CHAPTER XIX--How Three Horsemen set out for the North
Punctually to the minute our steeds were brought round, the farewellswere said, and with a loose rein we cantered down the narrowcobble-paved street towards the Landport Gate. The horses' hoofs echoedunder the dark gateway and clattered across the drawbridge, the town ofPortsmouth was left behind, and the dense cluster of timbered andred-tiled houses gave place to verdant fields and clumps of tall treesthat even now were beginning to burst into leaf.
We were each armed with sword and pistols, for the highways were farfrom safe, and we wot not what awaited us at our journey's end. Thefine spring morning told on our spirits and we were in good humour.Conversation, mingled with laugh and jest, flowed fast, and one wouldhave imagined we were setting out for a holiday rather than on anexpedition on which fortune, nay life and death, depended.
At the summit of Portsdown we halted to look back upon the good oldseaport once more, then we cantered easily down the long slope to thevillage of Purbrook. Then came the steady climb through the Forest ofBere, where memories of a journey seven years before rose before mymind.
At Butser we reined our horses while I pointed out the scene of myencounter with the three Dorset smugglers. Then we reached the loftysummit of the road, from which the magnificent view of the valley of theRother could be seen under its fairest conditions.
At Petersfield we stopped for our midday meal, and after giving ourhorses a well-earned rest, we resumed our way northward till the boldheadline of Hindhead loomed up in front of us.
At Rake we stopped to visit the scenes of old associations, calling inat the "Flying Bull", where Giles Perrin, now grey-haired, bent, anddecrepit, still followed his calling.
"Lord ha' mercy on me if 'tis not young Master Wentworth!" he exclaimed,showing that, though grown in stature, I had not outgrown the appearanceof my boyhood; and when Drake told him of my newly found title, the oldman tottered away to let the frequenters of the inn know the news;whereat we, unwilling to tarry longer, pushed on towards the toweringheights of Hindhead.
Presently we crossed a heath beyond which we could perceive the villageof Liphook. In the distance we could make out a crowd of people whoseinfuriated shouts were plainly audible.
"Come on, lads, let's see what this uproar means!" shouted Felgate, and,setting spur to our steeds, we soon covered the distance that laybetween us and the howling mob.
The cause of the tumult was soon plain. At the outskirts of the villagewas a small stagnant pond, by the side of which was erected a post witha swinging beam. At one end of the beam was a rough chair in which wasbound a miserable old woman of repulsive appearance, whose face bore alook of mute despair. Around her the crowd surged, yelling: "Duck her!Duck the witch!" while eggs and filth were thrown with no uncertain aimat the unhappy specimen of humanity whom the mob had seen fit to bait.
As we approached, the crowd, too intent to notice our coming, had seizedthe beam and were swinging it over the pond with the object of immersingthe occupant of the ducking stool.
We reined in for a moment to take counsel amongst ourselves.
"Rescue her by all means," said Felgate.
"But she is a witch; beware of the evil eye," demurred Drake, who, likeall West-countrymen, deeply believed in witchcraft and sorcery, far moreso than dwellers in other parts of England.
"Witch or no witch, she is a woman," retorted Felgate, "and it behovesall true gentlemen to protect a woman in danger."
With that we spurred forward and reached the outskirts of the crowd justas the great beam was being slowly lowered into the water.
"Hold!" shouted Felgate authoritatively, forcing his horse into thepress. The mob gave way, still shouting fierce imprecations against theterrified old woman, and making hostile demonstrations against theinterrupters of their fiendish sport.
"Who is responsible for this conventicle?" he continued, urging hishorse towards the ducking stool.
"I am, worthy sir," replied a short, stout man with heavy, beetlingbrows, who stood his ground doggedly.
"And who are you, sirrah?" demanded Felgate, giving him a fierce lookthat cowed him for the time. "And where is your warrant for this deed?"
"By virtue of the act passed in the reign of His Majesty King James theFirst, of blessed memory, concerning the punishment of sorcerers,witches, warlocks, and the like."
"Tut, tut, man, the statute is dead! Have you a magistrate's warrant,Form 226, giving you authority for this? Quick, answer me! I am aKing's officer, so on your peril speak truly!"
The man shook his head.
"Then let her go free!"
Here the mob redoubled its cries, and a few missiles came hurtlingthrough the air towards us.
"Draw, comrades, draw!" shouted Felgate, and, unsheathing our swords, weurged our horses through the crowd till we reined up abreast of ourchivalrous friend.
"Would ye have 'em take a witch out of your hands?" cried the officiousman, appealing to the crowd.
"No! No! Down with them, and death to the witch!" came like a hoarseroar from the excited crowd.
"Ay, ay, down with them!" repeated their incautious leader, seizingFelgate's horse by the bridle and attempting to force it on itshaunches.
His ill-advised action soon earned its reward, for Felgate struck him aheavy blow with the hilt of his sword, then, clutching at him as hefell, he backed his horse through the crowd till he reached the edge ofthe pond. Then with a mighty effort he flung the man into the slimywater, where he fell with a heavy splash. A moment later he reappeared,clambered to the bank, and made his way towards the village, cursing usat the top of his voice.
But the danger was not yet over, for the mob showed signs of a combinedand active resistance. Fortunately we were together by the side of thepool, so that none of our attackers could get behind us.
"Draw your pistols and fire at the first man who steps forward!" saidFelgate, loud enough for all to hear him.
At the sight of six levelled weapons the crowd drew back; then,satisfied that the cowards were properly cowed, Felgate jumped from hishorse, made his way to the ducking stool, and cut the bonds that heldthe old crone to the chair.
Baulked of their prey, the mob still surged round us, and with a shoutof: "Let 'em have the cat!" a great black object was sent flying towardsus, and, striking my horse on the crupper, resolved itself into anenormous black cat, that spat and howled, digging its claws into thehorse's hide, and arching its back like the demon cat that is thereputed companion of every witch.
A word from the old woman caused the animal to jump towards her, and,climbing on her shoulders, it mewed and purred with a fearsome delight.
Lifting the beldam to his horse, Felgate placed her pillionwise behindhim. We closed in on either side, and, forcing our way through the mob,our pistols still pointed ominously at them, we gained the highroad oncemore, and trotted unmolested through the village of Liphook.
Now that the danger was past, Drake and I could not help laughing at ourcavalier companion and his fair burden, for the hag had clasped himtightly round the waist with her skinny arms, while the cat, perched onher shoulders, was rubbing its head against the back of Felgate's plumedhat, so that it was being continually thrust over his eyes despite hisfrequent attempts to place it firmly on his head.
"How far do you journey with your gentle burden?" quoth Greville.
"Bless me for a landlubber if I thought of it at all!" replied Felgate."Say, mistress, where shall we set you down?"
"At the top of the Devil's Punch Bowl, if it pleases you, sir," repliedthe old woman in a quavering voice, "for then I shall be safe."
"'Tis a big request, Felgate," I remarked, knowing that the summit ofHindhead, close to which the Bowl is situated, was a good six miles off,and an uphill road the whole way.
"Never mind; a good deed but half done is a sorry performance." Andwith this we set spurs to our horses and trotted briskly up the longslope that led to the towering heights that showed cle
arly before us.
Although I had oft journeyed across this bleak hill, never before had Iseen it under such depressing circumstances. The sun had long vanishedbehind a bank of dark-grey, undefined clouds, while a cold wind howledacross our path, moaning through the treetops and raising clouds ofchoking dust on the sun-dried highway.
Just as we reached the summit, where the road makes a vast horseshoecurve round the dark, forbidding cavity known as the Devil's Punch Bowl,a heavy rainstorm came on, blotting out the horizon, while a vivid flashof lightning, followed at a short interval by a tremendous clap ofthunder, startled our horses, and, be it confessed, ourselves as well.
"Thunder in April! And in company with a witch! This smacks of HisSatanic Majesty with a vengeance!" muttered Drake, drawing closer to me.
"Set me down here, sir," whined the hag, and Felgate having done so, sheturned towards us.
"I have not far to go now--my home is down there," indicating with askinny finger the rain-blotted heathery pit beneath us.
"And now," she continued, "take an old dame's blessing for your kindnessin helping the helpless, and may success reward your search."
"Our search?" exclaimed Greville, astonished at her words.
"Ay, your search," mumbled the old crone.
"And shall we succeed?" I asked.
"Not till the waters run dry!" she replied mysteriously, and with thatanother flash of lightning left us blinking in semi-darkness. When welooked round the witch had gone. A moment later we saw her making herway with great agility down the steep slope of the Bowl, till shedisappeared from our view behind a large clump of heather and gorse.
"Well, I'm----," and here Felgate broke off for want of a word toexpress his surprise.
"How did she know we were on a treasure hunt?"
"That's more than I can tell," replied Drake, and drawing our cloakstighter around our shivering bodies, we rode down the hill, silent anddepressed, through the driving rain, towards the town of Godalming.
A Lad of Grit: A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea in Restoration Times Page 19