"Not so," quoth he, and verily methought I saw him quake with fear.
"You have outwitted us, I own it freely. That being so it seems to me
'twere fair to strike a bargain. Thus, we will leave you here in peace
and go our way."
"A very pretty plan," I answered mockingly; "but one which scarce
commends itself to my desire. Listen! you go not from this place alive
if I can help it."
That settled it. They drew together whispering for a moment, then came
upon me with a desperate rush.
*CHAPTER XV*
*Tells How I Fleshed My Sword*
A moment later and the clash of steel rose merrily above the thunder of
the waves; and with each movement of my sword the eager blood rushed
faster through my veins and gave new zest to life. In short, I revelled
in the business, and thought no more of lurking death than you do when
you breathe. I had learned swordsmanship beneath my father's trained
and watchful eye; the blade I wielded was his gift to me; my foes were
Ferguson's own hirelings. What more could any man require to give him
skill and courage? I needed nothing else at any rate; and so, with
tight-set lips and watchful eye, I fought beneath the moon.
As for my adversaries, notwithstanding that they had been made to fight
against their will, and thus lacked spirit, they yet soon proved
themselves to be no paltry swordsmen; indeed, they showed such knowledge
of the game that I was more than once hard put to it to save myself from
thrust or cut. But, verily, my length of reach exceeded theirs by many
inches--moreover, zeal and hatred count for much--and so it was not long
before I sent one of them (he who had tried to bind me) reeling with a
sword-thrust in the heart. His death-cry echoed loud above us in the
cliffs, then down he crashed, a harmless heap, upon the shingle.
At that the other leapt back panting, and stared at me with fearful,
terror-stricken eyes.
"Enough!" gasped he. "I yield!"
"Down with your sword, then," I answered sternly.
He cast his weapon to the ground, and, turning, would have fled; but in
a moment I had darted after him and seized him by the neck.
"Hold! not so fast!" I said, shaking him till his teeth clicked. "To
save your miserable life is one thing, to spread tidings is another."
"I swear to spread no tidings," came his chattering answer.
"Well said," quoth I; "you will not get the chance." Here my eye fell
on the cord which had fallen from his hand when I had knocked him over.
I led him to it. "See," I said, "you would have bound me with that
rope; now let me do so much for you. On your back, I pray you."
Down he went, and lay thus while I tied him hand and foot.
"Good!" said I, regarding him intently when my task was finished. "That
is another way we have with those who serve one Robert Ferguson. Be
thankful that you do not lie as still as your companion yonder."
"The sea!" he gasped. "I pray you drag me nearer to the cliffs lest I
be drowned."
"Nay, have no fear," said I, "'tis now high water; a little spray will
serve to cool your blood. So now, good morrow to you, friend, and when
you see your master tell him that his plans have failed for once."
With that I picked my pistols up and turned to leave him; but as I
looked along the shore towards Lyme, I saw, to my dismay, three men come
running in the moonlight; and by the way the foremost of them waved a
hand to those behind I knew that they had seen me also.
What now? I wondered. Well, friends or foes, I judged it best to meet
them ere they came upon my handiwork, and so I strode straight on
towards them. Soon I made out that they were armed, for when some twenty
yards away they stopped, drew swords, and thus stood waiting for me.
Moving boldly on as though they were not there, I had come within a
dozen paces, when one of them stepped forward, right across my path.
"Halt!" cried he. "Who art thou?"
"Zion!" said I, stopping.
"Ah! and thy business?"
"Such as brooks no delay," I answered firmly, moving on again.
"Stay!" said he, while those behind pressed forward in a threatening
fashion. "We heard pistol shots a little while ago; what was it?"
"Some fellows brawling on the shore up yonder," I replied; "but, look
you, as I said before, my business brooks not dalliance. Go and make
search yourselves."
With that I made to leave them, and by the look of things they were for
letting me depart in peace; but at that very moment a ringing cry broke
out behind us. I started round, and saw a sight which seemed to spell
disaster. The wretch whom I had left for helpless on the shore had
managed to break free, and now came running on with waving sword.
"Stop him! Hold him fast! Make sure of him!" he shouted.
*CHAPTER XVI*
*Concerning one Dan Foe--A Friend in Need*
My state was now more desperate than ever, for, in the twinkling of an
eye, three swords were pointed at me, to which a fourth would soon be
added. Drawing my own I went back slowly to the cliffs, they following.
This time the odds were overwhelming, and there seemed little chance
enough of winning through; but still I was resolved to fight it out
until I either did so or was killed. Take me alive they should
not--that I swore.
At first I was for making one big dash for it; cutting my way right
through the knaves, that is, and so escaping: but a moment's thought
convinced me that 'twere madness to attempt it, for who could safely
hope to turn aside three ready swords at once? One would be sure to
find a place inside my body. No, there was nothing for it save to wait
and play the ugly game out to a finish--whether life or death. And even
as I told myself this was so, up came number four.
What with the struggle he had had to free himself, and then the run, his
breath was wellnigh sped, and so he stood there, pumping out his very
heart, the while he pointed at me with his sword.
"Well, and what now?" enquired the leader sternly. "Why gape you thus?
Know you this fellow?"
"Know him!" gasped the bond-breaker. "Know him! Aye, verily!"
"Who is he, then?"
"One--Michael--Fane ... Spy ... malcontent ... murderer! I, Dick
Harland, tell you so."
"Ah! whom hath he murdered?"
"My goodly comrade Adam Blunt. He lies up yonder stricken through the
heart by this same fellow's sword."
"Is this thing true?" enquired the leader, turning to me.
"'Tis true enough that I have killed the rascal," I replied; "but 'twas
a fair straight fight--not murder."
"This hath an ugly look," quoth he, stroking his beard the while he
frowned upon me. "Why killed you him?"
"'Twas either that, or being killed myself," I answered; "and most of us
choose life in place of death."
He paused a moment with a puzzled look, then turned to Harland, saying:
"You would have killed this man, then, eh?"
"Nay, not so. We had him down and were about to bind him, when he
escaped us by a trick. Then we called on him to yield, but he withstood
us."
"And why would ye have bound him?"
"Because our orders were to take him, dead or living."
"Ah! whose orders?"
"Our godly chaplain's."
"What! Dr. Ferguson's?'"
"The same. He bade us take this fellow at all costs. Two pounds was
the reward for him if dead, and five if----"
He stopped and glanced around him foolishly. In his excitement he had
let out a secret which he had not meant to. I started at his words: so
did the leader.
"Two pounds if dead," he murmured to himself, "and five if living.
Verily, the fellow hath some value, then. But, come," he added quickly,
"you say that he escaped you by a trick. What trick was that?"
"Why, as we held him safely on the ground he gave the password of the
night, and when, in our amazement, we drew back, he freed himself and
laid about him handsomely."
"Ah, a dangerous fellow, by my life," rejoined the other, in whom, no
doubt, the thought of promised gold was working. "He also gave it unto
us just now. How came you by that word, young man?"
"I got it from a friend," I answered.
"Liar! liar!" broke in Harland fiercely. "He is a spy--a malcontent!
He hath no friends among us."
"Stop!" said the leader, holding up a hand. "Such ranting will not help
us. Young man," he added, frowning on me, "'tis clear that you are up
to no good purpose; and now I come to think of it, you did deceive me
when I spoke about the pistol shots we heard. Yea, verily, methinks the
statement of our comrade here is true. But say, now, are you for us or
against us?"
"Neither."
"Ah, there you stand condemned. A man who fights and kills as you have
done this night, and then claims that he takes no side, is little to my
liking. I trust him not. Therefore, lay down your sword and pistols and
come with us peaceably. So shall your words be proven, whether they be
true or false. Down with your arms, I say!"
I did not move, but gripped my sword a little tighter, and stood ready
for the worst.
"You will not yield, then?" he went on, after watching me intently for a
moment.
"Try me and see," I answered curtly.
"Which means a threat of further violence," quoth he.
"Nay, a simple invitation," I replied.
"Ah, so you mock me, eh?"
He took a threatening step towards me.
"Have a care! I pray you have a care!" sang Harland from behind. "That
sword of his is over-ready, as my poor comrade Adam Blunt proved to his
cost."
"Perchance your comrade lacked my skill," returned the leader
sneeringly. "Again I ask, young man, wilt yield?"
"And again I answer--try me and prove the matter," I replied.
"I pray you let us fall upon him in a heap," cried Harland. "His
pistols count for naught, for one of them hath been discharged and the
other hath been soaked with water. Let us fall to, I say, and smite him
hip and thigh."
"What now!" rejoined the other, turning on him angrily. "Dost take me
for a craven coward? Do I, who fought in Cromwell's Ironsides, and who
with this same blade have slain a good score of lusty fellows; do I, I
say, need help from such as you against this stripling? Nay, verily, I
trow not. I give you one more chance, young man," he added turning to
me. "Wilt yield?"
"Not while I have a sword and life," I answered firmly.
"Your blood be on your head, then, not on mine," said he. "Friends,
bear witness that I would have spared this fellow; also mark well my
strokes, from which ye may learn something. Now, back with you and give
us room."
They fell back hurriedly, and next moment we were at it tooth and nail.
That was a fight indeed, and one which even now, with over forty years
between, still sets my blood a-tingling when I think of it.
This time my foe was no half-hearted fellow, but a battle-seasoned
soldier, who by his own account--and as I doubted not--had fought in
Cromwell's Ironsides, and smitten many a skilful swordsman to the death.
As I write these words I see again the stern, set face, the gleaming
eyes that flashed beneath his head-piece, the moonlight glimmering on
his breastplate, the sword that seemed to be alive--so swift and ready
were its movements. His height was little less than mine, and though I
judged his years to be well over fifty, his quickness, both of hand and
foot, was wonderful to see.
At first there was a look of mockery, if not of pity, on his face, but
when he found how well I knew my business this soon changed to one of
crafty eagerness. He thought me worth the killing, and he meant to do
it; while I, on my part, had then a no less firm intention.
Thus round and round we went upon that narrow strip of shore, each
fighting for his life beneath the staring moon; while those who watched
us made no sound except to gasp when a stroke or thrust of more than
common deadliness seemed to foretell the end.
At times our feet were fairly covered by the swirling foam, and once I
was driven, knee-deep, back into the sea by a sudden, mighty rush that
took me unawares, and came near finishing the business. But I saved
myself by springing out of reach, and then, with an answering rush,
drove my opponent back towards the cliffs.
And now it was that youth began to tell. The Roundhead's breath came
faster than it had done, and there was more of fury in his fighting,
less of tempered skill. Perceiving this, I played a luring game, and,
retreating slowly, encouraged him to press me fiercely, content to guard
myself while he attacked. His blows and thrusts came fast and furious,
and one false movement would have surely meant my death, but I contrived
to parry everything, and soon the tale began to tell upon him sorely.
His breath rushed forth in gasps, and in the end I knew that I should
kill him if the fight continued. But I had slain one man that night and
had no desire to add another to the list if I could help it. Therefore
I sprang back suddenly and cried:
"Hold! Let us end this business while we have the chance. You have
fought well, indeed, but I am the younger man and have no wish to kill
you. Let then each of us depart in peace while he hath both life and
honour to his credit."
"What's that!" he wellnigh shrieked. "A beardless stripling such as
thou doth offer quarter to a man like me? Behold my answer to your
mockery!"
With that he charged upon me like a maddened bull, and, with a diving
movement, aimed a blow at me which must have brought his very hilt
against my ribs had it gone fairly home.
"How's that?" he hissed as he delivered it.
'Twas thus--with one swift, glancing stroke I turned his sword aside and
ran him through the body. Our eyes met as I drew my blade out, and ne'er
shall I forget the look in his; 'twas one of such startled horror and
surprise as haunts me to this day.
He stood there swaying for a moment, staring at me like some stricken
beast, then, with a sobbing cry of "Help! I'm done for!" reeled and
fell back dead.
Heaven knows that when I saw him lying there a poor misshapen heap upon
the shingle I felt no glory in the deed, but rather sorrow. He had
fought manfully, and had, moreover, scorned to take advantage of my
lonely state when urged to do so.
But there was little time for vain regrets, for barely had he fallen ere
the other three came on with angry shouts and threatening swords.
"Have at him! Down with him!" they cried, and so pressed forward with a
will, albeit with some caution also.
I fell back slowly till I reached the cliffs, then, having those behind
me as a rear-guard, stood alert and ready, waiting for the onslaught;
nor was it long in coming. There was a pause, then, as one man, they
rushed upon me.
A dazzling flash of steel broke out beneath my eyes as three long
shining blades shot forward in the moonlight. With one great swinging
stroke I swept them all aside, then with a downward blow clave Harland
through from chin to chine.
That was good start enough for anything, and made the other two draw
back in doubtful wonder. But indeed they were fine lusty fellows, who by
the look of them had known much fighting, and so next moment they came
on again with still greater fierceness and determination.
For a time I held my own, parrying their deadly strokes, and checking
every artful trick for mastering me; but no man can go on against such
odds for ever, and what I had already gone through now told a woeful
tale. My breath and strength began to fail, together with that
quickness, both of hand and eye, which meant everything to me just then.
Suddenly my sword-arm stung with pain, and, by warm blood trickling down
beneath my sleeve, I knew that I was wounded. At that I made a forward
rush, then sprang aside and sought to gain some breath; but, perceiving
how things stood, they got between me and the cliffs and drove me slowly
back towards the sea.
My firm resolve now was to die fighting; take me alive, I swore they
should not. I would, at any rate, save Ferguson three of his proffered
pounds. Thus, as they came slowly on, I watched their every movement,
and, by the look of exultation on their faces, I knew that they
accounted me as vanquished, and only waited for a good safe chance
either to make me prisoner or cut me down. But just as everything
seemed hopeless, and I was meditating one last desperate effort, a loud
voice hailed us from the cliff-top, crying:
"What's that? Who are you?"
"Help! help!" I answered, caring naught in my extremity whether I called
on friend or foe.
That which followed was so utterly bewildering that I scarce know how to
set it down with clearness. Fearing, doubtless, lest help might be at
hand, and bent on ending matters ere it could arrive, my adversaries
made a sudden furious rush, which forced me back, waist-deep, into the
sea. Next moment, as it seemed, a man came running from the bottom of
the cliffs with upraised sword.
"What now? What now?" he shouted. "Have at you for rank cowards!" and
reaching my would-be slayers, he laid on with such a right good will
that they turned and fled at headlong speed towards Charmouth.
Hot, breathless, and confused, I staggered from the water, and sinking
down upon a rock, sat staring at my rescuer like one bedazed.
He was a sturdy, well-set man, some few years older than myself, with a
fine, bold face and manner.
"Why, thou art wounded, friend," said he, pointing with his sword at the
blood which trickled slowly from my sleeve.
"Nay, 'tis but a prick," I answered.
"Well, we had best make sure of that," said he, and kneeling down,
pulled up my sleeve and found the wound. A small vein had been pierced,
but nothing more. Taking a kerchief from his neck, he bound it tightly
round the spot, then, rising, said:
"You were hard pressed, methinks."
"Yes, I have fought with five this night," I answered, "and have slain
three of them--two here, and one up yonder."
"Good, now, by my life! Most excellent!" cried he. "I dearly love a man
who wins to victory against such odds."
"The victory was far from being mine," I answered; "for, had you not
thus come in the nick of time, I should most surely have been lying dead
beneath the sea by now. You saved my life, sir, and I owe you much."
"Nay, 'twas naught," he murmured, sheathing his sword and gazing out
across the moonlit water. "Faith, I scarcely struck a blow; 'twas but a
nimbleness in coming down yon cliff-path. But to have killed three men
out of five! Ah! that was lovely; that was worth the doing. Yes, by my
life, such lusty deeds as those have made Old England what she is, and
will, methinks, make her still greater and more feared in years to
come."
"Well, well," said I, not wishing to dwell further on my work of death,
"and whither go you, pray?"
"To Lyme, to join the Duke."
"Ah! I also go to Lyme, though not to join the Duke; but rather to my
bed."
"Good, then by your leave I'll bear you company," said he. "So, when
you are ready----"
"And that is now," I answered, rising.
He paused a moment to gaze down upon the two dead men, then off we went
together.
"Know you who those coward rascals were?" he asked me as we strode
along.
"Some of Duke Monmouth's men," I answered.
He stopped and looked at me, then broke into a laugh.
"What now?" I asked.
"Why, just to think of it," said he, "that I should start my fighting
for the Duke's cause by drawing sword against his followers! But, say,
why did these fellows thus attack you?"
"Because I stand in no high favour with a man named Robert Ferguson."
"Ah! a canting rogue. I know him well. And so you are not for the
Duke?"
"Nay, I am for the King," I answered boldly, having now made up my mind
on that point.
Again he laughed in merry fashion.
"Oh, what a mocking whirligig is life!" said he. "Here walk I side by
side with one with whom perchance I may cross swords in battle."
"Aye, like enough," I answered grimly; "but, say, why stand you for the
Duke?"
"Well, now, it might well be for the same reason that you join King
James; but, to tell honest truth, it is because his side doth seem to
promise most of fine adventure. I love adventure; I was made for it;
and some day I will make my name thereby, though not with sword--with
pen."
"Ah! you are a writer, then?"
"Nay, but a sorry scribbler as yet; but, look you, some day I will write
a book which shall assuredly set all England tingling in my praise. In
short, I will be famous. Mark well those words, and think upon them in
the years to come."
"That I will," I answered wonderingly.
Talking of many things, we reached at length the place where he must
turn aside into the town, while I, who thought it wisdom to avoid the
haunts of men, intended to go home along the shore. There he took my
hand, and said:
"I would crave one favour ere we part."
"Aye, twenty, and they are granted if 'tis in my power to do it," I
answered warmly.
"Nay, 'tis but a little one," said he. "I would know the name of one
who used his sword so well."
"My name is Michael Fane; and may I, too, know that of one who saved my
life?"
"Dan Foe--a name unknown at present, but one which, as I told you, shall
hereafter be as common and familiar as the King's. And so, friend Fane,
good night; and if we meet in battle, may we fight fair and bravely,
like true Englishmen!"
With that he grasped my hand again, then turned and sped towards the
town.
And thus it was that I met one who, as Defoe (a name he took long
afterwards), is known to all of you as the writer of that wondrous
history of a shipwrecked man upon a lonely island.[1]
[1] The author of _Robinson Crusoe_ was out in the Monmouth Rebellion
joining the Duke at Lyme.
On leaving him I hurried on my way along the silent shore with strangest
thoughts for company. Once someone shouted from the cliffs, and, yet
again, some fellows hailed me from a boat which lay close inshore; but I
heeded not, save to increase my speed, for, truly, my adventures for
that night were all-sufficient.
So, in the end, I reached The Havering without mishap, and there, tired
out in body and in mind, I sought my bed, and slept like any dog.
*CHAPTER XVII*
*Tells how I had Speech of Ferguson*
Sound sleep works wonders on a healthy body, and so the morning found me
mightily refreshed; nor did it trouble me to think that three dead men
lay out upon the eastern shore. I had not sought the quarrel, but had
only fought for life and liberty; therefore I felt no guiltiness, and
let the matter rest: and, truly, there was quite enough to occupy my
thoughts in other ways.
I will not dwell upon the saddened doings of that day. Ere noon we laid
my father in his grave, high up above the sea--fit resting-place for one
who had been born and bred in hearing of its solemn music, and who had
ever loved it dearly.
Few people (scarce a dozen) gathered round us in the churchyard; nor was
I sorry, for at such times a crowd of staring eyes is little to my
liking. A week before it had been vastly different; scores would then
have flocked to see the last of him who had been known by everyone. But
now the town was rife with rank rebellion. Its people had gone mad with
frenzied hopes as vain and empty as a shadow, but which, alas! within a
few short weeks were turned into a scourge of death too horrible to
contemplate. Yes, verily, Lyme Regis had gone daft in Monmouth's cause.
The turmoil of it reached us like a sound of mockery in which we had no
part; and, gazing down into the silent grave, I felt that it was well
indeed with him who lay therein. And so we left him there, in peace,
beside my mother.
That sad business done, the hours dragged by in dreary fashion, for at
such times the mourners lag behind to mope and weep, as though 'twere
sinful to be brave and cheerful, as though, in fact, there were no hope
beyond the tomb. The only time I caught a change--a glint of
hopefulness upon their dolorous faces--was at the reading of the will;
and even that soon passed, for everything was left to me.
But all things, whether good or evil, have an end, and ere sunset I had
waved a glad good-bye unto the last of those my doleful guests, and so
was free to dwell in silence on my future plans. And truly there was
plenty to be done, and little time in which to do it; for I had resolved
to ride forth with the dawn to Exeter, where lay the Royalist army,
commanded by the Duke of Albemarle.
I had come suddenly to this decision after that affair upon the shore,
though not from any great love of the King's cause; rather had I reached
it on account of what, to me, at any rate, seemed three good reasons.
First, having once drawn my sword I felt that I must either go on
fighting or go daft; secondly, I could no more fight for Monmouth,
knowing what I did, than for the Evil One himself; and thirdly, I had a
growing hope that I might meet both Ferguson and Tubal Ammon on the
battlefield. Truly, I might kill the former while he yet stalked
bare-faced in our midst; but that would mean sure death, and life had
still some sweetness left for me. As for Ammon, well, it was far from
likely that he would show himself in Lyme again. And even if he did,
and we were favoured with a meeting, my killing of him would, I felt
assured, be just as fatal to me as the slaying of his wicked master.
Thus you will see that I had no desire to draw my sword against my
wretched and misguided fellow-countrymen; but to compass the destruction
of the two arch-villains who, by their abominable machinations, had thus
turned my life into a barren wilderness. 'Twas not a very clear or
hopeful plan, I own, but still it was the best that I could frame; and
at any rate, it would afford me plenteous room for vigorous action--the
thing I needed most of all just then.
Meanwhile, as I have said before, there was a great deal to be done, and
very little time in which to do it. First of all I called up Anne, the
housekeeper, and Tom, the groom, into the study, and swiftly told them
that I was going to leave them for a space, and that The Havering would
be in their sole charge till my return. They were amazed, but seeing
how firm-set and sharp I was about the business, they swore fidelity and
asked no questions. That done, I locked up my father's papers, together
with the broken Black Box, in our iron-bound deed-chest, and then
bethought me to pay a final visit to the town; partly to learn the
latest news concerning Monmouth, and partly (let me freely own it) that
I might say farewell to Miriam at the "George". In doing this I ran
some risk, but what were risks to one who had already fought, and killed
three men?
Thus, when the dusk began to fall, I walked down into Lyme, as bold as
brass. My mission to the "George" proved unavailing, for Miriam was not
in; and though her father was I did not tarry. He had strong views upon
the Monmouth rising (as indeed he had on everything), and would fain
have set them out before me at great length, but time was far too
precious. So, leaving messages for Miriam, I betook me to the Market
Place, and found it full of soldiery and gaping townsfolk.
News had come in that the Dorset militia had marched into Bridport (a
town some eight miles east of Lyme), and after hasty counsel with his
generals, Monmouth had decided to attack them. As near as I could judge
the force drawn up within the market square consisted of about five
hundred foot, including fifty musketeers, together with some fourscore
or so of horsemen. They were commanded by Lord Grey, and for the most
part were trained soldiers who had seen hard fighting in the past.
The bright blue banner floated bravely in the wind, and beneath it sat
the Duke on horseback. Just as I arrived upon the scene, he raised his
hand; the crowd was hushed to sudden silence; and then, in a few clear,
ringing words, he wished his little army God-speed, victory, and a safe
return. At that a great shout rent the air; kerchiefs and hats were
waved aloft, while on all sides the cry uprose:
"Monmouth! Our Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant religion!"
It was, indeed, a stirring scene, and as I think upon it now, and see
again the Duke, all gracious smiles and bows, deep sadness holds me that
the consummation of such zeal and great devotion should have been the
hangman's rope--the headsman's axe!
But at the time I had small thought for anything save him who stood a
few yards from the Duke, waving his hat, and shouting till his
red-blotched face seemed like to burst into a ravening fire. Yes,
Ferguson, the plotter, led the loud hosannas with a will; his voice rang
high above the rest; and when the cries began to lull 'twas he who
started fresh ones. I watched him for a moment, then, scarce knowing
why, pressed through the crowd until I stood beside him. Turning my way,
he saw me, ceased shouting, put on his hat, and drawing his cloak about
him, moved away. Following, I plucked him by the sleeve, and, with a
mocking smile, said:
"Good evening to you, Master Ferguson! That plot of yours last night
proved somewhat of a failure, did it not?"
The face he turned upon me at those words was such as I shall ne'er
forget; if looks could kill a man, I had most surely been dead then, as,
with one fierce, hateful glance, and dog-like baring of the teeth, he
turned his back upon me. But for all that I had not done with him.
Following, I caught him by the sleeve again, and said:
"Stay, one moment, reverend sir, I pray you! Listen, I have at home a
sweet memorial of your godliness; to wit, a small black box. And you
hold that which lay therein; use such power against me as you will--I
care not; but be assured of this, that you and I will meet again, and
that I will have vengeance on those black-souled, murderous villains,
Tubal Ammon and Elijah Annabat."
He started at that latter name, and so, with one long meaning stare I
strode away, and took my stand right opposite the Duke.
From thence I saw friend Ferguson speak hurriedly to four rough,
evil-looking men, the while he pointed at me; I saw them nod and rub
their chins; I saw them move away. Then someone touched me on the
shoulder and a voice said in my ear:
"Fool! Why run this risk? Was not last night enough?"
Turning, I found Dan Foe behind me.
"Ah, you!" said I. "What now?"
"What now!" he echoed sharply. "Why, this. I have seen everything, and
they will surely have you by the heels unless you run for it at once."
There seemed to be some truth in that, and I was more than half inclined
to act upon his seasonable warning, when a horseman clattered up behind
us and forced his way into the crowd, crying:
"Make way! Make way!"
'Twas Fletcher of Saltoun, and the steed he rode was such as made one
break the tenth commandment. Indeed, I never saw a finer horse.
The crowd fell back on either side to let him pass, and he was making
straight towards the standard, when Old Dare of Taunton stepped out
suddenly and seized the bridle.
"How now!" said he. "How came you by that horse?"
[Illustration: "HOW NOW! HOW CAME YOU BY THAT HORSE?"]
"I took it from its stable at the 'George'," replied the other.
"Then know that it is mine, and take it back," rejoined Old Dare with
heat.
"Nay, friend," said Fletcher calmly, "you err most grievously; for are
not all things common to the Cause? Let go her head, I pray you."
"Nay, but I will not," rejoined the old man stoutly. "No legs save mine
have stridden her, nor shall they."
"Ah! there you surely err again," laughed Fletcher, "for are not mine
astride her at this very moment?"
That angered Dare beyond endurance; putting forth all his strength he
strove to turn the horse, while Fletcher, using rein and bridle, urged
it forward. At this Old Dare went clean beside himself with rage; let
go a string of oaths and curses terrible to hear; and, when the other
mocked him, drew a riding-switch from out his boot and struck him full
across the face. 'Twas a cruel, maddening blow, and, in an instant,
Fletcher snatched a pistol from his saddle-bow and shot the old man
dead.
A moment's gasping silence was followed by a ravening roar of voices,
and verily the people would have torn young Fletcher limb from limb (for
Dare was much beloved by Western folk) had not the Duke of Monmouth
ridden up and saved his life by ordering him aboard the frigate as a
prisoner. I did not wait to see the end of it, but, taking advantage of
the turmoil, broke out from the crowd and made all speed for home.
There I fell to making final preparations for the morrow, and midnight
struck before I was abed. Soon after three I was astir again, and ere
four was riding on my way to Exeter. The past few days had brought me
many strange and perilous adventures; but these were as nothing when
compared with those which lay before me in the unknown future. Should
you doubt that statement, you have but to follow me to prove its truth.
*CHAPTER XVIII*
*A Timely Warning*
As I rode along amid the old familiar scenes that bright June morning,
with the gladsome singing of the birds for company, my thoughts were
strange indeed. It seemed as though I had set foot upon the threshold
of another life, and that the past--so near and yet so far--had been for
ever buried in the grave which held my father. Those days--those happy
days--were now as nothing but a darkened memory.
Less than a week before I had been riding on this selfsame road, as
blithe and free from care as yonder soaring lark, and now----!
Pulling up, I turned a wistful gaze upon the sunlit sea. The ancient,
wave-worn Cobb--strong and immovable in spite of kings and
factions--stretched forth its long, curved, weather-beaten arm into the
glittering water, as though it would fain gather in to safety those who
dared the perils of the deep. Beyond it, straining at their anchors,
lay the three ill-fated ships which henceforth would be part of one
appalling tale of blood and failure.
A bright blue ensign fluttered gaily from the frigate, whose deck young
Fletcher of Saltoun--a few hours back the hope of Monmouth's side--now
trod a sorry prisoner, doomed to exile; his talents, hopes, and zeal all
scattered to the wind by one mad act of rage.
This brought into my mind Old Dare of Taunton, lying dead there in the
town--slain, to no purpose, in a brawl which boys might well have jeered
at. Then, as other thoughts of death more ugly and disquieting arose, I
moved on slowly--a prey to gloomy memories.
But, after all, I communed with myself, what mattered it? The past was
gone; the future, rich in unknown adventures--wherein I had a certain
mission--lay like a winding lane before me; while for the rest of
it--that is, the present--I was well armed, had a good horse beneath me,
lacked not money, and was sound in mind and body. What more was needed?
Nothing! Let danger dog my heels at every step--I cared not anything,
so long as in the end I might meet Ferguson and Ammon face to face and
sword to sword.
Stooping, I patted Kitty's neck, and she, who knew my every mood and
touch, broke out into a joyous canter, and away we flew along the
springing turf which fringed the road. 'Twas all so like old times to
be thus rushing through the cool, refreshing air, that for the moment
everything seemed banished from my mind.
We had gone thus a mile or so, and I was vaguely thinking that, in spite
of all, 'twas fine to be alive, when suddenly the sound of other
horse-feet at a gallop reached me from behind. Someone was following us
in furious haste, and by his speed he rode upon no common errand.
Remembering what peril I had already gone through, and how little loved
I was by certain folk in Lyme, I pulled my mare in, and drawing up
behind a thorn bush, sat there listening, the while I peeped forth
cautiously in the direction of the thundering hoofs.
Soon round a distant bending of the road a steel-clad horseman shot to
view, a very Jehu of a fellow, riding furiously.
Who could it be that thus betimes wore out good horse-flesh, and what
might be the nature of his breakneck business? A Monmouth man, perhaps!
I knew not--but, as things stood, it seemed to me to be prepared for
anything was everything. Therefore I drew a pistol from my saddle, and,
having cocked it, sat there ready to be friend or foe.
On, with loose reins and head bent low, the horseman rushed towards us,
and judging by his speed would certainly have passed me by unnoticed;
but just as he came close, Kitty must needs prick up her ears and give a
loud, shrill neigh. At that the rider pulled his lathered steed up with
a suddenness that wellnigh shot him from the saddle, and there,
red-faced, open-mouthed and panting, sat John Coram, staring at me like
a man bedaft.
"Th--h--ank H--ea--ven!" he gasped.
"Yes, truly, for you might have broke your neck by pulling up thus
sharply," I replied, and could not keep from smiling.
"Nay--friend--'tis naught--to--jest upon," quoth he severely.
"Faith!--but--I--I fairly boil within."
"Then pause and rest awhile," said I.
"I must," quoth he.
Unbuckling his head-piece he hung it on his arm, and verily his breath
roared from him like a blacksmith's forge. Thus bared, and with the
sunlight shining on his great bald pate, he looked so fat and
peaceful--so unwarlike--that I was sorely put to it to save myself from
laughing.
"Friend," said he at last, "I count the whinnying of that mare of thine
a mercy; but for it I might well have passed thee by."
"True," I agreed; "but, say, what brings you after me in such a headlong
fashion?"
John Coram fastened on his head-piece with all the care of some old dame
a-tying on her cap, looked up and down the lane, then drawing closer,
said:
"Because thou art in peril, friend."
"Ah! and from whom?" I asked, stroking my mare's neck carelessly, for
indeed I had got used to peril.
Again John Coram glanced about him, this time taking in the trees as
well, as though they might hold danger; then he drew still closer, and,
in a low voice, answered:
"Israel Stark!"
At that I started somewhat, for, as you are aware, he named no ordinary
open foe, but rather one who lurked in secret places privily to murder.
Therefore I paused a moment, looking hard into the steel-framed face
before me ere I murmured:
"Ah! so Tubal Ammon is abroad, eh?"
"Yea, and that somewhere on this very road," replied John Coram in a
fearful whisper.
'Twas now my turn to glance around and scan the trees, especially a
thick-leaved oak just opposite.
"How know you this?" I asked at last.
"Why, in this fashion," answered Coram. "As I stood on guard last night
a mile or so from here, I heard sly, slinking footsteps coming from the
shadow of a wood. 'Who goes there?' I cried, and someone gave the
password of the night."
"Zion!" I put in with a smile, remembering how well the word had served
me also. John Coram started.
"Yea, verily," said he; "but--but how came you by it?"
"Why, man," I laughed, "you gave it me last evening at the 'George'!"
"Now, by my life," he muttered, "I have a dim remembrance that 'twas so,
though verily my pate was somewhat addled with--Hum! where was I? Ah! as
I was saying, that fellow gave the word and so I let him pass. Off he
went, a long-cloaked thing of black, into the darkness. But when he was
some half-score yards beyond me he turned his face, the moonlight caught
it, and I knew it instantly for Israel Stark's."
"Ah! and what did you then?" I put in eagerly.
"Did!" echoed Coram, spreading out his hands. "Friend, I did naught, and
shame on me for it. So struck was I that I could neither draw a pistol
nor pursue. I stood as stiff as any post, and watched the varlet fly.
And fly he did; for, look you, he had known me also by that glance, and
so sped off into the darkness like some spirit. The Evil One himself
could not have vanished swifter. Heavens, friend! it makes me go quite
chilly just to think on't!"
"'Twas a fine chance lost," I murmured ruefully; then, as another view
of it came into mind, I added: "and yet it gives me cause for gratitude,
for had you killed him you had robbed me of a pleasure."
But Coram shook his head.
"Ah, but all danger had been ended then," said he.
"How long was this ago?" I asked.
"About two hours; 'twas just before the dawn."
I paused a moment. Had Ammon once again been spying on me, and thus got
wind of my intentions?
"Art certain that he came this way?" I asked.
"Aye, verily, I am. Would that I were not, for who knows where so sly a
villain may be hiding, ready to work mischief on thee?"
Here we both glanced uneasily around. Truly this had a far from
pleasing look. The lane was narrow, and bordered thick with trees and
bushes--Thrusting such ugly thoughts aside, I asked another question:
"But how came you to know my whereabouts?"
"Why, in this wise: no sooner was I free than I went unto your house,
The Havering, in order to report this matter. There I found that you
had ridden forth for Exeter. So borrowed I a horse and rode amain."
"Thou art a right good friend, John Coram, and have well earned what I
promised thee."