Now, whether spy-glass had been used by any watchful mariner, or whether
only blind chance willed it, sure it is that one fine morning Mary met
with somebody. And this was the more remarkable, when people came to
think of it, because it was only the night before that her mother had
almost said as much.
"Ye munna gaw doon to t' sea be yersell," Mistress Anerley said to her
daughter: "happen ye mought be one too many."
Master Anerley's wife had been at "boarding-school," as far south as
Suffolk, and could speak the very best of southern English (like her
daughter Mary) upon polite occasion. But family cares and farm-house
life had partly cured her of her education, and from troubles of
distant speech she had returned to the ease of her native dialect.
"And if I go not to the sea by myself," asked Mary, with natural logic,
"why, who is there now to go with me?" She was thinking of her sadly
missed comrade, Jack.
"Happen some day, perhaps, one too many."
The maiden was almost too innocent to blush; but her father took her
part as usual.
"The little lass sall gaw doon," he said, "wheniver sha likes." And so
she went down the next morning.
A thousand years ago the Dane's Dike must have been a very grand
intrenchment, and a thousand years ere that perhaps it was still
grander; for learned men say that it was a British work, wrought out
before the Danes had ever learned to build a ship. Whatever, however,
may be argued about that, the wise and the witless do agree about one
thing--the stronghold inside it had been held by Danes, while severed by
the Dike from inland parts, and these Danes made a good colony of their
own, and left to their descendants distinct speech and manners, some
traces of which are existing even now. The Dike, extending from the
rough North Sea to the calmer waters of Bridlington Bay, is nothing more
than a deep dry trench, skillfully following the hollows of the ground,
and cutting off Flamborough Head and a solid cantle of high land from
the rest of Yorkshire. The corner so intercepted used to be and is still
called "Little Denmark"; and the in-dwellers feel a large contempt for
all their outer neighbors. And this is sad, because Anerley Farm lies
wholly outside of the Dike, which for a long crooked distance serves as
its eastern boundary.
Upon the morning of the self-same day that saw Mr. Jellicorse set forth
upon his return from Scargate Hall, armed with instructions to defy the
devil, and to keep his discovery quiet--upon a lovely August morning of
the first year of a new century, Mary Anerley, blithe and gay, came
riding down the grassy hollow of this ancient Dane's Dike. This was her
shortest way to the sea, and the tide would suit (if she could only
catch it) for a take of shrimps, and perhaps even prawns, in time for
her father's breakfast. And not to lose this, she arose right early, and
rousing Lord Keppel, set forth for the spot where she kept her net
covered with sea-weed. The sun, though up and brisk already upon sea and
foreland, had not found time to rout the shadows skulking in the
dingles. But even here, where sap of time had breached the turfy
ramparts, the hover of the dew-mist passed away, and the steady light
was unfolded.
For the season was early August still, with beautiful weather come at
last; and the green world seemed to stand on tiptoe to make the
extraordinary acquaintance of the sun. Humble plants which had long lain
flat stood up with a sense of casting something off; and the damp heavy
trunks which had trickled for a twelvemonth, or been only sponged with
moss, were hailing the fresher light with keener lines and dove-colored
tints upon their smoother boles. Then, conquering the barrier of the
eastern land crest, rose the glorious sun himself, strewing before him
trees and crags in long steep shadows down the hill. Then the sloping
rays, through furze and brush-land, kindling the sparkles of the dew,
descended to the brink of the Dike, and scorning to halt at petty
obstacles, with a hundred golden hurdles bridged it wherever any
opening was.
Under this luminous span, or through it where the crossing gullies ran,
Mary Anerley rode at leisure, allowing her pony to choose his pace. That
privilege he had long secured, in right of age, and wisdom, and
remarkable force of character. Considering his time of life, he looked
well and sleek, and almost sprightly; and so, without any reservation,
did his gentle and graceful rider. The maiden looked well in a place
like that, as indeed in almost any place; but now she especially set off
the color of things, and was set off by them. For instance, how could
the silver of the dew-cloud, and golden weft of sunrise, playing through
the dapples of a partly wooded glen, do better (in the matter of
variety) than frame a pretty moving figure in a pink checked frock, with
a skirt of russet murrey, and a bright brown hat? Not that the hat
itself was bright, even under the kiss of sunshine, simply having seen
already too much of the sun, but rather that its early lustre seemed to
be revived by a sense of the happy position it was in; the clustering
hair and the bright eyes beneath it answering the sunny dance of life
and light. Many a handsomer race, no doubt, more perfect, grand and
lofty, received--at least if it was out of bed--the greeting of that
morning sun; but scarcely any prettier one, or kinder, or more pleasant,
so gentle without being weak, so good-tempered without looking void of
all temper at all.
Suddenly the beauty of the time and place was broken by sharp, angry
sound. Bang! bang! came the roar of muskets fired from the shore at the
mouth of the Dike, and echoing up the winding glen. At the first report
the girl, though startled, was not greatly frightened; for the sound was
common enough in the week when those most gallant volunteers entitled
the "Yorkshire Invincibles" came down for their annual practice of
skilled gunnery against the French. Their habit was to bring down a red
cock, and tether him against a chalky cliff, and then vie with one
another in shooting at him. The same cock had tested their skill for
three summers, but failed hitherto to attest it, preferring to return in
a hamper to his hens, with a story of moving adventures.
Mary had watched those Invincibles sometimes from a respectful distance,
and therefore felt sure (when she began to think) that she had not them
to thank for this little scare. For they always slept soundly in the
first watch of the morning; and even supposing they had jumped up with
nightmare, where was the jubilant crow of the cock? For the cock, being
almost as invincible as they were, never could deny himself the glory of
a crow when the bullet came into his neighborhood. He replied to every
volley with an elevated comb, and a flapping of his wings, and a clarion
peal, which rang along the foreshore ere the musket roar died out. But
before the girl had time to ponder what it was, or wherefore, round the
corner came somebody, running very swiftly.
In a moment Mary saw that this man had been shot at, and was making for
his life away; and to give him every chance she jerked her pony aside,
and called and beckoned; and without a word he flew to her. Words were
beyond him, if his breath should come back, and he seemed to have no
time to wait for that. He had outstripped the wind, and his own wind, by
his speed.
"Poor man!" cried Mary Anerley, "what a hurry you are in. But I suppose
you cannot help it. Are they shooting at you?"
The runaway nodded, for he could not spare a breath, but was deeply
inhaling for another start, and could not even bow without hindrance.
But to show that he had manners, he took off his hat. Then he clapped it
on his head and set off again.
"Come back!" cried the maid; "I can show you a place. I can hide you
from your enemies forever."
The young fellow stopped. He was come to that pitch of exhaustion in
which a man scarcely cares whether he is killed or dies. And his face
showed not a sign of fear.
"Look! That little hole--up there--by the fern. Up at once, and this
cloth over you!"
He snatched it, and was gone, like the darting lizard, up a little
puckering side issue of the Dike, at the very same instant that three
broad figures and a long one appeared at the lip of the mouth. The
quick-witted girl rode on to meet them, to give the poor fugitive time
to get into his hole and draw the brown skirt over him. The dazzle of
the sun, pouring over the crest, made the hollow a twinkling obscurity;
and the cloth was just in keeping with the dead stuff around. The three
broad men, with heavy fusils cocked, came up from the sea-mouth of the
Dike, steadily panting, and running steadily with a long-enduring
stride. Behind them a tall bony man with a cutlass was swinging it high
in the air, and limping, and swearing with great velocity.
"Coast-riders," thought Mary, "and he a free-trader [smuggler]! Four
against one is cowardice."
"Halt!" cried the tall man, while the rest were running past her; "halt!
ground arms; never scare young ladies." Then he flourished his hat, with
a grand bow to Mary. "Fair young Mistress Anerley, I fear we spoil your
ride. But his Majesty's duty must be done. Hats off, fellows, at the
name of your king! Mary, my dear, the most daring villain, the devil's
own son, has just run up here--scarcely two minutes--you must have seen
him. Wait a minute; tell no lies--excuse me, I mean fibs. Your father is
the right sort. He hates those scoundrels. In the name of his Majesty,
which way is he gone?"
"Was it--oh, was it a man, if you please? Captain Carroway, don't say
so."
"A man? Is it likely that we shot at a woman? You are trifling. It will
be the worse for you. Forgive me--but we are in such a hurry. Whoa!
whoa! pony."
"You always used to be so polite, sir, that you quite surprise me. And
those guns look so dreadful! My father would be quite astonished to see
me not even allowed to go down to the sea, but hurried back here, as if
the French had landed."
"How can I help it, if your pony runs away so?" For Mary all this time
had been cleverly contriving to increase and exaggerate her pony's fear,
and so brought the gunners for a long way up the Dike, without giving
them any time to spy at all about. She knew that this was wicked from a
loyal point of view; not a bit the less she did it. "What a troublesome
little horse it is!" she cried. "O Captain Carroway, hold him just a
moment. I will jump down, and then you can jump up, and ride after all
his Majesty's enemies."
"The Lord forbid! He slews all out of gear, like a carronade with rotten
lashings. If I boarded him, how could I get out of his way? No, no, my
dear, brace him up sharp, and bear clear."
"But you wanted to know about some enemy, captain. An enemy as bad as my
poor Lord Keppel?"
"Mary, my dear, the very biggest villain! A hundred golden guineas on
his head, and half for you. Think of your father, my dear, and Sunday
gowns. And you must have a young man--by-and-by, you know--such a
beautiful maid as you are. And you might get a leather purse, and give
it to him. Mary, on your duty, now?"
"Captain, you drive me so, what can I say? I cannot bear the thought of
betraying anybody."
"Of course not, Mary dear; nobody asks you. He must be half a mile off
by this time. You could never hurt him now; and you can tell your father
that you have done your duty to the king."
"Well, Captain Carroway, if you are quite sure that it is too late to
catch him, I can tell you all about him. But remember your word about
the fifty guineas."
"Every farthing, every farthing, Mary, whatever my wife may say to it.
Quick! quick! Which way did he run, my dear?"
"He really did not seem to me to be running at all; he was too tired."
"To be sure, to be sure, a worn-out fox. We have been two hours after
him; he could not run; no more can we. But which way did he go, I mean?"
"I will not say anything for certain, sir; even for fifty guineas. But
he may have come up here--mind, I say not that he did--and if so, he
might have set off again for Sewerby. Slowly, very slowly, because of
being tired. But perhaps, after all, he was not the man you mean."
"Forward, double-quick! We are sure to have him!" shouted the
lieutenant--for his true rank was that--flourishing his cutlass again,
and setting off at a wonderful pace, considering his limp. "Five guineas
every man Jack of you. Thank you, young mistress--most heartily thank
you. Dead or alive, five guineas!"
With gun and sword in readiness, they all rushed off; but one of the
party, named John Cadman, shook his head and looked back with great
mistrust at Mary, having no better judgment of women than this, that he
never could believe even his own wife. And he knew that it was mainly by
the grace of womankind that so much contraband work was going on.
Nevertheless, it was out of his power to act upon his own low
opinions now.
The maiden, blushing deeply with the sense of her deceit, was informed
by her guilty conscience of that nasty man's suspicions, and therefore
gave a smack with her fern whip to Lord Keppel, impelling him to join,
like a loyal little horse, the pursuit of his Majesty's enemies. But no
sooner did she see all the men dispersed, and scouring the distance with
trustful ardor, than she turned the pony's head toward the sea again,
and rode back round the bend of the hollow. What would her mother say if
she lost the murrey skirt, which had cost six shillings at Bridlington
fair? And ten times that money might be lost much better than for her
father to discover how she lost it. For Master Stephen Anerley was a
straight-backed man, and took three weeks of training in the Land
Defense Yeomanry, at periods not more than a year apart, so that many
people called him "Captain" now; and the loss of his suppleness at knee
and elbow had turned his mind largely to politics, making him stiffly
patriotic, and especially hot against all free-traders putting bad
bargains to his wife, at the cost of the king and his revenue. If the
bargain were a good one, that was no concern of his.
Not that Mary, however, could believe, or would even have such a bad
mind as to imagine, that any one, after being helped by her, would be
mean enough to run off with her property. And now she came to think of
it, there was something high and noble, she might almost say something
downright honest, in the face of that poor persecuted man. And in spite
of all his panting, how brave he must have been, what a runner, and how
clever, to escape from all those cowardly coast-riders shooting right
and left at him! Such a man steal that paltry skirt that her mother made
such a fuss about! She was much more likely to find it in her
clothes-press filled with golden guineas.
Before she was as certain as she wished to be of this (by reason of
shrewd nativity), and while she believed that the fugitive must have
seized such a chance and made good his escape toward North Sea or
Flamborough, a quick shadow glanced across the long shafts of the sun,
and a bodily form sped after it. To the middle of the Dike leaped a
young man, smiling, and forth from the gully which had saved his life.
To look at him, nobody ever could have guessed how fast he had fled, and
how close he had lain hid. For he stood there as clean and spruce and
careless as ever a sailor can be wished to be. Limber yet stalwart,
agile though substantial, and as quick as a dart while as strong as a
pike, he seemed cut out by nature for a true blue-jacket; but condition
had made him a smuggler, or, to put it more gently, a free-trader.
Britannia, being then at war with all the world, and alone in the right
(as usual), had need of such lads, and produced them accordingly, and
sometimes one too many. But Mary did not understand these laws. This
made her look at him with great surprise, and almost doubt whether he
could be the man, until she saw her skirt neatly folded in his hand, and
then she said, "How do you do, sir?"
The free-trader looked at her with equal surprise. He had been in such a
hurry, and his breath so short, and the chance of a fatal bullet after
him so sharp, that his mind had been astray from any sense of beauty,
and of everything else except the safety of the body. But now he looked
at Mary, and his breath again went from him.
"You can run again now; I am sure of it," said she; "and if you would
like to do anything to please me, run as fast as possible."
"What have I to run away from now?" he answered, in a deep sweet voice.
"I run from enemies, but not from friends."
"That is very wise. But your enemies are still almost within call of
you. They will come back worse than ever when they find you are
not there."
"I am not afraid, fair lady, for I understand their ways. I have led
them a good many dances.... When they cannot take another step, they
will come back to Anerley for breakfast."
"I dare say they will; and we shall be glad to see them. My father is a
soldier, and his duty is to nourish and comfort the forces of the King."
"Then you are young Mistress Anerley? I was sure of it before. There are
no two such. And you have saved my life. It is something to owe it
so fairly."
The young sailor wanted to kiss Mary's hand; but not being used to any
gallantry, she held out her hand in the simplest manner to take back her
riding skirt; and he, though longing in his heart to keep it, for a
token or pretext for another meeting, found no excuse for doing so. And
yet he was not without some resource.
For the maiden was giving him a farewell smile, being quite content with
the good she had done, and the luck of recovering her property; and that
sense of right which in those days formed a part of every good young
woman said to her plainly that she must be off. And she felt how unkind
it was to keep him any longer in a place where the muzzle of a gun, with
a man behind it, might appear at any moment. But he, having plentiful
breath again, was at home with himself to spend it.
"Fair young lady," he began, for he saw that Mary liked to be called a
lady, because it was a novelty, "owing more than I ever can pay you
already, may I ask a little more? Then it is that on your way down to
the sea, you would just pick up (if you should chance to see it) the
fellow ring to this, and perhaps you will look at this to know it by.
The one that was shot away flew against a stone just on the left of the
mouth of the Dike, but I durst not stop to look for it, and I must not
go back that way now. It is more to me than a hatful of gold, though
nobody else would give a crown for it."
"And they really shot away one of your earrings? Careless, cruel,
wasteful men! What could they have been thinking of?"
"They were thinking of getting what is called 'blood-money.' One hundred
pounds for Robin Lyth. Dead or alive--one hundred pounds."...
"Then are you the celebrated Robin Lyth--the new Robin Hood, as they
call him? The man who can do almost anything?"
"Mistress Anerley, I am Robin Lyth; but, as you have seen, I cannot do
much.... They have missed the best chance they ever had at me; it will
make their temper very bad. If they shot at me again, they could do no
good. Crooked mood makes crooked mode."
"You forget that I should not see such things. You may like very much to
be shot at; but--but you should think of other people."
"I shall think of you only--I mean of your great kindness, and your
promise to keep my ring for me. Of course you will tell nobody. Carroway
will have me like a tiger if you do. Farewell, young lady--for one week,
fare well." With a wave of his hat he was gone, before Mary had time to
retract her promise; and she thought of her mother.