The Yeoman Adventurer

by George W. Gough

  CHAPTER XI

  IN WHICH I SLIP

  Sultan was a horse for a man, long and regular in his stride, perfect inaction, quick to obey, cat-like at need. I might have ridden him from theday on which the blacksmith drank his colt-ale, for we understood eachother exactly, and I was as comfortable on his back as in my bed at theHanyards. In the open road at the mere-end, he settled down into a steady,loping trot, and I was free to think matters out to the music of hishoof-beats on the road.

  It was only eight or nine miles into Newcastle, and as the dragoons wouldtravel slowly and warily there was just a chance that I should be therefirst. Further, it was wholly unlikely that I should be interfered with,since the only two enemies who knew I was aiding Mistress Margaret werehelpless in my rear--Brocton at Stafford, and the sergeant in the "Ring ofBells." I was unknown in the town, not having been there since myschooldays, and then only on rare occasions, as a visit to the town meanta thirty-mile walk in one day.

  Plan-making was futile. Everything would depend upon chance, but ifchance threw me into touch with the Colonel, it should go hard if I didnot free him somehow or other. The most splendid thing would be if I couldfree him before Margaret overtook me at the "Rising Sun." True, I had onlyan hour or so to spare, but now strange things happened in an hour of mylife, and this great luck might be mine. Then would come my rich and rarereward--the light in her deep, blue eyes and the tremulous thanks on herripe, red lips.

  And then a thought smote me like a blow between the eyes, so that Idizzied a moment, and the day grew grey and the outlook blank. The findingof the Colonel meant the losing of Margaret. Father and daughter reunited,my work would be done; the day of the hireling would be accomplished. Needfor me there would be none. The old life would again claim me, justlyclaim me too, for was I not, though all unworthily and unprofitably, theonly son of my sweet mother, and she a widow. I could see her in thehouse-place at the Hanyards, her calm eyes fixed in sorrow on my emptychair. _A man shall leave father and mother_, yes, for one particularcause, but the only son of a widowed mother for no cause whatsoever.Christ, I said to myself, would not have raised the young man of Nainmerely to get married.

  Still there was the work, and I spurned my gloomy thoughts and turned tothink of it. And first I took stock of my means of offence. There wereloaded pistols in the holsters, fine long weapons with polished walnutstocks inlaid with silver lacery and the initials 'C.W.', the Colonel'swithout a doubt. At the saddle-bow there hung a sizeable leathern pouch,and this I found to contain a good supply of charges. I was a sure shot,and I tried my skill on a gate as Sultan flew by, splintering the latch atwhich I aimed to a nicety, the well-trained horse taking no more notice ofthe shot than of a wink at a passing market-wench. So far so good. Thenthere was the sergeant's tuck, and I shouted with a schoolboy's glee athaving for the first time in my life a sword at my side. Of how to use itI knew nothing, unless many bouts at single-stick with Jack should be somesort of apprenticeship in swordcraft. I practised pulling it out, andthen, imitating Brocton, made the forty-inch blade twist and tang in theair, which pleased me greatly. I felt quite a Cavalier now, and saidwithin myself that old Smite-and-spare-not's bones should soon be rustlingin their grave with envy.

  And so into Meece, wondering if the fat host of the "Black Bull" wouldrecognize in the splendidly mounted horseman the dusty schoolboy of tenyears ago. There he was in the porch, grown intolerably fatter, talking tomy ancient gossip, Rupert Toms, the sexton, now heavily laden with yearsand infirmities. I pricked on, having no time to spare for either prayeror provender, since every moment was precious, though a tankard of doubleOctober, mulled with spice and laced with brandy, would have been precioustoo, for the matter of that.

  At the tail of the village, where the curve of the road runs into thestraight again to climb the long hill, I came for a moment into touch withmy affair. A horseman was in sight, rattling down the slope, and I sawthat he was an officer, a keen-featured, middle-aged man, with the setface of one who rides on urgent business. Yet he checked his horse whennear me, and cried curtly, "What news from Stafford?"

  A word with him might be worth while, so I too pulled up and answeredvery politely, "It's market-day."

  "Damn the market! What news of the troops, sir? Is my Lord Brocton stillthere?"

  "I believe he is."

  "Then damn my Lord Brocton! Did you chance to see him?"

  "I had that honour late last night."

  "Anything the matter with him?"

  "He'd had enough," said I simply.

  "That's what comes of shoving sprigs of your bottle-sucking nobility intothe service. Damn his nobility! There's another of them back yonder, asmuch use as an old tup."

  "If I detain you much longer," said I, with exaggerated sweetness,"you'll be damning me."

  "Nothing likelier. I damn everything and everybody that don't suit me.That's why I'm captain at fifty instead of colonel at thirty. What of it?"

  "Lord Brocton's nine miles off, and I'm not."

  "Think I care? Damn you, too, and I'll fight you when we meet again. Likea lark! Wish I'd time now. Good day, sir!"

  He dug the rowels into his horse and was off. An earnest, choleric manwith his heart in his work, for which I liked him, even to his persistentdamning.

  I put Sultan to the slope and he kept bravely at it till I eased him offwhere the rise was steepest. My late encounter clearly meant that affairswere ripening fast farther north, and it might also mean danger behind mesooner than I had looked for. The blood danced in my veins at the prospectof the adventures that awaited me. Ho, for life and work! Would it be longbefore the blue eyes lanced me through and through again, as when I kissedher hand among the trees by the roadside? I looked at the frosty sun andjudged that it was nigh on twenty-four hours since I had stood in theporch and watched mother and Kate across the cobbles into theroad--twenty-four hours that had done more for me than the twenty-four yearsthat had gone before them, for they had given me a man's task, a man'sthoughts, the stirrings of a man's being, the beginning of a man's agony.

  We were at the top now with the open country stretching for miles aroundus. But the dale beneath, through which the main road ran a mile away tothe east, was thick with trees, and I could get no inkling of how thingswere going. I strained my ears to listen, but no warning sound could Ihear. The countryside was still and calm as a frozen sea, and war and itsterrors seemed so impossible that for a moment I felt as if it was only adream-life that I was living and that I must wake soon and hear Joe Braggstrolling out his morning song in honour of Jane. But Sultan craned roundhis shapely head as if to ask me why I was loitering in the cold, bleakair; so with a cheery slap on his glossy neck, I gave him the reins andaway he went, with me spitting ghostly Broctons on the sergeant's tuck.Through the skirts of the woodland he carried me, and then up again tillon the top of Clayton Bank I pulled him up a second time for anothersurvey of the situation.

  The little town was now in full view a mile ahead, lying on the slope andtop of some rising ground. Across the meadows to my right, and now plainlyto be seen less than half a mile away, was the main road from Stone. AgainI was disappointed. A long, rude post-wagon, pulled by eight horses anddriven by a man on an active little nag, was groaning its way south; asolitary horseman was ambling north--and that was all I could see.

  What had happened to the Colonel? Were the dragoons in the town or not? Idug my heels into Sultan's flanks and put him to it at his best, and in afew minutes was on the outskirts of the town.

  The town consists in the main of two streets. The High Street is simplythe town part of the main road from the south and Stone to Congleton andthe north--the line along which the Stuart Prince was marching. Itdeserves its name, for it lies along the edge of the slope on which thetown lies. Parallel to it in the dip lies Lower Street, and the road I wason curls past the end of this street and climbs gently to join the upperroad. I could thus get into the heart of the town through the poorerquarter of it, and soon the kidne
y-stones of Lower Street rang underSultan's hoofs.

  The stir and noise of Stafford was completely absent. The townspeople,mainly hatters by trade, were plying their craft indoors as if no enemywere at their gate. In fact, as I learned afterwards, there was no fussand much fun and good business when the Highlanders actually came on thescene. The farther a town was from them the more it funked them, whichwas, as everybody knows now, truest of all of London. As I turned up thelane by St. Giles', the church bells chimed two. Past the church in thecorner between the lane and the High Street was the "Rising Sun." OnceSultan was safe in its stables I could set about getting news of theColonel before Margaret and Master Freake arrived.

  It was stiff work up the last thirty yards, and Sultan shook himselftogether after it when he drew out on the level High Street. Here werethrongs of people and some signs of trouble toward. In particular Inoticed the town fathers in their black gowns of office, and, mostconspicuous of all, the crimson and fur of his worship. I judged they werecoming from a council meeting in the town hall, which stood in the middleof the wide High Street. There was much high debate, wagging of fingersand smiting of fist in palm, but no approach to the tumult and terror ofyesternight. The Mayor stood for a moment confabbing at the door of agrocery, and then shot into it. I saw him struggling out of his gown as hedisappeared, and thence inferred that the chief burgess was a grocer inprivate life.

  So much I saw before pulling Sultan round to pass under the archwayleading into the yard of the "Rising Sun." I dismounted and called for anostler. No man appearing, I was about to lead Sultan farther down the yardtowards the stables when there was a scurry of feet behind me as if thewhole ostler-tribe of the "Rising Sun" was hastening to my assistance. Iturned round rattily to find myself looking into the barrel of a pistol,while three or four men pounced on me and pinned me against the wall.

  "Damn ye, horse-thief, for the black of a bean I'd blow your brains out,"said Colonel Waynflete. "Stick tight, lads; and you, good host, fetchalong Master Mayor and the constable, and have me the scoundrel laid bythe heels. If this were only my commandery on the Rhine! I'd strappado youand then hang you within the next half-hour. My bonny Sultan! How are you,my precious?"

  When a raw youth leaves farming for knight-erranting he must expect sharpturns and rough tumbles, but surely Fate and Fortune were overdoing itnow. It was the Colonel beyond doubt, and Margaret had limned him to thelife. The hawk-eyes, the hook nose, the leathery skin, the orange-tawnycampaign-wig with the grizzled hair peeping under the rim of it, the tall,thin, supple figure, all were there. And if I had been in any doubt of it,Sultan would have settled the matter, for his pleasure at finding hismaster was delightful to witness.

  In hot blood I did not mind a pistol, and in the coldest blood I couldeasily have kicked loose from the men who had got hold of me. But Margaretkept my limbs idle and my mouth shut. There was no real danger, for thatmatter, unless Margaret and Master Freake failed to turn up at the "RisingSun," and there was no reason to suppose they would fail. The Colonel gaveme no chance to speak to him privately, and to speak to him publicly mightupset his plans. How he had got here a free man, what strange turn thingshad taken in his favour, I could not imagine. Margaret would be here in anhour and put matters right, so for her sake it would be best and easiestto say nothing. I simply made up my mind that the varlet on my right,whose dirty claws and beery breath were sickening me, should have thedirest of drubbings before the day was out.

  Mine host bustled off for the Mayor, and, the news having gone around,the yard was filled with people watching the fun and making amocking-stock of me. The Colonel saw Sultan off to be groomed and baited,and then, without so much as a look at me, went into the inn and sat downto his interrupted meal. I could see him plainly through the window, andhugely admired his coolness. The maids clustered around to have a peep atme. Such as were old and ugly declared off-hand that I was indisputablyripe for the gallows, but a younger one with saucy eyes and cherry-redcheeks blew a kiss, and called out to beery breath to deal gentlier withme. He moved a little in turning to grin at her, and I shot my knee intohis wind and doubled him up on the ground. A stouter lad took his place,but his breath was sweet and I gained much in comfort by the change.

  The situation had the saving grace of humour. For twenty-four hours I hadbeen on the stretch to save Colonel Waynflete from his enemies. To do it Ihad left mother and sister, and home and lands. To do it I had come outopenly on the side of rebellion and treason. The sword had been at mybreast, and the wind of a bullet had stirred the hair of my head. I mighthave spared my pains. All this pother of mine was over the man sittingyonder, heartily enjoying his dinner. All my heroics had ended in my beingarrested as a horse-thief.

  I closed my eyes. Picture after picture came before me of Margaret in herchanging moods and her unchanging beauty. Gad! How cheaply I had boughtthis gallery of precious memories!

  A throng of lads crowding noisily under the archway heralded the approachof the dignitaries. First came the town beadle, a pompous little fellowwho wore a laced brown greatcoat many sizes too large for him, and carrieda cudgel of office thick as his own arm, and surmounted by a brass crownthe size of a baby's head. His office enabled him to be brave on thecheap, so by dint of digging his weapon into the ribs of all and sundry,they being, as he expressed it, too thick on the clod, he cleared a pathfor the grocer-mayor, who had gotten himself again into his scarlet gown.His worship was gawky, flustered, and uncertain, and listened like ascared rabbit to mine host, a man of much talk, who explained proudly whatwas to be done.

  "This is 'im, y'r worship," he said. "A dirty 'oss-thief as badly wants'anging. Copped in the act, y'r worship, of riding into this 'ere yard o'mine, as big as bull-beef, sitting on the very 'oss 'e'd stolen from hislordship 'ere."

  His lordship was the Colonel, who had leisurely left his meal again tosettle my hash. I can see him now as he stood on the step of the inn-door,carefully flicking a stray crumb or two from his waistcoat, and taking themeasure of the man he had to bamboozle, with clear, amused, grey eyes.

  "The Mayor of the town, I think," he said softly.

  "Yes, your honour," said the good man surreptitiously wiping something,probably sugar, off his hands on the lining of his gown.

  "And his beadle, your lordship," added the host, and the under-strapperinside the greatcoat saluted the Colonel with a flourish of his tipstaff.

  "I am Colonel Waynflete," he answered in level measured tones, "riding onimportant business of His Majesty's, and my horse was stolen at an inn,some miles back, beyond Stafford. But for the kindness of my Lord Broctonin providing me with another, His Gracious Majesty's affairs would havebeen badly disarranged. This fellow came riding in on my horse, Sultan, afew minutes ago and I ordered his arrest. He is now in your worship'shands. I leave him there with confidence, merely remarking, on the warrantof many years' observation in such matters, that he will require a stoutrope."

  He nodded to his dithering worship, and marched back slowly and calmly tohis dinner.

  "This beats cock-fighting," said mine host admiringly. He spread himself,happy and conspicuous as a tom-tit on a round of beef, and the crowd,pleasantly anticipating mugs of beer later on, urged the Mayor to be upand doing.

  "What have you to say for yourself?" said his grocer-ship to me, with adim and belated idea, perhaps, that I might be interested in theproceedings.

  "The beadle's coat is much too large for him," said I.

  "Yes, yes," he replied hurriedly. "Samson Salt was a big man and had onlyhad the coat three years when he died, and we couldn't afford a new onefor Timothy. Dear me, but this isn't a council meeting, and what's thebeadle's coat got to do with horse-stealing?"

  "As much as I have," I replied gravely.

  "Yow've 'ad enough, my lad," said the host, "to last y'r the rest of y'rlife. The next 'oss you rides'll be foaled of an acorn. Let Timothy puthim in clink, Master Mayor, and come and have a noggin of the real thing.Gom, I'm that dry my belly'll be thinking
my throat's cut."

  "Arrest this man, Timothy Tomkins, and put him in jail till I can takedue order for his trial."

  Timothy turned up the sleeves of his coat, and arrested me by placing hishand on my arm, and flourishing the brass crown in my face.

  "Don't hurt me, Timothy," I said. "I'll come like a lamb, and I'll goslow lest you should tumble over the tail of your coat."

  "If you say another word about the blasted coat I'll split your headopen," was his angry reply. It was evidently a sore topic with him and afamiliar one with his frugal townsmen, for some man in the crowd criedout, "'Tinna big enough for the missis, be it, Timothy?" And while thepeppery little beadle's eyes were searching the japer out, another added,"More's the pity, for 'er's a bit of a light-skirt." At this there was aroar of laughter, so I saved the frenzied officer further trouble bysaying, "Come along, Timothy. Let's go to jail."

  On the Mayor's orders, mine host despoiled me of the sergeant's tuck, andTimothy marched me off to the jail, the rabble following, as full ofchatter as a nest of magpies. The jail was a small stone building,standing, like the town hall, in the middle of the street. Arrived there,Timothy thrust me into an ill-lit dirty hole below the level of thestreet, locked the door behind me, and left me to my reflections.

  The only furniture of the den was a rude bench. A nap would do me good,so, after a good pull at Kate's precious cordial, I curled up on the benchand in a few minutes was sound asleep. And in my sleep I dreamed that twoblue stars were twinkling at me through a golden cloud.