THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE SAME
The storm had passed and I remember the moon was shining as, turning
our backs upon the silent inn of the "Jolly Waggoner," we made off
along the road at a good, sharp pace. And now, what with the stillness
of the night and the strange happenings of the last few hours and the
wild figure of the highwayman who seemed even more grim and terrifying
by moonlight, my overwrought emotions brought on me a nausea of horror
and faintness so that I stumbled more than once, whereupon my
companion, tightening his grip, dragged me on, cursing me heartily; so
that, contrasting his brutality with my aunt Julia's tender, loving
care and my desperate plight with the luxurious security of home, I
felt all at once the hot smart of tears and so fell to a silent
passion of grief and yearning.
Thus we tramped on some while, the highwayman and I, until, having
mastered this weakness somewhat, I ventured to steal a glance at him
and immediately forgot my own grief in stark wonder and amaze to
behold him weeping also, for upon his scarred cheek the moon showed me
the gleam of tears, and even as I stared he rubbed at his eyes with
hairy knuckle, sniffed and cursed softly. So great was my astonishment
that I stopped to stare at him, whereupon he stopped to scowl at me.
"Well?" he enquired gruffly. "An' what now?"
"You--can shed tears also, then?" said I.
"Well, an' why not?" he demanded. "Can't a cove grieve now an' then if
he's a mind to?"
"But you're a highwayman!"
"Which seein' you say so, I'll not deny," said he. "So I'll trouble
you for your purse an' also your ticker--an' sharp's the word!" And
speaking, he whipped a pistol beneath my chin, whereupon I delivered
up the articles named as quickly as my consternation would allow. "And
now," said he, pocketing my erstwhile property and seizing my arm
again, "come on, friend, an' let this be a warnin' never to disturb a
'ighwayman wot grieves."
"Why do you grieve?"
"For my Chloe!"
"Your wife?"
"Wife--no! Never 'ad a wife--never shall. There's no woman breathin'
could ekal my Chloe for love an' faithfulness--used to nibble my 'air,
she did, poor lass!"
"Nibble your hair?" I repeated. "Pray who was she?"
"My mare, for sure--my pretty mare as 'adn't 'er ekal for speed nor
wind--my mare as they Bow Street dogs shot an' left to bleed 'er life
out in the mud an' be damned to 'em."
"Then the tale of your wife and babies weeping for you was untrue?"
"Every word of it, friend. An' what then? A man's apt to say anything
to save 'is neck--now ain't 'e? Wouldn't you?"
Now at this I was silent and we walked for a while with never a word.
"And your mother?" I questioned at last. "Your mother praying for
you--was that also untrue?"
"My mother," said he, lifting his face to the radiant moon, "my mother
died three years ago--on her knees--prayin' for me--an' it's like
enough she's on 'er knees afore th' Throne a-prayin' for me this werry
minute."
"And yet you are a--highwayman?"
"Why, friend, 'tis in the family, y' see. My father was one afore me
an' uncommon successful--much looked up to in 'is perfession, though a
little too quick o' th' trigger finger--but 'e was took at last, 'ung
at Tyburn an' gibbeted on Blackheath. They took me to see 'im in 'is
chains, an' bein' only a little lad, I cried all the way back 'ome to
my mother an' found 'er a-cryin' too. But because 'e'd been so famous
in 'is perfession they gibbeted 'im very 'igh, an' so, as folk 'ad
looked up to 'im in life they did the same in death."
"Yours is a very evil, dangerous life," said I, after a while.
"Evil?" he repeated. "Well, life mostly is evil if ye come to think on
it. An' as for danger--'t's so-so--three times shot, six times in jail
an' many a rousin' gallop wi' the hue an' cry behind. But arter all
'tis my perfession an' there's worse, so what I am I'll be."
"And will you let your mother pray in vain?"
"In vain," he repeated, "in vain? Why, blast the Pope, hasn't she
saved me from bein' scragged many a time--didn't she save me t'night?"
"Doesn't she pray rather that you may turn honest?"
"Honest!" quoth he, spitting. "Let them be honest as can! An' look
'ee, my lad, I'll tell ye what--you leave my dead mother alone or 't
will be the worse for ye."
Having uttered which threat he strode on, scowling and snorting, now
and then, in a very disturbing manner, so that I ventured no further
remark and we walked a great way in silence until, suddenly venting a
snort fiercer and louder then ever, he spoke:
"Honest!" he ejaculated. "Honest--why, curse your carkis, who are you
to talk o' honesty? d'ye know as you're liable to be took by any o'
these honest uns--took an' appre'ended as my accomplice afore an'
arter the fact--d'ye know that?"
"God help me!" I ejaculated, in agonised dismay. "Oh, heaven help me!"
"Let's 'ope so!" he nodded grimly. "Meantime, I intend to do a bit for
ye that way meself--seein' as you 'elped me t'night wi' that cursed
knot. I'd managed 'em all but one an' that were out o' reach--so
because o' that theer knot an' my good mother, I'm a-goin' to--do the
best I can for ye."
"How--when--what do you mean?" I questioned eagerly.
"Never you mind, only I am--an' no man can say honester or fairer, an'
I'm a-goin' t' do my best for ye because, bein' the son o' my blessed
mother, I'm that tender-'earted that, though I'm th' son o' my feyther
I've knowed myself to drop a tear in the very act o' business. She
were an' old lady in a pair-'oss phaeton wi' plenty o' sparklers an'
nice white hair: a rosy old creetur, comfortably plump and
round--'specially in front. 'O Mr. 'ighwayman!' says she, weepin'
doleful as she tipped me 'er purse an' the shiners, ''ow could ye do
it?' 'Ma'm,' I says, wipin' my eyes wi' my pistol--and--'ma'm, I don't
know--but do it I must!' An' I rode away quite down-'earted." Here he
turned to regard me with his wry smile.
Thus we held on, by field paths and narrow muddy tracks until the moon
was down and I was stumbling with weariness. At last, my strength
almost spent, we entered a wood, a dismal place where a mournful wind
stirred, where trees dripped upon me and wet leaves brushed my face
like ghostly fingers, while rain-sodden underbrush and bracken clung
about my wearied limbs. Through this clammy dreariness I followed my
tireless companion until suddenly his dim form vanished and I was
groping amid damp leaves; but through this dense thicket came his hand
to seize and drag me on until I found myself in a place of utter
darkness.
"Stand still!" he commanded.
A moment after I heard him strike flint and steel and presently he
lighted a candle-end by whose welcome beam I saw we stood in a roomy
cave. And an evil place I thought it, full of unexpected corners,
littered with all manner of odds and ends and divers misshapen
bundles. Having set down the candle, the highwayman drew a dingy
blanket before the cave mouth and turned to scowl at me, eyeing my
shrinking person over from dripping hat to sodden boots; and well
might I shrink, for surely few waking eyes have beheld such a wild and
terrifying vision as he presented, his battered face, his garments
mired and torn, his hands hidden in the pockets of his riding-coat.
"Tyburn Tree!" said he suddenly. "The nubbing cheat! 'Tis there I'm
like to go one o' these days an' all along o' my kind 'eart--with a
curse on't. There were only three men in this 'ard world as knew o'
this 'ere refuge, an' Ben Purvis was shot three year ago an' poor Nick
Scrope swings a-top o' River Hill--which left only me. An' now 'ere's
you--curse on my kind 'eart, says I!"
"Indeed--oh, indeed you may trust me--"
"W'y, there it is--I must trust you, blast my kind 'eart, I says! But
look now, my cove, this here cave being as ye might say the secoor
'aven of a pore soul as the world don't love--if you should ever peach
to a nark or speak a word of it to the queer coves, why then this pore
soul will come a-seekin' till you're found an' blow your danged face
off."
Hereupon I broke into such fervent protestations of secrecy as seemed
to satisfy him, for he turned, and from a roughly constructed cupboard
took a black bottle and two mugs; having filled the mugs he passed one
to me and, raising the other to his lips, nodded:
"Happy days, pal!" said he; and so we drank together. The potent
spirit warmed and comforted me despite the misery of wet boots and
damp clothes, and seated on a box I was already half-asleep when his
grip on my shoulder roused me and, starting up, I saw he had undone
one of the bundles and spread the contents before me on the floor,
namely: a rough jacket, cord breeches, woollen stockings and a pair of
stout, clumsy shoes. "Get 'em on!" he commanded. So because I needs
must, I obeyed; and though these rough garments fitted me but ill, I
found them warm and comfortable enough.
"You'll do!" he nodded. "Roll ye'self in the mud an' your own
mother'll never know ye. An' now--off wi' you!"
"Do you mean--I must go?" said I, aghast and shivering at the
recollection of the dreary wilderness outside.
"Aye, I do so!" quoth he, seating himself on the small barrel that
served him as a chair.
"And will you send me away destitute--without a penny?"
At this he was silent awhile, head bowed as one in profound thought,
then groping in his capacious pocket, he at last drew forth my purse,
stared at it, weighed it on his palm and suddenly thrust it into my
hand; then as I stood amazed beyond speech, he took out my watch.
"Gold!" he muttered, as if to himself. "A gold tattler as would bring
me--take it an' be damned!" saying which he thrust it savagely upon
me.
"This--this is generous--" I began.
"Norra word!" he growled. "They said my feyther was a rogue an' hanged
him according, but my mother was a saint as went back to heaven, so if
you must thank anybody, thank 'er memory. An' now off wi' ye, lest
minding my feyther, I take 'em back again."
Hereupon I made haste to be gone, but reaching the blanket at the cave
mouth, I turned and came back again.
"Good-bye, Galloping Jerry!" said I, and held out my hand.
Now at this he drew in his breath sharply and sat scowling at my
outstretched hand as though it had been something very rare and
curious; at last he raised his keen eyes to my face in quick, strange
scrutiny.
"Why, Lord love my eyes!" he exclaimed, like one greatly amazed, "Lord
love my eyes and limbs!" Then, all at once, he took my hand, gripping
it very hard, and held it thus a long moment, loosing it as suddenly;
and so I turned and, lifting the blanket, went out into the dreary
desolation of the wood.
On the misery of this night's wanderings I will not dwell; let it
suffice to say that, sick and reeling with weariness and lack of
sleep, I came at sunrise upon a barn into which I crept and here, with
no better couch than a pile of hay, I was thankful to stretch my
aching body, and so fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.