Michael Rowan asked the boatman where the chief magistrate of St. Mary's
lived, and, on being directed, went straight to the latter's house. To
this man he told what had happened in the cabin of the ketch, how
Rousby and Talbot had had a quarrel, how high words had passed between
them, how Talbot had stabbed the tax-collector, and was now the
captain's prisoner. The magistrate was very much alarmed.
"There's no knowing what they'll do to him!" he exclaimed with
excitement. "Rousby treated us ill, there's no doubting that. But he was
His Majesty's exciseman, and the killing of such, even in a righteous
quarrel, is a mighty bad business! What's the captain going to do with
Mr. Talbot?"
"I know no more about it than you," said Michael. "My master bade me
give you the true account of what happened, and then told me to ride
north to tell Mistress Talbot and help her rouse his friends to do what
they could for him. You see he's kinsman to Sir William Talbot, and Sir
William is nephew to Lord Baltimore."
The magistrate shook his head. "That might be of some avail if this
affair concerned the province of Maryland alone," said he. "But Rousby
was one of His Majesty's officers,--there's the difficulty."
"I must get my horse and start at once," declared Michael.
The magistrate went to "The Bell and Anchor" with Michael, helped him
put bread and cheese in his saddle-bags, saw him mount his horse, and
waved his hand as Michael set out up the village street. When the
magistrate went to the water-front he learned that the ketch had
weighed anchor and sailed to the south.
The night was cold and wet, and the road was dark and hard to follow;
but Michael put his horse to the gallop and rode recklessly. His one
thought was to reach Talbot's plantation on the Susquehanna as quickly
as he could.
He rode until it grew so dark that he could not see to avoid overhanging
boughs and holes in the road. Then he stopped at the next farmer's
cabin, asked for a night's lodging, and was given a place to sleep
before the hearth. At dawn he was off again, following the rude trail
through the wilderness, making his meals from the food in his
saddle-bags, and only stopping when he felt he must rest his horse.
That night he spent in a hunter's lodge, the next at a log house on the
edge of a small village. He told the people who asked his business that
he was on an errand for George Talbot, but he gave them no inkling of
what the errand was.
He remembered the fords they had found on their journey south, and
sought them again without much loss of time. Presently he came into
country that he knew well, the upper shores of Chesapeake Bay where he
had often ridden and hunted. Then he saw the familiar landmarks of
Talbot's plantation, and was riding up the road to the door of the
manor-house. He had pushed his horse to the utmost; he himself was tired
and aching in every sinew and muscle. Late in the afternoon he threw
himself from his mount and ran up the steps. He opened the main door and
walked into the living-room, a muddy, bedraggled figure.
Mrs. Talbot was sitting at a spinet, a luxury brought out to Maryland
from England. She stopped her playing and looked up as Michael entered.
She saw he had important news. "What is it, Michael?" she asked.
He told her what had happened. She listened without interrupting him.
Then she stood up. "Send your father and Edward Nigel to me at once,"
she said.
Michael went to his father's house, only a short distance from the big
house, and then to the cabin of Edward Nigel. He gave each of them the
message of Mrs. Talbot. Then he stabled the horse that had carried him
so well all the way from St. Mary's. By that time the boy was too tired
and sleepy even to taste the food that his mother had set out for him.
He fell into his bed and was sound asleep.
Mrs. Talbot had great strength of character. She told her husband's two
faithful Irish retainers that their master was now a prisoner, charged
with the murder of a royal tax-collector. She said that they must set to
work at once to see what could be done to aid him. She wrote out
messages, one for Rowan to take immediately to influential friends in
Baltimore City, the other for Nigel to carry to Annapolis. Then, when
the two had set out, she and her maid prepared to journey to Baltimore
City next day.
In a very short time the news had spread through the province. Men of
influence, the members of the provincial council, met and took action in
behalf of George Talbot. They had all disliked Rousby and the other
royal excisemen, and almost all of them were close friends of the
prisoner. The council sent messengers south to find out what the captain
of the ketch had done with Talbot. The messengers returned with word
that Talbot had been put in irons, that the captain had landed him in
Virginia, and delivered him over to the governor, Lord Howard of
Effingham, who had put him in prison at a small town on the Rappahannock
River.
Lord Howard of Effingham had the name of being a greedy and tyrannical
governor. The council of Maryland sent a request to him that Talbot
should be tried by a court in Maryland. Lord Howard treated the request
with contempt, saying that he meant to try Talbot himself, since the
latter had killed one of His Majesty's officers, and he represented His
Majesty in that part of the country. Talbot's friends knew what that
meant. If Lord Howard sat in judgment on him Talbot's fate was sealed.
There was a chance that a huge bribe might influence the governor of
Virginia, but the chance was slim. So the council sent a messenger to
Lord Baltimore in England, urging him to rescue his nephew's kinsman
from Lord Howard's clutches.
Mrs. Talbot had done all she could through the council and other men of
influence to help her husband, and their efforts seemed likely to bear
very small results. Meantime Lord Howard of Effingham might decide to
try George Talbot at any time. So the devoted wife determined to see
what she could do herself. She had several long talks with Edward Nigel
and Fergus and Michael Rowan, and they worked out a scheme for
themselves.
On a cold day in the middle of winter a little skiff set sail from the
landing-place at Talbot's plantation and headed for Chesapeake Bay. In
the skiff were Mrs. Talbot, her two friends and retainers, Nigel and
Rowan, and the faithful Michael. Fergus Rowan was a skilful sailor; he
knew the river and the bay from long experience. He took the tiller, and
the others, muffled up for protection from the high wind, watched water
and shore as their little boat bobbed up and down on the waves.
The wind was favoring, and they made much better time than they would
have done by riding through the wilderness. They spent the night at a
small fishing-village, and were off again in the skiff next day. They
sailed past Annapolis, on the River Severn, and went scudding down the
bay to where the broad waters of the Potomac flowed into it. Rowan kept
fairly close to the shore on their right, and presently changed his
course to the west. Now they had come to the Rappahannock, and were
sailing up it, keeping a close watch for a good place to land.
By night they had run into a little creek and made the skiff fast. A
farmer's house was not far away, and the four headed for it. Fergus
knocked on the door, and when a woman opened it he explained that they
had expected to sail to a plantation farther up the Rappahannock, but
that the darkness made navigation dangerous for one who was unfamiliar
with the river. "There's a lady and three of us men," he said, "would be
thankful for a night's lodging." Mrs. Talbot pushed back her fur hood,
and the farmer's wife, looking at her, saw that she appeared to be of
the quality, as the saying was, and invited them to step in.
The cabin was small; Fergus and Nigel and Michael shared the attic with
the farmer, Jonas Dunham, while Mrs. Talbot was taken into Mrs. Dunham's
room. They ate their supper on a table close to the kitchen hearth for
warmth. Afterward Fergus inquired about the plantations farther up the
river. Presently he chanced to say that he understood that the governor
was holding Mr. Talbot of Maryland a prisoner somewhere in the
neighborhood. That remark, innocently made, started Farmer Dunham's
tongue to wagging. He said that the prison was about two miles distant,
on the southern side of the river, and that it was true that Talbot was
kept there. He made it pretty clear from what he said that the governor
was not very popular along the Rappahannock, and that in his opinion
Talbot had done a good job in killing one of the royal tax-collectors.
Mrs. Talbot and Fergus and Nigel each carried a bag of gold pieces, all
that they had been able to gather in Maryland; and next morning they
paid the farmer well for their food and lodging. They sailed up the
river, close to the southern shore, in mist and rain, keeping a sharp
lookout for the building that Dunham had described.
There was a small settlement on the shore, then woods, then a log
building, square like a frontier fort, which they took for their goal.
Fergus brought the skiff up to the bank, dropped the sail, and helped
Mrs. Talbot to land. The mist had grown so thick that it hid objects a
score of yards away.
Mrs. Talbot and Nigel stayed in the shelter of the woods while Fergus
and Michael went up to the log house. They rapped on the door. A man
with a grizzled beard opened it. Fergus asked him a few questions about
the neighborhood, explaining that they were very wet and cold, and would
like to find a tavern or some place where they could get a bottle of ale
or brandy. The jailer said that one of his neighbors had spirits for
sale, and suggested that he should show them the place. Fergus accepted
the offer, and they went about half a mile down the road to the
neighbor's, where Fergus showed a gold piece and was provided with a
bottle of brandy.
Fergus saw that the jailer's glass was kept well filled. They became
great friends across the table, and presently the jailer was telling his
new acquaintances everything he knew. He had only one prisoner at
present, a very fine gentleman from Maryland, Mr. George Talbot, and he
felt very sorry for his prisoner because the latter's only crime was of
falling foul of a tax-collector. Fergus suggested that the jailer hardly
needed many assistants to keep guard over one man. The jailer answered
that he only had two assistants, a young fellow only just lately arrived
from England, and a lout of a boy.
When Fergus had learned all he wanted he paid for the bottle of brandy,
tucked the bottle under his arm, and with Michael, walked back to the
log house with the bearded man. There he thanked the latter for his
kindness, and presented him with the bottle, which was still half
filled. It seemed very probable that the jailer would use up the rest of
the brandy on such a damp day.
The two went back to the woods and made their report. In the skiff there
were provisions, and Mrs. Talbot and her friends had dinner there, and
tried to keep as much out of the wet as they could. Then they waited for
dusk, and the two men and the boy looked to the priming of their
pistols.
The men, muffled in greatcoats, the woman, in fur cloak and hood, went
up to the log house in the winter twilight. Nigel beat on the door with
his fist, and after a considerable wait the door was opened by a young
fellow, who looked as if he had only just been waked from a sound nap.
Mrs. Talbot, slipping her hood back from her head, smiled at the rather
dull-looking fellow. "Can you shelter me from the storm?" she asked, in
most appealing tones. "I'm wet and cold, and I'm afraid we've lost our
way."
The boy didn't often see such a fine-looking woman, evidently no
farmer's wife, but one of the gentry. "I'll go ask Master Hugh," he
said. "Step in from the wet. This is no tavern, but a prison, my lady.
Howsomever, I'll go ask Master Hugh."
The fellow hurried away, and Mrs. Talbot and her three companions
stepped in. In a minute the serving-lad was back. "Master Hugh'll see
you in his room," he announced, jerking his head in the direction of
that apartment.
He stood aside, while the lady, Nigel and Michael went to the jailer's
room. Fergus, hanging back a minute, slipped a gold piece into the
fellow's hand, whispering, "A lady of quality. Be sure you speak her
fairly." The youth squinted at the piece of money, a coin of greater
value than any he had seen.
Master Hugh was drinking the last of the brandy as the party entered his
room. The candle-light showed that he was far more disposed to be merry
than suspicious. "A lady!" he exclaimed, getting to his feet and bowing.
"'Tis a shame things are so rude here! Be seated, my lady." Then,
recognizing Fergus and Michael, he smiled broadly. "Well met, my
friends. Sit ye down. 'Tis a raw night. We must make ourselves
comfortable." He glanced at the brandy bottle. "If I'd known company was
coming, I'd have been more ready to give welcome," he added.
Mrs. Talbot loosened her cloak and smiled at the jailer as if she was
delighted at his hospitality. "It's very agreeable here, I do assure
you, Master Hugh," she said. "Good company is better than wine or food."
"So I think," said the jailer, flattered at the lady's graciousness.
"If my son and I might go out to the kitchen to dry our feet----"
suggested Fergus.
"George, show them to the kitchen fire," the jailer ordered the boy, who
stood staring in the doorway.
Mrs. Talbot drew her chair a little closer to Master Hugh. "My skiff met
with a mishap as I was on my way to visit friends up the river," she
said. And then she used all her arts to fascinate the jailer.
Fergus and Michael followed George to the kitchen. A man was scouring an
iron pot on the hearth and looked up in some surprise. "They wants to
dry their feet," George explained.
Fergus and his son pulled off their boots, showing their wet stockings.
"Could Master Hugh spare you long enough to run down to the village and
fetch us a bottle of brandy?" Fergus asked, and he held another shining
gold piece so that George could catch its glitter.
George thought he had never seen such attractive strangers. "I think he
might," he said, and left the room in haste, intent on winning the
second coin.
The man at the hearth, seeing the gold piece, made room for the two
strangers to stand near the fire. He also grew talkative, as Fergus, in
a very friendly fashion, asked him various questions. He said there were
only four men in the house at present, Master Hugh, the boy George,
himself, and a prisoner, who lodged in a small room off the kitchen. He
indicated the door to the prisoner's room.
"We have a lady with us," Fergus said after a time. "She's cold with
being so long out in the rain. If you could build up the fire I might
ask her in here to warm herself. She'll pay you well for your trouble."
He held out a gold piece to the man, who took it readily enough, slipped
it into his pocket, and straightway commenced to put new logs on the
fire.
As the man placed the last log and turned to stand up again he found
himself confronting a pistol-barrel. "Not a word!" murmured Fergus.
"Keep your hands at your side!" He nodded to Michael, who had pulled a
cord from under his jacket. "Bind him fast," he ordered. "Now we've no
wish to do you harm," he added to his prisoner. "Only a rope round your
hands and a cloth over your mouth. We'll put a couple more gold pieces
in your pocket too, so that if you lose this place you'll have enough to
find you another."
The pistol kept the man quiet until he was bound and gagged. Then Fergus
slipped two coins into his pocket. That done, he ran to the door and
drew back the bolt. But he found the door was not only bolted, but
locked as well. He had no time to hunt for the key, so he threw himself
against the door, and at the third try found the lock gave way. On a
stool inside sat George Talbot. To his amazed master Fergus explained
quickly what they must do.
Fergus and Michael and Talbot, all in their stocking-feet, their boots
in their hands, stole down the hall. The lady who was entertaining
Master Hugh had asked Nigel to close the door behind her so as to shut
out the draught. The three men crept down the hall, past the jailer's
door, and slipped out of the house. There they drew their boots on. Then
Michael hurried his master down to the edge of the woods and the waiting
skiff.
Fergus went back to the jailer's room. "I've sent my boy to the village
to engage you a room for the night, my lady," said he. "If you are warm
and rested, we might make our start."
"Certainly," agreed the lady. She smiled at Master Hugh. "You've been
most kind to me," she said. "I shall tell all my friends how courteous a
gentleman you are."
The jailer beamed his pleasure. "'Tis a thousand shames such a gentle
lady should have to walk to the village," said he. "I own I could give
you only poor quarters here. But I could saddle you a horse." He rose.
"Where's that rascal George?"
"No, no," said Mrs. Talbot. "I'm afraid we've put you out more than we
should already." She opened a bag at her belt and laid a piece of money
on the table. "For your hospitality, Master Hugh," she said, with a
gracious smile.
The jailer made his best bow. "A pleasure, madam, a pleasure," he
assured her. "I ask no pay for that." But he let the coin lie on the
table instead of returning it.
Mrs. Talbot and Nigel and Fergus went to the door, Master Hugh after
them. There the jailer made more bows and spoke more pleasant words as
the lady fastened her cloak and pulled her hood over her hair. "You can
find the road?" he asked Fergus.
"Yes, I know the road," said Fergus.
As they left the log house they saw some one coming toward them. It was
George with the precious bottle. "Take it to Master Hugh with my
compliments," said Fergus. Then as they moved away he murmured, "That
ought to keep our friend from finding out what's happened for some
time."
They sped to the woods and the skiff. Talbot and Michael were waiting in
the boat with the sail raised. "Oh, my dear wife!" exclaimed Talbot, as
he clasped the devoted woman in his arms. "'Twas almost worth being in
such peril to find you here again!"
The skiff stole down the Rappahannock in the rain and darkness, carrying
the outlaw Talbot back to his plantation.