by Howard Pyle
And she rattled in his ears like a
Drum, drum, drum.’
“Now the stupid oaf began to discover his blunder, — but perhaps you’ve had enough.”
Cries of “Go on! Go on!”
“Well, then, listen to his fate and take warning, —
“‘To the doctor he did go
With his heart well filled with woe,
Crying, “Doctor I am quite
Undone, done, done.
Now she’s turned a scolding wife
And I’m weary of my life,
For I cannot make her hold
Her tongue, tongue, tongue.”
“‘The doctor thus did say —
“When she went from me away
She was perfectly cured of being
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
But it’s beyond the art of man,
Let him do the best he can,
For to make a scolding woman hold
Her tongue, tongue, tongue.”’“
Roars of applause greeted the ending of the performance. In the midst of it Ingle crossed the room to the end of the table where Sheriff Ellyson was seated.
“Come, Sheriff, since you and I are met, let us sit down at the further end of the board where our conversation may not disturb these gentlemen.”
With this he drew up a stool for himself, and as the mugs of ale were quaffed and the pipes emptied, one after another of the bibbers and smokers reached for his cap, and moved out into the darkness with a muttered good-night, till at last none were left but Neale and Cornwaleys, two men in high standing in the colony and close friends of Governor Brent.
Meanwhile Captain Ingle made vast inroads upon the mighty haunch of venison which the landlord set before him with obsequious attention, and a pasty with five small birds stewed together vanished into his capacious stomach without appearing to diminish his appetite. “Let us have prawns,” he called to the landlord, “prawns and cheese to finish with, and brown ale from one of the hogsheads I brought in The Reformation. I always call for that,” he added with a wink to Cornwaleys, “when I want something extra good. When you drink what you bring, you know what you get.”
“Ay,” responded Ellyson jovially, “trundle it up, landlord, cask and all, and we will help ourselves. You may go to bed and welcome, for we mean to make a night on’t. Who gets the ale-cask needs no host.”
“But who will lock the door?”
“Why, we, to be sure!”
“Faith!” cried the landlord with a shout of laughter, “I’ve seen ye both after a night’s drinking bout, and neither one of you could keep your legs or lift hand to mouth, let alone turning key or drawing bolt.”
“Then we’ll stay till you are up in the morning,” roared Ingle, “and woe to the thief who dares intrude upon the majesty of the law as represented by Sheriff Ellyson, or the rights of freemen supported by the sword of Richard Ingle.”
With this the freebooter drew his weapon and after waving it round his head in token of what marauders might expect, laid it on the bench beside him.
The innkeeper, overawed by the sight of such prospective prowess, began to think what a fine thing it would be to substitute this gallant blade for the pale little sheriff.
“I’ll tarry at least till these other gentlemen are gone home,” he said, and betook himself to the other end of the table. Neale and Cornwaleys loitered a few minutes, then rose with a yawn and a stretching of the arms and legs.
“Give you good evening, gentlemen!” Neale said to those at the end.
“Good-night, Sir Landlord, and thanks for your good fire and better ale!” called Cornwaleys, following him lazily out at the door.
But outside their idle lounging ceased. They drew close together and whispered anxiously. The watch passed. They only drew closer into the shadow and let him go by. Then they pressed their faces to the hole in the shutters, and stood gazing at the pair inside, who sat quaffing tankard after tankard by the wavering light of the candles and the red glow of the embers on the hearth.
A few moments later they were joined by a third man. A Monmouth cap was pulled low over his eyes, and the collar of his cloak raised to meet it so that none could see his features. Neale and Cornwaleys showed no surprise at his approach, but seemed to be awaiting him.
“How goes it?” asked the new-comer in a whisper.
“To a charm so far,” answered Neale.
“I confess I like not the part we are playing.”
“Nor I either, but it must be played. The villagers are much roused against Ingle, yet have a group of them been drinking at his cost at the tavern to-night, and whatever is done by the authorities will give offence in some quarter.”
“Ay, and his punishment most of all. There be many that like him for his dare-devil ways, and more that tolerate him for the sake of his brother.”
“Ralph is a fine fellow,” said Cornwaleys, “and Dick himself is open-handed.”
“Ay, and open-mouthed,” added Neale. “Some daring souls may whisper touching matters of state; but he must needs shout out his opinions louder than any Roundhead in Parliament.”
“The fool!” muttered Brent (for it was he who had just come up).
“Fool he is,” answered Neale; “who ever knew Dick Ingle other than a fool? But who shall say it was not truth he spoke when he said the King was no king.”
“Well, well,” Brent said impatiently, “waste no words on idle speculations; but let us keep our wits to try how we may steer a safe course between the devil and the deep sea. If we apprehend this man ’tis an affront to the Parliament to whom he swears allegiance. If we apprehend him not, ’tis as good as to make ourselves partakers in his lèse-majesté. So ’tis clear the only course is both to apprehend him and to let him go. All the people will hear of the proclamation and of my order of arrest. This will satisfy their sense of justice, and so are we quit of our official duties. And afterward if the sheriff, through some carelessness and neglect, let Richard Ingle go free and he reach his own quarter-deck and set sail for England before ever he be caught — why—”
“Sh!” whispered Cornwaleys, “speak softer, or all will fail. Neale, you have your eye to the chink in the shutter?”
“Ay, and can see as if I were in the room. It is hard to say which is drinking the harder.”
“No man can keep his legs with that quantity of ale in his belly,” answered Cornwaleys; “we shall find them in the morning on the tavern floor.”
“Hm!” reflected Neale, “there is some danger o’ that and ‘twill not suit our plans neither. We’d best stir Ellyson a bit.”
With this he shuffled his feet and moved the shutter back and forth. The sound reached the ear of Ellyson. He paused with his mug half-way to his lips, and then, setting his flagon down hard on the board, he rose, and putting his hand into the breast of his jerkin drew forth something white.
“The fun begins,” whispered Neale, flattening his nose against the shutter in the effort to lose no glimpse of what was going forward.
“We must be ready to rush in if Ingle uses him too hard,” announced Cornwaleys.
The two men watched with all their eyes, and this is what they saw: —
The giant, having the paper thrust in his face, grew red with rage and strove to rise and reach for his sword, but only succeeded in falling across the table, his hair trailing into the mug of ale. Then the nimble little sheriff, who was perhaps less drunk than he had feigned, whipped around the table and drawing a length of cord from his capacious jerkin succeeded in binding the wrists of his adversary before he could rise. Ingle roared out curses.
The landlord shouted from his bed to know what was the matter.
“Oh, ’tis naught. Give yourself no trouble in the matter. Captain Ingle has had overmuch drink even for him, and I am taking him home.”
“There seems to be a break in our fine plan,” murmured Neale. “What if Ellyson prove the better man of the two?”
“Rubbish! How can he?
”
But a weak arm backed by a clear head can do more than mighty muscles befuddled with beer. Ellyson rapidly made fast his cord, and drawing out a stouter one tied that too, and tugging might and main pulled the captain off his stool headlong to the ground, where he lay for an instant grovelling, and then, gathering himself up, staggered a few paces to the door.
“Thank ye for that, my fine fellow!” said Ellyson. “I could scarce have got ye so far without your own help.”
The next move of the little sheriff was a clever one. Hard by the door stood a hand-car used for the moving of casks to the slant of the cellar-way. Its wheels were made of sections of pine logs revolving on rudely fashioned axles. This car Ellyson rolled directly in front of the doorway, and then getting behind Ingle gave him a push which sent him forward face first upon the car.
“What say ye now, Neale?” whispered Cornwaleys, pressing closer than ever into the shadow.
“Say? I say the devil is let loose and helping the little sheriff. Let us follow. His luck may have a turn.”
Down the street went the four men, Ellyson grunting and sweating under his burden, but full of the joy of conquest over an unequal foe, and of the complacency born of a sense of duty fulfilled, combined with the hope of preferment. Already he saw himself promoted to fat office, perhaps to the Council itself. But at this juncture a strange thing happened.
The night air had begun to cool Ingle’s hot head and clear the beer-befuddled brain. With a mighty effort he tore his arms loose from the encircling cords, and reaching for the poniard in his breast sprang from the car.
Luckily for Ellyson, Ingle’s legs were still unsteady. As it was, the doughty little man was consumed with terror at the sight of the giant lunging about with his weapon gleaming in his hand, as he waved it wildly and aimlessly about his head. In his terror Ellyson called aloud for help; but excitement made his voice so weak it could scarcely be heard a hundred feet away.
“The end has come,” said Neale and Cornwaleys in a breath.
Then to their dismay, they saw the door of a cottage open and a young man dash out half-clad, but with a loaded pistol in his hand.
“Who cried for help?”
“I, the sheriff! I hold an order from Governor Brent to arrest this man, and I call upon you as a good citizen of Maryland to come to my aid.”
Ingle by this time had got his back against a tree, and stood there waving his dagger and calling to his foes to come on if they dared.
“I am no citizen of Maryland,” said Romney Huntoon; “I come from Virginia, but I’ve no objection to bearing a hand in the arrest of this man, for I heard his traitorous ranting, and I vowed then to do him a bad turn if ever it came in my way.”
“Your chance is come,” muttered the sheriff. “Do you stand here and cover him with your pistol, and I will go round behind the tree and try if I may not bind him where he stands. Ingle,” he added, turning to the other, “if you move you are a dead man.”
“Hold! in the King’s name!”
The three men started as if a cannon had exploded in their midst. The surprise even sobered Ingle. He looked up in speechless amazement as Councillor Neale and Captain Cornwaleys strode up, and with all the double weight of civil and military authority called out to Ingle to surrender.
Seeing his position desperate he sullenly obeyed.
“March in front,” commanded Cornwaleys. “Ellyson, do you walk beside him. Master Huntoon, if you will favor us with your company and your weapons, you will oblige us by your escort down the road as far as the wharf where The Reformation lies.”
“The Reformation?” exclaimed Huntoon.
“I said so, I think,” answered Cornwaleys.
“But — but — you do not understand,” stammered Ellyson; “I am acting by Governor Brent’s command. I am by no means to lose sight of the prisoner until further commands from him.”
“You have fulfilled your commission,” said Neale, “and stand discharged of all responsibility. Master Huntoon, I charge you take notice that Sheriff Ellyson is hereby relieved of all blame in this matter, whatever the outcome, and that I do hereby take upon myself all the burden of Governor Brent’s displeasure if such there be.”
“The Councillor has spoken,” said Cornwaleys, “and with my approbation. Forward, march!”
The walk down the hill to the wharf was covered in perfect silence. Ingle walked between Ellyson and Cornwaleys, able to keep his feet with occasional support from his escort. As the men halted on the wharf, Neale stepped forward.
“Richard Ingle,” said he, “are you drunk or sober?”
“Sober enough, as you shall some day learn that have put this affront upon me.”
“Then listen and give heed to the words I speak. Because of your treasonable talk, your ill conduct, and your disturbance of the peace, you do richly deserve the most that the laws of Maryland could pronounce as your punishment.”
“Ay, that he does!” murmured Huntoon.
“Then why not give it to him?” grumbled Ellyson, loath to see the prize he had captured at such expense of difficulty and danger slip through his fingers in the moment of triumph.
“Be silent, Sheriff! It is not in your province to criticise your superiors. Ingle, we shall now put you aboard ship and give you six hours to make good your departure. But if at dawn so much as a topmast of The Reformation be seen from St. Mary’s, we will have her overhauled and her captain strung up at the yard-arm.”
Ingle’s senses were returning fast, and he responded to the Councillor’s words with a smile, the cool impudence of which irritated Neale beyond endurance. He saw that the sailors were gathering on the deck, and that time was short.
“Seize him!” he cried suddenly to Huntoon and Cornwaleys; “seize the cur and toss him on board his vessel as he deserves.”
Huntoon and Cornwaleys, delighted at the chance to wreak even a portion of their vengeance, needed no second bidding. Cornwaleys seized his head and Huntoon his feet, and with a mighty swing they flung him clear of the wharf and landed him in the middle of the deck amid a circle of sailors half angry, half grinning.
“Remember!” cried Neale, warningly.
“A good riddance!” exclaimed Cornwaleys as they walked away.
“Yes, if he stays rid,” answered Neale, doubtfully. “Ellyson, you are to be silent on this night’s doings.”
“I know my duty,” said Ellyson, sullenly, “even when I am not permitted to do it. But I know not how I am to answer to Governor Brent for this night’s work.”
Neale leaned over and whispered some words in his ear which seemed to amaze him, the more so as something which showed under the struggling moonbeams round and yellow and shining was slipped into his hand by Cornwaleys on the other side.
“Master Huntoon, we trust to your honor.”
“You may,” Huntoon responded with some haughtiness; and he turned upon his heel and strode back to his lodgings, thanking Heaven that he was a Virginian.
CHAPTER VII. IN GOOD GREEN WOOD
“NOW WHAT SAY you, Mistress Peggy?”
“Say? What could I say to such an offer save that, if my aunt allows, ‘twill give me more pleasure than aught else that could befall. I have longed for months to see your sister Mary and St. Gabriel’s, and now to see them, and besides to have sight of my brother and of Mistress Calvert—”
“To say nothing of a ride through the forest under escort of the Governor of the province!”
“Why, to tell the truth, it is that only which gives me pause, for I know well that he has grave matters of state on his mind, and would fain perhaps be alone to think them over, whereas I am such a chattering magpie, as my brother has often told me, that no man can have a thought in his head when I am about.”
“And how do you know, little Peggy, that that is not just the reason why I have asked for your company? It is quite true that I am vexed and worried and harried half out of my senses over recent affairs here in St. Mary’s, — affairs which
call for anxious meditation and drastic action; but for this one day I would fain forget that I am a grizzled man weighed down with matters heavy enough to sink him, and make believe that I am a light-hearted lad again wandering about the forest with a maiden as care-free as he. We will have a merry ride of it, and we will stop by the wayside and build a fire in the snow to cook our noonday meal.”
“But — but — I know not how to cook,” Peggy confessed with much embarrassment.
“Not know how to cook! For shame! and you a pioneer — I must have speech of your aunt, and counsel her to take order with you at once till the deficiency be mended. But for this once it will not matter, for I am taking back with me to Kent Fort a lame servant, Anne by name, owned by Sir Edmund Plowden and lent by him to my sister Margaret. She will be of our party, and likewise Councillor Neale and Captain Cornwaleys. So with them to guard us against foes without, and her to fortify us against the worse enemy of hunger within, you and I may have good hopes of coming safely to St. Gabriel’s.”
“O Aunt, Aunt!” Peggy called out, “his Excellency has asked me to ride with him to St. Gabriel’s. Only think of it — to St. Gabriel’s, and this very day!”
“Foolish child!” said her aunt, with reproof in her voice. “You can think of nothing but the pleasure of the moment. How could you manage your home-coming? And how do you know that Mistress Brent desires your company?”
“If you will permit me to take upon myself the burden of answering your questions, Madam, I think I can set your mind at rest on both points. My sister Margaret has in mind a journey to St. Mary’s from Kent Fort, and will stop on her way to pick up your niece and bring her home to you in safety. As for the other question, it could only be asked by one who knew little of Mary Brent. Why, I have seen her eyes light up with joy when a total stranger stopped at the door for a meal or a night’s lodging, and at a friend’s coming she is clean daft with pleasure. Between you and me too she has a particular and foolish fondness for this saucy slip of a niece of yours, and will count it a red-letter day when she sees the baggage jump off her donkey at the gate, and come running in at the door. Oh, there will be great rejoicing at the manor this night, — I can promise you that.”