Dawn

by S. Fowler Wright

  He had his own list of dead and wounded—John Coe among the former—to consider, but he reckoned that the retreating force had suffered at least as heavily. He had counted seven who lay dead upon the captured territory—John Pettifer among them, who had fought one-handed at that last defence of the waiting boats (for Muriel’s amateur surgery, and Dr. Butcher’s subsequent efforts, had made a poor job of the broken wrist), until a sword-point took him under the ribs as he stumbled against a fallen bough, Monty’s bill-hook being interposed too late to turn the blade, though it went on to avenge it with a slash on the swordsman’s thigh which would mean a halting future; and Will Carless also, who fell with a bullet in the neck at the first rush of Coe’s troop into Larkshill, he having delayed to give warning to houses which had been already vacated.

  Besides these, they had captured about a dozen more or less seriously wounded men—for there had been no possibility of the retreating force carrying them over the Helford hollow—concerning the fate of whom Cooper frowned uncertainly.

  He had no scruples one way or other, but he would rather be the ruler of fifty men than of thirty. He must see how they talked in the morning.

  But they had taken no women, though men had searched in the thickets of Cowley Wood for Belle Rivers till the darkness stayed them—Belle Rivers, always fearful of danger, who had refused the risk of the storm of yesterday, and now crouched shivering under a low-branched holly—and they might have taken Mary Willetts had they looked for her and desired to do so; for that sensible woman, having always avoided giving countenance to any disorderly proceedings such as may bring you into discredit with the surrounding gentry, had remained quietly in her lodge, and no one had called to disturb her.

  Cooper looked thoughtfully at the last retreat of the man that he was resolved to break, and calculated the chances of one bold thrust, which would end the fighting and make his gains complete.

  But he knew that his men were exhausted with the efforts of the day. They had been in motion most of the previous night, on which point they were at a disadvantage, for most of their opponents had been able to sleep till dawn.

  Still, there was exhaustion on both sides. He was half inclined—but it might be difficult to arouse his men to a further effort.

  The sky was clear. There was little wind. It would be very cold before morning.

  Perhaps his own physical condition decided the argument. He had not slept for forty-eight hours. He had taken a wound, and he had lost blood. He was not fit to lead such an attack, and he felt that it would not be successful unless he did so. John Coe was dead. So was Reeves. Butcher? Not he!

  There was no sense in risking a failure. He was aware of his own losses. He was doubtful whether he could muster more than thirty men (besides Butcher’s) who would be fit for the enterprise.

  No. They should sleep tonight, and let their opponents’ spirits sink as they reflected on the desperation of their condition.… He could do with some sleep himself.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Claire came to Martin with the news that Belle Rivers was not to be found among the women. She had not been in any of the boats. Ted Rivers wanted to go back to find her. Might she take him in the lugger? Chris would come also, and the boy, Ned. It would be safe enough, for who would watch the deserted landing-place?

  Martin did not think it safe, but he would not refuse if Claire wished to do it.

  Belle had been in the frightened group of women who had fled up Bycroft Lane. She had been with them as they crossed the fields toward Cowley Thorn, and when they turned to take the field-path to the landing-place. She had been missing after the first sharp skirmish with the pursuing horsemen at the edge of Cowley Wood.

  “Ned thinks she probably lost her nerve and hid in the wood,” Claire added in explanation. “She’ll be almost out of her mind if she’s alone there—and you know her baby’s due in about two months, and the cold will be cruel.”

  “Yes,” Martin admitted, “we ought to try. I suppose no one else could manage the boat in the dark? But, of course, you’ll stay in it with Chris, and Ted and the lad can go and look. If you think you’re seen you must come back at once, and they must hide on the land. It mayn’t make many hours’ difference.”

  “Oh, there’s no real danger,” she answered lightly. “They’ll all be as tired as we are. They won’t look where they’re expecting no one to come. But I’ll take this, if I may.” The pistol changed hands once again. “It has a busy life between us,” she laughed, as she went out.

  There were about forty men in the dim-lit kitchen of the farmhouse of Upper Helford.

  The lamp shone on the deal table in the centre, and the men stood crowding in the shadows of the large, low-ceilinged room.

  They were as many as it would hold, and they were the men whom Jack had picked as most fit in physique and courage for the part which they would be required to take.

  They were wearied men, conscious of good fighting done, and of a momentary respite in the security they had reached. Confident also in their leader, and with the comforting knowledge of a meal just eaten, which had been ready on their arrival. But they were dispirited by the sense of defeat, and knowing no hope for the future but by returning to the attack of those before whom they had fled today.

  Martin stood with his back to a great fire, so that his face was in shadow. He was conscious of a controlled excitement, and of a great weariness which made that control difficult, but he knew that he must not relax until this struggle should be over.

  His voice, when he spoke, had the confident coolness which it had held all day.

  “I want you all to have a good sleep now, and then to be ready at about two hours before dawn, when we hope to give Mr. Butcher an unexpected visit. There is something which has been in preparation a good many weeks, but it has been necessary to keep it quiet, and it has not been mentioned by anyone, except on this island.

  “Some of you know that Helford Grange is a very old building—how old it is hard to say—and it is probable that there has been a farmhouse here for about an equal period.

  “There have been ancient tales of a passage below the ground that connected the two, and of uses to which it was put, but it had never been discovered in modern times, and most people had ceased to believe in it.

  “Well, some months ago Miss Burman discovered this passage or, at least, one end of it.

  It was followed underground for some distance, and was then found to have fallen in.

  “That wasn’t surprising. The wonder was that it remained at all, after what’s happened. But the land between here and Helford Grange hasn’t changed relatively not much, if at all—and it seemed worth investigating.

  “Tom Aldworth took it in hand, and didn’t think the falls need be very serious. Then I sent over Smith and Gilkes, who, as most of you know, were used to such work in the mines, and the end is that we’ve got the passage sufficiently cleared and repaired, and we know where it opens, and how it opens, into one of Butcher’s cellars, which is too full of goods for him to find out we’re coming before we’re there.

  “I think you’d better get some sleep now. You’ll sleep rough tonight, though everything possible’s been done, thanks to Mr. Burman, and our other friends that came over first, and we’ve most of us known what it is to sleep on worse than straw in the last six months. But if you all do your parts, as I know you will, I think we shall be back in our own homes by this time tomorrow.”

  There was no cheer as he finished, but a murmur that was half a chuckle and half a growl. There was none too dense to see how different would be the position if Butcher’s gang should be surprised asleep in the fancied security of his own cellars, nor the effect of the capture of Helford Grange, with all its stores.

  Confidence was renewed in the most despondent, and wound and bruise were forgotten as they discussed this new development.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  It was three hours before the first light of the winter dawn when
Martin came through the outer door into the farmhouse kitchen, where a great fire was still burning.

  He had been round the sleepy sentries, and changed them twice already, for his mind had been vexed by a fear that there might be some traitor among them who would carry news of the plan which he had disclosed, and that the men who trusted him might be led into a death-trap in consequence. But there was only one way back to the mainland for anyone who was not prepared to swim for half a mile in the wintry sea, and he had seen that the cliff-top was well patrolled.

  Claire was by the fire as he entered, and Helen, who had risen from a late attempt at rest, was with her. They had Belle Rivers wrapped in blankets before the fire, and were feeding her with warm milk. She lay white and half-conscious, and talked deliriously at times, but Claire spoke hopefully.

  “I think she’ll come round now, but we were afraid before. She’s not been fully conscious since we found her, and she was so cold in the boat.”

  “How are things looking ashore?” Martin asked.

  “They’re dead quiet. You ought to have a walk-over if you go now. We could have sung hymns if we’d wanted. There’s no sign of life anywhere. We shouldn’t have found her if we hadn’t shouted right up to Cowley Wood. She must have known Ted’s voice, for she answered, and crawled out from under a tree, though she didn’t seem to know us when we got up. I think she fainted when she knew we’d found her.”

  “Then you didn’t stay in the boat?”

  “No. Chris stayed. It didn’t need two.”

  “It was a foolish risk to take. If they’d caught you—”

  “Chris’s risk. Not mine. But I can’t argue now. I could sleep standing.” She thought of that narrow channel into which they had run the lugger in the dark, with the wind behind them. When they got back with their burden there had been scarcely enough water to turn the boat, and they had had to pole it out for a hundred yards, more or less. Certainly the one who stayed in the boat had not been the least exposed to the risk of capture. A lug-sail may be very useful for beating into the wind, but even it won’t take a boat down a narrow channel in the wind’s teeth.

  She added, “But the little devil nearly killed us all coming back. She steered us the short cut that we can’t take very safely even when the tide’s full and we’ve got light to see where we’re going. We grounded once, and shipped about half a ton of water, and then we slid clear. I don’t know what the keel looks like.… I suppose she thought Belle couldn’t stand much more.… I’m sorry for Tom.”

  “Why?” said Tom, who came in at the moment, and had not heard the preceding words.

  “I’m sorry for anyone that Chris marries.”

  “Who said I was going to marry Chris?”

  “No one. You’re not. She’ll marry you—if she likes the way you kill Cooper.”

  “Kill Cooper?”

  “Yes. Or someone else. If you don’t know what I mean, I’m too tired to explain. I’m just going to sleep, and you don’t seem to have waked up.” She turned to Martin, returning the pistol as she did so. “Your turn now. You’ll find a bullet missing. I had to shoot Joe Harker…. Yes, we had a few words, and it seemed necessary…. No, no one heard us. No one came, anyway. He was just spying round, after his own style. Looking for Belle, I expect…. No. I tell you it’s all as dead as a church…. But I’m going to bed now. Helen dear, you’d better come too. Betsy Parkin can look after Belle now. Noblesse oblige is all right, but you overdo it.… Besides, I want your help. Joe wasn’t the only one who got shot, and I’m afraid I’m a bit messy…. I thought that would fetch you.”

  She was in the passage with the last words, and Helen followed her as Chris came in at the outer door.

  “Claire hurt?” she exclaimed, in reply to Martin’s question.

  “No, I don’t think so. She was all right in the boat. She shot Joe Harker. She says they ran into each other in the dark and got the shock of their lives. Joe got his pistol out first and told her to come along or he’d shoot, and she said she wouldn’t and did.… Yes, two. But they didn’t seem to wake anyone. Lucky for us they didn’t. We were stuck in that channel as tight as sardines for half an hour after that…. But I’m sure she’s not much hurt.”

  Reassured on that point, Martin turned to Tom. He was going to rouse the men now, and they would start in about twenty minutes. Food was ready to be taken in to them in the large barn where they were sleeping. Martha Barnes was seeing to that.

  Tom had been underground, and reported that all was well. Martin went out to rouse the men, and left him alone with Chris, and Belle Rivers asleep or unconscious before the fire.

  It was ten minutes later that Helen re-entered the kitchen. She found them standing some distance apart, and in the attitudes of those who are waiting idly for something to happen. It may seem a reasonable deduction that they had found the time pass slowly, but reasonable deductions are sometimes

  “Is Claire really hurt?” Chris asked, with something as nearly approaching anxiety as she had ever been known to show. She was eager for the romance of life, but her romantic requirement was a world in which you hurt your very numerous enemies, not one in which they hurt you or your friends in unpleasant places. She had been startled to hear of the death of John Pettifer, whom she had learnt to know and like as Monty’s companion at the landing-place, but she was still inclined to assume the immunity of her closer friends.

  “No,” Helen answered. “She’s asleep now. The shot must have just grazed her side. She says Joe shot first, when he saw her drawing her pistol.”

  Burman came in as they talked. He wore the wide-brimmed hat and leggings, and had the shot-gun under his arm, as when he had first introduced himself in Stacey Dobson’s library.

  “You won’t mind a volunteer?” he asked, as Martin came in from outside at the same moment. Martin assented, thanking him for the help he offered. He had given the hospitality of Upper Helford, and ungrudging help in food and shelter and service, on the sole condition that his own freedom remained, and that neither he nor his were to be considered under Martin’s authority.

  Then the men began to file into the kitchen, and Tom put himself at their head, with Smith and Gilkes, and led the way to the cellar.

  The others followed in single file, Jack Tolley, and Burman, and Burke, who had given good evidence of strength and courage during the previous day, being next behind them. Steve Fortune was in the first ten, his imagination already uneasy at the idea of this subterranean transit. He would willingly have been farther back, and there were those farther back, including Davy Barnes, who would gladly have been further forward. Last of all, an indignant Monty ended the line, Tom having considered that the unpopularity of his bill-hook, and his own impetuosity, would have a good effect in the prevention of a straggling rear.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  It was a natural assumption from Claire’s experience that Cooper was neglecting to keep a sufficient watch, and it had a degree of truth, though the inference may have done less than justice to his own abilities of leadership.

  The end of the day had found him with about thirty very weary men who were without any serious injury as a result of the day’s fighting, and about two-thirds of that number of wounded on his hands, including those that his opponents had left behind them.

  He had no help from Butcher, who withdrew his own men to Helford Grange immediately the day’s operations were over. He slept them all within his own doors, as he had done for several previous days, and was more concerned for the strength of his bars than with any ulterior watchfulness. It was not reasonable to expect attack from the inside, or to take precautions against such an eventuality.

  Captain Cooper had these wearied men on his hands, and about fifty horses. It says something for the discipline that he maintained that he was able to get them together when the short winter twilight was approaching, to allot their sleeping-quarters to his satisfaction, to find food and accommodation for the horses, and to insist that the wounded men
should be conveyed to warmth and shelter, and receive such rough attentions as the exigencies of the occasion permitted.

  He did not anticipate any attack during the night, yet he set two of the most reliable of his men to share the task of watching his own side of the Helford hollow; and he chose four others to divide the duty, two after two, of patrolling the outskirts of Cowley Thorn.

  Of these last, one of the two who were to take the second watch was Joe Harker, whom he rightly judged to have done something less than his share in the operations of the day.

  Joe, who was quite fresh, having slept all afternoon, wrapped in a horse-cloth, among the gorse-bushes, commenced his vigil by wandering into Cowley Wood in search of the woman who was said to have bolted into its cover, with a result which we already know; and the other sentry, after half an hour of what he considered to be an utterly useless vigilance, found a straw-lined corner sufficiently comfortable to enable him to complete the rest he needed.

  He had been enjoying this sleep for about ten minutes when Joe and Claire made comparison of their shooting abilities, and it would have required a good deal more to rouse him than the sound of two pistol-shots something over a quarter of a mile away.

  Yet he slept uneasily as the night passed, having a dormant fear that he might fail to wake before his comrades should be astir, and his fault discovered, and it was about an hour before dawn that he intruded upon the rest of his captain, as he had been instructed to do under such circumstances, with a tale that he had heard shots in the direction of Helford Grange.

  Captain Cooper yawned, and got up reluctantly. He was heavy with sleep, and his wounded arm throbbed painfully. It sounded an unlikely tale. Yet he came into the road to do his own listening.

  The night was very still, the stars were bright, the cold was bitter.