THE RIDING OF ARROW WATER
For a moment the faces of the men about him went all blurry to Hugh’s
sight; then he was making his way fumblingly across the guardroom, and,
thrusting out one arm before him, found the door to the inner part of
the castle. Now that he was hurrying at a surer pace down the corridor
within, he realized that his breath was coming in short gasps and he was
shaking with a nervous tremor. Kingsford, Kingsford, the word kept
singing through his head; the Oldesworths, who had so hated Alan Gwyeth,
held him at their mercy now at Kingsford. Only to Hugh it was no longer
Alan Gwyeth, but his father, the father whom his mother had taught him
to respect, who had tried to win him a pardon. And he had begrudged the
man even a grateful thought.
Hugh dashed open the door of his chamber, and, kicking off his shoes,
began tugging on his boots. He heard a step behind him, as he struggled
with his head bent; then came Frank’s voice: “Hugh, you’ve heard? They
have cut him off; he has cried for help; my father is taking counsel
with the captains—”
“Counsel?” cried Hugh, springing to his feet. “Why don’t they send him
aid?” He tore his buff coat down from the wall.
“Faith, ’tis a question if there is aid to send,” Frank cried, in equal
excitement, as he made a hindering effort to help Hugh into the coat;
“they have taken away so many of our regiment; we are scant a hundred
men all told; they say ’tis doubtful if we can send—”
“Then I’ll go to Kingsford alone. Run bid them saddle Bayard, Frank,
quick.” With that Hugh caught up his sword, and, going full speed out of
the chamber, drowned in the clatter of his boots the protests Frank sent
after him.
Below, in the tower room that served for conferences, Sir William would
be with his officers, and he hoped there to learn farther news. Almost
at the door he ran upon a man from Turner’s troop, all accoutred, who
drew back and saluted him. “What seek you? Know you what they are
planning?” Hugh asked excitedly.
“Nay, sir; only I was bid have my horse ready, and stand at their
service.”
Hugh could guess the service. Pushing by the trooper to the door of the
chamber, he knocked a rattling, peremptory knock, and another right upon
it. At that the door was wrenched open, and Leveson, grim and dignified,
had begun, “What brings you, sirrah?” when Turner’s voice interrupted:
“Hugh Gwyeth, is it? Let him come in.”
After that Hugh had a confused sight of the high-studded room, with the
sunlight far up on the walls and the corners dusky, and of the men by
the table, who had faced toward him. Then he found himself over by Sir
William’s armchair, his hand resting hard upon the table, and he was
speaking rapidly: “I am going to Kingsford, Sir William, to my father.
If you are seeking a messenger for anything, I’ll bear it safely. For I
am going straightway.”
“Nay, I shall not suffer it, Hugh Gwyeth,” the baronet cut him short.
“Do you understand? The roads are close beset; the trooper who brought
us the tidings was shot in the arm and the side.”
“But I know the Kingsford roads. I can make it,” Hugh protested, and
looked from one to another of the three dubious faces. “Sure, you’ll let
me go,” he burst out. “I must. If he be—harmed and I not there. I must
go.” His eyes dropped to his hands that were clinching his hat fast, and
rested there; he dared not glance again at those about him lest he find
refusal in their looks, and he hoped they might not be gazing at him,
for he knew his mouth was working.
Then Turners voice sounded quick and decided: “Let him go, Sir William.”
“Ay, he is a light rider and he knows the roads. A good messenger, after
all,” Leveson added in a matter-of-fact tone.
Hugh looked up hopefully and saw a glance exchanged between Sir William
and his captains that meant his case was won. “We’ll not endanger you
with a written message,” the baronet spoke at once; “for I tell you
frankly, sir, you run a hundred chances of capture. If you do contrive
to bring yourself through the rebel lines, bid Captain Gwyeth from me to
hold out but two days, till Saturday, and he shall have help. ’Tis so
you have determined, gentlemen?”
“If the Lord aid us, we can recall enough troops to make the town good
and ride for the rescue by then,” Turner answered.
“That’s all your message, Gwyeth,” Sir William resumed; “and remember,
if the rebels knew the time when relief could be looked for, ’twould aid
them mightily, so if you be taken—”
“I’ll not be taken, sir, I do assure you,” cried Hugh, with his hand on
the latch of the door; “I’ll come through safe to Kingsford.”
“Heaven grant it!” the other said, with a trace of a smile, and then
soberly, “I can warn you, the captain will be glad at heart to see you.”
Turner said something kindly, too, Hugh remembered afterward, but for
the present it was just people speaking and wishing him God speed, and
he was glad when he clapped on his hat outside the door and could run
for his horse.
Outside, the whole castle seemed emptied into the south court; Leveson’s
and Turner’s men, some in coats and more in shirt-sleeves, who shouted
questions and the tidings back and forth, and swore and scuffled at the
jostlings of the crowd. The sun was down, but the early twilight still
was clear between the gray walls, enough to bring out every detail of
the swarming courtyard, and to enable Hugh to distinguish the faces of
the men. Down in the thick of the throng he caught sight of Frank, with
a groom holding The Jade, and he ran down from the doorway to him. At
that, some of the men set up a cheering, under cover of which Frank,
putting his arm round Hugh’s shoulders, said in a low tone: “I want you
to take the mare, Hugh; she’s faster than Bayard, and she’s not been
used these two days; and I did not know it was your cornetcy I was
taking, and I want you to ride her. Into the saddle with you!”
Without wit or time to reply, Hugh found himself on the mare’s back,
felt her quiver beneath him, and had opened his mouth to bid the groom
let go her head, when the shouting swarm between him and the great
gateway was suddenly cleft apart. Up the lane Black Boy came swinging
with Strangwayes pulling taut on the bridle so he eased up at Hugh’s
side. “Get you down,” Dick cried without question, and, springing to the
ground himself, began tearing off his cuirass.
“What will you have? Be brisk,” Hugh shouted, coming out of his saddle.
Strangwayes flung his cuirass about him, and began very deliberately
taking in the straps to fit Hugh’s body. “Did you think you were going
on a pleasure ride?” he asked. Frank burst into a nervous laugh, which
others caught up, and some began cheering for the lieutenant. Hugh heard
The Jade prancing with impatience at the sound, and he himself fairly
squirmed under Dick’s touch. “Let me be off!” he cried.
“You’ve all night before you,” Strangwayes drawled. “Hold up your arm so
I can get at the strap.”
Just then, through the clatter of The Jade’s restless hoofs and the hum
of the eager crowd about him, Hugh heard his name called. Looking over
his shoulder he saw Cowper, with his face the color of ashes, limp up
between two comrades. “They said ’twas you should go to Kingsford, sir,”
the man addressed him.
“I’m to venture it,” Hugh answered. “How left you matters there,
Cowper?”
“The captain has the church and the graveyard, sir. The rebels hold the
village and the bridge over the Arrow. I got across two mile up at the
Blackwater ford. The river ran high, and they had set no guard. ’Twas
breaking through the village they shot at me.”
“Go tend your hurt now,” Hugh found thought to urge. “I’ll remember the
ford, be sure. Are you done now, Dick?”
“Done with that,” replied Strangwayes. “Are your pistols in order? And
the word for the night is ‘Gloucester’; you’ll need it at the gates.”
“Yes, yes,” Hugh cried, and made a dash for The Jade, who, dragging her
groom at her head, had fretted herself a good ten feet away. A trooper
jumped forward and caught her bit to stay her; but it was Dick, Hugh
remembered, who held the stirrup so he could swing himself easily into
the saddle. “God speed!” he heard Strangwayes say in the instant that
followed. “We’ll be at your heels soon. God speed!”
That was all the farewell between them; for the men stood back from The
Jade’s head, and, with a shrill squeal, she darted forward across the
court. Hugh heard the click of her hoofs on the cobblestones, then lost
the sound in the cheer upon cheer that broke from those about him. His
arms ached with the tense grip he was holding on the bridle, and then he
found the mare had the bit in her teeth. “Go, if you will,” he cried,
letting the reins looser. The shadow of the gateway fell upon him; he
saw the flicker of the torch beneath it and the white faces of the men
on guard. Then he had jammed his hat on hard, and, bending his head, was
striving to hold The Jade straight as she tore down the slope and sped
through the town.
Houses and shops rushed by; he heard a woman shriek abuse after him for
his mad riding; the crash of opening casements, as the townsfolk leaned
out to see him pass; once, too, his heart gave a jump as a boy, like a
black streak, shot across the road just clear of The Jade’s nose. Then
the bulk of the town gate blocked his way; he saw the sentinels spring
forth to stay him, and, contriving to check the mare an instant, he
leaned from the saddle to say “Gloucester” to the corporal in charge.
“Pass free,” came the word; the men stood from his path, and, giving
loose rein to The Jade, he flew by them out into the twilight stretch of
open country road.
For a time it was just breathless riding, with his full weight on the
reins to slacken the mare’s speed; for the road was all ruts, and he
feared for her slender legs. The mud spattered up even into his eyes,
and once, at a dip in the road, he felt his mount make a half-slip in
the mire, which sobered her somewhat, so he could ease her down to a
slow, careful trot that promised to carry him well through the night.
Now he was first able to look about at the broad, dusky fields and back
over his shoulder, where Tamworth town and castle were merged into the
night. The first exhilaration of the setting forth went from him in the
stillness and dark; it was steady, grim work he had before him, yet he
felt assured he would come safely into Kingsford, and, spite of the
gravity of it all, he found himself smiling a little at the way in
which, at last, he was going to his father. He wondered perplexedly how
he should greet Captain Gwyeth, and how phrase his message; a formal
tone would perhaps be best till he was sure of his welcome. But Sir
William had said his father would be glad at his coming; at that thought
Hugh pricked on The Jade a little faster.
Once clear of the first village beyond Tamworth he entered a stretch of
woodland, where the black tips of the trees showed vivid against the
starless gray sky. Below, the undergrowth was all dense darkness and
Hugh thought it well to keep a hand on his pistol, for he was drawing
into Puritan country where a Cavalier was fair game for an ambuscade.
Out beyond he trotted again through fields, only blacker and lonelier
now than those by Tamworth. Such cottages as he passed were silent and
dark; at one farmstead he heard a dog howl, and once, in a tangled
hollow, a bat whizzed by his head, but he saw or heard no other living
thing. Though once, as he gazed across the fields on his left, he made
out in the distance a gleam of light; a farm must lie yonder, and he
pictured to himself the low cottage chamber, where the goodwife would be
watching with a restless child. Such shelter and companionship was
betokened by the light that he turned in the saddle to gaze at it till a
clump of trees shut it from him.
It must have been something after midnight, though under that starless
sky he could not tell the time surely, when he clattered into a
considerable town. An officious watchman with a bobbing torch ran from a
byway, calling on him to stand, so Hugh clapped spurs to The Jade and
shot through the street at such a pace that the next watchman could only
get out of his course without trying to stay him. But after that he grew
wary and, when the outlying houses of the next town came out of the
black, turned off into the fields and picked his way about it. The
round-about course saved him from interference, but it took much time;
by a dull, unbraced feeling, that was not sleepiness nor yet quite
weariness alone, he knew he had been many hours in the saddle, and he
began to look to the east, in dread lest he catch the first signs of
daybreak.
Presently he must give his whole attention to The Jade, for they
spattered into a ford where the going was treacherous. While she halted
to drink he gazed about at the bushes and the field before him, and,
spite of the dark, knew the place. It was home country he was drawing
toward now, so he trotted on slowly, with his senses alert and his eyes
peering into the dusk for the landmarks that should guide him. So it was
that at last on his right hand he caught sight of a big leafless oak,
beneath which he pulled up short. True enough, he remembered the way in
which the tree stood up bare and alone with scragged common at its back;
he could not see well for the dark, but he knew that at the farther edge
of the open land was a belt of young oaks that hid the ford of
Blackwater.
He lingered beneath the blasted oak, time enough to look to his pistols,
and time enough, too, for him to recall the ghostly reputation of the
lonely tree, so his nerves were crisping as he rode by it into the
common. But he quieted The Jade’s fretty step, and, in the action and
the thought of what might be before him, steadied himself till, though
his body was trembling with eagerness, his head was cool. He took the
precaution of making the mare keep a slow trot that was half muffled in
the turf, though he urged her as much as he dared on the uneven ground;
for to the east, as he looked over his shoulder, the dark was beginning
to pale. The early summer morning must be near at hand, for when he had
crossed the open there was light enough for him to make out the break in
the trees where the bridle path wound down to the ford.
Hugh went in cautiously, with the reins taut in his left hand and his
right on his pistol; but for all that The Jade’s feet splashed in the
sloughs of the pathway with a loudness that startled him. He pulled up a
moment and listened; ahead he could hear the lap, lap of swift water,
but for the rest the wood was silent. He was about to press the mare
forward with a touch of the spur, when, flinging up her head, she
whickered shrilly. Right upon that, somewhere to the front by the
water’s edge, a horse neighed.
Next moment Hugh felt the lash of low boughs across his neck, as he
pulled The Jade round with her haunches in among the bushes by the path.
Spite of the crash of the branches, and the pounding of the blood in his
temples that near deafened him, he caught the sound of hoof-beats on his
left, coming down on him from the common as well as up from the river.
At that he urged The Jade forward, straight into the bushes at the other
side of the path, where the limbs grew so low that he bent down with his
bare head pressed against her mane. For all the hurry and tumult, his
ears were alert, and presently he heard their horses crashing behind him
among the trees at the right. Then, cautiously as he could pick his way
in the gray dimness, he turned The Jade’s head to the common. Brushing
out through the last of the oaks he faced southward, and, as he did so,
cast a glance behind him. Out of the shadows of the trees in his rear he
saw the dim form of a horseman take shape, and a command, loud in the
hush of morning, reached him: “Halt, there!”
Hugh laid the spurs to The Jade’s sides and, as she ran, instinctively
bent himself forward. Behind him he heard a shot, then the patter of
many hoofs upon the turf, and a second shot. Right upon it he felt a
dull shock above the shoulder blade; the ball must have rebounded from
his cuirass. After that he was in among the trees once more; through the
wood behind him men were crashing and shouting; and even such scant
shelter as the oaks gave was ending, as they grew sparser and sparser,
till he dashed into an open stretch that sloped to the Arrow. To the
front he had a dizzy sight of more horsemen straggling from cover; there
were two patrols closing in on him, he realized, and with that, jerking
the mare to the right, he headed for the river.
Before him he could see the slope of hillside, the dark water under the
bank beyond, even the dusky sedge of the low opposite shore. He saw,
too, a horseman, bursting out from the trees, halt across his path, but
he neither stayed nor swerved, just drove the spurs into The Jade and
braced himself for the shock. He must have struck the other horse on the
chest; he had an instant’s sight of a trooper’s tense face and a horse’s
sleek shoulders, then only black water was before him and men behind him
were shouting to pull up. There came a sickening sense of being hurled
from the earth; a great splashing noise and spray in his face. After
that was a time of struggling to free his feet from the stirrups, to
clear himself from the frightened mare; all this with water choking and
strangling him and filling his ears and beating down his head. He had no
thought nor hope nor conscious plan of action, only with all the
strength of his body he battled clear till he found himself in
mid-stream, with the current tugging at his legs, and his boots and
cuirass dragging him down. Once his head went under, and he rose gasping
to a dizzy sight of gray sky. He struck out despairingly while he tried
in vain to kick free from his boots. The current was twisting and
tossing him helplessly; he turned on his back a moment, and still the
sky was rushing past above him and whirling as it went. Above the din of
the water he heard faint shouts of men and crack of musket-shot. A base
end for a soldier, to drown like a rat! he reflected, and at the thought
struck out blindly. The water swept him down-stream, but he fought his
way obliquely shoreward till of a sudden he found the tug of the current
had abated. He could rest an instant and look to his bearings; quite
near him lay the shore, a dark sweep of field with a hedge that ran down
to the water, and on the farther side the hedge he saw horsemen
following down the stream.
Hugh struck out with renewed strength, till, finding the bottom beneath
his feet at last, he splashed shoreward on the run, and, stumbling
through the sedge and mire of the margin, panted upward into the field.
Off to the left were the roofs of Kingsford, so far the current had
swept him, but near at hand there was no hiding-place, nor even a tree
to set his back against, and, with his boots heavy with water and his
breath exhausted with the past struggle, he had no hope to run. He
halted where he was, in the midst of the bare field, and pulled out his
sword, just as the foremost horseman cleared the hedge at a leap. It was
not so dark but Hugh recognized the square young figure, even before the
man charged right upon him. “Good morrow, Cousin Peregrine,” he cried
out, and dodged aside so the horse might not trample him. “Get down and
fight.”
As he spoke he made a cut at the horse’s flank; then Peregrine, crying
out his name, sprang down and faced him. They were blade to blade at
last, and at the first blow the older lad flinched, stumbling back in
the long grass of the field, and Hugh, with eyes on his set, angry face,
pressed after him. Horses were galloping nearer and nearer, men calling
louder, but Hugh did not heed; for Peregrine, mistaking a feint he made,
laid himself open, and he lunged forward at him.
Then his sword-arm was caught and held fast, and he was flung backward
into the grasp of a couple of troopers. The man who had first seized
him, a grim corporal in a yellow sash, wrenched the sword out of his
hand, and he heard him speak to Peregrine: “Has the knave done you hurt,
sir?”
Hugh pulled himself together, though his whole body was still a-quiver
with the action of the last moments, and looked about him. Yellow-sashed
troopers surrounded him, six or seven, he judged, and a few paces
distant stood Peregrine, with his hand pressed to his right forearm. “He
slashed me in the wrist,” young Oldesworth broke out; “I tripped, else
he had not done it.”
“You had not tripped if you had stood your ground,” Hugh flung back,
with an involuntary effort to loosen his arms from the grasp of those
who had seized him.
“Hold your tongue, you cur!” snapped Peregrine, and might have said
more, had there not come from across the river a prolonged hail. One ran
down to the brink to catch the words; but Hugh had no chance to listen,
for at Peregrine’s curt order he was hustled upon one of the troop
horses. They tied his hands behind him, too; whereat Hugh set his teeth
and scowled in silence. What would Peregrine do with him before he were
done, he was wondering dumbly, when the man from the river came up with
the report that the captain bade to convey the prisoner to Everscombe,
and see to it that he did not escape. “I’ll see to it,” Peregrine said
grimly, and got to his saddle, awkwardly, because of his wounded arm,
that was already staining a rough bandage red.
The morning was breaking grayly as the little squad turned westward
through the fields, and by a hollow to the Kingsford road. As they
descended into the highway, Hugh faced a little about in his saddle, and
gazed down it toward the village; a rise in the land shut the spot from
sight, but he knew that yonder Captain Gwyeth lay, awaiting the message
that he was not to bring. The trooper who rode at his stirrup took him
roughly by the shoulder then, and made him face round to the front. “You
don’t go to Kingsford to-day, sir,” he jeered.
Hugh had not spirit even to look at the fellow, but fixed his eyes on
the pommel of the saddle. Trees and road he had known slipped by, he was
aware; he heard the horses stamp upon the roadway; and he felt his wet
clothes press against his body, and felt the strap about his wrists cut
into the flesh. But nothing of all that mattered as his numbed wits came
to the full realization that this was the end of the boasting confidence
with which he had set forth, and the end of his hope of meeting with his
father. The last fight would be fought without him, or even now Captain
Gwyeth, ignorant of the aid that should hurry to him, might be putting
himself into his enemies’ hands. At that, Hugh tugged hopelessly at the
strap, and found a certain relief in the fierce smarting of his chafed
wrists.
Like an echo of his thoughts Peregrine’s voice came at his elbow: “So
you were thinking to reach Kingsford, were you?”
“I should not be riding here just for my pleasure,” Hugh replied, with a
piteous effort to force a light tone.
“’Twould be as well for you if you were less saucy,” his cousin said
sternly. “You know me.”
“I know you carry one mark of my sword on you,” Hugh answered, looking
his tormentor in the face, “and if you’d not let your troop come aid
you, you’d carry more.”
For a moment he expected Peregrine to strike him; then the elder lad
merely laughed exasperatingly. “You’ll not talk so high by to-night,” he
said, “when you’re fetched out to see that dog Gwyeth hanged up in
Everscombe Park.”
“You’d best catch him before you hang him,” Hugh answered stoutly,
though the heart within him was heavy almost beyond endurance. What
might the Oldesworths not do if once they laid hands on Captain Gwyeth?
A prisoner of war had no rights, Hugh was well aware, and so many
accidents could befall. He felt his face must show something of his
fear, and he dreaded lest Peregrine goad him into farther speech, and
his words betray his wretchedness.
But happily just there they turned in between the stone pillars of
Everscombe Park, and Peregrine paced to the front of his squad. Hugh
listlessly watched the well-remembered trees and turnings of the avenue,
which were clear to see now in the breaking dawn. The roofs of the manor
house showed in even outlines against the dull sky, all as he remembered
it, only now the lawn beneath the terrace was scarred with hoof-prints,
and over in the old west wing the door was open, and a musketeer paced
up and down the flagstones before it. Heading thither, the squad drew up
before the entrance, and Hugh, haled unceremoniously from the horse’s
back, was jostled into the large old hall of the west wing, that seemed
now a guardroom.
“How do you like this for a home-coming, cousin?” Peregrine asked, and
Hugh looked him in the eyes but answered nothing. His captor laughed and
turned to his troopers. “Search him thoroughly now,” he ordered; “then
hold him securely till Captain Oldesworth comes.—And I can tell you,
sirrah,” he addressed Hugh once more, “you’ll relish his conversation
even less than you relish mine.”