itself too readily. I would not have that ample heart for half the
kingdom. I'll warrant it troubles you. Here you be fretting yourself
over this poor carcase which is worth no tears nor tremors, and
moreover can look after itself; and I will swear you waste your blood
and tissue on this same hulk that I must spit, damn him! Sir," says I
to the man, "if ye will stand aside I will learn you to toast or roast
as you will, your toes and midriff, afore this fire; but if ye will not
you shall taste the sawdust under the table. For I have an appointment
in Bristol, and I wait no man's pleasure."
"You threaten me," says he, haughtily, and pulled out his sword.
"Oh, no," says I, "'tis but a plain statement. Will ye go by or go
down? Choose ye."
For answer he came at me, for the man was no coward, and did not lack
spirit; and we were presently engaged in the discharge of thrusts. He
plied his blade not unskilfully, but, Lord, I have learned in a rough
school, and 'twas not long ere I was under the cully's guard and
took him in the ribs. He collapsed like a log, and the lady uttered a
scream, and flying to him bent over him. I dropped my point.
"Faith, my lady," said I, "'tis no more than letting of some of that
superfluous blood that animates him. 'Twill fetch down his proud
stomach, the which he needs. Let him bleed. 'Twill serve your turn
also."
"Sir," says she, remembering me, even in her trouble and confusion,
"you were best to go. Fly, fly! 'twas not your fault. He attacked you.
Fly!"
Dear heart, there was none in those parts and on that night that
might aspire to stop or catch Dick Ryder; but she knew not that, the
innocent. I bowed to her.
"Give ye good cheer, madam," said I; "maybe I have served you better
than ye think, first with the cold night, and second with the eclipse
of this hot blood."
She threw me a wistful, wondering and pitiful glance, and then a groan
drew her attention to her husband and she stooped over him tenderly.
At that I swung out of the door and sought my horse; and as I mounted
Calypso, says I to the innkeeper, who attended me all unconscious, "I
have stuck a point in that muckworm's shoulder," says I, "and ye had
better relieve the lady's fears; but," says I, as I rode off, "if I had
stuck it in his gizzard, as I had a mind to do, 'twould have served her
better." And with that I plunged into the wind and snow of the night.
GALLOWS GATE
'Twas two o'clock of a bright mild March day that I cleared St
Leonard's Forest and came out upon the roads at the back of Horsham.
I was for London, but chose that way by reason of a better security
it promised, which, as it chanced, was a significant piece of irony.
Horsham, a mighty quiet pretty town, lay in a blaze of the sun,
enduring the sallies of a dusty wind, and feeling hot and athirst after
my long ride I pulled up at an inn and dismounted.
"Host," says I, when I was come in, "a pint of your best burgundy or
canary to wash this dust adown; and rip me if I will not have it laced
with brandy."
"Why, sir," says he, "a cold bright day for horseback," and shakes his
head.
"Damme, you're right," says I. "Cold i' the belly and hot in the groin.
Here's luck to the house, man," and I tossed off the gallipot, though
the brandy barely saved exceeding thin swipes that he had the impudence
to pass for wine. "Why, goodman, ye'll make your fortune on this,"
I said with a laugh and flung open the door to go out, when all of a
sudden I came to a silence and a pause.
"'Tis the officers," says the landlord, who was at my ear. "Gadslife,
'tis the sheriff's men from Lewes."
"Lewes!" says I, slowly. "What be they here for?"
"Why," says he, in a flutter, "there was him that was taken for a
tobyman by Guildford. He was tried at Lewes, and will hang."
"If he be fool enough to be taken, let him be hanged and be damned,"
says I, carelessly.
When I was got upon my horse I began to go at a walk down the High
Street, for though, as was according to nature, I was inquisitive about
the matter I was too wary to adventure ere I was sure of my ground. And
this denial of unnecessary hazards, as is my custom, saved me from a
mishap; for as the procession wound along, the traps and the carriage
between 'em, there was one of them that turned his head aside to give
an order, and, rip me, if 'twas not that muckworm traitor and canter,
the thief-taker Timothy Grubbe. I had an old score with Timothy,
the which I had sworn to pay; but that was not the time nor the
opportunity, and so I pulled in and lowered my head, lest by chance his
evil eye might go my way. As I did so, something struck on the mare's
rump, and, looking back, I saw a young man a-horseback that had emerged
from a side street.
"Whoa, there!" says I, cheerfully, "are you so blinded by March dust as
not to see a gentleman when he goes by?"
He was a slight, handsome-looking youth, of a frank face but of a
rustic appearance, and he stammered out an apology.
"Why, I did but jest," I said heartily, "think no more on't,
particularly as 'twas my fault to have checked the mare of a sudden.
But to say the truth I was gaping at the grand folks yonder."
He stared after the traps, and says he in an interested voice, "Who be
they? Is it my Lord Blackdown?"
Now this comparison of that wry-necked, pock-faced villain Grubbe to a
person of quality tickled me, but I answered, keeping a straight face,--
"Well, not exactly," says I, "not my lord, but another that should
stand, or hang, as high maybe, and shall some day."
"Oh," says he, gazing at me, "a friend of yours, sir?"
He was of a ruddy colour, and his mouth was habitually a little open,
giving him an expression of perpetual wonder and innocence, so that,
bless you, I knew him at once for what he was at heart--a simple fellow
of a natural kindliness, and one of no experience in the world, and a
pretty dull wit.
"Not, as you might call him, a friend," said I, gravely, "but rather
one that has put an affront upon me."
"You should wipe it out, sir," says this innocent, seriously. "I would
allow no man to put an affront on me, gad, I would not."
"Why," said I, dryly, "I bide my time, being, if I may say so, of less
mustard and pepper than yourself. Nevertheless, it shall be wiped out
to the last stain."
"Gad, I like that spirit," says he, briskly, and, as if it constituted
a bond betwixt us, he began to amble slowly at my side. "If there is
any mischief, sir," says he, "I trust you will allow me to stand your
friend."
Here was innocence indeed, yet I could have clapped him on the back for
a brick of good-fellowship and friendliness, and, relaxing my tone, I
turned the talk on himself.
"You are for a journey?" says I.
He nodded, and his colour rose, but he frowned. "I am for Effingham,"
said he.
"So am I," said I, "at least I pass that way," which was not so, for
I was for Reading, and had meant to go by Guildford. Yet I was in no
mind to risk an encounter with Grubbe and his lambs, who were bound
for Guildford, if what the innkeeper said was true, and the way by
Effingham would serve me as well as another. He looked pleased, and
says he,--
"Why, we will travel in company," says he.
"With all my heart," said I.
The traps had disappeared upon the Guildford road in a mist of dust,
and we jogged on comfortably till we came to cross-roads, where we
turned away for Slinfold, reaching that village nearby two of the
clock. Here my companion must slake his thirst, and I was nothing loth.
He had a gentlemanly air about him for all his rustic habit, and very
pleasantly, if with some awkwardness, offered me of a bottle.
"You mind me," said I, drinking to him, for I liked the fellow, "of a
lad that I knew that was in the wars."
"Was you in the wars?" says he, eagerly.
I had meant the wars of the road, which indeed are as perilous and as
venturesome as the high quarrels of ravening nations.
"I served in Flanders," said I.
"My father fought for his gracious Majesty, Charles I.," says he,
quickly, "and took a deep wound at Marston Moor. There was never a
braver man than Squire Masters of Rockham."
"I'll warrant his son is his spit," said I.
He bowed, as if he were at court. "Your servant, sir," says he, smiling
well-pleased, and eyed me. "You have seen much service, sir?" he asked.
"Why, as much as will serve, Mr Masters," said I.
He looked at me shyly. "You have my name now," said he, and left his
question in the air.
"You may call me Ryder," said I.
"You have had your company, sir?" he went on in a hesitating voice.
"Not always as good company as this," I replied laughing.
"I knew it," said he, eagerly. "You are Captain Ryder?"
"There have been those that have put that style on me," I answered,
amused at his persistence.
"I am glad that I have met you, Captain," said this young fool, and put
his arm in mine quite affectionately. "I have been unhappily kept much
at home, and have seen less than I might of things beyond the hills.
Not but what Sussex is a fine shire," he says with a sigh.
"Why, it is fine if so be your home be there," I replied.
"My home is there," he said, and paused, and again the frown wrinkled
up his brow.
He said no more till we were in the saddle again and had gone some half
a mile, and then he spoke, and I knew his poor brain had been playing
pitch and toss with some thought.
"Captain Ryder," said he, abruptly, "you have travelled far and seen
much. You might advise one junior to you on a matter of worldly wisdom."
Sink me (thinks I), what's the boy after; but says I gravely from a
mutinous face, "You can hang your faith on me for an opinion or a blow,
Mr Masters."
"Thank you," says he, heartily, and then thrust a hand into his
bosom and rapidly stuck at me a document. "Read that, sir," said he,
impulsively.
I opened it, and found 'twas writ in a woman's hand, and subscribed
Anne Varley; and the marrow of it was fond affection. Why, 'twas but a
common love-billet he had given me, of the which I have seen dozens and
received very many--some from persons of quality that would astonish
you. But what was I to do with this honest ninny and his mistress? I
had no nose for it, and so said I, handing him back his letter,--
"It has a sweet smack and 'tis pretty enough inditing."
"Ah," says he, quickly, "'tis her nature, Captain--'tis her heart that
speaks. Yet is she denied by her parents. They will have none of me."
"The more to their shame," I said.
"They aspire high," says he, "as Anne's beauty and virtues of
themselves would justify. Yet she does love me, and I her, and we are
of one spirit and heart. See you how she loves me, poor thing, poor
silly puss! And they would persuade her to renunciation. But she shall
not--she shall not, I swear it," he cried in excitement. "She shall be
free to choose whom she will."
"Spoken like a man of temper," said I, approvingly. "You will go win
her forthright."
"I am on my journey to accomplish that now," says he. "She has wrote
in this letter, as you have seen, that her father dissuades her, and
she signs her renunciation, adding sweet words of comfort that her
affection will not die--no, never, never; and that she will die virgin
for me. Say you not, sir, that this is beautiful conduct, and say, am I
not right to ride forth and seize her from her unnatural parents, to
make her mine?"
"Young gentleman," said I, being struck by his honest sincerity and his
bubbling over, "were you brother to me, or I to Mrs Anne, you would
have my blessing."
At that he glowed, and, his spirits having risen with this
communication, he babbled on the road of many things cheerfully, but
mostly of love and beauty, and the virtues of Mrs Anne of Effingham
Manor.
I will confess that after a time his prattle wearied me; 'twas too much
honey, and cloyed my palate. If he had known as much of the sex as has
fallen to my lot he would have took another stand and sung in a lower
key. Well, 'twas late in the afternoon when we reached the hills beyond
Ewhurst and began to climb the rugged way to the top. The wind had gone
down with the sun in a flurry of gold in the west to which the eastern
breeze had beat all day; and over the head of Pitch Hill last year's
heather still blazed in its decay. When we had got to the Windmill Inn
that lies packed into the side of the hill and woods there we descended
for refreshment, and I saw the horses stalled below for baiting. Now
that house, little and quiet, perches in a lonely way in the pass of
the hill, and upon one side the ground falls so fast away that the eye
carries over a precipitous descent towards the weald of Surrey and the
dim hills by the sea. And this view was fading swiftly in the window
under a bleak sky as Masters and I ate of our dinner in the upstairs
room that looked upon it. He had a natural grace of mind, despite the
rawness of his behaviour, and his sentiments emerged sometimes in a
gush, as when, says he, looking at the darkening weald,--
"I love it, Captain. 'Tis mine. My home is there, and, God willing,
Anne's too shall be."
"Amen," said I, heartily, for the boy had gone to my heart, absurd
though he was.
And just on that there was a noise without the door, the clank of heavy
feet rang on the boards, and Timothy Grubbe's ugly mask disfigured the
room.
He came forward a little with a grin on his distorted features, and,
looking from one to the other of us, said he,--
"My respects, Captain, and to this young plover that no doubt you're
plucking. By the Lord, Dick Ryder, but I had given you up! Heaven sends
us good fortune when we're least thinking of it."
Masters at his word had started up. "Who are you, sir, that intrudes on
two gentlemen?" he demanded with spirit. "I'll have you know this is a
private room. Get you gone."
"Softly, man," says Grubbe in an insinuating voice, "but maybe I'm
wrong, and you're two of a colour. Is it an apprentice, Dick, this
brave lad that talks so bold and has such fine feathers?"
"If you do not quit," said I shortly, "I will spit your beauty for you
in two ticks."
"Dick Ryder had always plenty heart," said he, in his jeering way;
"Dick had always a famous wit, and was known as a hospitable host. So I
will take the liberty to invite to his sociable board some good fellows
that are below, to make merry. We shall prove an excellent company,
I'll warrant."
Masters took a step towards him. "Now, who the devil soever you may be,
you shall not use gentlemen so," he said, whipping out his blade.
But Grubbe turned on him satirically. "As for you, young cockchafer,"
said he, "it bodes no good to find you in this company. But as you seem
simpleton enough I'll give you five minutes to take your leave of this
gentleman of the road. Dick, ye're a fine tobyman, and you have enjoyed
a brave career, but your hour is struck."
I rose, but ere I could get to him young Masters had fallen on him.
"Defend yourself, damn ye!" he said, "you that insult a gentleman that
is my friend. Put up your blade, curse you," and he made at him with
incredible energy.
Uttering a curse, Grubbe thrust with his point and took the first
onrush, swerving it aside; and ere I could intervene they were at it.
My young friend was impetuous, and, as I saw at once, none too skilful,
and Grubbe kept his temper, as he always did. He stood with a thin,
ugly smile, pushing aside his opponent's blade for a moment or two,
until, of a sudden, he drew himself up and let drive very low and under
the other's guard. The sword rattled from Masters's hand and he went
down on the floor. I uttered an oath.
"By God, for this you shall die, you swine," said I, fiercely, and I
ran at him; but, being by the door, he swept it open with a movement
and backed into the passage.
"The boot is on t'other leg, Dick," says he, maliciously. "'Tis you are
doomed;" and, closing the door sharply behind him, he whistled shrilly.
I knew what he intended, and that his men were there, but I stooped
over the boy's body and held my fingers to his heart. 'Twas dead and
still. I cursed Grubbe and started up. If I was not to be taken there
was only the window looking on the deeps of the descending valley. I
threw back the casement and leaped over the sill. Grubbe should perish,
I swore, and, doubled now my oath. I could have wept for that poor
youth that had died to avenge my honour. But my first business was my
safety, and I crept down as far as I might, and dropped. By that time
the catchpoles were crowding into the room above. I struck the slanting
hill and fell backwards, but getting to my feet, which were very numb
with the concussion of the fall, I sped briskly into the darkness,
making for the woods.
I lay in the shelter of the woods an hour, and then resolved on a
circumspection. 'Twas not my intention to leave the mare behind, if so
be she had escaped Grubbe and his creatures, and moreover, I had other
designs in my head. So I made my way back deviously to the inn, and
reconnoitred. Stillness hung about it, and after a time I marched up to
the door mighty cautiously and knocked on it.
The innkeeper opened it, and, the lamp burning in my face, started as
if I were the devil.
"Hush, man," said I, "is the officer gone?" He looked at me dubiously,
and trembling. "Come," said I, for I knew the reputation of those
parts, "I am from Shoreham Gap yonder, and I was near taken for an
offence against the revenue."
"You are a smuggler?" said he, anxiously. "They said you were a
tobyman."
"They will take away any decent man's name," said I. "Come, I want my
horse. You have no fancy for preventive men, I'll guess."
And this was true enough, for he had a mine of cellars under his inn
and through the roadway.
"But your friend?" said he, still wavering. "Him that is dead--"
"As good a man as ever rolled a barrel," said I.
He relaxed his grip of the door. "'Tis a sore business for me this
night," he complained.
"Nay," said I, "for I will rid your premises of myself and friend, by
your leave or without it," says I.
He seemed relieved at that, and I entered. The horses were safe, as
I discovered, for Grubbe must have been too full of his own prime
business to make search, and getting them out, I made my preparations.
I strapped the lad's body in the stirrups, so that he lay forward on
the horse with his head a-wagging but (God deliver him!) his soul at
rest. And presently we were on the road, and threading the wilderness
of the black pine-woods for the vale below towards London.
The moon was a glimmering arc across the Hurtwood as I came out on the
back of Shere, and pulling out of the long lane that gave entry to the
village, reined up by the White Horse. From the inn streamed a clamour
of laughter, and without the doorway, and well-nigh blocking it, was
drawn up a carriage, with a coachman in his seat, that struck my eyes
dimly in the small light. I was not for calling eyes on me with a dead
man astride his horse, so I moved into the yard, thinking to drain a
tankard of ale, if no better, before I took the road over the downs
to Effingham. But I was scarce turned into the yard ere a light flung
through the window peered on a face that changed all the notions in my
skull. 'Twas Grubbe!
Leaving the horses by I went back to the front of the inn, and says I
to the coachman that waited there, as I rapped loud on the door,--
"'Tis shrewish to-night."
"Ay," says he, in a grumbling, surly voice, "I would the country were
in hell."
"Why, so 'twill be in good time," said I, cheerfully; and then to the
man that came, "Fetch me two quarts well laced with gin," says I, "for
to keep the chill o' the night and the fear o' death out."
The coachman laughed a little stoutly, for he knew that this was his
invitation.
"Whence come you then?" said I, delivering him the pot that was fetched
out.
He threw an arm out. "Lewes," said he, "under charge with a tobyman
that was for chains yonder."
He nodded towards the downs and drank. I cast my eyes up and the loom
of the hill just t'other side of the village was black and ominous.
"Oh," says I, "he hangs there?"
"At the top of London road," says he, dipping his nose again. "There
stands the gallows, where the roads cross, and near the gate."
"Gallows Gate," said I, laughing. "Well, 'twas a merry job enough."
"Ay," says he, "but by this we might ha' been far towards London Town,
whither most of us are already gone. But 'twas not his meaning. He must
come back with the Lewes sheriff and drink him farewell."
"Leaving a poor likely young man such as yourself to starve of cold and
an empty belly here," said I. "Well, I would learn such a one manners
in your place; and you shall have another tankard of dog's-nose for
your pains," says I; whereat I called out the innkeeper again, but took
care that he had my share of the gin in addition to his own. By that
time he was garrulous, and had lost his caution, so keeping him in talk
a little, and dragging his wits along from point to point, I presently
called to him,--
"Come down," said I, "and stamp your feet. 'Twill warm you without as
the liquor within;" and he did as I had suggested without demur.
"Run round to the back," says I, "and get yourself a noggin, and if
so be you see a gentleman on horseback there asleep, why, 'tis only a
friend of mine that is weary of his long journey. I will call you if
there be occasion."
He hesitated a moment, but I set a crown on his palm and his scruples
vanished. He limped into the darkness.
'Twas no more than two minutes later that I heard voices in the
doorway, and next came Timothy Grubbe into the night, in talk with
someone. At which it took me but thirty seconds to whip me into the
seat and pull the coachman's cloak about me, so that I sat stark and
black in the starlight. Grubbe left the man he talked with and came
forward.
"You shall drink when ye reach Cobham, Crossway," says he, looking up
at me, "and mind your ways, damn ye."
And at that he made no more ado, but humming an air he lurched into the
carriage. I pulled out the nags, and turned their heads so that they
were set for the north. And then I whistled low and short--a whistle
I knew that the mare would heed, and I trusted that she would bring
her companion with her. Then the wheels rolled out upon the road and
Timothy Grubbe and I were bound for London all alone.
As I turned up the London road that swept steeply up the downs I looked
back, and behind the moon shone faintly on Calypso, and behind her on
the dead man wagging awkwardly in his stirrups.
I pushed the horses up the steeps of the London road as fast as might
be, but the ruts were still deep in mud, and the carriage jolted and
rocked and swayed as we went. The wind came now with a little moaning
sound from the bottom of the valley, and the naked branches creaked
above my head, for that way was sunken and tangled with the thickets
of nut and yew. And presently I was forced to go at a foot pace, so
abrupt was the height. The moon struck through the trees and peered on
us, and Grubbe put his head forth of the window.
"Why go you not faster, damn ye?" says he, being much in liquor.
"'Tis the hill, your honour," said I.
He glanced up and down.
"What is't comes up behind?" says he, shouting. "There is a noise of
horses that pounds upon the road."
"'Tis the wind," says I, "that comes off the valley, and makes play
among the branches."
He sank back in his seat, and we went forward slowly. But he was
presently out again, screaming on the night.
"There is a horseman behind," says he. "What does he there?"
"'Tis a traveller, your honour," say I, "that goes, no doubt, by our
road, and is bound for London."
"He shall be bound for hell," says he, and falls back again.
The horses wound up foot by foot and emerged now upon a space of better
light. I looked round, and there was Grubbe, with his head through the
window and his eyes cast backwards.
"What fool is this," says he, "that rides so awkwardly, and drives a
spare horse? If he ride no better I will ask him to keep me company, if
he be a gentleman. Many gentlemen have rode along of me, and have rode
to the gallows tree," and he chuckled harshly.
"Maybe he will ride with you to the Gallows Gate, sir," says I.
"Why, Crossway," says he, laughing loudly, "you have turned a wit,"
says he; and once more withdrew his head.
By now we were nigh to the top of the down, and I could see the faint
shadow of the Triple Beam. With that I knew my journey was done, and
that my work must be accomplished. I pulled to the horses on the rise,
and got down from my seat.
"Why d'ye stop, rascal?" called Grubbe in a fury, but I was by the door
now and had it open.
"Timothy Grubbe," said I, "ye're a damned rogue that the devil your
master wants, and he shall have ye."
He stared at me in a maze, his nostrils working, and then says he in a
low voice,--
"So 'tis you."
"Your time has come, Timothy," said I, flinging off my cloak, and I
took my sword. "Out with you, worm!"
He said never a word, but stepped forth and looked about him. He was
sobered now, as I could see from his face, which had a strange look on
it.
"Ye're two rascals to one, Dick," says he, slowly, looking on the dead
man on his horse which had come to a stop in the shadows.
"No," says I. "This gentleman will see fair play for us."