The street was getting pretty full of people as the vicar walked sharply
back towards his house, but they were all remarkably quiet. Sim Slee
was there, but he turned off down a side lane, and there was this ugly
appearance in their mien, that those who generally had a nod and smile
for him refused now to meet the vicar's eye.
He knew it would be madness to try and persuade Sim's party against
their plans, and only so much wasted time, so he contented himself with
preparing his own, and, to his great satisfaction, found Tom Podmore and
his other ally in waiting.
As he was passing the Bull and Cucumber though, Robinson, the landlord,
made a sign to him that he wished to speak, and the vicar went up to
him.
"Ah, Robinson, how's your wife?"
"She's a very poor creature, sir. She coot her hand the other day with
a bit of pot--old cheeny, and it's gone bad. She hasn't looked so bad
ta year as she does now."
"I'm sorry to hear this."
"It's a bad job, sir, for she can't side the room, or remble the kitchen
things, or owt. She tried to sile the milk this morning, and had to
give it up, and let the lass do it instead."
"Sile the milk?" said the vicar. "Ah, you mean strain it?"
"Ah, wi' uz," said the landlord, "we always call it sile. We strain a
thing through a temse."
"Oh, do you?" said the vicar, wondering whether there was any connection
between temse and tammies or tammy cloth. "But you were going to say
something important to me, were you not?"
"Well, I weer, sir; only I shouldn't like it to seem to ha' come from
me. Fact is, I were down at bottom o' the close in the bit of a beck,
picking some watter cress for tea, and fine and wetcherd [wet shod] I
got, when, as I was a stooping there, I heered Master Sim Slee cooming
along wi' two or three more, and blathering about; and I heerd him
talking o' you and Master Dicky Glaire, and it were plain enew that they
was makking some plans, and not for good, mind you. I hadn't going to
tell tales out o' school, but if you'd keep at home to-night, parson--"
"You fancy there's mischief brewing?" said the vicar, sternly.
"Well, yes, sir, I do," said the landlord. "You see, the men hold a
kind of lodge or brotherhood meeting at my place, and I can't help
knowing of some o' their doings."
"Well, Mr Robinson, if mischief is brewing, it's my business to try and
spoil the brew; so I am going out to-night, and if you've any respect
for me, you'll come and help me in my task."
He hurried on, and a short time after, the landlord saw him go by, with
Tom Podmore and John Maine following at a short distance.
"Parson's a chap with brains in his head," said the landlord. "He's got
a couple o' good bull-dogs to tramp at his heels; and, dal me, if they
aint beckoned Big Harry to 'em. Well, I'll go too. I aint going to
faight; but if I see any man hit parson, dal me, but I'll gi'e him a
blob."
The vicar was not without hope that Richard would think better of the
matter, and keep indoors, and after a turn or two up and down the
street, which was pretty well thronged, the men looking stolid and
heavy, but civilly making way for him, and always with a friendly word,
it seemed as if there was nothing to fear, when from the lane at the
side of the Big House there came a loud shout, and in an instant the
whole of the men in the High Street seemed galvanised into life.
The vicar made for the lane, and had nearly reached it, when he saw
Richard Glaire hatless and with his coat half-ripped from his back, rush
out, pursued by shout and cry; and before the vicar and his little band
of followers could get up, the young man was surrounded by a knot of men
striking at him savagely, one of them hitting up the hand that held a
pistol, which exploded, the bullet striking the opposite wall far over
the heads of his assailants, and the weapon then fell to the ground.
A storm of furious cries arose, above which was a wild shriek from one
of the windows of the big house--a shriek that sent two-fold vigour to
the vicar's arms, as he struggled with the crowd that kept him back.
"Quick, Tom! Maine! Harry!" he cried. "Now, a rush together," he
said, as they forced themselves to his side; and with all their might
they made for the spot where Richard Glaire seemed to be undergoing the
fate of being torn to pieces, for he was now stripped to shirt and
trousers, and his face was bleeding; but, literally at bay, he fought
savagely for his life.
The dash made by Mr Selwood saved him for the time, for though the
vicar and his followers, with whom was now the landlord, did not reach
the young man, they rent the crowd of assailants so as to make an avenue
for him to escape, and he darted off at full speed towards the vicarage.
"My house, Glaire," shouted the vicar. "No, the church," amidst the
storm of yells and cries, as he tried to fight his way free.
"After him, lads!" cried the shrill voice of Sim Slee; "and down wi'
them as interferes."
"Dal me, if I don't feel the brains of any man as hurts parson," cried
the stentorian voice of one of the ringleaders. "Howd him, boys, and
them others too. Give up, parson: it's no good to faight for that
blaguard."
"If you are men and not cowards--" shouted the vicar, but his voice was
drowned, he was seized by three men who held him good-temperedly enough
in spite of his struggles, and with sinking heart, he found himself,
separated from his followers, Big Harry being down with six men sitting
on him to quell the mighty heaves he gave to set himself free.
"We wean't hurt thee, parson," said one of the men who kept him and his
fellows prisoners. "See there, lads!"
He went down like a shot, for, by a clever twist learnt in wrestling,
the vicar upset him on to the men holding Harry, and then by a mighty
effort set himself at liberty, so staggering his captors that Harry got
free as well. Then there was a charge, and Tom Podmore was up, and
these three ran down the street after the crowd who pursued Richard.
"Harry, my lad! Tom, stick to me," cried the vicar, panting for breath.
"I shall never forgive myself or be forgiven if harm comes to that
young man," he added to himself; and then dashing on with about as
unclerical an aspect as was possible, he rapidly gained on Richard's
pursuers, with Tom behind him, and Big Harry lumbering like an elephant
at his heels.
Meanwhile the whole town was at the windows or in the streets; children
were crying and women shrieking, while the more prudent tradespeople
were busily putting up their "shuts." As for Richard, he had gone off
like a hunted hare, doubling here and there to avoid the blows struck at
him, and more than once it seemed as if he would escape; but the men had
taken their steps well, and knowing that he would make for the station
road, there was always a picket ready to cut him off, and drive him back
to run the gauntlet afresh.
He had not heard the vicar's words, which were drowned by the savage
hoots and yells, mingled with curses upon him, from half-starved women;
but, oddly enough, he made straight for the house of the very man whom
he hated, and nearly reached it, but was headed back, and fainting and
exhausted, he only escaped capture by a clever double, by leaping a
hedge, crossing the vicarage garden, and leaping another hedge, landing
in the pasture-land leading towards Joe Banks's cottage, the vicarage
standing at the apex formed by the roads leading to Ranby and the open
land.
This double made a number of his pursuers run round by the road, and
gave time to the vicar and his followers to close up to the hunted man.
"Make for the church," cried the vicar, who was close behind now; but
his words were unheeded. All he could do was to get nearly behind the
young man, determined to turn and face the crowd when they came up; but
Richard, maddened with fear, paid no heed to advice, his breath was
failing, he tottered, and was ready to fall; the pursuers gained upon
them, and at last seeing the harbour, the hunted man dashed through the
gate, in at Joe Banks's open door, closely followed by the vicar, Tom,
and Big Harry, and then stood at bay in the farthest corner.
"Help, quick! Banks, help!" cried the vicar hoarsely, and recovering
from his astonishment, the foreman picked up the heavy poker, and joined
the little rank of defenders, a swing of the iron forming a space which
none of those who crowded into the room, and darkened door and window as
they thronged the garden, dared to cross.
"Stand back, you cowards!" cried the foreman, flushing with rage, and
forgetting his own trouble in the excitement of the moment.
"Gi'e him up! drag him out!" was roared.
"A hundred on you to four!" cried Joe. "Stand back, or I'll brain the
first man who comes near."
"We don't want to hurt thee, Joe Banks," cried a voice. "Nor the
parson, nor the others; but we wean't go wi'out Richard Glaire."
"Back! every man of you," cried the vicar. "Shame, cowards, shame!"
"Aw raight, parson," cried another. "It's cowardly mebbe, but we mean
to hev him aw the same."
"If you hev him, you'll hev to tak' me first," cried Joe Banks,
fiercely. "You, Big Harry, hev the legs out o' that deaf Tommy table,
and gi'e one apiece to Parson and Tom."
The men tried to stop him, but a swing from Joe's poker sent them back,
and the Hercules of the hammer seized the little three-legged table,
shattered it in a moment, and armed his companions with the thick heavy
cudgels that had formed its supports.
"Now, lads, we're ready for you," said Joe, grimly. "Hit hard at the
first as tries to lay a finger on the maister."
There was a groan at this, taken up from without, those in the garden
clamouring at those within to drag out Dicky Glaire.
"Down wi' him, lads; down wi' him," cried a high-pitched voice; and Sim
Slee, panting with his exertions, partly edged his way and partly was
lifted in.
"I'll down wi' thee, thou prating fool!" cried Joe fiercely. "Are ye
men, to listen to that maulkin?"
"Yes, they are," cried Sim; "and you're an owd fool to faight."
"Shall we try to drive them out, Banks?" whispered the vicar.
"No good," said Joe, sturdily. "Let's hear what they've gotten to say;
it'll give you and the others breath, and mebbe by that time the maister
can faight a bit, too. I'm an owd fool, am I?" he said, "eh, Sim Slee?"
"Yes; to faight for the man as has gotten away thee bairn."
"Thou lies, thou chattering jay," cried the old man furiously; "say it
again, and I'll brain thee."
"I do say it again," cried Sim, who was quite out of the foreman's
reach. "It's true, aint it, lads?"
"Yes, yes, he's gotten her away."
"It's a lie," cried Joe Banks again. "Tell 'em, Maister Dick; tell the
cowards they lie."
"Yes, yes," said Richard hoarsely, as he stood now leaning against the
wall, bathed in perspiration, bleeding, ragged, haggard, and faint. "I
have not got her away."
"Thee lies, Dick Glaire," shrieked Sim. "He paid me to get her awaya,
and I wouldn't do it."
"It's false," cried Richard again, as he looked round at his fierce
pursuers, and then at the doors and windows for a way of escape.
"It's true," cried Sim, exultantly. "It's my turn now, Dick Glaire.
Yow'd smite me and coot me feace for not doing thee dirty work, will ta?
Now harkye here, lads, at this."