MY JOURNEY BEGINS.
It was certainly a bitter pill for me to swallow watching the boys
start for home on the Wednesday and Thursday mornings, and what made
the punishment seem all the harder was saying good-bye to Miles. Had
it not been for that hare-brained antic, I might at least have
travelled with him on the coach as far as Tod's Corner, and so enjoyed
his companionship a few hours longer. A school, after the boys have
gone home for the holidays, is a very desolate place. I had my meals
at the headmaster's table, but, being in disgrace, ate them in solemn
silence, and was glad enough when the ordeal was over, and I was free
once more to go where I liked.
At length, on the Thursday afternoon, I found myself sitting at one of
the long rows of desks in the empty schoolroom. The unusual quiet
seemed to weigh on my spirits; and though I tried to cheer myself with
the thought that only a few hours now remained before I should be on
the way home, yet a certain gloomy foreboding as of impending trouble
seemed to weigh on my mind. What could it be? After all, the loss of
one day did not much matter, and I felt sure that when I explained the
full circumstances of the case to my parents, they would take a lenient
view of my foolish midnight escapade. Sitting idly mending an old
quill pen which I had found on the floor, my thoughts turned once more
to Miles and his uncertain future, and from this I came to recalling
the incidents of my visit to Coverthorne.
What could be the explanation of that strange noise in the so-called
haunted room? Of course, there were no such things as ghosts, and
yet--and yet I myself had beaten a hasty retreat when left alone with
those unearthly sounds, the origin of which it was impossible to trace.
The very recollection of the experience made me turn and glance
uneasily up and down the long room, as though I half expected to find
myself sharing its solitude with some black bogey of a nursemaid's
tale. The next instant I laughed at my own foolishness, and rising to
my feet began to move about, for the room was cold.
The place had not been swept since the boys' departure. The floor was
littered with torn paper, fragments of broken slates, and other rubbish
which had been thrown about in the process of packing up. Some
light-hearted youth, who had come into possession of a piece of chalk,
had covered the blackboard with his scrawlings. Wandering aimlessly up
the room, I came to a halt; then, hardly conscious of what I was doing,
I opened one of the desks, and glanced down carelessly at its interior.
What good reason I afterwards had to remember that apparently
purposeless' action! The books and other boyish possessions had been
removed, and nothing remained but a mass of waste paper and other odds
and ends, such as lay strewn about on the floor. I stirred this up
with my hand. As I did so, my fingers came in contact with something
hard, and I drew forth a small, oblong metal box, made, if I remember
rightly, of pewter.
The desk had been occupied by a boy named Talbot, who was leaving these
holidays, and so had taken his books with him. The object which I held
in my hand, and which he had evidently overlooked, was a tinder-box, or
rather a box containing tinder, flint, and steel, and little chips of
wood tipped with sulphur. The so-called "lucifer" matches, I may
remark, did not come into use until some years later. I stood for a
moment undecided what to do with my find. Left in the desk it was
certain to be discovered and carried off, either by one of the servants
or the charwoman who cleaned the room. Talbot had a younger brother
who would be returning after Christmas. I might restore the box to
him; and with this intention I slipped it into my pocket.
I was up early enough on the following morning, devoured my breakfast
in the kitchen by the light of a solitary candle, and then said a hasty
good-bye to Dr. Bagley, who had just come down, and who, after sternly
expressing a hope that I should amend my ways next term, thawed
sufficiently to wish me a merry Christmas and send his compliments to
my friends at home. Sparrow was to drive me in the pony-chaise as far
as Round Green. We started off, with the single trunk which composed
my luggage on the seat in front; and so began the most eventful journey
of my life--one which it seems little short of a miracle did not end in
my embarking on that still longer journey from which there is no return.
The coach was due to arrive at Round Green at about 9.30, and we were
to wait for it, as usual, at the Sportsman Inn, which, being the end of
a stage, was always stopped at for the purpose of changing horses.
It was a bitterly cold morning; the roads seemed as hard as iron, and
our breath smoked as we talked. We had covered nearly half the
distance, and were going along in fine fashion, when suddenly there was
a clatter and a crash. I felt myself flung forward, heard a shout from
Sparrow, and the next moment found myself rolling down a steep bank by
the roadside, half blinded by the cold rime from the frosty grass. It
took me a few seconds to recover myself, and when at length I scrambled
to my feet, I saw at once what had happened. The pony had slipped on a
sheet of ice, and come down badly, cutting its knees and smashing one
of the shafts. Fortunately Sparrow had sustained no injury, and with
the help of a countryman who happened to be crossing a neighbouring
field we unharnessed our steed, and got it once more on its legs.
For a time the accident occupied the whole of our attention. Sparrow
was in a fine state of mind, fearing that he would be blamed for the
mishap. It was evident that we could not go on, and if we returned we
should have to walk. Then it flashed across my mind that this delay
would cause me to lose the coach. There was no catching a later train
in those days, and I could not bring myself to face the prospect of
spending another day in that deserted school.
"I shall go on," I declared to Sparrow, "and you can return with the
pony."
"I doubt if you'll reach the Sportsman in time, Mr. Eden," was the
answer. "And there's your box. We must back the chaise into the
roadside till it can be sent for, but we ought not to leave your box."
"Oh, bother my luggage!" I began, when the countryman interrupted and
came to the rescue.
"I doan't mind carrying the young gen'leman's box as fur as the
Sportsman for a mug o' beer," he remarked; "then you can get back home
with the pony."
The arrangement was no sooner suggested than I agreed to it, and
Sparrow was obliged to acquiesce. The damaged carriage was pushed back
into a gateway, my trunk was lifted out, and hoisted on to the broad
shoulders of the labourer; and taking leave of the school porter, I
turned to resume my journey to Round Green.
In the heat of the moment I had not paid much attention to the doubt
expressed by Sparrow as to my reaching the inn in time to catch the
coach, but now I began to wonder myself whether the thing could be
done. Nowadays every boy has a watch; then they were a rarer
possession. I had no means of telling the time, but guessed we had
none to spare.
On I went, the man with the box trudging behind me. It soon became
evident that, burdened as he was, he could not keep up with me unless I
moderated my pace; and at length, when we reached the top of a rather
stiff hill, he was obliged to stop and put down the trunk, in order to
rest and regain his breath.
The sunshine sparkled on the frosted trees and hedges. It was one of
those clear, still winter mornings when sounds carry a long distance,
and as we waited there came to our ears the far-off "toot-toot" of a
horn. It was the coach signalling its approach to Round Green. I
sprang to my feet, and abandoning my box to its fate, rushed off along
the road, with some wild notion of stopping the coach and leaving word
for my luggage to be sent on. But I might as well have attempted to
overtake the vehicle which had carried off my companions on the
previous day. The inn was still more than a mile distant, and when at
length, flushed and panting, I arrived in front of the building, the
only trace to be seen of the _Regulator_ was a glimpse of the steaming
horses, which had worked the last stage, being led away by an hostler
in the direction of the stables. Accustomed though I was to take hard
knocks at school, I must say that I could have sat down and cried with
vexation. Pulling myself together, I walked into the house, and there
encountering Peter Judson, the landlord, and his wife, a stout,
good-natured body, who always took a kindly interest in us boys, in a
few words I related exactly what had happened.
"What stuff and nonsense not allowing him to go home with the rest!"
exclaimed Mrs. Judson. "It just serves that old Dr. Bagley right, his
chaise being broken!--Well, my dear," she continued, "I don't see
there's anything to be done but for you to go back, and make a fresh
start again to-morrow. The butcher will pass in about an hour's time;
he is going Ashbridge way, and would take you along with him in his
cart."
"Oh, I'm not going back," I answered doggedly. "Look here," I added,
struck with a sudden idea: "I'll wait here, and go on by the night
coach. I don't mind the cold, and I should get home to Castlefield in
time for breakfast to-morrow morning."
"It's not certain you'd find room," muttered Peter, "unless you booked
a place beforehand. There's a good many travelling now, just before
Christmas."
"Oh, they'd stow him away somewhere, a little chap like him," remarked
Mrs. Judson.
Just then a man's head appeared at the door of the bar-parlour in which
we were talking, and I recognized Bob, the head stableman, who had been
passing down the passage and had overheard our conversation.
"There's the _True Blue_ put on extra to-day for the jail delivery," he
remarked. "The young gen'leman might get through to Castlefield all
right on that. I don't suppose he'd have any particular objection to
going along of the 'birds,' seeing they're well looked after!"
The exact meaning of this speech I did not comprehend, but I gathered
from it that there was a chance of my going on by an extra coach, which
would pass before the mail, and I at once jumped at the opportunity.
"Oh yes; I'll go on by that," I exclaimed. "What time is it due?"
"About half-past four," answered the man.
Judson and his wife looked at each other and then at me.
"I don't see why he shouldn't go," remarked the latter. "George'll
look after him all right. Besides, his friends will be expecting him
to-day, and'll be sure to be sitting up. He ought to be home just
afore or after midnight."
It was, accordingly, settled that I was to go on by the _True Blue_,
which was due to pass at half-past four. The man appeared shortly
after with my box. I gave him his mug of beer, and then settled down
to while away the time as best I could till the coach should arrive. I
looked over some back numbers of the _Welmington Advertiser_, went
outside and chatted with the stablemen, and joined the landlord and his
wife at their midday dinner. Slowly the afternoon wore away. Mrs.
Judson had forced me to eat a hearty tea--"to keep out the cold," as
the good soul put it--and I was standing warming myself by the taproom
fire talking to Judson, when, happening to turn my head, I saw a man's
face pressed close against the outside of the window. By this time it
was quite dark. I could see nothing more of the stranger than his
face, but from the way in which he moved his head it seemed to me that
he was endeavouring to get a glimpse of the old eight-day clock which
stood in a corner of the room behind the bar. Perceiving that I was
looking at something, the landlord turned also, but had hardly done so
when the face disappeared.
We waited for a moment, expecting that the stranger would enter the
inn; then, as he did not appear, Judson strolled outside to see what
the man wanted. I waited some time, and at length the landlord
returned.
"You saw that fellow outside, didn't you, sir?" he asked. "Well, it's
curious I can't see no trace of him anywhere. He looked rather a rough
customer. I wonder what he wanted."
We had little time for speculation, for hardly had my companion
finished speaking when the cheerful note of the horn gave warning that
the coach was approaching; and the quiet little inn woke up at once
with an unwonted show of life and bustle.
Great was my delight, as the guard of the coach entered the room, to
recognize our old friend George Woodley, who, I afterwards discovered,
had been changed from the _Regulator_ to the _True Blue_; and in a few
words I explained to him the situation in which I was placed.
"Oh, very well, sir," he answered, "come along; there's a seat outside,
and we'll look after you all right."
I followed him down the passage and outside, where the fresh horses
were just being put to--the glaring lamps of the coach sending forth
rays of light into the darkness ahead, which seemed to make it all the
more intense, though stars twinkled overhead. As we stepped into the
road we were greeted with a roar of men's voices singing, without much
regard to tune or time. The sound came from the outside passengers,
who seemed to be diverting themselves with a sort of rough taproom
chorus. I remember noticing that the usual pile of luggage on the roof
was missing, and to my surprise the box-seat by the side of the
coachman was vacant. Into this lofty perch it was that I now climbed;
and as the driver gathered up his reins, on the point of starting, an
incident happened which caught my attention. A man emerged from the
deep shadow of the hedge at the roadside, and springing lightly on to
the near front wheel, said in a hoarse whisper,--
"Is that you, Ned? Good-bye, old man! Here, shake hands.
Good-bye--God bless you!"
There followed a sharp metallic jingle, which caused me to turn my
head; and then it was that, for the first time, I became aware of the
fact that the men behind me were all fettered.