"You had better let me go, mother. I shall do no good here."
Tom stood before his mother with a flush upon his handsome face--a
flush that was one partly of shame, partly of anger, with a dash of
excitement and eagerness thrown in.
His mother was in tears. She had been uttering words of reproach
and sorrow; for after a period of wonderful steadiness immediately
succeeding his father's death, young Tom had broken out into his
wild ways again, and her fond hopes of seeing him grow into her
comfort and stay were dashed ruthlessly to the ground again. The
impression made upon him by the death of the Squire was growing dim
now. His old companions were tempting him back to their ranks, and
he had neither strength of purpose nor the resolute desire to
resist their overtures.
"You had better let me go. You know my father said it. I have never
done any good here, and I never shall. I want to see the world, and
I see nothing here. Gablehurst and Gablethorpe are too narrow for
me. I will go to foreign lands, and come back to you with a better
record to show. I think I could make a fine soldier, but in this
miserable little place a man has no scope."
"A man has scope to become a good landlord, a kind master, a
God-fearing head of his household," said the mother, with a sigh in
her voice.
But Tom interrupted impatiently:
"That is all very well when one is the master. Perhaps when I come
back I can be all that myself; but now I am a dummy--a nobody, and
they all make game of me for being a mock squire! My father himself
knew that no man of spirit would stand such a humiliating
arrangement. If he could not trust me to succeed him, he did well
to arrange for me to go elsewhere. He said you would tell me what
provision he had made for me to do so."
The moment had come that the mother had so long dreaded. She had to
face the separation from her son, and to send him forth into the
world alone. But the experiences of the past weeks had taught her
that perhaps this was the best thing that could happen to young
Tom. In Gablethorpe he had no chance of getting away from evil
associates. In a different place he might find friends of a
different stamp.
She rose and silently unlocked a great oaken press, clamped with
iron, a place where the Squire kept all his valuable papers, and
some of the heirlooms which had come down to him from his
forefathers. Tom looked on with curious eyes. He had always
experienced, from childhood upwards, a certain sense of awe when
that press was unlocked and thrown open. He now observed his
mother's actions with great curiosity.
"Come, Tom, and lift down that box, for it is heavy," she said; and
Tom came forward and carefully lifted down a small iron-bound
chest, which, for its size, was in truth remarkably heavy. This box
was placed upon the table, whilst the mother locked up the safe
once more.
Then she selected a small key from a number in a bag at her girdle,
and offered it to her son.
"There, Tom, the box and its contents are yours. You will find
within five hundred golden pieces--guineas every one of them,
bright and new from the mint. Your father saved them up for you for
many long years, in case it should ever become needful that you
should leave home to see the world. Always it was his hope that you
would remain at home to be his comfort and stay; but if that could
not be, then would he wish to send forth his only son in such a
manner as beseemed his condition in life."
Tom's eyes sparkled. A flush mounted to his cheek, and his hand
shook a little as he put the key into the lock.
It was all true. There lay, in neat rolls, more money than he had
ever seen in all his life--a fortune for a prince, as it seemed to
him in his youthful inexperience. The admonitions and counsel of
his mother fell on deaf ears. Tom's busy brain was planning a
thousand ways in which his wealth might be expended. He would go
forth. He would see the world. He would win fame and fortune. He
would never return to Gablehurst until he brought with him a name
which should cause the ears of those who knew him to tingle by
reason of the fame he had won!
"Nay, but boast not of the future, my son," pleaded the mother,
with a note of anxiety in her voice; "and be not over confident.
The times are perilous, and you are but an untried youth. Boasting
is not well."
But Tom could not listen. He laughingly repeated his boast, and was
off to the stables forthwith, to pick for himself the best horses
for his ride to London. For, of course, he must first go there, to
fit himself out for his journey beyond seas, and find out where the
army of the Duke was at present to be found.
Vague rumours of the great victory had penetrated to the wilds of
Essex; but where Blenheim was, and what the victory was all about,
the rustics knew as little as "Old Kaspar" of the immortal ballad
of later days. The squires were little less vague in their ideas as
to the scope and purpose of the war. It was to abase the power of
France--so much they knew, and was unpopular with the Tories of
Jacobite leanings, for the reason that the French king was
sheltering the dethroned monarch of the Stuart line. But then the
great Duke who was winning all these victories was said to be a
stanch Tory himself; so that it was all rather confusing, and Tom
was just as ignorant and ill-informed on all these topics as the
hinds who tilled his fields. He had never cared to inform himself
of what was passing in the world, and the newspapers had always
seemed to him very dull reading.
Now, however, he wished he knew a little more; but he told himself
that he should quickly pick up everything in London. His heart beat
at the thought of seeing that wonderful city; and although he
carelessly promised his mother not to linger there long, he was by
no means sure that he would not make a good stay, and learn the
fashions of the gay world before he crossed the sea.
He was quite of the opinion that, clad in a new suit of fashionable
make, he could ruffle it with the best of the young bloods about
town. He was now all in a fever to be off. He selected for his
attendant a young groom, with whom he had long been more intimate
than his father approved. His mother in vain besought him to take
faithful old John, or at least Peter, whom they had known from
boyhood; but Tom would have nobody but young Robin, and declared
that he and Robin, mounted upon Wildfire and Wildgoose--two of the
best and fleetest horses ever reared in the meadows round
Gablehurst--could distance any highwaymen who might try to stop
them, or shoot them down if they could not shake them off.
For these were days when travelling was none too safe, and the
transit of the heavy bag of golden guineas made an additional
source of danger. For there were highway robbers and footpads, who
seemed to have a seventh sense for the scenting of gold. It was
probable that they had spies and confederates in all sorts of
places, and that they were warned beforehand when travellers rode
with money and valuables upon their persons.
It was, therefore, small wonder that mother and sister looked with
somewhat sinking hearts at the handsome young fellow, in his
workman-like, if rustic, riding dress, as he sat upon his horse at
the hall door, giving a last look round him at the little crowd
gathered to see him ride away.
"You will write and tell us of your safe arrival in London; and be
very careful how you cross Epping Forest," said the mother.
And young Tom answered gaily,--"Oh, never fear for me. Wildfire and
I can ride through and ride down anything! I will send a letter
from London, but after that you must not look for anything but
silence. When men cross the seas, and live amid battles and
marches, letters can scarce be written, still less safely carried."
He stooped from his saddle, and once more kissed both mother and
sister. Then the servants and tenants crowded round, full of good
wishes for a prosperous journey and a happy return; and Tom
answered them with gay words of promise. He would come back again,
covered with fame and glory. They would hear of his doings before
they saw him again, and when he came back he would "take toll again
of all his old playmates;" and so saying, he looked laughingly
round upon the blushing girls, who had paid Tom Tufton's toll many
a time, between jest and earnest, by the lych gate.
They all admired and liked the handsome lad, even though his ways
were more wild and reckless than the elders could approve. But all
declared that it would do him all the good in the world to go out
and see life in other places. It would cool his hot blood, and
teach him wisdom; and, after all, lads always would be lads till
manhood's cares and lessons had tamed them.
So Tom rode away in high spirits, Robin following on Wildgoose,
with the saddlebags strapped in front of him. They did not take
much with them, as Tom meant to equip himself in town, and was
wearing his finest home-made suit upon the journey. He had his
precious guineas carefully secured about his person. They were
heavy, it is true, but he liked to feel the weight of them, and to
know that they were safe.
For many miles he was constantly receiving hails from friends and
comrades; sometimes a band of young men would ride with him for a
few miles, and then, wishing him good luck, return home again. At
some houses which he passed, bright eyes would look out from the
windows, and kerchiefs would be waved in greeting and farewell.
Tom may perhaps be forgiven for regarding himself somewhat in the
light of a young prince riding forth to see the world. Everything
in his past life had combined to give him a good opinion of
himself, and make him fancy himself irresistible alike with men and
women. For he was undoubtedly the strongest and handsomest youth in
his own small world.
He sang and whistled as he rode along in the crisp morning air.
October had dashed the trees with vivid tints of red and gold. A
crisp touch of frost was in the air, and though the noonday sun was
bright and hot, there were indications of approaching winter plain
to be seen.
They baited their horses for an hour at a little inn where Tom was
slightly known; but when he spoke of pressing on, and asked where
the next halting place was, mine host advised his remaining where
he was till morning, as he was now close to the forest boundaries,
and not only were the paths somewhat intricate, but there were
always footpads, if not worse, lurking in the recesses of the wood,
ready to pounce upon unwary travellers, especially after sundown.
"And the light goes quickly beneath the trees. For my part, I would
rather travel by the waxing light of early morn than by the fading
glow of an autumn evening."
Tom had meant to arrive at this inn full two hours before he did;
for he had allowed his friends to hinder him on his way, and had
stopped all too often to exchange a word with some maiden watching
from a window or by a gate. He had intended reaching a little
village known to Robin, situated in the forest itself, before night
fell; and even as it was, he was by no means prepared to abandon
the hope of getting there.
Robin was not afraid of darkness or of footpads. He had a very good
knowledge of the forest, and was eager to press on. It was still
quite light, and Tom was in all the fervour of his first
impetuosity. So, as soon as the horses were baited and themselves
refreshed, they mounted once more, and pushed gaily along, feeling
themselves quite equal to repel any wretched footpads who might try
to assault them.
As for the regular highway robbers, well armed and well mounted,
they favoured better-frequented routes than this. Open heaths were
their favourite hunting grounds, though they liked well enough to
lie in hiding in the forests when they had brought too much
notoriety upon themselves. These unfrequented forest paths did not
offer them sufficient hope of booty to attract them in large
numbers, and Tom had no fear of meeting an enemy too strong for
him.
But security is not always safety, as Tom was destined to find to
his cost. In spite of their best efforts, and the gallant response
made by their good horses, dusk fell whilst they were still
threading the tortuous forest paths, and Robin was fain to admit
that he would be puzzled to find the way in the dark; indeed, he
was not certain that he was on the right track now.
It was impossible to ride fast in the gathering darkness, and upon
so rough a way; and Tom had more than once suggested that they
should make their bed in some hollow tree, and wait for daylight
before pursuing their journey.
They had halted in an open place, and were just discussing the
matter, when--whiz!--a bullet grazed the flank of Wildgoose, and
the mettlesome creature reared straight into the air, threatening
to fall backwards over his rider.
"Mark ho!" cried a loud voice, and there was a crackling of the
underwood all round.
"It is the footpads!" cried Robin. "I have beard that call before;"
and in a moment the travellers had their pistols out, and were
warily awaiting the first sign of attack.
It was not long in coming. Three men with blackened faces sprang
out from different places, and the crackling of the underwood
showed that more were lurking out of sight.
Tom took steady aim, and brought down the foremost villain at the
first shot; but Robin was not so lucky. He winged his man, but did
not drop him, and the next moment four stalwart figures had sprung
out to the aid of their comrades, and the travellers were
surrounded.
Tom set his teeth hard, a great fury in his heart. He took aim
again, and another of his assailants dropped as he pulled the
trigger; then, setting spurs to Wildfire, who was well-nigh
distracted with terror at the noise and the flash in the darkness,
he rode clean over the man who had sprung at his bridle rein, and
calling to Robin to follow him, he sped away in the darkness at a
pace which was risk to life and limb.
The footpads seemed taken aback by this move, for they had reckoned
that a headlong flight into the recesses of the forest would be too
great a peril to be risked; and indeed it was a headstrong course
to take. But Tom was in a headstrong mood, and his horse was beside
himself with fear. Both man and beast were well used to reckless
riding, and Tom had eyes like a cat, whilst Wildfire had both the
wonderful sight and wonderful instinct of his race. Tom lay along
the horse's back, now on this side, now on that, dodging, swaying,
manoeuvring, in a fashion which showed marvellous horsemanship, and
all the while listening eagerly for the sound of Wildgoose's
following steps.
But he heard nothing. The silence of the forest was unbroken save
for the noise he made himself. It became plain at last that he was
alone. Robin and Wildgoose had either lost his track, or had not
followed him.
And a sudden doubt surged into Tom's brain as to whether or not
Robin had betrayed him to the footpads. Was it not Robin who had
connived at all the halts upon the way in the morning, Robin who
had advised pushing on, and had undertaken to find the way by day
or night? Robin was a son of the forest himself. Might he not have
friends amongst these very outlaws? Had not his father warned him
before this that he did not trust Robin, and did not like his son's
intimacy with the young man?
All these thoughts came surging into Tom's brain as he rode on
through the dark forest. He was loath to harbour doubts of his
servant and friend; but he could not lay them to rest, do what he
would.
But for these doubts he would have ridden back in search of his
comrade. As it was, he set his teeth somewhat grimly, and rode
onwards. Robin had no money about him. He would escape with the
loss of his horse, and could follow his master on foot to London if
he chose. It was not worth while to risk life and fortune in
attempting the rescue of a fellow who might be a villain and a
traitor.
It seemed a heartless thing to do to leave Robin to his fate, but
for all that Tom could not make up his mind to turn back and search
for him; for he felt it was quite probable he would only fall into
a cunningly-devised ambush. But he could not ride all night through
the forest. He might fetch a circuit all unknowingly, and find
himself in the midst of the footpads again. The moon had now risen,
and was giving a faint light. By its aid Tom was able to examine
the nature of the ground about him, and presently saw at a short
distance a dark, arched cavity in the face of a mass of gravelly
rock which rose up on his left hand. It had the appearance of a
cave, and Tom got off and carefully examined the loose shale round
the mouth of it for the trace of recent footsteps. He did not want
to fall into the hands of a band of marauders.
But he could not see any trace of footmarks, either of man or
beast; and the cave was tempting to one who had ridden since early
morning. There was a pool of water close at hand, where his horse
eagerly stooped to quench his thirst; and Tom loosed the girths,
and left the creature to browse at will; for Wildfire was as tame
as a dog, and knew his master's voice well. He could be trusted not
to wander far away, and to come back at the sound of whistle or
call. Indeed, it was probable that he would presently find his way
into the cave, and lie by his master's side.
Tom found that he could make himself comfortable enough in the
little cavern. It was not very deep, but it afforded protection
from the cold night wind; and a great heap of leaves at the end
bespoke the fact that other travellers had utilized the place
before. Tom had a little food in his wallet, which he munched in
silence, feeling his spirits somewhat damped by the events of the
last hour, and yet he was as fully resolved as ever to see life and
taste of adventure before he returned home again.
His adventures had begun rather before he had bargained; but, after
all, that was the way of life. He would learn in future to trust
nobody and to believe in nobody. All men were liars--did not the
Scriptures say as much? It was as well to learn that lesson soon as
late. He would not waste a regret upon Robin. His horse was the one
friend in whom he would trust. He at least would never betray or
desert him.
Presently Wildfire, having eaten his fill of herbage, came and
snuffed at the cave's mouth with a whinny of inquiry. On hearing
Tom's voice, he stepped lightly in, and after standing for a while
beside his master, lay down between him and the opening to the
cave, so that Tom was well shielded from the keen night air, and
could sleep as snugly as in his bed at home.
Sleep he did, and soundly too; for the day's ride had wearied him,
and he was of the age and temperament when slumber is seldom wooed
in vain. How long he slept he knew not; but he was aroused at
length by a movement of Wildfire. The horse had lifted his head,
and was snorting slightly as if in anxiety or fear.
Tom looked out. The gray of dawn was in the sky, and between him
and the light stood a tall, motionless figure, outlined clearly in
the cave's mouth by the coming glow in the east. It was the figure
of a man. He held in his hand a great horse pistol, and was
evidently studying with some curiosity the sleeping figures whose
slumbers he had disturbed.
Tom would have sprung to his feet, but the man called out in a
clear, sharp voice:
"Keep where you are, or I fire!"
The hot blood surged into Tom's cheeks; but for once prudence took
the upper hand of valour, and he remained sitting upright behind
the still recumbent figure of Wildfire. He had restrained the horse
from rising by the pressure of his hand. He knew by hearsay that
robbers seldom fired upon a good horse if there were a chance of
making a capture of so valuable an acquisition. He might find
shelter behind the body of the good steed yet.
"What do you want with me?" he asked, speaking as calmly as he
could, but bitterly regretting the carelessness which had omitted
to load again his pistol after the brush with the footpads of the
previous night. He had meant to do it before falling asleep, but
drowsiness had come quickly upon him, and he was now practically at
the mercy of the man who stood in the cave's mouth, for there was
no way of escape save past him.
"I only want your money, my young friend," answered the man, whose
face was becoming more visible every moment in the growing light.
"I doubt not you have a bag of gold pieces somewhere upon your
person. Give them up to me, and you shall go your way in peace."
The veins on Tom's forehead swelled with rage and impotent fury. He
set his teeth, and his voice sounded hoarse and choked.
"You will have to take my life first," he said.
"Nay, but that is folly," remonstrated the elder man, who had a
rather fine face, and much of the air and manner of a gentleman, as
Tom was quick to perceive. "I desire no man's death; I only ask for
his gold, which is, after all, but the dross of the earth; and life
for a fine young fellow like yourself is full of joyous promise,
even though he carry no purse with him."
"I tell you," answered Tom, in the same stubborn way, "that if you
take my money, you will have first to take my life. Here have I
been leading the life of a dog or of a boor all these years--squire's
son though men call me. I have seen nothing, I have learned nothing;
I have consorted with low hinds; I have been no better than the swine
in the fields. Now at last I have my liberty and a bag of gold given
to me. I am sent out to see the world, and to enjoy life. Take my
gold from me, and I must perforce go back to the old life. I would
choose death sooner. Therefore, sir, let us fight like men for this
same bag of gold; for I will defend it with every drop of my blood!"
And in spite of the peril of so doing, Tom sprang to his feet and
stood facing his antagonist with the air of a man whose blood is
up, and who will prove no mean adversary.
"Come now, I like that spirit," said the other. "In these days of
dandies and ruffled courtiers, stuffed with fine-sounding words but
puling cowards at heart, it refreshes the spirit to meet a
youngster of your sort. Tell me your name, young master, and let us
talk this matter over together. I have ever sought to mingle mercy
and discretion with the need for making a livelihood out of my
fellowmen."
Tom was surprised into a short laugh at this unexpected address.
"I am Tom Tufton of Gablehurst," he began, but was quickly
interrupted.
"What! the son of the good Squire of Gablehurst! Lad, is this the
truth?"
"Ay, verily," answered Tom, somewhat taken aback. "Did you know my
father? Alas! he is dead."
"Dead! What! Is that so? Then the world is the poorer by one good
man. And you are his son, and called by his name! What are you
doing away from home? Are you not master there?"
"No," answered Tom, with a flush on his cheek. "I am to see the
world first. My mother will rule for me till I be five and twenty.
I have money given me, and I am to seek fame and fortune afar. That
is what I said to you. Take my money from me, and I must needs
return to the life I have left--and I would sooner die!"
"Tut, tut, boy. Speak not so wildly; nor think that I will touch a
penny of your good father's gold. I am not sunk so low as that. Did
he ever speak to you of Captain Jack, whom he once saved from the
gallows?"
Tom shook his head. His father had not been a talking man.
"It was years ago now," said the man thoughtfully, "and I did try
for long after that to lead a different life; but in the end I came
back to the one I love the best--the free life of the road. But
believe me, Tom Tufton, your father's act of clemency has never
been forgotten. I too have shown mercy many a time and oft. I have
my own code of honour and chivalry. I want money badly enough; but
I will touch none of yours. I want a good horse; but I will lay no
finger on yours. Go your way in peace, and drink your fill of the
world's pleasures; but remember that if the time should come when
you want a friend and a place of refuge, ask at The Three Ravens
tavern on the skirts of this forest for news of Captain Jack, and
whensoever you may come to me, I will share my last penny and my
last crust with you, for love of the good man your father, who
saved my unworthy life."
The man spoke with visible emotion and Tom was moved also, he
scarce knew why. A sudden sense of liking--almost of love--sprang
up in his heart towards this freebooter. He laid a hand upon his
arm.
"Take me clear of this forest," he said, "and I will leave Wildfire
in your hands as a token of gratitude. I have bethought me often
that in London town he would pine his heart away. He loves the
green glades of the woodland, and the free air of the fields and
forests. Methinks you would be a kind master; and he is a loving
and faithful creature. I might even lose him in London, where, they
tell me, rogues abound. I would sooner leave him in your hands; and
if I want him back some day, I will ask him of Captain Jack."
The bargain was struck. Captain Jack accompanied Tom to the
farthest limits of the forest, giving him meantime much information
about life in London, and astonishing him by the intimate knowledge
he possessed of life in every grade of society.
Tom listened in wonder and amaze; but Captain Jack answered his
questions in such a way as to leave him little the wiser. He
managed, however, to make friends with Wildfire almost as quickly
as with his master; for the two men rode by turns, and Captain
Jack's horsemanship was of that finished kind which every horse
understands and responds to.
"You are right not to take such a creature into London," said
Captain Jack, after trying the paces of Wildfire over a stretch of
springy turf. "Some sharper would soon make away with him; but it
will be a clever man who filches him from me! I will guard him as
my greatest treasure, and he will be worth more to me than the
guineas you carry in your bag."
"And his brother is somewhere in the forest," said Tom; and he told
the story of Robin and Wildgoose, to which Captain Jack listened
with a look of amusement.
"Clever fellow! clever fellow!" he muttered, "he will make one of
the brotherhood one of these days!"
Tom began to realize, with a grim sense of humour, that he was
aiding and abetting the mischievous schemes of some notorious
highwayman, and that his father's two favourite young horses, by
which he set such store, were destined to become the property of
the gentlemen of the road!
At the limits of the forest Tom and his companion parted. He had
been put upon the highroad, and given careful instructions as to
the way he must take. Moreover, Captain Jack had given him a
password, which, he said, would protect him from molestation;
although a traveller on foot was not in the same danger as one who
rode a fine horse.
It cost Tom a pang to turn his back on Wildfire; but he felt so
certain that the horse would pine in London, or be stolen away,
that he preferred to leave him in the hands of a kind master who
would treat him well.
"Take your fill of life. Keep open eyes, and believe every man to
be a rogue till he prove himself an honest fellow," was the parting
advice of his companion, for whom he had already taken rather a
strong liking; "and if ever town becomes too hot, come and join
Captain Jack; and if ever you should chance to knock up against
Lord Claud, tell him that his old master sends him greeting and
felicitations, and is watching his career with admiration and
delight."
With that the captain turned and galloped away; and Tom was left
looking after him, wondering what the meaning of this last charge
could be.