A Lad of Grit: A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea in Restoration Times

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XX--What we Heard and Saw at Holwick.

  The rest of our journey northward passed almost without incident. Theday after our arrival at Godalming we rode quickly through Guildford toLondon, where we tarried no longer than we could possibly help, stayingthat night in the village of Highgate.

  Four days later, following the seemingly endless Great North Road, wearrived at the village of Bawtry, from which it is said most of our NewEngland colonists had come. This place is just over the Yorkshireborder, and to our unaccustomed ears the broad dialect seemed almost aforeign tongue.

  Here we stayed the night, intending to make an early start, so as to beat Holwick before sunset. An old farmer advised us to go by Thornerather than by Doncaster, and, taking his advice, we rode over a fairlylevel road, which in three hours brought us in sight of the formerplace.

  Here we followed a broad, sluggish river, whereon lay manybroad-bottomed craft not unlike those we had seen on the inland watersof the Dutch Republic. This river they call the Don. When we left itwe crossed another--the Aire--at a place called Snaith.

  We were now but a few miles from our destination, and our hopes andfears ran high. At Carleton we left the main road, and after a few milesof a narrow winding lane the gaunt tower of Holwick rose before us.

  The village was a straggling one, consisting of a few stone cottages, anindifferent inn, and a small church, its square tower, blackened byfire, a silent witness to a long-forgotten Scottish raid. From itslead-covered summit Old Noll himself had directed the attack upon myfather's stronghold.

  Poverty, through manorial neglect, was only too apparent, and I couldnot help exclaiming despondently: "Look, friends! What a heritage, andhardly a scrap of paper to prove my right to it!"

  We halted at the old inn, and enquired in a seemingly casual tonewhether we could be accommodated there. "For," quoth Felgate to theservile landlord, "we have a desire to know more of this old castle, andmethinks that good fishing is obtainable in this stream."

  "Eh, my masters," replied he, "'tis not to be beaten in all Yorkshirefor good sport--trout, dace, chub, and even the lordly salmon; and asfor t'old castle--well, 'tis said that spooks be about. Leastwise Inever care to go yonder missen, for strange noises affright the wholecountryside!"

  "Oh!" I ejaculated. "And is that so?"

  "Ay, young sir. With the disappearance of Sir Owen, the owner ofHolwick, after the taking of the castle some two-and-twenty years ago bythe malignants--and a curse be on 'em all--Sir Owen was last seenfighting his way through the rebel foot. They say he was killed, andhis body buried in the dry moat by the rebels; and ever since that timewe often hear most fearsome cries and noises."

  When we had arranged for a few days' stay, a serving man led our horsesaway, and we entered the best room of the place. It was anoak-panelled, wainscoted room, with a low, smoke-grimed ceiling that wastraversed by a massive beam. The floor was paved with large stones,while an ingle nook and settle imparted a cheerful aspect to theapartment. But what attracted my attention most was a mattock and acouple of spades, with the rich red clay still sticking to them, lyingin a corner of the room.

  "Is our host a gravedigger as well as an innkeeper?" asked Drake, hiseye following the glance I gave at the implements.

  "Nay, Greville, it means that we are forestalled; someone is already atwork here."

  "Who?"

  "I'll wager 'tis none other than that villain Increase Joyce."

  "Ho, landlord!" shouted Felgate, in a voice that sounded like thebellowing of a bull.

  Our host soon appeared, cringing and bowing like the menial that he was.

  "Where is the man that uses these things?" I demanded, pointing to thespades and mattock.

  Our host, taken aback, stammered some inaudible reply.

  "Speak up, man!" I commanded sternly.

  "'Tis but a king's officer making a survey of the castle."

  "King's officer, forsooth! Now, listen! As you value your hide, answertruly. We are king's officers; he is an arrant rogue and villain. Foraught I know you may be his accomplice. Now, where is he?"

  "He rode off this morning to Selby."

  "And he returns----?"

  "Sir, I know not--on my honour!"

  Whether the man lied or not I could not tell. His crafty face wasexpressionless.

  "Now, listen, sirrah! Say not one word that we are here, but directlyhe returns let us know. Fail us, or play us false, and you'll answer tothe king's justices at York."

  The landlord, thoroughly cowed, promised compliance, and we withdrew toa remote room to await events.

  Twilight was drawing in as the sound of horse's hoofs was heard on thehard road. We made our way to a window where we could overlook thefront of the inn, and the horseman proved without doubt to be the rogueJoyce, though he was arrayed more gaily than of yore, and aclose-trimmed beard hid the lower part of his face.

  The landlord took his horse to the stables where ours were kept, andJoyce made to follow, but with some inaudible remark the formersucceeded in inducing the villain to enter the house.

  In a few minutes we heard him calling for food and drink, and theclattering of knives and platters showed that he was appeasing hisappetite with zest.

  It was a pitch-dark night; a keen easterly wind whistled through thetrees, while rain-laden, murky, ill-defined clouds drifted across thesky.

  "Hist!" whispered Felgate, laying his hand on my arm.

  Cautiously out of the doorway crept the figure of a man, his formmuffled in a dark cloak, while a broad-brimmed hat was pulled down overhis face. In his hand he carried a horn lantern, while the jangle ofsteel showed that the spades were to be brought to work. It wasIncrease Joyce.

  With a stealthy tread he vanished down the road, hugging the buildingsas if fearful of meeting a benighted stranger in the now desertedvillage.

  Without a word we buckled on our swords and left the inn, followingcarefully in his track, pausing ever and anon to try and detect thesound of his footsteps.

  At length we came to the confines of the castle grounds, where a thickbelt of trees added to the already overpowering darkness. Gropingblindly forward, stumbling over roots and colliding with unseen trunksof trees, we continued our quest, fearful lest the crackling of a drytwig or the clanking of our weapons should betray our whereabouts.

  Just as we reached the far side of the wood the sudden gleam of alantern being lit arrested us. Simultaneously we dropped on thedew-sodden grass and awaited further developments.

  The ghostly light of the lantern flickered upon the grey walls of thetower, casting the long shadow of the man upon it in grotesque shapes.For a moment Joyce paused, then, turning towards us, began to walk,counting the paces as he went. At the thirty-second he set the lanterndown, and, plying his spade with great vigour, sent the soil in alldirections, some of the dirt falling close to us.

  For over an hour he delved, till his laboured breathing showed how greathis efforts were. Five feet down he dug, till the heap of soil hid himfrom us.

  "Now!" whispered Felgate, laying his hand on his swordhilt.

  "Nay! He has found naught. Let him enjoy his disappointment for awhile."

  Muttering curses at his want of success, Joyce dragged himself out ofthe pit and walked towards the castle, leaving the lantern on theground. Then he began to pace afresh, but in a different direction,till his form was lost in the darkness.

  For a while no sound save the occasional hoot of an owl and the rapidlydying breeze broke the stillness as we waited for some signs of therenewed efforts of the treasure seeker.

  Suddenly a hideous cry, so terrifying that it caused the blood to freezein our veins, echoed through the silence of the night. Accustomedthough we were to scenes of bloodshed and violence, this weird outburst,the concentrated expression of mortal agony, held us spellbound.

  Drake was the first to recover himself, and, springing to his feet witha shout, he drew his sword and dashed across the open space of gras
s,while we followed close at his heels.

  Stopping but for a moment to possess himself of the lantern, he made hisway in the direction from which the sound had come.

  Something compelled him to halt, and we stopped too. At our feet flowedthe stream, its weed-encumbered waters looking black and forbidding inthe dim light of the lantern, as with silent eddies it swirled betweenthe steep rush-lined banks.

  "Aubrey, that man is beyond your vengeance; a Higher Power has claimedhim," exclaimed Greville, pointing with his weapon at a dark objectthat, arrested by a dense growth of weeds, floated in the centre of thestream. It was the hat of the doomed man, but not a bubble marked thespot where he had sunk.

  In the presence of Death, that great leveller of rank and persons, weremoved our hats and stood in silence, our eyes riveted on the spotunder which the remains of my mortal enemy lay hidden from our view.

  Then, extinguishing the lantern, we made our way through the wood,regained the road, and returned to the inn.