MY MEETING WITH AN OLD FOE
FOR over an hour a continuous stream of men in soiled buff coats
passed in more or less military precision. Their arms, save those of
the officers, had been piled or stacked, their colours handed over,
and their cannons, most of which they themselves had spiked, were
already parked and placed under a strong guard.
In many instances the men were still suffering from wounds, bandaged
heads and limbs in slings being numerous.
The completeness of the surrender was, however, marred by the fact
that on the previous night the rebel Earl of Essex had escaped from
the town and taken boat to Fowey, whence, we afterwards learnt, a
brig had conveyed him to Plymouth.
Nor was the renegade Chaloner to be found amongst the prisoners, much
to the Royal commander's disappointment; whether he were dead or
alive no one knew. The other two rebel officers, Hobbs and Gale,
against whom serious counts were proved, had already been strung up
in front of the Shire Hall.
Sixty of the common rank and file alone were retained, and under a
strong guard these were compelled to cleanse out the dishallowed
church and to restore it, as far as possible, to its former
condition.
Directly the surrender was completed, the troops were dismissed,
precautions being taken against a surprise, though 'twas evident that
the rebellion in this part of Cornwall had been stamped out.
As soon as we were at liberty Colonel Firestone and I turned our
horses over to the care of a camp follower, and made our way to the
place where the rebels' arms had been given up, for I was anxious to
regain my sword, while my companion was equally solicitous on behalf
of his own weapons.
As we passed by the Shire Hall, before which the bodies of the two
rebel officers still swung to the gaze of a curious throng of
soldiers and townsfolk, we saw the crowd being parted by a body of
armed men, who had great difficulty in preventing the infuriated
townspeople from tearing a prisoner from their midst, while shouts
and threats filled the air.
Planting ourselves firmly in the midst of the crowd, so that the
armed guard would pass within a few feet of us, we jostled with the
surging mass, till at length we could see the features of the
prisoner.
Instinctively an exclamation of surprise burst from my lips. Stripped
of coat and doublet, his face cut and bruised and stained with dried
blood and dirt, was--not Chaloner, but the so-called Southampton
"merchant," the charlatan Cutler!
Half dead with fear, his legs hardly able to support his trembling
body, the wretched man was urged onwards by his guards, as, with his
hands pressed to his ears as if to shut out the threats and
execrations of the crowd, he was marched towards the provost's
quarters.
"What has he done?" I asked, laying a detaining hand on the shoulder
of a dragoon who, carrying the trickster's torn coat, was following
the guards.
"Done?" he replied. "Dost know the villain?"
"I know that he has done us more than once," I replied grimly.
"I trove he'll do you no more, for he'll dance at the end of a rope
within the hour," said the soldier, preparing to move on. "For he has
been caught in the act of robbing the dead."
"Then we've seen the last of Master Cutler," remarked my companion as
we resumed our way. "At least, unless we see his body gracing a
gallows."
Upon arriving at the ground where the arms of the surrendered army
had been deposited, we were somewhat dismayed at the magnitude of our
task; but upon our applying to the camp marshal for permission to try
and recover our weapons, that officer was able to inform us of the
probable place where Chaloner's dragoons had stacked their arms.
Muskets had been piled in a military manner, but stands of pikes,
swords, pistols, breastplates, morions, Swedish feathers, and other
arms of offence and defence lay heaped in indescribable disorder.
For over an hour we searched without success, till I suggested that
we might question some of the prisoners who had been retained to
clean out the church, and, my comrade falling in with the idea, we
returned to the scene of our recent adventures.
After a short conversation with the captain of the guard, an officer
of Hopton's troop, with whom Firestone was acquainted, we entered the
building.
"There's our man," exclaimed the colonel, pointing to the sergeant of
dragoons who had so brutally used us on the day of our capture by
Chaloner.
"Come hither, sirrah," said Firestone, and the man, now thoroughly
frightened, obeyed.
"What did you do with our arms when your men mishandled us?"
"I know not," stammered the man.
"Think again," continued my companion, "or we must needs refresh your
failing memory."
"I know not," repeated the sergeant.
"Two rebels even now dance at the end of a rope outside the Shire
Hall," remarked Firestone in a dry, casual sort of voice. "They
murdered their prisoners and burnt the houses of loyal Cornishmen;
methinks I know of a third who ill-treated men having the misfortune
to fall into his hands."
"I did but carry out mine orders," replied the dragoon.
"Brutality is not necessary to the obedience of orders," snapped
Firestone. "Come, now, say where our arms were placed, or the provost
will have speech with you, with the great possibility of the gallows
to finish up with. Now, sirrah, what say you?"
"They were sold at Liskeard."
"To whom?"
"To the host of the 'Stag.'"
"For how much?"
"A barrel of cider."
"You rascal!" shouted Firestone, shaking his fist in the man's face.
"You rascal! To sell the arms of two loyal gentlemen for a barrel of
cider. Get back to your work, you prick-eared rebel, lest I forget
myself."
And, wild with rage, my comrade stalked out of the building.
For my part my indignation was almost as great, and I resolved at the
earliest opportunity to regain possession of my sword, the gift of
the armourer of Newport. However, as the countryside was overrun with
the remnants of the surrendered army, it was deemed wise to defer the
journey for a few days at least.
One morning, however, I was seized with a sudden impulse to ride
alone over to Liskeard, a distance of twelve miles, and to offer a
reasonable sum to the innkeeper for the weapons, or, failing to
obtain them in this manner, to threaten him with a visit from our men
for illegal trafficking with rebels; and, having executed my mission,
the result would be a pleasant surprise to Nick Firestone.
It was after midday ere I obtained the necessary permission from the
provost to leave the camp, and, having made an excuse to my comrade,
I saddled my horse and rode off.
This animal was not the one I had ridden from home, neither was it
the passable nag that I had had given me on joining Hopton's camp,
but a powerful black charger which I bought immediately after the
surrender of the rebel army, and was, in consequence, ignorant of its
temper.
In under two hours I arrived at Liskeard, where I found the host of
the "Stag" most amenable to my request, and, protesting that he had
been compelled to take my sword and a brace of pistols belonging to
Firestone in payment for the cider, he handed them over in
consideration of the sum of a crown--a far less amount than I had
expected to have had to pay.
Delighted with the success of my mission, I had refreshment, and
afterwards set out on my journey back to the camp. But I had barely
covered half the distance when my horse began to show symptoms of
restlessness, and before I was fully aware of the fact, it suddenly
plunged, bounded forward, and, regardless of my effort to retain it,
tore headlong over the dusty road.
Thinking it would soon tire itself out, and consoling myself that I
was still going in the direction of the camp, I let the creature have
a loose rein, till at length it suddenly turned, cleared a low stone
wall with a bound, and headed across a field.
Now I sought to rein in the frantic animal, but in vain. Across
country it tore, till it reached a wild tract of open country two
miles from the highway, and, sinking to its knees in a marsh, I was
able to leap from the saddle.
Tugging at the exhausted creature's reins, I succeeded in extricating
it from the bog-land; then, loth to take further risk, I walked it in
the direction from which I had come.
At length I espied a stone hut, or hovel, from which a thin column of
smoke was rising. In the excitement of my wild ride I had failed to
notice it before. As I drew nearer I saw that at one time it must
have been an ancient British cromlech, a massive slab of granite
resting upon two uprights. A rough wall of stone had converted the
cromlech into a rude dwelling, and here apparently human beings
existed. Door there was none, a gap in the wall serving that purpose.
The soft, springy turf deadened the sound of my approach, and,
gaining the entrance, I stooped down and peered within, having tied
up my horse to a thorn bush, and taken the precaution of holding one
of my pistols in my hand.
In front of the fire a hare was roasting on a rough spit, while the
smoke and the sudden change from the glare of the sunlight made it
impossible to distinguish things clearly. Lying on the ground was a
man. He was fast asleep, and even my voice failed to rouse him. The
floor of this singular dwelling had been excavated to a depth of
about two feet below the surface of the ground outside, so that there
was a height of nearly seven feet between the floor and the roof of
solid rock.
I stepped within and stirred the sleeper with my foot.
With a sudden start he awoke and jumped to his feet. It was Captain
Chaloner!
It was Captain Chaloner, in spite of his scared face, unkempt hair
and beard, his torn and travel-stained clothes. Doubtless he thought
that a troop of horse stood without.
"Yield yourself, Captain Chaloner," I exclaimed, holding up my cocked
pistol.
"I yield," he replied, without hesitation, somewhat to my
discomfiture, for I knew not where I was, neither did he know that I
was alone, so what was I to do with my prisoner?
"Make ready to go," I continued, "for we must needs journey to
Lostwithiel."
"Promise me that your men will not harm me," he said imploringly,
whereat I unthinkingly informed him that there was no one without.
"Then on what authority do you arrest me?" he exclaimed, with a
sudden change of tone.
"The authority of right and might," I replied, showing him the pistol
once more. "You must needs walk five paces ahead of me, and at the
first sign of escape I shoot you down."
"What must needs be," he rejoined. "But, Master Markham, consider a
moment. I am of opinion that the matter of Ashley Castle being
bestowed upon me is the cause of your hatred towards me, though I
swear it was not through my asking."
"You are right, though I'll not believe you did not ask it to be
conferred upon you."
"Then why seek my life?"
"I do not seek your life, although by doing my duty I have little
doubt but that you'll be hanged for your treachery. Had I not struck
up the barrel of a musket, you would certainly have been shot down
from the tower of Lostwithiel Church when you tried your utmost to
burn or blow us up."
"Good lad! Good lad!" sneered Chaloner. "I thank you for the
service."
"And now make ready," I continued, ignoring his insolent manner. "For
'tis late in the afternoon, and we must needs be in camp ere sunset."
"Since you are alone, Master Markham, can you not forego the honour
of taking me into the Royalist camp? Consider, sixteen good miles of
rough road, darkness long before we arrive there, and the chance of
meeting some of my men. For, look you, I am not alone. Furthermore,
if you let me go free, I'll promise, on my word of honour----"
"Your word of honour!" I repeated scornfully.
"Ay, I'll swear it, if you will, that I'll hand over the deed of
settlement of Ashley Castle, and take ship overseas till the war be
at an end. I mean what I say," he continued as I shook my head at his
base proposal. "See, I have the document here."
Stooping down, he lifted up a pile of clothing that lay on the floor.
There was a sudden flash, a loud report, and I reeled backwards with
a sharp pain like a hot iron searing through my shoulder.
I had a dim recollection of firing my pistol straight at him as he
still remained huddled on the floor, and seeing him half spring to
his feet, only to fall forward with convulsive struggles. Then, with
a red mist swimming before my eyes, I staggered to where my horse was
tethered, clambered into the saddle, and gave spur.
After a while my senses became clearer. My left arm was paining me,
while a dark stain flooded the shoulder and front of my doublet. My
horse had settled down to a trot, though whither 'twas bearing me I
knew not nor Hardly cared. I had some consolation in the thought that
I was being borne somewhere, and, providing I could keep my saddle,
all would be well at the next village or homestead I came to.
The sun was close on the time of setting, and by the fact that its
ruddy glare came from the direction slightly behind my right
shoulder, I knew we were heading southwards.
As my senses returned the pain of my wound increased, the incessant
jolting causing the blood to flow freely. I could not help wondering
what might have been my fate had I fallen from the saddle during the
period of unconsciousness, for my feet were firmly wedged in the
stirrups, and, if unable to disengage them, I would have been a
shapeless mass of shattered pulp. I had seen a similar thing at
Edgehill, and knew full well what it meant.
At length the horse gained the summit of a lofty hill, and before me
stretched the seemingly boundless expanse of the English Channel, a
gentle declivity of about half a mile separating me from the water,
though on either hand a spur of the hill in what must be a pair of
rugged headlands.
Suddenly the horse was seized with the same unseen terror that had
caused it to bolt on the highway. It reared almost on its haunches,
and only by keeping a tight grip on its mane with my sound arm was I
able to retain my seat. Then, with its freshly-found wind, the
startled animal bounded forward.
"'Tis time to cry halt," I exclaimed to myself, and, putting all the
strength of my unwounded limb into the pull, I strove to rein in the
animal, as I saw that what I took to be a gentle slope actually
terminated in a cliff, though considerably lower than the adjacent
portions of the coast.
My efforts, as before, were useless, and only tended to increase the
horse's pace and fury. Several times I tried to turn its head, but in
spite of this the animal kept straight for the sea.
Not a moment was to be lost. I determined to shoot the brute and risk
a headlong fall on the soft turf. Forgetting my wound for the moment,
I took the reins in my left hand. Then, drawing my remaining pistol
from its holster, I snapped it at the horse's forehead but, to my
dismay, there was no report.
The weapon had missed fire.
At that moment I realised that there were persons riding to my aid.
At least a score of horsemen were galloping furiously down the spur
on my right, with the evident intention of intercepting my runaway
steed and diverting its flight. Some of them had carbines, and made
ready to fire, though I had misgivings as to their marksmanship. But
the efforts of the horsemen were in vain; my horse thundered past the
leader at more than twenty paces, and, defying pursuit, continued its
mad flight.
Throwing away the useless pistol, I drew my sword, determined to slay
the animal before it carried me to destruction; but before I could
shorten the blade for a stroke we had gained the edge of the cliff.
The horse gave a neigh, whether of triumph or of terror I knew not,
and with undiminished speed shot into space. In a few brief seconds I
must have turned completely round; I saw the red sheer face of the
cliff appear to shoot upwards, the air whistled past my head, and
with a heavy splash my horse and I struck the surface of the water
simultaneously.
Then everything became a blank.