"Aye!" said Paddy, holding his jowl; "'tis what one gets for serving a
gentleman. 'Tis the service of a good truthful blackguard I'd be
looking for, and that's true for me."
"Be quiet and mind what I tell you," I cried to him. "I'm uplifted
with my success in England, and I won't be hearing anything from you
while I am saying that I am one of the grandest gentlemen in all the
world. I came over here with papers--papers!" said I; and then I
bethought me that I would take the papers and wave them in my hand. I
don't know why people wish to wave important documents in their hands,
but the impulse came to me. Above all things I wished to take these
papers and wave them defiantly, exultantly, in the air. They were my
inheritance and my land of promise; they were everything. I must wave
them even to the chamber, empty save for Paddy.
When I reached for them in the proper place in my luggage they were
gone. I wheeled like a tiger upon Paddy.
"Villain," I roared, grasping him at the throat, "you have them!"
He sank in full surrender to his knees.
"I have, your honour," he wailed; "but, sure, I never thought your
honour would care, since one of them is badly worn at the heel, and
the other is no better than no boot at all."
I was cooled by the incontestable verity of this man. I sat heavily
down in a chair by the fire.
"Aye," said I stupidly, "the boots! I did not mean the boots, although
when you took them passes my sense of time. I mean some papers."
"Some papers!" cried he excitedly. "Your honour never thought it would
be me that would steal papers? Nothing less than good cows would do my
people, and a bit of turf now and then, but papers--"
"Peace!" said I sombrely, and began to search my luggage thoroughly
for my missing inheritance. But it was all to no purpose. The papers
were not there. I could not have lost them. They had been stolen. I
saw my always-flimsy inheritance melt away. I had been, I thought, on
the edge of success, but I now had nothing but my name, a successful
duel, and a few pieces of gold. I was buried in defeat.
Of a sudden a name shot through my mind. The name of this black
Forister was upon me violently and yet with perfect sureness. It was
he who had stolen the papers. I knew it. I felt it in every bone. He
had taken the papers.
I have since been told that it is very common for people to be moved
by these feelings of omen, which are invariably correct in their
particulars; but at the time I thought it odd that I should be so
certain that Forister had my papers. However, I had no time to waste
in thinking. I grasped my pistols. "A black man--black as the devil,"
cried I to Paddy. "Help me catch a little black man."
"Sure!" said Paddy, and we sallied forth.
In a moment I was below and crying to the landlord in as fine a fury
as any noble:
"This villain Forister! And where be he?"
The landlord looked at me with bulging eyes. "Master Forister," he
stammered. "Aye--aye--he's been agone these many hours since your
lordship kicked him. He took horse, he did, for Bath, he did."
"Horses!" I roared. "Horses for two gentlemen!" And the stableyard,
very respectful since my duel, began to ring with cries. The landlord
pleaded something about his bill, and in my impatience I hurled to him
all of my gold save one piece. The horses came soon enough, and I
leaped into the saddle and was away to Bath after Forister. As I
galloped out of the inn yard I heard a tumult behind me, and, looking
back, I saw three hostlers lifting hard at Paddy to raise him into the
saddle. He gave a despairing cry when he perceived me leaving him at
such speed, but my heart was hardened to my work. I must catch
Forister.
It was a dark and angry morning. The rain swept across my face, and
the wind flourished my cloak. The road, glistening steel and brown,
was no better than an Irish bog for hard riding. Once I passed a
chaise with a flogging post-boy and steaming nags. Once I overtook a
farmer jogging somewhere on a fat mare. Otherwise I saw no travellers.
I was near my journey's end when I came to a portion of the road which
dipped down a steep hill. At the foot of this hill was an oak-tree,
and under this tree was a man masked and mounted, and in his hand was
a levelled pistol.
"Stand!" he said. "Stand!"
I knew his meaning, but when a man has lost a documentary fortune and
given an innkeeper all but his last guinea, he is sure to be filled
with fury at the appearance of a third and completing misfortune. With
a loud shout I drew my pistol and rode like a demon at the highwayman.
He fired, but his bullet struck nothing but the flying tails of my
cloak. As my horse crashed into him I struck at his pate with my
pistol. An instant later we both came a mighty downfall, and when I
could get my eyes free of stars I arose and drew my sword. The
highwayman sat before me on the ground, ruefully handling his skull.
Our two horses were scampering away into the mist.
I placed my point at the highwayman's throat.
"So, my fine fellow," cried I grandly, "you rob well. You are the
principal knight of the road of all England, I would dare say, by the
way in which an empty pistol overcomes you."
He was still ruefully handling his skull.
"Aye," he muttered sadly, more to himself than to me, "a true knight
of the road with seven ballads written of me in Bristol and three in
Bath. Ill betide me for not minding my mother's word and staying at
home this day. 'Tis all the unhappy luck of Jem Bottles. I should have
remained an honest sheep-stealer and never engaged in this dangerous
and nefarious game of lifting purses."
The man's genuine sorrow touched me. "Cheer up, Jem Bottles," said I.
"All may yet be well. 'Tis not one little bang on the crown that so
disturbs you?"
"'Tis not one--no," he answered gloomily; "'tis two. The traveller
riding to the east before you dealt me a similar blow--may hell catch
the little black devil."
"Black!" cried I. "Forister, for my life!"
"He took no moment to tell me his name," responded the sullen and
wounded highwayman. "He beat me out of the saddle and rode away as
brisk as a bird. I know not what my mother will say. She be for ever
telling me of the danger in this trade, and here come two gentlemen in
one day and unhorse me without the profit of a sixpence to my store.
When I became a highwayman I thought me I had profited me from the low
estate of a sheep-stealer, but now I see that happiness in this life
does not altogether depend upon--"
"Enough," I shouted in my impatience. "Tell me of the black man! The
black man, worm!" I pricked his throat with my sword very carefully.
"He was black, and he rode like a demon, and he handled his weapons
finely," said Jem Bottles. "And since I have told you all I know,
please, good sir, move the point from my throat. This will be ill news
for my mother."
I took thought with myself. I must on to Bath; but the two horses had
long since scampered out of sight, and my pursuit of the papers would
make small way afoot.
"Come, Jem Bottles," I cried, "help me to a horse in a comrade's way
and for the sake of your mother. In another case I will leave you here
a bloody corse. Come; there's a good fellow!"
He seemed moved to help me. "Now, if there comes a well-mounted
traveller," he said, brightening, "I will gain his horse for you if I
die for it."
"And if there comes no well-mounted traveller?"
"I know not, sir. But--perhaps he will come."
"'Tis a cheap rogue who has but one horse," I observed contemptuously.
"You are only a footpad, a simple-minded marquis of the bludgeon."
Now, as I had hoped, this deeply cut his pride.
"Did I not speak of the ballads, sir?" he demanded with considerable
spirit. "Horses? Aye, and have I not three good nags hid behind my
mother's cottage, which is less than a mile from this spot?"
"Monsieur Jem Bottles," said I, not forgetting the French manners
which my father had taught me, "unless you instantly show me the way
to these horses I shall cut off your hands, your feet, and your head;
and, ripping out your bowels, shall sprinkle them on the road for the
first post-horses to mash and trample. Do you understand my intention,
Monsieur Jem Bottles?"
"Sir," he begged, "think of my mother!"
"I think of the horses," I answered grimly. "'Tis for you to think of
your mother. How could I think of your mother when I wouldn't know her
from the Head of Kinsale, if it didn't happen that I know the Head of
Kinsale too well to mistake it for anybody's mother?"
"You speak like a man from foreign parts, sir," he rejoined in a meek
voice; "but I am able to see that your meaning is serious."
"'Tis so serious," said I, rapping him gently on the head with the
butt of my pistol, "that if you don't instantly display a greedy
activity you will display a perfect inability to move."
"The speeching is obscure," said he, "but the rap on the head is
clear to me. Still, it was not kind of you to hit me on the same spot
twice."
He now arose from his mournful seat on the ground, and, still rubbing
his pate, he asked me to follow him. We moved from the highway into a
very narrow lane, and for some time proceeded in silence.
"'Tis a regular dog's life," spoke Jem Bottles after a period of
reflection.
By this time I had grown a strong sympathy for my scoundrel.
"Come, cheer yourself, Jem Bottles," said I. "I have known a lesser
ruffian who was hanged until he was dry, whereas you march along the
lane with nought to your discouragement but three cracks in your
crown."
"'Tis not the cracks in the crown," he answered moodily. "'Tis what my
mother will say."
"I had no thought that highwaymen had mothers," said I. I had resolved
now to take care of his pride, for I saw that he was bound to be
considered a great highwayman, and I did not wish to disturb his
feelings until I gained possession of one of the horses. But now he
grew as indignant as he dared.
"Mother? Mother, sir? Do you think me an illegitimate child? I say to
you flat in your face, even if you kill me the next instant, that I
have a mother. Perchance I am not of the lofty gentry who go about
beating honest highwaymen to the earth, but I repulse with scorn any
man's suggestion that I am illegitimate. In a quarter of an hour you
shall see my mother for yourself."
"Peace, Jem Bottles," said I soothingly. "I took no thought of such a
thing. I would be thinking only of the ballads, and how honourable it
is that a gallant and dashing life should be celebrated in song. I,
for certain, have never done anything to make a pothouse ring with my
name, and I liken you to the knights of olden days who tilted in all
simple fair bravery without being able to wager a brass farthing as to
who was right and who was wrong. Admirable Jem Bottles," I cried
enthusiastically, "tell me, if you will, of your glories; tell me with
your own tongue, so that when I hear the ballads waxing furious with
praise of you, I shall recall the time I marched with your historic
person."
"My beginning was without pretence," said the highwayman. "Little
Susan, daughter of Farmer Hants, was crossing the fields with a basket
of eggs. I, a masked figure, sprang out at her from a thicket. I
seized the basket. She screamed. There was a frightful tumult. But in
the end I bore away this basket of eight eggs, creeping stealthily
through the wood. The next day Farmer Hants met me. He had a long
whip. There was a frightful tumult. But he little knew that he was
laying with his whip the foundation of a career so illustrious. For a
time I stole his sheep, but soon grew weary of this business. Once,
after they had chased me almost to Bristol, I was so weary that I
resolved to forego the thing entirely. Then I became a highwayman,
whom you see before you. One of the ballads begins thus:
"What ho! the merry Jem!
Not a pint he gives for them.
All his--"
"Stop," said I, "we'll have it at Dame Bottles's fireside. Hearing
songs in the night air always makes me hoarse the next morning."
"As you will," he answered without heat. "We're a'most there."
Soon a lighted window of the highwayman's humble home shone out in the
darkness, and a moment later Jem Bottles was knocking at the door. It
was immediately opened, and he stalked in with his blood-marks still
upon his face. There was a great outcry in a feminine voice, and a
large woman rushed forward and flung her arms about the highwayman.
"Oh, Jemmie, my son, my son!" she screamed, "whatever have they done
to ye this time?"
"Silence, mother dear," said Bottles. "'Tis nought but a wind-broken
bough fallen on my head. Have you no manners? Do you not see the
gentleman waiting to enter and warm himself?"
The woman turned upon me, alarmed, but fiery and defiant. After a
moment's scrutiny she demanded:
"Oh, ho, and the gentleman had nought to do of course with my Jem's
broken head?"
"'Tis a priest but newly arrived from his native island of Asia," said
Bottles piously; "and it ill beseems you, mother dear, to be haggling
when you might be getting the holy man and I some supper."
"True, Jemmie, my own," responded Dame Bottles. "But there are so many
rogues abroad that you must forgive your old mother if she grow often
affrighted that her good Jemmie has been misled." She turned to me.
"Pardon, my good gentleman," she said almost in tears. "Ye little know
what it is to be the mother of a high-spirited boy."
"I can truthfully say that I do not, Dame Bottles," said I, with one
of my father's French bows. She was immensely pleased. Any woman may
fall a victim to a limber, manly, and courteous bow.
Presently we sat down to a supper of plum-stew and bread. Bottles had
washed the blood from his face and now resembled an honest man.
"You may think it strange, sir," said Dame Bottles with some
housewifely embarrassment, "that a highwayman of such distinction that
he has had written of him in Bristol six ballads--"
"Seven," said the highwayman.
"Seven in Bristol and in Bath two."
"Three," said the highwayman.
"And three in Bath," continued the old woman. "You may think it
strange, sir, that a highwayman of such distinction that he has had
written of him in Bristol seven ballads, and in Bath three, is yet
obliged to sit down to a supper of plum-stew and bread."
"Where is the rest of that cheese I took on last Michaelmas?" demanded
Bottles suddenly.
"Jemmie," answered his mother with reproach, "you know you gave the
last of it to the crippled shepherd over on the big hill."
"So I did, mother dear," assented the highwayman, "and I regret now
that I let no less than three cheeses pass me on the highway because I
thought we had plenty at home."
"If you let anything pass on the road because you do not lack it at
the moment, you will ultimately die of starvation, Jemmie dear," quoth
the mother. "How often have I told you?"
"Aye," he answered somewhat irritably, "you also often have told me to
take snuff-boxes."
"And was I at fault," she retorted, "because the cheating avarice of
the merchants led them to make sinful, paltry snuff-boxes that were
mere pictures of the good old gold and silver? Was it my mischief? Or
was it the mischief of the plotting swineherds who now find it to
their interest to deal in base and imitative metals?"
"Peace, my mother," said the highwayman. "The gentleman here has not
the same interest in snuff-boxes which moves us to loud speech."
"True," said Dame Bottles, "and I readily wish that my Jemmie had no
reason to care if snuff-boxes were made from cabbage-leaves."
I had been turning a scheme in my mind, and here I thought I saw my
opportunity to introduce it. "Dame Bottles," said I, "your words fit
well with the plan which has brought me here to your house. Know you,
then, that I am a nobleman--"
"Alack, poor Jemmie!" cried the woman, raising her hands.
"No," said I, "I am not a nobleman rampant. I am a nobleman in
trouble, and I need the services of your son, for which I will reward
him with such richness that he will not care if they make snuff-boxes
out of water or wind. I am in pursuit of a man--"
"The little black man," cried the alert Bottles.
"And I want your son to ride with me to catch this thief. He need
never pass through the shadow of the creeping, clanking tree. He will
be on an honest hunt to recover a great property. Give him to me. Give
him fourteen guineas from his store, and bid us mount his horses and
away. Save your son!"
The old woman burst into tears. "Sir," she answered, "I know little of
you, but, as near as I can see in the light of this one candle, you
are a hangel. Take my boy! Treat him as you would your own stepson,
and if snuff-boxes ever get better I will let you both hear of it."
Less than an hour later Jem Bottles and I were off for Bath, riding
two very good horses.