THE FLIGHT IN THE PINE WOOD.
By the sound of their steps I guess’d one or two of these dozen rascals
to be pretty far gone in drink, and afterward found this to be the case.
I look’d round. Sir Deakin had pick’d up the lamp and was mixing his
bowl of punch, humming to himself without the least concern——
“Vivre en tout cas
C’est le grand soulas”—
with a glance at his daughter’s face, that was white to the lips, but
firmly set.
“Hand me the nutmeg yonder,” he said, and then, “why, daughter, what’s
this?—a trembling hand?”
And all the while the footsteps were coming up.
There was a loud knock on the door.
“Come in!” call’d Sir Deakin.
At this, Jacques, who stood ready for battle by the entrance, wheeled
round, shot a look at his master, and dropping his point, made a sign to
me to do the same. The door was thrust rudely open, and Captain Settle,
his hat cock’d over one eye, and sham drunkenness in his gait, lurched
into the room, with the whole villainous crew behind him, huddled on the
threshold. Jacques and I stepp’d quietly back, so as to cover the girl.
[Illustration: The door was thrust rudely open.—Page 88.]
“Would you mind waiting a moment?” inquir’d Sir Deakin, without looking
up, but rubbing the nutmeg calmly up and down the grater: “a fraction
too much, and the whole punch will be spoil’d.”
It took the Captain aback, and he came to a stand, eyeing us, who
look’d back at him without saying a word. And this discomposed him still
further.
There was a minute during which the two parties could hear each other’s
breathing. Sir Deakin set down the nutmeg, wiped his thin white fingers
on a napkin, and address’d the Captain sweetly—
“Before asking your business, sir, I would beg you and your company to
taste this liquor, which, in the court of France”—the old gentleman
took a sip from the mixing ladle—“has had the extreme honor to be
pronounced divine.” He smack’d his lips, and rising to his feet, let
his right hand rest on the silver foot of the lamp as he bowed to the
Captain.
Captain Settle’s bravado was plainly oozing away before this polite
audacity: and seeing Sir Deakin taste the punch, he pull’d off his cap
in a shamefaced manner and sat down by the table with a word of thanks.
“Come in, sirs—come in!” call’d the old gentleman; “and follow your
friend’s example. ’Twill be a compliment to make me mix another bowl
when this is finish’d.” He stepped around the table to welcome them,
still resting his hand on the lamp, as if for steadiness. I saw his eye
twinkle as they shuffled in and stood around the chair where the Captain
was seated.
“Jacques, bring glasses from the cupboard yonder! And, Delia, fetch up
some chairs for our guests—no, sirs, pray do not move!”
He had waved his hand lightly to the door as he turned to us: and in
an instant the intention as well as the bright success of this comedy
flash’d upon me. There was now no one between us and the stairs, and
as for Sir Deakin himself, he had already taken the step of putting the
table’s width between him and his guests.
I touch’d the girl’s arm, and we made as if to fetch a couple of chairs
that stood against the wainscot by the door. As we did so, Sir Deakin
push’d the punch bowl forward under the Captain’s nose.
“Smell, sir,” he cried airily, “and report to your friends on the
foretaste.”
Settle’s nose hung over the steaming compound. With a swift pass of
the hand, the old gentleman caught up the lamp and had shaken a drop of
burning oil into the bowl. A great blaze leap’d to the ceiling. There
was a howl—a scream of pain; and as I push’d Mistress Delia through the
doorway and out to the head of the stairs, I caught a backward glimpse
of Sir Deakin rushing after us, with one of the stoutest among the
robbers at his heels.
“Downstairs, for your life!” I whisper’d to the girl, and turning, as
her father tumbled past me, let his pursuer run on my sword, as on
a spit. At the same instant, another blade pass’d through the fellow
transversely, and Jacques stood beside me, with his back to the lintel.
As we pull’d our swords out and the man dropp’d, I had a brief view into
the room, where now the blazing liquid ran off the table in a stream.
Settle, stamping with agony, had his palms press’d against his scorch’d
eyelids. The fat landlord, in trying to beat out the flames, had
increased them by upsetting two bottles of aqua vitae, and was dancing
about with three fingers in his mouth. The rest stood for the most part
dumbfounder’d: but Black Dick had his pistol lifted.
Jacques and I sprang out for the landing and round the doorway. Between
the flash and the report I felt a sudden scrape, as of a red-hot wire,
across my left thigh and just above the knee.
“Tenez, camarade,” said Jacques’ voice in my ear; “a moi la porte—a
vous le maitre, la-bas:” and he pointed down the staircase, where, by
the glare of the conflagration that beat past us, I saw the figures of
Sir Deakin and his daughter standing.
“But how can you keep the door against a dozen?”
The Frenchman shrugg’d his shoulders with a smile—
“Mais-comme ca!”
For at this moment came a rush of footsteps within the room. I saw a fat
paunch thrusting past us, a quiet pass of steel, and the landlord was
wallowing on his face across the threshold. Jacques’ teeth snapp’d
together as he stood ready for another victim: and as the fellows within
the room tumbled back, he motion’d me to leave him.
I sprang from his side, and catching the rail of the staircase, reach’d
the foot in a couple of bounds.
“Hurry!” I cried, and caught the old baronet by the hand. His daughter
took the other, and between us we hurried him across the passage for the
kitchen door.
Within, the chambermaid was on her knees by the settle, her face and
apron of the same hue. I saw she was incapable of helping, and hasten’d
across the stone floor, and out toward the back entrance.
A stream of icy wind blew in our faces as we stepp’d over the threshold.
The girl and I bent our heads to it, and stumbling, tripping, and
panting, pull’d Sir Deakin with us out into the cold air.
The yard was no longer dark. In the room above someone had push’d the
casement open, letting in the wind: and by this ’twas very evident the
room was on fire. Indeed, the curtains had caught, and as we ran, a
pennon of flame shot out over our heads, licking the thatch. In the
glare of it the outbuildings and the yard gate stood clearly out from
the night. I heard the trampling of feet, the sound of Settle’s voice
shouting an order, and then a dismal yell and clash of steel as we flung
open the gate.
“Jacques!” scream’d the old gentleman: “my poor Jacques! Those dogs will
mangle him with their cut and thrust—”
’Twas very singular and sad, but as if in answer to Sir Deakin’s cry, we
heard the brave fellow’s voice; and a famous shout it must have been to
reach us over the roaring of the flames—
“Mon maitre-mon maitre!” he call’d twice, and then “Sauve toi!” in a
fainter voice, yet clear. And after that only a racket of shouts and
outcries reach’d us. Without doubt the villains had overpower’d and
slain this brave servant. In spite of our peril (for they would be after
us at once), ’twas all we could do to drag the old man from the gate and
up the road: and as he went he wept like a child.
After about fifty yards, we turn’d in at a gate, and began to cut across
a field: for I hop’d thus not only to baffle pursuit for a while, but
also to gain the wood that we saw dimly ahead. It reach’d to the top of
the hill, and I knew not how far beyond: and as I was reflecting that
there lay our chance of safety, I heard the inn door below burst open
with loud cries, and the sound of footsteps running up the road after
us.
Moreover, to complete our fix, the clouds that had been scurrying across
the moon’s face, now for a minute left a clear interval of sky about
her: so that right in our course there lay a great patch brilliantly
lit, whereon our figures could be spied at once by anyone glancing into
the field. Also, it grew evident that Sir Deakin’s late agility was but
a short and sudden triumph of will over body: for his poor crooked legs
began to trail and lag sadly. So turning sharp about, we struck for the
hedge’s shadow, and there pull’d him down in a dry ditch, and lay with
a hand on his mouth to stifle his ejaculations, while we ourselves held
our breathing.
The runners came up the road, pausing for a moment by the gate. I heard
it creak, and saw two or three dark forms enter the field—the remainder
tearing on up the road with a great clatter of boots.
“Alas, my poor Jacques!” moan’d Sir Deakin: “and to be butcher’d so,
that never in his days kill’d a man but as if he lov’d him!”
“Sir,” I whisper’d harshly, “if you keep this noise I must gag you.” And
with that he was silent for awhile.
There was a thick tangle of brambles in the ditch where we lay: and to
this we owe our lives. For one of the men, coming our way, pass’d within
two yards of us, with the flat of his sword beating the growth over our
heads.
“Reu-ben! Reuben Gedges!” call’d a voice by the gate.
The fellow turn’d; and peeping between the bramble twigs, I saw the
moonlight glittering on his blade. A narrow, light-hair’d man he was,
with a weak chin: and since then I have paid him out for the fright he
gave us.
“What’s the coil?” he shouted back.
“The stable roofs ablaze—for the Lord’s sake come and save the hosses!”
He strode back, and in a minute the field was clear. Creeping out with
caution, I grew aware of two mournful facts: first, that the stable was
indeed afire, as I perceiv’d by standing on tiptoe and looking over the
hedge; and second, that my knee was hurt by Black Dick’s bullet. The
muscles had stiffened while we were crouching, and now pain’d me badly.
Yet I kept it to myself as we started off again to run.
But at the stile that, at the top of the field, led into the woods, I
pull’d up—
“Sorry I am to say it, but you must go on without me.”
“O—oh!” cried the girl.
“’Tis for your safety. See, I leave a trail of blood behind me, so that
when day rises they will track us easily.”
And sure enough, even by the moon, ’twas easy to trace the dark spots
on the grass and earth beside the stile. My left boot, too, was full of
blood.
She was silent for awhile. Down in the valley we could hear the screams
of the poor horses. The light of the flames lit up the pine trunks about
us to a bright scarlet.
“Sir, you hold our gratitude cheaply.”
She unwound the kerchief from her neck, and making me sit on the stile,
bound up my knee skillfully, twisting a short stick in the bandage to
stop the bleeding.
I thank’d her, and we hurried on into the depths of the wood, treading
silently on the deep carpet of pine needles. The ground rose steeply
all the way: and all the way, tho’ the light grew feebler, the roar and
outcries in the valley follow’d us.
Toward the hill’s summit the trees were sparser. Looking upward, I saw
that the sky had grown thickly overcast. We cross’d the ridge, and after
a minute or so were in thick cover again.
’Twas here that Sir Deakin’s strength gave out. Almost without warning,
he sank down between our hands, and in a second was taken with that
hateful cough, that once already this night had frightened me for his
life.
“Ah, ah!” he groaned, between the spasms, “I’m not fit—I’m not fit for
it!” and was taken again, and roll’d about barking, so that I fear’d the
sound would bring all Settle’s gang on our heels. “I’m not fit for it!”
he repeated, as the cough left him, and he lay back helpless, among the
pine needles.
Now, I understood his words to bear on his unfitness for death, and
judg’d them very decent and properly spoken: and took occasion to hint
this in my attempts to console him.
“Why, bless the boy!” he cried, sitting up and staring, “for what d’ye
think I’m unsuited?”
“Why, to die, sir—to be sure!”
“Holy Mother!” he regarded me with surprise, contempt and pity, all
together: “was ever such a dunderhead! If ever man were fit to die, I am
he—and that’s just my reasonable complaint. Heart alive! ’tis unfit to
_live_ I am, tied to this absurd body!”
I suppose my attitude express’d my lack of comprehension, for he lifted
a finger and went on—
“Tell me—can you eat beef, and drink beer, and enjoy them?”
“Why, yes.”
“And fight—hey? and kiss a pretty girl, and be glad you’ve done it?
Dear, dear, how I do hate a fool and a fool’s pity! Lift me up and carry
me a step. This night’s work has kill’d me: I feel it in my lungs. ’Tis
a pity, too; for I was just beginning to enjoy it.”
I lifted him as I would a babe, and off we set again, my teeth shutting
tight on the pain of my hurt. And presently, coming to a little dingle,
about half a mile down the hillside, well hid with dead bracken and
blackberry bushes, I consulted with the girl. The place was well
shelter’d from the wind that rock’d the treetops, and I fear’d to go
much further, for we might come on open country at any moment and so
double our peril. It seem’d best, therefore, to lay the old gentleman
snugly in the bottom of this dingle and wait for day. And with my
buff-coat, and a heap of dried leaves, I made him fairly easy, reserving
my cloak to wrap about Mistress Delia’s fair neck and shoulders. But
against this at first she protested.
“For how are you to manage?” she ask’d.
“I shall tramp up and down, and keep watch,” answer’d I, strewing a
couch for her beside her father: “and ’tis but fair exchange for the
kerchief you gave me from your own throat.”
At last I persuaded her, and she crept close to her father, and under
the edge of the buff-coat for warmth. There was abundance of dry bracken
in the dingle, and with this and some handfuls of pine needles, I
cover’d them over, and left them to find what sleep they might.
For two hours and more after this, I hobbled to and fro near them, as
well as my wound would allow, looking up at the sky through the pine
tops, and listening to the sobbing of the wind. Now and then I would
swing my arms for warmth, and breathe on my fingers, that were sorely
benumb’d; and all the while kept my ears on the alert, but heard
nothing.
’Twas, as I said, something over two hours after, that I felt a soft
cold touch, and then another, like kisses on my forehead. I put up my
hand, and looked up again at the sky. As I did so, the girl gave a long
sigh, and awoke from her doze—
“Sure, I must have dropp’d asleep,” she said, opening her eyes, and
spying my shadow above her: “has aught happened?”
“Aye,” replied I, “something is happening that will wipe out our traces
and my bloody track.”
“And what is that?”
“Snow: see, ’tis falling fast.”
She bent over, and listen’d to her father’s breathing.
“’Twill kill him,” she said simply.
I pull’d some more fronds of the bracken to cover them both. She thank’d
me, and offer’d to relieve me in my watch: which I refus’d. And indeed,
by lying down I should have caught my death, very likely.
The big flakes drifted down between the pines: till, as the moon paled,
the ground about me was carpeted all in white, with the foliage black
as ink above it. Time after time, as I tramp’d to and fro, I paus’d to
brush the fresh-forming heap from the sleepers’ coverlet, and shake
it gently from the tresses of the girl’s hair. The old man’s face was
covered completely by the buff-coat: but his breathing was calm and
regular as any child’s.
Day dawn’d. Awaking Mistress Delia, I ask’d her to keep watch for a
time, while I went off to explore. She crept out from her bed with a
little shiver of disgust.
“Run about,” I advis’d, “and keep the blood stirring.”
She nodded: and looking back, as I strode down the hill, I saw her
moving about quickly, swinging her arms, and only pausing to wave a hand
to me for goodspeed.
* * * * *
’Twas an hour before I return’d: and plenty I had to tell. Only at the
entrance to the dingle the words failed from off my tongue. The old
gentleman lay as he had lain throughout the night. But the bracken had
been toss’d aside, and the girl was kneeling over him. I drew near, my
step not arousing her. Sir Deakin’s face was pale and calm: but on the
snow that had gather’d by his head, lay a red streak of blood. ’Twas
from his lungs, and he was quite dead.