IN THE LION’S MOUTH.
It was impossible for Tregenna to see the face of the man who had
seized him by the leg; for his own body was thrust through the hole
between the boards which filled up the great east window.
He kicked out, however, with all his might; and after a silent struggle
of a few moments’ duration, he managed to get rid of his assailant: and
the next minute he heard him drop with a thud to the ground.
Tregenna saw on the left the smoldering torch of one of the men who
had been at work inside the barn: he dared not, therefore, get down
and cross the farmyard. Having withdrawn his shoulders from the hold
in which he had wedged himself, he saw that the roof of the nearest
outhouse was only some four feet away. He contrived, by a risky
spring, to reach the thatch; and then it was easy to cross by the
roofs of the outhouses to an open window of the farmhouse, through
which he peeped.
It was dark outside, with the rain-clouds and the falling drizzle;
it was pitch dark within, so that he could not even tell whether the
window opened from a room or a passage. He listened; but at first there
was nothing to be heard but the wind among the tree-tops on the hill
above, and the sound of the tread of footsteps in the soft straw of the
farmyard.
Presently there was a stifled laugh, a murmur of rough voices, and then
the tramp of horses’ hoofs coming nearer and nearer along the road.
Then there was a low whistle, which was answered by a voice close to
where he stood under the window.
The men from the barn had gone out to meet their comrades returning
from the raid.
On an instant the place seemed to be alive with unseen creatures,
whispering, laughing, singing softly. Sheltered from observation from
below, for the present at least, Tregenna crouched down in the thatch,
and wondered how long he would be safe from his late assailant.
The next moment he saw a head appear above the eaves of one of the
outhouses.
There was only one thing to be done, and he did it. Springing erect,
he clutched at the sill of the open window, drew himself up to it, got
inside, and closed it fast. Just as he secured the latch he saw, dimly
indeed, but unmistakably, the figure of a rough-looking countryman on
the roof outside. The closed window, however, baffled the fellow, for
he went on crawling about over the thatch without any suspicion of the
way by which his prey had escaped him.
Tregenna fancied, as he watched from behind the security of the
latticed window, that he recognized in the fellow a rough-looking lad
whom he had seen at work in the Parsonage garden.
The question now was, having got safely into the house, to get safely
out again.
He groped about him, found the opposite wall at a distance of some five
or six feet, and soon discovered that he was in a corridor, running
along the back wall of the house. Following it, he came to a corner,
where the corridor, now cutting through the house to the front, with
rooms on each side, led to a wide staircase with a handsome carved oak
railing.
Here, however, he came to a standstill, not daring to go down. For the
hall below led straight into the farmhouse kitchen, and there was no
door.
Tregenna caught sight of a couple of men who were busy rolling
spirit-kegs into a corner of the great room; and he was prone on the
floor on the instant, watching and listening. But though he heard
plenty of noise, the entrance of the smugglers fresh from the raid, the
greetings of their comrades from the Gray Barn, the rolling of barrels
across the rough tiled floor, he saw no more. The outer door was out
of his sight, and so was the fireplace; and it was between door and
fireplace that the movement of the company lay.
When he became sure of this fact, he stole softly down the staircase,
which was entirely unlighted, and concealed himself behind the bend
in the massive oak railing at the bottom. By this time the noise of
tongues, of tramping feet, of the bringing in of heavy wares, had
become so loud that he was not afraid of his footsteps on the bare
boards being heard.
As he stepped down upon the stone flags of the hall, the wavering light
from the flaring torches in the kitchen fell upon what was now the
front-door of the house; he took a step towards it, thinking that he
might escape by this way. But it was fastened by a heavy padlock, so
that egress in this direction was impossible.
There was nothing to be done but to remain in concealment, and to hope
for a chance of escape when the occupants of the house should have
dispersed and gone to rest.
For the present he was safe; and although he dared not advance far
enough to see what was going on, his ears kept him pretty well informed
of the course affairs were taking.
In the first place, he recognized among the newcomers three voices:
those of Ben the Blast, of Long Jack, and of Ann Price, who, as he
judged by the words she uttered and those addressed to her, must have
been herself with the raiders that night. They were jubilant over the
skill with which they had evaded the king’s men, who, it seemed, had
not had a chance of coming up with them.
“’Twas all owing to the luck of the capt’n’s being away!” said Ann’s
voice, in a decisive tone. “That fellow’s the hardest nut we have to
crack. The soldiers don’t count!” she added contemptuously.
“Ay, but the question is, where was the capt’n, damn ’un!” retorted Ben
the Blast, ferociously. “If so be you say you invited him hither, maybe
he’s on’s way now, and that’s how we missed ’un. Hey, Robin, have you
seen any strangers about?”
Robin answered first with a characteristic curse.
“If so be as I had seen him,” said he savagely, “there’d be naught for
to trouble your head about him no more!”
“Maybe, he’s gone up to the Parsonage!” suggested Tom, who had entered
the kitchen from the porch during Ben’s speech. “Folk’s say he allus
has an eye to the Parsonage when he goes by, spying to see if Mistress
Joan’s about.”
“He’ll get no good by doing that!” cried Ann, sharply. “Miss Joan’ll
never tell aught to harm us, for my mother’s sake; ’twas she came
herself to tell us, t’other day, that the red-coats were on their way
hither.”
“Ay,” said Tom, “but ’tis not for information ’gainst us the lieutenant
hangs about the Parsonage. ’Tis for Miss Joan’s bright eyes, I’m
thinking.”
“Pshaw!” said Ann, contemptuously.
“She’s a handsome, winsome lady,” went on Tom, “and all the gentlemen
be raving mad about her shape and her fine eyes. So ’tis no such wonder
if he’s struck, too.”
“Miss Joan’s well enough,” returned Ann, though in a rather grudging
tone; “but I think the lieutenant’s got something better to do than
run after a lass just now. Leastways, if he hasn’t, we can find him
something!” she added with acerbity.
“Ho, ho, ho! That can we!” roared Ben the Blast, laughing lustily.
In the midst of his mirth, in which the other men joined, there was an
interruption. Some one ran in panting, and apparently in sufficient
disorder to warrant a feeling of alarm among the rest.
“Well, how now, Bill? What has frighted thee?” said Robin Cursemother;
and his companions added their questions to the panting newcomer.
At last, when there was a pause, he blurted out—
“There’s spies about, mates; there’s eyes been a-watching us while we
was at our work in the barn to-night!” Instantly there was a confusion
of tongues, so great that for a few moments he was allowed to get
breath, while his companions pressed round him, with oaths and abrupt
questionings. When he was able to go on, he said, “’Twas a lad from the
village yonder as told me, young Will Bramley, that lives down by the
mash’es, and works up at Parsonage.”
“Well!”
“Well, Oi caught ’un as he were a getting off the roof of the little
shippen, and he got away, runnin’ as hard as he could towards the
village yonder. But Oi come oop with him, and Oi says, says Oi, ‘What
be tha doing of?’ says Oi. ‘Tha’ve been spying,’ says Oi. Then says he:
‘’Tain’t Oi as have been spying, Bill Plunder,’ says he. And he told as
how ’twere Miss Joan Langney as had sent him for to see if there was
spies about the barn, and as how he’d caught hold of a man’s leg that
was a looking through the slit in the big barn winder to-night.”
As Bill Plunder uttered these words, a storm of curses and oaths burst
from the listening smugglers. There was a movement, a stamping of feet,
a rattling of weapons. And Tregenna, brave man though he was, felt the
blood run cold in his veins, as he thought of the fate which would be
his if he should fall into their hands that night.
“’Twas the lieutenant, for sure! Curses on him!” cried Ben the Blast,
bringing his heavy heel down sharply on the tiled floor as he spoke.
“And whither did he go? Answer that! Whither, I say, whither?”
“That the lad didn’t know no more’n you do. He said as how he caught
hold of the leg of the fellow that was spying, and as how he was flung
off and down to the ground. And as how he looked and looked, and
searched and hunted, but couldn’t get not so much as a sight of him no
more. And as how he dursn’t call to any of us, for fear as he should be
caught for a spy hisself. That’s the lad’s tale, and Oi believe it’s
the truth, for ’od’s fish, Oi made him tremble in’s shoes.”
“Why didst not bring him hither?” asked Robin, shortly. “We’d have
knocked the truth out of’s maw, I’ll warrant! Which way did he go,
blockhead?”
“’Tis no matter for the boy!” cried Ben, in a voice of thunder. “’Tis
for the man we must be looking! Do you, mates, search the yard and the
shippens, while Ann and me’ll do the bit of road, and the bushes in
front yonder!”
“He’ll be gotten clear away by this,” grumbled Gardener Tom.
“Not he. ’Tis for spying he’s come, and he’d not go back so soon,
and with all of us about, too. Nay, he’ll be on the premises still,
somewheres, and, odds my life, we’ll make short work of him when we
find him. We’ll tie him on the brown mare, and whip him till he swoons,
and then we’ll put his body down the Monks’ Well that lies t’other side
of the hill yonder.”
Then the shrill, thin whining voice of Long Jack broke in upon the
thunder of the others. Almost sobbing, and speaking in accents of real
terror, he said, thickly, and with uncertain intonation—
“How now, mates, how now? Best leave well alone. Besht leave well
alone, Oi say, and may Heaven Almoighty pardon us what we’ve done
this noight! It’s ill work is murder, and it’ll be murder if you come
against him this noight.”
Ben the Blast gave a contemptuous grunt. “Ugh!” cried he, surlily;
“drop that sniveling, Jack! Thou are loike to a wolf with a knife in
thy hand and thy blood up: but no sooner art thou cold again, than
thy tears flow as fast as thy liquor. Get thee to bed, mate, so thou
doesn’t loike the sound of our singing, nor of the tune we shall sing
to.”
But Long Jack, still sighing and moaning, got up and staggered down
the room. Tregenna, with his heart in his mouth, saw him lurch towards
the hall where he was in hiding. But Long Jack, who was unsteady on
his legs, had but taken a few steps out of his right course, Bill
Plunder ran after him, and fetched him back; and the tall, lean,
miserable-looking rascal and his small ferret-faced companion went
again out of sight together.
They all trooped out quickly, leaving, as Tregenna knew by the lull,
only Ben the Blast and Ann in the kitchen. They had taken some of the
torches with them, too; for the light had become very dim, even on the
whitewashed lower walls; while the great timbered roof overhead was now
in pitchy blackness.
There was a silence when Ben and Ann were alone together, after he
had gone to the door and slammed it. Then she began to hum softly to
herself.
“What art a-singing for?” asked Ben, gruffly.
“To keep up my spirits maybe,” returned she, saucily.
“Thou didst not need for to keep up thy spirits till latterly; they
was allus up,” said Ben. “What’s come to thee these last days? Is’t
since what happened t’other day that thou’rt so down in the mouth? Is’t
that thou wouldst like to be even with them that’s done thee so ill a
turn—eh, lass?”
“Ay, that would I,” answered Ann, savagely. “I do thirst to pay back as
good as I’ve been given. I’m none of your soft ones, as you know, Ben.”
“Odso, Oi don’t know it? It’s why Oi loike thee, Ann. Give me a lass,
says Oi, as can deal you a blow with her fist if she’s a mind, loike
as you did t’other day, when Oi did but ask for a smack of the lips.
The day yon cursed lieutenant tried to come atween us, you mind, Ann?”
“Ay, I remember,” said Ann, who, with native intelligence, spoke much
better than did any of her companions, and, indeed, nearly as well as
the country gentlefolk. “I played the poor lad a neat trick, and left
him to get back through the mud of the lanes as best he could.”
“Serve him roight, too!” retorted Ben, roughly. “Oi should be main
sorry to think you had any sneaking loiking for a king’s man, Ann; a
lass of spirit loike you!”
“I’ve no liking for anybody,” said Ann, impatiently; “but my own kin
and my own kind. Liking, indeed! What dost take me for, to speak as if
I’d aught of a feeling of kindness for the young rascal that’s done
more harm to us in a month than the rest of the king’s men have in half
a year!”
“That’s roight, lass; spoke with spirit. Spoke loike my cousin, my good
cousin, that’s to be my woife!”
“Time enough for talk of that, Ben, when we get the coast clear of the
cutter’s men and the red-coats!” said Ann, shortly. “And now, let’s to
our work; ’tis for us to search the road for this young spark. ’Tis but
a matter of form, though; for he’ll be back to his ship long ere this!”
“You think so?”
“I’m sure on’t.”
“Still, you’ll have a hunt for him?”
“Ay, and if I find him, I pray Heaven I may find him alone. I should
like to settle accounts with him—by myself—dearly, dearly!”
She spoke between her clenched teeth. And Ben laughed.
“Roight, Ann,” said he. “Oi’ll hand him over if he comes my way. ’Od’s
fish; Oi’d never wish a man worse than to come your way while you be in
that humor!”
“I always have a mind to pay my own scores myself,” said Ann,
viciously. “So do you, Ben. Take to the right, down towards the
bridge, whilst I search in the bushes in front, yonder. There’s many a
hiding-place there the fellow might have chosen, if ’tis true that he’s
still on the watch.”
“Oons, Oi’ll not thwart thee. So here’s for the bridge. Thou’lt not
give me a kiss before Oi go—eh, lass?”
“Dost think I’m in the mood for kissing?” retorted Ann, sharply.
And it was abundantly clear that she got rid of her too obtrusive
admirer with the physical violence he professed to admire so much; for
Tregenna heard a sort of scuffling going on, and then Ben’s tread and
his voice were heard no more; but the door was opened, letting in a
rush of cold air, and then slammed with great force.
Ann did not at once follow her admirer to take up her own allotted
share in the search for the spy. Tregenna heard her somewhat heavy
tread in the great kitchen, as if she were slowly pacing up and down at
the end of the room near the fireplace.
Should he disclose himself to her, to this enigmatical woman with the
calm manner and the fierce heart? Or should he wait and watch the
course of events, hoping for a chance of escape?
As he put this question to himself, he heard a door open in the
corridor above, and saw the glimmer of a rushlight reflected on the
ceiling. The old woman who had received him and the brigadier on
their previous visit to the farm had come out into the corridor and
was moving slowly towards the back of the house. In a few moments
she returned with a much quicker step, and coming to the head of the
staircase, called, in an anxious whisper—
“Ann!”
From the kitchen, at that moment, there came the sound of the flinging
down of something heavy, with a noise that echoed in the old rafters
above.
“Ann!” repeated the old woman more shrilly.
Ann’s voice had a muffled sound, as she answered, as if she were
speaking from a great distance—
“Hey, mother, is’t you?”
“Ay, lass. There’s summat wrong. I minded a while ago to have left the
passage window open, with the rain coming in. And now I find it shut,
and marks of a man’s tread on the floor here!”
Ann’s answer rang out sharp and clear—
“Right, mother. I’ll see to’t! Go you back to bed!”
The old woman lingered but for one instant, turning to the right and
to the left the iron stand which held her rushlight. Naturally the
feeble light showed her very little. The prints of muddy boots were
continued down the stairs, but she did not care to trace them out,
feeling, probably, that such investigations might safely be left to the
energetic Ann.
With a grunt and a muttered grumble she retreated into her own room,
and Tregenna heard her draw the bolt on the inner side of the door.
He heard the click of a pistol which, as he imagined, the intrepid Ann
was trying. But he felt that the moment for decisive action had come.
He would not be discovered hiding behind the staircase like a thief.
Coming out of his corner, therefore, he went into the big kitchen, to
present himself to the redoubtable Ann.
The great hall looked a weird place, with the flickering of the
log-fire and the glimmer of a dying torch for all illumination. Round
about the wide hearth were piled bales of goods and kegs of spirits,
while the table groaned under a weight of jugs and tankards, joints of
beef, and long, flat home-made loaves, generous preparation for the
smugglers’ supper.
In front of the hearth and between the two wide oak settles there was
a gaping chasm, a hole in the floor of which Tregenna was not long in
guessing the meaning. The heavy wooden lid, by day artfully concealed
by a piece of rough matting, apparently placed there for the comfort of
the old people who sat on each side, was now thrown back; and it was
by this lid that the solitary occupant of the huge apartment was now
standing.
Although he was in part prepared for the discovery, Tregenna gave a
slight start on finding himself face to face with this being.
For he saw before him not Ann Price the decent farmer’s daughter,
with her neat cap and snow-white apron, her calm face and quiet
manners; but Jem Bax, the young smuggler, with the rough shock of
shoulder-length hair, the seamen’s breeches, and high boots, the loose
shirt, open jacket, and flowing tie, with the pale set face, and fierce
devil-may-care expression.
And even now that he knew them to be one and the same person, he could
hardly be surprised that he had not guessed the truth before. For, as
there had seemed to be nothing masculine about Ann in her skirts and
cap: so now in Jem Bax, in coat and breeches, he could see no trace of
the woman.