ON THE SCENT.
Wittingly or unwittingly, nobody ever offended Katerfelto without
regretting it. To do him justice, the Charlatan had every intention of
screening John Garnet from the avenger of blood, when he started his
patient on the Western Road, in pursuit of Lord Bellinger's ponderous
coach-and-six. The young man, he thought, would prove a useful tool
enough, and he had no objection to do him a kindness into the bargain,
provided it cost nothing, and would turn to his own advantage; but, when
he discovered Waif was missing too, before the good grey horse and its
rider had been six hours out of London, he at once connected the girl's
flight with _his_ absence, whom she had nursed so tenderly, and in a
quiet, remorseless way vowed vengeance upon both.
John Garnet's mission, if fulfilled at all, must be carried out within
three days at farthest. When accomplished, it mattered little what
became of the messenger. Perhaps the sooner he was set aside the better.
What was the cost of a man and horse, valuable as might be the latter,
compared with the interest at stake, with the gains and losses of the
great game in which every player waged life and fortune on the result?
Parson Gale, wearying sadly of London, and longing for his moorland
hills, found himself no longer put off with mysterious hints, and
unintelligible jargon; but, to use his own metaphor, was laid on the
line, like a bloodhound resolving to track it, inch for inch, till he
pinned his quarry by the throat.
Many misgivings had the Parson during this, perhaps the most
unpleasant, week he ever spent in his life. Orthodox in his opinions,
however lax in his practice, it went cruelly against the grain to
believe that in seeking Katerfelto's assistance he was tampering with
the powers of darkness. Many a time, after his coarse pot-house
supper, was his sleep haunted by grotesque visions of the evil one,
carrying to eternal torment a figure in boots, bands, and cassock,
that he recognised for his own. His knees used to shake, and his short
grizzled hair to stand on end, when the Charlatan, leading him into a
dark room, bade him wait patiently, while inquiries were made of
certain intelligences that ought to have done with things of earth,
yet betrayed a marvellous interest in earthly trifles, earthly
follies, and earthly cares. The minutes seemed lengthened into hours
while he sat motionless, expecting every moment to behold the pale
violet gleam of a corpse-light, to feel the faint flutter of
spirit-fingers, catch the faint breath of spirit-whispers--worst of
all, to be threatened with the personal manifestation of some
obtrusive spirit itself.
Katerfelto, who possessed a strong sense of humour, and enjoyed a joke
for its own sake, even though he had none with whom to share it, used to
describe at length the discipline, the gradations, the daily life,
scenery, and vegetable productions of the spirit-world; counting its
spheres, explaining its mysteries, and insisting strongly on the
somewhat thick-witted good-nature of its inhabitants.
The Parson's nerves were of no sensitive fibre. He possessed his share
of English bull-dog courage. Give him a beef-steak, a tankard of ale,
and,
"Had a Paynim host before him stood,
He had charged them through and through;"
but he was not proof against dangers of which he had no experience, and
could form no conception. The crowning dread of his life at this period
was the apparition of some luminous figure, clad in misty robes of
white, prepared to answer his questions evasively in a hollow whisper,
lift him bodily into space for pure fun, and lay in his hand a flower of
no terrestrial growth, fresh and fragrant, but wet with the dews of
another world. It never _did_ appear to him, and very thankful he felt
that it did not!
It was, therefore, with no slight feelings of relief, that on his last
visit to Deadman's Alley, he found the Charlatan dressed to go abroad,
and was invited by that unaccountable person to partake of a bottle by
daylight, rather than await a manifestation, fasting, in the dark.
"Your servant, sir," said the Parson, flinging his shovel hat in the
corner, while he filled his glass without a second bidding. "This looks
like business, Doctor, at last. Indeed, I am sick to death of the town
life, and the town ways. But for your message, I should have been on the
good bay nag horse, half a day's journey towards Exeter by this time."
"Do they use you so badly, then?" asked Katerfelto with a smile, while
he scanned him keenly from under his bushy eyebrows. "Do they not treat
Abner Gale with proper respect as a West-country gentleman, a noted
sportsman, and a pillar of the Church? In sad truth, it is a perverse
and ignorant generation."
"Now you're bamming me, Doctor," replied the other, good-humouredly.
"But a man is entitled to his jest who gives such wine as this. My
service to you. Yes, I'll take a second glass the more willingly, as I
shall not have another chance. I leave London to-morrow at sunrise,
weather permitting, and before high noon, as we say in the West, whether
or no!"
"Is it purse or patience that you have worn out?" asked Katerfelto;
"there are means of replenishing the one and repairing the other."
"Both!" answered the Parson. "A man had as well be in the Fleet prison,
as the coffee-room of a Covent-garden hotel! I seem to pay hard money
for every breath I draw, and not to breathe freely after all! I'm an
early stirrer, Doctor! man and boy, winter and summer I've been used to
see the sun rise. Ah! you can breathe in my country like a grampus, if
you choose. Well, I come down to break my fast at a reasonable hour, and
not a creature is afoot in the whole house but the cat and me. Presently
steals in a slipshod drawer, unbraced, uncombed, unwashed, and scarce
half-awake. The varlet fetches a toast and tankard, may be, with a
knotch from the musty end of a chine that the rats have gnawned in the
night. I fling it at his head; I cuff him soundly; I kick him round the
room in my stocking-feet, for the other knave will not have cleaned my
boots till noon. Presently I drink my beer, and forgive him; but to make
peace with the rogue costs me a crown. At last I get my coat and hat
brushed, band fitted, boots blacked, and sally forth into the streets.
They're full, Doctor, a man can scarce turn himself round; yet do I feel
so lonely, that if I was a woman or a child, I should sit down and cry.
"I might ride through Exmoor half a summer's day and never set eyes on a
human face, but the curlew seems to know me as he flits by, with a quiet
call of greeting and a wave of his wide brown wing--the red hinds,
leading their calves along the ridges, look kindly over their shoulders,
and turn their handsome heads to gaze after me, till they disappear.
Why, the very breeze, whispering among the rushes, has been pilfering in
my own garden, not so many miles away. You know no more than a blind man
what morning means till you've seen the sun rise in North Devon! I wish
I was back there now. I _will_ be back there next week if I'm alive!"
"But surely, Doctor," observed Katerfelto, with a covert smile, "a man
of your presence finds no difficulty in making acquaintances and even
friends. The Londoners are not an inhospitable people, and are said to
be exceedingly kind to a stranger if he has but money in his pockets."
"Kind enough!" answered the other, "so long as it costs nothing. They'll
find fair words, I grant, and plenty of them, at the rate of a guinea
a-piece. It was but yesterday two ladies gave me good-morrow from their
coach so heartily, I made sure I must have met them on Taunton
race-course or may be in the Cathedral close at Exeter. 'Welcome to
London, Doctor,' says one, 'how did you leave your friends in the West?'
'You don't remember _me_, Doctor,' laughs the other, as comely a wench
as you'll see this side of Devizes 'but I haven't forgotten you, and I
wish I _could_.' So I off with my hat, and up into the coach without
another word, thinking for sure I had fallen among friends at last, and
would you believe it? the first was an old harridan that might have been
my mother, and the second hussy had scarce a tooth in her head, besides
being raddled with red paint, and smelling of brandy fit to knock you
down! Nay, I have done with your London once for all. If I make good
speed, I'll be home in time for Dulverton Feast. I'll have no need to
look about for friends there, and I can tell you, Doctor, I've been
parched with strong ale and heady port, till I long for a gallon of
cider, if it cost me five shillings a quart. Now we'll go to business,
by your leave. If you've any more to say in my matters, out with it! Any
way, bad or good, let us settle up and part friends!"
"I have constrained those to do my bidding who can furnish the
intelligence you require," answered Katerfelto solemnly. "To-night, if
you have the courage."
"Nay, nay!" interrupted the Parson, his jolly face blanching at the
suggestion, "your word is quite enough, Doctor. I neither doubt _you_
nor _them_. Name your price, and let us have done with it!"
"Go home, then," continued the Charlatan, "with what speed you can make.
Amongst your own West-country hills you will find your enemy and the
slayer of your kinsman, John Garnet by name; a proper youth,
able-bodied, and an expert swordsman. If I bade you spare him, would you
listen one moment to my plea?"
He was not listening now. "John Garnet," he repeated, "John Garnet,"
grinding the syllables between his teeth as he branded the name into his
memory.
"Look out, John Garnet, and keep your hands up the first time you come
across Abner Gale!"
Katerfelto had seen too much of mankind and their worst passions, to be
easily moved; but he felt his blood curdle while he marked the Parson's
rubicund cheek turn to a sallow white. If ever there was _murder_ in a
man's face, he read it now. Perhaps for one short moment he felt
compunction, but the weakness was soon over. "He is better out of the
way," thought Katerfelto, "and things must take their course."
Thus it fell out that the West-country parson was riding steadily
homeward over Marlborough Downs the same evening Lord Bellinger's coach
was rifled by the gipsies, and its owner left a captive in the thraldom
of his own word of honour till the moon rose.
Notwithstanding the nature of his errand, Abner Gale seemed in high
health and spirits.
It was delightful to breathe a free, fresh air, untainted by the smells
of London--to see the sky come down to a wide horizon uninterrupted by
streets and houses--to feel beneath him the strong elastic action of his
good bay horse, and to taste at different halting-places a sound and
wholesome ale unadulterated by the tricks of metropolitan trade. To use
his own words, he was "as happy as a king," yet he never wavered for an
instant in his merciless purpose, never hesitated as to how he should
act when he came face to face with his foe!
Riding along the down, the two subjects nearest his heart were his
supper and his revenge.
The moon was sailing high and clear in an unclouded sky. Suddenly the
Parson drew rein, sitting for an instant motionless as a statue: then,
urging his horse with hand and heel, arrived at a gallop in the midst of
the unaccountable little party, of which he had caught sight.
The scene was ridiculous, grotesque, strange enough for a dream. Two
strapping servants in bright liveries paced to and fro, looking
thoroughly frightened and ashamed, none the less, that both were armed
to the teeth. A middle-aged person in faded finery sat on the ground
apart, weeping feebly and wringing her hands. Five horses harnessed to a
coach stood patiently on the solitary down, while one lay dead at their
feet, and inside the coach were a gentleman and lady calmly playing
cards! Abner Gale pulling up suddenly amongst them, created no little
consternation. The footmen went down on their knees, the middle-aged
person screamed and fell on her back, the horses pricked their ears and
snorted, while a quiet voice inside the coach was heard to exclaim,
"_Re-pique_, my lady! What? Another gentleman of the road, and on a bay
horse this time! Perhaps, sir, before proceeding to business, you will
kindly allow us to finish our game!"
Lord Bellinger played a winning card, and thrust his head out of the
window, laughing heartily at the discomfiture of his domestics.
"Can I help you?" said the new arrival, in his rough blunt tones. "I am
an honest man enough as times go. A poor West-country parson, at your
service, and my name is Abner Gale."
"Mr. Gale," replied his lordship, taking off his hat, "let me present
you to Lady Bellinger. If you are of the church militant, reverend sir,
you should have been here an hour or two ago; you might have seen some
fine sport, and taken a turn at it yourself, to the tune of 'Wigs on the
Green.' It's too late now, but I think we could have told a different
story could I have found something like a _man_ to back me up!"
If levelled at his servants, the taunt fell harmless. Their wits were
still abroad, but they felt comforted and reassured to learn that the
second highwayman was but a parson after all!
"Have you met with an accident, my lord?" asked Gale, with a clumsy bow,
"ill-usage, or misadventure of any kind? Command my services, I beg, on
behalf of yourself and her ladyship."
"The moon! the moon!" exclaimed Lady Bellinger, much to the Parson's
disturbance, who thought she had gone mad. "It's over the tree! It's
eleven o'clock! Don't stop another minute! Let us drive to the inn at
once, and try to forget, only I never _shall_ forget this dreadful
night!"
So my lord and the servants, with the powerful assistance of their new
auxiliary, got the heavy coach once more into motion, my lady so far
remembering the parson's existence, as to entreat that he would ride
close beside the wheel, and, if need be, defend them with his life!
The procession soon reached its destination, the same inn at which John
Garnet had dined. Driving into the yard without its full complement of
horses, the servants in a high state of excitement, everybody talking at
once, it was obvious the coach had been attacked by a highwayman. The
old ostler smiled and winked, the landlord smiled and looked at his
wife, the wife smiled and shook her head, the cook smiled, the
scullions smiled, everybody seemed interested and well pleased, more
particularly when it transpired that the assailant, having taken what he
wanted, had made his escape uninjured by so much as a scratch. None
seemed astonished when his lordship, inquiring eagerly for particulars
as to the robber and his grey horse, mentioned that the only clue he had
obtained to his identity was the name of Galloping Jack. The landlord,
of course, knew nothing. A landlord never _does_ know anything. The
ostler, on cross-examination by the stupidest of Lord Bellinger's
footmen, had no recollection of any grey horse in particular. So many
grey horses were put up in their stables, coming and going to
Marlborough market and what-not? How was he to distinguish which was
which, while the maids, preparing my lady's chamber, and airing my
lady's bed, furnished Mistress Rachel with so marvellous an account of
Galloping Jack, his exploits and enormities, that the waiting
gentlewoman could not mention his name without a shudder, connecting
him, by some inexplicable process of reasoning, with all the myths and
terrible personages she had ever heard of, such as St. George and the
Dragon, Blue-beard, and Herod of Jewry, surnamed the Great.
But Abner Gale, who accepted his lordship's invitation to supper, and
cracked a bottle with him afterwards, though he prudently excused
himself from playing cards, had a clear remembrance of the noted grey
horse, whose speed and endurance were once the topic of every
market-table and every drinking-bout in his own country. From Lord
Bellinger's description of the animal on which his assailant was
mounted; and which, by all the rules of gaming, my lord considered his
own property, the Parson gathered that it could be none other than the
famous grey, and that its rider must have been the celebrated
highwayman, whose features were always masked, but whose figure was so
well known at all fairs, races, cock-fights, and other sporting or
social gatherings in the West. Parson Gale, indeed, had only seen the
horse once, and then for an instant, dismounted, as it was led off to
the stable, but his admiring eye had taken its whole frame in at a
glance, and he could recall its make-and-shape, its points and action,
as vividly as those of his own good nag that he had ridden many scores
and hundreds of miles.
"I always understood the man was hanged," murmured the Parson, as he
laid his head on his pillow, "but I should know the horse among ten
thousand!"