WALTER AND THE CORPORAL ON THE ROAD.--THE EVENING SETS IN.--
THE GIPSEY TENTS.--ADVENTURE WITH THE HORSEMAN.--THE CORPORAL
DISCOMFITED, AND THE ARRIVAL AT KNARESBOROUGH.
Long had he wandered, when from far he sees
A ruddy flame that gleamed betwixt the trees.
. . . . Sir Gawaine prays him tell
Where lies the road to princely Corduel.
--The Knight of the Sword.
"Well, Bunting, we are not far from our night's resting-place," said
Walter, pointing to a milestone on the road.
"The poor beast will be glad when we gets there, your honour," answered
the Corporal, wiping his brows.
"Which beast, Bunting?"
"Augh!--now your honour's severe! I am glad to see you so merry."
Walter sighed heavily; there sat no mirth at his heart at that moment.
"Pray Sir," said the Corporal after a pause, "if not too bold, has your
honour heard how they be doing at Grassdale?"
"No, Bunting; I have not held any correspondence with my uncle since our
departure. Once I wrote to him on setting off to Yorkshire, but I could
give him no direction to write to me again. The fact is, that I have been
so sanguine in this search, and from day to day I have been so led on in
tracing a clue, which I fear is now broken, that I have constantly put
off writing till I could communicate that certain intelligence which I
flattered myself I should be able ere this to procure. However, if we are
unsuccessful at Knaresbro' I shall write from that place a detailed
account of our proceedings."
"And I hopes you will say as how I have given your honour satisfaction."
"Depend upon that."
"Thank you Sir, thank you humbly; I would not like the Squire to think
I'm ungrateful!--augh,--and mayhap I may have more cause to be grateful
by and by, whenever the Squire, God bless him, in consideration of your
honour's good offices, should let me have the bit cottage rent free."
"A man of the world, Bunting; a man of the world!"
"Your honour's mighty obleeging," said the Corporal, putting his hand to
his hat; "I wonders," renewed he, after a short pause, "I wonders how
poor neighbour Dealtry is. He was a sufferer last year; I should like to
know how Peter be getting on--'tis a good creature."
Somewhat surprised at this sudden sympathy on the part of the Corporal,
for it was seldom that Bunting expressed kindness for any one, Walter
replied,--
"When I write, Bunting, I will not fail to inquire how Peter Dealtry is;-
-does your kind heart suggest any other message to him?"
"Only to ask arter Jacobina, poor thing; she might get herself into
trouble if little Peter fell sick and neglected her like--augh. And I
hopes as how Peter airs the bit cottage now and then; but the Squire, God
bless him, will see to that, and the tato garden, I'm sure."
"You may rely on that, Bunting," said Walter sinking into a reverie, from
which he was shortly roused by the Corporal.
"I'spose Miss Madeline be married afore now, your honour: well, pray
Heaven she be happy with that ere larned man!"
Walter's heart beat faster for a moment at this sudden remark, but he was
pleased to find that the time when the thought of Madeline's marriage was
accompanied with painful emotion was entirely gone by; the reflection
however induced a new train of idea, and without replying to the
Corporal, he sank into a deeper meditation than before.
The shrewd Bunting saw that it was not a favourable moment for renewing
the conversation; he therefore suffered his horse to fall back, and
taking a quid from his tobacco-box, was soon as well entertained as his
master. In this manner they rode on for about a couple of miles, the
evening growing darker as they proceeded, when a green opening in the
road brought them within view of a gipsy's encampment; the scene was so
sudden and so picturesque, that it aroused the young traveller from his
reverie, and as his tired horse walked slowly on, the bridle about its
neck, he looked with an earnest eye on the vagrant settlement beside his
path. The moon had just risen above a dark copse in the rear, and cast a
broad, deep shadow along the green, without lessening the vivid effect of
the fires which glowed and sparkled in the darker recess of the waste
land, as the gloomy forms of the Egyptians were seen dimly cowering round
the blaze. A scene of this sort is perhaps one of the most striking that
the green lanes of Old England afford,--to me it has always an
irresistible attraction, partly from its own claims, partly from those of
association. When I was a mere boy, and bent on a solitary excursion over
parts of England and Scotland, I saw something of that wild people,--
though not perhaps so much as the ingenious George Hanger, to whose
memoirs the reader may be referred, for some rather amusing pages on
gipsy life. As Walter was still eyeing the encampment, he in return had
not escaped the glance of an old crone, who came running hastily up to
him, and begged permission to tell his fortune and to have her hand
crossed with silver.
Very few men under thirty ever sincerely refuse an offer of this sort.
Nobody believes in these predictions, yet every one likes hearing them:
and Walter, after faintly refusing the proposal twice, consented the
third time; and drawing up his horse submitted his hand to the old lady.
In the mean while, one of the younger urchins who had accompanied her had
run to the encampments for a light, and now stood behind the old woman's
shoulder, rearing on high a pine brand, which cast over the little group
a red and weird-like glow.
The reader must not imagine we are now about to call his credulity in aid
to eke out any interest he may feel in our story; the old crone was but a
vulgar gipsy, and she predicted to Walter the same fortune she always
predicted to those who paid a shilling for the prophecy--an heiress with
blue eyes--seven children--troubles about the epoch of forty-three,
happily soon over--and a healthy old age with an easy death. Though
Walter was not impressed with any reverential awe for these
vaticinations, he yet could not refrain from inquiring, whether the
journey on which he was at present bent was likely to prove successful in
its object.
"'Tis an ill night," said the old woman, lifting up her wild face and
elfin locks with a mysterious air--"'Tis an ill night for them as seeks,
and for them as asks.--He's about--"
"He--who?"
"No matter!--you may be successful, young Sir, yet wish you had not been
so. The moon thus, and the wind there--promise that you will get your
desires, and find them crosses."
The Corporal had listened very attentively to these predictions, and was
now about to thrust forth his own hand to the soothsayer, when from a
cross road to the right came the sound of hoofs, and presently a horseman
at full trot pulled up beside them.
"Hark ye, old she Devil, or you, Sirs--is this the road to Knaresbro'?"
The Gipsy drew back, and gazed on the countenance of the rider, on which
the red glare of the pine-brand shone full.
"To Knaresbro', Richard, the dare-devil? Ay, and what does the ramping
bird want in the ould nest? Welcome back to Yorkshire, Richard, my ben
cove!"
"Ha!" said the rider, shading his eyes with his hand, as he returned the
gaze of the Gipsy--"is it you, Bess Airlie: your welcome is like the
owl's, and reads the wrong way. But I must not stop. This takes to
Knaresbro' then?"
"Straight as a dying man's curse to hell," replied the crone, in that
metaphorical style in which all her tribe love to speak, and of which
their proper language is indeed almost wholly composed.
The horseman answered not, but spurred on.
"Who is that?" asked Walter earnestly, as the old woman stretched her
tawny neck after the rider.
"An ould friend, Sir," replied the Egyptian, drily. "I have not seen him
these fourteen years; but it is not Bess Airlie who is apt to forgit
friend or foe. Well, Sir, shall I tell your honour's good luck?"--(Here
she turned to the Corporal, who sat erect on his saddle with his hand on
his holster)--"the colour of the lady's hair--and--"
"Hold your tongue, you limb of Satan!" interrupted the Corporal fiercely,
as if his whole tide of thought, so lately favourable to the Soothsayer,
had undergone a deadly reversion. "Please your honour, it's getting late,
we had better be jogging!"
"You are right," said Walter spurring his jaded horse, and nodding his
adieu to the Gipsy,--he was soon out of sight of the encampment.
"Sir," said the Corporal joining his master, "that is a man as I have
seed afore; I knowed his ugly face again in a crack--'tis the man what
came to Grassdale arter Mr. Aram, and we saw arterwards the night we
chanced on Sir Peter Thingumybob."
"Bunting," said Walter, in a low voice, "I too have been trying to recal
the face of that man, and I too am persuaded I have seen it before. A
fearful suspicion, amounting almost to conviction, creeps over me, that
the hour in which I last saw it was one when my life was in peril. In a
word, I do believe that I beheld that face bending over me on the night
when I lay under the hedge, and so nearly escaped murder! If I am right,
it was, however, the mildest of the ruffians; the one who counselled his
comrades against despatching me."
The Corporal shuddered.
"Pray, Sir!" said he, after a moment's pause, "do see if your pistols are
primed--so--so. 'Tis not out o' nature that the man may have some
'complices hereabout, and may think to way-lay us. The old Gipsy, too,
what a face she had! depend on it, they are two of a trade--augh!--
bother!--whaugh!"
And the Corporal grunted his most significant grunt.
"It is not at all unlikely, Bunting; and as we are now not far from
Knaresbro', it will be prudent to ride on as fast as our horses will
allow us. Keep up alongside."
"Certainly--I'll purtect your honour," said the Corporal, getting on that
side where the hedge being thinnest, an ambush was less likely to be
laid. "I care more for your honour's safety than my own, or what a brute
I should be--augh!"
The master and man had trotted on for some little distance, when they
perceived a dark object moving along by the grass on the side of the
road. The Corporal's hair bristled--he uttered an oath, which by him was
always intended for a prayer. Walter felt his breath grow a little thick
as he watched the motions of the object so imperfectly beheld; presently,
however, it grew into a man on horseback, trotting very slowly along the
grass; and as they now neared him, they recognised the rider they had
just seen, whom they might have imagined, from the pace at which he left
them before, to have been considerably a-head of them.
The horseman turned round as he saw them.
"Pray, gentlemen," said he, in a tone of great and evident anxiety, "how
far is it to Knaresbro'?"
"Don't answer him, your honour!" whispered the Corporal.
"Probably," replied Walter, unheeding this advice, "you know this road
better than we do. It cannot however be above three or four miles hence."
"Thank you, Sir,--it is long since I have been in these parts. I used to
know the country, but they have made new roads and strange enclosures,
and I now scarcely recognise any thing familiar. Curse on this brute!
curse on it, I say!" repeated the horseman through his ground teeth in a
tone of angry vehemence, "I never wanted to ride so quick before, and the
beast has fallen as lame as a tree. This comes of trying to go faster
than other folks.--Sir, are you a father?"
This abrupt question, which was uttered in a sharp, strained voice, a
little startled Walter. He replied shortly in the negative, and was about
to spur onward, when the horseman continued--and there was something in
his voice and manner that compelled attention: "And I am in doubt whether
I have a child or not.--By G--! it is a bitter gnawing state of mind.--I
may reach Knaresbro' to find my only daughter dead, Sir!--dead!"
Despite of Walter's suspicions of the speaker, he could not but feel a
thrill of sympathy at the visible distress with which these words were
said.
"I hope not," said he involuntarily.
"Thank you, Sir," replied the Horseman, trying ineffectually to spur on
his steed, which almost came down at the effort to proceed. "I have
ridden thirty miles across the country at full speed, for they had no
post-horses at the d--d place where I hired this brute. This was the only
creature I could get for love or money; and now the devil only knows how
important every moment may be.--While I speak, my child may breathe her
last!--" and the man brought his clenched fist on the shoulder of his
horse in mingled spite and rage.
"All sham, your honour," whispered the Corporal.
"Sir," cried the horseman, now raising his voice, "I need not have asked
if you had been a father--if you had, you would have had compassion on me
ere this,--you would have lent me your own horse."
"The impudent rogue!" muttered the Corporal.
"Sir," replied Walter, "it is not to the tale of every stranger that a
man gives belief."
"Belief!--ah, well, well, 'tis no matter," said the horseman, sullenly.
"There was a time, man, when I would have forced what I now solicit; but
my heart's gone. Ride on, Sir--ride on,--and the curse of--"
"If," interrupted Walter, irresolutely--"if I could believe your
statement:--but no. Mark me, Sir: I have reasons--fearful reasons, for
imagining you mean this but as a snare!"
"Ha!" said the horseman, deliberately, "have we met before?"
"I believe so."
"And you have had cause to complain of me? It may be--it may be: but were
the grave before me, and if one lie would smite me into it, I solemnly
swear that I now utter but the naked truth."
"It would be folly to trust him, Bunting?" said Walter, turning round to
his attendant.
"Folly!--sheer madness--bother!"
"If you are the man I take you for," said Walter, "you once lifted your
voice against the murder, though you assisted in the robbery of a
traveller:--that traveller was myself. I will remember the mercy--I will
forget the outrage: and I will not believe that you have devised this
tale as a snare. Take my horse, Sir; I will trust you."
Houseman, for it was he, flung himself instantly from his saddle. "I
don't ask God to bless you: a blessing in my mouth would be worse than a
curse. But you will not repent this: you will not repent it!"
Houseman said these few words with a palpable emotion; and it was more
striking on account of the evident coarseness and hardened vulgarity of
his nature. In a moment more he had mounted Walter's horse, and turning
ere he sped on, inquired at what place at Knaresborough the horse should
be sent. Walter directed him to the principal inn; and Houseman, waving
his hand, and striking his spurs into the animal, wearied as it was, was
out of sight in a moment.
"Well, if ever I seed the like!" quoth the Corporal. "Lira, lira, la, la,
la! lira, lara, la, la, la!--augh!--whaugh!--bother!"
"So my good-nature does not please you, Bunting."
"Oh, Sir, it does not sinnify: we shall have our throats cut--that's all.
"What! you don't believe the story."
"I? Bless your honour, I am no fool."
"Bunting!"
"Sir."
"You forget yourself."
"Augh!"
"So you don't think I should have lent the horse?"
"Sartainly not."
"On occasions like these, every man ought to take care of himself?
Prudence before generosity?"
"Of a sartainty, Sir."
"Dismount, then,--I want my horse. You may shift with the lame one."
"Augh, Sir,--baugh!"
"Rascal, dismount, I say!" said Walter angrily: for the Corporal was one
of those men who aim at governing their masters; and his selfishness now
irritated Walter as much as his impertinent tone of superior wisdom.
The Corporal hesitated. He thought an ambuscade by the road of certain
occurrence; and he was weighing the danger of riding a lame horse against
his master's displeasure. Walter, perceiving he demurred, was seized with
so violent a resentment, that he dashed up to the Corporal, and, grasping
him by the collar, swung him, heavy as he was,--being wholly unprepared
for such force,--to the ground.
Without deigning to look at his condition, Walter mounted the sound
horse, and throwing the bridle of the lame one over a bough, left the
Corporal to follow at his leisure.
There is not perhaps a more sore state of mind than that which we
experience when we have committed an act we meant to be generous, and
fear to be foolish.
"Certainly," said Walter, soliloquizing, "certainly the man is a rascal:
yet he was evidently sincere in his emotion. Certainly he was one of the
men who robbed me; yet, if so, he was also the one who interceded for my
life. If I should now have given strength to a villain;--if I should have
assisted him to an outrage against myself! What more probable? Yet, on
the other hand, if his story be true;--if his child be dying,--and if,
through my means, he obtain a last interview with her! Well, well, let me
hope so!"
Here he was joined by the Corporal, who, angry as he was, judged it
prudent to smother his rage for another opportunity; and by favoring his
master with his company, to procure himself an ally immediately at hand,
should his suspicions prove true. But for once, his knowledge of the
world deceived him: no sign of living creature broke the loneliness of
the way. By and by the lights of the town gleamed upon them; and, on
reaching the inn, Walter found his horse had been already sent there,
and, covered with dust and foam, was submitting itself to the tutelary
hands of the hostler.