The gentlemen were seated over their claret at the Hall, and the party
had become very quiet. Sir John had been preaching on the subject of
the value of a cross of the big, coarse, wool-bearing Lincolnshire sheep
with the Southdown, as being likely to prove advantageous, the
Lincolnshire sheep giving increased wool-bearing qualities, while the
lamb would inherit the fine properties of its mother's mutton.
At the words mutton and Southdown lamb, Rolph had pricked up his ears
for a moment, since they had suggested under-done chops and cuts out of
good haunches, with the gravy in grand supplies of stamina to an
athlete; but the suggestion came at the wrong end of the dinner, and,
with a yawn, the captain had wished Sir John and his pigs and sheep at
Jericho, and begun thinking of his coming match with the Bayswater Stag
for a hundred pounds a side, a race for which he told himself he was in
training now, though his proceedings in the way of wines and foods would
have horrified a trainer and frightened his backers into fits of
despair.
When Sir John had had his innings, the major began to talk about the
translation of a paper by Fries, on the persistency of certain forms of
parasitic fungi in the lower plants. To make himself a little more
comprehendible to his companions, he kept introducing the word mushroom
into his discourse, with the effect of bringing back Rolph's wandering
attention, and rousing Sir John from the doze into which he was falling.
Both gentlemen saw mushrooms directly, through a medium of claret, and
while the major was thinking of spores, mycelium, and rapid generation,
Sir John and the captain saw mushrooms growing, mushrooms cooked,
mushrooms in rich sauces, but always of a deep purply claret colour,
that was pleasant to the eye.
"Hang 'em, they'll drive me mad between 'em," thought Rolph. "I wonder
how much of this sort of thing a man could stand. Offend the old
buffers or no, I must go and have a cigar."
"Yes, what is it?" said Sir John, starting out of a doze.
"Morton would like to speak to you, Sir John."
"Morton; what does he want?" said Sir John. "Send him in."
A good deal of shoe wiping was heard outside, and a fine-looking,
elderly man, whose velveteens proclaimed his profession, entered, to bow
to all three gentlemen in turn.
"Sorry to trouble you, Sir John, but I've got information that a party
from out Woodstay way, sir, are coming netting and snaring to-night."
"Confound their impudence!" cried Sir John, leaping from his chair.
"What the deuce do you mean, standing staring there like a fool, man?
Why don't you get the helpers and the watchers together, and go and stop
the scoundrels?"
"Men all waiting, Sir John," said the keeper, quietly, "but I thought
you and the captain would like to be there, and the major could give us
a bit of advice as to plans, Sir John."
"Quite right, Morton. Of course. Quite right. Take a glass of wine.
Here's a claret glass. You won't have claret though, I suppose."
"Thank ye, kindly, Sir John, but you give me a glass of port last time."
"And you haven't forgotten it, Morton? Quite right. It's a fine port.
Help yourself, man. We'll change, and be with you directly. You'll
come, Rolph?"
"By George, yes," cried the captain, whose face had flushed with
excitement. "I'm ready there."
"You'll come, Jem?"
"To be sure--to be sure," said the major, rubbing his hands. "We'll
have a bit of tactics here."
Ten minutes later, Sir John and the major, each carrying a heavy staff,
and Rolph, armed with a gun, were following the keeper along one of the
paths leading to the fir woods, and with a great mastiff dog close at
the keeper's heels.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the keeper, touching his hat, as they drew near
to where a knot of men were gathered waiting for them, "but I wouldn't
use that gun."
"Oh, it's only loaded with Number 7, Morton," said the captain. "I
sha'n't fire; but if I did, it would only pepper them."
The man drew back, muttering to himself, "I saw a chap shot dead with
Number 7, and they wasn't chilled shot, neither. I've done my duty,
though."
There were six men waiting, all armed with short staves, and looking a
steady set of fellows as Sir John cast his eye over them, and now
increased to ten by the coming of the little party from the Hall, they
looked more than a match for any gang of poachers likely to be met, and
he said so.
"I don't know, Sir John," said the keeper, sturdily. "I haven't much
faith in 'em. If it warn't for the show they'll make, I'd as soon trust
to you, Sir John, the major, the captain, and Nero here. They're safe
to run, some of 'em, if it comes to a fight. That chap of the
captain's, Thompson, has got arms like pipe shanks, and two of the
helpers about as much pluck as a cuckoo."
"Oh, they'll fight if it comes to the proof, I daresay," said Sir John.
"How are you, my lads; how are you?" he continued, as they came up.
"Now, then, if we come across the scoundrels, we must take all we can.
There's no excuse for poaching. I'd give any man out of work in the
parish something to do on the farm. So it's as bad as stealing, and
I'll have no mercy on them. Now, Morton, what are you going to do?"
"Well, Sir John, from what I can understand, they're coming with their
nets and dogs to scour the meadows and the cut clover patches. There's
a sight of young birds there, as I know. They've got to know of it,
too, somehow; and I propose, if the major thinks it right, to 'vide
ourselves in three. You and me, Sir John, with one man and the dog, and
the major and the captain take the other two parties, and lay up till we
see 'em come."
"But how shall we know which way they'll come?" said Sir John.
"They'll come over the common from Woodstay way, Sir John, through the
fir wood, and down at once into the long meadow, safe. We'll take one
side, the major the other, and Captain Rolph the bottom of the meadow.
We'll let them get well to work, and then when I whistle all close in,
and get as many of 'em as we can. We shall be sure of their nets
anyhow, but when I whistle they'll scatter, and I don't suppose we shall
catch more'n one or two."
"Capital plan," said the major. "Why, you would have made a good
general, Morton."
"Thank ye, sir," said the keeper, touching his hat. "All ready there?
Long Meadow."
It was a soft, dark night, with not a breath of wind to chase the heavy
clouds that shrouded the sky. There was no talking--nothing to be heard
but the dull tramp of feet, and the rustling noise made by the herbage
and heather brushing against the leather leggings worn by the men who
followed the lead of the keeper and his dog.
There was about half a mile to go to reach the indicated spot, and the
blood of both Rolph and the major seemed to course a little more rapidly
through their veins as the one hailed the prospect of a bit of
excitement with something like delight, and the other recalled night
marches and perilous episodes in his old Indian campaigning life, and
then sighed as he compared his present elderly self with the smart,
dashing young officer he used to know.
"Halt here!" said Sir John, interrupting the musings of his brother; and
from where they stood, they could dimly make out the extent of the long
open space, with fir plantations on either side, a patch of alder in the
damp, boggy space where they stood, and about two hundred yards away,
right at the top of the slight slope, there was something black to be
seen against the sky--something black, that by daylight would have
resolved itself into a slope of tall firs.
This was the part that the poachers were expected to traverse, and the
three parties were therefore stationed according to the plan, and for
three hours they waited in utter silence, hidden in the plantations and
the alder clump.
Sir John had begun to mutter at the end of the first hour, to grumble at
the end of the second, and he was growling fiercely at the end of the
third, when the keeper suddenly started up.
"What is it?" said Sir John, as the dog uttered a low whine.
"They've circumvented us, Sir John," replied the keeper, angrily.
"They've trapped me into the belief that they were coming here to-night,
and they've been netting Barrows, I'll be bound."
"Confound the scoundrels!" cried Sir John. "What an idiot you must have
been!"
"Yes, Sir John, I was," said the keeper, calmly; "but they won't have
more than finished, and they've got to get home. I may be too many for
them yet."
Hastily summoning the party on his left, the keeper led them to the
weary, cramped party on his right.
"This way; quick!" he said; and the sluggish blood began to flow once
more with the excitement, as he led them rapidly along the meadow, right
up the fir slope through the trees, and out into the lane on the other
side.
Here he paused and listened for a few moments, and then started off once
more to where another clump of firs made the aspect of the night more
dark.
Beneath the trees it was blacker, but the keeper well knew his way, and
at the end of a few minutes he had spread out his forces some fifteen
yards apart, with a whispered word to be on the alert.
"They're sure to come through here," he whispered, "Down on the first
man you see. We shall hear you, and will come and help."
General like, the keeper had selected the middle of the line for
himself, and placed the trustiest men near where he believed that the
poachers would come, Rolph being on his right, the major and Sir John
upon his left.
"They won't come--it's all a hoax," said Sir John, who was tired of
waiting, and the words were hardly out of his lips before the mastiff
uttered a muttered growl, and directly after there was the tramp of feet
over the pine needles which, as it came nearer, told plainly of there
being a strongish gang at work.
Sir John's party kept perfectly quiet, save that a couple of the men
began to close up so as to be ready when the signal was given, while
apparently quite free from apprehension, the poachers came on talking in
a low voice, till they were close upon Sir John, when the keeper gave a
shrill whistle, sprang up, and shouted to his men.
"Stand back all of you," cried a stern voice.
"Give up, you scoundrels, the game's over," cried Sir John. "Close in,
my lads."
He dashed forward at once, and the major and keeper well seconded his
efforts, but the latter received a heavy blow on the forehead, and went
down, felled like an ox, the major was tripped up, and the man whom Sir
John attacked proved too much for him, getting him down and kneeling
upon his chest.
"Shoot them if they come, and then step forrard," cried a shrill harsh
voice, and four reports followed, the poachers sending the shot rattling
in amongst the branches over the watchers' heads, the pine needles and
twigs pattering down, and the result was that Thompson, Captain Rolph's
man, began to retire very rapidly in one direction, closely followed by
two more, and while others from the right flank also beat a retreat.
The scuffle that took place to right and left was soon over, the
keeper's followers not caring to risk their lives in an encounter with
armed and desperate men. There was the sound of blows and another shot
or two from the poachers, who were eight or nine in number, under the
guidance of the man who had felled the keeper, and got Sir John down.
"It's all right, my lads," growled a voice. "Tie 'em well and let's be
off."
"Here, rope!" said a fresh voice; and then there was another scuffle, as
Sir John and the major were forced over on their faces, and their wrists
tied behind them.
"Here, help! Rolph, Rolph!" cried Sir John.
"Hold your row, or--"
There was a dull sound like the blow of the butt of a gun on a man's
head, and Sir John uttered a furious oath.
"I'll have you before me, yet, you dog!" he cried.
"And commit me for trial then," said the man with a laugh. "Not this
time. Now, my lads, ready?"
"Ay."
"Off!"
"Halt!"
There was a fierce murmur at this last command, uttered in a good
ringing military voice, and Sir John's heart leaped, and the major
thought better of the speaker than he had ever thought before, as they
both recognised the voice.
"Down with him, lads, he's only one," growled another.
"Halt, or by Gad I'll fire," cried Rolph again.
It all happened in an instant. There was the sound of a blow, which the
captain received on his left arm; of another which came full upon his
head, and then there was a flash, cutting the darkness and lighting up
the faces of a group of men, a ringing report, and a moan, as Rolph fell
back heavily to the ground.
What followed was a hurried muttering of voices amid painful, hoarse
breathing, and, in the darkness, the major could just make out that men
were lifting a burden.
"Who's hurt?" cried Sir John. "Do you hear?--who's hurt?"
There was no answer, only the trampling of feet rapidly receding; and it
was the major who now spoke.
"Jack," he cried, "I can't move; I'm tied, I'm afraid it's Rolph."
"God forbid!" groaned Sir John.
"Curse the brutes! Here, my arm's smashed," muttered someone,
struggling to his feet. "Hi, Sir John!--Major!"
"You, Rolph? Thank heaven!" cried Sir John. "I was afraid you were
killed. Where's Morton?"
"Here, Sir John," said a faint voice.
"Don't say you're shot, man."
"No, Sir John. Crack on the head."
"Then who is hurt?" said the major. "Here, someone, untie or cut this
line."
"I'm a bit hurt," said Rolph; "arm bruised, and a touch on the head,
too."
"But someone must have been shot. Did you fire?" said Sir John.
"I think I did. Yes," said Rolph, "I got a crack on the arm, and I had
a finger on the trigger."
"Then someone is down," cried Sir John. "Where are our men?"
"Gone for help, I think," said the major drily, as Rolph succeeded in
loosening Sir John's hands.
"The cowardly scoundrels!" roared Sir John. "Here, let's pursue the
poachers."
"No, no," said the major. "We're defeated this time, Jack, and they've
retired. Thank you, Morton. I think we four made a good fight of it,
and--ah, poor fellow!" he cried, bending down. "Nero, Nero, good dog
then."
In the darkness they could just see the great dog make an effort to
reach the major's hand, but the attempt resulted in a painful moan; a
shudder, a faint struggle, and death.
"I'll swear it was not my shot killed him," cried Rolph excitedly.
"Say no more about it," said Sir John; "it was an accident. I'd sooner
one of the scoundrels had had it in his skin, though. I wouldn't have
taken fifty pounds for that dog."
"Poor old fellow!" said the major, who was kneeling beside the dog, and
he stroked the great ears; "but," he added softly to himself, "I've had
enough of blood: thank God it was not a man."
A series of loud whistles brought back some of the scattered forces, the
men meeting with such an ovation from Sir John that they began to think
they had better have had it out honourably with the poachers; and then a
stout sapling was cut down, and the dog's paws being tied, he was
carried home to the stable-yard on the shoulders of two watchers.
After this, there was much beer drinking in the servant's-hall, and much
discussion in the library, where a piece of sticking-plaister was
sufficient to remedy Rolph's wound, his arm was bathed, and Glynne did
not faint.
Rolph soon after retired for the night, the major noting that he was
looking very pale and uneasy. Twice over he went and looked at himself
in the glass, and once he shuddered and stood staring over his shoulder,
as if expecting to see someone there.
"Man can't help his gun going off in the excitement of an action," he
said slowly. "What a fool I was not to own up that I had shot the big
dog."
"Well, they shouldn't poach," he muttered at last; and, lighting a
cigar, he sat smoking for an hour before going to bed to sleep soundly,
awake fairly fresh the next morning, and go out for what he termed "a
breather."
Volume 2, Chapter VI.