THE RISING.
Tom Barker, the coachman, had just given the word to the hostler to
"let 'em go!" when Judson came running out of the lighted doorway of
the inn with something in his hand.
"Here's a hare and a brace of pheasants the squire wants delivered to
Dr. Plumer of Castlefield, Tom," he said. "They may as well go on by
you. I'll hang 'em on the lamp iron."
"All right," muttered Barker, and off we went. To sit beside the
driver was in those days considered a very privileged position, and I
felt not a little proud of the honour, in spite of the fact that I was
filled with a feeling of uneasiness and astonishment at what I had just
discovered with regard to my fellow-travellers. The good-natured
driver must have guessed my thoughts, for he turned to me, remarking,--
"I suppose you know what sort of a load we've got to-night, sir?"
"Well, no--not exactly," I replied.
"Why, it's the jail delivery off to Botany Bay," was the answer.
"And what's the 'jail delivery'?" I asked, remembering that I had heard
the words before, but still in doubt as to their exact meaning.
"Why, these is all jail-birds off to a warmer climate like the
swallers," answered Tom, chuckling at his own grim joke, and skilfully
winding up the long lash of his whip. "They've all been condemned to
transportation at Welmington Assizes, and now they're on their way from
jail to the hulks at Portsmouth."
Any doubt as to the correctness of this statement was dispelled by the
convicts themselves, who launched out once more into their uproarious
song, "We're off to Botany Bay," accompanying their chant with a weird
jingling of their chains. This last sound sent a momentary thrill of
horror through me, for I had never before seen human beings chained
like brute beasts.
"They're all right!" continued Tom. "They've got the ruffles on, and
they're all fast to the rail," he added, referring to an iron rail
which ran across the coach behind the seat on the roof, to keep the
luggage from slipping forward. "They can't do no harm. All the same,
I've carried loads I liked better."
"How many are there?" I inquired.
"Ten, and two warders--one inside, and t'other out. There's one
they've got inside, a regular highflier--Rodwood his name is. He's
sentenced for life, I believe. The only wonder is he's escaped being
hung."
"What was his crime?"
"Forgery--at least that's what they've got him for; but they say he's a
desperate villain--one as'll stop at nothing when his blood is up, and
would think no more of killing a man as came in his way than you or I
might of knocking down a rat in a stable. Well, he's off safe enough
now for t'other side of the world, and I hope they'll keep him there."
The convicts continued to sing and shout, then grew quieter, apparently
tired by their exertions, though every now and again one or more of
them burst out afresh in a forced manner, as though bent on making a
display of bravado and unconcern. Once or twice, in the pauses of
their singing, and amid the clatter of the horses' hoofs and the rumble
of the wheels, I remember catching a slight sound, the origin of which
it was impossible for even my sharp ears to clearly distinguish, but
which I attributed to the swaying and grating of the lamp-iron on which
the game had been hung.
On and on we rattled through the darkness. Tom and I exhausted our
topics of conversation, and for the time being relapsed into silence.
Guilty as I knew my fellow-passengers were of serious crimes, I could
not help in a way feeling sorry for them, and contrasting their journey
with mine--I myself on the way to the enjoyment of a jolly Christmas
holiday with friends at home, and they to banishment from their native
land, and to hard servitude beyond the sea.
The cold, too, was intense. I felt it, though warmly clad, and made
sure that the poor wretches on the seats behind must be chilled to the
bone. Even burly Tom Barker, protected with a driving coat and a big
shawl, growled out that "it was a sharp un to-night, and no mistake,"
by which I understood him to imply that it was freezing hard.
At length, at the end of a stage, as we drew up outside an inn very
similar to the Sportsman, Tom prepared to dismount from his perch, and
invited me to do the same. I preferred, however, to remain where I
was, and was watching the stablemen removing the horses, when, to my
surprise, I heard a man's voice behind me pronounce my name.
"Mr. Eden."
Turning sharply, I found the convict directly behind me leaning forward
in his seat. The bright light which shone out through the open door of
the inn fell directly on his face, and I was shocked to recognize the
rugged features of the man Lewis, in whose boat at Rockymouth, on more
than one occasion, Miles and I had gone fishing.
"Excuse me, sir," continued the man. "I knew you as soon as you got up
at Round Green. Maybe you've heard from Mr. Miles how I come to this.
A tussle with the preventive men was what done it. I'm no thief."
Had it not been for the sadness of the situation, I could almost have
smiled at this fresh proof of the dogged conviction, entertained by
this man and his class, that defrauding the revenue was no crime.
"I should like to have said good-bye to Mr. Miles," continued Lewis.
"Give him my respects when you see him. I suppose, sir, you haven't
got such a thing as a bit of baccy about you?"
Remembering our holiday excursions, and somehow contrasting his present
hapless condition with the freedom of the great sea, I could not but
pity the unhappy fellow. I shook my head, signifying that I had not.
The next moment Tom Barker emerged from the inn, rubbing his mouth with
the back of his hand. He clambered into his place; there was a "Give
'em their heads, Dick," and we were off again.
The next stage was not accomplished quite so successfully as the
previous part of the journey. After a time one of the wheelers went
lame. On examination, it proved to have been badly shod, and at the
end of another mile Tom pulled up at a wayside blacksmith's to have the
offending nail extracted. Here we had to wait some little time while
the smith, who had stopped work for the day, was fetched from his
cottage, which was down a dark lane, and not easy to find. It was
during this pause in the journey, after the coach had remained
stationary for about twenty minutes, that a man thrust his head out of
the window and demanded, in loud and peremptory tones, the reason of
the delay.
"See here, guard," he cried, "this sort of thing won't do! I'm due
aboard one of the king's ships to-morrow!"
The convicts sent up a shout of laughter at this reference to the hulk
for which they were bound, and I was soon aware that the speaker was
not the warder, as I had at first imagined, but the man Rodwood of whom
Tom had spoken. He kept up the joke with a few more sentences of a
similar kind, until the gruff command, "Stow that!" from the warder
caused him to subside once more into his seat. He spoke like an
educated gentleman, and with the air of one accustomed to command.
Indeed, I afterwards learned that he had once held a commission in the
army, but owing to gambling debts had been obliged to sell out,
whereupon he had entered upon a career of crime, which had terminated
in a sentence of transportation for life. At length George Woodley and
the smith put in their appearance; the injured horse was attended to,
and we were enabled to resume our journey. Bowling along mile after
mile in the darkness, it was difficult to judge how time was passing;
but Tom, glancing at his old, turnip-shaped watch as we left the
smithy, muttered,--
"Blessed if it ain't quarter-past eight, and we ain't got to Tod's
Corner."
The mention of the crossroads, where at the beginning of the summer
holidays we had been met by the gig from Coverthorne, caused my
thoughts to fly off to the old house and the fun I had had with Miles,
both at the commencement of the previous holidays and during that long
friendship which had been brought to such an untimely end. Musing over
the events of the holiday naturally led me back to a remembrance of the
man with whom I had just been speaking. There he sat, bound for the
opposite side of the globe; yet within half an hour we should pass
within three miles of Rockymouth, that native village which he might
never behold again. If it had been daylight, we should by this time
have caught a glimpse of the sea from the highway along which we were
travelling, and the night air seemed flavoured with the salt odour of
the ocean.
Though cold and weary, the convicts had once more commenced their song,
as though, being debarred the free use of their limbs, they were
determined to keep themselves warm with the exercise of their lungs. I
had grown by this time so much accustomed to their presence as to
hardly notice their shouting; tired out with the day's adventures, only
the fear of falling from my lofty perch prevented my dropping off to
sleep. Even the sharp tingling of my ears would not have kept me
awake. My chin kept falling with a jerk upon my breast, and the
clatter of hoofs and the song of the prisoners mingled strangely with
momentary fancies that I was back at school, or was talking with the
loved ones at home.
At length I was roused up broad awake by the coach stopping. The road
was very dark, owing to its being overshadowed by a number of tall
trees. I peered about me, and catching sight of a ruined cottage with
half of its thatched roof fallen in, I recognized the spot at once, and
knew that we were come to within about a mile of Tod's Corner. Just
beyond the glare of our lamps was the brow of a steep and dangerous
hill, and we had pulled up while George jumped down and put on the drag.
In fancy I can see now the dark figure of Tom Barker beside me, reins
in one hand and whip in the other, waiting for the signal to proceed.
The convicts had ceased their singing, and all was quiet except for the
impatient scrape of one of the leader's hoofs. I heard the tinkle of
the drag as Woodley loosed the chain; then on the roof behind some one
gave a short, sharp whistle.
Exactly what happened next I did not fully realize till later. Two men
suddenly seized Tom Barker from behind, and a desperate struggle
ensued. The silence was broken by an outburst of horrible threats and
cursing, while, to make matters worse, the horses, startled by the
noise and the fall of the coachman's whip on the backs of the wheelers,
sprang forward, and, as though knowing instinctively that something was
wrong, gave every sign of commencing to bolt.
I fear I cannot claim for myself any particular presence of mind: it
was more the natural impulse of self-preservation which prompted me to
act; for once let the horses start to gallop down that hill, and all
our necks were as good as broken. Fortunately, although I had never
enjoyed the privilege of handling the ribbons on a stage-coach before,
I was accustomed to horses. I seized the reins in the nick of time,
just as they were slipping over the splashboard, and bracing myself for
the effort, succeeded in bringing the team to a standstill.
Even as I did so Tom Barker was flung from his seat, and fell heavily
into the road, where he lay like a log, stunned if not dead. Terrified
by this violence, I was about to spring down and make good my escape in
the darkness, when I felt my arm seized in an iron grip, and a voice,
which I recognized as belonging to the man Lewis, spoke in my ear.
"Stay still, sir; you may get hurt if you try to run. I'll see you
come to no harm."