THE HORRORS OF THE NIGHT.—THE DISCOVERY IN THE ROAD.—CONTENTION
BETWEEN MAN AND HORSE.—COMFORTABLE QUARTERS IN THE GOLDEN PIPPIN.
The malefactor’s body swung to and fro on the gibbet, and the chains
squeaked and groaned as the wind impelled the body’s motions. The wind
itself whistled heedlessly by, and the transient, but heavy shower
passed on, heedless of the deed of blood that had been perpetrated
beneath its monitory shadow.
Now and then there was a little light, and then the body might be seen
heaped up, and lying in the mud and mire, which was all discoloured
with the blood of the fallen man—he was motionless. The rain fell on
him, but it mattered not—the body felt it not. The wind blew the cloak
about, but the body remained quiet, and nothing appeared to spare the
body.
There was no one nigh; that was a lonely spot, and that was tenanted by
two dismal gypsies. The body of the malefactor swung to and fro while
the body of the murdered traveller lay quiet enough.
The clouds travelled across the face of the moon, and intercepted her
light from the earth; but yet it was light enough at intervals to
enable the traveller to see his way on foot, or on horseback.
About two hours after that in which the traveller had been stopped and
murdered, there came another individual riding towards the scene.
This was a countryman—a grazier, who was well-mounted, and came along
at a rapid rate, having a stout trotting nag under him.
When he neared the spot where the murder had been committed, he gave a
look up at the disagreeable object—the gibbet, and when he had done so,
he put the spur to his horse’s side, with the intention of going by at
a quickened pace, exclaiming as he did so,—
“This is no pleasant place at nine o’clock at night. I wish I were at
the Golden Pippin, instead of here.”
As he spoke, he pushed his horse, as he manifested a design to stop;
but the animal, instead of going past, reared up.
“Hilloa! brute. What art after now, eh?”
The spur was again applied, but the animal only became more and
more unmanageable, and the rider near losing his seat; but he was,
nevertheless, the more anxious to get onward, for the neighbourhood was
not pleasant; added to which, it was a wet and dismal night, and late
for a cross-road.
“Curse you!” muttered the grazier; “What the deuce is the matter with
you?—did you never see the gibbet before? If thee hadn’t, I should not
have been surprised at thee shying at the man swinging on the gibbet;
but thee hast done so, and now thee art frightened. Whoa! d—n thee.”
He made another attempt to force the horse by, but it was fruitless,
and he was at length unseated into the mire.
“D——n!” muttered the man; “the first time I have been thrown these ten
years, drunk or sober, and now I am sober.”
This was apparently the first reflection that came to his mind after
the first effect of the concussion; he then scratched his head,
adjusted his hat, and was getting up, when for a moment his eyes rested
on something dark lying in the middle of the road, and at which his
horse had in reality shied.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, with a visible alteration in his demeanour; “that’s
what Peg shied at, eh? What the devil is it?”
As he muttered these words, his hair began to stand on end; and the
more he looked, the greater his apprehension; for he began to think
what he wished was further from the fact, though his notions were far
from being definite, and he did all he could to dispel the rising
terror.
“Why—it ain’t—no, it can’t be—and yet it must be! What makes ’un lay
there—he must be dead, surely!”
Thrice he scrambled to his feet, and then walked a little towards the
object against which his horse stood smelling and snorting with evident
signs of fear.
“Woa, brute! What’s the matter with thee?—confound thee! But I suppose
thee wast frightened.”
As the man spoke, he walked up to the animal, and, taking the bridle,
he passed it over his arms, and then approached the body.
“Aye, sure enough, he’s insensible—if not dead, poor fellow! What can
be done—there’s no one near at hand to lend assistance?”
He paused to consider what was to be done, when it occurred to him
as being the most likely thing that could be done was to probe the
unfortunate man; he could not say whether he was dead or alive, from
his position in the middle of the road.
“If ’un ain’t dead,” he argued, “he would come to no harm; for it
wasn’t every horse that cared as much for a man as Peg did; they might
get run over, or cause some desperate accident.”
Having made up his mind what to do, he secured Peg, and turned his
attention to the body of the stranger, which had been left on its back,
with its face upwards, but the wind had blown the cloak over it, and it
was not seen by the grazier, who now essayed to move the body.
After some trouble, he succeeded in dragging him there, and propping
him up against the bank, upon which grew a stunted hedge, and, when
there, he opened the cloak, and looked upon the features of the dead
man.
“Well,” he muttered; “I never yet saw such a face! I am sure I can
never forget that. Of all the ill-looking thieves, he is the worst! but
much, I suppose, must be set off on the fact that he is a dead man, and
a murdered one, to boot.”
There was a strange markedness in the style of features in the dead
man, that gave no pleasing impression to the mind; it was one that
could not easily be forgotten, especially accompanied by all the
horrors of their place and circumstances.
“He has been shot, no doubt,” he muttered. “This must be all blood.
Aye! in the breast, or thereabouts. Oh! he is dead. Well, I’ll ride to
the Golden Pippin, and then I’ll give them notice of it.”
He was just about to turn and mount his horse, when the clouds parted,
and the moonbeams, for a few moments, came upon the body, without any
hindrance, and the grazier thought he saw a movement.
“It must have been gammon,” he muttered. “I’ll be off—I’m quite cold
and shivery here. I’ll go to the Golden Pippin, and get some good
cheer, for I’m terribly shaken. Eh! what was that? The devil!”
The latter exclamations were uttered in consequence of the figure
turning towards the moon’s rays, and then opening its eyes, which
had such an effect upon the unfortunate man, that he staggered back
terrified.
“Lord have mercy!” he ejaculated. “What’s—what’s that? He—he’s coming
to—hilloa, friend!—how are you?”
The figure turned his large motionless eyes upon the terrified man,
and they had such an effect upon him, that, despite all he could do
to rally himself, he sprang involuntarily to his horse’s back, and
galloped off furiously.
• • • • •
It was scarce an hour before this occurred, when the two highwaymen
rode up to the Golden Pippin.
“Hilloa! hilloa! ostler—here!” shouted one of them, and in a few
moments more the ostler came out, willing enough.
“Hilloa, Jem! you are sharp to-night. How is it you are not asleep?”
“I was just going to roost, master; but I shall have a job instead, I
can see.”
“You will; but not an empty handed affair, this time; take care of the
nags, and there’s a crown for you.”
“Thank you, master—you are always generous.”
“When I can, Jem; but what company have you in the house?”
“Little to speak of,” said the ostler; “about three or four people,
as lives about here; but nobody that I know—anybody or anything—only
people that have to earn their own living; they are in the kitchen.”
“Good fire?”
“Yes.”
“Then we will go there, too,” said the highwayman; “it’s a raw cold
night, and one in which a good supper and a good fire will do one good.”
The two highwaymen then entered the house, and walked into the kitchen,
which was a large room, with beams across the top, and a variety of
utensils proper to the place; but the grand feature was the large
fire-place, in which burned brightly some good logs, and threw a
glowing warmth and bright light over the whole apartment, in which,
however, was one candle, as if to be mocked by the light of the fire.
The use of this solitary wick was to enable the smokers to light their
pipes without stirring, and also to be taken away at a moment’s notice
for any purpose that might be needed.
The three guests turned their attention to the new comers, without,
however, exchanging one word, and the landlord himself arose.
“Oh, landlord,” said one of the highwaymen, “I’m glad you have a good
fire; ’tis one of the best things, after a cold ride, a man can have
met with.”
“Except a good hot supper, and a cup afterwards,” said his companion.
“All these are very good things in their way, gentlemen,” said the
landlord, emptying the ashes of his pipe out into the fire-place by
tapping the pipe on the toe of his shoe, and thus dropped the ashes out
of danger.
“You are right, landlord,” said the other.
“But I always, think, gentlemen,” said the landlord gravely, “that they
are always a great deal better when they can be had together—they are
better for their company’s sake—the one helps the other.”
“So they do.”
“Well, then, let us have them all, old cock, as soon as you please, for
we are both cold, tired, and hungry.”
“And they are the best accompaniments you can have as a preparatory for
all that is to follow.”
“Amen! and about it,” said the highwayman.
The two new guests sat themselves down in one quarter of the kitchen,
and near to a table facing the fire, where they could enjoy its genial
warmth, which they appeared to do with much gusto.
Having opened their coats, and taken off their shawls, removed their
hats, and sat down in a comfortable manner, they began to look about
them.
“Well, Ned, we have made a good exchange.”
“How do you mean?”
“Why, we have exchanged the road to comfortable quarters, which, you
will, at least, admit, is all the better.”
“Yes, much better; though I have ridden many a long and weary a night
before now, with the runners at my heels.”
“Ay—ay, so have I; but hush—say no more of that there. I have no idea
of letting these blacks suspect anything; they are what you call honest
men, and men who would give a clue in a moment, if they thought it was
wanted.”
“I dare say it is so, Ned; but what are you going to have for supper?”
“I don’t know. Landlord, what can we have for supper—anything hot?”
“Why,” said the landlord, “I can kill a couple of chickens and brander
them, or there is some chicken pie, and a cold ham.”
“Well, what do you say, Ned?”
“Can’t you make the chicken pie warm?”
“It is warm now,” said the landlord. “I can’t make it quite hot without
doing too much; ’tis uncommon good, and has not long been put by from
supper; it was made for supper, but there’s a good half left.”
“Eh? What do you say to chicken pie, Ned?”
“With all my heart; chicken pie let it be, then,” replied Ned.
“Well, then, landlord, put the chicken pie on, flanked by the ham—some
of your foaming October, you know.”
“Ay—ay, sir; some with a head on, that would take a blacksmith’s
bellows to blow off, it is so strong.”
“Ha—ha—ha! that’s the strike for us.”
The landlord now arose, and set about getting the necessary articles,
and spreading them upon a table before the two guests, who were nothing
loath to see the expedition that he had made to please them.
“I think,” said the landlord, “you will say you never eat such
chickens; they are my hatching, and have been well fed; they have been
well killed, cooked, and I hope, will be well eaten.”
“That is our part of the business, landlord; and if they are such as
you speak of, why, you may depend upon our doing our duty by them.”
“And the ham is my own breeding and curing.”
“Better and better,—and the October?”
“Why, I am just going to get that. What say you to a tankard?”
“Yes, a foaming tankard.”
“Yes, gentlemen, I will obtain what you want; it is in beautiful
condition, and when chilled, will give you a cream as thick as new
cheese; and as mild as new milk.