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Michał Płachta
 Learn functional programming in the
most practical way possible!

Hundreds of
code snippets... Like this one
All executable from
your computer!
def parseShows(rawShows: List[String]): List[TvShow] = {

rawShows // List( The Wire (2002-2008) , Chernobyl () )

.map(parseShow) // List(Some( TvShow(The Wire, 2002, 2008) ), None)

.map(_.toList) // List(List( TvShow(The Wire, 2002, 2008) ), List())

.flatten // List( TvShow(The Wire, 2002, 2008) )

}
...and accompanying illustrations
Like this one
flatten goes through each of the lists in this list and adds
all their elements into the resulting list in the same order.

List[List[A]].flatten: List[A]

List(List( ), List(), List( ), List( )).flatten

→ List( )

Twelve chapters, each including a

different real-world scenario
You will implement a travel guide, a planner, a
meeting scheduler, a TV show parser, a music
artists search engine, a currency exchange, and
many more applications!

(Continued on inside back cover)

grokking
functional
programming

Michał Płachta

MANNING
S helter I sland
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To my dear family: Marta, Wojtek, and Ola,
for all the good vibes and inspiration.

To my parents: Renia and Leszek, for all the

opportunities you’ve given me.
 contents

preface xix

acknowledgments xxi

about this book xxiii

about the author xxvii

Part 1 The functional toolkit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

1 Learning functional programming 3

Perhaps you picked up this book because... 4

What do you need to know before we start? 5
What do functions look like? 6
Meet the function 7
When the code lies... 8
Imperative vs. declarative 9
Coffee break: Imperative vs. declarative 10
Coffee break explained: Imperative vs. declarative 11
How useful is learning functional programming? 12
Leaping into Scala 13
Practicing functions in Scala 14
Getting your tools ready 15

v
vi contents

Getting to know the REPL 16

Writing your first functions! 17
How to use this book 18

2 Pure functions 21

Why do we need pure functions? 22

Coding imperatively 23
Breaking the code 24
Passing copies of the data 25
Breaking the code . . . again 26
Recalculating instead of storing 27
Focusing on the logic by passing the state 28
Where did the state go? 29
The difference between impure and pure functions 30
Coffee break: Refactoring to a pure function 31
Coffee break explained: Refactoring to a pure function 32
In pure functions we trust 34
Pure functions in programming languages 35
Difficulty of staying pure... 36
Pure functions and clean code 37
Coffee break: Pure or impure? 38
Coffee break explained: Pure or impure? 39
Using Scala to write pure functions 40
Practicing pure functions in Scala 41
Testing pure functions 42
Coffee break: Testing pure functions 43
Coffee break explained: Testing pure functions 44

3 Immutable values 47

The fuel for the engine 48

Another case for immutability 49
Can you trust this function? 50
 contents vii

Mutability is dangerous 51
Functions that lie... again 52
Fighting mutability by working with copies 53
Coffee break: Getting burned by mutability 54
Coffee break explained: Getting burned by mutability 55
Introducing shared mutable state 58
State’s impact on programming abilities 59
Dealing with the moving parts 60
Dealing with the moving parts using FP 61
Immutable values in Scala 62
Building our intuition about immutability 63
Coffee break: The immutable String API 64
Coffee break explained: The immutable String API 65
Hold on . . . Isn’t this bad? 66
Purely functional approach to shared mutable state 67
Practicing immutable slicing and appending 69

4 Functions as values 71

Implementing requirements as functions 72

Impure functions and mutable values strike back 73
Using Java Streams to sort the list 74
Function signatures should tell the whole story 75
Changing requirements 76
We just pass the code around! 77
Using Java’s Function values 78
Using the Function syntax to deal with code duplication 79
Passing user-defined functions as arguments 80
Coffee break: Functions as parameters 81
Coffee break explained: Functions as parameters 82
Problems with reading functional Java 83
Passing functions in Scala 84
Deep dive into sortBy 85
Signatures with function parameters in Scala 86
viii contents

Passing functions as arguments in Scala 87

Practicing function passing 88
Embracing declarative programming 89
Passing functions to custom-made functions 90
Small functions and their responsibilities 91
Passing functions inline 92
Coffee break: Passing functions in Scala 93
Coffee break explained: Passing functions in Scala 94
What else can we achieve just by passing functions? 95
Applying a function to each element of a list 96
Applying a function to each element of a list using map 97
Getting to know map 98
Practicing map 99
Learn once, use everywhere 100
Returning parts of the list based on a condition 101
Returning parts of the list using filter 102
Getting to know filter 103
Practicing filter 104
Our journey so far... 105
Don’t repeat yourself? 106
Is my API easy to use? 107
Adding a new parameter is not enough 108
Functions can return functions 109
Using functions that can return functions 110
Functions are values 111
Coffee break: Returning functions 112
Coffee break explained: Returning functions 113
Designing functional APIs 114
Iterative design of functional APIs 115
Returning functions from returned functions 116
How to return functions from returned functions 117
Using the flexible API built with returned functions 118
Using multiple parameter lists in functions 119
We have been currying! 120
Practicing currying 121
 contents ix

Programming by passing function values 122

Reducing many values into a single value 123
Reducing many values into a single one using foldLeft 124
Getting to know foldLeft 125
foldLeft must-knows 126
Practicing foldLeft 127
Modeling immutable data 128
Using product types with higher-order functions 129
More concise syntax for inline functions 130

Part 2 Functional programs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133

5 Sequential programs 135

Writing pipeline-based algorithms 136

Composing larger programs from smaller pieces 137
The imperative approach 138
flatten and flatMap 139
Practical use case of using more flatMaps 140
flatMap and changing the size of the list 141
Coffee break: Dealing with lists of lists 142
Coffee break explained: Dealing with lists of lists 143
Chained flatMaps and maps 144
Nested flatMaps 145
Values that depend on other values 146
Practicing nested flatMaps 147
A better syntax for nested flatMaps 148
For comprehensions to the rescue! 149
Coffee break: flatMaps vs. for comprehensions 150
Coffee break explained: flatMaps vs. for comprehensions 151
Getting to know for comprehensions 152
It’s not the for you are looking for! 153
Inside a for comprehension 154
More sophisticated for comprehensions 155
x contents

Checking all combinations using a for comprehension 156

Filtering techniques 157
Coffee break: Filtering techniques 158
Coffee break explained: Filtering techniques 159
Looking for a greater abstraction 160
Comparing map, foldLeft, and flatMap 161
Using for comprehensions with Sets 162
Using for comprehensions with many types 163
Practicing for comprehensions 164
Defining for comprehensions... again 165
Using for comprehensions with noncollection types 166
Avoiding nulls: Option type 167
Parsing as a pipeline 168
Coffee break: Parsing with Option 169
Coffee break explained: Parsing with Option 170

6 Error handling 173

Handling lots of different errors, gracefully 174

Is it even possible to handle them all? 175
Sort the list of TV shows by their running time 176
Implementing the sorting requirement 177
Dealing with data coming from the outside world 178
Functional design: Building from small blocks 179
Parsing Strings into immutable objects 180
Parsing a List is just parsing one element 181
Parsing a String into a TvShow 182
What about potential errors? 183
Is returning null a good idea? 184
How do we handle potential errors more gracefully? 185
Implementing a function that returns an Option 186
Option forces us to handle possible errors 187
Building from small blocks 188
Functional design is building from small blocks 189
 contents xi

Writing a small, safe function that returns an Option 190

Functions, values, and expressions 192
Practicing safe functions that return Options 193
How do errors propagate? 194
Values represent errors 195
Option, for comprehensions, and checked exceptions... 196
What about checked exceptions? 197
Conditional recovery 198
Conditional recovery using the imperative style 199
Checked exceptions don’t compose—Options do! 201
How does orElse work? 202
Practicing functional error handling 203
Functions compose, even in the presence of errors 204
Compiler reminds us that errors need to be covered 205
Compilation errors are good for us! 206
Transforming a List of Options into a flat List 207
Let the compiler be our guide... 208
...but let’s not trust the compiler too much! 209
Coffee break: Error-handling strategies 210
Coffee break explained: Error-handling strategies 211
Two different error-handling strategies 212
All-or-nothing error-handling strategy 213
Folding a List of Options into an Option of a List 214
We now know how to handle multiple possible errors! 215
How to know what failed 216
We need to convey error details in the return value 217
Conveying error details using Either 218
Refactoring to Either 219
Returning an Either instead of an Option 220
Practicing safe functions that return Either 223
What we learned about Option works with Either 224
Coffee break: Error handling using Either 225
Coffee break explained: Error handling using Either 226
Working with Option/Either 227
xii contents

7 Requirements as types 229

Modeling data to minimize programmers’ mistakes 230

Well-modeled data can’t lie 231
Designing using what we know so far (which is primitive types) 232
Using data modeled as primitive types 233
Coffee break: The pain of primitive types 234
Coffee break explained: The pain of primitive types 235
Problems with the primitive type approach to modeling 236
Using primitive types makes our jobs harder! 237
Newtypes protect against misplaced parameters 238
Using newtypes in data models 239
Practicing newtypes 240
Making sure only valid data combinations are possible 241
Modeling possibility of absence in your data 242
Changes in the model force changes in the logic 243
Using data modeled as Options in your logic 244
Higher-order functions for the win! 245
There is probably a higher-order function for that! 246
Coffee break: forall/exists/contains 247
Coffee break explained: forall/exists/contains 248
Coupling a concept inside a single product type 249
Modeling finite possibilities 250
Using sum types 251
Even better modeling with sum types 252
Using the sum type + product type combo 253
Product types + sum types = algebraic data types (ADTs) 254
Using ADT-based models in behaviors (functions) 255
Destructuring ADTs using pattern matching 256
Duplication and DRY 257
Practicing pattern matching 258
Newtypes, ADTs, and pattern matching in the wild 259
What about inheritance? 260
Coffee break: Functional data design 261
Coffee break explained: Functional data design 262
 contents xiii

Modeling behaviors 263

Modeling behaviors as data 264
Implementing functions with ADT-based parameters 265
Coffee break: Design and maintainability 266
Coffee break explained: Design and maintainability 267

8 IO as values 269

Talking to the outside world 270

Integrating with an external API 271
Properties of a side-effectful IO action 272
Imperative solution to side-effecting IO code 273
Problems with the imperative approach to IO 274
Can we really do better using FP? 275
Doing IO vs. using IO’s result 276
Handling IO imperatively 277
Computations as IO values 278
IO values 279
IO values in the wild 280
Pushing the impurity out 281
Using values fetched from two IO actions 282
Combining two IO values into a single IO value 283
Practicing creating and combining IO values 284
Disentangling concerns by working with values only 285
The IO type is viral 286
Coffee break: Working with values 287
Coffee break explained: Working with values 288
Toward functional IO 289
What about IO failures? 290
Running a program described by IO may fail! 291
Remember orElse? 292
Lazy and eager evaluation 293
Implementing recovery strategies using IO.orElse 294
Implementing fallbacks using orElse and pure 295
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
other. This was no gentle tilt with blunted lances, but each knight
knew his existence was at stake, and that in the keen thrust of the
gleaming spear-point lay life or death. They met in a hurtling crash,
and the noise of splintering wood and clanging metal rang through
the silence of the night. For a moment no one knew what had
happened; but as the two horses broke away, it was seen that they
trotted off without their riders.
Scarcely waiting to see what had happened, Ralph caught his
lord's war-horse, and returned to his place. Eagerly he looked to see
what had been the result. One knight had risen from the ground; the
other was attempting to do so, but only feebly moved. Ralph rode
nearer, and the other three figures advanced also. The excitement in
Ralph's heart was intense: what should he do if his dearly loved lord
were slain? A fierce thought rose. He would hurl himself on the
others, and either avenge his master, or die in the attempt.
But as he drew nearer, his bitter anxiety was changed to joy. It
was Lord Woodville who was on his feet, and standing over the
writhing body of his antagonist.
"Yield thee, Sir George Lisle!" said the Captain of the Wight, in a
stern, but feeble voice.
"I yield to no man!" came back the fierce answer, still more
faintly hissed through the closed helm. "Do thy worst!"
For a moment Lord Woodville seemed uncertain what to do. He
held his keen poignard in his left hand, and his drawn sword in the
other, and held the point of it to the narrow opening in the close-
shut helm.
But before he could form a decided resolve, a fierce voice called
out,--
 "Upon him, and revenge your lord."
And with lowered lance the man-at-arms charged the Captain of
the Wight, while the two sturdy varlets sprang at Ralph. But the
young esquire, hearing the words and seeing the movement, with a
touch of the spur leaped his horse in front of his lord, and received
the lance-thrust of the man-at-arms on his shield, dealing his
assailant a fierce buffet in return.
"Ah, caitiff!" cried Ralph. "Vile traitor that thou art, thou shall
rue thy villainy!"
"Shall I, in sooth, sir upstart?" sneered a well-known voice.
"Thou hast escaped me once, but now I have thee. See, thy lord is
falling to the ground."
Ralph turned instinctively to look, and at the same moment
received a stunning blow on the side of his helmet which nearly
knocked him out of the saddle; but he quickly recovered himself, and
flinging down his lance, he seized his martel de fer, or mace, and
reining his horse backwards, he dealt the varlet who was attacking
Lord Woodville a terrific blow on the head, instantly felling the man
to the ground. But it was true, Lord Woodville had fallen to the
ground, and the other footman was upon him. Ralph, without a
moment's hesitation, sprang from his horse and struck wildly at the
man, who was just wrenching off Lord Woodville's helmet. The blow
took only partial effect, but it drew the attention of the man to him,
and with an oath he turned savagely upon the young esquire.
The odds were terribly against him.
"Have at the coxcomb, Dan; he's only good for tilting before
ladies, and only then when they bribe their lovers to spare his dainty
youth," called out the man-at-arms, as he prepared to strike Ralph
again with his uplifted sword. But Ralph did not yet lose hope. The
love of life was strong in him. He closed with the half-armed varlet,
and dealt him a blow with his poignard, which he had now drawn.
The man uttered a fearful imprecation, and cut at Ralph with his
axe; but the harness of the young esquire was good, and the
weapon only glanced aside. Seeing how little use was his axe, the
man dropped it, and drew his dagger also, closing with Ralph, and
trying to drive the point through the bars of his visor. But the boy
had been well taught, and he parried the thrust on his steel
gauntlet, dealing his foe a deep stab with his right hand.
"Strike him, youngster, strike him!" shouted the man, in fierce
rage. "What art standing there for seeing him murdering me?"
"How can I strike him without doing thee a mischief, old
stockfish? Get thyself away, and I'll soon do for him."
But Ralph fully understood his advantage, and wrestled with the
man until they both fell to the ground over the prostrate body of
Lord Woodville.
The man-at-arms now got off his horse and came to the
assistance of the varlet who had fallen upon Ralph, but was severely
wounded.
"Drive thy sword through his visor," gasped the man, whose
arms were held by Ralph, who was struggling to regain his feet.
The keen point played around the helmet of the esquire, who by
twisting and turning his head prevented the thrust from taking
effect, but, held as he was by the weight of the varlet above him, he
could not hope to avoid the blow much longer.
"Wrench off his helm, man!" cried the impatient man-at-arms.
 "How can I? Don't you see he's got hold of my arms?" said the
other, in a gruff voice, which was growing fainter. "Stab him! why
don't ye? Stab him!"

"HE DROVE HIS DAGGER INTO THE CAITIFF ABOVE

HIM."

Ralph made one more desperate effort; he drove his dagger into
the caitiff above him, who with a deep groan ceased struggling and
rolled over, thus freeing Ralph, who sprang to his feet and turned
upon the man-at-arms.
 The young esquire still had his mace hanging from the chain
slung round his right arm. Seizing it in his gauntleted hand, and
transferring his dagger to his left, he struck furiously at the steel-
clad figure before him, parrying at the same time with his dagger a
dangerous thrust aimed at his visor. The mace crashed on the
helmet of his foe, and a smothered exclamation of pain and rage
came from out the barred morion.
Cutting wildly at the gorget of the young esquire, the man-at-
arms turned and made a dash for his horse.
"Stay, man-at-arms! Turn, caitiff that thou art!" called Ralph
after him. "Ah, recreant esquire, get thee gone, then, coward that
thou art!" and Ralph, who was thinking more of his lord than of the
pursuit of his cowardly assailant, turned back from following him to
attend to his prostrate chief.
As he bent over Lord Woodville, he noticed a dark patch on his
shining armour. There was a deep dent in the globular breast-plate,
and the broken end of a lance head was sticking in it.
Ralph was in despair; the Captain of the Wight lay motionless in
his harness; the silence was broken only by the cry of a sea-fowl as
it circled over head, and the distant thud of the sea as it rolled on
the shore below. Was Ralph the only living thing in that lonely valley
among the solemn hills?
He undid the buckle of his lord's helmet, and reverently
removed the cumbrous tilting-helm. As he did so he heard a faint
sigh from the stricken knight, and as the moonlight fell on his noble
features he opened his eyes.
"My lord, my lord, thou art not dead!" cried Ralph in joy. But no
answer came back, the eyes had closed again, and despair once
more seized on the young esquire.
What could he do? He looked round. What was it that flickered
against his face? The air was piercingly cold, and the moon had
become obscured by a thickening of the air. Ralph had opened his
visor, that he might attend his lord more easily. Again something
flickered in his face, cold and feathery. It was snowing.
Here was a fresh cause for anxiety. Alone in that sequestered
valley, who could bring them help? And he did not dare to leave his
lord alone, for fear that caitiff should return to finish the murderous
work. As Ralph looked round in despair at the dreary scene, his
heart sank within him. The landscape was fast becoming one grey
indistinguishable blot, and the feeble light of the hidden moon was
turning to a sickly livid hue. In a short time, too, he knew the moon
would set.
A faint noise on the left caused Ralph to look round. The four
bodies lay still and stark; but there was something moving out of the
grey obscurity of the distance. Ralph closed his visor and handled his
sword. The dark object drew nearer, and a yellow spark seemed to
be coming with it. Ralph called out,--
"Whoever thou art, hasten thy steps; if foe, that I may handle
thee, or if friend, that thou mayest help my lord."
"'Tis a friend, my son, and I come apace as fast as my stiffening
joints will let me," cried a deep voice.
"Thank Heaven!" murmured the esquire. "Then my lord will not
die."
By this time the dim shadow had come nearer, and Ralph saw
that there were two figures--one tall and burly, the other short and
slight. Both were draped in long cloaks, partially covered with the
fast-falling snow. The taller of the new comers carried a lantern.
Dim and ghostly the figures looked in their peaked hoods and
long mantles, entirely concealing face and form.
"Ah! we have come in time: no, no, too late!" and the slighter
figure uttered a shrill and bitter cry of pain, as it bent over the
lifeless mass of armour which held the unknown knight.
"Look to my lord first," said Ralph shortly.
"My son, 'tis the young child's father; my lord will wait,"
answered the elder stranger mildly, as he went to help his childish
companion.
But Ralph barred the way.
"Whoever thou art, thou shall see to my lord first," he cried, in a
resolute tone.
Seeing the fierceness of the youth, the old man quietly
answered,--
"As thou wilt, my son; but thou shouldest respect youth, old
age, and filial grief. But go thou and help the child, while I attend to
thy lord."
Ralph, rebuked, did as he was told, there was such dignity,
gentleness, and authority in the voice and manner of the tall
stranger.
It was now very difficult to see. The moon had set, and the
snow was falling fast, while the wind sighed mournfully through the
withered boughs and twigs of the lonely thorn tree.
"May God have mercy on all dying souls!" murmured the dim
shadow as it bent over the pale face of Lord Woodville; and Ralph
could have sobbed aloud in anguish of heart as he felt his lord was
dead.
"Oh, help me! help me! Master Lisle!" cried the agonised voice
of the other stranger, shivering with cold and pain of heart. "Undo
his helm or he will die, an he be not gone already," and a piteous
sob of utter woe broke from the crouching figure.
Ralph, thinking only of his sorrow, did not notice the keen grief
of the other, but he hastened up nevertheless, and speedily undid
the helm.
"Oh, father! father!" sobbed the shivering voice; "speak, father!"
But no sound came from the set mouth, and the child broke out
into piteous distress, sobbing and choking as though her heart would
break.
Ralph was touched. Even in his own stony sorrow he felt for the
poor child.
"Nay, nay, he may not be dead," he said, trying to comfort her.
"See, he moves!" he cried, noticing a quiver of the gauntleted hand.
"Let me look, my son," said the gentle voice of the other
stranger. "Go thou, catch yonder horse; thy lord lives, and will
recover."
"Will he?" cried Ralph joyously, springing up and going in search
of the horses, which, well trained as they were, were standing under
the shelter of the thorn-bush out of the fast-driving snow.
When he returned leading the two horses, he was delighted to
find Lord Woodville sitting up.
"My fair boy," said the Captain of the Wight, in a faint voice,
"thou must help me on to my charger and lead me home. I have
been hard stricken, albeit the wound is not mortal. But before thou
aidest me, see to the state of Sir George Lisle: I would be loth he
should die."
Lord Woodville spoke with difficulty, and paused between his
words.
Ralph did as he was told, and found the two shrouded figures
still bending over the inanimate knight.
"The Lord Woodville hath sent me to make inquiry of the knight-
-how fareth he?"
"Make answer that he is sore stricken, and in parlous case; but
an we may get him to a place of shelter, he may do well."
Ralph returned and reported the message.
"Is there no other horse but mine? If not, take mine and leave
me here," said Lord Woodville simply.
He had drawn his sword, and was holding it by the blade before
him. The sword thus held had all the proportions of a Latin cross.
"'Thou shalt love thine enemies. Do good to those who hate
thee,'" murmured the wounded Captain of the Wight.
"My lord, there is the knight's own horse, or he can have mine."
"Haste thee, then! gentle youth, for his wounds and mine are
growing stiff, and there is need of shelter," faintly gasped the
wounded Captain.
With rather more difficulty Ralph caught the other horse, and
led it up to the little group in the snow. Then, by dint of hard
exertion, the Hermit of St Catherine's--for it was he who had come
to their aid--and Ralph lifted the wounded knight on to his horse,
and the old man holding him in his high-peaked saddle, with the
slight figure leading the horse by its bridle, they disappeared in the
grey obscurity.
 Ralph now returned to his lord. To his surprise and joy he found
the Captain of the Wight had risen to his feet. The Hermit had
removed the corslet, extracted the spear-head, and staunched the
wound with some balsam and simples for healing sword or lance
wounds. With effort he was able to mount his horse, and with Ralph
holding the bridle, and ready to steady his lord in his saddle should
he feel faint or giddy, the two figures wended their way over the
snow towards Carisbrooke Castle.
It was a weary journey, and Ralph never felt so relieved in his
life as when he descried the noble pile standing up black and grand
in the midst of the white landscape.
With wonderful courage and resolution Lord Woodville sat erect
in his saddle as they entered by the little postern gate, at which only
one archer was on guard. He so carried himself until they reached
the door of his own apartments, then, dismounting with Ralph's aid,
he staggered to a settle in the hall and fainted away.
Ralph had presence of mind enough not to disturb the house.
He went to Lady Trenchard's apartments and called her. That
prudent lady soon came, and with her husband's assistance they
managed to get the Lord Woodville to his room. Seeing his lord in
safe hands, Ralph left to look after the horses. But Humphrey had
already led them away, and in a few moments more Ralph, with the
aid of his trusty varlet, had taken off his harness, and was soon fast
asleep.
When he awoke next morning, the chapel bell was tolling, and
he could hear the merry voices of the other pages as they lounged
round the hall door before going into chapel. All things seemed as
usual, but one more strange adventure had added its experience to
the life of Ralph. He could scarcely believe it was little more than
half a year since he had left his home.

CHAPTER XXII.
OF THE VOICE OF THE CHARMER.

During the next two months events of importance had occurred. The
Captain of the Wight had recovered from his wound in time to
attend the splendid ceremony of his niece's coronation, and his
faithful young esquire had accompanied him to London. It was a
joyful time. On their march from Southampton to the metropolis,
Ralph obtained leave to visit his home.
Attended by Humphrey, he separated from the retinue of the
Captain of the Wight at Southampton, to join it again at Guildford.
By riding fast he would be able to make up for the longer distance,
and would thus obtain time to spend one night at home.
The talk of all the garrison of Carisbrooke Castle and indeed of
all the south of England, was the approaching war with France. No
man doubted, and all men wished, that Henry VII. would be driven
to take the part of his old benefactor, Francis, Duke of Brittany, in
the defence of his duchy against the troops of France, led by the
young King Charles VIII. It was so obviously the policy of England to
prevent this powerful duchy being united to the French crown, which
was already giving signs of the power it possessed, under the crafty
rule of Louis XI., that far-seeing English statesmen like the Bishop of
Ely, Master Christopher Urswick, and Sir John Edgecomb, the
prototypes of England's diplomatists, could not doubt that Henry
must see the vast importance of keeping France disunited, and of
maintaining such an "imperium in imperio" as Brittany in semi-
independence. Englishmen still longed to wipe out the disgrace of
their expulsion from France, and any prospect of war with that
country was hailed with joy. For war meant, according to the views
of the time, not an impoverishment of both contending nations, but
an increase of wealth to one or the other. Every esquire or common
soldier might return a rich man. If, now-a-days, young men go forth
to the ends of the earth to dig for gold, or spend their young lives in
isolated exile in the wilds of the far West, or the savannahs of South
America, or the rainless plains of Australia, with what eagerness
would they have turned to war, where strength of arm and average
good fortune meant glory, social distinction, and personal wealth?
The capture of a rich prisoner in war meant the payment of a large
ransom; and, as a wise man-at-arms knew, the best investment of
his money was in forming a troop; the capture of one rich prisoner
resulted in the decrease of power to his country's foe, as well as the
personal aggrandisement of his captor. And all this brilliant prospect
of success was enhanced by the scene in which the aspirant to fame
displayed his prowess. Not drearily working at dull, monotonous
manual labour far from the surroundings of civilisation, but in the
very heart of social life carving out wealth, and fame, and name. No
wonder war was popular.
To the eyes of the English people there never had been a time
better suited for recovering the Duchies of Normandy, Guienne, and
Gascony, since their final loss, but thirty years before. France's
extremity had always been England's opportunity; and it was
through Brittany and Normandy that English men-at-arms had
poured to the conquest of France--to such splendid victories as
Crecy and Agincourt. As Scotland was the thorn in England's side, so
Brittany and Burgundy were the sharp points wherewith to rasp the
French.
By a strange coincidence, the two capitals of Burgundy and
Brittany, similar in name--Nancy and Nantes--received the mortal
remains of their two last dukes within ten years of each other. In
1477 the last male of the house of Burgundy was borne from the
field of battle to his splendid tomb in Nancy, leaving his only
daughter to be despoiled of her inheritance by the craft of Louis XI.;
while in 1488 the last male of the house of Brittany was entombed in
the magnificent pile erected to his memory in the church of the
Carmelites at Nantes, leaving also an only daughter to be fought for
by an emperor, a king, a royal duke, and a puissant lord of the
Pyrenees. And, by another singular fatality, the same Prince became
the husband of both heiresses. Maximilian won, but speedily lost,
both Mary of Burgundy and Anne of Brittany.
The common talk of all men, therefore, was the expedition that
would shortly sail for France. The Captain of the Wight made no
secret of his intentions, but determined to obtain the royal sanction
first.
Full of the exciting prospects before him, and proud of his rapid
progress, Ralph rode eagerly home.
With what joy he saw the blue smoke curling over the brown
trees which hid the old manor house.
"See, Humphrey, there's the gilded vane on the west gable, and
now I can see the stacks of chimneys. Whoop, lad, get on;" and the
joyous boy urged his horse to a quicker pace. In a few minutes more
he had turned the corner of the road, and before him lay the
picturesque range of old gables and low windows.
He had not been able to let his parents know of his coming. He
cantered up to the gate, jumped off his horse, and in another
minute was in his mother's arms.
There is no need to describe the pride and joy of his parents, or
the half-concealed awe of his brother Jasper. His younger brother
had gone to Oxenford, and sent home from time to time accounts of
his progress. After a delightful visit, all too short for Ralph and his
parents, the young esquire set out to rejoin his lord. He arrived in
time at Guildford, and the next day they entered the capital.
The King had already returned with his nobles and men-at-arms
from the progress he had been making in the north, and the next
day the ceremony of the coronation of the Queen was to take place.
Ralph was in immediate attendance on his lord, who, as uncle of the
Queen, held a high place of honour in the ceremonies. The esquire
was witness of the installation of fourteen Knights of the Bath, and
was astonished at the grandeur, solemnity, and state of the
proceedings. But what amazed him most was the gorgeous
procession of barges, all gilded and bedecked with flags, which
accompanied the Queen on the Thames. He was forcibly reminded
of Yolande as he saw the lovely young Queen, with her fair yellow
hair rippling in golden masses down her back, intertwined with
strings of jewels, and crowned with a golden crown; dressed in
"white cloth of gold of damask," and with a richly furred ermine
mantle over her shapely shoulders. But the palm of beauty was
carried off by her second sister Cicely, the loveliest woman of her
time, whose romantic life had not yet reached its most romantic
period. Ralph little knew that that exquisite face and queenly figure
would one day reside in a humble manor-house but three miles from
his future home, and that her husband would be lower in social
station than himself.
He attended on the Captain of the Wight as one of the suite, at
the coronation banquet in the great hall, and Ralph was again
surprised at the gorgeous pageant. But he did not like to see two
such fair damoiselles as the Lady Catherine Grey and Mistress Ditton
sitting under the table at the lovely Queen's feet, and could not
understand why the Lady Oxford and the Lady Rivers should hold
up, from time to time, a handkerchief before that sweet face, while
he pitied their having to kneel through such a long state ceremony.
[*]

[*] Leland. Collectanea.

He heard how urgently his lord strove to obtain the sanction of

Henry VII. to enlist men-at-arms and archers for the aid of the
Bretons. But the presence of the French Ambassadors, chief among
whom were the Lord Daubigny, a Scotch nobleman in the service of
the French crown, combined with a fear of internal troubles in case
he should engage in foreign wars, kept that cautious monarch from
giving any permission.
It was the opinion, however, of Lord Woodville, as well as of
most of the English nobles and statesmen, that the King would not
be at all averse to an expedition being fitted out privately, which he
could disavow in public. Indeed most men thought he would be very
much gratified by such an exhibition of zeal.
Full of these ideas, and encouraged by the promises of
assistance he received from many experienced knights, as well as by
numerous offers of service from men of lesser rank, Sir Edward
Woodville returned to his island government.
The coronation had taken place in November; it was now the
middle of January 1488. The next two months were employed in
sounding the principal inhabitants of the island.
The Breton gentlemen had gone back to Brittany trusting to the
promised aid, and carrying with them exaggerated ideas of Lord
Woodville's position and power.
Ralph and the other pages enjoyed their lives as healthy boys
engaged in the manly employments of life in a mediæval castle must
have enjoyed them. Hawking, hunting, daily drill and exercise,
boating and fishing, such were their occupations. Ralph had never
breathed a word of the midnight duel, nor did he know what had
become of the wounded knight. The Captain of the Wight never
referred to it, and he kept his own counsel. The valley was once
revisited by him, as far as he could recollect its whereabouts; but in
the coombes and dells of the downs there were so many level
swards at their base, that he was in doubt whether he had come
across the right one. There were no traces of any combat about
them, there was the thorn bush in one and another, and a little
sedgy stream, but no fresh mounds or splintered spears.
Ralph had seen much of his cousin Yolande, and his affection
and admiration for her were unbounded; but he could not disguise
from himself that although she treated him with absolute candour
and sisterly affection, yet she always grew silent if the Captain of the
Wight were near, and hung on every word that nobleman spoke. It
never crossed Ralph's mind to be jealous, only he wished the
Captain of the Wight did not appear quite so often upon the scene.
But the thoughts of that nobleman were far removed from such
trivial subjects, if credence was to be placed in his words and
actions. By sound of trumpet and proclamation the inhabitants of the
Isle of Wight were summoned to a general muster at Shide Bridge, a
place already celebrated by a previous muster to take account of the
military strength of the island in the reign of King Edward the
Second, held by John de la Hoese and John de Lisle.
Thither on the day appointed the gentry of the island, with the
yeomen and country people, wended their way. The Bailiffs of
Newport, Newtown, Yarmouth, and Brading, accompanied by the
richer of the burgesses of those boroughs, attended. There were the
bailiffs and stewards of the various estates held by the ecclesiastical
bodies of Winchester College, Whorwell Monastery, Christchurch
Priory, and Ashey; while the Abbot of Quarr, the Prior of Carisbrooke,
representing the Carthusian monastery of Shene, and the Bailiff of
Appuldurcombe, for the nunnery of St Clare, without Aldgate, were
also present. There came, besides, the reeves of the manors
belonging to the imprisoned Earl of Warwick, from Brixton and
Swainston. There were representatives of all the island families: Sir
Nicholas Wadham, Sir John Oglander, Sir William Lisle of Wootton,
Master Meaux, recovered from his rough handling of five months
before, a Bowerman from Brooke, Trenchards from Watchingwell
and Shalfleet, a Dineley from Woolverton, a Cheke from Mattistone,
the Bowermans of Austerborne or Osborn, John Racket of Knighton,
and his relative by marriage, Leigh of Woolverton in Bembridge, a
Hawles of the ancient family of De Aula from Stenbury Manor. There
were Urrys, Keyneys, De Heynos, Bruyns, with many others too
numerous to mention, and a crowd of the lesser yeomen and
common people. When all were assembled, the Captain of the
Wight, in full armour, but with bare head, mounted on his splendid
charger, and surrounded by his seneschals, esquires, and pages,
addressed the crowd.
In a stirring speech he explained the situation. He told how
many evils the French had inflicted upon their forefathers. How in
Edward the First's reign they had threatened the island, but were
daunted by the stout preparations of the ancestors of many there
present. How again in Edward the Third's time they harassed the
island by their evil depredations, until under the brave Sir Theobald
Russel of Yaverland, who gave his life for his people, they were
driven out with loss and shame. How again in Richard the Second's
reign the whole island was overrun, and cruel damage inflicted,
when all their towns were in flames, and no place safe but the
Castle of Carisbrooke. But here again the ancient valour of their race
broke out, and under the stout Sir Hugh Tyrrel, "that right hardy
knight," they chased the false Frenchmen to their ships, slaying
them by scores, "insomuch that from that day Deadman's Lane went
by no other name, and Neddie's Hill is still there to show the burial
place of the marauders." Again how valorously they drove off
Waleran de St Pol, that "noble knight of haut lineage," and
frightened away the caitiffs again a few years after; while in Henry
the Fifth's time they slew many who were running away to their
ships.
 "Shall we then," went on the Captain, "not recover from these
false robbers the wealth they have gotten from us? Shall we not
avenge on them the wrongs they have done to us? Think, all ye
brave knights and sturdy yeomen, of the wealth ye will gain. Think
all ye young esquires and right hardy varlets of the honour and
renown ye will acquire in the eyes of your fair mistresses. And,
above all, think of the glory of being the first to lead the way to
victory, and recover for England and our King the ancient lands and
duchies of which she hath been so foully robbed. I will stake life and
fortune on the venture. I will warrant all men against loss. You will
do an action pleasing to all England, and will save an oppressed
people, an aged duke, and a fair princess from the cruel hands of
the ravisher. They are Bretons, so are we. They hate the French, so
do we. The tongue they speak is the native tongue of our sovereign
lord the King. Their hero is Arthur; their country is the home of
Lancelot-du-lac, Merlin, and all whom we reverence as our own.
Shall we not bring help, if in so doing we enrich ourselves, destroy
our enemies, win everlasting fame and name, and save our lives and
the lives of our children from future outrage? Shall we not bring
help? Who are our allies? The King of the Romans, Lord of Austria,
Italy, Allemayne, Brabant, and Flanders; the Duke of Brittany, the
Duke of Orleans, the Prince of Orange, the Lord d'Albret, and many
more of high lineage, great estate, and mighty valour. Did fate ever
offer such a chance? and shall we throw it all away? Rather than let
France, our bitter foe, rule over our ancient ally, I myself will go with
only my own household, and with my single lance will venture my
life for such a cause, losing it with ready will, if so it must be. But,
noble knights, gallant esquires, worthy burgesses, and sturdy
yeomen, shall we not all go together? Shall we not win wealth,
renown, safety, and the everlasting gratitude of our King, our
country, and our children?"
There was a deep murmur of applause. Every one was moved.
Even the more reflecting portion of the crowd recognised the truth
of many passages in the rousing speech of their Captain. The
enthusiasm of the younger men was wild. They applauded
vociferously, drawing their swords and waving them over their
heads, and it was with difficulty the voice of Sir William Lisle could
be heard. He was speaking in support of their Captain, and relating
the terror the fears of French invasions had roused throughout the
island, so much so that his own ancestor had withdrawn to the
mainland, like many others of the island population.
When he had finished, many other speakers followed; and at
last it was resolved that the Captain of the Wight should be asked to
select such as would be most serviceable in the cause, while such as
could not go should give of their substance to properly equip the
poorer sort.
So ended this memorable meeting; and, greatly pleased with
the success of the day, Lord Woodville returned to Carisbrooke.
In the course of the next week, so many gentlemen and
yeomen presented themselves eager to go on the expedition, that
Lord Woodville and his officers had some difficulty in making a
selection. But by the end of the week forty gentlemen, and about
four hundred yeomen, were enrolled, and directed to hold
themselves in readiness to sail early in the following week.
The excitement in the island was at this time intense. The
inhabitants felt the eyes of England were upon them; they felt proud
of themselves and of their gallant Captain; and there was scarcely a
family, whether rich or poor, which did not contribute some member-
-in many cases several--to the forthcoming expedition.
Ralph was very busy, like every one else in the castle. Weapons
and armour were given out, drill was incessantly going on, and all
the tailors in Newport were hard at work making surcoats for the
men-at-arms and archers. Every man of the expedition was to wear
a white tabard with the red cross of St George blazoned on it.
At last the important day arrived. Ralph had received permission
to visit his relations the evening before. It was an exquisite spring
evening, and the scene was lovely as he rode over the long hill
between Newport and Wootton.[*] Before him lay the winding creek
embowered in thick oak woods--those woods which gave the name
to his kinsman's branch of the Lisle family, and perhaps a name to
the little hamlet of Wodyton. Beyond stretched the undulating land
which hid the Monastery of Quarr, whose deep-toned bell was
sounding to complines across the still woods and glassy waters of
the creek; while away in the purple distance stretched the gleaming
Solent, unruffled by the slightest breeze, and bounded by the dim
Sussex shore.

[*] Wootton, in Domesday Book "Odetone;" called Wodyton in Bishop Woodlock's

Return of the Parishes in the Island; Woditone in the account of the watches kept
in the 18th of Ed. II., and in Cardinal Beaufort's Valuation, Woodyton; and in the
8th of Ed. III. Wodyton.

Ralph rode down into the valley, where the grey mist floated in
mysterious wreaths, from out of which the blue smoke of
Briddesford Manor rose like a faint column in the still atmosphere,
only to hang above the mist in a greyer cloud.
The young esquire felt sad for the first time. He found his cousin
awaiting him in the dark old porch. After a few words of friendly
greeting, Ralph became silent.
"Why, cousin Ralph, what aileth thee?" said his cousin.
"I hardly know, sweet cousin mine, and yet I do know, only
thou wilt laugh at me; and so I would not say what yet I fain
would."
Yolande smiled a sad smile, but she said quietly,--
"Nay, fair cousin, say it not. I know what thou thinkest. It may
never be. I told thee months ago. Thou wilt some day know how
true I spoke. We cannot all have what we wish; and even if we
could, we should soon wish for something else."
"Well, I would like to try," said Ralph bluntly.
"Ay, and so should I," sighed Mistress Yolande. "But, Ralph,
promise me thou wilt look well after thy lord. He is over
venturesome, and, I fear me much, he careth naught for life; indeed
I sometimes think he would rather go hence." Yolande's voice
became tremulous. She recovered herself after a pause. "Thou wilt
watch over him, Ralph? I know not why, but I feel I shall never look
upon him more!"
And so his lovely cousin had no more words for him than that
he should take care of his lord? No matter, Ralph felt he only lived
for her. He would willingly die to give her happiness. He simply
answered,--
"I will do my duty."
 They then went into the house, and Ralph took a respectful
adieu of old Sir William Lisle.
"Go forth, my kinsman, thou art a worthy son of our noble
house. I would well that thou, when thou returnest, shouldst take
daughter and lands, and rear up a stalwart line. But it will be as God
wills it. Take my blessing, and go forth to victory."
So Ralph left his kinsfolk, sadder at heart than he had ever been
in all his life, but resolved to bring back his lord in safety and glory
to the Wight, or die with him in France.
As he rode back over St George's Down--for he took a longer
way back, being in a dreamy and melancholy mood--the soft light of
the young moon shone in the pale primrose of the western sky. The
night-jar uttered its melancholy note, and flapped heavily past in the
silence of the evening, while a distant owl raised its plaintive cry
from the dark woods which faded in the grey and ghostly mist of the
northern valley. This was his last night in England. How many would
see their homes again of all that gallant band of high-spirited men?
But a step near at hand roused him from his reverie. Two
figures passed him almost unobserved. The slighter one turned to
look, gave a little sigh, and went on with its taller companion, who
seemed to walk with difficulty.

CHAPTER XXIII.
HOW THEY LEFT THE WIGHT.
The stirring sound of trumpets awoke Ralph at an early hour the
next morning. All the castle-yard was already busy with hurrying
men-at-arms, archers, and varlets. Sir John Trenchard, Tom o'
Kingston, and the other officers were giving orders and getting the
men into their places.
The great gates of the castle were wide open, the drawbridge
was lowered. Lady Trenchard and the domestics of the Captain's
apartments were looking down from the oriel window. The chapel
bell was ringing, and as many as could find room in the little building
were reverently assisting at the Mass, the last they should ever hear
in England performed by their worthy chaplain, who was going with
them.
In another hour the troops were drawn up, and a fine body of
men they looked. All those from the West Medene, or western
division of the island, had mustered at the castle. Those from the
East Medene were to muster at St Helens, where the embarkation
was to take place. But in spite of being little more than half their
strength, the small body of about two hundred and fifty men looked
very smart and serviceable.
On the right of the line drawn up in the courtyard were the
men-at-arms, a body of some forty cavaliers, armed from head to
foot in complete plate armour, and wearing the picturesque white
tabard with the red cross over their breastplates; behind these were
the custrils and grooms, all armed also, but with less complete body
armour. All this body of cavalry carried lances, daggers, and stout
long swords, while the men-at-arms, in addition, had the formidable
mace hanging from their saddle-bow.
 Next to the men-at-arms, on their left, were the mounted
archers--a most serviceable force--nearly all armed with back and
breastpieces, over a stout leathern jerkin, with plates of steel
strapped on their sleeves and thighs, and armed with round targets,
crossbows, slung behind their backs, long swords and knives. On
their heads they wore the salade, or open helmet, with the gorget
and chin-piece to protect their necks and upper part of the chest.
Many of them wore chain-shirts, or brigandines, under their steel
breast-plates, while these, like the men-at-arms, wore the white
tabard and red cross of St George.
The mounted archers rode stout ponies, called hobbies, and
were attended by another body of grooms, drawn up behind them.
To the left of all were the infantry, composed of the archers, armed
with their long bows, the celebrated weapon to which England owed
all her victories, and cloth-yard shafts hung in their quivers, a stout
sword on thigh, and a long keen knife in the belt. Some were
protected by defensive armour, but most were simply clad in
leathern jackets and stout leggings, with a steel cap on the head.
Like all the rest of the force, they wore the white tabard and red
cross. The billmen were armed and equipped like the archers,
without the long bows. Behind this division were the grooms and
camp followers, while on the left of all were the pack animals and
baggage train.
A loud flourish of trumpets now proclaimed that the Captain of
the Wight was mounting at the door of his hall, and in another
minute Sir Edward Woodville, in complete armour, only wearing a
velvet bonnet ornamented with an ostrich plume placed jauntily on
one side of his head, rode out in front of the line--
 "On his brest, a bloodie crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
For whose swete sake that glorious badge he wore,
And dead--as living ever--him adored.
Upon his shield the like was also scored--
For soveraine hope, which in His helpe he had."

Glancing down the line, and acknowledging the general salute with
which he was greeted, the Captain of the Wight gave the order to
march, and placing himself with his esquires and pages in the centre
of the column, the little force moved off. They tramped over the
drawbridge, amid the cheers of the small body of men left to
garrison the castle, and defiled down the steep road to Newport.
The march through the town was one long leave-taking.
Master Paxhulle looked at the cavalcade with mingled feelings of
satisfaction and chagrin. He was glad to have so formidable a rival
as Tom o' Kingston removed out of his way, but he did not at all like
to see the interest Mistress Bremskete took in him, or the sobs of
grief, intermixed with ejaculations of admiration, which broke from
her from time to time.
"Marry, Master Paxhulle, that's what I call a man. Oh! when
shall I see his like again?"
"Cheer up, Mistress Bremskete, there's a-many as good as he,
and much more likely to make an honest woman comfortable."
"Nay, nay; 'tis a parlous brave man, and one of a brave heart
withal. 'Tis a tender man, and one as'd let a woman have her own
way. And to think of his going to be killed in France!"
 "Nay! Now nay! Mistress Bremskete, 'tis the French they're
going to kill!"
"Ah, well, 'twill be a weary time for many a loving heart 'till they
be come back again."
And so it seemed, to judge by the weeping women who were
bidding their friends good-bye. The head of the column was now
passing over Copping Bridge, and their glancing spear-points and
fluttering pennons could be seen over the hedges of the long lane
which led up to the central ridge of the island. After they had
mounted the crest of Arreton Down, which divided the fertile and
sunny vale of Newchurch from the dense woods of the northern
shores of the island, a glorious view met their eye. The gleaming bay
of Sandown, bounded by the beetling cliffs of Culver on the east,
looking like walls of ivory rising from the azure sea; while on the
west loomed up the grandly swelling ridge of Boniface Down, and
the dim headland of Dunnose. Below lay the fertile land, smiling in
the morning sun, with hamlet, farm-house, and church nestling in
sheltering copse or woody dell.
"'Tis a fair land and a rich," said Lord Woodville, reining in his
horse to look at the lovely view. His glance took in the steep acclivity
above Appuldurcombe, and rested upon the darker shadow which
marked where the little Priory stood. With a sigh the Captain of the
Wight shook the reins of his horse and turned to pursue his march.
He gave no look to Briddelsford, which lay amid the northern woods,
and towards which Ralph was looking with wistful eyes, and spake
but little until they reached the end of Ashey Down.
Then a cry broke from the head of the column, for there lay the
ships that were to take them over the sea to the sunny land of
France, and it came home to all men that they might be looking on
their own fair home for the last time.
They descended to the valley below, and passing through Ashey
village they crossed the Brading road a little to the north of that
borough, where they were joined by a large body of men led by
young Oglander of Nunwell; they then skirted the beautiful Brading
creek, until rising once more they reached St Helens Green, and
descended for the last time to the old church by the sea. Here they
found all the rest of the band, and a great crowd of relations and
friends come to bid them God speed.
Ralph revelled in the busy scene, and, together with Dicky
Cheke and Maurice Woodville, superintended the embarkation of the
baggage. The four ships which were to take over the expedition
were lying in the narrow channel at the entrance to Brading Haven.
As the expedition marched down the steep declivity from St
Helens to the sandy spit thrown up by the winds and waves to form
a breakwater for the broad expanse of Brading Haven, the vessels
were being warped alongside the shingly beach. The tide was falling
fast, and by the time the baggage animals had reached the sea
beach, the sea had left the wide extending flat of sand and shingle,
so as to allow of all going alongside the flat-bottomed unwieldy
hulks of the transport vessels.
The work of embarkation went on all day, and by the time the
tide had risen over the beach again, every one was on board.
It was an exquisite evening, and its still beauty impressed all
hearts.
Astern of Ralph's ship lay the three other awkwardly-built, high-
prowed vessels, the rising tide seething past their anchor cables,
which quivered and vibrated in the rushing eddy. Every rope and
pulley, mast and yard, and fluttering bannerole stood out velvety
brown against the pale primrose, the orange gold, the purple and
grey of the western sky, while the still waters of that large mere
reflected the solemn shadowy hills, and the brilliant light of the
departed sun. The grey green mist of evening was creeping over the
distance, and the evening star flickered its glinting light across the
purling water. There was silence in nature, but not in man. Sounds
of merriment arose from the idly floating ships; songs and laughter,
and shouts to their friends upon the shore, where the flickering
firelight showed that many were camping out to take the last view of
their relatives.
Ralph could have wished to be alone: the noises jarred upon his
feelings. He moved away from the taffrail, where he had been sitting
watching the bubbles of the tide as it eddied under the stern post.
Dicky Cheke met him. That youth had already assumed quite a
nautical air, and was casting his eye aloft with all the assurance of an
old sea dog.
"Well met, Ralph," he said. "We shall have an air o' wind anon,
when the moon's set, and the tide's done flowing. You mark my
words. And hark ye, my son, doubtless as this is thy first trip to sea
thou'lt feel squeamish a bit, I reckon. Now, take my advice, eat a
hunk o' fat bacon, and quaff off a pint or so of good ale; 'twill fortify
thy stomach, and things won't come so much amiss afterwards. I'm
going to have a right merry feed with Maurice by-and-by. Thou hadst
best join us." And Master Cheke rolled off in proper sea-going
fashion, whistling, much to Ralph's amusement.
 But certainly that part of his remarks about the breeze was true.
A crisp little puff came off the land, blurring the soft reflection of
wood and hill, and star and purple sky; and as the tide had nearly
done, the skipper of the Captain's ship gave orders to weigh anchor
and set sail.

HOW THEY LEFT ST. HELENS, I.W.

This was joyous news. The cable was shortened until it was
nearly up and down. The large jib was run up to the foremast, and
the foresail dropped down from the yard, and with a "Yeo, heave,
yeo, break her out, my boys," the heavy anchor was hauled up to