Having looked at the stars, and profited by their quiet teaching, Harry
went in a sadder and a wiser man, resolved, ere he slept that night, to
confess his fault, and, if it might be so, obtain Alice’s forgiveness.
But Alice, tired and unhappy, had gone to bed, and cried herself to
sleep like a weary child; and when Harry entered her room, he found her
lying with her head pillowed on her arm, and the tear-drops scarcely
dried upon her long silken eyelashes, as soundly asleep as though
care, and sin, and sorrow, were evils of which her philosophy had never
dreamed--so Coverdale could only invoke a silent blessing upon her, and
hasten to follow her example by going to bed and to sleep himself. Thus
an opportunity was lost of regaining the “high estate” in his wife’s
affections, from which he had fallen by reason of his inconsiderate
selfishness, and hasty and impetuous temper; and it is a fact equally
true and trying, that an opportunity once lost never returns, even an
advertisement in the _Times_ would fail to regain it.
One of the strangest and least comprehensive of psychological phenomena
is the total change produced in our thoughts, feelings, opinions, hopes,
fears, sympathies, antipathies, and all the other component parts which
make up that wonderful spiritual steam-engine, the mind of man, by a
good night’s sleep. We go to bed desperately in love with some charming
girl we have flirted with half the evening, despising her cruel old male
parent, who _would_ come and disturb our _tête-à-tête_, and take her
away at least an hour sooner than anybody not utterly callous to all the
finer feelings of human nature would have dreamed of doing; and having
with unchristian malignity her tall cousin in the Blues, who, having
known her from her cradle upwards, dared to call her “Gussie” to our
very face--we sleep soundly, our mind lies fallow for some six hours,
and lo! a change has come o’er us; our goddess has stepped down from
her pedestal, and appears a very average specimen of white muslined
femininity and flirtation, whom her father has improved into quite an
amiable model _paterfamilias_, at whose patient benignity in remaining,
to please his daughter, at an evening party till half-past three a.m.
we actually marvel; and as to that fine young fellow her cousin, we are
really shocked when we recall our unchristian feelings towards him, and,
as some slight compensation, mentally book him for an invite to that
dinner at Blackwall which we propose bestowing upon a dozen of our very
particular friends, in the unlikely event of our exchequer holding out
till the white-bait season. Thus, by the next morning, Coverdale had
slept off the sharp edge of his penitence, and when Alice began by
a great effort to refer to the events of the previous day, with the
intention of confessing herself in the wrong, and asking forgiveness,
Harry, dreading a scene with a degree of horror equally masculine and
English, checked the flow of her eloquence by exclaiming abruptly and
cheerfully, “Yes, dear, certainly--but don’t say another word about it;
we were both very silly, and made each other very miserable, when we
might be as happy as the day is long; let bygones be bygones, we will
forgive and forget, and be wiser for the future, eh?” As he spoke, he
drew her to him, and sealing his forgiveness on her lips with a kiss,
rendered all discussion impossible by leaving the room.
This speech (kiss included) ought to have satisfied any reasonable wife,
but unfortunately at that moment Alice was not exactly in a reasonable
frame of mind; she had dwelt so long on one idea, in accordance with
which she had arranged the whole programme of a dramatic reconciliation
scene, that she by no means approved of Harry’s short cut to concord,
rendering null and void all her explanation of how, and why, and
wherefore she had come to behave ill, together with a spirited sketch in
monologue of her contrition for the past and vows of amendment for the
future; the whole to conclude with certain annotations and reflections,
which she trusted would so affect her husband’s feelings, and convince
his understanding, that he would for the future restrict shooting to two
short mornings a-week, and cast hunting “to the dogs” entirely, and now
all the mysterious pleasure the gentler sex derive from talking a thing
_well_ over, was denied her.
Ah! that “talking over,” what a wonderful female attribute it is! how
vast and important a part of “woman’s mission” does it constitute!
in fact, we have met innumerable women--the majority of our female
acquaintance, we should say--whose whole and entire mission appears to
consist of a “call” to “talk over,” first, their neighbours’ affairs (a
duty to their neighbour in which they never fail), secondly, their own.
The French aphorism (seldom acted upon, by its voluble originators),
_Cela va sans dire_, must seem unspeakably absurd to these advocates for
an indefinite extension of the “freedom of debate;” while the “silent
system” must appear a more “capital punishment” than death itself,
always supposing the excellence of a punishment to be tested by its
severity: but we are slightly digressing.
If anything were needed to prove the absurdity of human
beings--creatures with immortal souls, placed in this world to prepare
for eternity--darkening the sunshine of each other’s lives by bickering
about trifles, that evidence would be afforded when we observe the
manner in which such mental _nebulæ_ vanish before the presence of
any of the stern realities of existence. Thus when, breakfast being
concluded, Harry was called mysteriously out of the apartment to learn
that a mounted groom had just arrived from Hazlehurst Grange, with the
intelligence that old Mr. Hazlehurst had been seized with a fit, from
which, when the servant came away, he was not expected to recover,
Coverdale’s only thought was how most tenderly and judiciously to break
the sad news to Alice. Having executed his painful task with a degree
of tact and delicacy of feeling for which those who knew only the rough
side of his character would scarcely have given him credit, and soothed,
to the best of his ability, the burst of grief with which Alice received
the intelligence, Harry continued, “And now, love, the moment you are
able to start, the phaeton will be ready; it is lighter than the close
carriage, and in an emergency like the present, every minute becomes of
consequence.”
“And you?” inquired Alice, glancing at him timidly through her tears.
“I of course will drive you myself; you did not suppose I should let you
go alone.”
Alice could not reply, but as she pressed her husband’s hand
caressingly, the old loving look came back into her eyes, and Harry felt
that he was forgiven. On reaching the Grange the report of the sick
man was more favourable than Alice had dared to hope. An apoplectic fit
constitutes one of the few exceptional cases in which prompt medical
assistance does not necessarily increase the evil, and the Esculapius
of the neighbourhood had this time successfully interposed between death
and his victim; while Mr. Hazlehurst had received a lesson sufficiently
severe to prevent him from objecting to the substitution of toast and
water and “bland” puddings for Port wine, bottled in the year 1830, and
the roast beef of Old England. Coverdale having remained at the Grange
for three days, during which time he had shaken hands with, and lamented
over Arthur (who, summoned at the commencement of his father’s illness,
appeared looking so pale and thin, that it was decided _nem. con._ that
he was working himself to death--a view of the case which he rather
than otherwise encouraged by the faintness of his denial), was forced
to return to the Park to attend the next meeting of magistrates, and
finally to dispose of the offending poachers. Accordingly, having
arranged with Alice to send the close carriage for her on the day but
one following, he took leave of the Hazlehurst family, and drove to
H--------. Here, after a long examination, the aforesaid poachers were
convicted, and sentenced, one to nine months’, another to a year’s
imprisonment--Markum’s evidence being so clear and convincing, that such
an issue became inevitable. As the gamekeeper left the court, a tall,
gipsy-looking fellow came up to him, and muttered in his car, “You’ll
live to repent this day’s work, Master Keeper; look to yourself one of
these dark nights.”
“Look to _yourself_ if I catch you on our ground,” was Markum’s
contemptuous rejoinder; “there’s enough oakum to pick in H-------- gaol
for Tom and you too.”
“Who is that fellow,” inquired Coverdale, as the man, perceiving that
the keeper’s reply was beginning to attract attention, turned away with
a scowl.
“That be Jack Hargrave, Mr. Coverdale, sir,” returned Markum; “brother
along o’ Tom, as we’ve give twelve months to; and sarve ’im right, a
poachin’, thievin’ wagrant.”
“Is this fellow a poacher also?” asked Harry.
“That is he then,” was the reply; “a reg’lur bred un, and as deep a hand
as ever set a snare, only he’s so ‘wide o’,’ that it’s not so easy
to nab the warmint; but I’ll be down upon ’im yet, for all his
threatenings. He’s bin heard to swear he’ll put a charge o’ shot under
my veskit some o’ these nights; he’d better not, though, or he may find
there’s two can play at that game.”
“No violence, my good fellow, no violence; it’s not a light thing to
shed the blood of a fellow-creature--besides, there’s a quiet way of
managing these affairs. I shall warn the police to keep an eye on that
man Hargrave; he looks dangerous; and you may as well put on another
watcher, it won’t do to be shorthanded just now.” So saying, Coverdale
turned away, and was soon deep in conversation with the inspector of
the mounted rural police; after which, refusing to make one of a jovial
party who were about to dine with Tom Rattleworth, and were tolerably
certain to remain playing whist, and imbibing strong liquors till the
small hours should be again upon the increase, he drove home to his
solitary mansion.
It was the first time since his marriage that Coverdale had dined by
himself, and he felt proportionably lonely; everything tended to remind
him of Alice--her favourite dog, a little black-and-tan spaniel, with
large loving eyes, not unlike her own, leaped on his knee after dinner,
and gazing wistfully at the empty chair opposite, uttered a low whine,
as though it would inquire, “Where’s my mistress?” The footstool,
whereon her dainty little feet were wont to repose--the screen with
which she was accustomed to shade her fair cheek from the too ardent
advances of the fire--each object, animate or inanimate, recalled his
thoughts to Alice; and feeling, even more strongly than he had ever
yet felt, how deeply and tenderly he loved her, he for the first time
perceived that love in its true light, and, in acknowledging its full
reality, became conscious of the duties and responsibilities such an
affection entailed upon him. Faintly and dimly at first the light broke
in upon him; deeply did he feel the difficulties of the task, and his
own inability to perform it; and bitterly, most bitterly, did he regret
his own selfish carelessness, which had, as he was fain to confess,
tended already to estrange his young wife’s affection, and to convert
a gentle, yielding girl, into a wilful and exacting woman. And thus he
sat, pondering over and regretting the past, and forming wise and good
resolutions for the future, while minutes gliding by unobserved grew
into hours, until the sudden restlessness of the little dog, which had
been sleeping quietly upon his knees, roused him, and looking at his
watch, he perceived it was nearly midnight. As he did so the dog, whose
restlessness appeared to increase, uttered a short bark, while at the
same moment a distant sound was faintly audible, which Harry’s practised
ear instantly recognised as the report of a gun. To spring to the
window, open the shutter, and fling up the sash, was the work of
an instant; a like space of time sufficed to resolve doubt into
certainty,--guns were being discharged in a favourite plantation about
half a mile from the house--a plantation in which the pheasants were as
well fed and tame as barn-door fowls; it was evident the poachers were
taking their revenge, and that these sacred birds, the Lares and Penates
of Harry’s sporting mythology, were being ruthlessly slaughtered on
their roosts. Harry rang the bell furiously; then, before the alarmed
Wilkins (who, having commenced his career in the service of an
apoplectic alderman, laboured under a chronic impression that somebody
was in a fit) had passed beyond the door of the servants’ hall, he
rushed impetuously out of the dining-room, and meeting that bewildered
domestic in full career, nearly frightened him into an attack of the
malady he so much dreaded for others, by exclaiming, “Here, quick! Tell
Saunders, or some of them, to saddle the shooting cob, and bring him
round instantly; then find me a hat and pea-jacket. Quick, I say!”
As the butler vanished on his mission, Coverdale took down from a peg in
the hall, a special constable’s staff which had been intrusted to him on
behalf of her gracious Majesty, at a time when an extra dose of politics
and strong beer had proved too potent for the dense agricultural pates
of certain free and independent (_alias_ bribed and tipsy) electors of
the neighbouring county town. It was a stout piece of ash, about a foot
and a half long, thicker than an ordinary broom-stick, and weighted with
lead, for the benefit of any unusually opaque skull into which it might
be deemed advisable to knock a respect for our glorious constitution.
Harry felt its weight, and, as he passed his wrist through the leather
thong attached to it, he thought to himself they would be bold men who
could prevent him, with that in his hand, from going where he pleased.
The instant the cob appeared he sprang into the saddle. “Do you and
Marshal get a couple of stout sticks, and make the best of your way to
the ash plantation!” he exclaimed hastily; “there are poachers out, and
from their venturing to come so near the house, I should fancy there
must be a strong gang of them, and Markum may want all the help we can
give him.”
So saying, Coverdale gathered up the reins, and without waiting the
groom’s reply, rode off at a brisk canter. As he approached the wood, he
drew in and paused, uncertain whether Markum might yet have reached the
scene of action: as he listened, the sound of men crashing through the
dry underwood became distinctly audible; then shouts and a clamour of
angry voices, and finally, the unmistakeable noise of a conflict met his
ear. Pausing no longer, he put his horse into a gallop, and dashed
on till he reached a hand-gate leading into the wood. This, to his
annoyance, he found locked; true, he had a master-key, which he had
fortunately brought with him, but he was forced to dismount in order
to unfasten the padlock. While thus engaged, the sounds proved that the
affray was still raging fiercely, and, as he flung the gate open, a gun
was discharged, followed almost instantaneously by the report of
two others. Fearing mischief might occur before he could reach the
combatants, Coverdale remounted hastily, and heedless alike of
obstacles and darkness, galloped down one of the grass rides through the
plantation, avoiding collision with the trunks and branches of trees
by, as it appeared, a succession of miracles. Before, however, he
could arrive at the scene of action, the sound of blows, the shouts
and imprecations, had ceased, and nothing but a confused hum of voices,
together with a low moaning, as of some person ill or in pain, met his
ear. Forcing his horse through the tangled underwood, Coverdale came
suddenly upon a group of men, amongst whom he recognised several of his
own farm labourers, while two under-keepers were kneeling beside the
prostrate figure of a man who, from the stiff, unnatural attitude in
which he lay, appeared either dead or dying. To leap to the ground, and
snatch a lantern from one of the bystanders, was Harry’s first act;
then bending over the fallen man, he recognised in the ghastly features,
distorted and convulsed with agony, the well-known countenance of
honest, sturdy Markum, while from a gun-shot wound in his right side the
dark life-blood was slowly flowing.
“How has this happened?” was Coverdale’s hurried inquiry. “Is it an
accident, or have any of those scoundrels dared to shoot him?”
There was a moment’s pause, and then one of the elder men replied,
“It wor no accident, Mr. Coverdale; but Giles there can tell you best,
squire; he wor nearest to un when he dropped.”
The under-keeper thus appealed to--a tall, strapping young fellow, who
was vainly attempting to staunch the blood which still continued to
flow--turned to reply, while Coverdale, kneeling beside the wounded man,
endeavoured to arrange a more effectual bandage.
“All as I know, sir,” he said, “is that I wor a watching nigh down by
the warren, when up cum poor Master Markum here, and ‘Giles,’ says he,
‘ye’re wanted, lad; there’s them out as didn’t oughter be.’ So him and
I, and the rest o’ our mates here, which master had appinted to meet at
eleven o’clock--for I expect he’d had some hint give him of what was to
be up, made for the ash spinney, and laid us down in a ditch. Well, it
warn’t long afore we heard the blackguards at work among the pheasants,
a banging away like blazes. We waited till they got near us, and then we
up and at ’em like good uns. There was more of ’em nor there was
o’ we, so they showed light a bit. Poor master there he jest wor
real savage; he hit out hard and straight, and rolled ’em over like
nine-pins; they worn’t o’ no manner o’ use again him, not none on ’em.
Well, they soon got enough of that sort of fun, and one arter another
cut away, till at last they all fairly turned tail and bolted--that is,
all but one, and him master collared, and says he, ‘Stop a bit, Jack;
I’m agoin’ to send you to see your brother in H-------- gaol; I’m
afeard Tom should be dull for want o’ cumpany, poor chap!’ Well, Jack
Hargrave, for him it wor, fit sharp for his liburty, but master wor too
good a man for him; and he’d a took him as safe as mutton, only Jack
hollard arter one of his mates as had a gun, and told him to shoot the
-------- keeper, and not let him be took. The fellow stopped and faced
round--he wor a young chap as I knows well--I’d cotched sight of his
face afore he cut away, a soft young feller, as anybody might bully into
anything; and when Jack rapped out a volley of oaths, and told him to
let fly, and chance hittin’ him, shoot he did, and poor master let go
his hold o’ Jack’s collar, and rolled over and over like I’ve seen many
a hare and rabbid roll over afore his gun.”
“But there was more than one barrel discharged,” interposed Coverdale;
“I heard three shots in succession--how was that?”
“Why, when I see poor Master Markum fall, I was jest agoin’ to kneel
down to raise him a bit, when I ketched sight o’ Jack Hargrave and his
pal a cutting away like lamplighters, and I felt mad like to think he
should get off scotfree arter what he’d been and done, and having my gun
in my hand, I give ’em the contents of both barrels; it worn’t right,
I knows, Mr. Coverdale, but if you’d been in my place, squire, I’m
blessed if I don’t think you’d ha done the same, axing your pardon.”
Feeling a strong private conviction that “Giles” had only judged
him correctly, Harry looked grave and shook his head, as if such
a possibility could not exist in the case of a magistrate, ere he
inquired, “Do you think you hit either of them?”
“They’d got a farish start before I pulled at ’em,” was the reply,
“and the light ain’t that good for a long shot, but I fancy Jack
Hargrave’s got something to take home with him, for he give a rare jump
as the charge reached him; but it warn’t enough to stop him, for I see
him a runnin’ like a greyhound arter-wards.”
While this conversation was proceeding, Coverdale, by aid of sundry
neckcloths, and a strip that he cut from his own pea-jacket, had
contrived a bandage which in great measure stopped the bleeding, and
Markum revived sufficiently to recognise those about him; as his eyes
fell on Coverdale, a faint smile passed across his features.
“Is it you, squire?” he murmured in a low voice. “Ah! you always had a
kind heart of your own; Jack Hargrave’s kep his word, you see. I expects
him and his mate ’as finished me atween ’em this time.”
“We’ll hope not, my poor fellow--but don’t speak. Do you think you can
bear carrying yet--yes? Four of you take that hand-gate off its hinges,
and bring it here; we’ll lay him on that. We shall have a surgeon for
you directly, my poor fellow! I sent one of the lads off on my horse to
fetch Mr. Gouger the moment I came up--now, steady with him. I’ll lift
his head--that’s it; now raise the gate steadily. Gently there--well
done--are you all ready? Step together mind--march.”
As he spoke, Harry (who himself supported one corner of the temporary
litter he had contrived) and three others, raised the wounded man on
their shoulders, and carried him to his own cottage, which fortunately
was near at hand. He bore the transit bravely, though the pain
occasioned by such motion as was unavoidable, reduced him more than once
to the verge of fainting. Shortly after he had reached his destination
the surgeon arrived. Coverdale waited until he had pronounced the wound
dangerous, though not necessarily mortal, then leaving him to make
a more minute examination, he quitted the house. He found a mounted
policeman awaiting him outside, who, making his rounds, had been
attracted by the sound of guns at that unusual hour.
“Ah, policeman, I was just going to send after you; my head keeper has
been shot by these poaching rascals, and is seriously hurt, I’m afraid!”
exclaimed Coverdale. “How are we to make sure of the fellows who did it?
It lies between a man called Jack Hargrave--”
“A reg’lur bad un,” observed the horse-patrol, parenthetically.
“You said you knew the other man,” continued Harry, appealing to the
under-keeper; “are you acquainted with his name?”
“They do call him ‘Winkey’ in a general way, from a trick he’s got with
his eyelids; but his right name be Jim Fags,” was the reply.
“I know him,” observed the policeman. “Well, sir, as we’re acquainted
with the parties, I should say we’re safe to be down upon ’em
somewheres to-morrow. I’ll ride over to H--------, and put all our men
on the scent.”
“Stay! that gives me an idea,” said Coverdale; then turning to the
under-keeper, he continued in a lower voice--“You are sure you hit
Hargrave--are you, Giles?”
The young man nodded in the affirmative, and his master resumed,--
“Go and fetch Nero, poor Markum’s night-dog, muzzle him, and bring him
in one of the greyhound leashes. We’ll contrive to take these rascals
before day dawns, policeman.”
While Coverdale was explaining his plan to the patrol, Giles returned
with the dog: it was a splendid animal, a cross between the English
mastiff and a Spanish bloodhound. Its size was unusual, and its strength
enormous. Its eyes glared red in the torchlight, like those of some
wild beast. When it saw the policeman it uttered a low growl, and the
bristles on its back stood up like a mane; but at a word from Coverdale
it relinquished its hostile attitude, and with a sagacious look, which
said almost as plainly as words could have expressed it--“I comprehend;
it’s not him they’ve sent for me to worry”--thrust its huge head
caressingly into its master’s hand.
“Now patrol,” resumed Coverdale, “if you will ride along the skirts of
the wood, and lead my horse, I fancy I shall be able to put the dog on
the track of these fellows--and, if so, he will never leave it till the
game is run down. You have handcuffs with you?”
“Aye, and pistols too, for the matter of that,” was the reply.
“I don’t expect they will be required,” rejoined Coverdale; “the
scoundrels will scarcely want more fighting than they’ve had already;”
then signalling Giles to follow with the dog he turned, and, re-entering
the plantation, soon reached the scene of the late conflict.
“Now try and find, an nearly as possible, the spot where Hargrave was
when you fired at him,” began Coverdale; “give me the dog to hold, and
take the lantern with you.”
Giles obeyed; and having walked about fifty paces down a narrow pathway
through the wood, began carefully to examine the ground on either side.
Having pursued his investigation for some minutes in silence, he paused,
examined the spot still more closely, and then made a sign to Coverdale
to join him.
On reaching the place Harry observed, by the light of the lantern,
several dark spots, and a long mark on the soft ground, as though some
person had slipped and nearly fallen, then deep footsteps led towards
the outskirts of the wood. The moment the dog perceived the scent of
blood all the savage instinct of its nature awoke, and, with a
bound, which tested the strength of the leash, and nearly dislocated
Coverdale’s shoulders, it sprang forward along the track of the
fugitives. Five minutes’ painful toiling through bush and briar, brought
them to the outskirts of the plantation, where they found the policeman
waiting with the horses. Hastily springing to the saddle, Coverdale
made Giles attach a small cord he had brought with him to the end of
the leash, against which the bloodhound now strained impatiently; then
twisting the other end round his own wrist, he was about to desire the
under-keeper to return, when the patrol interfered by observing,--
“Better take Giles with us, sir!”
“Why so, policeman?” rejoined Coverdale, sharply; “we’re two to two,
fresh men against tired ones; besides, you’re armed, and they’re not.”
“Jack’s got a gun with him, and is likely enough to use it now his
steam’s up,” insinuated Giles, who by no means approved of losing his
share in the expedition.
“And when we have nabbed ’em, I shall want help to convey ’em to
H-------- gaol,” pleaded the policeman. “I can take him up behind me.”
“As you will; only lose no more time,” was Coverdale’s reply; and
cheering on the dog, he rode forward at a brisk trot.
The track led them through the Park, and then over hill and dale,
ploughed field, and rough stubble, till it brought them out upon a wide
bleak common, dotted here and there with patches of furze and broom,
which showed dark and shadowy in the moonbeams, like plumes upon a
hearse. Across the wildest and most tangled portion of the heath the dog
led them, still straining at the leash, and uttering from time to time a
suppressed whimper indicative of impatience. On the farther side of the
common rose a steep bank, in one portion of which a deep hollow had been
excavated for the purpose of obtaining gravel. As the dog approached
this place, its eagerness became, if possible, stronger than before,
until, at about thirty yards from the spot, it suddenly stopped, and
again erecting the bristles on its back, uttered a deep growl. At the
same moment, Coverdale, whose sight was remarkably keen, perceived a
figure cautiously stealing away under cover of the bushes. Pointing him
out to the policeman, whose horse was beginning to evince symptoms of
distress under its double burden, Coverdale observed,--
“I can only see one man, but let us make sure of him. Get down Giles,
and hold the dog. Now patrol, while I ride round that bush and head the
fellow, do you go on and seize him; and if you want any assistance, I
shall be ready to afford it.”
So saying, Coverdale rode forward to cut off the poacher’s retreat,
while the policeman, putting spurs to his horse, and drawing his
cutlass, dashed up to the fellow, and seized him by the collar.
Overawed by the gleaming weapon, and exhausted by his previous
exertions, the unfortunate Jim Fags (_alias_ Winkey) attempted no
resistance; and the policeman availed himself of his pusillanimity to
produce the handcuffs, and dextrously secure his prisoner. He was thus
engaged when Coverdale, who was walking his horse quietly towards them,
suddenly caught sight of what, at the first glance, appeared to him only
the stump of a tree, but on closer inspection proved to be the figure
of a man, crouching under the shadow of the gravel-pit, while, at
the moment in which Coverdale first perceived him, he was taking a
deliberate aim with a short gun at the unconscious patrol. For a moment
the policeman’s life hung upon a thread; but a slight movement of the
horse brought the unfortunate Winkey’s head into the line of fire, and
his accomplice lowered his piece, and slightly altered his position,
while he took fresh aim. The opportunity was not to be lost--quick as
thought Coverdale rose in his stirrups, and with the full force of his
muscular arm hurled the constable’s staff, which he had retained the
whole evening, at the head of the kneeling figure. Fortunately for the
policeman, the missile took effect, and, stunned by the force of the
blow, Jack Hargrave (for he it was) measured his length upon the turf,
discharging the gun harmlessly as he fell. Before he could regain his
feet, Giles and the dog (who, but for his muzzle, would have torn the
poacher to pieces) were upon him. In less than two hours from that time
both the culprits were safely lodged in H-------- gaol.