CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH
Petherick makes a Discovery
About an hour before Doubledick was embarked for Roscoff, a group of menemployed by Mr. Polwhele as his assistants stood on the bridge spanningthe stream that flowed through the village. It was freezing, and theystamped and swung their arms to keep themselves warm.
"'A said he would jine us by half-past nine o'clock," said one.
"Well, church-clock has tolled the half-hour, and 'tis gashly cold.What shall us do, neighbours?" asked a second.
"Go home-along, say I," a third answered. "He be a true man of hisword. Half-past nine, 'a said; half-past nine 'a meant, and if hebean't here 'tis a plain token he bean't a-comin'!"
"I tell 'ee what, neighbours," said the man who had first spoken."We'll gie un five minutes' law, as near as we can guess it by trampin'forth and back; then we'll wend up-along to Dower House and axe un fororders. I'll be sworn he be fillin' up his inside wi' high meat andnoble drink."
"Ay, and maybe figgy pudden or squab-pie," said another, licking hislips. "Do 'ee think, now, we bein' pore men all, they'd gie us a croustand a nibleykin, like the rich gaffer and Lazarus?"
"Jown me if we don't go straight as a line and see. Hey! step out,souls all."
They hurried into the village and up the hill, arriving at the DowerHouse about ten minutes to ten. The house was brightly lit, and fromwithin came sounds of laughter.
"Sech merry doings bean't for we poor souls," remarked one of the mendespondently.
"True, neighbour Pollard, we bean't all portigal sons," said another.
"You be a bufflehead, sure enough. The portigal son in the Book comedhome-along a beggar in rags, arter swallerin' pigs' wash."
"Ah well, I must ha' been thinkin' o' some other holy man."
"True; Lazarus was the man. Rap at the door, neighbours, and make agoodish noise, or ye won't be heerd through this yer racket."
Susan came to the door in answer to the knock.
"Please, ma'am, we be come," began Pollard, and then found it necessaryto swallow.
"Well I never! What be come for?"
"For Maister Polwhele, wishin' 'ee no harm. 'A said he'd jine us whenclock said half-past nine, and we'll be obleeged to 'ee if you'll say aswe be come for orders."
"Why, bless me, Mr. Polwhele went away when clock strook nine, and assober as a jedge."
"Well, souls, 'tis 'nation hard to traipse up that hill for nothing atall. We med as well go home-along and get to our beds. We be sorry tobring 'ee out, ma'am, such a bitter cold night, but 'twas to be."
"I wish 'ee well, poor souls," said Susan.
"A nesh young female," remarked one of the men, as they departed.
"She'd as lief as not ha' gied us some grog if I warn't sech a humblefeller of my inches. Hey! theer's a deal lost in this world by modestmen like we."
They shambled dolefully down the hill. Half-way down they were met bythe boatswain and six seamen from the cutter.
"Ahoy! mates," cried the boatswain, "have ye seen or heard anything ofMr. Mildmay?"
"Neither heerd a cuss nor seed the tip o's nose."
"Ah well, then. I thought you might have, coming along by Mr.Trevanion's house."
"Ha' ye seed or heerd anything o' Maister Polwhele, now?"
"Neither bowsprit nor whistle. No doubt he's with our officer, dancinga hornpipe, or whatever they do at fine gentlemen's parties."
"No, he bean't at Dower House. We've been to call for un. 'A told ushe'd jine us on bridge when church-clock strook half-past nine."
"That's curious, because Mr. Mildmay told us the same thing, putting thecutter instead of the bridge. Isn't Mr. Mildmay up there, then?"
"That we don't know. It didn't come into our heads to axe for he."
"Well, we'd better go up and put the question. Step out, messmates."
Mr. Polwhele's men returned with them, in the hope that the bold sailorswould ask for the grog, which their modesty had missed. The door wasagain opened by Susan.
"Now, my dear," said the boatswain, "we won't keep you in the cold.Just answer a little question. Is Mr. Mildmay aboard?"
"Dear life! First Mr. Polwhele, now Mr. Mildmay. No, sailorman, theyboth wented out together, a minute arter clock strook nine."
"Bless your pretty face! Well, messmates, we've had our cruise fornothing, unless this lovely lass will give us something to drink herhealth in."
"Here's Maister!" cried Susan, stepping aside hastily as John Trevanioncame to the door.
"Well, my men, what's this?" he asked genially.
"Please yer honour," began Pollard.
"Avast there!" cried the boatswain. "Mr. Mildmay was to come aboard bythree bells, sir, and seeing he was late, we made bold to come up herefor orders."
"Please yer honour," said Pollard, "Maister Polwhele telled we the same,only 'twas nine and a half bells wi' him."
"Well, my men, you're too late. They both left here at nine. But comein: 'tis a cold night, and you won't be the worse of something warm.Susan, bring a full jug and tumblers. No one shall leave the DowerHouse to-night without drinking success to the mines."
The men tramped in, voluble with thanks. Susan served them each with atumbler hot, and they left a few minutes later, with a high opinion ofMr. Trevanion's hospitality, and the comfortable feeling that they hadnot made their journey for nothing.
Sunday morning broke bright, frosty, and clear, the sun shining with abrilliance that belied the cold. About half an hour before church time,as Mr. Carlyon was conning over his sermon for the day, there entered tohim the pluralist of the parish, Timothy Petherick, constable, sexton,beadle, and bell-ringer. There was a scowl of annoyance upon his face.
"Well, Petherick, what is it?" said the Vicar, looking up.
"Yer reverence," said the man, "hain't I telled 'ee times wi'out numberthat the bats and owls do make a roostin' place o' holy church-tower?"
"I believe you have."
"Well, yer reverence, it didn' oughter be," said Petherick, smiting hisfist. "They heathen animals didn' oughter take up their habitation insech a Christian place. 'Like owl in desert,' says the Book, not 'likeowl in church-tower.'"
"Clear 'em out, and be hanged to 'em," said the parson. "Yet, afterall, they don't do any harm."
"No harm! Dash my bones, yer reverence--God forgi'e me for usin'Saturday words of a Sunday--they do do harm. Do 'ee think I can strikea true Christian note out o' the bell? No, not I; 'tis all clodgy, likethe spache of a man that's rum-ripe, and all because some owl orairy-mouse hev made his nest on the clapper, scrounch un."
"Well, go up the ladder and brush it off."
"Theer 'tis, now. What's happened o' the ladder, I'd like to know?Theer bean't no ladder. 'Twas theer yester morn, but not a mossel o'ladder be theer to-day. 'Tis bewitched, sure enough; some pixy ornuggy, or little old man, hev sperited un away in the night, for Isquinnied up-along and down-along, and never got a sight o't."
"Well, time is getting on. Do your best, Petherick. Someone hasborrowed the ladder, no doubt, and will bring it back to-morrow. Youshould lock the tower door, and then this sort of thing couldn'thappen."
Petherick retired, a man with a grievance. Entering the tower, he pulledat the bell-rope with a scornful air, and, indeed, the sound given outwas little like the clear note that ordinarily summoned the Polkerranfolk to worship.
They were on the whole good church-goers. At least half the populationwere regular attendants, some of the other half being Methodists, whopreferred going to "meeting." The principal smugglers were soundchurchmen to a man, and repeated the responses after the Commandmentswith great fervour, especially after the eighth, when they glaredreproachfully at Mr. Polwhele in his pew by the chancel steps.
In spite of the strangely muffled bell, there was an unusually largecongregation on this Sunday morning. The villagers, as their customwas, assembled in the churchyard, waiting un
til the Squire and hisfamily had passed into the church before they should follow to theirseats. Much animation was observable among them this morning, and whenDick walked up the centre path with his parents, he guessed that many ofthem were discussing the successful run of the previous night, and asmaller number the supposed deportation of Joe Penwarden. There was nosign of perturbation among them, whence he inferred that thedisappearance of Doubledick was not yet known. It was not uncommon forthe innkeeper, after a run, to absent himself for a day or two, so that,even if it were known that he had not yet returned to the inn, theywould feel neither surprise nor alarm. Nor was the failure of theirplot against Penwarden suspected. He had not spent the night in hiscottage. Dick had insisted that the old man should sleep at the Towers,in order that he might have a good supper, and that Mrs. Trevanion mightbathe and anoint his chafed wrists and ankles.
The Squire's large curtained pew was on the north side of the chancel,Mr. Polwhele's next. Opposite, and facing it, was John Trevanion's.The master of the Dower House looked particularly fresh and cheerfulwhen he strode up the aisle to his place. He smiled a greeting to one ortwo families with whom he was acquainted, carefully avoiding hisrelatives.
The village folk clattered in; the band in the gallery above the doortuned up their instruments; the toneless bell ceased to ring, and Mr.Carlyon having made his solemn entry, the service began.
The Vicar had just come to the end of the second lesson when, through apostern leading from the tower, came Petherick with a face full of news.He hastened to the reading desk, touched Mr. Carlyon on the sleeve, andsaid in a church whisper:
"Please, yer reverence----"
"Not now, Petherick," the Vicar whispered back. "Go to your seat."
"I bean't in fault, and say it I woll," said the man. Then in a lowtone, which, in the breathless silence of the congregation, penetratedto the remotest corner of the gallery, he added:
"Maister Mildmay and riding-officer was in belfry, tied round the middleto bell."
"God bless my soul!" murmured the astonished Vicar unconsciously. "Thisis unseemly," he said sternly: "'tis brawling. Go to your place,Petherick."
The beadle marched to his seat under the pulpit with the air of one whohad spoken his mind and scorned rebuke. Those of the congregation whohad been in the secret tittered when he made his announcement; thelarger number, who were vaguely aware that something had happened to theofficers, but did not know its nature, gazed at one another withstartled looks, which speedily changed to smiles. The occupants of theSquire's pew alone preserved their composure. Mr. Carlyon's stern looksilenced the giggles and whispers of the frivolous, and the serviceproceeded.
The hymn had been sung, the Vicar was in the midst of the prayer for theKing's Majesty, and had just recited the words "our most gracioussovereign Lord King George," when a man quietly entered from the outerporch, and stood within the church beneath the gallery. The heads ofthe congregation were bent forward, so that his presence was unnoticed.The prayer came to an end; everybody said "Amen," but one voice roseabove all the rest. It was that of the new-comer. Tonkin, in his pew afew paces down the aisle, started and turned his head like onethunderstruck. A bruise was noticeable on his right cheek. All heldtheir breath as Joe Penwarden marched steadily down the aisle to hisseat near the riding-officer's. As he passed the Vicar, he raised hishand to the salute, then knelt quietly at his place, where the colouredsunbeam, streaming in through the south window, lit up hisweather-beaten face.
That dramatic scene in the church was talked of in Polkerran for many along year. A deep hush had fallen upon the whole congregation; even themost fractious and fidgety children felt awed, by they scarcely knewwhat. Consternation held the smugglers rigid in their seats. JohnTrevanion's face turned sea-green, and the smile by which he tried toconceal from the congregation the mingled emotions--surprise, rage, evenfear--that possessed him, did but reveal them the more clearly to twopair of eyes in the Squire's pew.
Meanwhile the Vicar had turned over a few leaves of his prayer-book.Now, in a peculiarly solemn tone, he began to read the thanksgiving "Forpeace and deliverance from our enemies." The words rolled through thechurch: "We yield Thee praise and thanksgiving for our deliverance fromthese great and apparent dangers wherewith we were compassed"; and atthe close Penwarden's voice was again uplifted in a loud and prolonged"Amen."
Mr. Carlyon was a man of tact. He knew very well that his people wouldbe on tenter-hooks until they could discuss these strange incidents. Itwas no time to preach to them. A sermon was not an essential part ofthe service. Accordingly he finished the order for morning prayer andgave the Blessing without ascending into the pulpit. The congregationstreamed forth. Tonkin and his friends in a knot hurried down to theinn, followed closely by the tub-carriers of the previous night, whomDoubledick had invited to meet him there. John Trevanion came outalone, and walked rapidly homeward, without a word or a look to anyone.The rest went their several ways, except the Squire and his family, andPenwarden, whom Mr. Carlyon invited to the Parsonage. There they foundMr. Mildmay and the riding-officer sitting in the sunlight at an openwindow, sipping toddy and taking snuff, thoughtfully brought to them bythe housekeeper.
"Upon my word," said the Vicar, on beholding their wrathfulcountenances, "if I had not so lately taken off my surplice I fear Ishould laugh. What is the meaning of it, gentlemen?"
It is regrettable, but the truth must be told. The two officers, Mrs.Trevanion not having entered the room, let forth a flood of languagesuch as certainly had never before been heard within those walls.
"Come, come," said the Vicar, "remember my cloth. I will change mycoat, and then ask you to tell me calmly, as befits the day, all thathas happened."
"Your cousin, Squire----" began Mr. Mildmay, on the Vicar's departure,but he choked.
"Is a consummate scoundrel, sir," said Mr. Polwhele for him.
"He hoodwinked us," said the lieutenant.
"He trapped us," cried the riding-officer.
"Calmly, gentlemen," said the Vicar, re-entering. "Now, Mildmay."
"He invited us to his house----"
"And laughed and joked," put in Mr. Polwhele.
"And made himself deuced pleasant," said Mr. Mildmay.
"One would think they were parson and clerk," said the Vicar under hisbreath.
The hint was taken, and Mr. Mildmay was able to speak a few sentenceswithout interruption.
"Well, we left together, Polwhele and I, at nine o'clock, as weintended. 'Twas pitch dark. We had quitted the grounds but half aminute, and were walking along by that stone hedge near the mine-shaft,when we fell headlong over a rope stretched across the road. Before wecould get to our feet, hang me if a crowd of ruffians didn't flingthemselves upon us and well-nigh choke the breath out of our bodies. Ihit out----"
"So did I," said Mr. Polwhele, his feelings overcoming him.
"So did Polwhele. I barked my knuckles."
"So did I," said Mr. Polwhele.
"So did Polwhele; but we might have been fighting air for all the goodwe did. The rascals held us down while they gagged and roped us----"
"And never a word said," put in the riding-officer.
"No, confound it all! 'Twas too dark to tell black from white. All thescoundrels were masked, and didn't breathe a word we could identify 'emby. They roped us so that we couldn't move hand or foot, and carried uswe didn't know where----"
"Except that it was over plaguey rough ground. I was jarred and joltedtill I felt as if all my joints were loose."
"So was I," said Mr. Mildmay. "I knew no more till I found myself beinghauled up a ladder, and then, confusion seize them! they lashed me tothe bell----"
"Mildmay on one side, I on t'other, the same rope going all round."
"And there they left us all night. I didn't get a wink of sleep----"
"Nor I----"
"Till the morning, and as soon as I dropped oft, that dunderheadPetherick must pull the bell-rope, and I fe
lt a great thwack in thesmall of my back, and woke in a desperate fright. There was a secondthump, and then it stopped, and we had peace for a few minutes."
"That was when Petherick was telling me that I really must clear thetower of owls and bats," said the Vicar.
"Bats!" cried Mr. Polwhele. "They were whisking me in the face allnight."
"And the owls were tu-whooing like fog-horns," said Mr. Mildmay. "Thenthe thumping began again, and I was jarred till I thought I should die.Then there came a horrible noise of fiddles and serpents and clarinetsfrom below, and yowling and growling, and soon after Petherick's headappeared through the hatch, and he had the impudence to laugh in ourfaces. When he had done cackling, he loosed us, and we crawled down theladder more dead than alive, and here we are."
"PETHERICK'S HEAD APPEARED THROUGH THE HATCH."]
"And I lay my life 'twas John Trevanion's plot," cried Mr. Polwhelehotly. "Never has such a scandalous outrage been known in Cornwallbefore. The Judas came to the door and bade us good-night, and said hewas sorry we must go, but duty must be done--the detestable hypocrite."
"There was certainly more art in it than the village folks are capableof," said the Vicar. "By----dear me! I am forgetting myself, but itbrings back to me the pranks we played at Oxford. I remember----butthere, that's best told on a week-day. You'll find it hard to proveanything against John Trevanion, my friends."
"That's the cunning of the villain," said Mr. Mildmay. "But I'll keep alynx-eye on him for the future, and my gentleman will overreach himselfone of these days. No doubt he made a fine haul last night."
"He did so," said Penwarden, who had remained in the background. "Thecarriers made five trips betwixt the cave and the well, and though Icouldn' see 'em, I reckon they ran summat nigh two-hundred tubs."
"Bless my soul, where do you spring from, Joe?" cried theriding-officer.
"Ah, sir, there be no spring left in my aged frame. I bean't what I wasin my young days, when I served wi' Lord Admiral Rodney. But I'm notdead yet, thanks to Maister Dick, and I'll be on duty to-morrer, sir,same as ever."
"Come, Joe," said the Vicar, "we must hear all about it. I own I almostforgot where I was when I saw you tramp up the aisle just now."
"The Squire's lady did say I wasn't to get up, Pa'son, but when I wokedand found 'em all gone-along to church, I couldn't bide wi'out goin' upto the House of the Lord like holy David, and givin' my humble andhearty thanks to the Almighty."
He related how, at dead of night, he had been hauled from his bed byhalf-a-dozen masked figures, carried to the well, let down in a basket,and taken to the place where Dick had found him.
"'Twas that 'nation rascal Doubledick at the bottom of it," he said."When I laid there flat on a plank, wi' a blanket atween my teeth, and agashly ache in every inch o' my body, I could ha' borne it all like aholy martyr, but for the villain's tormentin' mouth-speech. 'A triedhis best to change his tone o' voice, but I knowed un through it all.'You be agoin' on yer travels,' says he. ''Tis uncommon spry in 'ee atyer time o' life, wonderful brave in a old aged feller. And ye'll layyer bones in a furrin grave, wheer ye'll bide till Judgment Day, andwhen the trump wakes 'ee and they axe 'ee what be doin' in a strangeheathen land, ye'll have to tell, 'twas because ye couldn't keep yertongue from evil speakin', nor yer hands from pickin' and stealin'. Ah!'tis a sorrerful sight to see a old ancient like 'ee goin' the way toeverlastin' bonfire for sech ungodly deeds.' So 'a went on a-rantin'and ravin' till I come nigh bustin' wi' the rage inside me. But Ireckon he sings another tune now. 'Tis he hev gone on his travels, andhe dussn't show his face here no more, for 'twill be transportation ifhe do."
It was Dick's turn to recount the steps of his discovery, and he learntfrom Penwarden the explanation of the only point that still puzzled him:why he had found the front door of the cottage unlocked. Penwarden saidthat one of the kidnappers had opened the door to keep a look-out. Thepresumption was that, after locking the back door behind his comradeswhen the deed was done, he had merely closed the front door, probablybecause he was in haste to rejoin them.
While Dick told his story, the Vicar was turning over the yellow leavesof an old leather-bound manuscript book.
"Ah! I have it," he exclaimed at length. "This is the diary of WilliamHammond, vicar of this parish eighty years ago--material for my poorstarveling history, Trevanion. You have seen his name on the tablet inchurch. Listen. 'To-day I read the burial service for seven men ofthis parish, to wit, Anthony Hallah, Francis Hocking, John Tregurtha,John Maddein, Richard Kelynack, Paul Tonkin, Thomas Rowe, who 'tissupposed were overwhelmed in the late landslip beyond St. Cuby's Cove.Their bodies have not been recovered, but I yielded to the entreaties oftheir families that I would recite the solemn office of the Church, thattheir souls might rest in peace.' Do you see the story in this? Thepoor fellows were smothered while running a cargo into the cave whichDick found blocked up. Naturally the place was shunned by thesmugglers, and I daresay it was years before a new generation made forthemselves the hiding-place Dick has discovered. No doubt it is in thepart of the cliff that bulges over the sea. They must have hollowed outthe chamber, and pierced a hole in its floor, and you might havesearched for ever, Mr. Mildmay, without perceiving from below thetrapdoor with which it was concealed. No doubt, as Dick suggests, theyhave traded on the superstitions of the people in regard to the ghost atthe well, and the fact that they seldom needed to use the hiding-placehas helped them to preserve their secret. This will be a terrible blowto the smuggling hereabouts, and 'tis an extraordinary thing that itshould be due to Dick, whose intervention has been brought about sostrangely."
"Confound it, Dick, you ought to be in my place," said Mr. Mildmay witha rueful look. "Here have I been dashing about in the cutter, andPolwhele riding up and down, and all the fuss and fury not half soeffective as your quiet use of your wits. 'Tis a dash to one's properpride."
"There was a great deal of luck about it, sir," said Dick. "If Samhadn't overheard the conversation between John Trevanion and Doubledick,we might have puzzled our wits for years without getting at the truth."
"Ah!" said Mr. Carlyon with a chuckle, "and there's a lady in the caseas usual. I understand that Sam takes a brotherly interest in Mr.Trevanion's maidservant--a very good girl, behaves well in church, andseems most attentive to my sermons. Upon my word, Squire, we owesomething to John Trevanion after all."
"Humph!" grunted the Squire. "What does the Book say, Vicar? 'Thewicked diggeth a pit, and falleth into it himself.' That is true in thecase of Doubledick, at any rate."
"And he's no loss to us," said Mr. Polwhele. "Without a doubt he hidthat ruffian Delarousse. I suppose they'll now be hob-a-nob together inRoscoff. What's that at the window?"
He sprang up and put his head out.
"Do 'ee feel better now, sir?" asked Petherick, sympathetically.
"What are you doing there, Petherick?" asked the Vicar, recognising hisvoice.
"I wer just a-comin' along to tell 'ee wheer I found ladder, yerreverence. 'Twas in the ditch over beyond the linney, and be-jowned ifI wouldn' give a silver sixpence, poor as I be, to know who 'twas carr'dun theer. We must clear out these owls and airy-mouses, to be sure."
"Well, set about it to-morrow," said the Vicar, closing the window.
"I'll be bound the fellow has heard all that we've said," cried Mr.Polwhele.
"Then you may be sure it will be all over the parish to-morrow," saidMr. Carlyon.
The Adventures of Dick Trevanion: A Story of Eighteen Hundred and Four Page 17