friend again. "Give meyour hand. You're young, but there's never a better sailor afloat, isthere, Captain Jaggard?"
"None, Captain Crowle--none. For his years."
"For his years, naturally. He's salt through and through, isn't he,Captain Jaggard?"
"And through, Captain Crowle." My skipper w
as a man of grave aspectand few words.
"Well, then--let us drink the lad's health." And upon that the cabinboy, who needed no further order, dived into the locker, produced abottle, opened it and placed three glasses.
"No better Lisbon," said Captain Jaggard, pouring it out, "goes evento the table of the King--God bless him!"
"Now, gentlemen," Captain Crowle pushed a glass to me, "first, a glassto Miss Molly--my little maid. Jack, you've been her playfellow andyou're now her servant."
"I could ask nothing better, sir."
"I know--a good and zealous servant. Drink it off--a full glass,running over, to Molly Miller."
We obeyed, nothing loth.
"And now, Captain Jaggard, here's the health of your new mate--long toserve under you--your right hand--your eyes open when you are off thedeck--your sailing master--the keeper of your log--Jack Pentecrosse, Idrink to your good luck."
* * * * *
That was the event which made this day the happiest in my life.Another event, of which I thought little at the time, was moreimportant still in the after consequences. This was the humiliation ofSamuel Semple.
In the evening, as soon as I could get ashore, I repaired, as in dutybound, to pay my respects to my young mistress. She lived, beingCaptain Crowle's ward, in his house, which was the old house with atower formerly built for some religious purpose. It stands retiredfrom the street, with a fair garden in front, a garden where I hadplayed many hundreds of times with Molly when we were boy and girltogether.
This evening she was sitting in the summerhouse with some needlework.Beside her sat her good old black woman, Nigra.
"Jack!" She dropped her work and jumped up to meet me. "I thought youwould come this evening. Oh! Are you pleased?"
"You knew I should come, Molly. Why, have I not to thank you for mypromotion?"
She gave me her hand with her sweet frankness and her smiling face.
"I would make you Captain Jack, but my guardian will not hear of it.All in good time, though. I am only waiting. I am proud of you, Jack,because everybody speaks so well of you. I met your father thismorning and gave him the good news to rejoice his good old heart. Hewas too proud to confess his joy. But we know him, don't we, Jack?Well, I confess that I shall not be happy till you are CaptainPentecrosse, with a share in every cargo."
"Nay, Molly, the ship is yours and I am but your servant--though aproud and joyful servant."
She shook her head. "All you brave fellows," she said, "are going outto sea in storm and tempest to work for me. Why should all these shipsbring riches to me? I have done nothing. They ought to bring richesfor those who work." This shows her tenderness of heart. Never have Iheard of any other woman who complained that her servants worked tomake her rich while she did nothing. Yet the vicar would rebuke her,saying that riches and increase were the gifts of Providence, and thatshe must accept the things plainly intended by heaven. And CaptainCrowle spoke to the same effect and my father, the schoolmaster, alsopointed out that in the Divine scheme there were rich and there werepoor: the former for an example and for an encouragement to industry:the latter for the virtues of duty, discipline and contentment--thingspleasing in the eyes of the Lord. But still she returned to her talkabout the people who worked for her.
And then we sat and talked, while Nigra went on with her work, sittingat the feet of her mistress, whom she watched all the time as a dogkeeps one eye always upon his master.
At this time, my mistress, as I have said, was already sixteen yearsof age, a time when many girls are already married. But she was stilla child, or a young girl, at heart: being one of those who, like afine Orleans plum, ripen slowly and are all the better for the timethey take. In person, if I may speak of what should be sacred, she wasfinely made, somewhat taller than the average, her hair of that faircolour which is the chief glory of the English maiden. Lord! If aLisbon girl could show that fair hair, with those blue eyes, and thatsoft cheek, touched with the ruddy hue and the velvet bloom of theSeptember peach, she would draw after her the whole town, with theking and his court and even the grand inquisitor and his accursed crewof torturers. I know not how she was dressed, but it was in simplefashion. Though so great an heiress she went to church no more finelydressed than any of the girls belonging to the better sort, save for asubstantial gold chain which had been her father's. And this shealways wore about her neck.
She was of a truly affectionate disposition--her mind being as lovelyas her face. In manners she was easy and compliant: in discoursesometimes grave and sometimes merry. As for her great possessions, shewas so simple in her tastes and habits, being in all respects like thedaughter of a plain merchantman's skipper, that she understood littleor nothing of what these possessions meant or what they might bestowupon her. She was, in a word, a plain and unaffected damsel with nopretence of anything superior to those around her. She was skilled inall household matters although so well read: she could brew and pickleand make perfumes and cordials for the still room: she could makecakes and puddings: she knew how to carve at table: she had poultry,her ducks, her pigs and her dairy, in the fields within the walls hardby the Lady's Mount. She was always busy and therefore never afflictedwith the vapours or the spleen or the longing for one knows not whatwhich afflict the empty mind of the idle and the fashionable dame.There were other good and comely girls in King's Lynn. I mightperhaps,--I say it not with boastfulness--have married Victory,daughter of the Reverend Ellis Hayes, curate of St. Nicholas. She wasa buxom wench enough and a notable housewife. Or I might have marriedAmanda, daughter of Dr. Worship, our physician--she who married TomRising, and when he broke his neck hunting the fox, afterwards marriedthe Vicar of Hunstanton. She, too, was a fine woman, though somethinghard of aspect. But there was never, for me, any other woman in theworld than Molly, my mistress.
No one, however, must believe that there was any thought or discourse,concerning love between us. I had been her companion and playfellow: Iknew her very mind, and could tell at any time of what she wasthinking. Sometimes her thoughts were of high and serious things suchas were inspired by the sermon; mostly they were of things simple,such as the prospects of the last brew, or the success of the latestcordial. Of suitors she had none, although she was now, as I said,sixteen years of age. There were no suitors. I very well know why,because, perhaps for friendly reasons, Captain Crowle had told mesomething of his ambition for his ward. She was too rich and too goodfor the young men of Lynn--what would any of them do with such anheiress? She was too rich and too good even for the gentlefolk of thecounty, a hearty, rough, good-natured people who hunted and shot andfeasted and drank--what would they do with an heiress of wealth beyondtheir highest hopes--had they any knowledge of her wealth; but Ibelieve that they had none. No one knew how rich she was, except thecaptain. The girl was intended by her guardian for some great man; heknew not, as yet, how he should find this great man: but he knew thatthere were very few, even of the noble lords in the House of Peers,whose fortune or whose income would compare with that of his ward--hislittle maid. And I, who knew this ambition, knew also that I wastrusted not to betray confidence, nor to disturb the girl's mind byany talk of love. Now the mind of a young maid piously disposed islike the surface of a calm sea, which looks up to the sky and reflectsthe blue of heaven, undisturbed: till Dan Cupid comes along andagitates the calm with the reflection of some shepherd swain andripples the surface with new thoughts which are allowed by heaven, butbelong not to any of its many mansions.
Therefore we talked of everything except love: of the voyages to thePortugals and their horrid Inquisition: of the yarns told by sailorsof the places they had seen, and so forth. There was no talk aboutbooks because there were none. A Ready Reckoner; a Manual ofNavigation; Mill's Geography; a Wages Book; the Bible and the Book ofCommon Prayer were the only books belonging to the good old captain.Nor, in all Lynn, save for the learned shelves of the vicar and thecurate of St. Nicholas are there any books. It is not a town whichr
eads or asks for, books. Why, even on market days you will not seeany stall for the sale of books such as may be seen every week atCambridge, and at Norwich, and even at Bury St. Edmund's. 'Tis perhapspity that so many gentlemen, substantial merchants, and sea captainsnever read books. For their knowledge of the outer world, and thenations, they trust to the sailors who, to tell the truth, know asmuch as any books can tell them: but sailors are not always truthful.For their wisdom and their conduct of life and manners these honestmerchants depend upon the Old and the New Testament: or, since thereare some who neglect that Treasury of Divine knowledge, they trust tomere tradition and to proverbs; to the continuation of theirforefathers' habits, and to the memory of what their forefathersachieved.
The sun went down as we sat talking. The sun went down and the softtwilight of June, the month which most I love because there is nodarkness, and a man on watch can discern ahead breakers and ships aswell as the vast circle of the rolling sea. And then Nigra gatheredher work together and arose.
"Come to supper, honey," she said. "Come, Massa Jack," and led theway.
I have often, since I learned and understood things, wondered at thesimplicity with which Molly's guardian thought it proper to bring upthis young heiress whose hand he intended for some great personage, asyet unknown. He lived for choice in a small parlour overlooking hisneighbour's garden: it was nearly as narrow as the cabin to which hewas accustomed. His fare was that which, as a sailor, he consideredluxurious. The staple, so to speak, was salt beef or salt pork, butnot quite so hard as that of the ship's barrels. This evening, forinstance, we sat down to a supper consisting of a piece of cold boiledbeef somewhat underdone; there was a cold chicken; a sallet oflettuce, spring onions and young radishes; and a gooseberry pieafterwards with plenty of strong brown sugar. With these dainties wasserved a jug of home-brewed--to my mind a more delicious drink thanany of the wine brought home by _The Lady of Lynn_--I remember now howit stood beside the captain with its noble head of froth, overtoppingthe Brown George in which it was drawn.
It had been a joyful day. It was destined to conclude with an eventneither joyful nor sorrowful--an act of justice. For my own part Icould have sung and laughed all through the supper: the more joyful,because Molly looked happy in my happiness. But there was somethingwrong. When we talked and laughed, the captain laughed with us, butnot mirthfully. His face indicated a change of weather, just as in thebay before a storm the waters grow turbid: and I observed also, thatMolly's mother, though she laughed with Molly and applauded oursallies, glanced anxiously from time to time at the captain, who washer cousin as well as her husband's executor and her daughter'sguardian. And I knew not what to make of these symptoms, because inthe midst of fine weather, with an open sea, a fine sky, and afavouring breeze, one does not expect the signs of head winds anddriving sleet. What it meant you shall learn, and why I have said thatthe day was memorable for two reasons.
Supper over, the captain, instead of turning round his chair to thefireplace, filling his pipe, and calling for another glass of October,as we expected, pushed back his chair, and rose with dignity.
"Jennifer," he addressed Molly's mother, "the persuader."
Jennifer was her Christian name. She got up and drew from the cornerby the cupboard a stout crab tree cudgel, twisted and gnarled like theold tree from which it came. "Be not revengeful, John," she said.
"No, no. I am a justice of the peace. I am captain on my ownquarter-deck. Punishment I shall bestow--not revenge."
"Well, John. But he is young and you are old."
Captain Crowle laughed. "Young, is he? And I am old, am I? We shallsee."
Some one was going to be tried, judged, found guilty, sentenced and toreceive his sentence at once. The thing was not unusual in the houseof a justice of the peace.
"Come with me, Jack. It shall not be said that I inflicted thispunishment without a witness. All the world shall know about it, if sobe the culprit desires. Come with me. Jennifer, keep within, and ifyou hear groans, praise the Lord for the correction of a sinner."
Greatly marvelling I followed the captain as he marched out of theparlour. Arrived at the garden he looked around. "So!" he said, "hehas not yet come. Perhaps it is light enough for you to read some ofhis pernicious stuff." With that he put his hand into his pocket anddrew forth a paper. "Read that, Jack, I say, read it."
I obeyed: the twilight gave sufficient light for reading themanuscript. Besides, the writing was large and in bold characters."Why," I said, "I know this writing. It is Sam Semple's."
"Very good. Go on, therefore----"
At the very first words I understood what had already happened andguessed, pretty well, what was going to happen--
"Molly divine! Thy heavenly charms prevail; As when the sun doth rise stars fade and pale."
"No need for much more of the rubbish, Jack. Read the last of it. Iread it all and it made me sick."
"So, matchless maid, thy silence grants consent. See, at thy feet, the poet's knee is bent-- When evening roses scatter fragrance faint And the sad Philomel renews his plaint."
"Did ever man hear such stuff, Jack? Go on."
"Within this bow'r afar from sight of men; To-morrow, Wednesday, at the hour of ten, That bow'r a shrine of Love and Temple fair, I will await thee--Samuel Semple--there."
"What do you think of that, Jack? Samuel Semple! the ragged, skulking,snivelling, impudent son of a thieving exciseman! A very fine loverfor my little maid! Ha! Will he? Will he?" The captain grasped hiscudgel, with resolution.
"Sir," I said, with submission. "What did Molly say to this preciousepistle?"
"Molly? Dost think that I would let the little maid see such rantingstuff? Not so. The black woman brought the precious letters to me.There are three of them. Wait, Jack. Thou shalt see. Hush! I hear hisstep. Let us get into the summerhouse, and lie snug to see whathappens."
We stepped into the summerhouse, now pretty dark, and waitedexpectant.
Like the captain, I was filled with amazement that Samuel, whom I knewwell, who was my schoolfellow, should presume to lift his eyes sohigh. Alas! There is no bound, or limit, I am assured, to thepresumption of such as this stringer of foolish rhymes. Yet I feltsome compunction for him, because he would most assuredly receive abasting such as would cure him effectually of the passion called Love,so far as this object was concerned.
Presently, we heard footsteps crunching the gravel. "Snug, my lad! Liesnug," whispered the captain. We heard the steps making their wayalong the path between the gooseberry and current bushes. Then theycame out upon the grass lawn before the summerhouse. "The grass is asbig as a quarter-deck, Jack," said the captain. "It will serve for thebasting of a measley clerk. I've knocked down many a mutinous dog onthe quarter-deck."
The poet came to the summerhouse and stood outside, irresolute. Hecould not see the two occupants. He hemmed twice, aloud. There was noreply. "Matchless Molly!" he whispered. "Divine Maid! I am here, atthy feet. Nymph of the azure sea, I am here."
"The devil you are!" cried the captain, stepping out. "Why, here is aprecious villain for you! Jack, cut him off in the rear if he tries toget away. So--so, my young quill driver. You would poach on thepreserves of your betters, would you? Would you? Would you?" At eachrepetition he banged the wooden post of the summerhouse with hiscudgel.
The poet made no reply, but he looked to right and to left and behindhim, for a way of escape, but found none, for I was ready to bar hisflight. Wherefore, his shoulders became rounded, and his head hungdown, and his knees trembled. Samuel Semple was caught in a trap. Someyoung fellows would have made a fight of it. But not Samuel: all hethought about was submission and non-resistance, which might provokepity.
"Three times, jackanapes, hast thou presumed to send stuff to my ward.Here they are," he took from me the last sheet of doggerel verse anddrew from his pocket two more. "Here they are--one--two--three--alladdressed to the Matchless Molly. Why, thou impudent villain--whatdevil prompted thee
to call her Matchless Molly--matchless--to such asyou! Take that, sirrah, and that----" They were laid on with a will.The poet groaned but made no reply--again looking vainly to right andleft for some way of escape.
"Now, sir," said the captain, "before we go on to the seriousbusiness, thou wilt eat this precious stuff--eat it--eat it--swallowit all--or by the Lord!" Again he raised the cudgel, "I will stuff itdown thy throat."
"Oh! Captain Crowle," he murmured, "I will eat them--I will eat them."
The poet took the papers. They were dry eating and I fear tasteless,but in a few minutes he had swallowed them all.
"They are down," said the captain. "Now comes the basting. And I wouldhave you to understand, lump of impudence, that it is my mercyonly--my foolish mercy, perhaps, that keeps me from sending youthrough the town at the tail of a cart. Kneel down, sir, in token ofrepentance. What? I say--kneel down."
The basting which followed was really worthy of the days when CaptainCrowle, with his own hand, quelled a mutiny and drove the whole crewunder hatches. The right hand at seventy was as vigorous as at forty.For my own part, I attempted no interference. The captain was wrathfulbut he had command of himself. If he added to the basting a runningcommentary of sea-going terms, signifying scorn and contempt, with theastonishment with which a sailor always regards presumption, it wasonly to increase the terror and the effect of the cudgelling. I amquite certain that he was resolved in his own mind when he shouldstop; that is to say, when the justice of the case would have been metand revenge would begin. And I hold myself excused for not preventingany portion of this commentary.
It was a poor, shrinking, trembling figure full of bruises and achesand pains that presently arose and slunk away. I should have feltsorry for him had he taken punishment like a man. Why, I would maroonany of my crew who would cry and grovel and snivel when tied up forhis three dozen. It made one sick and ashamed to see him and to hearhim, with his--
"Mercy, captain! Oh! Enough, good captain! Oh! captain, I confess. Ideserve it all. Never again, captain. Oh! Forgiveness--forgiveness!"And so on. I say it made me sick and ashamed. When all was over Ifollowed him to the garden gate. "Oh! Jack," he groaned. "You stood byand saw it all. I am a dead man. He shall be hanged for it. You arethe witness. I am nothing but a bag of broken bones. Ribs and collarbones and skull. I am a poor, unfortunate, murdered man. I am done todeath with a cudgel."
"Go home," I said. "You a man? You cry like a whipped cur. Murdered?Not you. Cudgelled you are, and well you deserved it. Go home and getbrown paper and vinegar and tell all the town how you have beencudgelled for writing verses to a matchless maid. They will laugh, SamSemple. They will laugh."
The captain went back to the parlour, somewhat flushed with theexercise.
"Justice," he said, "has been done, without the cart and the cat. Mypipe, Jennifer, and the home-brewed. Molly, my dear, your very goodhealth."
A day or two afterwards, we heard that Sam Semple had gone to Londonto make his fortune. He was carried thither by the waggon that once aweek makes the journey to London, returning the following week. Butwhen Sam Semple came back it was in a chaise, with much splendour, asin due course you shall hear. You shall also hear of the singulargratitude with which he repaid the captain for that wholesomecorrection.
The Lady of Lynn