CHAPTER XIII--The Escape
Strong hands seized the box and lifted it on to a cart, the roughsprings of which shook alarmingly as they felt the weighty load.
Then came a hurried discussion as to the destination of the booty, some,including the parish clerk, Fallowfield, who had gained the upperregions by means of the tackle, urging that it had best be taken andplaced in the tower of Worth Church, the others insisting that it wouldbe best to make one journey do, and convey it as close to Wareham aspossible, where their accomplices could make arrangements for itsdistribution.
The latter argument prevailed; a heavy tarpaulin was thrown over thecart, a whip cracked, and we were off. I could hear the sound of thebrushwood being replaced and the rough farewell greetings of thesmugglers, and, by the jolting of the cart and the muffled noise of thewheels, I knew that the route lay across a grassy down.
Presently I became emboldened sufficiently to clear away the materialthat prevented an outlook through the hole in the woodwork of the box.But my task was unavailing, for it was night, and the darkness sointense that nothing could be distinguished.
For quite half an hour the cart jolted over the sward, then the wheelsstruck the hard surface of a road, and the pace became quicker but moreeven.
There were but two men with the cart, and their conversation was carriedon in a series of short sentences spoken in the broadest Dorset dialect.
Presently a low oath came from one of the men, and the cart was draggedoff the roadway and hidden in a hollow, or such I thought it to be.
Wondering at the cause of this, I heard the sound of horse's hoofscoming nearer and nearer; then, with a deafening clatter on the stonyroad, the animal passed by, and the sounds died away in the distance.
"It be 'e, sure enow," muttered one of the men.
"Yes, it be. Howsoever 'e bain't seen we, so let's get the cart back tot' roaad."
Who the mysterious "'e" might be I could not discover; one of the king'sofficers, perchance, though in this lawless district they rarely ridealone.
The task of getting the cart back to the roadway was longer than the menhad reckoned upon, and when at length they succeeded, one remarked in abreathless voice that dawn was breaking.
Soon the light was sufficient for me to see out of my spyhole. We weredescending a steep hill, and on one side towered a lofty down, roundwhich the white mists of morning still hung like fleecy clouds.
"'Tis no use to go to Wareham," remarked one of the men. "We'd bestopped, sure as faate."
"That's so," replied the other. "There's but one thing to do."
"What's that?"
"Leave the stuff at Carfe and take caart home."
"Where?"
"Where! Why, in the castle, ye dolt!"
Soon the cart was being driven through a village street. I could seethe houses distinctly. They were all built of stone, and most of themwere roofed with stone as well. This, then, was Corfe, or Carfe, as theinhabitants call it.
Here a thought occurred to me to spring from my hiding place and make adash for freedom, but the weight of the tarpaulin, which was securelylashed down, prevented me; so I was perforce obliged to remain, thoughfirmly resolved to free myself at the first favourable opportunity.
The cart proceeded on its way, and passed through a wide marketplace inthe centre of which stood a cross. Then it rumbled over a stone bridgeand entered the courtyard of the castle.
Corfe Castle was well known by reason of its stubborn defence againstthe malignants during the Great Rebellion, Lady Banks having all butsuccessfully withstood a lengthy siege when rank treachery did its fellwork.
On the fall of the fortress it was "slighted" by order of Old Nollhimself, and the keep and walls were blown up with powder. So strongwas the construction of the masonry that the work of destruction wasonly partially done, though the keep was riven from base to summit, andseveral of the smaller towers were thrown bodily out of plumb.
This much I had heard from report, and now, in spite of my crampedposition, and faintness from want of food, I could not help looking withinterest on the shattered walls, which still showed the black marks ofthe powder, though now, after a lapse of twenty years, their barrennesswas beginning to be hidden by a kindly garb of ivy.
The fear of sorcery and witchcraft was firmly fixed in the minds of theDorset peasantry, and in consequence few would venture amid the grimruins by day, still less by night, so the smugglers' hiding place waspractically free from interruption.
The cart came to a sudden stop in an archway under the keep, and, with ahurried warning: "Look alive; the sun's nearly up", the men proceeded tounfasten the tarpaulin. This was done, the canvas fell in a heap on theground, and the men began to unload the straw.
The time for action had arrived. With a bound I sprang from the cart,nearly overthrowing the astonished men, who yelled with terror, as ifhis Satanic Majesty had suddenly appeared.
I did not stop to think in which direction I should run, but started offtowards a gap in the walls. Passing through this, I found myself on asteep bank, at the bottom of which a white chalky road led towards atown some miles away, the towers of whose churches were plainly visiblein the morning light, while away to the right was a large expanse ofwater which I guessed correctly was the harbour of Poole.
Descending the steep, grassy mound at a breakneck pace, I gained theroad and headed northwards, keeping the sun on my right hand. Afterrunning a quarter of a mile or so, and finding no signs of pursuit, Islackened my pace and walked, the effect of my prolonged fast being veryevident.
An hour later I was crossing a long causeway close to the town. Here Imet a cowherd, who looked at me in astonishment, my clothes being inrags and covered with wisps of straw, while my face, blackened withdirt, was surmounted by a crop of ruffled hair that did duty for a hat.
In answer to my question he told me that I was in Wareham, and a fewminutes afterwards I was sitting in a bakery, eagerly devouring ahalf-loaf and a cup of milk that a kindly baker provided for me.
Seeing that I was utterly exhausted, he allowed me to lie down in frontof his oven, and, in spite of the hardness of my couch, I slept soundlytill midday, when I was aroused by Greville Drake and some of the latecrew of the _Gannet_, who were being entertained in the town till theycould be conveyed to their homes.
I was, however, too ill to be moved; so the kindly baker, hearing mystory, and being informed of my rank, had me put to bed in his ownhouse, where later in the day a magistrate attended to take down mydepositions as to the gang of smugglers.
That night I got worse, and for three weeks I lay betwixt life and deathwith an ague brought about by the cold and exposure.
Then one morning I awoke to find my Uncle George sitting by my bedside.The kindly little man had heard of my being ill at Wareham, and hadimmediately travelled posthaste to my side.
From that day my recovery became rapid, and in less than a fortnight Icould sit up.
One afternoon, as the late autumnal sun was sinking in the west, I heardthe tramping of feet and the clanking of fetters. My uncle helped me tothe window, and on looking out I saw the whole gang of smugglers, savetwo who had preferred death to capture, being led through the town onthe way to Dorchester Jail.
Fortunately I was spared the ordeal of attending the trial, but I heardthat the gallows or transportation to the West Indies accounted for thewhole of the rascally crew, against whom the barbaric crime of wrecking,as well as smuggling, was proved right up to the hilt.
It was late in December, in clear, frosty weather, that we started onour homeward journey, proceeding by easy stages through Wimborne,Ringwood, and the New Forest to Southampton, and on the last day ofDecember of the year 1663 I arrived at Portsmouth again, after anabsence of over three years.
A Lad of Grit: A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea in Restoration Times Page 13