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<title>THE BLACK BOX</title>
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<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE BLACK BOX</span></h1>
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<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: The Black Box
<br /> A Tale of Monmouth's Rebellion
<br />
<br />Author: W. Bourne Cooke
<br />
<br />Release Date: November 30, 2016 [EBook #53641]
<br />Reposted: January 18, 2017 [Corrections to text]
<br />
<br />Language: English
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<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p>
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<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE BLACK BOX</span><span> ***</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
</div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p>
</div>
<div class="container coverpage">
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
</div>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 76%" id="figure-61">
<span id="cover-art"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover art" src="images/img-cover.jpg" />
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<span class="italics">Cover art</span></div>
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</div>
</div>
<div class="container frontispiece">
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 78%" id="figure-62">
<span id="as-he-flew-by-he-aimed-a-savage-blow-at-me"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""AS HE FLEW BY HE AIMED A SAVAGE BLOW AT ME"" src="images/img-front.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">"AS HE FLEW BY HE AIMED A SAVAGE BLOW AT ME" (Page </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id1">217</a><span class="italics">)</span></div>
</div>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
</div>
<div class="container titlepage">
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold xx-large">The Black Box</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="x-large">A Tale of Monmouth's Rebellion</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">W. BOURNE COOKE</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">Author of "Madam Domino" "Bellcroft Priory"
<br />"The Cragsmen" &c.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">Illustrated by John de Walton</em></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
<br />LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
</div>
<div class="container dedication">
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">TO
<br />MY FRIEND
<br />WILL TURNER
<br />OF "OXHOLME"
<br />EDWALTON
<br />NOTTS</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
</div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">Contents</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#prologue">Prologue</a></p>
<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">CHAP.</span></p>
<ol class="upperroman simple">
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#concerning-a-certain-person">Concerning "A Certain Person"</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-secret-of-the-black-box">The Secret of the Black Box</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#up-a-tree">Up a Tree</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#three-ships">Three Ships</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-man-with-the-king-s-evil">The Man with the King's Evil</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#too-late">"Too Late"</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-plotters">The Plotters</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-fight-for-life">A Fight for Life</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-shadow-of-death">The Shadow of Death</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#i-make-a-solemn-vow">I Make a Solemn Vow</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#i-live-and-learn">I Live and Learn</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#how-i-was-saved-from-rashness">How I was Saved from Rashness</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#in-the-great-room-and-afterwards">In the Great Room--and Afterwards</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#zion">"Zion!"</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tells-how-i-fleshed-my-sword">Tells how I Fleshed my Sword</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#concerning-one-dan-foe-a-friend-in-need">Concerning one Dan Foe--a Friend in Need</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tells-how-i-had-speech-of-ferguson">Tells how I had Speech of Ferguson</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-timely-warning">A Timely Warning</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-affair-at-the-barn">The Affair at the Barn</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#at-sedgemoor-fight">At Sedgemoor Fight</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#i-leave-the-service-of-king-james">I leave the Service of King James</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#in-which-i-become-a-prisoner">In which I become a Prisoner</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-scourge-of-the-west">"The Scourge of the West"</a></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#beneath-the-gallows">Beneath the Gallows</a></p>
</li>
</ol>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">Illustrations</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#as-he-flew-by-he-aimed-a-savage-blow-at-me">"As he flew by he aimed a savage blow at me"</a><span> Frontispiece</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-landing-of-the-duke-of-monmouth">The Landing of the Duke of Monmouth</a></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#then-such-a-fight-began-as-makes-me-shudder-when-i-think-upon-it">"Then such a fight began as makes me shudder
when I think upon it"</a></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#how-now-how-came-you-by-that-horse">"'How now! How came you by that horse?'"</a></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#michael-fane-before-judge-jeffreys">Michael Fane before Judge Jeffreys</a></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="prologue"><span class="bold x-large">THE BLACK BOX</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">Prologue</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>My friends, beware of slim-legged, nimble-footed,
white-faced men, in sober grey, who tell long tales!
They make for mischief. Nor do I warn you without
reason; for of such an one I reaped great trouble.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It was in the cool of a still June evening, as I rode
leisurely among these pleasant Dorset lanes of ours,
that I came upon him sitting on the roadside, beneath
a larch tree, hugging his bony knees and muttering
like a soothsayer.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>His hat--an ancient, greasy thing--lay on the
ground beside him; his grizzled hair seemed to grow
upright on a strange-shaped head which ran into a
veritable peak towards the centre; while his face was
so lined and bloodless that it looked for all the world
like crinkled parchment. As for his small, pale eyes,
they rose and fell beneath a pair of quivering lids
which kept time with his lips.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But what, I think, surprised me most was that
although he must have heard me, he took no heed
whatever--his lips and eyelids went on fluttering as
though the road were empty.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>All this was so unlikely and amazing that, on
coming level with the fellow, I pulled up to look at
him; yet, notwithstanding that I fairly blocked his
view, he gave no sign of seeing me, but went on
jabbering like the apes which sailors bring ashore.
Verily, it seemed he must be either deaf and blind, or
daft; therefore,</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What ails thee, friend?" I cried. To my no small
astonishment he sprang up as one shot, and for a
moment stood there staring at me in a lost, dazed
manner; then, raising both hands to his egg-shaped
head, he murmured:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Save us! So I was not out there among the Indies?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He pointed with a long, thin finger seaward.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, friend," I answered soothingly, for indeed I
now made certain he was daft. "Thou wast sitting on
a tussock in a Dorset lane, three miles from Lyme."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Lyme!" he muttered. "King's Lyme! Lyme
Regis, say you?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The same," said I.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! then Heaven be thanked!" says he, shuddering
as he hugged his slim, gaunt body. "For, look
you, methought for certain I was out among the
blacks again. Wast ever in the Indies, friend, among
the man-eaters?" he added, glancing swiftly up at me
with slit-like eyes.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," I answered, laughing. "I was never nearer
them than Portland, yonder."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then have you much to give thanks for," said he,
raising his fingers tip to tip, as priests do. "Yea,
verily, ye cannot be too thankful that the heathen
are unknown to you. I, who have witnessed their
abominations, tell ye so. For, look you, friend, two
long accursed years I lived among the savages, and
was partaker, willy-nilly, in their wickedness. It fell
out thus. I and eight others were wrecked upon a
little island in the far South Seas. Perchance 'twas
a judgment on us, for our captain was a buccaneer
who spared not anyone. Howsoever that may be, 'tis
certain we were wrecked, and out of six-and-twenty
souls but nine of us reached land, nor was the captain
one of these. That island, friend, was glorious to
behold; a Paradise of beauty. Methinks I see it now"
(he shut his eyes)--"its waving palms, its many-coloured
birds and flowers. Aye, truly, it was, as I
said before, a Paradise!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He continued after a slight pause. "But we did not
enjoy its beauties long, for as on the second night we
lay asleep beneath the stars (not having seen a soul
upon the island, and therefore feeling safe),--as we
thus slept, I say, we were set upon by savages, and I,
even I alone, was left alive to tell this tale. We had
saved some muskets from the wreck, and thus, aroused
by the shrieks of my hapless comrades who had been
speared to death while yet asleep, I, who had lain
some distance from them, leapt up and fired into the
murderous wretches, killing one of them. At that
the others stood stock-still for a moment, like dumb,
frightened beasts--Heavens! how amazed they
looked!--then, to my great astonishment (for I made certain
my last hour was come), they all, as one man, dropped
face downwards on the ground, and, rubbing their
noses in the earth and patting their ugly heads, broke
forth in dismal wails. But, verily, I understood the
matter. They had never heard a musket-shot before;
they took me for a god; they worshipped me. Nor
was I slow to make the most of it. First I recharged
my piece, then with a cry which made them turn
their wicked faces up, I pointed to it. Then, may I
die if one and all did not come crawling up to lick my
feet like dogs.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, friend, to make few words of it, when those
thrice-accursed fellows departed to their own island
in canoes, I went with them; and there, for two long,
weary years I reigned among them like a king. I
was accounted to have power to heal all sickness.
My frown brought death. Moreover, I had some
skill in tricks of hand and eye, the which I played
upon them to a right good purpose. Look you, this
is one of them."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here he brought forth from his pocket six small
carven balls of wood, about the size of pistol-bullets,
and throwing them up swiftly one by one, caught
each in his mouth as it descended. Then, by what
means I know not, he contrived to make them seem
to reappear by way of eyes, and ears, and nose, and
sleeves--yea, verily, from everywhere except his
mouth; until the last of them was found inside his
hat, which, as I can swear, he had not touched.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis naught," quoth he, when this was finished,
and I was yet marvelling at his cleverness. "I have
at least a score such tricks, far better. But now, to
finish what I was a-telling. Two years lived I with
those savages, and had wellnigh given up all hope of
ever leaving them, when, on a certain blessed night,
as I sat watching for the ship that never came, I saw
a light far off upon the water. Soon I made out that
it was coming nearer. I did not wait another moment,
but creeping down on to the shore, took one of the
canoes which always lay there, and paddled off with
all my might.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The night was dark, the sea was smooth as glass,
and so, with all things favouring me, it was not long
before I drew near enough to hail the vessel. Heavens,
friend, how I shouted, and how my voice rang out
across the silent waters! At first they took no heed;
but at length there came an answering shout, and
then, to my exceeding joy, I knew by the change of
lights that they were heaving to. Then did I speed
again towards the ship and soon came up with her.
Yet when at length I drew alongside, and lanterns
made me plain to those aboard, they eyed me with
ill-favour, and had some mind to keep me off. Nor
do I wonder at it; for truly, friend, what with my
streaming hair and beard, and garments made of beast
skins, they must have looked upon me as both mad
and dangerous.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But I was not to be denied, and so, notwithstanding
that two years among the savages had mightily
confused my English, I yet made shift to tell those
wondering seamen swiftly of my sorry plight. Still
they must needs fall to muttering among themselves
ere they would hoist me to the deck; but this they
did at last, and straightway fed and clothed me.
This very suit of grey was given me by a gentleman
aboard that ship--Heaven's blessing on him! True,
'tis a trifle large for one so thin, but 'tis of a fine
good cloth, and serves me well. After a voyage of
many months they brought me home, and so--well,
here am I; and thus doth end a story true as holy
gospel. Say, friend, what think you of it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Fine!" I answered warmly. "Why, man, 'twould
make a book!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a cracking laugh and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, no writing books for me, friend; my skill
lies not in that direction; nor, if it did, would I
attempt such work. Rather would I clean forget the
horrid business. But alack! I cannot, for ever and
anon it comes upon me suddenly, even as it did just
now when you rode up; and then I see naught, hear
naught, save those black-skinned murderous knaves
as they leapt about us on that awful night. Faith!"
he added, rising quickly and passing a hand across his
forehead, "let us talk of something else before the
vision comes once more upon me. Say you that Lyme
is but three miles from here?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, to be quite exact, between that and four."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And know you much about the place?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Just a little, seeing that I have been born and
bred there."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! say you so? Then, truly, you must know
many people there?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A few."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Didst ever come across one Gilbert Fane?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now," I answered, smiling, "'tis not
unusual for one to come across one's father, is it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At that the fellow gave a little start.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" says he. "Your father! He is alive, then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, truly, that he is," I answered, laughing. "At
least, he was an hour ago."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, now, just to think of it!" he murmured,
rubbing his chin as though in deep perplexity.
"Save us! 'tis strange, indeed!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How so?" I asked. "Dost know my father?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, that I do not; but 'tis passing strange that I
should meet his son upon this road and tell him what
I have."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How so?" I asked again. "What mystery is this?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis no mystery, friend," he answered, looking
out to sea, "but truly it is passing wonderful. Listen.
I did not tell you that the man who gave me this grey
suit fell sick, died, and was buried while we were
still at sea. But so, alas! it was; and as I sat beside
him when he lay a-raving in high fever, the name of
Lyme was ever on his lips, together with the names
of divers people, and one of these I swear was
Gilbert Fane; for, although I took small notice at
the time, your mention of it brings it clearly back to
me. Now say, friend, is not all this strange beyond
compare?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It is, indeed," I murmured, looking at him fixedly,
as he stood with half-closed eyes before me. "And
what was this luckless fellow's name?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Would that I could tell you; but I cannot. They
picked him up at some outlandish place, and methinks
'twas that which made him treat me with such
kindness; but when he died he left naught save his
clothes, some knick-knacks, and a sword. There
were no papers. The captain had his sword and
clothes. One day as we sat a-talking he did let fall
his name as if by accident; but then I took no heed,
and so have clean forgotten it. Yet, if I heard it now,
methinks I might remember it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But say, what manner of man was he?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A fine, upstanding fellow, with a ruddy face."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, there are, and have been, many such in Lyme.
But, look you, if you care to come with me to our
house, The Havering, methinks my father might
assist you."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, many thanks, good friend, but 'twould be of
no avail. I am but come to Lyme because he talked
so much of it; and because I thought, by searching
among the gravestones in your churchyard, I might
perchance light on his name, and thus remember it.
Aye, verily, I loved that man."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How long have you been in England?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I came ashore three days ago at Bristol, and have
been walking ever since."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You must be weary, then."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No; but I am wondrous poor. Look you, friend,
I am so needy that for a groat I would climb this
towering larch tree, and swing among the branches at
the top."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Do it," said I, by way of proving him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Instantly he sprang upon the tree, and went up it
like a monkey. And when he reached the top he
leapt from branch to branch, whistling and swinging,
till I felt certain he must miss his hold and come
tumbling down.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Bravo! Well done!" I cried. "Come down for
your reward."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Down he came at a speed which fairly took my
breath away, and then stood, cap in hand, before me,
as calm as if he had never left his tussock.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Bringing forth a handful of silver pieces (I never
lacked for money) I picked a shilling out and gave it
to him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"This is too much," quoth he, with shaking head;
"and were not my necessity so great I would not take it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'tis well earned," I answered; "but may I ask
a favour? The trick you showed me with the little
balls--wilt do that again?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"With all my heart," says he; and forthwith did
it; and many others, too, still more astonishing.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"More work, more pay," said I, when he had
finished. "Here is another shilling. And, look you, if
you care to call at our house, The Havering--'tis a
lonesome place a mile or so from Lyme, and well-beknown
to all--if you choose to call, I say, you may
be certain of a welcome. My father, I'll wager, would
rejoice to see those tricks of yours. And that reminds
me; you have my name, friend--prithee, what is
yours?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, 'tis a passing curious one," he answered,
grinning like a skull. "Nay, worse than that, 'tis
downright heathenish and wicked--Tubal Ammon--as
black a name, I trow, as ever was."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well," said I, consolingly, "you did not name
yourself; and 'tis at least one easily remembered. So
now, friend Ammon, here is a right good evening to
you; and, as I said before, if you choose to call upon
us at The Havering you may be certain of a right
hearty welcome."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that I would have ridden off, but he touched
my arm and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay! I would fain return such kindness by showing
thee some very curious things. See," he added,
bringing forth a little carven case, "here is a tiny
bow and arrows. Toys, say you? and yet the veriest
scratch from one of these fine points means death; for
they are poisoned. Again, this amulet, the which I
keep so thickly wrapped in cloth: behold how richly
it is carved, how beautiful and innocent it looks; but
wear it for an hour and you are dead, for, likewise, it
is poisoned. And, yet again, this tiny wooden dart,
scarce bigger than a tailor's needle; one prick from it
means death--poisoned also. The wretches that I
lived with use these things, and many more besides,
for secret killing. Take them in your hands, good
sir, I pray you. Your gloves will save all harm.
Examine them and see how finely they are wrought."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I did so; and was bending over them in gloating
fashion when a gentle click aroused me, and, turning
suddenly, I found the muzzle of a pistol close beside
my head, with an evil, grinning face beyond it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Good friend," said Tubal Ammon, "thou art rich
and I am very needy. Give me all thou hast, and
give it quickly."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This was an ugly business, sure enough. I was
unarmed, while a bullet with scarce a foot to travel
could not fail to hit the mark. Yes; the pressure of
a finger meant sure death, nor did I doubt the rascal's
villainous intention, even if I gave him what he asked;
for either he would shoot me as I got the money out or
as I turned to ride away. My horse was just the very
thing he wanted. Thus I argued swiftly with myself,
and saw that to dissemble was my only hope.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now," said I, looking straight along the
pistol into his squinting face, "this is indeed a poor
return for favours; still, advantage counts for
everything, and needs must when the devil drives. So, if
you will kindly lower your weapon, friend, for fear of
accidents, I will oblige you."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He fell into the trap. Down went the pistol, and,
with a greedy look, he drew quite close. Next
moment I had kicked him in the wind with all my
might, and sent him flying backward to the ground.
Then, as he lay there gasping, I threw his poisonous
relics over him, and with a gay "Good morrow to
you, Master Ammon!" galloped off.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A murderous footpad--nothing more or less," I
muttered, as we dropped into a walk. "Well, 'tis
a handsome warning not to ride again unarmed on
byways, even on a summer's evening; and at least the
rascal got a warning too."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That was how I summed the matter up; but, as you
will see hereafter, it had been greatly better for us all
if Tubal Ammon had been lying dead upon the road
behind me.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="concerning-a-certain-person"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER I</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">Concerning "A Certain Person"</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>It was on the tenth day of June, in the year sixteen
hundred and eighty-five (and three days after my
first meeting with Tubal Ammon), when, as you
know, King James the Second had scarce been three
months on his quaking throne, that I, Michael Fane,
of Lyme Regis, in the county of Dorset, fell
headlong, as it were, and quite unwittingly, into such
a pother of adventure, mystery, and trouble, as few
men--let alone a youth, as I then was--may hope to
come through with their lives. That, however, by
a rare good fortune, having been my lot, I am minded,
now in these peaceful days, when good King William
rules us with a firm, wise hand, to set down, for all of
you who care to read it, a full and true account of
what befell me in those throbbing months of blood
and warfare.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>To begin, then (as my old preceptor, Master Pencraft,
used to put it), at the right end of the rope,
I was summoned before breakfast on that bright
June morning to my father's study, in our old house,
The Havering, just outside the town, where we two
lived together, my mother having died three years
before.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Now, although we were ever early risers at The
Havering, I had never known my father require me
to attend on him at such an hour (it being scarcely
half-past six); but recollecting that I was eighteen
that very day, the thought of some present being at
the bottom of the matter added speed to the steps
of filial duty as I hurried to the study.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I found my father seated, quill in hand, very stiff
and upright at his table, on which some papers were
spread out before him; while at his elbow stood the
hour-glass to which he still clung, because, as he said,
the ticking of a clock disturbed his thoughts. The
sunlight falling on his whitened hair and beard made
them shine like silver; and I remember, too, that
through the open window came the gladsome morning
song of birds. In truth, there could scarce have been
a sight which promised more of peace and less of
violence.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As I entered, my father looked up at me with those
keen, deep-set eyes which could still flash fire for all
their nearly seventy years of use.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning to you, Michael!" said he.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning to you, sir!" I answered, feeling
some uneasiness, for the flickering smile with which
he greeted me had scarcely touched his face before it
vanished, leaving him grave and solemn as a judge;
so that I stood there with my hand upon the door-latch,
wondering swiftly which of my many sins had
found me out.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Be seated, Michael," said my father, pointing with
his pen-point to a chair in front of him; and down I
sat, with some such qualms as I was used to have
when paying those private visits to my schoolmaster
which were wont to end in certain flagellation.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>For what seemed quite an age, my father sat there
looking at me in a fixed, abstracted way which made
me feel still more uncomfortable; then, having laid
down his pen and turned the hour-glass, he leaned
back in his chair with folded hands and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Michael, my son, you have passed another milestone
on life's road; you are eighteen to-day--a man,
in fact."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here he paused, as though expecting me to speak:
but although his words had mightily relieved me,
and made me feel a good inch taller, too, I could think
of no answer for them; and so I only nodded--sat a
little straighter in my chair, and wondered what was
coming next. Perceiving this, he thus continued:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Michael, you are now old enough to play the
man in right good earnest. 'Tis high time that you
were up and doing in the world. For, mark you,
I would not have a son of mine an idle, useless
popinjay."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor would I choose the part," I put in bluntly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I am sure you would not," rejoined my
father proudly. "You come of a wrong stock for
that. But, look you, you spoke of choosing parts;
what part, what calling, would you choose if you
were able?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Fighting--soldiering, that is," I answered readily.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A blazing, warlike gleam leapt suddenly into the
old man's eyes, and as he sat bolt upright in his chair,
and glanced with glowing pride at that well-tried
sword of his which hung upon the wall, I thought
I never saw so fine a man.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis well and bravely said," he murmured.
"Fighting--soldiering! A young man could not make a
better choice than that. And, as you know, Michael,
I speak from great experience. In the days of good
King Charles the Martyr--God rest his soul!--I
fought in nigh a dozen battles, counting skirmishes.
And gladly would I fight again if I were able. Ah,
yes! there is no finer work for any man than fighting
for his king."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"His king!" I echoed. "Must I then fight for James?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Certes," replied my father with an astonished
look. "For whom else would you fight, my son?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I know not, but I hate King James," I blurted
out. "He is a cruel man, a poltroon, and a----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" broke in my father, raising a warning
hand; and even as he spoke there came a sound like
that of someone stirring stealthily among the shrubs
outside the window.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>We both rose and looked out searchingly, but as
there was nothing to be seen, sat down again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What was it, think you?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A cat, perhaps; or maybe the dog," replied my
father.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But I was far from satisfied; for I had distinctly
heard that which, his hearing being somewhat hard,
had escaped the old man's notice--to wit, what
sounded like cautious, slinking footsteps.
However, as the thing could not be proved, I let it
pass.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You spake without due thought, son Michael,"
said my father gravely. "Such words as you just
now used are as dangerous as wild. Kings must
vary, even as mankind itself doth vary. There must
be good and bad in everything; and sometimes 'tis
the kingship that we fight for, not the man. And
mark you, Michael, even a bad king were far better
than no king at all--aye, a thousand times!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I felt far from sure of that, but my father was no
man to argue with, especially upon one's birthday, so
I did not press the matter.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But is there no other king that I can fight for?"
I asked. "John Cornish went from Lyme here, as
you know, into the Netherlands, fought for the Prince
of Orange, and became a captain. Can I not do the
same, sir?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My father frowned and stroked his beard, as was
his wont when not well pleased.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That is fortune-soldiering," he answered gravely;
"a thing I do not favour. For although it certainly
hath bred good fighters, 'tis apt to lead to
looseness--selling the sword, that is, for money to the highest
bidder. Nay, Michael, I would not have my son do
that. Fight for your king and country when the
time comes, and let that suffice."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But how and where, then, shall I fight?" I asked.
"Since Monmouth cut the Covenanters up at Bothwell
Brig there hath been naught worth the name of
fighting; and although 'tis said the Duke of Argyle is
in Scotland with some followers, that will not touch
us: he will soon be done for. Nay, sir, I see no chance
of fighting here in England. All is peace."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but methinks it will not be so long, Michael,"
rejoined my father with a knowing look.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What mean you, sir?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean," he answered, leaning forward with his
arms upon the table and speaking in a whisper, "I
mean that I have certain knowledge that at any
moment bloody civil war may again break out
among us."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How, sir, and what proof?" I cried, springing to
my feet.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down," replied my father quietly. Then, opening
a drawer, he drew therefrom a letter. "Here is
my proof," he said, unfolding it, "though certes it was
not for me; I found it wedged inside a larger
document which came by post last night. Thus it had
been overlooked. I opened it unthinkingly, and,
when I saw the nature of its contents, kept it; and
that rightly, as it seems to me. Read it," he added,
holding the paper out across the table.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas addressed to a man well known to us; one
who had fought with Blake when he held Lyme so
stoutly against Prince Maurice in the Civil Wars.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The writing was a poor scrawl enough, and hard
to read in parts, but this is how it ran:--</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>"Dated from London, 8th June, 1685.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>"FRIEND,</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>"These are to advise thee that honest Protestants
forthwith prepare and make themselves very
ready, for they have notice here at Court that a
Certain Person will forthwith appear in the West,
which puts them here at Court into a most dreadful
fear and confusion; 'tis hoped, therefore, that all
honest men who are true Protestants will stick
together and make ready for the trumpet call of
Freedom. Argyle have had great success in Scotland,
and have already destroyed great part of the King's
forces there; and we hear from good hands that he
hath sure an army that doth increase so mightily
daily that nothing can oppose them; and if they be
once up in the West they would suddenly be up in all
parts of England, all Protestants being certainly
prepared and resolved rather to die than to live Slaves
and Papists. Therefore make good use hereof, and
impart it to such as you can trust, that you may all be
prepared and ready against the appearance of a Certain
Person, which will be forthwith if not already.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
</div>
<dl class="docutils">
<dt class="noindent"><span>"From your friend,</span></dt>
<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"F.R."</span></p>
</dd>
</dl>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>"This is a pretty riddle, sir," said I, laying down the
letter.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," quoth the old man, smiling at my puzzled
look; "'tis plain as any horn-book. Who, think you,
is the Certain Person named herein?" He touched
the letter.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir, I cannot tell," I answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Guess! The name begins with M."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But as I knew several names beginning with that
letter this information did not greatly help me; and
though I was soon astonished that it had not done so,
I could only shake my head and say:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot guess."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, I will tell thee," said my father. "The
Certain Person is none other than James, Duke of
Monmouth."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This time I sprang up so vehemently that over went
my chair and I came near to following it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" I cried. "Monmouth! That pretty fellow
whom I saw five years ago at Colyton when he rode
through the West so proudly, with thousands of fine
gentlemen behind him?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The very same," replied my father gravely.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But is he not an exile in the Netherlands?" I
asked, amazed.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That is his portion," said my father, looking mighty
stern. "Or, rather, was."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, what comes he here for?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"To stir up rank rebellion; to play the fine
Pretender; in a word, to try and wrest the crown from
him who rightly wears it, to wit, his uncle, our King
James."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That being so," said I, drawing myself up very
straight and feeling mightily important, "I fight for
Monmouth."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas now my father's turn to show amazement,
the which he did by springing to his feet with
such suddenness and anger that I fell back a step or
two.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop!" he hissed across the table. "You know
not what you say. Such words as those would hang
a man if they were overheard. Wouldst fight for a
usurper?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"They say he is the rightful heir," said I.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'They say'! Who say?" returned my father hotly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, those who have a right to know," I answered
glumly, for my pride was hurt.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then know that 'they' say wrong," he scornfully
rejoined. "This Monmouth hath no more title to the
crown than you or I have."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But, sir, is he not the eldest son of Charles the
Second?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"They have no proof who say so. Therefore I
say again, he hath no claim, no title to the throne
of England."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This seemed a crushing answer right enough, and
so for a moment I was silent. But I had read and
heard--as no doubt you have also--of some mysterious
written proof of Charles's marriage to one Lucy Walters,
Monmouth's mother. 'Twas said to have been hidden
in a black box somewhere, which, when the needful
time arrived, was nowhere to be found; and even they
who had professed to having seen the very document
in question, roundly denied all knowledge of it when
brought before the Council. To be quite honest, I had
but small belief in it myself, but now, in my fallen
pride, it served my purpose; so----</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What of the Black Box?" I said, looking as wise
as any parrot.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I had expected that my father's answer to this
question would be short and sharp--indeed, perhaps
nothing save a scornful laugh; but, to my great
astonishment, he dropped back straight into his chair
and stared at me like one possessed, while his breath
came thick and fast, as though he had suffered some
great shock.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you know of that?" he gasped at last.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, father," I answered carelessly by way of
calming him, for knowing that he suffered from a
weakness of the heart I was afraid lest harm should
come to him. "Nothing, that is, beyond what others
know. Indeed, I thought 'twas common knowledge."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Common knowledge!" echoed my father with a
fearful start. "What do you mean?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, the report that there is somewhere written
proof of Charles's marriage. Is it not common
knowledge? I remember hearing of it when I was a boy at
school."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes; but the box in which 'twas said to have
been hidden! What do you know of that?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He put this question with a feverish eagerness and
then gazed at me searchingly, if indeed not suspiciously.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," I answered firmly; "absolutely nothing."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On hearing this my father heaved a sigh of deep
relief, and for a space stared at me in a far-off,
wondering manner, as though he were scarce certain of my
presence; then, leaning slowly forward on the table,
he said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Michael, 'tis passing strange that you should be
the first to mention that which I have brought you
here to speak of, but, having done so, the need for
a preamble is at least removed. Know, then, that the
tale of the Black Box, albeit so bedecked and garnished
with absurdities by the tongue of busy gossip, is not
entirely fabulous. For, verily, that box exists. I have
it here."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When I heard this I was as one struck dumb. To
think that in that quiet, book-lined chamber there lay
a hidden secret which, as it seemed to me, might have
the power to turn a kingdom upside down! I was
aghast, and as I gazed in blank bewilderment about
the room it was as though black boxes had usurped
the very shelves and lurked in every corner. Thus for
a moment I was speechless, then my eyes went slowly
back to him from whom this most astounding news
had come, and who now sat watching me intently.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You have it, sir!" I said in a voice that sounded
strange and distant to my ears. "Where? How?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That you shall know presently. All in good time,"
replied my father with a curious little smile, which
I can see again distinctly as I write these words.
"But, first of all, I ask your promise as a man and son
that not a word of what I show and tell you shall pass
your lips so long as I am living. When I am gone
you may do as you choose, but until then this matter
must be treated as a bounden secret sacred to us two,
and to us alone. Have I your oath that this shall be
so, Michael?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You have," I answered. "Here is my hand upon it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Our hands met firm and solemnly across the table.
Then my father rose, and taking down a picture
of my mother which hung upon the wall, pressed with
his fingers on the wainscoting beneath. Instantly a
panelled door flew open, revealing a secret cupboard
big enough to hold two men.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>After some groping in a bottom corner of this
chamber, he discovered what he sought, and, returning
to the table, laid thereon a little box of ebony, about
eight inches square.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-secret-of-the-black-box"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER II</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">The Secret of the Black Box</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Sitting with his hands upon the box as though
'twere something which might jump away, my father
tapped it gently, saying:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That which I am about to show you, Michael, is
what no eye save mine hath seen except one other.
Yours will make a third; which goes to prove how
thoroughly I trust you."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Unbuttoning his vest, he brought forth a
curious-looking key, which hung by a narrow ribbon from
his neck. With this he solemnly unlocked the box,
and having thrown the lid back, laid it again upon
the table. 'Twas lined with purple velvet, and, so far
as I could see, contained two separate papers neatly
tied with silk. The undermost of these he took out
first and laid it on the table.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Read that," he said, "and tell me what you think
of it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Greatly wondering, I undid the cord and scanned
the contents of the paper. Then my hand shook, for
this is what I read:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Know all men, that our eldest and well-beloved
child, James, Duke of Monmouth, is our rightful heir,
in proof whereof we herewith give the marriage
contract made between his mother, Lucy Walters, and
ourselves.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Given at our Palace of Whitehall, this sixteenth
day of August, in the Year of Grace 1679.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"CHARLES R."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what think you of it?" asked my father, as
our eyes met.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," I answered eagerly, "it proves exactly
what I said: that Monmouth is the rightful King
of England."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! you say so," quoth my father grimly. "Now
read this."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This was none other than the marriage contract
mentioned in the foregoing letter. 'Twas dated from
Cologne, set forth every detail of the matter, and was
also signed by Charles.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, and what now?" asked my father gloatingly,
as I laid the parchment on the table.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, 'tis clear as any pikestaff," I replied. "Monmouth
should be King without a question."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! you think so," said my father shrewdly.
"Small wonder either; but be not too hasty in your
judgments, Michael. Now read that," he added,
handing me the final paper with a glowing look of
triumph.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This writing was my father's well-known hand,
and 'tis small wonder that I read it with amazement;
for this is how it ran:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I, Gilbert Fane, of The Havering, by Lyme, in the
County of Dorset, writing with full knowledge of the
matter, do hereby solemnly declare the documents
inside this Box to be rank forgeries.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"GILBERT FANE."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When, dumbfounded and bewildered, I raised my
eyes from this amazing statement 'twas to find my
father's fixed upon me with a hungry look.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! and what now?" he asked, drumming the
table with his fingers.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment I could find no words, then:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgeries!" I fairly gasped.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, rank forgeries," replied the old man grimly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But--sir--" I stammered, "'tis the King's own
writing."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure of that, eh?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sure as death."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And why?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I saw a letter from King Charles at Sir
John Berkeley's house but a week ago. 'Tis framed
and hangs upon the wall; and the writing is the same
as that," I added, pointing to the documents.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You have good cause for saying that; yet 'tis
not so."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, at any rate two peas were never more alike.
I remember thinking that the 'Charles' looked more
like Charley--just as this one does. Yes, 'tis
wonderfully like it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! I am with you there," rejoined my father
grimly. "As you say, 'tis wonderfully like indeed--and
why? Because 'twas written by a wonderfully
clever man."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And who was that?" I asked point-blank.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"One Robert Ferguson," replied my father slowly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What! the great Ferguson?" I cried, astonished.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Great if you choose to call him so," came the
answer, in the same deep, measured tones. "But
wicked, I should say. Ferguson the plotter!"--(here
he raised his voice)--"Ferguson the traitor, liar,
thief, and hypocrite! As black a scoundrel as e'er
set foot upon God's earth!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As, with blazing eyes and ever-rising voice, my
father poured forth this fierce denunciation, my
amazement broke all bounds. I knew this man, this
wicked rogue, by cold repute--as who did not? for
his name and deeds were blazoned everywhere. How
he had been Churchman, Presbyterian, Independent,
Writer, and Preceptor--everything by turn. How
he had used religion as a cloak for vilest ends; how
he had played false with every party; and how,
in the end, when the Rye House plot leaked out (of
which he was prime mover), he had, with a mocking
laugh, abandoned his accomplices to their fate, while
he, disguised, escaped abroad.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, I knew this brazen, barefaced rogue right
well; but that these documents--these fresh examples
of his falsity and cunning--should have come into our
house, was what so amazed me; and this perplexity
was swiftly noted by my father, for while I yet sat
there in blank bewilderment he smiled and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"This matter sorely puzzles you, I see."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Puzzles me!" I cried. "Aye, sir, that it does and
more. What can you have had to do with Ferguson,
and how came you by those papers?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a natural question," he said, "and I will
answer it as briefly as may be. About six years ago
I met this man, this rogue, this Ferguson, in London;
though I did not then know that 'twas he, for, as you
know, he went by divers names, and had a separate
lodging for each name. With me he passed as one
Elijah Annabat, a scrivener, in the city; and,
oh! shame on me for my blindness, Michael, but his words
and ways were such that I counted him a right good
fellow cursed with an ugly face. Nay, worse, I even
trusted him with money. But I overrun my tale.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"At last we became so friendly that I went to
visit him at his lodging in the Chepe, and there it
was that I first saw him working on these forgeries.
Night after night I found him bending over them,
working like one possessed. He said that he was
making copies for a man in high estate; but one
night he chanced to leave a sheet uncovered at the
bottom, and there I read 'Charles R.' 'Ah! "high
estate" indeed', thought I, but of course said nothing.
Well, to make few words of it, another night I chanced
to catch him locking up his precious papers in this
very box. This time methought he had an evil,
hunted look upon his ugly face, but, though I had
my doubts, I did not see my way to question him;
and as my business took me home upon the morrow,
I bade Elijah Annabat farewell. Now, as I said, I
had been surpassing fool enough to trust him with
some money, on which he did profess he could obtain
great usury within a month. Well, I had been home
at least two months, and yet had had no tidings of
the matter, so I wrote to him. Another month passed,
but no answer came. I wrote again; but still there
was no answer. Then, while I was yet turning over
in my mind what course to take, the Black Box tale
leapt over England, and with it flashed into my
memory what I had seen in London. 'Ah! I will pay
a visit to Elijah Annabat,' said I: and forthwith posted
up to town.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"By rare good chance I found him in, and, what
was still more to my liking, there was he seated at a
table with the Black Box in his hands. As I came
suddenly upon him he turned a savage glance towards
me; then, having quickly hid the box beneath some
papers, he rose, and, holding out his hand, grinned
like a cat and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Well met, good Master Fane!'</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Well met, indeed, good Master Annabat!' quoth
I, remaining stiff and frowning by the door. 'Where
is my money?'</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"His face changed instantly, as though a mask had
fallen from it; and for a time he stood there stroking
his bristly chin and shooting glances at me from
beneath his heavy eyebrows.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Hum!' he said at last. 'Your money, eh, friend?
Ah, to be sure, your money. Yes, of course. Well,
friend, I fear 'tis like the sheep of which we read in
Holy Scripture--lost!'"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"On hearing this, I paused a moment: then suddenly
a wild idea seized me. 'That being so,' I said, 'I will
have your Black Box in exchange for it.'</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Never have I seen a man so struck as he was by
those words. His face went white, then red; and
then, without a moment's warning, he sprang on me
like a tiger.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"He was a younger and a stronger man than I, and
moreover had the advantage of attack; but, as you
know, I was something of a wrestler in my youth,
and so by a well-proved trick I sent him flying from
me. Reeling back, his head struck full upon the wall,
and there he lay like one dead. Nor was this all, for,
as he fell, a paper left his pocket. Picking it up I
read 'To Robert Ferguson, Esquire.' That was enough
for me. Taking the box I left him lying there, and
started straightway on my homeward journey.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"As for Ferguson, I hoped devoutly he was killed,
and still regret he was not; but, alack! within a
fortnight from that time the Rye House Plot came
out, and he was forced to flee the country, and, thank
Heaven, hath never dared to show his wicked face in
England since. So there you have the answer to your
question, Michael," said my father, in conclusion. "Is
all now clear to you, my son?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," I answered, "it is clear enough how you
met Ferguson and got his box; but why, having such
clear proof of his amazing falseness, did you not expose
him to the world?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I dared not, Michael," replied the old
man slowly. "Wrong breeds wrong, and violence
violence. In my anger I had taken that to which I
had no right; but, as you see, there is naught save my
written word to prove I was not privy to these
forgeries; nor would those in authority have believed it
was not so. And remember that the law was even
then, as ten times more so now, gathered up in one
foul, cruel fellow--that bloody-minded man, Judge
Jeffreys. Yea, verily, to be found with this," he
added, tapping the box significantly, "would then, as
now, have spelt death to any man. And although,
even six years ago my days were not many, I had
no wish to cut them short by dangling at a rope-end.
Wherefore I kept the box, and--well, here it is."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And Ferguson made no stir about it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, by the same token that he dare not, for
would they not have asked how he had knowledge of
it? What now? Hast any further questions, Michael?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir," I answered, after thinking for a moment,
"I have no more questions, but, if I may, I would
make one suggestion."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, certainly; what is it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, that in your written statement you should
add unto the words 'Rank forgeries'--'by Ferguson,
the Plotter.'"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A right excellent suggestion, too," rejoined my
father. "It shall be done forthwith."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Taking up his pen he did it, and was replacing the
papers in their small black house, when I saw him
add the letter concerning "A Certain Person", which,
as you know, did not belong to him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay!" I interrupted, "why that one, sir?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Because 'tis the safest place for it," he answered,
as he closed and locked the lid. "To give it to its
rightful owner would need explanations, and those
would be risky and might lead to trouble. Therefore
let it rest here. And now," he added, pushing back
the box, "I have told you everything. I always meant
to do so on your eighteenth birthday, and glad am I
'tis done, for the sharing of a secret trustily brings
great relief. As to the future; well, as I said before,
when I am gone--when the secret is again one
man's--you will do exactly as you please, but I would
counsel you, when that time comes, to burn the box
and all that it contains."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not burn it now," I put in eagerly, "and be
done with it for ever?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My father drew the box towards him, and, as it
seemed to me, caressed it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," he said, "I could not bring myself to do
it. 'Tis perchance naught save an old man's foolish
fancy, Michael, but I tell you I have kept this little
thing so long that I--I love it, even as I fear it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why not burn the papers only?" I suggested.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! that would leave an empty shell indeed; and
what is a body when the heart is taken from it? Nor
would I trust the flames. No, no! When I am dead,
burn as and what you please, but until then my little
friend goes back into his resting-place. Come! let me
show you how the panel may be opened."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that, he replaced the box in its dark corner,
and, having closed the cupboard door, was just
showing me the secret of the spring, when we were once
more startled by a noise outside--this time like that
of snapping twigs.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment we both stood stock-still, listening,
then running to the window, looked out anxiously.
But again there was nothing to be seen. The ancient,
broad-leaved chestnut tree which grew quite close
above a neighbouring wall and threw deep shadows
on the lawn beneath, gave forth no sign.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Michael," quoth my father, smiling, though
his look was most uneasy, "methinks it is a case of
guilty consciences begetting fearful thoughts. A bird,
an animal it surely was, or----" He stopped; for
suddenly, from nowhere, as it seemed to me, a great black
cat sprang into view and fled helter-skelter down the
garden walk, with a goodly length of narrow cord
trailing from its neck.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>We started back as though it had been the Evil
One himself; then, as the brute dashed out of view,
turned to each other and broke out a-laughing. But
verily it struck me that our mirth was far from being
hearty; and, looking back, it seems a mockery that
we laughed at all.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"So much for the disturber of our peace," remarked
my father. "A poor beast, doubtless tortured by
some cruel lad, hath saved himself from--hanging."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a case of gallows cheating, then," said I; "and
one of blackness, too--a black cat there, a black box
here."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I said this lightly, but my father cast a swift,
uneasy glance towards the secret panel.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true enough," he answered quickly. "But
now for brighter matters. This is your eighteenth
birthday, Michael, and I have here for you two
presents which may help you on that way of soldiering
which, as I knew, would be your choice."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Going to a corner he brought therefrom two parcels,
a long one and a short one, neatly wrapped in cloth,
and laid them on the table. The larger one he undid
first, and there, to my great delight, I saw as fine a
sword as any man could wish to wear; then, while I
yet stood enraptured at so grand a thing, he brought
forth from the other package a brace of handsome
pistols with holsters all complete.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Take these with a father's blessing," said the old
man, bowing graciously. "And may you use them
well and worthily, my son!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir!" I began, and forthwith tried to thank him,
but the words came stumbling awkwardly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then he must needs strap on the sword himself,
and make me stand while he surveyed the hang of it
like any captain on parade.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, 'tis well enough, 'twill do," he said at last;
"but remember, Michael, that the truest blade is
naught unless there be a good, true heart behind it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, sir, I will remember that," I answered
solemnly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I am sure of it," rejoined my father. "And
now I have it in mind to write to my friend Lord
Feversham concerning you. It may be that he hath
an ensignship or cornetcy to offer. Would that suit
you?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"With all my heart," I answered eagerly; "and may
the chance to use this sword come soon!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My father smiled.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, never fear," he said, "'twill come quite soon
enough; perhaps too soon."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You have no doubt, then, as to the meaning of that
secret letter?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"None whatever."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And you feel certain that the Duke is coming on us?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, quite certain, Michael."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And where, think you, will he land?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! there you ask too much. That is beyond my
knowledge. But 'twill be somewhere in the West,
beyond a doubt."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you not warn them up in London, then, of
such grave danger?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I have thought of that. But where would be
the use? The King, and those around him, must
know far more of this than I. Besides, rightly to
warn, the letter must be shown, and that, as I said
before, is fraught with real danger in such times
as these."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I saw the truth of that, and was silent for a
moment; then a thought struck me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What if Monmouth landed here at Lyme?" I said.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My father started at the words.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"God forbid!" said he. "Our little town hath had
enough of fighting for all time. Enough! Let us
leave warfare for the present, Michael; 'twill come
quite soon enough--too soon, methinks. But that
reminds me; I have been thinking much about your
meeting with that cut-throat rascal on the road a few
nights ago; and the more I think of it, the stranger
doth it seem. His name, now, I am not sure of it--what
was it?--Tubal something."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Tubal Ammon."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes; and what a name it is! It rings of
wickedness and cunning. Still, I greatly doubt if it
be his real name; as I also doubt that fine long tale he
told you of the Indians."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet what of those strange things he showed me?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, they do not greatly count, methinks; for as
a sailor he might well have come by them in far-off
countries. Perchance his story was half lies, half
truth. But what most puzzles me, what in fact I
cannot put away, is the man he told you of who died
aboard that ship, and spoke of me and Lyme. If that
be true, 'tis very strange."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I scarcely think it was true, sir, but rather a piece
of trickery to hold me in the lane. Having found out
my name, that is, he made a tale to fit it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you hit it rightly, Michael--and yet----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir, at any rate I fear it is impossible for us
to prove it; for no doubt the rascal is far enough
away by now."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Barely had I said those words when from without
there came the loud snapping of a tree branch,
followed by a heavy thud, and this again by the sound
of swiftly-running feet.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Springing to the window, I looked out. As I have
said, a lusty chestnut tree grew close above a
neighbouring wall. This time its leaves were shaking
violently, while a broken branch lay lodged upon the
wall top; but there was no one to be seen, and so it
was clear that whoever had fallen must have gone
down on the far side of the wall, that is, the one
on which the tree was rooted.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" asked my father in an anxious
whisper, leaning over me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A broken branch," I answered. "Someone was
certainly in yonder tree."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The hand upon my shoulder trembled.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! say you so? Who could it have been?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That I will try to find out."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Climbing through the casement, which was but
some ten feet above the ground, I dropped lightly to
the lawn. Midway in the garden wall a little door
led to a small demesne, of shrubbery and orchard.
Full carefully I opened this, and, passing through,
stood listening. Not a sound was to be heard, and as
the grass had been mown but a day or two before,
and still lay in a thick swath, there was little chance
of finding tracks.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Going to the chestnut tree I examined it carefully,
but found no marks upon the trunk. Beyond the
broken branch (a smallish one) there was no sign of
him who had disturbed us, save for a hollow in the
hay beneath, where he had fallen.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Having made sure of this, I again paused to listen;
then, as no sound reached me, I went in and out
among the trees and shrubs, probing the latter with
my sword and searching every likely place. In this
fashion I had covered three parts of the ground, and
had wellnigh given up all hope of finding anything,
when suddenly there came a rending crash from the
far end of the orchard, and by the sound of it not
twenty yards from where I was then engaged in
exploring the recesses of a laurel bush.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Darting off in the direction of the noise, I soon
perceived the cause of it. Someone had gone by sheer
force through a lofty hedge of privet, which served
as a boundary to the orchard. Where one had thus
escaped, another might be counted on to follow; taking
a run, I hurled myself fiercely at the hedge, and
after much struggling (for it was wondrous thick and
strong) tumbled head foremost, out upon the other
side.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here a narrow foothold ended in a high, steep bank,
and such was my eagerness that I had much ado
to keep from rolling to the bottom; but by clutching
at the grass I saved myself, and rising, looked about
me. Below me lay a well-grown spinney, and from
thence, though no one was in sight, came the sound of
swiftly-running feet.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Next moment I was down the bank and speeding
round the outskirts of the wood, with flying footsteps
right ahead of me. I was reckoned very fleet in those
days, but he whom I now pursued flew like the wind;
and what with that, and the many bends and juttings
of the wood, he beat me: run as I would I could not
get a sight of him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In this mad fashion we must have circled round the
wood at least three times, and I was just wondering
what the end of such a giddy chase would be, when
suddenly the running footsteps of my quarry ceased
behind a clump of bushes thirty yards or so ahead.
Breathless, I stopped to listen. The hurried pad of
feet was followed by a curious scraping noise--then
all was still again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Drawing my sword I crept up to the bushes and
took a cautious peep beyond them. But there was no
one visible, and, indeed, I had not thought there would
be. Still, I was greatly puzzled, for it seemed certain
that the fellow could neither have run on nor through
the wood without my hearing him. Where, then, was he?</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Asking myself that question, I fell to searching
carefully with hand and sword among the bushes.
But they proved innocent of harbourage; no one was
there. In doing this I came beneath a thick-leaved
oak tree, and chancing to glance up, was startled by
the vision of a pair of shoeless, grey-hosed feet, which
dangled from a lofty branch; no more of their owner
was visible to me, the rest of him being hidden by the
foliage.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So astonished was I by this sight, that at first I
could do naught save stare in blank amazement.
Then an idea came to me. Walking off as though
I had not noticed anything, I covered twenty yards or
more, then turned suddenly and faced the tree. Barely
had I done this ere a pistol shot rang out, and, as the
bullet whistled past my head, I saw the evil, crinkled
mask of Tubal Ammon peering at me from the oak
leaves.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="up-a-tree"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER III</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">Up a Tree</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Too utterly amazed either for speech or action, I stood
stock-still and watched the pistol smoke curl slowly
up above the tree; while Tubal Ammon, shooting forth
his ugly head until it hung out like a green-framed
gargoyle, surveyed me with a hideous leer. Thus for
a moment there was a tense silence as we stared at one
another.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well met!" said I at last.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And badly aimed," quoth he, grinning as though
the thing were but a jest.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite well enough for me," I answered, folding my
arms and frowning on him. "Another inch or so
and----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, that is true," he broke in quickly. "Yet
doth an inch make all the difference betwixt a good
shot and a bad one. But, verily, the leaves were in
my way, nor, to tell the truth, was I very steady on
this branch."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Make no excuses," I replied: "you did your best
to kill me; that is quite sufficient."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'twas a chancy accident," said he, bringing
his monkey head a little farther out. "Look you,
when you walked away just now I took a thoughtless
aim--'twas habit--nothing more. Then when you
swung round suddenly I started on this perch of mine
and fired by accident."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a lie!" I thundered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, friend, 'tis gospel truth. If I had wished to
kill you should I not have done it while you lurked
beneath this tree?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No; for you could not see me then, by reason of
the leaves."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, there you err most grievously. I saw you
well. You made a lovely mark. I could have shot
you easily."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough!" I answered sharply. "We shall gain
naught by arguing the matter. Listen, friend Tubal
Ammon, this is our second meeting. Three nights ago
you would have killed me on the road----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, wrong again," he put in eagerly. "'Twas
but an empty threat; and greatly did I suffer for it.
Yea, verily, I still can feel the kick you gave me. Yet
do I not complain," he added with a snivel. "'Twas
well deserved."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It was, indeed," said I; "and a pistol bullet had
been more so. But let that pass. Say, what brought
you lurking round our house just now?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My conscience!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho! ho!" I mocked. "The conscience of one Tubal
Ammon, eh? A groat for it!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'tis above all price," he whined, shutting his
eyes and drawing down the corners of his ugly mouth.
"A fortune would not buy it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite so," said I. "You cannot buy a shadow.
Again, what brought you spying on us from the tree?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A guilty conscience," he replied; "for did I not
reward great goodness with a base ingratitude? Yea,
verily. Ever since I treated you thus shamefully
black thoughts have been my portion. I could not
rest. I felt that I must look upon the house of him
whose kindness had been thus wickedly requited.
Perchance, thought I, I may behold him also. Therefore
I got me into your orchard while it was still dark,
and waited. Soon after daylight came I heard the
opening of a casement, and looking from my hiding-place
behind a bush beheld an old man standing at
a window. As fine a gentleman as I have ever seen.
Say, friend, was that your father?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Go on," I answered sharply.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah me! Now just to think of it!" quoth Tubal
Ammon, drawing in his breath softly. "The very man
whose name I heard so oft from him who was so good
to me aboard that ship. Well, friend, I watched your
father till he left the window, and presently I heard
your voice. Then, creeping up beside the wall, I climbed
that tree and gazed into the room. I could just see
you both; and twice you heard me and looked forth."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And didst hear what we talked about?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I caught nothing save a hum of voices," he
answered readily.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And what of the black cat?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He started at those words; then, with a little
shudder, answered:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, an evil beast as ever was. I found it just
above me in the tree, and cast a noose about its neck,
meaning to strangle it for fear it should betray me,
but it shot off and took my cord along with it. Soon
afterwards the faithless branch broke, and--well, you
know the rest. Thus ends my true confession,
friend--what say you?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, this," I answered sternly; "the conscience
part of it is little to my liking; for 'tis my firm belief
you came to spy, and afterwards to rob. If it be not
so--if my judgment is at fault, come down and prove
your words."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How so? What mean you, friend?" he asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Come down, and let me take you to my father,"
I replied.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, nay!" cracked Tubal Ammon, shaking his
head until the leaves around it fairly danced. "I dare
not."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Because methinks that you would hold me prisoner
and deliver me to justice."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, have no fear of that. You are not worth the
trouble. Come, then, and tell my father what you
have told me. No harm will come of it. You shall
go free. You have my word for that."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I will consider it," said Tubal Ammon, and with
that disappeared behind the leaves.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As I stood listening a gentle click came from the
tree.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing there?" I shouted.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Wrestling with my thoughts," came back the
high-pitched answer.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Or reloading--which?" I asked. "If 'tis the
latter, save yourself the trouble, for, look you, I am safe
from bullets."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that I slipped behind a tree-trunk, and for
wellnigh a minute there was silence. Then out popped
Ammon's shaven head again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twould seem your faith in me is small," he sang.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Truly it is not very great," I answered. "Why
have you reloaded?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Because necessity is best served by readiness, good
friend."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not coming down, then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I have considered it most carefully. I am
not coming down."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What, then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, friend, it doth appear to me that we are quits.
You have no pistol, and therefore cannot come against
me; nor can you even leave that tree with safety. By
the same token I am swordless, and therefore 'twould
be a matter of exceeding risk for me to descend; for
if I fired and missed, what then? Thus, you are there,
and I am here."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and you would kill me if you could for all
your priceless conscience."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, put it not thus harshly, friend. Say, rather,
that I must be free at all cost."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Which goes to prove a guilty conscience."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, a ready wit. But let us not waste words.
</span><em class="italics">Verbum sat sapienti</em><span>. Truly my Latin needs a little
furbishing; still, 'twill serve. Look you, friend, I offer
thee a clean, straight bargain. Go thy way and let
me go mine."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The time has gone for bargaining," I answered
sternly. "I will stay here till help arrives. 'Twill
not be long, I fancy."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On hearing that his thin lips parted in a grin which
showed two rows of firm-set teeth and made his face
a picture of maliciousness.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, say you so?" he hissed. "Then I am ready.
</span><em class="italics">In omnia paratus</em><span>. And yet again, </span><em class="italics">eventus stultorum
magister</em><span>."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that he disappeared from view, the branches
shook, and in a flash I knew that he was bent on swift
pursuit and murder. But scarcely had he moved when
a cry rang out behind me, and turning round, I saw
my father speeding round the wood-end, twenty yards
off, with a pistol in his hand.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a care! Come not too close!" I shouted,
pointing to the tree. "He is up there, with a pistol!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Who?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The man we want."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"He is fairly caught, then," quoth my father
grimly, as he stopped and cocked his pistol.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Be not too sure of that," I answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Even as I spoke, there came a great commotion
from the tree, as of one struggling desperately; and
then a frantic, gurgling cry broke out:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Help! caught by neck! Strangling. Help!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twould seem as though swift justice had him,"
said my father. "Come, let us see," he added, moving
forward.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, have a care," said I. "I trust him not. He
is as crafty as Old Nick. To go beneath the tree
might mean a well-aimed bullet."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nathless, we cannot see the villain hang. What's
to be done? Is he high up, think you?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, near the top; or so at least he was."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, then, I have it. We must get a ladder. There
is that long one hanging on the garden wall. The
very thing. Come, Michael, let us fetch it. Hark! he
is surely strangling," he added, as the cries grew still
more guttural and frantic. "Come, quickly!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So off we sped, and having got the ladder, and
a brace of loaded pistols, returned full quickly to the
spot. But there were no cries now; leaves lay thick
beneath the oak tree, but its erstwhile shaking
branches were quite still, and not a sound was to be
heard.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Belike enough the miserable wretch is dead by
now," remarked my father, as we laid the ladder
down and listened for a while. And with that he
would have gone straight forward to the tree; but
my knowledge of the "miserable wretch's" ways
enjoined greater caution.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay! Let us try this first," I said.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Drawing a pistol from my belt, I fired into the tree
and listened carefully; but there was neither sound
nor movement, save where the bullet tore its way.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead, sure enough!" exclaimed my father.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we will prove it now," said I, though far
from certain of the risk we ran in doing so.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Soon we had the ladder reared against a lofty
branch: then, taking a pistol in my hand, I climbed
up cautiously into the tree.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At first I could see little, by reason of the thickness
of the foliage; but as I neared the top 'twas quickly
evident that Tubal Ammon was not there. Some
broken twigs betrayed the place where he had sat;
but that was all the sign there was of him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!" cried my father from below. "What see
you, Michael? Is he there?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir; he is not here," I answered. "'Tis as
I thought--we have been fooled; our bird has
flown."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well; no matter," said my father, with,
methought, a touch of disappointment in his voice.
"'Twere better so than that he should be hanging."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Be none so sure of that," I murmured to myself,
descending quickly to the ground. And there we
stood and faced each other, like the beaten men we
were.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Dost know who he was?" enquired my father with
a searching look.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, full well," I answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! and who then was he?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Tubal Ammon!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My father started back.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" he cried, "the man who held thee on the
road three nights ago?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The very same, sir," I replied.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, indeed, it hath an ugly look. What, think
you, brought him prowling round our place?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The hope of thieving, sir, I fancy."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! so you think he is then but a common thief?"
exclaimed the old man hopefully.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, far from common," I replied; "for, verily, he
spouted Latin by the yard."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Latin!" echoed my father, with a start. "A
footpad quoting Latin? That makes the thing more ugly
still. I like it not. Michael," he added, laying a
hand upon my arm, and lowering his voice, as though
afraid of listeners, "think you that he heard or saw
what passed betwixt us?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I scarcely think so; in fact, I asked him and
he said he did not--though, verily, the word of such
a prick-eared knave is little to be valued. But even if
he did both see and hear, methinks he would make
little of it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well; 'tis to be hoped your way of looking
at it is the right one. Michael" (he dropped his voice
into a whisper and glanced quickly round about him),
"Michael, what if he were a creature of that rascal
Ferguson?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir," I laughed, though feeling far from easy;
"it seems to me you set too great a store upon the
knave. He is a thief, and nothing else: perchance one
who hath seen better days--and, therefore, the worst
kind of thief. But 'tis my firm belief that he has
earned a handsome lesson, and that he will not trouble
us again."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My father stroked his chin and gravely shook his head.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I like it not," he murmured; "and certainly the
window shall be watched for many nights to come."
He cast a far-off look towards the hills. "Michael, it
is as though I saw great trouble brooding over us. If
that comes, we two will stand together firmly side by
side to meet it. Is that not so, my son?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that we will, indeed!" I answered, grasping
his outstretched hand.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Just then the breakfast bell clanged forth, and
taking up the ladder, we went home in broody silence.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="three-ships"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER IV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">Three Ships</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Youth has two suns to every cloud: when one is hid
the other shines. Therefore, notwithstanding all the
turmoil of the early morning and the knowledge that
our house concealed a secret which could hang us both,
I soon, for the time at any rate, clean forgot these
matters. And so, when about ten o'clock I buckled on
that fine new sword and stepped (nay, swaggered were
a truer word for it) down townwards, there might
have been no forgeries, no Ferguson the Plotter, no
Tubal Ammon, and no Black Box in existence.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>For one thing, 'twas as fine a day as any man could
wish to see. A fresh breeze stirred the leaves; the
birds were singing gaily; while through the trees
came glimpses of our glorious bay, flashing like
diamonds in the sunlight. Thus I was as happy as a
king (nay, happier than most kings!), and as I strode
along, with hand on sword-hilt, I gave a cheery nod to
old acquaintances; frowned sternly on ill-mannered
boys; and cast gay smiles at pretty girls who, ever
and anon, peeped out from upper windows.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Enough, it was a fine bright morning, and I was in
fine feather, with as little thought of coming evil as
the larks which soared above my head. Yet I had
scarce set foot inside the town before 'twas clear that
some strange business was afoot. For the women-folk
stood gossiping excitedly at doors, while every man I
came across seemed to be hurrying seaward.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the news?" I asked of one who sped
towards me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"News!" he answered, turning his head upon his
shoulder as he ran. "Three ships, black ships!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what of that?" I shouted; but, heeding not,
he fled upon his way.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Perceiving that there was little to be gained by
questioning, I joined the merry rout which swarmed
towards the sea-front. And there, sure enough,
beating to windward in that part of the bay we call the
Cod, were three strange foreign-looking vessels--one,
by the rig of her, a frigate, though she showed no
guns; the other two small merchantmen. And now
I understood the cause of all this great excitement;
for neither of the three ships flew a colour, and somehow,
in that first swift glance, I felt they boded ill for
little Lyme.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>However, there was small room for thought just
then. You know the Cobb, that world-famed mole
of ours, which curves out seaward like a mighty
shepherd's crook, and serves us for a harbour, quay,
and everything? Well, everyone was making for that
point of vantage, and so you may be sure I lost no
time in following.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The far end of the Cobb (that is, the sea end) was
already thickly covered with an excited, wondering
crowd, and, shouldering my way into the front line,
I soon learned much. How that these three
mysterious craft had first been seen at daybreak beating
in slowly against a northerly wind. How, later on,
a ten-oared boat had put off from the largest vessel,
with three men seated in her stern, and made for
Seatown, a little creek some five miles farther down
the coast; and, having landed there her passengers,
had presently returned to the ship bearing but one of
them. And, moreover, in conclusion, how an hour
before (that is, before I reached the Cobb) Master
Thomas Tye, surveyor of the port of Lyme, and some
of his men, had rowed out to the ships themselves for
information, gone aboard the frigate, and had not
since been seen.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Most of this I learned from our deputy searcher
of customs, Master Samuel Dassell, who, armed with
his powerful telescope, stood close to me, and kept an
eye on everything.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Again, some thought the vessels Dutch, some French
(I remember Dassell stood quite firm for Dutch); some
dubbed them pirates, others privateersmen: but one
and all agreed 'twas passing strange they flew no
colours, and that the frigate veiled her guns; and
therefore that the whole thing had an ugly look.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>You may be sure I did not hear all this without
thinking of the amazing things which I had seen,
read, and heard that very morning at The Havering.
Indeed, the more I stared at the three black invaders
of our bay, the more my thoughts flew inland to that
which lay hid behind the secret panel in my father's
study, until at length the ships and box of ebony
seemed joined in one black plot.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But, as our old sergeant used to put it when he
caught us loose--let us have no mooning. Nor was
there much chance for it that morning; for just as
I was squinting at the ships through Dassell's spyglass,
the crowd behind us swayed about, and a fisherman
came elbowing and panting through it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, and what now, Joe Rockett?" asked Dassell,
turning on him sharply. "Dost bring us news from
Seatown, then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"News?" gasped the fellow, wiping the sweat from
his forehead, for 'twas mighty hot. "News? Aye,
that I do, sir. Cargoes of it!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then let us have it quick," says Dassell. "What
is it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," replied the fellow, pointing to the ships,
"you see them vessels, sir?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"See 'em!" says Dassell, with a scornful laugh.
"Good Lord, yes! Haven't we been staring at 'em
for at least three hours?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," says the man, "just after daybreak a
ten-oared boat put off from yonder frigate and came
ashore at Seatown creek."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I know that, Rockett," says the deputy, closing
his spy-glass with a snap.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, maybe you do, sir," continued Rockett, "but
maybe neither you nor these gentlemen here know
what it brought?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, that I don't. What was it?" asked the deputy.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, what think you now?" says Rockett, casting
a swift glance at the enquiring faces gathered round
him. "Well, I'll tell 'ee. Three fine pretty gentlemen,
wi' swords and pistols, stepped ashore from her,
and came along to where some of us was a-spreading
out our nets upon the sands, and behind 'em came
a seaman carrying a basket filled wi' bottles of
canary and neats' tongues. Well, up they comes,
gave us the top o' the morning, like the fine gentlemen
they were, and then, what think you, friends?--well,
if they didn't ask us to join 'em in the neats'
tongues and canary! Yes, by my soul they did!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And you didn't refuse, eh? No, I'll warrant me
you joined them, Rockett," says Dassell, smiling
grimly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, you'm right there, sir, we did," grinned
Rockett, smacking his lips; "and it were wondrous
good."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure of that," said Dassell. "And what next?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, then one of 'em asked us if we'd any news
to give. And we told him as how 'twas said there
was rebellion by the Duke of Argyle up to Scotland.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'And is that all you've got for us?' he asked; and
we told en yes.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Well, then, we've got more than that, my man,'
says he. 'For, look you, there's rebellion in Ireland,
and there's like to be one in England too.' Says we,
we hoped not, being much amazed and troubled at
the saying. But at that they only laughed and fell
a-talking to each other in some unknown tongue.
Just then a waft were hoisted from the frigate yonder,
and the finest of the three stepped back aboard the
boat and rowed away; while t' other two asked us the
nearest road to Haychurch, and away they sped as
though 'twere life and death wi' 'em."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And is that all, my man?" asked Mr. Dassell.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, fore-right it be so, sir," says Rockett.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And who knows of this at Seatown?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there be the Surveyor o' the Customs there.
He came down to the shore after these merry gentlemen
had gone their way, and we told en all about it.
'Um,' says he, 'the Mayor o' Lyme must know,' and
off he goes to Chidcock for his horse; and I came
here along the shore. What make you of those vessels,
sir?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I make no good of them," replied the deputy. "I
wager that they're up to mischief."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, sure," says Rockett. "A ship as flies no flag
is like a robber wi' a mask."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! what's this?" exclaimed the deputy, who was
looking through his spy-glass. "Yes, 'tis old Sam
Robins in his boat. They hail him from the frigate;
he goes alongside. Fool! e has handed up his fish
and gone aboard!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Blid and 'ouns!" sang Rockett. "Like enough he
hath been made a prisoner!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas true enough; old Robins had been swallowed
up, even as Tye and his men were, two hours earlier.
Faith! 'twas like the messengers whom Joram sent to
Jehu; for whosoever went aboard those ships came
not back again. Alas for poor Sam Robins' his sale
of fish that morning was to prove the worst he ever
made, and cost him dearly in the future.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I go to seek the Mayor," quoth Dassell, and so
passed through the crowd and left us.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With all the happenings of that fateful day I will
not weary you. Hour by hour excitement grew, till
everyone was on the tiptoe of perplexity and expectation.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As for the Mayor of Lyme, one Gregory Alford, he
was wellnigh beside himself because of these three
mysterious ships which thus kept beating up and
down our bay, and (though a gun was fired from
shore) refused to answer or to send the King's boat
back to land. A Royalist to his finger-tips, and owner
of two vessels doing a fine trade in cloths with the
merchants of Morlaix, he was also a bitter persecutor
of the Nonconformists, and, at that very time, had the
minister and leaders locked up snugly in the jail.
For the which he was much hated, Lyme being then
a hot-bed of dissent. Thus, when, scarce knowing
what he did, he had the town drums beaten, and
called out the town guard (a sorry tag of ill-armed
men), the people laughed and jeered, and asked how
that was going to help the matter.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Not till the afternoon was well advanced did I
bethink me to go home, and then 'twas to find the
place deserted, save for old Anne, the housekeeper;
and she, poor soul, was sorely deaf. After much
bawling, I made out that news of the ships had
reached even to this quiet spot, and that all our
faithless hands--groom, gardener, boy, and everyone--had
gone down to the Cobb. As for my father, she handed
me a letter from him. It told me that he had received
an urgent summons eight miles inland to the bedside
of an old friend who lay dying, and that he would
not return till nightfall. A </span><em class="italics">post scriptum</em><span> bade me
watch the garden when the dusk came.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This suited me right well. Laughing at the thought
of Tubal Ammon, I saddled my mare (the ever-faithful
Kitty), rode back to the town, and, having put my
horse up at the "George" there, hurried seawards.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas now high tide, and thus the Cobb was cut
off from the land;[1] but a great crowd was gathered
on the shore, with the drums and town guard in the
rear.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[1] The Cobb did not then, as now, join the land,
but was out off from it at high water.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Pushing through the throng, I gained a spot near
Dassell and the Mayor, and added two more eyes
to those already fixed upon the ships, which had
now come to anchor in the bay.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well, what make you of it now?" I heard
the Mayor ask Dassell anxiously.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Rank mischief," snapped the deputy.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's to be done, then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Naught can be done, sir. The time for doing has
gone by. Had I had my way, the scoundrels should
have answered long ago, or been the heavier by some
cannon-balls. But now it is too late. We can do
naught save watch."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Mayor groaned aloud; the councillors behind
him stared like frightened sheep; but no one had a
helpful word to offer.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And so we stood and watched; watched till our
eyeballs ached; watched till the sinking sun caught
all three vessels in a dazzling glare and made them
stand out black as ink, like things of ugly fate.
Then, just on sunset, we heard a great commotion
on the ships; the ring of sharply-given orders, the
hurried tread of feet upon the decks, the creak of
pulleys--all these reached us clearly across the smooth,
still waters. As for seeing, the glare of sun was all
too blinding, and the ships too far away, for us to make
out anything beyond a dim, blurred mass of swiftly-moving
forms which showed above the bulwarks.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, think you, Dassell?" asked the Mayor
in a fearful, gusty whisper.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Lowering boats on the off side, I fancy, sir,"
replied the deputy, as calm as though he had been
speaking of the weather.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Boats!" gasped Gregory Alford, raising his hands.
"Boats! What! do you mean to say they're going to
land?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I fancy so," said Dassell. "Nay, I am certain
sure of it!" he added, raising his voice and pointing.
"Hark! here they come!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Even as he spoke we heard the splash of many oars;
and presently five great boats laden with men, and
with the captured King's boat following, drew from
behind the ships.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At first they seemed to be making for the Cobb
itself, but passing that by they swung round to the
west of it and headed straight for shore. On seeing
this we all ran pell-mell down to the sea. Heavens! how
the shingle flew beneath our feet, and what a
breathless, anxious crowd it was which gathered near
the water! Verily, it seemed as if all Lyme stood
waiting. Men, women, children, young and old were
there, yet scarce a word was spoken; all eyes were
fixed upon those sweeping oars, which brought we
knew not what towards us. There was silence on the
water, too--no sound save the creak and splash of
oars; and I have oft thought since, when standing on
that fateful spot, that perchance some dread presentiment
of future ill hung over both the comers and the
watchers!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The boats drew nearer, until at length we could
make out a thick array of sword-hilts, pistol stocks,
and muskets. Then, indeed, the crowd buzzed with
excitement, and glancing at the Mayor I saw that he
fairly quaked with fear, and that his face was deathly
white. He tried to speak to Dassell, but he could not.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But there was little time to think of Master Alford,
for now the foremost boat had grounded on the shingle,
and in a twinkling those aboard were leaping for the
shore. Some reached it dry-shod, others jumped short
and splashed into the water; but one and all were
quickly on the beach. For the most part they were
white-wigged, fine-dressed gentlemen, with swords
at their sides and pistols in their belts, while many
carried muskets also.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>They took no heed of us, save that one of them,
who seemed to be a leader, turned, and holding up his
hand, bade us fall back to make more room--the
which we straightway did.</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 77%" id="figure-63">
<span id="the-landing-of-the-duke-of-monmouth"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="THE LANDING OF THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH" src="images/img-070.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">THE LANDING OF THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH</span></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile the other boats had drawn close in, and
those aboard were leaping shoreward with a will.
Eighty odd in all I counted. In the stern of the last
boat a man sat all alone. He was arrayed in purple
and a big plumed hat, with a single glittering star
upon his breast, and wore a jewel-hilted sword. When
all else had landed, and he came forward to the bows
to follow, someone ran back into the sea, and, uncovering,
made a knee for him, in order that he might not
wet his feet, and with a gracious bow of thanks he
stepped lightly from it to the shore. And then I
knew him; for notwithstanding that five years had
left some mark upon it, there could be no mistake
about that face of almost girlish beauty: and as he
stood there for a moment in the slow of the sunset
methought it was small wonder that the common
people worshipped him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Monmouth!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At first the magic word sped through the crowd
from mouth to mouth in startled whispers; then,
suddenly, as though by one consent, a great shout
rent the air:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A Monmouth! A Monmouth! Liberty! The
Protestant religion!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Again and yet again the ringing cry uprose, until
the grey old cliffs behind us seemed mad with echoes;
then, as the last shout died away, a voice which
sounded like a puling child's after such tumult
broke out upon the outskirts of the throng:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Traitors! Treason!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Looking round that way I saw good Master Gregory
Alford speeding for the town as fast as two fat legs
could carry him, his coat-tails flying wide upon the
wind.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Verily the Mayor of Lyme had proved full bitterly
that high estate is apt to have its drawbacks; and
also that "A Certain Person" had made no bad choice
of landing-places.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The drums and town guard had already disappeared;
so also had friend Dassell.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-man-with-the-king-s-evil"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER V</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">The Man with the King's Evil</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>'Twas plain to see by the glowing look upon his
handsome face how touched the Duke was by these
joyous acclamations. Doffing his hat he bowed both
graciously and long; then, as he raised his hand for
silence, a sudden hush fell on the eager throng before
him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear friends," said he, in a voice that rang out
clear and sweet upon the stillness, "I thank you more
than words can tell for the thrice-hearty welcome ye
have given me back to that country from which, as ye
know, I have so long been exiled. Dear people, this
is neither time nor place for speech-making, but as for
the reason of my coming--well, methinks the cries
which just now fell upon mine ears proclaim how
thoroughly ye are aware of it. Truth, like good wine,
needs little bush, and certainly those words of yours
rang true as Spanish steel; for verily, dear friends, I
am Monmouth, your Monmouth, son of your late beloved
King, the champion of that Protestant religion
which ye hold so dear, and of those liberties which
are the very birthright of our country."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At this another mighty shout went up of
"Monmouth! our Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant
religion!" and while the air still rang with it, a
woman, well advanced in years, ran from the crowd,
and kneeling at the Duke's feet, caught up his hand
and kissed it. At first he started back, then, having
looked keenly at her face, raised her tenderly and
kissed her on the cheek.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It turned out afterwards that she was some old
servant who had known him when a boy; and you
may be sure that this gracious act endeared him still
more greatly to the simple-hearted folk who witnessed
it. Indeed, it seemed as if they were all bent on
following the ancient dame's example, for with a loud,
glad cry the crowd surged towards the Duke, and had
not those about him held them back he must have
been wellnigh pressed into the sea.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Monmouth once more raised his hand for silence.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Good people all," said he, "ere we set forth upon
our enterprise I would have you join in giving thanks
to God for merciful deliverance vouchsafed us from
the King's ships while at sea."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Uncovering, the Duke knelt down upon the shore,
and nearly all the rest did likewise.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>To me he seemed to pray both well and earnestly,
and none the less so for that his prayer was short.
Ah, how little did we think just then that in a few
short months many of us would hear prayers and
speeches on that very spot from lips which would
soon be closed for ever!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On either side of Monmouth knelt two men, who,
by the look of them, might also well have let go
a prayer, for both were dressed as ministers. He on
the right was short and stout, with a rounded, happy
face. His eyes and mouth were tightly closed; his
hands were clasped before him. The man upon the
left was tall and bony, with a face that ill accorded
with his garb, being sharp and crafty, and, as I found
out when he turned it suddenly towards the glowing
sky, blotched scarlet with king's evil. A tousled wig
hung down upon his forehead, and beneath it two
small villainous black eyes went to and fro as though
they were on wires. Throughout the prayer he never
ceased to rub his bony hands together like one who
washed; while, ever and anon, he jerked forth
hallelujahs through his nose. I knew him not from Adam
then (I was to know him all too well thereafter!), but,
verily, I hated him upon the spot.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Prayer being ended, the Duke unsheathed his sword,
and holding it high above his head, cried:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I draw this weapon in the cause of liberty and
true religion, and may God bless the work that lies
before us!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A loud "Amen!" broke from the crowd, and Monmouth said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Forward, and let those who are well disposed
towards us follow!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Monmouth's men formed up in double file,
a blue flag was unfurled, in front of which the Duke
took up his place, with a fine-dressed gentleman on
either side of him; then those of our townsmen who
had the courage of their voices (some hundred odd)
fell in behind, and so they all went marching to the
market-place.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here beneath the flag, which bore the motto, </span><em class="italics">Pro
religione et libertate</em><span>, a proclamation was read aloud
by the lanky, black-eyed minister, whose evil looks
had struck me so upon the shore; and as he read he
fell at times into the broadest Scotch, which it is quite
beyond me to describe. Moreover, what he read was
far too long to set down here. Suffice it to say that
'twas one long indictment of the King (or, as they
put it, James, Duke of York), charging him, among
other crimes, with having poisoned his brother, the
late King Charles, and ending with these words:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Now let us play the men for our people, and for
the cities of our God; and the Lord do that which
seemeth good unto Him."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>While the reading of this long tirade was going
forward I sought some information.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are those two fine-dressed men who stand on
either side the Duke?" I asked of a sour-faced fellow
at my elbow.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Those are Monmouth's generals," he answered with
a snivel. "He on the right is Lord Grey of Wark, of
whom I cannot say much; but he on the left is Master
Fletcher of Saltoun, a man well skilled in carnal
warfare, a godly man to boot."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, and that round-faced minister who tries to
look so solemn and yet cannot. Who is he?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis Master Hooke, the Duke's private chaplain,
a worthy man, I trow, though somewhat Popish of
appearance."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Just then the reader of the declaration turned himself
to get a better light, and the setting sun fell full
upon his blotched, scorbutic cheek and made it look
as though 'twere stained with blood.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I gazed upon him spellbound for a moment, then
I asked:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And prithee, who is he that reads?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The voice of my informant dropped into a solemn
whisper, as though 'twere something sacred that he
spoke of, as he answered:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That is Doctor Robert Ferguson, chaplain to Monmouth's
army, and a terror to all workers of iniquity."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On hearing this I started round as though the man
had struck me, and barely saved myself from crying out.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?" I gasped. "Ferguson the Plotter?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The fellow glowered upon me for a space, looking
me up and down with angry eyes.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy tongue wags over free for one so young,"
snarled he at last. "Nay, Ferguson the godly. See
how his face lights up with blazing zeal!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But that was enough for me. Gaining the outskirts
of the crowd I hurried to the "George" to get my
horse, pursued by such a hornet's nest of wild,
bewildering thoughts as fairly made my head sing.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On coming near the jail I heard a great commotion
going forward, and there, as I live, was Simon
Jackson, the Nonconformist blacksmith, bare-armed and
sledge in hand, raining fierce blows upon the stout,
nail-studded door. He had already burst the
town-hall open to make a storage place for Monmouth's
baggage, and was now bent on setting free his brother
Nonconformists, who, as I have said, had lately been
imprisoned by the Mayor.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Even as I looked the door flew open with a crash,
and out stepped half a score of white-faced, startled
men, among them old Sampson Larke, the grey-haired
Anabaptist minister.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"There," methought as I turned away, "falls the
pride and power of Master Gregory Alford!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I found the inn yard humming with excitement.
Serving men and maids ran to and fro distracted; for
the news had already reached outlying villages, and
men poured in from every quarter, some armed and
eager, others idly curious, but all of them hot and
thirsty, and calling loudly to be served with ale: while
on a top step stood the landlord, surveying the giddy
sight like one bedazed. The name of Monmouth was
on every lip, and each new-comer added to the din.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Shouldering my way through the buzzing, drinking
throng I made for my horse. The stable in which I
had left her lay round a dark, far corner of the yard,
and on turning this I noticed that the door was closed
and that a flickering light showed underneath it.
This surprised me not a little, and hurrying up I tried
the door. To my great astonishment I found it
fastened on the inner side. I called, but no one
answered save my mare, who gave a joyous whinny.
Listening for a moment I made out voices talking in
a whisper, and thus feeling certain that some mischief
was afoot I put my shoulder to the door (an ancient,
rickety affair) and burst it open. Then indeed I
started back, as well I might, for there was my horse
already saddled, while beside her stood two burly,
steel-capped fellows, armed with sword and pistol.
One of them held a lantern, the other Kitty's bridle,
and both regarded me with guilty, startled faces, like
the thieving dogs they were.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Just then the mare turned round her pretty head to
look at me, and neighed again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this thy mare?" asked he who held the bridle.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well--yes," I answered; "at least, that is, I thought
it was; but now it seems as though I must have been
mistaken."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou hast a mocking tongue, young man," whined
he who held the lantern.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet that were surely better than a thieving hand,"
quoth I.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What mean you?" he asked, taking a step towards me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly what I say," I answered slowly. "In
other words, you are a pair of sneaking thieves."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At that each laid a hand upon his sword and eyed
me fiercely, while he with the light came forward in a
threatening fashion.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"We are no thieves," he hissed, showing his yellow
teeth. "We claim thy mare for the cause."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And, prithee, what cause is that?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The cause of liberty and truth," whined he.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The cause of Monmouth, eh?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded frowningly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said I, "if liberty and truth go hand in
hand with thieving, may God help the Duke! Let go
that bridle," I added, striding up to the fellow who
had laid a hand on it again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated for a moment, glaring upon me with
a pair of angry, bloodshot eyes; but, though only
eighteen years, I topped him by a good three inches,
and doubtless my face told tales besides. Growling
something anent "godless upstarts" he drew back
sulkily and joined his comrade by the door which he
had closed. And there they stood muttering together
and casting ugly glances at me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Turning Kitty round, I took her bridle on my arm
and moved towards them.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Open that door," I said, "and let me pass."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But they were two to one, and odds give courage
even unto cowards. Whipping out their swords they
set themselves against the door.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You leave that horse or go not," said one.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, verily," quoth the other.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Stopping, I also drew my sword and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! say you so? Listen; do you know that I
have but to call, and half a score good friends will
come to teach you honesty? Again, I say, open that
door and let me pass."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" jeered the fellow who had closed it. "You
come not over us with that, young man. Know you
that we also have some friends without; not half a
score, but three score--well-armed withal, and zealous
in the cause to boot."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There was ugly truth in that. I thought swiftly
for a moment. Yes, 'twas my only chance!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Fools!" I cried. "You do not know what
business I am bent on!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, how should we know it?" growled the
bridle man. "What is it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, such as, if you knew it," I replied, "methinks
would make you open that door with right goodwill."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Prithee then, tell us what such mighty business
is," sneered the other. "Whom doth it concern?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"One Robert Ferguson," I answered slowly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At that the fellows started as though my words
had been a pistol barrel.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ferguson!" quoth one of them uneasily. "Our
godly chaplain!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I nodded, though more than doubtful of the godliness;
and he added:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, then, didst not tell us this before, friend?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What now!" I shouted with a show of anger as
I sheathed my sword. "Am I, then, to cry my
business out to every brace of thieves I meet?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You speak with heat, not knowing," whined the
lantern-bearer. "Verily, we are no thieves, but
honest fighters for the cause, seeking horses, which
are sorely lacking. And if we had known the nature
of thy business, we----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Fool!" I broke in fiercely. "Cease thy prating,
and open that door at once, or methinks 'twill be the
worse for you. One word of this delay to Dr. Ferguson,
and----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Back flew the door, and, as I moved slowly forward,
the opener of it laid a trembling hand upon my
arm, saying:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Pray you, sir, get not two honest fellows into
trouble. 'Twas done in ignorance."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I will consider that," I answered sternly, striding
beside my mare into the yard with great relief.
Truly, one Ferguson had served my purpose handsomely!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Turning to the left, in order to avoid the crowded
yard, I passed down a well-known entry, and so came
out into a dark and now quite deserted street.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That was a narrow squeak, old girl," I whispered,
stroking Kitty's silken neck, and, as though she
understood, the pretty creature whinnied gently. Then I
mounted, and away we fled for home.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In view of what had happened at the stable, I
judged it best to keep as far as possible to by-ways;
and so, instead of going through the town (the nearest
road), I struck into a narrow, high-banked lane with
sheltering trees on either side.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas now dusk. Far off I heard the tumult of
the town, rising and falling in a ceaseless hum; but
here all seemed silent and deserted. Yet, even so,
it was not long before I proved that Monmouth's
men were guarding even such unlikely avenues;
for just as Kitty, with a hill before her, dropped
into an easy trot, I suddenly made out a group of
fellows gathered near the top, beneath the shadow
of a tree.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This was plaguy awkward, but yet more so when,
as I drew nearer, they spread themselves across the
road, and I made out they were armed with muskets.
Still, there was nothing for it save to put a bold face
on the matter; so, bringing Kitty to a walk, I went
forward whistling carelessly, and had come within
fifty yards of them, when one, who seemed to be a
leader, stepped out, and holding up his hand, cried:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop! Thy name and business, friend!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At that I pulled up the mare, and shouted back:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that you say?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Fingering his musket-lock, he came a few steps
nearer me, and bawled:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou'rt somewhat hard of hearing, friend. I said,
Thy name and business? Prithee, give both quickly."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My name is of small account," I answered; "and
for my business, know that it concerns one Robert
Ferguson."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That name had done so well for me before, that
I could think of nothing better; but, alack! it failed
me this time.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That will not serve thee, friend. 'Tis not
sufficient," quoth the man sternly. "If thy business
indeed concerns our chaplain, show thy pass, or give
the watchword."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, verily! thy pass or watchword," sang
another who had now come up with him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here, truly, was an ugly state of things. To turn
and flee might mean a musket-ball for me or Kitty.
I thought a moment. Yes, to surprise them was my
only chance.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The watchword, say ye? Yes, with all my heart."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So saying, I bent forward in the saddle, and,
pressing my knees upon the mare's flanks, spoke softly to
her. She gave an angry snort, down went her ears,
and next instant she was rushing forward like a mad
thing.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas all so sudden that, for the nonce, those
valiant keepers of the road were utterly confounded.
With startled cries, they broke and fled towards the
banks. Yet barely was I past them ere a musket-shot
rang out, and a ball sang dangerously near my
head. Another and another followed, but by that
time I was beyond their reach.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Not till I was well past Uplime did I draw rein;
then, pulling up beside a little wood, I stopped to
breathe and think. Truly, my mare and I had already
had a taste of what rebellion meant. A few short
hours had made our quiet roads unsafe for honest
men. "'Tis a pretty thing," I muttered, "if a fellow
cannot ride home peacefully without the danger of
a pistol bullet through his head. If this be the way
of 'honest Protestants', then give me Popery! The
sooner I am at The Havering, the better."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that I turned my horse, and, entering a lonely
lane, which, as it seemed, was certain to prove empty,
cantered on my way. But I had not gone far before
I overtook some half-score fellows who were hurrying
Lymewards. As they drew aside to let me pass, I
reined up suddenly and scanned their faces. They
were heavy, lumbering yokels, farm hands for the
most part, and several were known to me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, and whither go you?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Up over, into Lyme," said they, "to join the Duke
o' Monmouth. Hast not heard the news, sir?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I have heard it right enough," I answered;
"but, if you would be warned in time, go home again,
for methinks your present way leads straight to
hanging."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Their mouths fell open at my words, and for a
moment there was silence; then one of them, a
big-limbed fellow, cried:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A Monmouth! Down with Popery! The Protestant
religion!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The others joined in lustily, and so I left them and
rode on. Alack! I was to see three of those
simple-minded rustics dangling from a rope-end in the days
to come!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On drawing near Hay House (a lonely place), where
lived the Mayor of Lyme, I saw a horse come out into
the road, with two men on it, riding double.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This seemed so strange that I must needs pull up
to look at them, and so, as they came abreast of me,
I found the foremost one was Dassell. Both had
swords and pistols.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What now?" said I.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" said he. "The very trees have ears to-night.
I ride to raise the country on these rebels--to
Crewkerne first--and friend Thorold here goes
with me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but why ride ye so?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Because there is no other way," he answered,
smiling grimly. "'Tis certainly a heavy beast--a
coach-horse surely; but 'twill serve, methinks. At
any rate, 'twas the only horse in Master Gregory's
stable."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And is the Mayor at home?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, there is no one save his sister. All his men
have joined the rebels. The Mayor fled long ago to
Exeter, to warn the Duke of Albemarle."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And save his skin!" said I. "Well, have a care.
The roads are guarded, and 'tis but a chance that
I am not the heavier by a bullet."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! is that so?" quoth Dassell, glancing at his
pistols.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It is," said I, and, wishing them God-speed, rode
on my way.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On reaching home I found the yard deserted, and
so, vowing vengeance on our truant fellows, I led
Kitty to the stable. There I had removed her
harness, fed and watered her, when I heard a footstep
just outside; and turning, found my father standing
in the doorway with a lantern in his hand.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that you, my son?" he asked, in a voice which
methought was strange and hollow.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," I answered, and was about to start forth
on a full account of all that I had seen and heard,
when, as my father raised the light, I noticed that his
face was deathly white, and that his eyes were full of
fear, a look which I had never seen in them before.
Then, and not till then, I thought of Tubal Ammon,
and the guarding of the window.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, sir?" I asked with great anxiety.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, quickly, Michael," he replied, and turning,
led the way towards the house.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He took me straight into the study, where one
glance sufficed to prove that something bad had
happened. The window, a pane of which above the
fastener had been broken, lay wide open; papers were
littered on the floor; while with a thrill of fear, I
noticed that my mother's portrait was displaced.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Father, what is wrong?" I asked, turning to the
spot where he stood staring at me in dumb, frightened
fashion.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He made no answer, but going over to the secret
panel, opened it, and pointed to a darkened corner.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With trembling hand I took a candle from the
table, and, kneeling, looked inside.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Black Box was not there!</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="too-late"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER VI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">"Too Late"</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>When I glanced up, amazed and stupefied, it was to
find my father's eyes fixed on me with a look that
I shall ne'er forget. 'Twas one of fear, and bitterness,
and deep reproach. For a moment I was stricken
dumb, then, scarce knowing what I said, I gasped:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone! How?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My father waved a hand towards the window,
and, in a low voice, answered:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You have failed me, Michael."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I did not, could not answer him, and so he went on
in the same low, crushing voice:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Michael, you have failed me utterly. You
have placed your father in the shadow of the gallows."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Those words to me were like the plunging of a
knife into my heart. Shame, self-reproach, could
silence me no longer.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir!" I cried, springing to my feet, and facing
him with tight-clenched hands, and burning cheeks,
"you judge me harshly! I did not fail you willingly!
I----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You did not get my letter, then?" he put in sternly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir, I got your letter, but other stirring
things clean drove it from my mind."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And, pray, what stirring things are those?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, hast not heard the news?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I have heard naught. I have not long returned,
and though methought I heard a sound of some
commotion in the town, I took but little heed. My
thoughts were far away. My friend is dead. But,
say, what news is that which made you fail your
father?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Duke Monmouth landed here, at Lyme, to-night!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With one deep, sobbing groan, my father staggered
back into a chair, and there sat, limp and helpless,
like a man bereft of reason.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Monmouth--landed--here--at--Lyme!" he gasped
at length. "Then are we utterly undone, and both
may look upon the gallows as our own. For, verily,
the words I spake this morning are now proven. He
who hath thus put us into jeopardy is in truth a
creature of that plotter, Robert Ferguson, and----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir," I broke in desperately, like one who
grasps at silken threads to save himself; "it surely is
not proven yet--perchance some other----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In speaking I had moved a step towards my father,
and now, as if to mock me and to prove his words, a
something grated underneath my foot. Stooping, I
picked it up; and holding it upon my outstretched
palm, stared at it fixedly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis proven now," I murmured.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?" rejoined my father, starting forward
in his chair.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The sign of Tubal Ammon," I replied, still gazing
hard at what lay in my hand. "'Tis one of those
small carven balls he did his trick with by the
roadside. He has been here beyond a doubt."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew it, and no proof was needed," groaned my
father, sinking back again. "And not only hath he
robbed me, but he most likely heard and saw all
that passed between us here this very morning. Oh,
Michael, Michael! to think that you, my son, should
thus have failed me!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He wrung his hands.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes! and I will make amends for it," I
answered fiercely, as, hand on sword, I turned towards
the door.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay! whither go you?" cried my father.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"To seek this fellow out," I answered savagely.
"To find him, and--to kill him."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then save yourself the trouble," rejoined my
father firmly. "Two follies never made a wise thing
yet, and never will. And this were rankest folly.
For, look you, this fellow Ammon will be far away
by now; aye, verily, perchance aboard ship, making
for his master."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so," said I, "for his master is already here in
Lyme."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" cried the old man, springing to his feet.
"Ferguson in England?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, he landed with Monmouth here to-night." And
in a few hot, breathless words I told him all that
I had seen and heard that day; while he paced to and
fro, now stopping for a moment, now spreading out
his hands, and all the time casting wild, hunted
glances round the room.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Michael," he said when I had finished, "the bolt
is shot, and nothing now can save me from the
gallows; nay, verily, I feel the noose about my neck
already."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no!" I cried out in my desperation. "Say not
that. I cannot bear it. There is still hope that
naught may come of it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"There--is--no--hope," replied my father, slowly.
"Whatever comes of this rebellion, Ferguson will still
have power to bring me to account--to crush me!
Nor will he stay his hand. I know him well. To
be avenged is very life to him. Yes, Ferguson the
Plotter will have vengeance! There is no hope! Oh,
why is this? Why have I lived to see this awful day?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Clenching his hands, he raised them high above his
head, and stood before me thus--a haunting picture of
despair and anguish, awful to remember. It seemed
as though the hands were raised to curse me; but
it was not so, for, as I stood there with bowed head,
they came down gently on my shoulders.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Michael," he said, "take not this thing too much
to heart. You spoke truly--I have judged you
harshly. The fault is mine, not yours; for had I not
first trafficked with this Ferguson, for the sake of
usury, for filthy lucre, this had not happened. Yes,
yes, the fault is mine, and whatever evil comes of it,
no harm shall come to you. I swear it. Forget my
hasty words."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A curse had been much easier to bear than this.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir, I will not have it so," I almost shouted.
"The fault is mine. I have been faithless, as you
said, and would now make amends for it. What can
be done?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" said my father gently. "Naught can be
done--to-night. I would think this matter over
quietly, alone, here. Therefore, leave me, Michael;
go to rest. We may see clearer in the morning.
Good-night, my son!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Our hands met in a long, firm grip, even as they
had done in the early morning of that selfsame day,
when I had sworn strict secrecy concerning that
which now, alas! through my unfaithfulness had thus
been turned into a power of threatening danger.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Going over to the fatal, mischief-working window,
I slowly closed the tell-tale casement; then once more
turned towards my father; and spite of all his efforts
at concealment, I read within his eyes the awful
words "Too late!" And so I left him.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-plotters"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER VII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">The Plotters</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Such had been the throbbing interest and excitement
of that eventful day, that I had taken scarcely
anything to eat or drink--I had not thought of it--and
now my only craving was for water. Of that I took
a long, cold draught, then went up to my lonely
bed-chamber. But not to rest; there could be no rest for
me now!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Pacing the room I thought bitterly of the state of
things, and how different it might all have been but
for my own surpassing carelessness; thought, too, of
the old man who sat lonely and disconsolate below;
of Tubal Ammon and his mischief-working master.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus to and fro I went, I know not for how long,
while shame and self-reproach hung close and heavy
at my heels: but at every turn the hopelessness and
desperation of my mind increased, until at length I
could endure my thoughts no longer. The confines of
that little chamber seemed to grow smaller and more
suffocating every moment, until they were as those of
some pestiferous dungeon in which I was a maddened
prisoner. I must do something--take action, no
matter how preposterous and wild--or lose my senses.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Going over to the open window I stood there looking
out across the bay. A cool sea breeze played
most refreshingly upon my heated face; I drew it
in with thankfulness.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The tumult in the town had sunk to silence, the
night was dark and still as death. Far off I saw
the bobbing lanterns of the three black ships whose
coming had so altered everything.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It all seemed like a dream or ugly nightmare, and
I was thinking so when suddenly I saw a tiny twinkling
light upon the cliffs, it might be half a mile away.
On this--I know not why, unless it was presentiment--my
eyes became fixed in a fascinated stare. Who
at such an hour ('twas now close on midnight) had
business in so desolate and wild a spot? Barely had I
asked the question, when another light, a trifle larger,
blinked forth in answer, some distance from the first
one. Even as I watched, they quickly drew together,
got close enough to make them seem one light, and
then were lost to me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here, then, was what I craved for--chance of action!
Some mystery was afoot there on the cliffs. I would
endeavour to make out the nature of it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Recking nothing of the risks I ran, careless of
everything save blessed movement, I stuck two loaded
pistols in my belt, crept downstairs with a noiseless
stealth, and left the house.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>If ever youth went forth blindfolded on a reckless,
wild adventure, I surely was that youth; if ever mind
was nearly bursting with a hare-brained folly, such
certainly was Michael Fane's as he passed out into
the darkness of that fateful night. Yet, had I been
assured that Death himself was waiting to embrace
me in his icy clasp, 'tis certain I would still have gone.
Fate urged me on, nor did I need much driving.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As I have said, the night was dark, the moon being
hidden by a mighty bank of clouds: and naught was
to be seen save here and there a twinkling light
among the distant houses of the town, where doubtless
some late sitters talked upon the happenings of
that stirring day, or those engaged upon rebellion laid
their plans. Thus I had nothing more than chance
to guide me to the spot where the two tell-tale lights
had drawn so close together and then vanished.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Going full cautiously, stopping every now and then
to listen, I crept across the open space which lay
between me and the cliffs. Bush and bracken broke the
ground at intervals, and thus, with no clear path
discernible in such a darkness, it behoved me to move
warily, lest by stumbling I might warn instead of
catch.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus going in and out among the shrubs and ferns,
and ever moving like some beast of prey, I came at
length upon the narrow path which runs along the
cliff-top. There, beaten, and inclined to curse my
foolishness, I stood straight up and listened.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A rabbit scuttered somewhere close at hand, the sea
moaned plaintively upon the shore below me, but not
another sound was to be heard; it seemed, indeed, as
though the silence whispered of my folly!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Had, then, my eyes deceived me? Had a seething,
maddened brain struck lights where no lights were!
It seemed so; or, if not, the bearers of those lights had
gone their way, for I was certain that I was not far
from where they had thus strangely met and
disappeared. Yes, truly, I was minded to call one
Michael Fane a fool!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Stay, though, what was that? A hundred yards or
so away, across the scrub, I caught the sudden twinkle
of a lantern. With bated breath I watched it for a
moment, then, dropping down upon the ground, moved
towards it like a slinking tiger. Scarcely had I started
ere the light vanished just as quickly as it came, but
that did not stop me. On hands and knees, feeling
for every bush, I crawled on through the darkness.
The cracking of the tiniest twig seemed like a
gunshot to my anxious, straining ears, my tight-held
breathing like the roaring of a grampus.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So slow and stealthy were my movements that a
score yards took near half as many minutes: and
having covered double that without result except a
good array of scratches, I had again begun to doubt
my eyes and mutter at my folly, when, as I paused a
moment to consider matters, a sound like that of
humming voices reached me from ahead.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Kneeling, I listened breathlessly, and with an
eagerness as though my very life depended on the act, and
yet, for all I knew, it might have been but poachers
setting out their snares; therefore 'twould seem
indeed as though black fate and dread presentiment went
hand in hand that night.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As near as I could tell, the voices came from a spot
not far away, and straight ahead of me, but so low
and muffled were they that 'twas no easy matter to
judge rightly on this point.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>For a time I knelt there listening with all my
might, first cocking this ear and then that, but all in
vain--not one word reached me: the buzzing hum
continued in a maddening fashion; indeed, it might
have been a hive of droning bees for all that I could
make of it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Down on all-fours I went again, and, with the
sound to guide me, crawled towards it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Some twelve yards farther on I once more stopped
to listen, and thus discovered that the talkers were on
the far side of a ridge or hillock up which I had
commenced to climb; and what was more, I made out that
which stiffened me with dread, and set my heart
off thumping like a hammer. For now I was near
enough to separate the voices, low though they were,
and one of them spoke in broadest Scotch--'twas
Ferguson's; while the other there was no mistaking
either--Tubal Ammon's!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Digging my fingers deep into the turf, for very fear
lest overmastering astonishment should cause me to
exclaim and so betray myself, I paused a moment,
then, with cat-like stealth, crept up the bank.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas a risky, daring business sure enough; the
snapping of a twig, the rattle of a stone, and I had
brought on me two desperate fellows, who would as
soon take life as toss a penny. Still, as it seemed
to me, 'twas worth a world of danger--nay, 'twas
a stroke of glorious luck--to come thus on those
two arch-plotters in their midnight tryst, catch them
red-handed, as it were, and, perchance, confound them.
And had I needed any goad to urge me forward
(which I did not), there was the thought of him whom
I had wronged, and who doubtless even then sat
lonely and distracted in his study, brooding helplessly
upon the dangers which beset him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus I crept up, foot by foot--nay, inch by inch
were nearer to the mark, my going was so slow--until
at last I was near enough to make out wellnigh
every word as it was spoken. Then, stretched full
length upon the cool, soft turf, I lay there with a
thumping heart and listened, drinking in all I heard
as greedily as ever thirst-parched man drank water.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis so, then," Ferguson was saying; "you come
here to drive a hard and grievous bargain, eh?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, truly," answered Ammon; "no words could
put it better: a bargain--a hard and grievous
bargain if you will."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And not to serve the godly cause?" whined Ferguson.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Pish to your godly cause!" sneered Ammon. "I
trow its value is the same to both of us--and that is
money."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?" returned the chaplain fiercely.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Cold truth, and nothing else," replied the other.
"Look you, Doctor Robert Ferguson, methinks we
know each other well--at least 'tis time we did.
You, for a groat, would kill a man; by the same
token, so would I. Let that suffice us both. We
came not here to warble sweet religion through our
noses, but to bargain. Let us therefore to the
business of the night, without more vain pretence, or, by
the Lord, I will away and leave you wanting what
you hoped to gain."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough!" groaned Ferguson. "A godless man is
not to be persuaded of his evil-doing."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor yet beguiled," snapped Ammon.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut, tut, no more of that. You named a price.
Let's see, now" (here I heard him scratch his tousled
wig), "was it not fifty guineas?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The godlessness is on your side, methinks, friend
Ferguson," sneered Ammon. "For verily you have
a lie upon your lips. Full well you know the price
was double that."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" cracked Ferguson. "A hundr-r-ed guineas!
Why, 'tis shee-r-r madness, man! Pr-r-e-poster-rous!"
(His "r's" rolled like a drum.)</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nathless, 'tis my price," returned the other coldly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But, man, good man! I have not such a wicked
price upon me!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Another lie! for verily I see your pockets bulging
with it. Have a care, friend Ferguson, or it may
well go higher still."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, nay, that were impossible. Come, friend,
let us bargain fairly. Say eighty guineas, and 'tis
yours this instant."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A hundred guineas!" answered Ammon sharply,
"and that also instantly, or verily I take the thing
away with me for ever. Look you, friend Ferguson,
for over half an hour we have sat parleying here, and
still you clutch your filthy gold and strive to trick me
of my due. Have I not risked my very life to get
this paltry thing, and was not the price agreed upon
between us? Aye, verily; and unless 'tis paid down
now, before these lips of mine have counted ten, that
which you crave is gone from you for ever. Methinks
I might make more of it elsewhere. One--two----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay! the box is with you, is it?" asked the
chaplain, as a man who clutches at a straw.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Fool!" snapped Tubal Ammon. "Have I not told
thee so at least a dozen times already.
Three--four--five----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then prove it! Let me see it. Thou hast not
done that yet."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"True, by my life, for once. Then here it is.
Six----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my wee, black, bonny bairn! How dear thou
wast to me! Wilt let me hold it, friend?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, when the gold is counted out. Not till.
Seven--eight. Nine!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Hast the key to it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, how should I? But 'tis easily forced open."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I must prove the contents ere I pay so vast
a sum. That is but fair; for, look you, friend, the
box might very well be empty."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis not so," answered Ammon. "Listen!" He
shook it, and I heard the fatal papers rustle.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But other papers might have been put in,"
persisted Ferguson. "Therefore, I say, it must be
proven. Burst it open, friend; but have a care in
doing so, for verily I love it as a child."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The love of Tubal Ammon for it did not seem to
count for much, for, with what sounded like a savage
crack, he forced the lock and dragged the papers
forth.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, let me see them! Give them to me," said the
chaplain eagerly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, not so quick, friend Ferguson," quoth
Ammon. "Not till the price is paid, that is. Mayst
see them if you will, but nothing more. Look you,
here they are!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I heard him smooth the parchments out; then
caught the flicker of a lantern as he held it up for
Ferguson to see them.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What? there are three of them!" exclaimed the
chaplain. "Well, that boots not. The one I want
is there--the one you hold in front. Now, place
them here betwixt us, underneath the box, while
I count out thy most extortionate reward."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a cracking laugh, of which the other took
no heed; then came the clink of slowly-counted gold,
the counting of a usurer who weighed each piece and
loathed to part therefrom. "Thou art a hard,
tight-fisted fellow, Tubal Ammon," snarled Ferguson when
all was ready. "Here, then, is thy hard-wrung price,
and may the Lord requite thee for the taking of it
from a man so poor as me!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here Tubal Ammon laughed (or barked, were a
truer name for it) and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis well; now we are quits, methinks, for each
hath what he sorely wanted. As for your poverty,
most worthy chaplain, I would right gladly barter
it for mine. Yea, friend, I always thought you rich,
yet was not sure of it; and now that it is clearly
proven--now I learn that thou art poor! Enough;
we never know the truth. </span><em class="italics">Docendo discimus</em><span>. Pardon
such faulty Latin. But, what say you, shall we now
let go a psalm upon the night? Truly, our voices are
a trifle cracked, but yet methinks 'twould make a fine
duetto. Hark you! Like this--join in!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He raised a rasping, high-pitched voice, and sang a
note or two.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop, fool!" hissed Ferguson. "Wouldst bring
danger on us? We know not who may be in earshot
of such owlish screeching! Art clean daft?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, only wondrous happy," answered Ammon.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and why?" growled Ferguson. "Because,
like Shylock, thou hast claimed thy pound of flesh?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yea, verily, and got it; which is much more to
the point."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, got it," quoth the chaplain bitterly. "Wrung
it from me like the clutching Jew you are. Let that
suffice, and add not gibe to injury."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, no! was ever miser yet who could bear parting
with his gold, no matter how it had been earned?"
sighed Ammon mockingly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The devil take thee!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I am his already--thanks to thee, most
godly chaplain."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Provoke me not too far," hissed Ferguson. "I am
not to be trifled with. You know me well, friend
Ammon."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, verily, I know you far too well."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then keep your rasping tongue still. There was
more inside the box than I had bargained for; and
I would scan these papers carefully in peace."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And by the same token, sir," mocked Ammon,
"I would fain count my money, lest, haply, thou hast
overpaid me. Thus are we quits again."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here, then, I had the real Tubal Ammon, so different
from the sly, tale-telling wretch whom I had met
beside the road; and here also was the real Ferguson.
But of him I had already known so much that his
present character seemed quite in keeping with my
knowledge of him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And now the crackling of parchment and chink of
gold was all that reached my ears.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I lay there listening for a while, and then an
overmastering desire came over me to look upon these
workers of iniquity. Next moment I was moving like
a serpent up the bank, holding my breath and fearful
lest the very thumping of my heart might give the
scoundrels warning and undo me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At last I gained the ridge, and, having paused a
moment, took a cautious peep beneath a little bush.
And there I saw a sight indeed. 'Twas worth the
risk. The rays of a lantern, set within a cleft, fell on
the wicked, red-blotched face of Ferguson, as he sat
there, with knees drawn up wellnigh to his chin,
poring over his ill-gotten gain; it fell, too, on the evil,
cunning face of Tubal Ammon, as, crouching low, he
counted up his money with a greedy care. And,
midway between them lay the rifled box. Never
have I seen a sight more diabolical, and 'tis, perhaps,
small wonder that the thought came rushing to my
mind: Two Satans, with the light of Hades on them!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>From my hiding-place behind the bracken I stared
at them like one bewitched, till Ammon, having dropped
the last gold-piece into a leathern pouch, glanced up
at his companion. Then, fearing lest he might arise,
I ducked my head and drew back down the bank
a foot or two.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Right to a single piece," quoth Tubal, jingling the
pouch.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew that well enough," growled Ferguson.
"Have you a piece of cord wherewith to fasten up the
box?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, by my life, here is the very thing," replied
the other. "Truly my usefulness exceeds all reckoning."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The chaplain murmured something which I did not
catch, then, as it seemed to me, he folded up the papers,
placed them in the box, and having tied the cord
around it, said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And now to further business, friend."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"With all my heart; name it, I pray you," answered
Tubal Ammon.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"These Fanes, then; you have seen them both?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, more than once. Moreover, the coxcomb of a
son I have twice come near killing."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, and what kind of man is he?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A great big lusty fellow, over six feet high. I owe
him much, and will repay it. Yea, verily, his days are
numbered."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"See thou to that. 'Tis no concern of mine. I have
no quarrel with the son. But the old man, the father,
Ammon" (here he lowered his voice into an ugly
whisper), "he who robbed me--str-r-uck me down--I
would have vengeance on that man. Yea, I would
have him swept from off the earth. Canst do it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, easily."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How, then? By pistol, bullet, or by knife?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither. I have a softer way than those, though
no less sure."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, look you," answered Ammon, after fumbling
in his coat, "see here--this tiny bow and arrows;
things for boys to play with, say you? And yet a
prick from one of them would kill the strongest man
within an hour. Naught could save him, for they are
dipped in deadliest poison."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no! away with them! away with them!" cried
Ferguson. "I could not think of it. 'Twere cruel,
heathenish, nay, worse, 'twere rankly wicked!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, verily, our sense of wickedness is far from
tallying, friend," sneered Ammon. "Killing is killing,
as it seems to me, and the way of doing it makes
little difference."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but poison, friend, poison, I say, were cruel,
heathenish; any way but that!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we will leave the way, then. You want this
man, this Gilbert Fane--well, let us say, removing.
Is that so?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; for not only do I hate him, but I also fear
him somewhat."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And you would have me do it for you?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I will do it--at a price."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Price!" snapped Ferguson. "Oh, thou grasping,
greedy fellow. Doth not the hundred guineas cover
this small extra service also?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, by life it doth not," answered Ammon slowly.
"One bargain doth not drive a second."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well," groaned Ferguson. "What is your
price, then? Name it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten guineas."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" almost shrieked the chaplain. "Ten
guineas just to kill a man?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and a low price too. I run great risk in
doing it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thou extortioner! thou greedy leech! But,
come, 'tis surely but a jest. Say five and I am with
thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten guineas."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Eight."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ten."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no! I will not pay a sum so wicked."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then Gilbert Fane lives on for all I care, and with
him, as you just now showed, your fear and hatred of
the man."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"O Lord!" sighed Ferguson, "when will this cruel
bleeding of me cease? Right well hast thou been named,
thou godless, grasping Jew; for was not Tubal one of
Shylock's friends? But, say, if I agree with thee,
when wilt thou wipe this fellow off the earth? The
Duke rides forth from Lyme within a day or two, and
I would be assured that Gilbert Fane is dead before I
leave. What, then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"He shall be dead before this time to-morrow,"
answered Tubal Ammon firmly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But what proof shall I have that it is so?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Good proof, sure proof, a proof there can be no
gainsaying."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Name it, then."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The key that fits that box," replied the other
slowly. "It hangs by a ribbon round his neck. I saw
it as I watched him through the window. That will
I bring as proof."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough, then; 'tis a bargain. Bring me that key
and I will pay thy cruel, wicked price. And now let
me away before I am clean ruined."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here both men rose; but now it was my turn.
Throughout their foul plotting my blood had risen
pell-mell, till now, with the dastardly completion of
their bargain, 'twas surging through me like a burning
flood, which drowned all power of reasoning, and
seemed to make me someone that I knew not. 'Twas
wildly, madly planned, I know--nay, 'twas not planned
at all. I had done better to have crept up to the ridge
and tried to shoot them thence without their knowing
it. I had done ten times better still, to have used the
knowledge I had gained to save my father and gone
off silently, leaving those thrice-accursed fellows in
their ignorance. I see that clearly now. But then
the power to reason, plan, nay, even think, had clean
forsaken me; while as for caution, danger, fear--I
knew them not. One fierce, ungovernable wish was
mine--namely, to kill these would-be murderers of my
father and regain the box.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Drawing a pistol from my belt I rose suddenly and
sprang upon the ridge. Ferguson had just picked up
the lantern, but now he flung it far away, and uttering
one loud, whelping cry of terror, fled off--with both
hands raised above his head--into the night. I took
a flying shot at him, but all in vain, for he had
vanished ere I pulled the trigger.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas far different with Tubal Ammon; snatching
up his money-bags he leapt back with a ringing oath,
and there I could just make him out, a dim, black,
post-like blotch amid the darkness. In haste I whipped
the other pistol from my belt.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="a-fight-for-life"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER VIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">A Fight for Life</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Click!--click! went both our pistol locks together,
and, an instant later, two shots rang out as one. Nor
was there much to choose between the aims. Tubal
Ammon's bullet grazed my right side beneath the
arm-pit; while mine went smash into his money-bag,
and ripping it, brought forth a stream of coins which
jingled thick and fast upon the ground. Had it not
been for this protection, it had most surely been a
stream of blood instead, for he had held the bag
pressed tightly to his side. Strange that gold should
save the life of one who had but just been bartering
life for gold!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Again, had it not been for that wild, chancy shot
at Ferguson I might have had friend Tubal now, for,
instead of fleeing, he dropped straight down and
grovelled in the gold, filling his pockets with it while
he muttered oaths and curses terrible to hear. Doubtless
greed held him as its own just then, for though
my second pistol had been fired, he must have known
he ran great risk; and indeed I might have got him
with my sword before he could have saved himself.
But the truth is, that the pistol flashes had discovered
that which for the nonce made Tubal Ammon seem of
small account. The Black Box, bound with cord, lay
there straight below me on the turf, dropped or for
gotten, as I judged it, by the chaplain in his
terror-stricken flight.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Down I jumped into the hollow, and having seized
my prize, was up again before you could have counted
ten.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Having stuffed the precious thing into my pocket, I
stood upon the ridge and once more looked at Ammon.
He had risen and gone back a little; thus much I
could make out but nothing more, for now he was
wellnigh invisible. Dead, awful silence followed, and
for the first time since leaving home I felt afraid;
afraid, that is, because I could not see this murderous
villain clearly, because he was now but a lurking,
threatening shadow in the darkness. But just as
I was thinking swiftly whether to speed home with
what I had so luckily secured, or draw my sword and
try to end the mischief-working fellow's life, the
heavy westward clouds behind me broke; the moon
burst forth; and, in a moment, we were made plain to
one another.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There, stiff and straight, stood Tubal Ammon with
his hands behind him, as motionless as though he had
been carved in cold grey stone. The moon shone full
upon his yellow, wrinkled face, and, seen by that
ghostly light, he was, indeed, as much like Satan as
a man could be. The very gold-pieces, glistening here
and there, deep red, among the grass, were to my
startled fancy as great drops of blood.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus, for the second time within the rounding of the
clock, did I and Tubal Ammon face each other; and
'tis small wonder that I, stiff as he, stared at him like
one spell-bound. And as I stared, I remember
wondering vaguely what had possessed him to remain thus,
when he might easily have fled to safety in the
dark-ness. Surely not the gold, for he had gathered most
of that! What, then? Well, I was very soon to know.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile the silence grew appalling, unsupportable.
It must be broken.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Once more!" I shouted.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Once more," he answered, though in a voice so low
and still as barely moved his lips.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What would you have?" I asked, scarce knowing
what I said.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Another silence followed, and then two words came
hissing through it like a knife-thrust:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Your life!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Although this was no news to me, the utterance of
it thus was something of a shock. A threat made
face to face gains ugly meaning, especially from such
a man as he who stood before me. I paused a
moment, then said, slowly:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, truly, you would kill me and my father also.
I am forewarned of that. For, look you, Tubal
Ammon, all your foul plans are known to me. I
have been listening long enough to hear them one
and all."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At that he gave a little start, so small as scarcely to
be noticed, then murmured:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! 'twas well done, friend, well, indeed!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well or ill, 'twas done!" I answered hotly; "and
now, listen, thou wicked, murderous jail-bird: before
this time to-morrow, the law shall have both you and
your accursed master by the heels."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, say you so?" quoth Tubal Ammon, with a
mocking grin. "Well, now, the law is what I take no
great account of. It may be well enough for some;
but me it neither helps nor hinders, therefore, I say,
it comes not in my reckoning."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That being so," I thundered, whipping out my
sword, "I will dispense with it and settle with you
now!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that I sprang into the hollow bent on killing
him, but even as I did so, his hands came from behind
him, and in them I beheld the little bow with one of
its poisoned arrows ready fitted to the string.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop!" said he. "I give thee warning. Truly
this will not carry far, some twenty paces maybe;
but come against me and I will promise thee sure
death within an hour. Go back, or die! Which shall
it be, friend? Choose!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I did so instantly; for this was like waging warfare
with the devil, not with man. Shuddering with
horror I leapt back to the crest and once more faced
my enemy.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You have chosen wisely, friend," said he.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I have chosen as a man must choose when matched
against a cruel, murderous demon such as you," I
answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now, there is some truth in that," replied the
shameless knave.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but more in this," I put in fiercely. "Listen
Tubal Ammon, limb of Satan, as you surely are!
Standing here I utterly defy you, dare you, as an
honest man may dare the devil! Do your worst
or best, I care not! Nay, I flout both you and your
accursed master with those murderous plans which I
have overheard this night. I care no more for them
or you than that!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here I shook my sword at him, and having sheathed
it with a loud, emphatic smack, turned and strode down
the bank and made for home.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That I was far from easy as to what lay behind
me needs no saying, and doubtless it was this that
made me hurry when I reached the level ground.
Hurry, at least, I did, with long, quick strides; and
thus, with a moon to light the way, I should have
reached The Havering (whose chimneys rose above
the distant trees) in no time, but for the wicked wiles
of Tubal Ammon.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I had left him standing, bow in hand, when I
turned my back upon the ridge; and it seemed to me
assured that ere he moved he would gather up the
gold that yet remained strewn upon the grass: so
much seemed certain in a man so greedy, and,
by way of proving it, I more than once glanced
cautiously behind me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I had thus gone perhaps a hundred yards, when
suddenly I heard what sounded like the gentle clink
of coins.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Turning, I drew my sword and looked back, listening
carefully, but there was nothing to be seen or
heard. The night was still as death, and so, perhaps,
thought I, the sound of Ammon gathering up his gold
had carried thus far.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At any rate, I saw no reason for alarm, and therefore,
with my sword still drawn in readiness, strode on
again a little quicker.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Another dozen yards or so, then--chink! chink! chink!
Yes, there could be no doubt about it; and
'twas nearer this time.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Remembering my experience with the oak tree, I
went on a few more steps as though unheeding, then
turned sharply round. The plan succeeded well; for
there, sure enough, some fifty yards away, I saw a
head pop down behind a gorse bush.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And then, as in a flash, I saw it all. This was
Tubal Ammon's latest plan for dealing death; this was
why he had remained and waited, and allowed me to
depart, as it appeared, without the least concern. I
understood. He had meant to follow me in stealth--to
creep upon me from behind, and shoot me in
the back!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On realizing this I broke out in a sweat of fear and
horror. I am no coward, and vow that had it been
a clean, straight sword-fight, man to man, I would
have waited for my foe without a qualm. But to be
done to death in that heathenish and most atrocious
fashion was utterly beyond me. I could not face it.
Sheathing my sword I turned and fled for my very
life.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A low, fierce cry, and the pad of swiftly-running
feet broke out behind. Ammon was after me. Taking
a quick, back shoulder glance, I saw him coming like
the wind. His feet seemed scarce to touch the ground.
It was as though the Evil One himself were in pursuit.
Never before, I trow, had such a breathless race 'twixt
life and death gone forward on those ancient,
wave-washed cliffs.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Putting forth all the strength and length of limb
which God had given me, I strove to win, but all in
vain. The light-toed villain gained upon me every
yard, the clink of gold grew nearer, louder, every
moment, until there could not have been twenty yards
between us, and I could even hear his hissing breath.
At any moment now the poisonous prick might come.
The thought was unendurable. Better turn round
and face sure death than wait for it to strike me from
behind, I knew not when.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With this thought in my head, I leapt aside, and
such was Ammon's speed that he had gone flying past
a good ten yards ere he could stop himself; then, as
he turned, I drew my sword out and rushed at him.
But he was all too quick for me; with one great,
cat-like spring, he saved himself, so that my upraised
weapon clave the air: then, as I turned to face him, I
saw his evil eye beyond the little bow as he took a
hurried, deadly aim.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Hiss! the murderous arrow struck me full in the
breast and quivered there, while by the sound of it, it
had cut clean through to the bone.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I felt no pain--nay, not a prick--and yet, so certain
was I that a slow and hideous death would surely
follow, that in the terror of that awful moment my
strength seemed to forsake me, my sword fell to the
ground, and thus I stood and stared at Tubal Ammon,
as some dumb stricken beast might at the giver of its
death-blow. I saw his drooping eyelids rise and fall,
his body quivered for a moment, then, with a ravening
cry, he sprang upon me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So fierce and sudden was his rush that I had no
chance to pick my sword up, and as he leapt upon me
I was driven staggering backwards for a yard or two.
Then such a fight began beneath that staring moon as
makes me shudder when I think upon it.</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 76%" id="figure-64">
<span id="then-such-a-fight-began-as-makes-me-shudder-when-i-think-upon-it"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""THEN SUCH A FIGHT BEGAN AS MAKES ME SHUDDER WHEN I THINK UPON IT"" src="images/img-116.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">"THEN SUCH A FIGHT BEGAN AS MAKES ME SHUDDER WHEN I THINK UPON IT"</span></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>My strength must have been three times that of
Ammon's in the way of common wrestling, but so
close and snake-like were his methods that from
the first he had the best of it. His legs and arms
wound round me like the tentacles of an octopus,
every moment tightening with a crushing, suffocating
power.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In vain I struck and tore and wrenched: he seemed
to have no flesh to bruise, no bones to break; a thing
of steel and hide had not been more impervious to
blows. His fetid breath was on my face, his cruel
eyes were close to mine; it was a very nightmare of a
fight, in which all skill and knowledge counted for
nothing and were powerless to avail.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus to and fro we swayed like one, first this way
and then that, until my strength and breath began to
fail by reason of the hopeless, stifling struggle. With
one last desperate wrench I tried in vain to cast the
clinging demon from me. His bony hand shot out
and gripped me by the throat, his left leg wound
about my right, I staggered for a moment, then fell
crashing backward. My head struck something hard,
the moon shot zigzag down the sky, and with it went
the grinning face of Tubal Ammon. Black darkness
followed.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-shadow-of-death"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER IX</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">The Shadow of Death</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>"Coome, now, zur, another soop o' this and you'm a
man agen."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The words fell on my muffled ears as though the
voice were calling from a distance; then the murmur
of the sea broke in upon me like a sullen roar, as, with
a wild, bewildering rush I rose to life again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And thus I found that I was sitting up (or lolling
like a sack of flour were better words for it), with a
knee and arm behind me, while my head, which ached
abominably, lay back upon a shoulder. So much I
made out in that first dim gleam of consciousness, but
for the rest of it I was still half-dazed and could not
think.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Another drop--joost one, zur," urged the voice again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Something (a leathern bottle, as I found out
afterwards) was pressed against my lips. I drew upon it
with a will, then nearly choked. Hot, burning stuff it
was, that sent the blood a-dancing through my veins
like wildfire.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Brandy!" I gasped, as soon as breath would let me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye, you'm right, zur. Brandy it be--best
French, too."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The cloud of black bewilderment was passing--the
voice was now familiar. Glancing up I met the
keen grey eyes of Daniel Ratlaw (or Rat as he was
called), the greatest thorn in Dassell's side, because he
was the king of cargo runners.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Smuggled?" said I.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Right agen," he nodded, with a wink. "Smuggled
sure enough it were, but mebbe none the worse for
that."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, surely, Rat," I murmured; then sat silent for
a time, striving to collect my scattered thoughts, which
so far had remained a wild unruly throng. The moon,
which I had last seen shooting down the sky with
Ammon's head for company, now shone brightly; and
what was that which flashed its light back from the
grass? My sword! When I saw that, the past rushed
on me pell-mell. The poisoned arrow! Surely it was
time that death was stealing over me! The throbbing
of my head--was that not part of it?</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I gave a shuddering downward glance towards my
breast. The murderous little shaft was hanging from
my coat. Ratlaw's eyes had followed mine and seen
it also.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Whoy, what be that?" says he, and tried to seize
it, but I dashed his hand away.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a care!" I cried, "'tis poisoned!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And with that I plucked the arrow out and cast it
clear into the bushes at my back.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Poisoned!" gasped Dan, and very nearly let me drop.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said I, "tipped with deadly poison. Say,"
I added, "do I look strange? Is my face black, or
green, or blue?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed and answered:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'tis a lovely red, I vow."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That relieved me greatly; still, being far from
satisfied, my hand went creeping to the spot where, as
it seemed, the arrow had struck clean through to the
breastbone, and there, beneath my coat, I felt the
Black Box.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven be thanked!" said I aloud. "It saved me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What saved thee, friend?" asked Ratlaw with a
puzzled look.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," I answered quickly; then added, "or
rather, you did, surely."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Mebbe I did," said he; "you'm right agen, I
reckon. Another minute--and----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," I put in eagerly; "pray, tell me all about
it"--for indeed it seemed astonishing that Tubal
Ammon had not finished me while yet he had the
power to do so.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, 'twere like this," quoth Ratlaw. "As I were
a-cooming 'long oop over from--well, from minding
that as needs the minding, I saw what looked like
one great whopping man a-swaying in the moonlight.
'Twere a terror of a thing, I tell 'ee, and I were just
a bit afeard; but on I coome, and then may I be
drownded if that whopping man did not break clean
in two, and one half of it (that's you) went flop. I
heard your head go crack upon yon stump, then t'other
half jumped on you, and I saw the flashing of a knife.
I were close by then--a dozen yards away, not more--so
I whips out my hanger here and cooms on roarin'
like a lion. Joost in toime and only joost. The knife
wor raised to stroike, when, hearing me, he joomps
oop, snarls at me loike any dog, and flies off cursing.
And oh, the face of en! Zur, if 'twere not the Evil
One hisself, who wor it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The Evil One himself," I answered slowly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, sure, or you had killed a dozen such as he
wi' that." He pointed to my sword.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I nodded, then asked:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How long have I been here?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Mebbe the quarter of an hour."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! so long? And which way ran this villain?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ran? 'Twere no running, zur," replied Dan Ratlaw.
"He flew! Yea, as I live, he sailed above yon
bushes like a bat. And may I be clean drownded,
zur," he added in an awful whisper, "if blazing fire
did not drop from en as he flew."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I understood. Ammon had shed gold in flight.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But which way did he go?" I asked again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Straight for The Havering yonder," answered
Rat, "and like enough he'll be a-perching on the
roof of it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then, for the second time that night, a clammy
sweat broke out upon my face. Ammon! The
Havering! My father!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Rat," said I, "I must for home at once."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Whoy, zur, what's wrong?" he asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Naught, but I must away at once."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I be afeard thou canst not walk," said he. "Take
one more pull at this fust."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He held the bottle to my lips.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not a drop. Give me a hand up, man, that's
all," said I.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He did it, and, staggering to my feet, I stood there
swaying for a moment, giddy and bewildered. Then,
when I had mastered this unsteadiness, I took Dan's
hand and said: "You've saved my life, and I shall
not forget it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The trusty fellow rubbed a sleeve across his mouth
but answered nothing; then his hand went down into
his pocket and came forth glittering with gold.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"See here," said he, with something of a shame-faced
look, "I found this on the grass beside thee.
Doubtless he meant to take it with him, but----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," I put in quickly, "'tis not mine. 'Twas his,
and now is yours by right. Therefore keep it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What, his?--the--the devil's?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; and, look you, if you search the way he fled
you will, methinks, find more of it. That was the
falling fire you saw. His pockets bulged with gold."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So saying, I picked my sword up from the ground,
and, leaving Ratlaw gaping with amazement, sped
for home.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>How I ran I know not, for my head was singing
like a sea-shell, and my thoughts (if thoughts they
could be called) were such a seething medley as it
beats me to describe aright. And thus it came about
that, scarce knowing how (as one but half-awake,
that is), I reached The Havering gates. There I
stopped a moment; then, passing through, crept like
a thief into the house, and, having gently closed the
door behind me, listened. All was silent, save for
the mournful ticking of the great hall clock, which
in such awful stillness broke on me like a death-knell.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Pressing both hands upon my throbbing head, I
tried to think. My father might perhaps yet be up
there wrestling with his trouble. If so, I must be
ready with that great surprise which could not fail
to put his care to flight.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Filled with this hopeful thought, I lit a candle,
brought the Black Box forth, untied the binding
cord, and opened it. Then, with a throttled cry, I
staggered back, as though a blow had struck me.
The box was empty! Ferguson had put the papers
in his pocket--not in this; and, in his hurried flight,
had left behind what was to me of no more value
than a stone!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I could have cursed, or wept, or both, at such a
bitter mockery as that; but I did neither. For a
moment I stood staring blankly at the gaping box;
then, having taken off my shoes, I seized the faithless
thing, and, stealing silently upstairs, knocked at the
study door. No answer came. I tried the latch.
The door was locked. Strange! I had never known
my father lock his door by night, though, to be sure,
he sometimes did so in the day-time when he did not
wish to be disturbed. I knocked again--much louder.
Still no answer; then, listening, I heard a stealthy,
creeping noise within. I did not wait a moment
longer; hurling myself upon the door, I drove it
crashing inwards.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Even as I thus burst in, the figure of a man shot
past me, and, springing through the open casement,
disappeared. Running to the window I looked forth,
and saw the black, satanic form of Tubal Ammon
fleeing down the moonlit garden. I watched him till
he vanished like an evil shadow in the darkness of
the trees; then, turning slowly, cast a fearful glance
about the room.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At first I could make nothing out, for the candle
had burned down into its socket, and all was dark;
but, as I left the window, a straggling moonbeam,
struggling through the chestnut tree (that fatal chestnut
tree!), fell on a silvery patch above a high-backed
chair. Slowly, with feet of lead, I moved towards
it for a step or two, then stopped. My father sat
there, with bowed head, as though he slumbered.
What!--had he slept through such a turmoil?</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Shaking from head to foot, I went close up and
laid a trembling hand upon his shoulder--spoke to
him. He neither stirred nor answered. Nay, he
would speak no more, for when I took him in my
arms I found that he was dead!</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="i-make-a-solemn-vow"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER X</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">I Make a Solemn Vow</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>It may be that I am of a different make from other
men--I know not; but in that awful moment, when
heaven and earth alike were crashing round me, and
my very life itself seemed rent asunder, I neither
grieved nor wept. It was, indeed, as though a band
of steel had forged itself about my heart and turned
me into stone.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>If it be hard to have no softened feelings at a time
like that, then am I hard as granite; if it be wicked
to be filled with vengeful thoughts in face of death,
then am I wicked as the Evil One himself: for as
I stood there with my father's icy hand in mine (the
hand of him who had been everything to me), one
thought, and only one, possessed my mind--the fierce
resolve to be avenged on those who were his
murderers, as truly as was Cain the murderer of Abel.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There was no mark of violence on him, save that
his vest had been ripped open, and the key (that
proof which was to win the price of blood!) torn from
its ribbon. He had been dead some time--the brave,
albeit weakened heart had given way at last beneath
the strain of threatening danger, and Tubal Ammon,
coming to give death, had found it there before him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So much I noted, swiftly, clearly, as I stood there
in that moonlit room of death; then, with the sense of
having added years, in moments, to my life, I drew
my sword, and holding it above the poor, bowed head,
took one deliberate vow of vengeance.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Even as I did so, heavy hurrying footsteps sounded
on the stairs, and glancing round, I saw a bunch
of wondering, awestruck faces staring at me from
the doorway. My crashing entrance had aroused the
house, and here, half-dressed and ghost-like, were the
servants.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The very sight of such a gaping, helpless throng
stirred wild, unreasoning anger in a brain which
hitherto had felt like lead. I must have turned upon
them with a threatening fierceness, for they one and
all fell backward with a fearful look.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What now! What do you here?" I said.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, by the love o' Heaven, sir, what be wrong?"
asked Tom, the groom, who held a flaring candle high
above his head.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I paused a moment, then pointed to the chair, and
answered:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Your master sits there, dead!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>No cry or movement followed, but the glances cast
upon me and my naked sword spoke plainly of the
awful thought which filled each horror-stricken mind.
Yes, for one throbbing instant it was clear to me that
I was counted my father's slayer.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead!" gasped Tom at last. "How, sir? Not--not
killed?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The hand which held the candle shook.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not killed;" I answered slowly, for even in
that blank, bewildering moment it flashed upon me
that the truth could not be told to anyone without
great danger. "No, not killed; he died as he had
always wished to die--swiftly. Come now," I added,
in a voice that sounded strange and far-off to my
ears, "help me to bear him to his chamber."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>No more was spoken.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The dawn of that the blackest day in all my life broke
with a mocking splendour. The sun rose gloriously
upon a green glad earth; the joyous song of birds, the
scent of many flowers, the gentle whisper of the soft
June breeze, the murmur of the sea--all these, the
joyous signs of one more resurrection from the things
of darkness, were there in plenty; but as I stood and
looked down on my father's white, set face, I took no
heed of them; they were less than nothing. The
present was as a thing I had no part in; the past alone
seemed real. A thousand memories of bygone years
came flooding over me. It was as though I lived
through all my life again, within that silent room of
death.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Yet, notwithstanding this, my heart was still like
stone; nor grief nor tears were mine. Instead, I vowed
fresh vengeance. There should be no rest for me till
both Ferguson and Tubal Ammon had been made
to answer for their wickedness; until, that is, they
had been hunted down and killed. The sword which
had been girded on me by the hands now cold and
stiff should also know no rest until it had avenged its
giver's death. Henceforward that should be its work
and mine.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So much I swore, and felt the better for it, yet not
without some vision of the perils and the pitfalls
which must certainly beset me ere my vow could be
fulfilled.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And first among these stumbling-blocks there came
the thought that none could help me. The truth about
my father's death was one with which I could not
trust a living soul; the threatening danger which had
hovered over him, and killed him, now just as surely
hovered over me; the secret which he had confided to
my keeping scarce a day before was still a secret,
though now known to three instead of four. Henceforth,
in fact, 'twould be a deadly, silent warfare
betwixt one and two, and well I knew that God's
earth did not hold a blacker pair of villains than
the chaplain and his creature Tubal Ammon. But
that did not dismay me; nay, rather was I heartened
by the thought that now, at least, I had a real work
(however desperate) in life. For the rest of it, come
rack, come rope, I would not flinch or turn aside.
My course was clearly marked, and I was minded
to run it with a will. My father's blood flowed in
my veins, and though a cruel fate had snatched him
from my side, he still was mine, and this that I
was bent upon seemed but a poor plain duty due
to one who had done everything for me. At any rate,
'twas all I could do now for him, and I would gladly
give my life for its accomplishment.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It was such feelings and such fierce resolves as
these which kept me up and made me adamant (I
know it now--for afterwards, long afterwards, the
crash came), and, looking back through many years, I
see no reason to regret it; for it was this alone which
made it possible for me to go about my many pressing
duties firm-jawed, silent, and clear-headed. And this,
I knew, was as my father would have had it, for he
had ever little tolerance or sympathy for those who
wailed and whimpered in the face of sorrow.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I will not dwell upon the many happenings of that
dolorous day, for, indeed, they have no business in
these pages, and so may be told swiftly in fewest
words.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>First, then, summoned hastily, came the family
physician, an old grey-headed, owl-eyed man, who, as
I always felt, knew far more about me than he ought
to. He asked divers questions, got, I fear, short
answers; then shook his head, and murmured:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! 'tis as I feared; 'tis as I always said; the
heart hath failed."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He said this with a solemn sadness, but yet, as
it seemed to me, with some small pride in that his
prophecy had been fulfilled.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Next, eagerly (for ill news flies apace, and many
messengers had been dispatched) came kith and kin,
flocking like crows into the old ancestral tree, and, for
the most part, trying hard (but vainly) to hide an
eager curiosity by means of sighs and tears. In truth,
their plaintive caws were little to my liking; and
verily they must have thought me something of a
hardened monster as I moved about among them,
dry-eyed, immovable, and, as it seemed, bent only
on cold business.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus the day passed swiftly, crowded as it was
with thronging duties (for, in spite of everyone and
everything, I had decided that my father should
be buried on the morrow), and evening came before
I found a chance of going out. But when the sun
had set, I left the dismal cawing of the family crows,
and, slipping forth, went down by unfrequented ways
into the town. Moreover, I went fully armed, for who
could tell what ugly violence or treachery might be
abroad?</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="i-live-and-learn"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">I Live and Learn</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The little town was all agog with men both young
and old (farm hands for the most part), who had
come in to join a cause which ignorance persuaded
them would turn the kingdom upside down and make
them so much richer by the doing of it. Most of them
were armed; some wore green boughs stuck in their
hats, while others waved them wildly; and everyone
was shouting out these words, which already I was
sick of hearing:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant religion!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Faith, 'twas as if the countryside had gone clean
mad. "If this be how they go about the changing
of a king," thought I, "then Heaven have mercy on
them!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There were many in this bawling throng who knew
me, and not a few showed signs of speaking to me of
my loss; but I would have none of it, and so passed
by with nods or scanty greetings.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Duke, I learned, had taken up his quarters
at the "George", and thither, though scarce knowing
why, I went; and what a sight and babel greeted
me on drawing near the inn-yard! That of the
previous night had been as nothing to it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The yard, and half the narrow street besides, were
packed with men whose one desire in life appeared
to be to get inside the inn itself as speedily as
possible; and, to that end, they elbowed, pushed, and
wellnigh fought each other. They shouted, waved green
boughs, sang hymns and psalms; while ever and anon
an oath or curse rang strangely out as some poor wretch
was crushed beyond endurance.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I watched them from a distance for a while in
wondering silence, then going up I touched a burly,
pushing yokel on the arm, and asked what was the
meaning of so great a pother.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Whoy, dost not know?" says he, regarding me with
pity. "They be a-takin' down the na-ams i'soide thur,
and we be all a-goin' to sign on."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"For Monmouth, eh?" said I.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, sure," says he. "Who else?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Have many joined?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, hun'reds--thoosands! And you'm be just the
sort o' man they be a-wantin', zurr," he added, looking
me up and down admiringly. "Coom on! Coom!
We be a-moovin' now. Kape tha' close behoind me,
zurr."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And spreading out his arms he booed and barked as
though the crowd before him were a flock of sheep
intended for the slaughter--as, alas! full many of
them were.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But although his words had made me quite as keen
as he to get inside the "George", methought I knew
an easier, swifter way of doing it than his, which,
as it seemed to me, must surely take some hours.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So I forsook the crowd, which was far too busy to
take heed of me, and slipping round into that quiet
street from which I had escaped the night before, went
up a narrow passage to the private side door of the
inn. 'Twas fast, as had I imagined it would be, but
when I knocked the bolts were hastily withdrawn,
the door was opened cautiously, and there before me
stood one of the thieving rascals who had tried to
rob me of my horse.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He started back and stared. I frowned upon him
boldly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What now?" said he when we had taken our fill
of one another. "What is thy business, friend?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>His speech was thick, his face deep red, while as
he stood there with a hand upon the door, he swayed
a little.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The same as yesternight," I answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah--our--our--godly--chaplain, eh?" jerked he.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I nodded sternly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, and what then?" he mumbled, stroking his
beard as though unable to collect his thoughts.
"Look you, friend, my orders are to keep the door
'gainst all intruders. Yet an your business be in
truth with---- Ah, by my soul, friend, yes--that's
it--the password of the night; what is it? Give it
quickly, and pass on."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At first I felt inclined to turn and flee for it
while yet there was a chance, not knowing whom the
drunken lout might bring about my ears; but second
thoughts constrained me to go boldly through with it,
for verily I was in that state which cares not what
may happen. Therefore I said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know the password of the night."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?" roared he. "Business with godly
chaplain and don't know password? Ho! ho! now,
if that be not pretty!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that he put his arms akimbo and burst into
a roaring laugh, so that for a moment I had half a
mind to knock him down and stride across his barrel
of a body. But cautiousness prevailed.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Pretty enough, but true," said I. "For, look you,
I have been away on very urgent business of the
chaplain's since yesternight, and have but just returned
here. Prithee, what is the password, friend?" I added
quickly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps it was the very brazenness of such a
question that threw the muddled fellow off his guard;
at any rate, he lurched towards me, and whispered
underneath his ale-soaked breath:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis Zion, friend--Zion--mark you, Zion. Make
sure on't, for it may serve thee well enough ere night
be ended."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Little knowing how prophetic were those latter
words, he drew aside; then, as I would have passed
him by, he plucked me by the sleeve, and, with a
knowing wink, said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A favour, friend, a favour. Speak well of one
John Coram to his reverence, for verily my zeal is
most abounding. Hark!" he added, raising a shaking
hand as a great shout reached us from the street.
"Doth not the Lord's cause prosper mightily? Yea,
I trow it doth indeed. And what am I, John Coram,
to be spoken well of to his reverence? Friend, it
might seem to thee that I am overfull of ale, but 'tis
not so; nay, I vow I never touch the stuff. 'Tis burning
zeal which fills me, nothing else. Zeal, I say, zeal! zeal!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Nodding heavily, he staggered over to a bench, and
crashing down thereon, sat staring in amazement at
his jack boots.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But having got thus far I craved some information.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is the Duke?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The fellow waved his hand and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"He sits in yon great room receiving followers."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And is the chaplain with him?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, verily, why not? Our godly chaplain is the
friend of kings, and nigh as full of zeal as me, John
Coram. Ho! ho! methinks that's good; ah, passing
good be that. Ho! ho!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I waited till his roaring laugh had sunk into a
rumble, then fired a random shot.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Did'st ever meet a man called Tubal Ammon?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>John Coram tapped his steel-cap, shook his head,
and answered:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Never heard that name; but say, what be he like?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A tall, thin, bony fellow; legs like broomsticks;
face like parchment; eyes like slits; and short-cropped
hair that grows straight up like grass. Moreover,
he----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop!" broke in Coram, who had been following
me with wondering eyes and gaping mouth. "What
did you call him?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Tubal Ammon."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, then, it cannot be the same, and yet 'tis very
like the man I met five years agone. His name was
Israel Stark. 'Twas said that he had been a preacher
of the Word, though when I knew him he was more
a breaker of it, though, to be sure, he had some store
of Latin ever ready on his tongue. Yet, for all that,
he was the swiftest runner that I ever came across.
Moreover, he could climb a tree like any squirrel.
Aye, right well I mind me how I once did see him go
clean up a----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay," I put in eagerly, "'tis the same man sure
enough, in spite of names."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What! hast thou met him too, then, friend?" asked
Coram.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I have met him too," I answered grimly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"When?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Not many hours ago."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And where?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Not very far from here."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>John Coram rose up slowly from his seat, and so
stood staring at me for a moment in a hungry fashion;
then said he:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I would with all my heart it had been me instead
of you, friend; for with these hands of mine I would
have wrung his wicked skinny neck."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, so you have a grudge against him, eh?" I
asked, as carelessly as wellnigh throttling eagerness
would let me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A grudge!" growled Coram. "Aye, friend, that
doth not name the tithe of it. I would account it
heaven itself to kill the fellow; for, verily, there's not
a blacker villain on God's earth than Israel Stark, and
well I know it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, and how so?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, hearken. He came to me in sore
distress--half-starved--a thing of skin and bones. He told me
tales of savages and shipwrecks. I listened to those
tales, had pity on him, took him in, fed, clothed him.
And in the end he robbed me vilely; moreover, would
have murdered me had not a friend come in the nick
of time and saved my life. That friend he slew, and
so escaped."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, then, we are one," said I.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What mean you?" asked John Coram wonderingly.
"Hath he injured thee as well, then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No matter. We are one, I say, and this our meeting
may be fortunate for both of us. Listen! I would
give you five gold pieces if you could find this Stark
or Ammon for me so that I might kill him."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" gasped Coram. "Five--gold--pieces--to
do that which I would gladly do for nothing! But
say, friend, if you met this fellow but a few hours
back, hast now no sort of knowledge where he is?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, none."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor is that any cause for marvel," rejoined Coram;
"for verily the fellow is a thing of darkness, passing
like a shadow--well I know 'tis so. But count on
me, friend, count on me; for if this mischief-worker
still be in these parts, and catchable, he shall be
caught. But stay, how shall I let thee know? Where
shall I find thee, friend, in case of news?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I paused a moment, looking fixedly at Coram.
Could I trust the fellow? Yes, methought I could.
"You will find me at The Havering," I said, "a
house out yonder on the Uplime road. 'Tis a
well-known place, and anyone will guide you thither."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The Havering, The Havering," murmured Coram
slowly, like one who conned a lesson. "Yes, methinks
I've got that. And now for thy name, friend?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Again I paused to scan his face; for verily the
whole thing struck me as a most uncanny echo of
that fateful meeting by the roadside less than a
week before. But now, for all his bloodshot eyes
and ale-marked face, it seemed as though I stood
before a lusty, honest fellow. Moreover, when I came
to think on it, a risk the more or less was of but
small account, for who could suffer now except
myself? Therefore:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Fane--Michael Fane," I answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Fane!" muttered Coram, with a thoughtful stroking
of his beard. "Fane! That sounds familiar.
Where did I hear it, now? Ah, I have it! 'Twas
yesternight, as I kept guard in yonder street, I heard
two fellows muttering round a corner. Their voices
were so low that I could make little of the conversation,
but more than once I caught the words 'Black
Box' and 'Fane'. I tried to creep a little closer, but
they heard me, and, coming out, slunk off."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! so? And could you see them? Didst make
out who they were?" I asked, scarce able to prevent
my hands from clutching him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, for the moon was hid, the night full dark,
and they passed by upon the other side. But they
were friends--not foes--of that I am assured, for
when I challenged them they gave the password of
the night."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You could make nothing of them, then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, naught; save that both were tall, and
one--him nearest to me--wore a long black cloak."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And did you mark which road they went?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, verily, I followed them a little way, and saw
them hurrying off towards the sea. But, say, why
show you so much interest in this matter? Truly,
they used thy name, but that doth count for little,
being friends. Stay, though," he added quickly,
"hast lost anything--a box, for instance?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No," I answered slowly. "I have lost my father."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>John Coram eyed me for a moment in a startled
fashion.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Not killed?" said he at last.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No; but lost no less for that," I answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, lad, I see--I know--I understand, for I, too,
lost mine when I was young like thee. Yea, 'tis a
grievous thing, indeed, to lose a father."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The bloodshot eyes that gazed into my own were
sad; the voice, though rough and thick, yet rang with
kindness. The things about me seemed to fade away,
and I saw nothing save that waxen, upturned face at
home. John Coram's voice recalled me. "Say, friend,"
said he, laying a hand upon my arm, "what secret
lies behind this matter? Go you in fear of anyone?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment I was tempted to trust the fellow
and tell everything, but wisdom pointed otherwise.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"In fear of anyone!" I echoed with a mocking
laugh. "Nay, save me that, I pray you. 'Twas but
an idle fancy, nothing else. I only wondered (foolishly
enough) if Stark could have been one of them."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stark!" cried Coram, springing back. "Now, by
my life, how came you to think that?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"An idle fancy, as I said before, and nothing else.
These fellows gave the password of the night, and so
were friends. They used my name; and, pray, why
not, when it is free to all? Enough, let's say no
more about it." I stopped and looked at him, then
put a last, most daring question, saying: "I wonder
if our godly chaplain knows Israel Stark or Tubal
Ammon (to give him both his names). Think you
he does?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On hearing this, John Coram drew away, and
stared at me as though I had gone daft; then,
throwing back his head, laughed loud and long.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho! ho! if that be not a merry jest, then show me
one," cried he. "Doth Master Ferguson know Israel
Stark? Oh, by my life, 'tis good--'tis passing good.
But, look you, friend, I'll answer it by asking thee
a question. Doth Satan mix with angels?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me it may be so," I answered darkly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>John Coram started back, and cast a swift, uneasy
glance at me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What mean you by such words as those?" he asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Naught," I answered quickly; "nor must I tarry
longer. Remember, five gold pieces if you bring me
certain news of Tubal Ammon's whereabouts; and
here, by way of token, is a crown-piece on account."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou art a rare good fellow, friend," he murmured,
staring at the coin; "strange, indeed, but passing good.
Nor will I fail thee. True, there is much mystery in
the matter, yet I ask no questions. We both want
Israel Stark--that's quite enough for me. Yea, 'tis
a handsome bargain, friend, and I, John Coram, will
stick unto it like glue."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He held a big rough hand out, and I grasped it
tightly, for, notwithstanding too much ale and a
rather muddled pate, I looked upon him as a kind
of brother.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said I, "'tis true there is some mystery in
this affair; but, as we have one end in view, that
matters nothing. Let us not fail each other, that
is all."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, true," said he; "but, look you, friend, 'tis
said the Duke rides out of Lyme within a day or two
from now. What then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! what then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, go you with us?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I know not where I go," I answered, turning with
my hand upon the door-latch; "but much may happen
ere the Duke rides forth. In the meantime I will not
lose sight of you; rely on that."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that I would have gone, but Coram stopped me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay! one moment, friend," said he, raising his
blinking eyes no higher than my waist-belt. "That
small affair about thy horse last night. Is it
forgiven me?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgiven and forgotten," I replied.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He heaved a mighty sigh; and I went forth to seek
the "godly chaplain".</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="how-i-was-saved-from-rashness"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">How I was Saved from Rashness</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Turning down a stone-flagged passage, I made for
a small, snug parlour, where I had oft held private
converse with the landlord and his daughter Miriam,
especially the latter. I found the door wide open
and the room deserted, but that did not prevent my
entering, for indeed the house had ever been a sort of
second home to me; and, as things were just then, I
did not crave for any company, and silence seemed
a blessed thing.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So, standing with my hands behind me, and back
towards the empty fire-place, I took swift thought, if
thought it could be called--for what a medley filled
my brain! John Coram's words had let in such a blinding
light upon the question nearest to my heart that I
was fairly dazzled and bewildered by it. Thus, there
was the mischief-working demon with two names;
his meeting on the previous night with Ferguson, not
a stone-throw from the spot where I was standing;
their slinking by the very man who was as zealous
to kill Ammon as I was myself; and, finally, the
mocking thought that, in his ignorance, John Coram
looked on the murderous chaplain as a thing of
spotless righteousness--fit company for angels.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A bitter laugh escaped me when I thought of that,
and what the ale-soaked trooper would have said and
looked like if I had told him all I knew about his
saintly reverence.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This led me to consider whether I could trust myself
so far as to look on Ferguson just then--supposing
Coram had been right in stating he was with the
Duke. For might I not, in spite of cooler, better
judgment, be constrained to fire a pistol at him, and
thereby bring swift death upon me? Yes, in my then
fierce, desperate state, it seemed most likely that I
should thus lose myself. What then? Why, to begin
with, Tubal Ammon would live on, unless John Coram
found and settled with him--which I doubted, for
indeed there seemed in him no sort of match for
Ammon's wriggling craftiness. Thus, in attempting
to kill Ferguson (and such a wild excited shot might
easily miss its mark!) I should be foiled of doing that
which lay still nearer to my heart's desire. Again,
my father must be buried on the morrow, and that he
should be laid to rest without his son to mourn him
was unthinkable.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>No, my life, barren and blighted though it was,
must not be risked that night, too much depended on
it. For a time, at least, I must restrain myself, meet
craftiness with craft and guile with guile.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>These thoughts, which were so strange a mixture of
cold reckoning and burning hate, left me where I had
been. A hot and overmastering desire was on me to
watch Ferguson, gloat over him, and see how one who
had so vilely bargained for my father's death could
play the part of holiness before Duke Monmouth and
his followers. The very words with which he had
thus bartered life for gold rang in my ears; and once
again the vision of my father's white set face rose up
before me. And then I muttered something, loosed
my sword within its sheath, and cast a hungering
glance down at the pistols in my belt.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>From close at hand there came the heavy tramp of
those who went to join the "Cause", while from the
street beyond the cries of "Liberty and pure religion!"
rose and fell unceasingly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With curling lip I listened for a space to what, for
me, was now a bitter mockery, by reason of one
Ferguson the Plotter; then with tight-clenched teeth
I strode across the room, bent on I scarce know what,
though if ever man had thought of murder in his
heart that had I just then. But ere I reached the
door there came the rustle of a dress, and Miriam, the
landlord's daughter, stood before me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It may have been the altered look upon my face, or
simply great surprise at seeing me, which was the
cause of it, I know not; but with a little cry she
clasped her hands and started back, while I stood
dumb as Lucifer before an angel.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I tried to murmur something, but I could not; nor
was there any need; for now she came to me, took
both my hands in hers, and looking up with big sad
eyes, said softly:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Michael, I am very, very sorry for thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Her sweet voice trembled, and her pretty head was
bowed.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Those were the gentlest, truest words that I had
heard throughout that awful day, and so there is no
shame in saying that I could not answer her. Instead
I drew her close, and for a moment there was silence
in that little room. The setting sun shone in upon
us; and, for a time at least, I knew what power a
woman has to save man from himself.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This is no tale of love, nor, if it were, would
this be any place in which to prate of it; but yet I
should be something of a thankless coward were I not
to state that Miriam Hope was very dear to me. We
had been friends from childhood, and looking backward
through the long, long years I know how much
I owe to her. And speaking of that night, she saved
me from I know not what mad act.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And how came you here?" she asked, when we
had talked a while of other things.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"By the side door yonder," I replied.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, verily," sighed she, "the front is crowded like a
fair. The fearful din hath made my head ache sorely.
How, think you, Michael, will this sorry business end?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I fear in hanging for the most part, Miriam," was
my answer.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that is what my father says. 'Tis terrible to
think of."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And so the Duke is in the Great Room yonder?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and a very gracious, kindly gentleman he
seems. His smile is very sweet. Aye, 'tis a thousand
pities that he ever landed on so wild a business."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, ten thousand pities," I agreed, though not
because I thought of Monmouth's peril.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My father says he cannot win."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No; there is little chance of that, methinks."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And what if he be beaten, Michael?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, then 'twill be a case of hunt and hunted.
But say, Miriam, are many of the gentry coming in to
join him?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, very few, if any. They are nearly all rough
country men, more used to scythes than swords. I
pity them, for verily they look like stupid boys let
loose from school."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," I murmured, for my mind was set on
other things just then. "Is Ferguson the chaplain
with the Duke?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; but him I like not," answered Miriam with
a little frown. "He may be great and clever as they
say, but I go by faces, Michael, and never saw I such
an ugly, evil one as his. His little eyes glint out
beneath his old torn wig like those of rats, and when
he walks he shuffles like a camel. Why the Duke
makes so much of him, and trusts him so, 'tis past
me to imagine, for verily I would not trust him with
my shoes."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, then he must be bad," said I; then fearing lest
my face might tell a tale, I added quickly: "Now for
the Great Room, Miriam; I would go there."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>She started back from me, glanced fearfully about
her, then with a searching look said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You would not join these rebels, surely, Michael?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I would only see the fun," I answered carelessly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But even that might well be dangerous," said she.
"Remember there be wicked, desperate men abroad
just now."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I could have told her so much, but I only laughed
and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, have no fear, sweet girl, for, look you, I am
fully armed and care for no man. But, say, how shall
I get into the room through such a press?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, if you must really go," said she, "I will take
you through the antechamber, and that will bring you
well into the room, not far from where the Duke is
sitting."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Most excellent!" quoth I. "I pray you lead the
way at once, dear Miriam."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>She turned as if to go, then stopped and gazed upon
me in a sad, reproachful fashion.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Michael," she murmured, "how can you talk of
seeing fun when your poor father is thus lying----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop! stop!" I broke in swiftly. "We will not
speak of that, dear girl. You do not understand. It
may be that I seek to drown my thoughts. Lead on,
I pray you."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And so I followed Miriam, and was ushered in.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="in-the-great-room-and-afterwards"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">In the Great Room--and Afterwards</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The room was packed; and never saw I such a piteous
sight as was presented by that crowd of gaping, moon-struck
faces, which, as it seemed to me, stared forth like
poor penned cattle into certain doom. On each was
writ in fatal characters the one word--Death! Yet
all were mighty eager to be signing on; in truth, by
the pressing and the jostling it might have been the
statutes at a fair.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On a little platform at one end of the room, and
not far from where I was standing, sat Monmouth
with his officers--Lord Grey, Fletcher of Saltoun, Old
Dare (as he was called), the Taunton goldsmith, and
others whom I knew not. The Duke, all smiles and
bows, watched everything with eager, anxious eyes,
and even spoke a word or two when one big strapping
fellow, towering high above the rest of them, stepped
up to volunteer.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But for me there was small interest either in
Monmouth or those who flocked to serve him. My eyes
were fixed upon a wry-wigged gentleman who sat
before a little table taking down the names. Yes,
there, in all his blotch-faced ugliness--a hulking, bony,
ill-dressed heap of perfidy--sat Robert Ferguson, the
Plotter. His pen was whirling like a windmill; he
seemed to catch a name up with the feather of his
quill and run it down on paper wellnigh as soon as it
was spoken; and all the time he never ceased to jerk
forth jests and mock encouragement to those who, in
their ignorance, were little more than clay within his
hands. Thus, as I entered, he was saying:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on, my friends, come on! Ah, what amazing,
lovely zeal is this which moves your hearts! Fear
not, the Lord of Hosts is with us, as the Scripture
hath it, and verily we must prevail. The next--the
next! ... Now, by my life, if such a fine upstanding
man as thou shouldst not be captain in a month or so!
Yes ... yes ... or more, perchance. Come on! the
next! Oh, who shall stand against such zeal as this
upon the day of battle? Ah, who, indeed? Not those,
I trow, whose hands are stained with blood! Not
those who have forsworn the Lord of Hosts and set up
their abominations in high places. Not those, I say,
not those! The next, the next! Come on, I pray you,
speedily, or we shall hear the cock crow ere we've
finished. What's that you say, friend? Yes, yes, I
have you down quite clearly to the very letter: Uriah
Smite--and may you smite full lustily! That is a
merry jest, but something to the point, I vow. Back,
friend, I pray you, and make room for him who stands
behind.... Ah, what's that? You fought with
Cromwell, say you? Truly, a handsome warrant for your
zeal; and may you fight as well for us. Grey hairs,
when mixed with zeal and wisdom, count for much.
And as for that sword-cut on your face, well, what
adornment could outvie it in true loveliness? ...</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Next, next! Remember that there is something for
you all. Here a little--there a little--everywhere a
little, and much for those as are right valiant. The
Duke is not one to forget, I tell you. No, no, the
sowers shall indeed reap heavily! What now, there,
you who hold back, muttering? Hath Satan put a
craven fear within your hearts? If so, take courage
from my case. Look on me! I'm that man, that
Ferguson, for whose unworthy life five hundred
pounds were offered. Yea, I am he who years ago
was driven forth from England, as a thing accurst, by
those whose wickedness rose up to heaven like foul
black smoke. I say again, I am that man, that
Ferguson, who was accounted carrion for the evil-doers,
a thing to be cast out and trodden underfoot like
Jezebel of old. Yet here am I this day among you,
called forth to be the scourge of them who would
have slain me. What then! will you, whose road to
victory is as broad and easy as the king's highway--will
you, I say, hold back like frightened sheep when
such a work is calling? Nay, nay, methinks I read
a better tale than that upon your faces! Again, I say
the Lord of Hosts is on our side, and your enemies
shall crumple up before you like a scroll of parchment.
Hark to the shouts of them who press behind you in
the street! 'A Monmouth! True religion! Liberty!
Down with the Scarlet Woman!' Ah, friends, what
sweet, melodious, heavenly music! It sounds like
Miriam's song of victory in mine ears! Come on,
come boldly on, and let there be no Didymus among us!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I will not weary you with more of the amazing
wretch's sayings; but for me, who watched and
listened, and knew him for the foul, cold-blooded
murderer he was, his every word and movement were
alive with grim suggestiveness. In very truth he held
me spellbound as a thing scarce human. It seemed
as though the Evil One himself sat there taking toll
for Hades.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Nor was it less astonishing to note the swaying
power he exercised upon a crowd of stalwart, sinewy
fellows, who, had they known him rightly, might
have torn him limb from limb. His strength in this
respect made Monmouth and the rest of them appear
like grinning images, whose fate this wicked, frowsy
villain juggled with like dice. And as I watched him
the desire to put a bullet through his wicked head
grew stronger every moment. His ugly, working
mouth was what I would have aimed for, and more
than once my fingers crept towards a pistol-stock;
but, verily, the crowd which was for ever moving
straight in front of me would have made shooting
something of a risky business even had the power of
self-restraint been lacking; and so I stood there with
my back against the wall and feasted greedily on
Ferguson's each word and movement.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When he had filled a sheet 'twas handed to a
messenger, who took it to the town hall, followed by
the men whose names it bore, who there received their
arms and so passed on to drill.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It was during one of these short breaks that the
Duke held up his hand and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember, we have arms for all who join--that is,
for any number."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," cried Ferguson, "for thousands! Muskets,
pistols, armour plates, and swords for all! And will
ye not look fine, my bonnie men? Arms for thousands,
arms for thousands, as His Grace the Duke hath said!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Now this was very far from being true, as those
who had to fight with scythes and sickles, bound on
staves, were soon to prove; but now the statement
was received with shouts of joy, and as the news
passed out into the street a deafening babel rent the
air.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Duke smiled glowingly; the chaplain waved
his pen; while those in front, whose heads had spoilt
my view, moved quickly to the table. At the same
time Monmouth raised his eyes in my direction, looked
at me enquiringly a moment, then, seeing that I did
not move, held up a beckoning hand and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What now, young man? You are the very kind
we need. Why, then, hold back? Are you not for us?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The chaplain's pen stopped writing, and all eyes
were turned upon me. Uncovering, I stepped up to
the table.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, my lord," I answered with a sweeping bow.
"I am for neither side at present."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that is badly put, young man," said Monmouth
smiling. "For, look you, friend, the middle of the
road is empty in this matter."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, verily," snapped Ferguson, casting a swift
glance at me from beneath his ragged wig. "His
Grace speaks truly. 'Choose ye this day whom ye
will serve'--friend--as the Scripture hath it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Methinks we sometimes twist the Scriptures to
our use," I answered, staring at him fixedly. "Even
a murderer might find some text to serve him if he
searched for it," I added in a lower voice.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How now, friend?" put in Monmouth smilingly.
"You come here fully armed, the very picture of the
man we need, and yet you say you are for neither side!
What, then, brings you hither?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Mere curiosity, my lord; a wish to see, that is,"
I answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Or a wish to spy--which?" sneered Ferguson,
stabbing his pen into the ink-horn.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I was hard put to it to keep my fingers off his
throat, and, indeed, I only saved myself by locking
them behind me. Bending over him I answered
slowly:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir, I am no spy. I leave such dirty work for
those whose nature suits them to it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The chaplain strove to hide a start by dipping
savagely into the horn again, then cast a swift, uneasy
glance at me, and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"We are not here to deal in parables, but men, nor
have we time to waste on empty words. If you be not
for joining us, make way for those that are. Next!
Next!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He waved his quill as though dismissing me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay! one moment, friend!" cried Monmouth. "I
pray you give your name, and say how 'tis that one so
likely---- Aye, I would promise you a cornetcy--is
that so, my lord?--(he turned to Grey, who nodded)--ah,
yes, a cornetcy--if not a captaincy. How is it
then, I say, that one so likely hesitates to join our
righteous cause?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My lord, my name is Michael Fane," I answered,
dwelling on the latter words.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The chaplain's pen, which had set out to write my
name, stopped with a spluttering squeak and made an
ugly blot instead. Its owner started, and though he
did not raise his face, it seemed to me as if the blotch
thereon lost something of its bloodlike redness. I cast
a searching glance at him and then went on again:
"As for your other question, my lord, I deal not with
a cause that sets up murderous villains in high places."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The crowd behind me buzzed with startled wonder;
I saw Lord Grey and Fletcher whisper eagerly
together; while Old Dare scratched his short-cropped
head in great perplexity. As for the Duke, he coloured
somewhat, and, leaning forward in his chair, regarded
me with marked uneasiness. It may be that my
words had brought back to his memory a lawless
deed of his wild early days, when, in some drunken
prank, he killed a beadle up in London. I know not;
but at any rate his look was something of a guilty
one, and he was fain to run a hand across his face ere
he could regain his easy self-composure.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Murderous villains in high places!" echoed he at
last. "Those are strong words, young man. What
mean you by them?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Alas! my lord, I mean exactly what I say," I
answered firmly. "I mean that you have one about
your person, holding high estate, who is not fit to sit
with honest men, much less to be a counsellor in great
affairs."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, then, I pray you name the murderous villain,"
quoth the Duke, with mocking emphasis upon the
last two words, and also, as it seemed, with some
relief at finding that it was not he.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I paused a moment, thinking swiftly, and, while
I did so, Ferguson sat there below me in an agony
of guilty fear. I knew it by the way he gnawed
the feather of his pen and hooked his long thin legs
together.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>What, then? If I denounced him on the spot, who
would believe me? No one; for what proof had I to
offer? None. Again, if I drew a pistol suddenly and
shot him (as I could have done), I knew my fate was
sealed. The wild, benighted crowd behind, who looked
upon him as a miracle of strength and godliness, would
kill me in a twinkling. Therefore:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No, by your leave, my lord," I said, "I will not
name him now. This is no place for doing so, nor
would it serve my purpose just at present. Time and
other things will surely name him quick enough."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>An angry growl ran through the room, and things
looked ugly; but at that moment a man I knew
leaned over Ferguson and whispered quickly in his
ear. The chaplain nodded eagerly; then, turning
to the Duke, said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"By your leave, my lord, I understand the matter
fully now. This poor young fellow" (here he waved
his pen at me, but did not dare to look) "lost his
father suddenly this morning, and doubtless such a
shock hath----" he tapped his head and added: "Yes,
'tis plain enough."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! if that be true----" began the Duke in no
unkindly voice.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis true in part, my lord," I broke in scornfully,
"as far as it regards my loss, that is. The other is
rank folly. I vow my head is quite as sound and
clear as this your godly chaplain's. For the rest,
I would repeat my warning. Scripture hath fluttered
somewhat freely here to-night, therefore, I pray
you, let me add my quota to it, namely: 'Beware of
those who come to you in sheep's clothing, but
inwardly are ravening wolves'. Yea, have a care, my
lord. I wish you well."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that I bowed, took one last look at Ferguson,
then, passing through the crowd, went forth as I had
come, and left them to their own devices.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Being in no mood for conversation, I turned
towards the kitchen regions, hoping thus to slip
out unobserved, except by servants, with whom there
was no need to traffic. Kind fortune favoured me in
this respect, for, save a hot, perspiring scullion, I met
no one, and so I gained my quiet, lonely street again
without the utterance of a word.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, how fresh and sweet the cool air was after that
crowded, reeking room! I drank it in like nectar,
and felt mightily refreshed. What next? Whither
should I go? The thought of home (two days before
the dearest place on earth for me) was now abhorrent
to my soul. The hum of whispering, mournful voices;
the reddened eyes that followed me about with
pitying looks--nay, by my life I would not, could not
face them. To be alone, to think in solitude, was
what I needed. Just then the murmur of the sea
broke in upon my ears. Ah! what better place than
that? I had communed with it, told it many a secret
in the past, and now it seemed like some old friend
who would not fail me in the hour of need.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Striking across some fields, in order to avoid the
town, I made a wide sweep for the eastern shore.
To do this I must needs go through the churchyard,
and there I chanced upon the sexton finishing a
grave--whose I knew full well. I did not stop, but,
as I passed, the old man raised a sweating face to
glance at me; then, seeing who it was, he touched a
dripping forelock, shook his head, and, mumbling
sadly, bent o'er his task again; while I--with what
black thoughts you may imagine--descended by a
narrow cliff-path to the beach, and set off swiftly
towards Charmouth.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Dusk was now falling fast, and as I strode along,
scarce knowing whither, the cool breeze fanned my
burning cheeks refreshingly, the ceaseless thunder of
a full-tide sea fell like some soothing music on my
ears, until at length a strange deep calm came stealing
over me. Rousing myself, I took a backward glance
(I know not why), and saw two figures--blurred
and indistinct by such a failing light--following in
the distance far behind. "Two Charmouth fishers
going home," thought I. "Wise men, who will not
risk their necks e'en for the pretty Duke of
Monmouth." With that I clean dismissed them from my
mind, and so pressed on again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In this aloof, abstracted state I must have gone
two miles or more, when, coming to a low, inviting
rock, I sat down thereon and let my thoughts go
wandering where they pleased. A silver moon tipped
Gold Cap; the waves broke loudly close beneath my
feet, and cast their welcome spray right over me. I
seemed a part of nature, nothing else. The blackened
past--Ammon, Ferguson, my father's death, and even
that which had just happened in the Great Room at
the "George"--all these were like so many ugly
dreams from which I should awake to find my old
sweet life the only real thing.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>How long I sat there brooding thus I know not;
but suddenly my reverie was broken by a sound like
that of footsteps close enough to be just hearable
above the turmoil of the waves. "Ah! they of
Charmouth," thought I; and with that was about to turn
and look, when, like a flash, two men rushed in upon
me from behind.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="zion"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XIV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">"Zion!"</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Even great strength (as mine then was) when taken
unawares avails but little; and so, ere ever I could
move--much less draw a weapon--I was borne down,
crashing on the shingle; and there I lay, stretched
out upon my back, with two great lusty knaves
above me. One of them had a knee upon my chest
and pinned my arms down, while the other threw his
weight upon my legs; and thus, although I wrenched
and strained (not caring to be mastered like a sheep),
and made the villains hiss forth oaths, my struggles
gained me naught beyond a woeful loss of breath.
Indeed, such posture, with that crushing knee upon
my breast, was hopeless, as anyone is free to prove
who cares to try it. Besides, the horrors of the night
before, coupled with loss of rest, had left their mark
upon me; therefore, 'tis little to my shame to state
that I was vanquished.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Panting, I lay and stared into the face that almost
touched my own. The moonlight showed it to me as
a coarse one, blotched and hairy; while there was that
about the eyes which spoke of desperate deeds, and
life held cheap as dust. In truth, the man looked a
ruffian of the lowest kind, who would have bartered
whatsoever soul he had for money. I doubted not
whose tools both he and his companion were.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, and what now?" I asked, as well as want of
breath would let me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Grinning, he pressed still harder on my chest, and
answered:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well said! What now?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Off with that knee of yours," I gasped, "unless
you wish to kill me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now, it might e'en go as far as that. Can't
say. Hi! Dick," he called across his shoulder to the
other, "take you his sword and pistols."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Forthwith my legs were loosed, and, thus freed, I
would certainly have broke out struggling afresh,
had not the galling knee made closer friendship with
my heart until it wellnigh stopped its beating.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Brute!" I gasped again, "you're killing me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, not yet, methinks," quoth he, biting his lip
and gloating o'er my agony. "Hold you his left
hand, and gi' me a pistol, Dick," he added, with another
cruel jab that fairly made me groan.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The other, who had withdrawn my weapons, hasted
to obey, and next moment I was staring up the barrel
of a pistol which threatened me between the eyes.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Make one sound," hissed my tormentor savagely,
"and there's a bullet through your head in no time."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>His face endorsed the statement, and certainly I
was not going to put it to the proof. At least his
knee had left my chest, and for so much I was more
than thankful. I took a long, deep breath, then gazed
at each of them intently, as they knelt beside me,
holding down my hands and threatening me with pistols--and
those, alas! my own. Both were as ill-favoured,
wicked-looking rascals as one could hope to see, armed
with swords and knives, hired desperadoes fit for
anything. In truth, things had an ugly look enough, but
I was minded to know something of my future fate if
it were possible.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, and what next?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You come with us," said he who had been kneeling on me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! and where to?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Where bidden and where led."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Who sent you on this business?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That's our concern. Ask no more questions."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I had no wish to do so; and, indeed, I knew the
answer to my last one just as well as they did. Yes,
their master's name was graven on their evil faces.
The tools of Ferguson were not to be mistaken.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt let me rise?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Their answer was to free my arms and draw back
a little, though still covering me with both pistols.
So I sat up and stared at them afresh, the while I
strove to form swift plans for their destruction. But
this seemed hopeless beyond measure, for my sword
lay well behind them; I had no weapon save my fists,
and what were they against two pistol bullets, which
the slightest threatening movement would most
assuredly bring crashing through my skull? Nor would
a shout for help be any less disastrous, even supposing
help were to be had in such a lonely place at such a
time. But I had little chance to think upon such
profitless affairs, for, bringing the pistol nearer to my
face, the leader said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Put your hands close together, that we may bind
them. The rope, Dick!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There being nothing else for it, I instantly obeyed,
and held them out; while the man he called Dick
brought forth a knot of cord and hasted to unwind it.
Thus it seemed that, notwithstanding all my strength,
I should soon be bound and helpless--entirely at the
mercy of these two conspiring villains. But in that
pressing moment some words of Coram's flashed into
my brain.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay!" I said, "there's surely some mistake."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He with the rope grinned mockingly, while his
companion jerked the pistol threateningly and growled:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that? What mean you?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, this," I answered, lowering my hands apart.
"'Twere well to make quite sure of things before you
act."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What riddle's that?" asked he.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No riddle," I replied. "A warning. Again I say,
there's some mistake about this matter."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Pish!" quoth he, "I'll take my chance of that.
There's no mistake, I fancy, save on your side. Keep
a still tongue, and hold your hands out. Dick, do you
bind him instantly, We've lost good time enough
already."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"All right!" I put in, as the other bent to do his
work; "but don't blame me when it turns out that
you have bound the wrong man after all."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Both started somewhat.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Wrong man!" mocked he who held the pistol.
"Not much, I fancy. A spy, a dangerous malcontent,
an enemy to Monmouth's cause! What say you?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, this," said I, "that I am neither, therefore
have a care. Listen," I went on slowly; "do enemies
of Monmouth know his secret passwords?--Zion!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The cord which had gone once around my wrists
dropped off; the pistol jerked aside. With my left
hand I struck the would-be binder in the chest and
sent him flying backwards; while with my right I
seized the barrel of the pistol. It went off with a
deafening bang, and the bullet, missing my head by
scarce an inch, went singing to the cliffs behind.
Leaping up I wrenched the smoking weapon from its
holder's grasp and brought the butt-end down with
all my might upon his shoulder.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With a loud, fierce cry he staggered back, thus
giving me the chance I needed. Snatching up the
other pistol and my sword, which lay close by the
water, I took a hurried aim at him; but the spray
had got into the pan, and so when I pulled the trigger
nothing came of it except a flash of flint and steel.
Casting the faithless thing away, I turned a keen look
on my foes. Their amaze was great, nor do I wonder
at it, for indeed the change had been both sudden and
bewildering. Thus for a moment we stood staring at
each other, then out flew their swords.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Now, two to one is no great odds provided that the
one cannot be taken in the rear; but as I then stood
such a thing was more than possible. Therefore I
made a sudden rush between the half-dazed fellows,
and reaching the cliffs, which rose some dozen yards
behind, stood with my back thereto and faced them.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on!" I shouted, jeeringly. "The sooner this
is settled now the better!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At first they did not move, but stood there staring
in the moonlight, dumbstricken as it seemed by such
a turning of the tables. Then they came on slowly,
cautiously, their heads thrust forward and their swords
held back.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I waited for them eagerly, with blade-point lowered,
impatient of their slowness and the space that lay
betwixt us. Here was the very thing I longed for,
sure enough--a clean, straight sword-fight--no one to
disturb us, a kindly moon by way of light, and risk
enough to make the matter pleasant. 'Twas as near
as I could get to Robert Ferguson just then; besides, I
owed these his varlets something, and was minded to
repay the debt with usury.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On they came, creeping step by step, as though
expecting I might rush upon them, until they were
within three yards of me, and there they stopped.
Then he whose knee I had such painful knowledge of
made shift to speak.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Hearken!" said he. "Wilt yield, or must we kill thee?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a question easy of the answering," said I.
"Kill me if you can; but as for yielding--go to, now,
act like men, not craven cowards. Fight, I say!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I took a threatening step towards them, and they
fell back hurriedly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so," quoth he, and verily methought I saw
him quake with fear. "You have outwitted us, I own
it freely. That being so it seems to me 'twere fair
to strike a bargain. Thus, we will leave you here in
peace and go our way."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A very pretty plan," I answered mockingly; "but
one which scarce commends itself to my desire.
Listen! you go not from this place alive if I can
help it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That settled it. They drew together whispering
for a moment, then came upon me with a desperate
rush.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="tells-how-i-fleshed-my-sword"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">Tells How I Fleshed My Sword</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>A moment later and the clash of steel rose merrily
above the thunder of the waves; and with each
movement of my sword the eager blood rushed faster
through my veins and gave new zest to life. In short,
I revelled in the business, and thought no more of
lurking death than you do when you breathe. I had
learned swordsmanship beneath my father's trained
and watchful eye; the blade I wielded was his gift to
me; my foes were Ferguson's own hirelings. What
more could any man require to give him skill and
courage? I needed nothing else at any rate; and so,
with tight-set lips and watchful eye, I fought beneath
the moon.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As for my adversaries, notwithstanding that they
had been made to fight against their will, and thus
lacked spirit, they yet soon proved themselves to be
no paltry swordsmen; indeed, they showed such
knowledge of the game that I was more than once hard put
to it to save myself from thrust or cut. But, verily,
my length of reach exceeded theirs by many
inches--moreover, zeal and hatred count for much--and so it
was not long before I sent one of them (he who had
tried to bind me) reeling with a sword-thrust in the
heart. His death-cry echoed loud above us in the
cliffs, then down he crashed, a harmless heap, upon the
shingle.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At that the other leapt back panting, and stared at
me with fearful, terror-stricken eyes.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough!" gasped he. "I yield!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Down with your sword, then," I answered sternly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He cast his weapon to the ground, and, turning,
would have fled; but in a moment I had darted after
him and seized him by the neck.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold! not so fast!" I said, shaking him till his
teeth clicked. "To save your miserable life is one
thing, to spread tidings is another."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I swear to spread no tidings," came his chattering
answer.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well said," quoth I; "you will not get the chance." Here
my eye fell on the cord which had fallen from
his hand when I had knocked him over. I led him to
it. "See," I said, "you would have bound me with
that rope; now let me do so much for you. On your
back, I pray you."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Down he went, and lay thus while I tied him hand
and foot.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Good!" said I, regarding him intently when my
task was finished. "That is another way we have
with those who serve one Robert Ferguson. Be
thankful that you do not lie as still as your companion
yonder."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The sea!" he gasped. "I pray you drag me nearer
to the cliffs lest I be drowned."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, have no fear," said I, "'tis now high water;
a little spray will serve to cool your blood. So now,
good morrow to you, friend, and when you see your
master tell him that his plans have failed for once."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that I picked my pistols up and turned to
leave him; but as I looked along the shore towards
Lyme, I saw, to my dismay, three men come running
in the moonlight; and by the way the foremost of
them waved a hand to those behind I knew that they
had seen me also.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>What now? I wondered. Well, friends or foes, I
judged it best to meet them ere they came upon my
handiwork, and so I strode straight on towards them.
Soon I made out that they were armed, for when
some twenty yards away they stopped, drew swords,
and thus stood waiting for me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Moving boldly on as though they were not there, I
had come within a dozen paces, when one of them
stepped forward, right across my path.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Halt!" cried he. "Who art thou?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Zion!" said I, stopping.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! and thy business?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Such as brooks no delay," I answered firmly,
moving on again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay!" said he, while those behind pressed forward
in a threatening fashion. "We heard pistol shots a
little while ago; what was it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Some fellows brawling on the shore up yonder," I
replied; "but, look you, as I said before, my business
brooks not dalliance. Go and make search yourselves."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that I made to leave them, and by the look of
things they were for letting me depart in peace;
but at that very moment a ringing cry broke out
behind us. I started round, and saw a sight which
seemed to spell disaster. The wretch whom I had
left for helpless on the shore had managed to break
free, and now came running on with waving sword.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop him! Hold him fast! Make sure of him!"
he shouted.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="concerning-one-dan-foe-a-friend-in-need"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XVI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">Concerning one Dan Foe--A Friend in Need</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>My state was now more desperate than ever, for,
in the twinkling of an eye, three swords were pointed
at me, to which a fourth would soon be added. Drawing
my own I went back slowly to the cliffs, they
following.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This time the odds were overwhelming, and there
seemed little chance enough of winning through; but
still I was resolved to fight it out until I either did so
or was killed. Take me alive they should not--that
I swore.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At first I was for making one big dash for it;
cutting my way right through the knaves, that is, and so
escaping: but a moment's thought convinced me that
'twere madness to attempt it, for who could safely
hope to turn aside three ready swords at once? One
would be sure to find a place inside my body. No,
there was nothing for it save to wait and play the
ugly game out to a finish--whether life or death.
And even as I told myself this was so, up came
number four.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>What with the struggle he had had to free himself,
and then the run, his breath was wellnigh sped, and
so he stood there, pumping out his very heart, the while
he pointed at me with his sword.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, and what now?" enquired the leader sternly.
"Why gape you thus? Know you this fellow?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Know him!" gasped the bond-breaker. "Know
him! Aye, verily!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is he, then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"One--Michael--Fane ... Spy ... malcontent
... murderer! I, Dick Harland, tell you so."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! whom hath he murdered?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My goodly comrade Adam Blunt. He lies up
yonder stricken through the heart by this same
fellow's sword."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this thing true?" enquired the leader, turning
to me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis true enough that I have killed the rascal," I
replied; "but 'twas a fair straight fight--not murder."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"This hath an ugly look," quoth he, stroking his
beard the while he frowned upon me. "Why killed
you him?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas either that, or being killed myself," I
answered; "and most of us choose life in place of
death."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He paused a moment with a puzzled look, then
turned to Harland, saying:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You would have killed this man, then, eh?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, not so. We had him down and were about
to bind him, when he escaped us by a trick. Then we
called on him to yield, but he withstood us."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And why would ye have bound him?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Because our orders were to take him, dead or living."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! whose orders?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Our godly chaplain's."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What! Dr. Ferguson's?'"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The same. He bade us take this fellow at all
costs. Two pounds was the reward for him if dead,
and five if----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped and glanced around him foolishly. In
his excitement he had let out a secret which he had
not meant to. I started at his words: so did the leader.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Two pounds if dead," he murmured to himself,
"and five if living. Verily, the fellow hath some
value, then. But, come," he added quickly, "you say
that he escaped you by a trick. What trick was
that?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, as we held him safely on the ground he gave
the password of the night, and when, in our amazement,
we drew back, he freed himself and laid about
him handsomely."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, a dangerous fellow, by my life," rejoined the
other, in whom, no doubt, the thought of promised
gold was working. "He also gave it unto us just now.
How came you by that word, young man?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I got it from a friend," I answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Liar! liar!" broke in Harland fiercely. "He is a
spy--a malcontent! He hath no friends among us."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop!" said the leader, holding up a hand. "Such
ranting will not help us. Young man," he added,
frowning on me, "'tis clear that you are up to no good
purpose; and now I come to think of it, you did deceive
me when I spoke about the pistol shots we heard.
Yea, verily, methinks the statement of our comrade
here is true. But say, now, are you for us or against us?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, there you stand condemned. A man who
fights and kills as you have done this night, and then
claims that he takes no side, is little to my liking.
I trust him not. Therefore, lay down your sword and
pistols and come with us peaceably. So shall your
words be proven, whether they be true or false. Down
with your arms, I say!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I did not move, but gripped my sword a little
tighter, and stood ready for the worst.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You will not yield, then?" he went on, after
watching me intently for a moment.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Try me and see," I answered curtly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Which means a threat of further violence," quoth he.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, a simple invitation," I replied.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, so you mock me, eh?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He took a threatening step towards me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Have a care! I pray you have a care!" sang
Harland from behind. "That sword of his is over-ready,
as my poor comrade Adam Blunt proved to his cost."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Perchance your comrade lacked my skill," returned
the leader sneeringly. "Again I ask, young man, wilt
yield?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And again I answer--try me and prove the matter,"
I replied.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I pray you let us fall upon him in a heap," cried
Harland. "His pistols count for naught, for one of
them hath been discharged and the other hath been
soaked with water. Let us fall to, I say, and smite
him hip and thigh."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What now!" rejoined the other, turning on him
angrily. "Dost take me for a craven coward? Do I,
who fought in Cromwell's Ironsides, and who with
this same blade have slain a good score of lusty
fellows; do I, I say, need help from such as you against
this stripling? Nay, verily, I trow not. I give you
one more chance, young man," he added turning to
me. "Wilt yield?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Not while I have a sword and life," I answered
firmly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Your blood be on your head, then, not on mine," said
he. "Friends, bear witness that I would have spared
this fellow; also mark well my strokes, from which ye
may learn something. Now, back with you and give
us room."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>They fell back hurriedly, and next moment we were
at it tooth and nail.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That was a fight indeed, and one which even now,
with over forty years between, still sets my blood
a-tingling when I think of it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This time my foe was no half-hearted fellow, but
a battle-seasoned soldier, who by his own account--and
as I doubted not--had fought in Cromwell's Ironsides,
and smitten many a skilful swordsman to the
death. As I write these words I see again the stern,
set face, the gleaming eyes that flashed beneath his
head-piece, the moonlight glimmering on his breastplate,
the sword that seemed to be alive--so swift and
ready were its movements. His height was little less
than mine, and though I judged his years to be well
over fifty, his quickness, both of hand and foot, was
wonderful to see.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At first there was a look of mockery, if not of pity,
on his face, but when he found how well I knew my
business this soon changed to one of crafty eagerness.
He thought me worth the killing, and he meant to do
it; while I, on my part, had then a no less firm intention.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus round and round we went upon that narrow
strip of shore, each fighting for his life beneath the
staring moon; while those who watched us made no
sound except to gasp when a stroke or thrust of more
than common deadliness seemed to foretell the end.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At times our feet were fairly covered by the swirling
foam, and once I was driven, knee-deep, back into the
sea by a sudden, mighty rush that took me unawares,
and came near finishing the business. But I saved
myself by springing out of reach, and then, with an
answering rush, drove my opponent back towards the
cliffs.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And now it was that youth began to tell. The
Roundhead's breath came faster than it had done, and
there was more of fury in his fighting, less of tempered
skill. Perceiving this, I played a luring game, and,
retreating slowly, encouraged him to press me fiercely,
content to guard myself while he attacked. His blows
and thrusts came fast and furious, and one false
movement would have surely meant my death, but I
contrived to parry everything, and soon the tale began
to tell upon him sorely. His breath rushed forth in
gasps, and in the end I knew that I should kill him
if the fight continued. But I had slain one man that
night and had no desire to add another to the list if I
could help it. Therefore I sprang back suddenly and
cried:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold! Let us end this business while we have the
chance. You have fought well, indeed, but I am the
younger man and have no wish to kill you. Let then
each of us depart in peace while he hath both life and
honour to his credit."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that!" he wellnigh shrieked. "A beardless
stripling such as thou doth offer quarter to a man like
me? Behold my answer to your mockery!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that he charged upon me like a maddened
bull, and, with a diving movement, aimed a blow at me
which must have brought his very hilt against my
ribs had it gone fairly home.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How's that?" he hissed as he delivered it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas thus--with one swift, glancing stroke I
turned his sword aside and ran him through the body.
Our eyes met as I drew my blade out, and ne'er shall
I forget the look in his; 'twas one of such startled
horror and surprise as haunts me to this day.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He stood there swaying for a moment, staring at
me like some stricken beast, then, with a sobbing
cry of "Help! I'm done for!" reeled and fell back
dead.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Heaven knows that when I saw him lying there a
poor misshapen heap upon the shingle I felt no glory
in the deed, but rather sorrow. He had fought
manfully, and had, moreover, scorned to take advantage
of my lonely state when urged to do so.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But there was little time for vain regrets, for barely
had he fallen ere the other three came on with angry
shouts and threatening swords.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Have at him! Down with him!" they cried, and
so pressed forward with a will, albeit with some
caution also.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I fell back slowly till I reached the cliffs, then,
having those behind me as a rear-guard, stood alert
and ready, waiting for the onslaught; nor was it long
in coming. There was a pause, then, as one man, they
rushed upon me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A dazzling flash of steel broke out beneath my eyes
as three long shining blades shot forward in the
moonlight. With one great swinging stroke I swept them
all aside, then with a downward blow clave Harland
through from chin to chine.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That was good start enough for anything, and
made the other two draw back in doubtful wonder.
But indeed they were fine lusty fellows, who by the
look of them had known much fighting, and so next
moment they came on again with still greater
fierceness and determination.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>For a time I held my own, parrying their deadly
strokes, and checking every artful trick for mastering
me; but no man can go on against such odds for ever,
and what I had already gone through now told a
woeful tale. My breath and strength began to fail,
together with that quickness, both of hand and eye,
which meant everything to me just then.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly my sword-arm stung with pain, and, by
warm blood trickling down beneath my sleeve, I
knew that I was wounded. At that I made a forward
rush, then sprang aside and sought to gain some
breath; but, perceiving how things stood, they got
between me and the cliffs and drove me slowly back
towards the sea.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My firm resolve now was to die fighting; take me
alive, I swore they should not. I would, at any rate,
save Ferguson three of his proffered pounds. Thus, as
they came slowly on, I watched their every movement,
and, by the look of exultation on their faces,
I knew that they accounted me as vanquished, and
only waited for a good safe chance either to make me
prisoner or cut me down. But just as everything
seemed hopeless, and I was meditating one last desperate
effort, a loud voice hailed us from the cliff-top,
crying:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that? Who are you?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Help! help!" I answered, caring naught in my
extremity whether I called on friend or foe.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That which followed was so utterly bewildering
that I scarce know how to set it down with clearness.
Fearing, doubtless, lest help might be at hand, and
bent on ending matters ere it could arrive, my
adversaries made a sudden furious rush, which forced me
back, waist-deep, into the sea. Next moment, as it
seemed, a man came running from the bottom of the
cliffs with upraised sword.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What now? What now?" he shouted. "Have at
you for rank cowards!" and reaching my would-be
slayers, he laid on with such a right good will that
they turned and fled at headlong speed towards
Charmouth.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Hot, breathless, and confused, I staggered from the
water, and sinking down upon a rock, sat staring at
my rescuer like one bedazed.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He was a sturdy, well-set man, some few years
older than myself, with a fine, bold face and manner.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, thou art wounded, friend," said he, pointing
with his sword at the blood which trickled slowly
from my sleeve.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'tis but a prick," I answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we had best make sure of that," said he,
and kneeling down, pulled up my sleeve and found
the wound. A small vein had been pierced, but
nothing more. Taking a kerchief from his neck, he
bound it tightly round the spot, then, rising, said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You were hard pressed, methinks."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I have fought with five this night," I
answered, "and have slain three of them--two here,
and one up yonder."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Good, now, by my life! Most excellent!" cried he.
"I dearly love a man who wins to victory against such
odds."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The victory was far from being mine," I answered;
"for, had you not thus come in the nick of time,
I should most surely have been lying dead beneath
the sea by now. You saved my life, sir, and I owe
you much."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'twas naught," he murmured, sheathing his
sword and gazing out across the moonlit water.
"Faith, I scarcely struck a blow; 'twas but a nimbleness
in coming down yon cliff-path. But to have
killed three men out of five! Ah! that was lovely;
that was worth the doing. Yes, by my life, such
lusty deeds as those have made Old England what
she is, and will, methinks, make her still greater and
more feared in years to come."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well," said I, not wishing to dwell further
on my work of death, "and whither go you, pray?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"To Lyme, to join the Duke."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! I also go to Lyme, though not to join the
Duke; but rather to my bed."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Good, then by your leave I'll bear you company,"
said he. "So, when you are ready----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And that is now," I answered, rising.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He paused a moment to gaze down upon the two
dead men, then off we went together.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Know you who those coward rascals were?" he
asked me as we strode along.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Some of Duke Monmouth's men," I answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped and looked at me, then broke into
a laugh.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What now?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, just to think of it," said he, "that I should
start my fighting for the Duke's cause by drawing
sword against his followers! But, say, why did these
fellows thus attack you?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I stand in no high favour with a man
named Robert Ferguson."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! a canting rogue. I know him well. And so
you are not for the Duke?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I am for the King," I answered boldly,
having now made up my mind on that point.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Again he laughed in merry fashion.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, what a mocking whirligig is life!" said he.
"Here walk I side by side with one with whom
perchance I may cross swords in battle."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, like enough," I answered grimly; "but, say,
why stand you for the Duke?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now, it might well be for the same reason
that you join King James; but, to tell honest truth,
it is because his side doth seem to promise most of
fine adventure. I love adventure; I was made for it;
and some day I will make my name thereby, though
not with sword--with pen."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! you are a writer, then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but a sorry scribbler as yet; but, look you,
some day I will write a book which shall assuredly
set all England tingling in my praise. In short, I
will be famous. Mark well those words, and think
upon them in the years to come."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That I will," I answered wonderingly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Talking of many things, we reached at length the
place where he must turn aside into the town, while
I, who thought it wisdom to avoid the haunts of men,
intended to go home along the shore. There he took
my hand, and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I would crave one favour ere we part."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, twenty, and they are granted if 'tis in my
power to do it," I answered warmly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, 'tis but a little one," said he. "I would
know the name of one who used his sword so well."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My name is Michael Fane; and may I, too, know
that of one who saved my life?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Dan Foe--a name unknown at present, but one
which, as I told you, shall hereafter be as common
and familiar as the King's. And so, friend Fane,
good night; and if we meet in battle, may we fight
fair and bravely, like true Englishmen!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that he grasped my hand again, then turned
and sped towards the town.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And thus it was that I met one who, as Defoe
(a name he took long afterwards), is known to all of
you as the writer of that wondrous history of a
shipwrecked man upon a lonely island.[1]</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[1] The author of </span><em class="italics small">Robinson Crusoe</em><span class="small"> was out
in the Monmouth Rebellion joining the Duke at Lyme.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>On leaving him I hurried on my way along the
silent shore with strangest thoughts for company.
Once someone shouted from the cliffs, and, yet again,
some fellows hailed me from a boat which lay close
inshore; but I heeded not, save to increase my speed,
for, truly, my adventures for that night were
all-sufficient.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So, in the end, I reached The Havering without
mishap, and there, tired out in body and in mind,
I sought my bed, and slept like any dog.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="tells-how-i-had-speech-of-ferguson"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XVII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">Tells how I had Speech of Ferguson</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Sound sleep works wonders on a healthy body, and
so the morning found me mightily refreshed; nor did
it trouble me to think that three dead men lay out
upon the eastern shore. I had not sought the quarrel,
but had only fought for life and liberty; therefore
I felt no guiltiness, and let the matter rest: and,
truly, there was quite enough to occupy my thoughts
in other ways.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I will not dwell upon the saddened doings of that
day. Ere noon we laid my father in his grave, high
up above the sea--fit resting-place for one who had
been born and bred in hearing of its solemn music,
and who had ever loved it dearly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Few people (scarce a dozen) gathered round us in
the churchyard; nor was I sorry, for at such times
a crowd of staring eyes is little to my liking. A
week before it had been vastly different; scores would
then have flocked to see the last of him who had
been known by everyone. But now the town was
rife with rank rebellion. Its people had gone mad
with frenzied hopes as vain and empty as a shadow,
but which, alas! within a few short weeks were turned
into a scourge of death too horrible to contemplate.
Yes, verily, Lyme Regis had gone daft in Monmouth's
cause. The turmoil of it reached us like a sound of
mockery in which we had no part; and, gazing down
into the silent grave, I felt that it was well indeed
with him who lay therein. And so we left him there,
in peace, beside my mother.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That sad business done, the hours dragged by in
dreary fashion, for at such times the mourners lag
behind to mope and weep, as though 'twere sinful to
be brave and cheerful, as though, in fact, there were no
hope beyond the tomb. The only time I caught a
change--a glint of hopefulness upon their dolorous
faces--was at the reading of the will; and even that
soon passed, for everything was left to me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But all things, whether good or evil, have an end,
and ere sunset I had waved a glad good-bye unto
the last of those my doleful guests, and so was free to
dwell in silence on my future plans. And truly there
was plenty to be done, and little time in which to do
it; for I had resolved to ride forth with the dawn to
Exeter, where lay the Royalist army, commanded by
the Duke of Albemarle.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I had come suddenly to this decision after that
affair upon the shore, though not from any great love
of the King's cause; rather had I reached it on
account of what, to me, at any rate, seemed three
good reasons. First, having once drawn my sword
I felt that I must either go on fighting or go daft;
secondly, I could no more fight for Monmouth,
knowing what I did, than for the Evil One himself; and
thirdly, I had a growing hope that I might meet both
Ferguson and Tubal Ammon on the battlefield. Truly,
I might kill the former while he yet stalked
bare-faced in our midst; but that would mean sure death,
and life had still some sweetness left for me. As for
Ammon, well, it was far from likely that he would
show himself in Lyme again. And even if he did,
and we were favoured with a meeting, my killing
of him would, I felt assured, be just as fatal to me as
the slaying of his wicked master.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus you will see that I had no desire to draw my
sword against my wretched and misguided
fellow-countrymen; but to compass the destruction of the
two arch-villains who, by their abominable machinations,
had thus turned my life into a barren wilderness.
'Twas not a very clear or hopeful plan, I own,
but still it was the best that I could frame; and at any
rate, it would afford me plenteous room for vigorous
action--the thing I needed most of all just then.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, as I have said before, there was a great
deal to be done, and very little time in which to do it.
First of all I called up Anne, the housekeeper, and
Tom, the groom, into the study, and swiftly told them
that I was going to leave them for a space, and that
The Havering would be in their sole charge till my
return. They were amazed, but seeing how firm-set
and sharp I was about the business, they swore fidelity
and asked no questions. That done, I locked up my
father's papers, together with the broken Black Box, in
our iron-bound deed-chest, and then bethought me to
pay a final visit to the town; partly to learn the latest
news concerning Monmouth, and partly (let me freely
own it) that I might say farewell to Miriam at the
"George". In doing this I ran some risk, but what
were risks to one who had already fought, and killed
three men?</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus, when the dusk began to fall, I walked down
into Lyme, as bold as brass. My mission to the
"George" proved unavailing, for Miriam was not in;
and though her father was I did not tarry. He had
strong views upon the Monmouth rising (as indeed
he had on everything), and would fain have set them
out before me at great length, but time was far too
precious. So, leaving messages for Miriam, I betook
me to the Market Place, and found it full of soldiery
and gaping townsfolk.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>News had come in that the Dorset militia had
marched into Bridport (a town some eight miles east
of Lyme), and after hasty counsel with his generals,
Monmouth had decided to attack them. As near as I
could judge the force drawn up within the market
square consisted of about five hundred foot, including
fifty musketeers, together with some fourscore or so
of horsemen. They were commanded by Lord Grey,
and for the most part were trained soldiers who had
seen hard fighting in the past.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The bright blue banner floated bravely in the wind,
and beneath it sat the Duke on horseback. Just as I
arrived upon the scene, he raised his hand; the crowd
was hushed to sudden silence; and then, in a few clear,
ringing words, he wished his little army God-speed,
victory, and a safe return. At that a great shout rent
the air; kerchiefs and hats were waved aloft, while
on all sides the cry uprose:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Monmouth! Our Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant
religion!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It was, indeed, a stirring scene, and as I think upon
it now, and see again the Duke, all gracious smiles
and bows, deep sadness holds me that the consummation
of such zeal and great devotion should have been
the hangman's rope--the headsman's axe!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But at the time I had small thought for anything
save him who stood a few yards from the Duke,
waving his hat, and shouting till his red-blotched face
seemed like to burst into a ravening fire. Yes, Ferguson,
the plotter, led the loud hosannas with a will; his
voice rang high above the rest; and when the cries
began to lull 'twas he who started fresh ones. I
watched him for a moment, then, scarce knowing why,
pressed through the crowd until I stood beside him.
Turning my way, he saw me, ceased shouting, put on
his hat, and drawing his cloak about him, moved
away. Following, I plucked him by the sleeve, and,
with a mocking smile, said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Good evening to you, Master Ferguson! That plot
of yours last night proved somewhat of a failure, did
it not?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The face he turned upon me at those words was
such as I shall ne'er forget; if looks could kill a man,
I had most surely been dead then, as, with one fierce,
hateful glance, and dog-like baring of the teeth, he
turned his back upon me. But for all that I had not
done with him. Following, I caught him by the
sleeve again, and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay, one moment, reverend sir, I pray you!
Listen, I have at home a sweet memorial of your
godliness; to wit, a small black box. And you hold
that which lay therein; use such power against me as
you will--I care not; but be assured of this, that you
and I will meet again, and that I will have vengeance
on those black-souled, murderous villains, Tubal
Ammon and Elijah Annabat."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He started at that latter name, and so, with one
long meaning stare I strode away, and took my stand
right opposite the Duke.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>From thence I saw friend Ferguson speak hurriedly
to four rough, evil-looking men, the while he pointed
at me; I saw them nod and rub their chins; I saw
them move away. Then someone touched me on the
shoulder and a voice said in my ear:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Fool! Why run this risk? Was not last night
enough?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Turning, I found Dan Foe behind me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you!" said I. "What now?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What now!" he echoed sharply. "Why, this. I
have seen everything, and they will surely have you
by the heels unless you run for it at once."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There seemed to be some truth in that, and I was
more than half inclined to act upon his seasonable
warning, when a horseman clattered up behind us and
forced his way into the crowd, crying:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Make way! Make way!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas Fletcher of Saltoun, and the steed he rode
was such as made one break the tenth commandment.
Indeed, I never saw a finer horse.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The crowd fell back on either side to let him pass,
and he was making straight towards the standard,
when Old Dare of Taunton stepped out suddenly and
seized the bridle.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How now!" said he. "How came you by that horse?"</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 79%" id="figure-65">
<span id="how-now-how-came-you-by-that-horse"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""HOW NOW! HOW CAME YOU BY THAT HORSE?"" src="images/img-190.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">"HOW NOW! HOW CAME YOU BY THAT HORSE?"</span></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I took it from its stable at the 'George'," replied
the other.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then know that it is mine, and take it back,"
rejoined Old Dare with heat.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, friend," said Fletcher calmly, "you err most
grievously; for are not all things common to the
Cause? Let go her head, I pray you."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but I will not," rejoined the old man stoutly.
"No legs save mine have stridden her, nor shall they."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! there you surely err again," laughed Fletcher,
"for are not mine astride her at this very moment?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That angered Dare beyond endurance; putting forth
all his strength he strove to turn the horse, while
Fletcher, using rein and bridle, urged it forward. At
this Old Dare went clean beside himself with rage; let
go a string of oaths and curses terrible to hear; and,
when the other mocked him, drew a riding-switch
from out his boot and struck him full across the face.
'Twas a cruel, maddening blow, and, in an instant,
Fletcher snatched a pistol from his saddle-bow and
shot the old man dead.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A moment's gasping silence was followed by a
ravening roar of voices, and verily the people would
have torn young Fletcher limb from limb (for Dare
was much beloved by Western folk) had not the Duke
of Monmouth ridden up and saved his life by ordering
him aboard the frigate as a prisoner. I did not wait
to see the end of it, but, taking advantage of the
turmoil, broke out from the crowd and made all speed
for home. There I fell to making final preparations
for the morrow, and midnight struck before I was
abed. Soon after three I was astir again, and ere four
was riding on my way to Exeter. The past few days
had brought me many strange and perilous adventures;
but these were as nothing when compared with those
which lay before me in the unknown future. Should
you doubt that statement, you have but to follow me
to prove its truth.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="a-timely-warning"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">A Timely Warning</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>As I rode along amid the old familiar scenes that
bright June morning, with the gladsome singing of
the birds for company, my thoughts were strange
indeed. It seemed as though I had set foot upon the
threshold of another life, and that the past--so near
and yet so far--had been for ever buried in the grave
which held my father. Those days--those happy
days--were now as nothing but a darkened memory.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Less than a week before I had been riding on this
selfsame road, as blithe and free from care as yonder
soaring lark, and now----!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Pulling up, I turned a wistful gaze upon the sunlit
sea. The ancient, wave-worn Cobb--strong and
immovable in spite of kings and factions--stretched
forth its long, curved, weather-beaten arm into the
glittering water, as though it would fain gather in to
safety those who dared the perils of the deep. Beyond
it, straining at their anchors, lay the three ill-fated
ships which henceforth would be part of one appalling
tale of blood and failure.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A bright blue ensign fluttered gaily from the frigate,
whose deck young Fletcher of Saltoun--a few hours
back the hope of Monmouth's side--now trod a sorry
prisoner, doomed to exile; his talents, hopes, and zeal
all scattered to the wind by one mad act of rage.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This brought into my mind Old Dare of Taunton,
lying dead there in the town--slain, to no purpose, in
a brawl which boys might well have jeered at. Then,
as other thoughts of death more ugly and disquieting
arose, I moved on slowly--a prey to gloomy
memories.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But, after all, I communed with myself, what
mattered it? The past was gone; the future, rich
in unknown adventures--wherein I had a certain
mission--lay like a winding lane before me; while for
the rest of it--that is, the present--I was well armed,
had a good horse beneath me, lacked not money, and
was sound in mind and body. What more was needed?
Nothing! Let danger dog my heels at every step--I
cared not anything, so long as in the end I might
meet Ferguson and Ammon face to face and sword to
sword.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Stooping, I patted Kitty's neck, and she, who knew
my every mood and touch, broke out into a joyous
canter, and away we flew along the springing turf
which fringed the road. 'Twas all so like old times
to be thus rushing through the cool, refreshing air,
that for the moment everything seemed banished from
my mind.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>We had gone thus a mile or so, and I was vaguely
thinking that, in spite of all, 'twas fine to be alive,
when suddenly the sound of other horse-feet at a
gallop reached me from behind. Someone was
following us in furious haste, and by his speed he rode upon
no common errand.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Remembering what peril I had already gone through,
and how little loved I was by certain folk in Lyme, I
pulled my mare in, and drawing up behind a thorn
bush, sat there listening, the while I peeped forth
cautiously in the direction of the thundering hoofs.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Soon round a distant bending of the road a steel-clad
horseman shot to view, a very Jehu of a fellow,
riding furiously.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Who could it be that thus betimes wore out good
horse-flesh, and what might be the nature of his
breakneck business? A Monmouth man, perhaps! I knew
not--but, as things stood, it seemed to me to be
prepared for anything was everything. Therefore I drew
a pistol from my saddle, and, having cocked it, sat
there ready to be friend or foe.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On, with loose reins and head bent low, the
horseman rushed towards us, and judging by his speed
would certainly have passed me by unnoticed; but
just as he came close, Kitty must needs prick up her
ears and give a loud, shrill neigh. At that the rider
pulled his lathered steed up with a suddenness that
wellnigh shot him from the saddle, and there,
red-faced, open-mouthed and panting, sat John Coram,
staring at me like a man bedaft.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Th--h--ank H--ea--ven!" he gasped.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, truly, for you might have broke your neck
by pulling up thus sharply," I replied, and could not
keep from smiling.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay--friend--'tis naught--to--jest upon," quoth
he severely. "Faith!--but--I--I fairly boil within."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then pause and rest awhile," said I.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I must," quoth he.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Unbuckling his head-piece he hung it on his arm,
and verily his breath roared from him like a
blacksmith's forge. Thus bared, and with the sunlight
shining on his great bald pate, he looked so fat and
peaceful--so unwarlike--that I was sorely put to it
to save myself from laughing.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Friend," said he at last, "I count the whinnying
of that mare of thine a mercy; but for it I might well
have passed thee by."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"True," I agreed; "but, say, what brings you after
me in such a headlong fashion?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>John Coram fastened on his head-piece with all
the care of some old dame a-tying on her cap,
looked up and down the lane, then drawing closer,
said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Because thou art in peril, friend."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! and from whom?" I asked, stroking my
mare's neck carelessly, for indeed I had got used to
peril.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Again John Coram glanced about him, this time
taking in the trees as well, as though they might hold
danger; then he drew still closer, and, in a low voice,
answered:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Israel Stark!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At that I started somewhat, for, as you are aware,
he named no ordinary open foe, but rather one who
lurked in secret places privily to murder. Therefore
I paused a moment, looking hard into the steel-framed
face before me ere I murmured:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! so Tubal Ammon is abroad, eh?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yea, and that somewhere on this very road,"
replied John Coram in a fearful whisper.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas now my turn to glance around and scan the
trees, especially a thick-leaved oak just opposite.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How know you this?" I asked at last.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, in this fashion," answered Coram. "As I
stood on guard last night a mile or so from here, I
heard sly, slinking footsteps coming from the shadow
of a wood. 'Who goes there?' I cried, and someone
gave the password of the night."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Zion!" I put in with a smile, remembering how
well the word had served me also. John Coram
started.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yea, verily," said he; "but--but how came you by it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, man," I laughed, "you gave it me last evening
at the 'George'!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, by my life," he muttered, "I have a dim
remembrance that 'twas so, though verily my pate
was somewhat addled with--Hum! where was I?
Ah! as I was saying, that fellow gave the word and
so I let him pass. Off he went, a long-cloaked thing
of black, into the darkness. But when he was some
half-score yards beyond me he turned his face, the
moonlight caught it, and I knew it instantly for
Israel Stark's."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! and what did you then?" I put in eagerly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Did!" echoed Coram, spreading out his hands.
"Friend, I did naught, and shame on me for it. So
struck was I that I could neither draw a pistol nor
pursue. I stood as stiff as any post, and watched the
varlet fly. And fly he did; for, look you, he had
known me also by that glance, and so sped off into
the darkness like some spirit. The Evil One himself
could not have vanished swifter. Heavens, friend! it
makes me go quite chilly just to think on't!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Twas a fine chance lost," I murmured ruefully;
then, as another view of it came into mind, I added:
"and yet it gives me cause for gratitude, for had you
killed him you had robbed me of a pleasure."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But Coram shook his head.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but all danger had been ended then," said he.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How long was this ago?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"About two hours; 'twas just before the dawn."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I paused a moment. Had Ammon once again been
spying on me, and thus got wind of my intentions?</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Art certain that he came this way?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, verily, I am. Would that I were not, for
who knows where so sly a villain may be hiding,
ready to work mischief on thee?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here we both glanced uneasily around. Truly this
had a far from pleasing look. The lane was narrow,
and bordered thick with trees and bushes--Thrusting
such ugly thoughts aside, I asked another question:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But how came you to know my whereabouts?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, in this wise: no sooner was I free than I
went unto your house, The Havering, in order to
report this matter. There I found that you had
ridden forth for Exeter. So borrowed I a horse and
rode amain."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou art a right good friend, John Coram, and
have well earned what I promised thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Bringing forth my pouch, I would have given him
the money, but----</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said he, "I came not out to seek reward,"
and verily his honest face upheld the statement. "I
came to warn thee, save thee from a peril, and having
done so I am mightily content; while if you slay
this fellow my reward is great indeed."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Be sure my best endeavour shall go to that end,"
said I: "but still, a bargain is a bargain. Therefore, I
pray you, take this money."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At first he would not; but after much pressing I
contrived to give him two gold pieces, for the which
his thanks were fervid.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And now I must be riding back again ere I be
missed," said he. "Besides, there is this horse which
I have borrowed----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Or stolen, which?" I asked maliciously.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, friend, you said that sorry business was now
clean forgiven and forgotten."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And so it is," I answered laughing. "But,
say, before you go, hast any news for me from
Lyme?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, plenty. Old Dare was slain last night by
Fletcher of Saltoun. A pretty brawl, 'tis said, about
a horse. And Fletcher hath been sent a prisoner to
the ship. Thus lose we two good men at once. A
grievous loss, indeed."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, true. I heard of it," said I. "And hath
aught else been forward?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Three of our men have been slain on the
shore nigh Charmouth."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Again this was no news to me; yet I contrived to
say, surprisedly:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, so! By whom?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I know not," answered Coram; "there is some
mystery about the matter, but they were slain by
sword, and that by one who knew his business well,
according to report."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well," I murmured, "such is war. But, say,
how went it with the fight at Bridport?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ill enough for us. Our men were beaten back by
the militia. They fled like frightened sheep, and
'tis whispered that my Lord Grey was the worst of
all; 'tis said he ne'er drew rein till safe in Lyme
again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, by my life, that was a bad beginning, sure
enough!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, verily, yet scarce a thing to marvel at, for,
look you, how can untrained ploughboys and the like
expect to stand an onslaught e'en though it be but
that of rough militiamen?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, how indeed?" I murmured. "And know you
when the Duke rides forth from Lyme?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, that I don't, nor, as it seems to me, doth
anyone for certain. Some say to-morrow, others Monday.
Yet still they dally, signing on fresh men."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, they still come in to join, then?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, that they do--by hundreds; but, oh, such
lumbering louts! Save me, if we should not do as
well with cows and sheep. And now, to make it
worse, we've lost Old Dare and Fletcher. Faith, but
I like it less each day, and were it not for Ferguson,
Duke Monmouth's cause might whistle for John
Coram."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, so Ferguson doth count for much," I murmured,
stroking Kitty's neck to hide my face.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yea, much indeed," quoth Coram warmly. "He
is a leader born--a man of parts withal; but surely,
friend, you know 'tis so as well as I," he added with
a searching look, "for have you not had pressing
business with our godly chaplain?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, by my life I have, and have it still," I
answered. "I ride upon it now."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Another reason why I should not tarry, then,"
said Coram. "And so farewell, friend. Have a care
of Stark, and make sure to kill him if you get the
chance."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Be sure of that," said I.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My blessing on it," answered Coram fervently,
and with that cantered off. At the bending of the
lane he turned and waved a hand. I answered with
a will, then also sped upon my way, though with a
watchful eye for every tree and bush.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-affair-at-the-barn"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XIX</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">The Affair at the Barn</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>As the day grew older and a blazing sun climbed up
behind me the heat upon my back became wellnigh
unbearable, and a decorous walk was all that Kitty
made of it, nor did I wish for more. I was well
ahead of Monmouth--therefore of friend Ferguson--and
could bide my time.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As I passed along the shady lanes thus leisurely,
you may be sure I had continual thought for Tubal
Ammon, and when the sound of beast or bird disturbed
the leafy silence, my eyes and ears were swiftly
turned in that direction. But no harm came of it,
and beyond some honest farm hands, who, too wise to
change scythe for sword, were laying low the tall,
rich grass with measured swing and swish, I chanced
on no one. Doubtless the chief reason of this was
that, both for purposes of shade and solitude, I kept
to bypaths and eschewed the highway. Also, I strove
to keep as near the sea as possible, in order that what
little breeze there was therefrom might make things
more endurable.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But such slow, winding methods take much time,
and so, what with that and many stoppages for Kitty's
sake, 'twas close on noon ere we had put, maybe,
twenty miles behind us, which, reckoning for byways,
was little more than half the distance to be covered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The sun was now at its meridian, and beating down
upon us with a fiery heat which threatened danger to
my mare, if not to me, for we had now drawn clear of
sheltering lanes and come out on a stretch of treeless
moorland which ran for miles along the coast. Here
the hot air fairly danced above the scorched-up grass
and bushes, and naught was to be heard except the
languid hum of bees among the gorse. The very sea
seemed hushed to languorous silence.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>To press on in such a state were cruelty to man and
beast, therefore I called a halt and looked about me
for some shady place in which to rest. But this was
easier sought than found. As far as eye could reach,
the barren moor rolled on beneath the shimmering
heat, with nothing taller than a stunted thorn bush
visible.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As I sat gazing wearily upon this arid sight, while
Kitty pawed the turf impatiently and cursed distracting
flies (so far as horse was able) with her ears and
tail, I saw, far off, a man dart straight across the track
and disappear as though the earth had swallowed him,
upon the other side.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So quickly had he vanished in a place thus bare of
cover that I watched the spot expectantly with shaded
eyes, feeling certain he must come to view again.
But nothing came of it; indeed, it might have been
a rabbit which had gone to earth for any more I saw
of him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This was strange and puzzling beyond measure,
and, sun or no sun, must be enquired into. So, marking
down the spot, I urged Kitty to a canter and soon
reached it. Then that which from a distance had
been so mysterious was instantly made plain. A high
bank on the left was here divided by a deeply-rutted,
and, by the look of it, now unused lane which wound
down through a maze of bushes to the sea; and doubtless
it was this which had thus swallowed up the flitting
figure.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So far so good; but having proved the manner of
his disappearance I was minded to explore the matter
further.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With this intent I turned my mare into the cutting
and rode slowly down the winding track. On either
side of me there was a tangle of thick scrub, and on
this I kept a ready eye, for a bullet or a poisoned
arrow might well prove deadly at so short a range.
But nothing stirred, and so at last I came out upon
a wide expanse of utter desolation. It was as though
the land had slid down seaward and there broken out
again in such an uncouth medley of rank, twisted
growth as seemed to be scarce English. 'Twas chaos,
with the rock-strewn shore beyond.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Who could it be that, flashing as it were from space
across my path, had sped to this wild, lonesome place
and vanished in its dreary solitude? Ah, who? As I
put the question to myself I swept the dreary waste
with anxious eyes and thought uneasily of Coram's
warning.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My vision of the man had been so sudden and his
flight across the path so swift and stoat-like, that, at
such a distance, I had been able to make nothing of
him. Nor did he now vouchsafe to help me by
discovering himself to my enquiring gaze. Not he.
Sun-loving insects hummed amid the stifling heat,
a dragon-fly hung poised above a bush--a thing of
glorious blue--a gull screamed high aloft, while here
and there the twittering of tongue-parched birds broke
forth in sleepy fashion. But these were the only
signs of life; no human being showed himself; my
man had vanished like a dream.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>What then? To hunt for him among that tangled
wilderness in such a blazing heat were folly worse
confounded, for, to begin with, I must do the thing on
foot--a weary, hopeless task indeed, and risky also
if the object of my search were armed with pistol and
a bad intention. Yes, there seemed nothing for it but
to let the mystery go unsolved, and leave the haunter
of this desolation lurking in his hiding-place.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Reluctantly, and not without misgiving, I turned
and rode back through the opening to the moor, still
musing wonderingly on that which lay behind me.
But such thoughts, pressing as they were, gave way
at last before my former keen desire for shade. And
this time fortune favoured me, for, having ridden on
another quarter of a mile or so I saw, not far away,
an old grey barn tucked snugly up against the bank,
with bushes overshadowing it. What could be better
for our sweating needs?</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A minute later we were up with it. The entrance
lay upon the other side--that is, the shady side--and
here a stout oak door hung idly open, thus inviting
entrance. How came this stony friend in such a wild
deserted spot as that? I could not tell--nor did I
care; but verily it was as welcome as an oasis amid
the desert. With a blessing on its unknown builder,
I dismounted and led Kitty in.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The place was sweet and clean, and thickly carpeted
with well-dried bracken, while a gentle sea-breeze
found its way inside, thus adding to a most refreshing
coolness.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Small wonder that my pretty mare let go a
gladsome neigh and rubbed her velvet muzzle on my
shoulder. Doubtless she looked upon our new-found
quarters as a stable. Having first eased her girths
I looked around for water. This I found not far
away--a bubbling stream amid the rocks. When
poor thirsty Kitty had refreshed herself thereat I led
her back to the barn and put her nose-bag on. Then
I fell to with a will upon the food that old Anne's
forethought had provided. And so, while Kitty munched
her oats, I ate my bread and cheese and pasty and
drank my wine, and each of us was mightily content.
After this refreshment, being wondrous sleepy, I
decided to remain there till the sun should have
lost something of his fierceness. But, first of all,
remembering that flashing vision of a man across the
track, I judged it wise to close the heavy door and
fasten it, the which I did by running my sword (for
lack of wooden pin) through two stout iron staples,
thus making it impossible for anyone to attempt an
entrance without my hearing him. This done, I lay
down on the bracken close beside the door and very
soon was wandering in the land of Nod.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Now I count not among my virtues (or, if you will,
my vices) that of being what is called a heavy sleeper.
Slight noises will awaken me, and so it came about
that, while I was slumbering thus, a gentle rattling
aroused me thoroughly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Someone had tried the door, and, as the staples
were full long, my sword allowed it to be opened
quite four inches. This had been done, and, even as
I stared in breathless silence, a great brown hand
crept in and groped about in search of that which
barred all further entry.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>If you have never seen a hand thus armless--lopped
off and blindly feeling, as it were--no words
of mine can picture it aright for you. 'Twas horrible
beyond compare; and though the light which flickered
through two narrow slits set high up in the wall was
dim enough, it was yet all-sufficient to make plain
a sight so awesome--four straining fingers and a
thumb which lacked a guiding eye!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I stared like one bewitched until at last the fingers
closed upon the sword-hilt; then, with a sudden
spring, I tried to seize the wrist, but failed. The
hand shot back ere I could even touch it, while next
moment swiftly-running feet proclaimed its owner's
flight.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Pulling my sword out from the staples, I drew it,
and rushed forth in pursuit. Yet, though I had thus
lost scarce half a minute, there was no sign of anyone
outside; and not a sound came from the bushes which
grew thickly all around, and were the only means of
hiding near.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Baffled and perplexed, I walked silently along the
turf a little way, stopping every yard or so to listen.
Still naught was to be heard. That sly disturber of
my sleep had disappeared as if by magic.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This was an ugly state of things--indeed, I liked it
not; and so, bethinking me that to go farther might
spell danger to my mare, I ran back to the stable.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The sun had now moved down considerably (thus
proving that I must have slept some hours), and the
heat, though still oppressive, was not so overpowering
as it had been; but, even had it still been like a
furnace, I would not have tarried longer in that haunted
place. So, with the memory of a clawing hand to
hurry me, I tightened Kitty's girths, and, having led
her forth, was just about to mount, when something
hissed close past my face and stuck quivering in a
tree-stem. It was a small black arrow! The mystery
was explained at last, and the knowledge that my
dreaded enemy lurked thus close to me was so
appalling that I shame not to confess my knees smote one
against the other, while a clammy sweat broke out
upon my forehead.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Leaping to the saddle I urged Kitty forward, at
the same time bending low by instinct; and well it
was I did so, for next moment a pistol cracked behind
me and the bullet whistled just above my shoulder.
Two inches lower and I had been hit!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Glancing back, when we had covered some three
hundred yards, I saw no sign of Tubal Ammon, and
was just thanking Heaven for such a merciful
deliverance, when suddenly my mare stopped dead and
broke out trembling with fear.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The cause of this was just ahead, for there an old
man lay upon his back among the heather. Going
close up I gazed down on him, and, to my horror,
found that he was dead. His eyes stared up at me
with awful fixedness. Moreover, he had met his
death by violence, as was clearly proven by the
gaping knife-wound in his breast. Stabbed through the
heart!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He was well dressed (a yeoman farmer by the look
of him), and wore riding boots with spurs. Thus it
was clear he had been riding when death overtook
him. What, then? How came he thus? Where was
his horse? These questions were full quickly answered;
for barely had I put them to myself when from behind
there came the sound of thudding hoofs, and, starting
round, I saw Tubal Ammon galloping towards me
on a long-legged, bony beast.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This made things clear indeed; yea, verily, I
understood it all as in a flash. Keeping far ahead of us
throughout the morning, running when we walked
(though ever making sure of our direction), the
miscreant had reached this lonely spot before us, had met
this poor old man and slain him for his horse, and,
having hidden it, had lurked about in hope of falling
me as well by stealth. This having failed, he now
pursued me on his blood-bought steed, intent on
further mischief.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As this rushed through my mind, I, too, rushed
through the air, and such a wild, mad race began as
never was. Kitty knew little of the spur, but now
I used it on her without knowing that I did so.
Heavens, how we flew! The pace we made was such
as beggars words. The ugly brute behind, for all his
great long legs and furious speed, gained not a yard
upon us, for what advantage he possessed in length
of limb my mare outwitted by her lightness and
agility.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Mile after mile we had covered in this headlong,
reckless fashion, when suddenly a shrill cry reached
me, and glancing back, I saw that Tubal Ammon's
horse was down, while he himself had been shot yards
in front of it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Perceiving this, I stopped to look. Perchance the
luckless beast had stumbled in a rabbit burrow, while,
by the way its head dropped back when Ammon
pulled upon it with the bridle, I judged it to be either
broken-necked or broken-hearted. And doubtless its
rider shared the same opinion, for, after divers vicious
tugs and kicks he dropped the reins, and, turning,
shook a fist at me. I answered in like fashion, then
trotted on my way.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And here it seems to me that you may well be
wondering why, in the name of fortune, I did not
instead ride back and try to kill the wicked wretch
whose death I so much coveted. But verily, my
friends, the chances were not what, to you, they
may appear to have been; nay, rather were they all
against me. For, look you, thick cover lay on every
side, and long ere I could have come up with him,
friend Tubal would have darted into hiding; while,
having just most providentially escaped from death,
I had no mind to seek for it again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So I pressed on towards Exeter, whose grey cathedral
towers were even then just visible, far off, against
the glowing sky. But, feeling safe from that which
lay behind, I did not hurry, for Kitty's state was
truly piteous. Her flanks were streaming, while the
foam dripped from her mouth. Thus I walked and
trotted her by turns, and the sun was nearly down
when at last we clattered noisily along the ancient
city's streets.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Here was mighty bustle and excitement, with no
little fear mixed up therewith. The streets were all
alive with eager, anxious crowds, and many, taking
me to be a special messenger bearing news of
Monmouth, tried to stop and question me; but, turning
a deaf ear to them, I cantered on to Albemarle's
head-quarters.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I found him seated at wine in company with
divers gay-dressed cavaliers, who, by the look of
them, thought more of drinking than of fighting.
At first they were inclined to flout me; but, verily,
a sturdy, well-armed, six-foot stripling of eighteen,
with his wits about him, is something of a match for
such as they. I tossed them back their gibes with
interest, and when 'twas found that I came straight
from Lyme, they changed their tune and pestered me
with questions, which I answered coldly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And so you come to join us, eh, young man?" said
Albemarle, when I was sick of being catechized.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," I answered, and added that my father
was an old friend of Lord Feversham,
Commander-General of the forces.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That made the Duke sit up and stare at me as
though I were a thing of more importance than he
had imagined.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, by my life!" said he at last, "then sink me
if I find thee not a cornetcy. What say you,
gentlemen?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With one accord the red-faced fellows smote the
table with their fists, and swore it should be so;
then, rising, drank my health.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And thus it came about that, after passing safely
through another day of peril, I went to bed a soldier
of King James.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="at-sedgemoor-fight"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XX</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">At Sedgemoor Fight</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>This record deals not mainly with the bold, ill-starred
designs of Monmouth, but rather with the lesser
doings of one Michael Fane; therefore I will not dwell
upon the marchings and the counter-marchings, the
petty skirmishes, the knock-kneed weaknesses and
pitiable indecision which led the hapless Duke at last
to bloody Sedgemoor and destruction.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Sweeping aside, then, as it were, these matters,
which, though contributory to the final great catastrophe,
were of themselves but small affairs, I come to
the night of 5th July, 1685, when we of the Royalist
army, scarce four thousand strong, were encamped
upon that wild, vast tract of bog and moorland known
as Sedgemoor; while, not far away, inside the ancient
town of Bridgewater (which had proclaimed him
king), lay Monmouth with some eight thousand followers.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas a Sunday, and all day long 'tis said the rebel
army had been engaged in deep devotions (a thing I
cannot say for our side); while their preachers, wearing
red coats, great jack-boots and swords, held forth
with fiery words from wagons and the like. The
far-off, fervid singing of their psalms and hymns had
reached us on the plain, and brought forth many
a ribald jest from men whose earnestness, at least, was
not comparable with theirs.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus the day dragged by in stifling heat, until at
last that fatal night came on which was to usher in
such awful carnage. Again, 'tis no part of my plan
to give a detailed story of the fight. To begin with, I
have not the wherewithal to do it; a man who fights
in battle has quite enough to do, it seems to me, to
use his weapons properly, and so can know but little
of the whole design. At least 'twas so in my case; and
even were it otherwise I would scarce attempt it, for the
tale has been already told full oft by abler men than
me, and in such glowing words as I could never hope
to compass. Still, as one who fought upon the side
of victory (if such a butcher's shambles can be rightly
called so), I would make bold to say that but for
some blind blundering on the part of Monmouth's scouts
and guides, together with the accidental firing of a
pistol, a vastly different story might have come down
to your ears. For 'tis certain that we had no previous
knowledge of this well-planned night attack, and
therefore, but for an eleventh-hour warning, should
have been taken unawares by an army which,
notwithstanding all its ill-armed, untrained state, yet
outnumbered ours by two to one, and moreover, was
aflame with burning zeal. With that statement of
cold fact I will content myself, and so press forward,
hot-foot, on my own affairs.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It was a full-mooned, starry night, yet for all that
a fog so low and thick hung over marshy Sedgemoor
that naught was visible at fifty paces. The night was
still, with scarce a breath of wind to stir the rushes
which abounded; and save for the dismal booming of
a bittern, a roughly-given password or command, and
the far-off, muffled sound of revelry, where heedless
officers still sat at their wine--except for these, I say,
no sound was to be heard.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As many of you know, the moor is drained to some
extent by means of broad, deep ditches (called Rhines
in those parts), and crossed here and there by
causeways. For the most part they are filled with mud
and water, and on the bank of one of them (that
called the Bussex Rhine--a name which surely might
have been found graven on poor Monmouth's heart)--I,
who had now joined Feversham, stood with my men
that night.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>'Twas nearly one o'clock, and I was pacing idly
to and fro, full sick of everything, when suddenly
a pistol shot rang out upon the silence, followed
quickly by the deeper note of muskets; then came
loud, warning cries, the furious galloping of horses;
and in a moment all was turmoil and confusion.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In this manner did we first get news that Monmouth's
army had crept close upon us in the darkness.
But, alack for such a well-planned scheme, they
had either overlooked or clean forgot the Bussex
Rhine; and as they now pressed on, they found their
way barred by a great broad ditch some twenty feet
across, with no near means of crossing it; and thus it
was that we were saved from a surprise attack which
might have cost us dear enough.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As I stood there listening keenly, and wondering
what all this pother was about (for of course I did not
know), I heard the heavy tramp of many feet, coming
as it seemed towards me from the other side, and
presently a dark, blurred mass of men hove dimly
through the fog, then stopped suddenly, and broke out
muttering--dismayed, no doubt, to find an unexpected
ditch before them.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Bidding my men draw back, I stepped up to the edge.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's that? Whom are you for?" I called across.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The king," a voice replied.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Which king?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"King Monmouth!" came the loud, bold answer,
and then, as if by one consent, the Rebel battle-cry
rolled forth like thunder:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"God with us!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I never heard so great a shout, and as it spread
among the teeming thousands on the moor behind, it
seemed to shake the very earth; it was as though all
England raised her voice to Heaven.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Barely had that great cry died away when drums
and bugles sounded, matchlocks broke out in a dazzling
blaze, and bullets screamed across the ditch by
hundreds. Our infantry had now come up, while
Churchill with the horse, having found a crossing
lower down, charged like a whirlwind on the rebel
flank and rear. The battle had begun in right good
earnest. And what a battle! The fog-bound darkness,
which made it hard to tell a foe from a friend,
added to its horrors. The crash of musketry; the
roar of cannon and the clash of steel; the cries, and
shrieks, and groans--all this still rises up before me
like some ugly nightmare, even as I write these words.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And what was my own part therein? Well, as
I said before, I had no desire to kill my
fellow-countrymen, but when a roaring, wild-eyed fellow
comes a-mowing at you with a pike, or scythe stuck
endwise on a pole, you must do something, and--well,
I did it; and, as the fight went on, I had to do it
many times, until at length the sword which had
been girded on me by my father in that quiet study
had indeed a sorry tale of death to tell. And here, my
friends, a word of warning, or at least of clean
confession. The rack of battle raises Cain in man, until he
comes to kill unthinkingly, if not with grim delight.
Beware!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And now the fight raged fiercely on all sides; but,
though furious and bloody, it did not last long.
Indeed, how could it? Those poor benighted, ill-trained
fellows were no match for men who were, at least,
well-armed and had some claim to being disciplined.
Confused, hemmed in, and badly led, they surged to
and fro like flocks of frightened sheep, an easy prey
for sword and bullet; and though full many of them
fought with dogged courage, and others with the fury
of despair, there could be but one end to it. Their
horses, for the most part utterly unused to warfare,
were so maddened by the deafening noise of guns
and muskets that they turned and galloped headlong
back to Bridgewater. Nor was it long before many
of the rebel foot were fleeing in a like direction; for,
with our infantry across the ditch, the fight became a
rout in no time.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile I had mounted Kitty, and was in the
very thick of it, slashing and thrusting for my life at
every turn. And thus it was I met at last a tall,
red-coated fellow on a big black horse. He came towards
me at a furious gallop, waving his sword and shrieking
like a madman:</span></p>
<p class="pnext" id="id1"><span>"The God of Abraham! The God of Abraham!" As
he flew by he aimed a savage blow at me. Just
then a matchlock blazed and lighted up a
red-blotched face. I knew him instantly. 'Twas Robert
Ferguson.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So sudden and bewildering had this vision been
that for a space I sat there staring like a man
bedazed; but Sedgemoor was that night the last place
to be mooning in, and when a lanky yokel rushed
upon me with a scythe I came back to my senses
quick enough. Yet, even so, it was my mare that
saved me. She had seen far too much already to be
caught thus napping. To save her legs from being
lopped off by that murderous blade, she sprang aside;
and as the fellow thus foiled swung round, mowing
at the air, I cut him down.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Next moment I was flying headlong after Ferguson,
with no thought for the battle left behind. But the
time which I had lost since meeting him, though
scarce a minute, yet proved enough to make my chase
a hopeless one; and though I kept a keen eye on all
red-coats, I saw no sign of him I sought.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Still, in what mad hope I know not, I tore on, until
at length, having got clear alike of those who fought
and those who ran, I realized my folly, and, pulling
up, was just about to turn, when, from ahead, there
came the ringing sound of steel on steel, I listened.
Yes, swords were clashing there not far away behind
a straggling wood; and by the noise of it the combat
was a fierce and deadly one. Who could it be who
thus fought out their quarrel in this lonely spot two
miles from where a battle raged?</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Bent on an answer to that question I moved slowly
forwards, but had not gone far before a piercing cry
rang out. Dead silence followed. The clash of
swords had ceased.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then I moved on again, this time at a canter. The
fog had lifted hereabouts, while the first dim light of
dawn was in the sky. And thus, on coming round
the bushes, I could just make out a man with naked
sword standing above another who lay prone upon the
ground. On catching sight of me he sheathed his
sword and fled with wondrous speed. Passing the
stricken man, I followed; but he had a goodly start,
and though I kept him well in sight, he beat me
at the far end of the wood. There I could see no
sign of him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Puzzled, I looked around, and saw a light some fifty
yards away upon the left. For this I made, and soon
found out its cause. Here was an old stone hovel,
used either for the ponies or the cattle which roam,
half wild, on Sedgemoor. Someone (perchance a
guard) had been camping there that very night, and
a fire of faggots still glowed on the floor, thus lighting
up the place.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Dismounting, I went in and glanced about. Nothing
was there except a manger full of straw--so bulging
full, in fact, that I was minded to explore it. But
barely had I gone a step when methought I heard a
rustling of the straw, and sure enough next moment
something bright came poking through. A pistol
barrel! With a diving leap, I seized and turned the
threatening thing, forcing the muzzle upwards; and
not a whit too soon, for even as I did so it exploded,
and the bullet crashed into the rafters. Then as I
clutched a bony wrist, and twisted it, a smothered cry
arose, the pistol fell, a close-cropped head shot forth,
and I was face to face with Tubal Ammon.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Letting go my hold I sprang back, whipped out my
sword, and stared at him as one would at a fearsome
apparition, while he sat up and fixed me with his
cunning eyes.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"At last!" I hissed, as soon as I could find my
voice.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, verily," grinned he, shaking the straw from
off his shoulders; "'twould seem that you and I, friend,
were ordained to come across each other; 'tis indeed
as if our horoscope were cast in----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough of that," I broke in fiercely. "Come
forth, you dog!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He instantly obeyed. Leaping out, he stood there
with folded arms, his ugly head thrust forward, and
his eyes fixed hungrily upon the doorway towards
which my back was turned.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What now?" he asked at last, and though he
grinned, I saw that fear lurked on his face.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, this," I answered, slowly. "I should do
well to put a bullet through so foul a cur, but that is
scarcely to my liking. No, Tubal Ammon, I will kill
thee in a closer fashion. Therefore, draw sword and
fight for it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Out flashed his blade, while by his look I knew
that he was mightily relieved to have so fine a chance,
and thought to kill me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Art ready?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, have at you for a murderer and a villain!" With
that our swords crossed, and even on that night
of battle, with its many hand-to-hand encounters, no
fiercer, deadlier combat could have raged than that
which now commenced inside that lonely building.
If ever two men strove amain to kill each other, we
were those two; if ever steel shot forth with hate
behind it, that steel was surely ours.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My foe soon proved himself a skilful, wary swordsman,
but had he been the finest then in England,
methinks I would have mastered him at last. Fearing,
if chance afforded, that he might dart out into the
night and thus escape me, I kept a stolid back towards
the doorway. Thus it was he who did most of the
attacking, and so swift and furious was it that more
than once his point came dangerously near my heart.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At last I tried a sudden twist (learnt from my
father), and thereby forced Ammon's weapon from his
grasp. He sprang back hissing like a cat, and
doubtless thought his hour was come. But though I longed
to kill him that was not my way of doing it. I bid
him take his sword again--an act of fairness which
came near costing me my life; for presently,
presuming on it, he made pretence to lose his weapon yet
again, and when I motioned him to take it, made a
sudden, upward thrust at me ere I was ready for him.
But at last the craftiness of Tubal Ammon failed him
utterly. I turned his blade aside so that it ran
beneath my arm, and, as he thus rushed blindly forward,
my sword shot straight into his breast. Staggering
to the wall, he stood there glaring at me for a
moment, while the life-blood spurted from him; then
with a vengeful cry he tried to spring upon
me--failed, and crashed dead at my feet.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus died Tubal Ammon, King of Subtlety, and
verily it seemed to me the manner of his end was
one which well befitted him. 'Twas in a barn that he
had tried to kill me privily--'twas in a hovel that I
left him dead.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>One half of my vow thus happily accomplished, I
went in search of him whom Ammon's sword had
smitten. I found him lying with his shoulders partly
propped up by a tree, to which he had made shift to
crawl. His hands were spread in front of him, his
chin hung down upon his breast, and so I thought
that he was dead. But on kneeling down beside him
I found that he still breathed. Having taken off his
steel cap I raised the drooping head, then nearly let it
fall again, for the bloodless face, on which a setting
moon shone, was none other than John Coram's.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes were closed, but when I called his name
he opened them and gazed at me in a dim, dazed
fashion.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"You here--you?" he murmured.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes; how came it thus?" I said.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stark!" he gasped. "We met in battle--I pursued--he
led me on--then turned upon me here--and--faith,
his accursed sword hath gone clean through
my lungs. I bleed within. I die."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stark is dead," I said by way of comfort.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What! didst kill him?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. He lies dead scarce two hundred yards from
here."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Good--good!" he murmured fervently. "But
stay--it grows amazing dark! Come near, friend."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I put my ear close to his mouth.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That money which you gave me, friend," he
whispered faintly, "'tis in my pocket with some more
besides. I have a wife and little girl in Bridgewater.
Wilt see they get it?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It shall be done," I answered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Seeking my hand he pressed it closely, saying:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, good, true friend; now can I die in peace."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that he closed his eyes again, his head sank
back upon my shoulder, and I thought his life had
sped; but suddenly he looked forth with a wild,
unearthly stare, and pointed skywards, saying:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"See! see! A mighty army which no man can
number! Hark to the tramp of feet! They march,
and I must join them! Let me go, friend!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Springing to his feet, he stood there swaying like a
drunken man; and, waving a hand above his head,
cried:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Monmouth! Liberty! God with----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The choking blood gushed up into his throat, and
so he staggered back into my arms--a corpse.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I laid him gently down, folded his hands upon his
breast, and having said a simple prayer above him,
rode swiftly back to other scenes of death.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="i-leave-the-service-of-king-james"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XXI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">I Leave the Service of King James</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>When I reached the battle-field, the dawn was breaking
and the fight was all but done. Only the gallant
men of Somerset still held their ground--a handful of
doomed heroes, who scorned to yield to anything save
death, which rushed upon them from all sides. 'Twas
a moving sight indeed to see these brave, misguided
fellows standing there--hemmed in on every side;
deserted by their comrades; mowed down by dozens
every minute: yet still fighting manfully with pike
and scythe and musket for the cause they held so
dear. In the midst of them stood a tall, red-coated
minister waving a sword in one hand and a Bible in
the other, the while he shouted words of exhortation
and encouragement; but just as I drew close a musket
bullet struck him in the mouth, and down he went to
everlasting silence. Almost as he fell their firing
slackened, and a wild, beseeching cry broke from
them:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Powder! for God's sake, powder!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Their only answer to this piteous appeal was
another furious onfall of the Royalist horse, which
swept them clean away--and all was over. The
struggle for a kingly crown had once more been
decided by the sacrifice of innocent and simple men.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Duke had long since fled the field. While
there was hope he fought with bravery (or at least
'tis said so, for I never saw him), leading his men on
foot, with pike in hand. But no sooner did defeat
seem certain than he galloped off with Grey--his
general of horse, and Buyse, the German soldier--leaving
his hapless followers to their fate; an act of
perfidy, it seems to me, which must for ever brand
him as a coward. Yet it availed him nothing, for, as
ye know, he was taken two days afterwards, hiding
in a ditch at Ringwood, in Hampshire--a wretched,
half-starved, bearded creature, disguised in shepherd's
clothing, and so changed that those who captured him
scarce knew him for the handsome, smiling fellow
who had stepped ashore at Lyme less than a month
before. From Ringwood he was borne to London,
and, notwithstanding all his abject cries for pardon to
the king, his uncle, he lost his head within a week on
Tower Hill.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But to return to Sedgemoor. The fight was over,
and what had it cost? Well, a thousand of the Duke's
men lay there dead upon the moor, with some three
hundred of our own to keep them company. But
this was only the beginning of such wanton butchery
as sent all England cold with horror when the tidings
of it spread abroad. For throughout those western
counties men were harried day and night--hunted
down like vermin--and either shot, stabbed, or hanged;
while those who escaped so swift a death were driven
into the towns chained together like great flocks of
sheep, and there cast into prison to await a no less
certain doom when Jeffreys came his bloody rounds.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The frightened tithing-men, fearful lest lack of zeal
might be construed into a favouring of the rebels,
made haste to set up rough gibbets in wellnigh every
village, and thereon, day in, day out, hanging went
forward at a sickening pace. Nor was this all. It
did not stop at hanging. Commands went forth that
drawing and quartering was to follow; and so heads
and trunks, well seethed in pitch, were scattered
broadcast, to be set up as warnings to a people who
were already far too terrified to need them.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>During those awful days I saw such sights as
make this quill of mine pause, shuddering, when I
think of them. I will not harrow you by dwelling
on them, but here is one instance, out of many, which
will go to prove my statement. A youth, but little
older than myself, was taken prisoner, and, being
famous as a runner, begged for a chance to save his
life by racing with a wild moor colt. This, to the
captain of the troop which captured him, seemed
something of a merry jest. A colt was straightway
caught, and they were started off together. Ye will
scarce credit it, but the youth kept well ahead for
half a mile or more, then dropped. When they came
up with him he rose and claimed his life for having
won the race. But, no. The cruel brutes made haste
to hang him for his pains upon the nearest tree!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Enough--let us leave these awful matters. They
are among the blackest annals of our country, and
one man at any rate still goes hot with shame to
think he only saw such horrors.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>After the battle my Lord Feversham posted up to
London, there to receive his honours, and left one
Colonel Kirke in command at Bridgewater. This
fellow was as vile and merciless a wretch as e'er drew
sword, while the men of his own regiment (called
Kirke's Lambs in bitter mockery) were not a whit
less cruel than their master. Nor age nor sex was
spared by them.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>To this monster (man I cannot call him) was left
the task of hunting down the wretched fugitives,
and I, perforce, served under him; though 'tis
something to my comfort to remember that, at the risk of
life itself, I helped more than one poor creature to
escape; nor was I in Kirke's service long, as you
will see.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Having worked his will at Bridgewater, he moved
on to Taunton, taking with him a long string of
prisoners, chained two and two, while others who
were wounded lay with their wounds undressed
(heaped in a wagon). More were caught upon the
way, and so, when at last we marched into the town,
whose people, not a month before, had strewn flowers
in Monmouth's path, and given him a rich-worked
banner, we drove before us such a herd of poor
distracted creatures, of all ages, as might have made
a Spartan pitiful.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And now there happened that which made me think
it shame instead of honour, to be serving as a soldier
of King James.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At Taunton Kirke took up his quarters at the
White Hart Inn, and straightway turned the very
sign thereof into a gibbet. Thus, seated at the
window, drinking with his officers, he laughed and
jested while dozens of his hapless fellow-countrymen
were swung to death upon this homely gallows. And
when they kicked and struggled in their agony he
bade the drums beat, saying he would give them
music for their dancing.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Nor was this all. On pain of instant death, if he
refused, they had forced a hapless yokel to be
quarterer (Tom Boilman, as he was thenceforward known
throughout that countryside by shuddering men and
women, who would not go within a yard of him).
And there he stood beneath the gallows, working for
very life amid the blood and boiling pitch. That was
enough for me. Rushing to Kirke's room, I told him
hotly that I would not serve another hour on such
a frightful business.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He sprang up, and, with his sword half-drawn,
cried:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that, you saucy dog?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, this," I thundered, "that I will not serve
another minute under such a bloody-minded wretch
as you! Here is my commission." And I threw it on
the table.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>His face and head went red with anger; the veins
upon his neck stood out like cords; and for a time
he could not speak.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Whelp!" he hissed at last. "You shall smart for
this! Yea, verily," he added, with an awful oath,
"but you shall dance like yonder rebel!" He pointed
to a struggling figure which had just been raised
aloft.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My Lord Feversham may have a word to say on
that point," I answered coldly. "For the rest, I take
my chance."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Just then the drums began to beat, and so I turned
upon my heel and left him, as he stood there clawing
at the air with rage.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Going out I mounted Kitty, and, with my back
towards those scenes of butchery, galloped forth for
Lyme.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="in-which-i-become-a-prisoner"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XXII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">In which I become a Prisoner</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>I found all well at home, though Lyme itself was
trembling with fear; as well it might, considering the
active part which it had played in Monmouth's
luckless venture. The little town, which but a month
before had been as blithe as any in the kingdom, now
lay beneath a cloud of jeopardy. Indeed, the place
seemed half-deserted, for scores of its inhabitants
had fled the wrath to come; while those who still
remained crept in and out with frightened looks, and
trembled when a horseman clattered through the
cobbled streets.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Many questioned me about the late rebellion, and
not a few, with tearful eyes, implored me to protect
them; but, though I strove to soothe them, the
comfort that I could offer was a poor, cold thing indeed.
For what was I? A youth who, without zeal therein--to
serve his own ends, that is--had fought upon
the winning side; then, for good reasons, had thrown
up the business, and thereby brought upon his head
the dire displeasure of a man who, by acts of vilest,
wanton cruelty, was mounting higher every day into
the royal pleasure. I, who had started out from Lyme
three weeks before in search of great revenge, had
found it--or at least a part thereof--yet what had it
availed me? Nothing. And here, as one who proved
its truth to the uttermost, I put on record that revenge
when won is but an empty husk. The striving after
it is all that counts (that well may stir the blood and
make a man a demon, as indeed it does); but the thing
itself, when gained, is worse than vanity.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus when news came that Ferguson (plotting to
the end) had managed to escape from England, the
tidings moved me little, and though, had I met him
then, I would still have killed him, the keen desire to
hunt him down at any price had vanished.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The days and weeks sped by, and I (sad at heart
and feeling older by some years) went to and fro,
unhindered, on my business, until at last it seemed that,
after all, Kirke's threat had either been an empty one
or clean forgotten. But like a thunder-clap there
came the proof that this was not so; and also that
one Robert Ferguson, for all his dash for life, had yet
contrived to work me mischief.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>One day towards the end of August (on the twenty-seventh
of that month, to be exact) a troop of horse
drew up before The Havering, and, when I went forth
to enquire the cause of it, a captain, with a paper in
his hand, strode up to me.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you Cornet Michael Fane?" he asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I am Michael Fane, but cannot claim the rank,"
I answered coldly, for his bearing was both bold and
insolent.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That matters not," quoth he. "I hold a warrant
here for your arrest."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, so! And, prithee, on what grounds?" I asked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, on the best of grounds," he answered, opening
the paper with a flourish. "For having aided
and abetted rebels; for having spoken seditious
words against His Majesty, King James, et cetera,
et cetera."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a lie!" I thundered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then come and prove it so before my Lord Chief
Justice Jeffreys, at Dorchester," said he, folding up the
paper with great care.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Dorchester, whose prison was already full to
overflowing! and Jeffreys, the heartless monster, who had
just sent grey-haired, saintly Alice Lisle to death!
I stood and stared until the horsemen, sitting there
before me, seemed to vanish like a vision. But I was
soon brought back to the grim reality of things.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Come!" said the captain, striking his jack-boot
with the warrant. "There is no time to lose. We
have a spare horse here; so, when you're ready----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There was nothing for it but to go. Calling Tom,
the groom, I told him quickly how things stood, at
which his terror and amazement were such that he
could only stand there dumb and gaping. So I
mounted, and away we went.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As we passed through the town the people stared
at me as though the end of everything was come: but
I took no heed of them; the world and everything
therein seemed as nothing to me then. Thus that
night found me in the jail at Dorchester.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On the terrors of that pestilential place I will not
dwell. Over three hundred prisoners were crowded
there like cattle in a pen, and almost every one of
them was doomed to certain death. The air was foul
and stifling, while cries and groans of anguish made
up such a scene of horror as no pen could properly
describe.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There were several faces there well known to me,
and barely had I entered when a little wizened man
came darting through the crowd and seized my hands.
'Twas old Samuel Robins, who, as you will remember,
sold fish to Monmouth's men aboard the frigate and
was kept there. That was his crime.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Master Fane," he cried, looking up at me with
wild imploring eyes, "what do it mean? What be
Oi here for? I sold them fish as fair and straight as
any man; fore-right I did, and how were Oi to know
as it were Monmouth's ship? Zur, zur! My pretty
boo-at! What be they a-goin' to do wi' me and her?
Get back, zur; go you to the King and tell en old Sam
Robins ne'er did harm to any man."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He tried to drag me to the door. Alas! he did not
understand that I was just as helpless as himself. I
tried to comfort him as best I could, but he only raved
the louder, wringing his hands and asking God to save
him and his "pretty boo-at".</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Many of the prisoners were sick, and some still
suffering from wounds. Amongst these moved a
grey-haired gentleman, endeavouring, by word and touch,
to give relief. His name was Dr. Temple, and he
told me that he hailed from Nottingham, but had
been in the Netherlands some years; that when
Monmouth's expedition sailed thence he had shipped as
surgeon, being told that they were bound for western
seas, and had not found out the truth until they had
been two days at sea. At Sedgemoor he had worked
zealously among the wounded of both sides--and this
was his reward!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I am old," said he, "and if death comes it finds me
well upon the road to meet it. But you are young
and strong, and it troubles me to see you here."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Far into the night we two sat talking, until at last,
in spite of stifling heat and groans, we fell asleep.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I dreamt prodigiously, and, strange as it may seem
to you, my dreams were not unpleasant--being for
the most part of old, happy days long passed--but, oh,
the grim awakening!</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-scourge-of-the-west"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XXIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">"The Scourge of the West"</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>For one long, awful week I had lain a prisoner in
that foul den, when at length, on the third day of
September, the roll of drums and blare of trumpets
told us that Lord Chief Justice Jeffreys was come into
the town to hold assize. Next morning he attended
service at St. Mary's Church, and 'tis said that when
the preacher mentioned mercy Jeffreys laughed aloud;
and I can well believe it, for with him "the quality of
mercy", so far from being "strained", was utterly
unknown.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>That day the bloody work began. Prisoners were
hurried off in batches to the court-house to be tried,
and soon returned with faces which told plainly of
the sentence passed upon them. It had been pressed
upon us by our jailers that our only chance of pardon
lay in pleading guilty, but this was quickly found to
be nothing save a wicked trap to hasten on the
business; for no sooner did a man plead guilty than he
was condemned to death. Never shall I forget the
woeful, desperate looks of those poor fellows as they
were thrust back into the prison with the shadow of
the gallows over them. It was as though each had
the noose already round his neck.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>All day long this branding for the death went
forward, until at last, when the judge rose from his
labours, nearly a hundred had been sentenced;
Dr. Temple, old Sam Larkyns, and Sampson Larke, the
grey-haired Baptist minister of Lyme, among them.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Next day the ugly tale was taken up afresh--over
another hundred were condemned. Then Sunday
brought a pause--but what a pause! The fate of two
parts of the prisoners was already sealed, while for
the rest the future held no sort of hope; nay, rather
was that Sabbath but a black suspense which lay
between us and our doom. Despite the jailers, hymns
and prayers went up through that day of gloom, and
when night fell a simple, fervid faith had brought
real fortitude to many, though here and there loud
cries and sobs betokened broken hearts which naught
could heal.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My turn came on the Monday, and I recollect how
sweet it seemed, in spite of that which lay before me,
to pass from such pestiferous foulness into the
sunlight and breathe the cool, refreshing air again. But
we (there were some eighty of us) had little time to
drink in these delights, being hurried, under strong
guard, along the streets and so into the court-house.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The hall was hung with scarlet (fit colour for so
murderous a place!), and at the far end, seated in a
high-backed chair upon a crimson-covered dais (as
though he swam in blood), I beheld the man whose
very name was already a terror and a byword, not
only in the stricken West, but throughout the length
and breadth of England--the infamous Judge Jeffreys.
At a table beneath him sat the Crown lawyers,
barristers and others, shuffling and docketing their
papers with much show of zeal, as if, forsooth, the
trial were a fair and righteous one rather than the
ghastly farce it was. On his left, in a sort of long
narrow pew, sat the jury--twelve fat, well-liking
fellows--picked men from the county, who could be
counted on to send their fellow-countrymen to death
at Jeffreys' bidding.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But though all this was new and strange to me
it was the judge himself who most surprised me.
I had pictured him an ugly, coarse-faced fellow, with
something of the butcher in his bearing, but instead
thereof I found a not ill-featured man of under forty,
who, notwithstanding that debauchery had set its
mark upon him, had still some claim to handsomeness.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As he sat there, with his chin upon his hand, watching
us in a dreamy, thoughtful fashion as we filed
into the hall, it seemed scarce credible that this was
the wild, ferocious brute whose ravening thirst for
blood had made a mockery of law and justice. But
the grim truth soon crashed on us like a thunderbolt.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as we were all assembled there was dead
silence for a good half minute, then Jeffreys suddenly
shot up and for a time stared at us with a look of
startled horror, as though he knew not who we were.
At last he leaned slowly forward with his hands upon
the chair and said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What have we here? Can it be? Another batch
of wickedness already! How many do they number?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Eighty-and-eight, my lord," replied a clerk, rising
with swift readiness.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Eighty-and-eight!" exclaimed the judge in horrified
amazement. "Eighty-and-eight more workers of
iniquity! Eighty-and-eight more traitors to as good
and kind a king as e'er wore crown! Eighty-and-eight
more sinks of villainy and rank rebellion! Good
Lord! when shall we reach the end of this long tale
of wickedness? Heavens! if it doth not make me ill
to think on't! Yes, verily, it breaks my heart!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He sank back, groaning, in his chair and sobbed
aloud. But this was quickly past, and then he broke
out on us with such a wild vehemence as made the
very lawyers gape upon him in amazement. He
waved his arms, stamped his feet, and struck the desk
before him; his face went red and white by turns, his
throat swelled out until it seemed as though his words
would choke him. I never saw such blind, ungovernable
fury. It was as though some inward demon
strove to rend him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I will not make the vain attempt to set down here
that mad harangue, for no pen could do it rightly.
Not till his breath forsook him did he stop; then,
having rested for a moment and refreshed himself
with wine, he started straightway on his work of
butchery, sending men to their doom at such a pace as
gave them scarcely time to realize what had befallen
them. The dock was filled and emptied, filled and
filled again. No witnesses were called, and though
a lawyer, briefed by the Crown, was there for our
defence, he soon proved but a puppet in the one great
farce, for when he spoke, a look or word from Jeffreys
sent him, white and trembling, into ignominious
silence. And, if a prisoner dared to raise his voice,
he was immediately shouted down, with threatening
violence, by the judge.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus did that cruel, heartless work go on until at
last it came to my turn.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As I stepped forward and faced that demon in the
wig and gown, the court and all that it contained,
save him--lawyers, jury, prisoners, and everything--seemed
to vanish, leaving us two alone. A pair of
cruel, ravening eyes I saw, and nothing else. Yet 'tis
certain that I felt no fear; and, indeed, I should have
been a poltroon if I had, after seeing how some
four-score simple fellows had already faced this bullying
monster with unflinching courage and met their fate
like heroes. Therefore, with such brave examples as
my guide, and looking on my fate as settled, I only
wished to get the business over speedily, and to show
Jeffreys that, although he had the power to kill me,
nothing he might say or do could shake my fortitude.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus, for what seemed to me some minutes, we
stared at one another; then Jeffreys leaned slowly
forward, and, in a purring voice, like some great cat
about to spring, said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"So you are Michael Fane, eh?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That is my name," I answered coldly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! Michael Fane," he went on in the same low
tones, "thou overgrown young shoot of perfidy; thou
offshoot of that gnarled old tree of evil, Gilbert Fane,
I----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop!" I broke in hotly. "Your power to hang
me doth not include the right to smirch a fair, good
name. My father was as true and brave a gentleman
as e'er----"</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 78%" id="figure-66">
<span id="michael-fane-before-judge-jeffreys"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="MICHAEL FANE BEFORE JUDGE JEFFREYS" src="images/img-240.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">MICHAEL FANE BEFORE JUDGE JEFFREYS</span></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that, sirrah?" shrieked the judge with
throttling fury. "You dare to interrupt me! Behold
him, gentlemen!" he added, turning to the jury, while
he waved a hand at me. "Hark how yon mountain
of iniquity doth brazenly affront and flout me! Didst
ever hear the like of such amazing impudence? Oh,
Michael Fane, thou cunning, treacherous dog, have
a care, yea, have a care, or 'twill be bad indeed for
thee! Again I say you are the offspring of as
traitorous and false a sire as----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And I say again----" I began; but at that his
fury burst forth like a cataract.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Sirrah," he shouted, waving his arms and thumping
the desk in front of him, "you dare to interrupt
again! Have a care, yea, have a care, you bellowing
bull of Bashan! Another word, and, by my life, I'll
have you swung off now from yonder beam! Ah! that
tames you, does it? Say, how tall are ye?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Six feet two."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Six feet two! Behold him, gentlemen! Measure
him with your eyes! Seventy and four inches of
such vileness as you ne'er set eyes upon before! And
how old are ye, pray?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Eighteen."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Eighteen!" cried Jeffreys, raising both hands as
though amazed. "Eighteen, say ye! Gentlemen,
gentlemen! Just consider it! To think that such
a sapling should have brought forth such a crop of
wickedness! Heavens, if it doth not almost make
my heart stop beating! Oh, Michael Fane, thou lusty
limb of infamy! doth it not seem to you a mockery
that I should have to ask what plea you make? Yet,
as the law is fair and merciful e'en to such rogues as
you, I must. What is it, counsel?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The lawyer who, as I have said, was there for our
defence, rose tremblingly and answered:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The prisoner pleads not guilty, your lordship."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" shrieked the judge, addressing me. "You
dare to make so false a plea? Are ye not afraid of
instant judgment from above for uttering so black
a lie? Zounds! if I think not that this very court
is in rank peril from avenging thunderbolts while we
share it with such a Jonah of a villain! Not guilty,
quotha? You, who like a wolf in sheep's skin, made
pretence to fight at Sedgemoor, and, as I'll warrant
me, killed many a king's man under cover of the
darkness! You, who aided and abetted rebels! You,
who defied that zealous soldier, Colonel Kirke, and
strove to stop him in his duty! You, who with rank
insolence deserted your sovereign's service! What say
ye to these charges, fellow?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems as though 'twere folly to say anything,"
I answered. "Yet will I swear that I fought not
treacherously at Sedgemoor, but fair and straight,
and that 'twas only Colonel Kirke's abominable
cruelty to helpless prisoners which made me----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop! stop!" shrieked the judge, thumping the
desk before him with both hands. "Such brazen, lying
impudence beats everything! I will not listen to it!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And, as he plugged his ears up with his fingers,
'twas useless for me to proceed.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye hear him, gentlemen, ye hear him!" he
continued, perceiving I was silent. "Mark well his
words. Remember them; yet know that what already
hath been said is not the twentieth, nay, nor the
hundredth part of that which stands against him.
Listen! On a morning in June last, yon wretch,
while holding guilty converse with his villain of a
father, was overheard to utter vile, seditious words
against his king. But even that is nothing when
compared with this, for here I have such evidence
against him as would hang a hundred men."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then, indeed, I started, for in the parchment which
Jeffreys waved triumphantly above his head I recognized
the Black Box documents.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! ye may well turn white and tremble," quoth
the judge, regarding me with a malicious grin which
bared his teeth. "Behold him, gentlemen, and see
how even such brazen wickedness and cunning is at
last brought low. Here is the corner-stone of his
amazing falsity. For what are these?" he added,
spreading out the parchments. "Why, nothing more
nor less than written lies which seek to prove that
Monmouth (who hath already met so well-deserved
a fate) was the rightful heir to England's throne. Ye
have all heard that monstrous story of a Black Box.
Well, here at last we have the secret of it. Forgeries,
rank forgeries! the work of that prince of plotters,
that sink of falsity, one Robert Ferguson, who hath
not thought it shame thus to forge the signature of
our late sovereign, King Charles of blessed memory;
and who, Heaven grant, may yet be caught. Again,
with these vile productions there is a letter to a man,
one Jones of Lyme (who, by my life, shall swing for
it on a tree in his own garden), warning him secretly
of Monmouth's landing. And where, think ye, gentlemen,
all these accursed documents were found? Ah! ye
may well shake your heads, and ye will scarce
credit it when I tell ye that they were found in
yonder false, designing miscreant's house! They
reached me but this very morning, coming from one
unknown, who signs himself 'a friend of good King
James'--and truly so, for a friend he is indeed; yea,
and 'tis a thousand pities that he hides himself, for
otherwise he should have been most handsomely
rewarded. Take them, read them for yourselves,
and then tell me if ye ever saw so villainous a piece
of make-believe."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>While the jury, with heads clubbed together, were
examining the documents, Jeffreys fixed me with a
murderous look and hissed:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sirrah, and what say ye now? Wilt, perhaps,
deny that they were found inside your house, eh?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I do nothing of the kind," I answered. "They
were there, and they were stolen from it by one of
Ferguson's tools."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! a pretty tale, quotha! But, say, how came
ye by the Black Box which, as reported, held these
treasonable things?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My father took it years ago from Ferguson
himself by force."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" cried Jeffreys, starting upright in his
chair. "Attention, gentlemen, attention! Ah! so
your father was a friend of Ferguson?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"He was no friend of his," I answered curtly.
"My father met Ferguson in London, not knowing
that 'twas he, for he called himself Elijah Annabat,
and professed to be a scrivener in the city. My
father trusted him with money, and, when robbed
of it, took the Black Box instead."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Lies! lies! lies!" broke in Jeffreys like a maniac,
waving his hands and fairly frothing at the mouth.
"Oh, Michael Fane, thou wicked son of Anak! Truly,
thou art the child of Ananias, of whom we read in
Holy Scripture, and, like him, shalt pay the penalty.
Ye hear him, gentlemen, how he doth add unto his
infamy by mocking us with lying tongue. Was ever
so much villainy encompassed in one man before? It
seems scarce possible that only eighteen years can
have borne so great a crop of evil fruit. The very
sight of such a monster of iniquity doth make my
eyes sore and my blood run cold. To think that our
all-generous, wise, and loving king hath this creature
for his subject is more than I can bear; yea, verily, it
bursts my heart."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that he leaned forward, with his head upon
his arms, and broke out sobbing.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>While he was thus engaged in grieving for my
many sins, a man came pushing through the crowded
court until he reached a place in front. To my
astonishment I found that it was Dassell, who, as ye
well remember, was so much to the fore at Monmouth's
landing. He turned and gave me one swift, meaning
glance, then stood waiting till the judge at length
looked up; then he spoke.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My lord," said he, "by your leave, I would say
a word for yonder prisoner."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that!" roared Jeffreys, glaring at him
fiercely. "Have my senses left me? Ye would speak
for yonder heap of infamy! Who are ye, fellow?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I am Samuel Dassell, my lord, deputy searcher of
the port of Lyme."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, and what would ye say?" asked Jeffreys, with
a heavy frown.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, this, my lord," said Dassell with great haste,
"that I have known the prisoner, Michael Fane, and
his father many years, and have ever found them true
and loyal gentlemen. I never heard a whisper against
either of them, and if----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop!" roared the judge, bringing a fist down on
the desk. "What fresh infamy is this, that you should
dare to speak in favour of yon villain? Think ye it
not a burning shame that you, who serve the King
and eat his very bread, should raise your voice in
favour of his enemies? Ah! Samuel Dassell, you are
surely in the wrong place; ye should be either in the
dock or else in prison. Yea, verily, methinks I see
you dancing at a rope-end even now. Deputy searcher,
quotha! Go ye and search for the loyalty ye lack!
Away with ye! I say, before my zeal doth tempt me
to lay hands upon you. Go!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And with a long sad look at me, poor Dassell left
the court-house.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Jeffreys swept the hall with one swift,
flashing glance, and, turning to the jury, said:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen, ye have surely heard enough, aye, and
far more than that, concerning yonder giant of iniquity.
Have ye, then, your verdict ready?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"We have, your lordship," said the foreman, rising
with eager readiness.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"And it is----"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Guilty, your lordship."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, by my life, and I should think so," roared
Jeffreys. "Guilty, indeed! guilty as any man who
ever faced a judge. Listen, Michael Fane! Ye have
tried lying, brazen impudence, and every other wile
to save your neck, but all have failed you. One more
question: Where is the box in which 'tis said these
documents were stored?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"How should I know, seeing they were stolen from
us?" I answered warily, not meaning to enlighten him
on that point. "Ask those who stole them."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! so we flout and snarl unto the end, eh? Well,
well, it matters not, for verily that mocking tongue of
yours will soon be put to silence. Listen, Michael
Fane! Ye die, and would that I only had your wicked
father here, that I might send him to his death along
with you. He hath sorely cheated me by dying of
his own accord. Ye die, I say, and as ye hail from
Lyme--that sink of rank rebellion--there ye hang,
and that as near as may be to the spot where
Monmouth landed. If ye be not quartered also, 'twill be
marvellous. I have already twelve more knaves to
hang at Lyme--some who came ashore there with their
pretty Duke, and some who waited for his coming.
Ye make thirteen--a good round baker's dozen!
(Make a note of that, clerk--Michael Fane to hang at
Lyme with others on the twelfth of this month; and
mark it that he dies the last of them.) Oh, Michael
Fane, thou lusty scoundrel, doth not even a heart so
base as yours feel some small gratitude that I have it
in my power to end a life so wicked in its early days?
Consider what ye would have grown to, and use what
little time remains to you on earth in thinking deeply
on your awful sins. Away with ye!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He waved his hands, the warders seized me, and so,
like one a-dreaming, I was hurried back to prison. I
found it much less crowded than it had been, for many
had already gone to death. Many, also, were to die
upon the morrow, and for all of us who gathered there
that night there was not left a single ray of hope.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="beneath-the-gallows"><span class="bold medium">CHAPTER XXIV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">Beneath the Gallows</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Early in the morning on the twelfth, those who were
to die at Lyme (Sam Robins, the fisherman, Sampson
Larke, the minister, Dr. Temple, and myself among
them) were brought forth from the prison, placed in
two carts, and driven on our way to death.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As we rumbled through the ancient streets of
Dorchester, the trembling, sad-faced townsfolk watched
us go, and many tears were shed. Thus we passed
out into the silence of the lanes. 'Twas a glorious,
sunny morning, and to me the world had never seemed
so fair a place as it did then.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis hard," said Dr. Temple, who stood next me,
"that we should have to say good-bye to all this
brightness."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He waved his hand around.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis hard, indeed," I answered. "Naught is left
us now, except to go through bravely with the
business."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"True, true," he murmured: "and I, who have seen
death, and fought him too in almost every ugly form,
should be the last to fear him now. Sir, my thoughts
are chiefly set upon my native town of Nottingham.
Wast ever there?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, sir, but my father was, and he hath told me
of it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! 'tis a lovely place, set high upon the hills,
with a noble river winding by it through the meadows.
And on its highest hill there stands a fine old
church--St. Mary's it is called. Its great tower rises up
before me even now. There was I baptized, confirmed,
and married; and there my young wife lieth buried.
Ah! if I could but see that spot once more, methinks
I should die happier!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He turned his face away, and I was silent.
There was much singing on the way, and Sampson
Larke, the minister, spoke many ringing words of
hope; for though his poor old wife lay dying even
then in Lyme, he hid his own grief manfully, and
strove amain to comfort those about him. He was
a fine, upstanding fellow, and as he stood there in the
cart behind us with his long hair streaming in the
wind, his hand raised, and his face aglow with zeal, he
made a picture that brought into my mind the ancient
prophets.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As for little Samuel Robins, he bore up bravely,
joining with a high shrill voice in hymn and psalm,
until at last the great blue bay of Lyme burst suddenly
in view. But this was too much for him. Stretching
out his hands towards it, he broke down utterly and
sobbed like any child.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Soon after this a strange thing happened; for as
we gained the bottom of the hill and neared the sea,
the horses utterly refused to face it. They kicked
and plunged, and neither word nor blow could urge
them forward. It seemed as if the poor dumb beasts
rebelled against the duty forced upon them. So, in
the end, we were taken out and marched on foot down
to the place of death.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The gallows (two stout uprights with a cross-beam)
had been set up behind the Cobb--that is, upon the
western side of it, not twenty paces from the spot
where Monmouth landed. Here a silent, awe-struck
crowd was gathered, and as we passed between the
lines of saddened, tearful faces, 'twas like a funeral
procession.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Around the gallows stood the sheriff and his officers,
together with some soldiers with a captain in command.
The latter had a list of victims ready in his
hand, and no time was lost in going forward with the
brutal business. The way of it was this. Standing
ready, with the noose around his neck, the prisoner
was asked if he had aught to say. If he had, he said
it (providing it was not too long or violent), then he
climbed up a ladder reared against the scaffold, and
was at once turned off therefrom.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Ye may guess how sickening a sight this was to
me who came the last of them! 'Twas worse than
death itself to see my friends swung thus into eternity;
yet though I tried to look another way I could not.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Number ten was Sampson Larke, and he, who had
fought with Cromwell, and had girded on his sword
again for Monmouth, was not the man to tremble now.
He spoke both fearlessly and long--so long, in fact,
that the captain stopped him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said he, "I will speak to One who I am
sure will hear me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that he uttered one swift prayer, and having
blessed the people, climbed the ladder and went bravely
to his death.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A gasping groan ran through the crowd and sobs
broke out on all sides, for he was much beloved, and
not a few there would have gladly died for him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Number eleven! Benjamin Temple."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor grasped my hand, said "God bless thee,
friend. Farewell!" then stepped firmly to his place.
He told the people what was known to me already--namely,
that he hailed from Nottingham, and was
entirely innocent, having had no knowledge that the
Duke was bent upon rebellion when he sailed with
him from the Texel; also, that he died at peace with
all men. This done, he made a simple prayer, then
climbed to death.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Little Sam Robins was the next to go, and to me,
at least, he was the saddest sight of any. He showed
no fear, he neither spoke nor faced the people, but
turning to the sea he said a long good-bye to what
had been so dear to him, and with his eyes still fixed
thereon he died.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Number thirteen! Michael Fane."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>My turn had come at last, and I was more than
glad. A murmur ran among the people, for I had
been known to most of them since childhood; yet when
I stood beneath the gallows with the noose about my
neck, it was as though the crowd had vanished into
space. I saw them not at all. My whole life flashed
before me like a dazzling blaze, and, strange as it may
seem to you, the only thing I noted was a certain
far-off spot where, as a boy, I had first climbed the
cliffs.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you aught to say, sir?" asked the captain.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>No, I was there to die and not to speak, and therefore
had naught to say; or rather, what I had to say
was said full swiftly underneath my breath, to
Someone else. Then I turned to mount the ladder: but I
never did it, for even as I set my foot upon the
bottom rung, a distant cry broke out behind me; and
glancing round, as everyone was doing, I saw a
horseman coming headlong down the hill towards us,
waving a paper high above his head and shouting as
he rode.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Soon he was near enough for us to catch his words.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop! in the King's name, stop!" he shrieked.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And then I knew him. It was Dassell. The crowd
made instant way for him, as well they might, for
such was his furious speed that otherwise he would
most certainly have rushed straight into them. In
the shadow of the gallows he drew up. His horse
was lathered in sweat, and dripping foam, while he
himself was wellnigh fighting for his breath.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, and what now, sir?" asked the captain,
staring in amazement.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A--pardon--from--His--Majesty--the--King--for--Michael
Fane!" gasped Dassell.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>What followed is not very clear to me, but I know
a mighty shout of joy arose, and that, later on, I
walked, like one a-dreaming, with good friend Dassell
to my home, The Havering. And there I heard from
him the story of my wonderful deliverance. Here it
is, exactly as he told it me:--</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>After being snuffed out by Jeffreys in the courthouse
at Dorchester, he lingered till my fate was settled,
then posted up to London. There he sought and found
Lord Feversham, whom he urged to plead with James
on my behalf: and his lordship, having known my
father well, and also me, was not averse to doing it. So
he went straightway to the King, bearing Dassell with
him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>They found His Majesty in no great mood for
pardoning anyone just then, but hearing that my
father had served his father (King Charles I) with
zeal; and, moreover, wishing to please Lord
Feversham, who then stood in high favour, he gave his
gracious promise to think carefully upon my case.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Two other things there were which favoured me:
one was the fact that Kirke had gone too far, and had
been recalled to London in disgrace; the other, that
the King was mighty glad to think that the mystery
of the Black Box had been solved. Thus the outcome
of it was that my pleaders were to call at Whitehall
on the morrow, for His Majesty's decision. This they
did, and found him in a rare good humour. The
Black Box documents had come to hand, and so the
King was pleased to sign my pardon.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Dassell started on his journey westward with
a will. One horse fell dead beneath him; but he got
another, and riding through the night, was just in
time to save me. How near a thing it was, and how
he snatched me from the very jaws of death, ye know
already.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>I fought no more for King James--indeed, there
was no chance of doing so, even had I wished it;
for, until the Prince of Orange landed at Torbay and
drove his faithless uncle flying from the kingdom,
England was at peace, if persecution can be called so.
But for good King William I have, thank God (along
with Kitty, who still flourishes), fought much; and as
I am still upon the sunny side of forty, may I have
the chance to draw sword for him again! Aye, verily,
my father's words ring often in my ears: "There is
no finer work for any man than fighting for his king
and country".</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Yet, sometimes, when I pace the Cobb or shore, I
see again the fine brave landing of Duke Monmouth,
whose coming brought such suffering and disaster to
the West. Or, when wind and sea moan plaintively,
I seem to hear the mournful voices of those brave,
misguided men whom I so nearly followed to a violent
death. Then, with a heavy heart, I come back to The
Havering and think sadly of it all.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>What more is there to say? Well, very little, for
now I have reached the end of that which I set out to
tell you. If it hath been done clumsily, forgive me,
for, indeed, I have small skill in writing. But at any
rate, I swear it is a fore-right statement, as we say
in Lyme. I have left nothing out, nor have I added
anything.... Stay, though! Yes, by my life, I have
left something out; for as I sit here writing in the
quiet study where, seventeen years ago, I took the first
step in the strange adventures here recorded, there
stands that at my very elbow which seems to cry
aloud for notice. It bears clear signs of mending; it
is, in fact, a small Black Box; but though the sight of
it brings back dark memories, it holds no terrors for
me now.</span></p>
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