It was nearly dark when the renowned Captain Barecolt and Diggory
Falgate issued forth into the streets of Hull, and silence, almost
solitude, had fallen over the town, for the people of that good city
were ever particularly attentive to the hour of supper, which was now
approaching. Captain Barecolt then ventured to give his companion a
familiar and patronizing slap on the shoulder, saying--
"Ah, Diggory Falgate I honest Diggory Falgate! I never thought to see
thee again in the land of the living."
"I certainly thought," replied the painter, in a grave tone, "that I
was on the high-road to the land of the dead. But it was not fair of
you, captain, upon my life, to leave me outside in the hands of those
men. Why, they talked of hanging me without benefit of clergy."
"Fair!" cried Barecolt, indignantly. "How could I help it, Diggory?
Did I not work more wonders than a man to save all of the party? Did I
not kill six Roundheads with my own hand? Did I not swim the moat,
open the gates, fight in the front, protect the rear, kill the
captain, disperse the troopers, and effect the retreat of my party
with the loss of none but you, my poor old Diggory? What more could
man do? You were but as a cannon, a falconer, a saker, which we were
obliged to leave in the hands of the enemy; nor was it discovered for
some time that you were not with us. When it was discovered, too, what
did I do? Did I not issue forth, and, thinking that you might be lying
covered with honourable wounds in some foul ditch by the roadside, did
I not search for you for miles around the field of battle?"
"No! did you, though?" said Diggory Falgate. "Well, that was kind,
captain."
"Nay, did I not pursue the search till after midnight?" continued
Barecolt. "Ask Lord Walton; ask the noble earl. But now that I have
found you, worthy Diggory, I would fain hear how you contrived to
escape from the hands of the Philistines. You are not exactly a
Samson, Diggory, and I should have thought they would have bound you
with bands you could not break."
"Hush!" said the painter; "here is some one coming."
The person who approached was merely a labouring man, who had been
detained somewhat late at his work, and he passed on without speaking;
but the pause thus obtained in the conversation between Captain
Barecolt and Diggory Falgate afforded the latter time for a little
reflection. It had been his purpose to communicate to his companion
the whole of his adventures, and what he had discovered in the church
on the hill; but as he pondered on the matter this design was altered.
A conviction had gradually impressed itself upon his mind, since first
he had become acquainted with the grandiloquent Captain Barecolt, that
the great warrior was in the habit of attributing to himself the
actions and discoveries of others, or at all events of taking more
than his due share of credit for anything in which he had part; and as
Falgate seldom had had an opportunity of distinguishing himself in any
way, except by painting strange faces, coats of arms, or wonderful
beasts upon signboards, he wisely judged that it would be expedient
not to let slip any part of the occasion which, as he thought, now
presented itself.
When Captain Barecolt, therefore, returned to the charge, and required
a detail of all his adventures, Falgate gave him such an account as
was perfectly satisfactory to his interrogator, and which, moreover,
had the advantage of being true, though that very important item in
the Old Bailey oath, "the whole truth," was not exactly stated. He
related how he had been carried off by the Roundhead party; how he had
been questioned touching the gentleman with whom he had been lately
consorting; how he had refused stoutly to answer, and had been
threatened with death; how he had been shut up in the old church, and
left there under a guard.
There, however, the minute exactitude of the painter's statement
halted, and he merely added, that finding the door leading from the
church into the vaults open, he had escaped by that means of exit;
and, after hiding for some time in the neighbourhood, had heard that
the troop which had taken him had been sent to Boston, upon which he
ventured to return to Hull.
For his faithful discretion Captain Barecolt bestowed upon him high
commendation, declared that some day he would be a great man if he
would but learn to ride, and offered to be himself his instructor in
that elegant art. By the time that the praises of the worthy officer
came to an end, however, they were approaching the out-of-the-way spot
at which the dwelling of Mr. O'Donnell was situated; but in attempting
to approach the water-side they were turned back by a sentinel, who,
on being asked how they were to get to the house they wanted to visit,
replied, they must go to the back-door if it had one.
Luckily, Diggory Falgate was acquainted with the street in which that
back-door was situated, and to it they accordingly went, pulled the
ring of a bell, and produced the slow appearance of the tidy old woman
whom Barecolt had seen before. In reply to his inquiries for Mr.
O'Donnell, however, on this occasion, she asserted boldly that he was
out; but the worthy captain, whose senses, as the reader knows, were
generally on the alert, finished the sentence for her by saying--
"Out of tobacco, do you mean, madam? Good faith! if he smokes away at
the rate he is now doing in the parlour, he may well consume a quintal
in a short space. Go in, my good lady, and tell him that a gentleman
is here who bears him news of old Sergeant Neil's grand-daughter."
The poor woman was confounded at the worthy captain's quickness; and,
too well accustomed to the vapour of tobacco to smell it herself,
could not divine how the visiter had discovered that her master was
smoking in the parlour, unless he had looked through a crack in the
window. Without more ado, then, she retreated, leaving the strangers
in possession of the passage; and in a moment after Mr. O'Donnell's
head was thrust out of a door at the farther end, taking a view of his
two visiters.
"Oh, come in, come in!" he said at length, as he recognised Barecolt.
"Whom have you got there with you? Come in----Ah, painter! is that
you?"
Without replying to his various questions, Barecolt and Falgate walked
on into his little room, which they found cloudy with smoke, while a
huge jug, emitting the steam of hot water, kept company with a large
black bottle, with the cork half out, which apparently contained a
stronger fluid. O'Donnell shut the door carefully, and then at once
began to interrogate Barecolt in regard to Arrah Neil, asking how she
had fared on the journey, whether she had found Lord Walton and his
sister, and where she actually was.
During the progress of these questions, which were put with great
rapidity, Falgate sat silent, but noted attentively every word that
was said, and marked the name of Lord Walton particularly in his
memory, as apparently the chief friend of the young lady in whose
escape he had assisted.
"She got off well, though it was through a hailstorm of dangers,
Master O'Donnell," replied Barecolt, in a quick, hurried tone. "She
has rejoined Lord Walton and his sister, and is now in Beverley. Ask
no more questions at present; but listen, and you shall have further
information concerning poor Arrah to-morrow, God willing. At present
we have other things to think of--business of life and death, Master
O'Donnell."
"Ah, devil fly away with it!" cried the Irishman; "that is always the
way. Nothing but business of life and death now-a-days. A plain man
can't drive a plain trade quietly without being teased about business
of life and death. But I will have nothing to do with it, I tell you.
I am a peaceable, well-disposed man, who hates secrets and abominates
business of life and death. There, take some Geneva and water, if you
will. It is better than all the business in the world. Run and get
some drinking-cups, Master Painter."
Falgate, who seemed to have been in the house before, did as he was
directed; and as soon as his back was turned O'Donnell demanded--
"What is this business? One cannot speak before your companion. He is
a rattle-pated, silly fellow."
"But a very faithful one," answered Barecolt, doing the poor painter
justice; "and he knows all about this affair already. But the matter
is shortly this, my good friend!--A noble gentleman is here in Hull,
having business with Sir John Hotham, and charged, moreover, by Lord
Walton, to speak with you concerning Mistress Arrah Neil. He is my
particular friend; and while he went on to the governor's house I went
to the 'Swan,' requested by him to see you end fix a meeting for
to-morrow morning. However, when he arrives at Sir John Hotham's, he
finds no one but his son, Sir John being very ill----"
"Ah, by----! here's a pretty affair!" cried O'Donnell. "Very ill Sir
John is not. He has got the gout in one foot and both hands, and is as
cross as the yards of a ship; but his son takes all upon himself, and
a base business he makes of it. What more? what more?"
"Why, the son causes this noble gentleman to be arrested immediately
for a spy, tears his pass to pieces, will not let him see the
governor, and threatens to shoot him to-morrow morning."
"And so he will, to be sure!" cried O'Donnell. "But what's to be done?
How, in the fiend's name, can I help you? I'll not meddle with it--not
a whit! I shall get shot some day myself if I don't mind."
As he was speaking, Diggory Falgate returned with two drinking-cups;
and without waiting for Barecolt's reply, he tapped O'Donnell on the
shoulder, saying--
"I'll tell you how you can help us, Master O'Donnell. Nothing so easy
in life, and no danger to yourself either, though you are not a fellow
to fear that if there were. All that is wanted is to let the governor
know what is going on, and he'll soon stop the colonel's doings; for
the pass which that wild beast tore was in his own handwriting; and it
will be an eternal blot upon his honour--worse than a black bend
sinister on the shield of his arms--if any harm happens to the earl
after giving him that."
"The earl!" said O'Donnell. "Oh, ho! He is an earl, is he?"
"What have you said, you fool?" cried Barecolt, turning angrily upon
Falgate; but the painter, though he turned somewhat red, put the best
face he could upon it, saying--
"Well, it's a slip of the tongue, captain; but it can't be helped, and
you know you can trust him."
"Ay, ay! trust me, sure enough," answered the Irishman. "But how am I
to do anything in this?" and leaning his head upon his hand, he mused,
while Barecolt mixed himself some Geneva and hot water, not
particularly potent of the latter; and Falgate stood gazing at the
master of the house, as if waiting for him to speak further.
"I'll tell you what you can do, Master O'Donnell," said the painter at
length, laying his hand upon the other's arm; "you can put on your hat
and cloak, go down to Sir John Hotham, and ask to speak with him for a
moment about his gout. We know he will see you, for Mrs. White told us
all about it."
"And if you have a snug little bottle of cordial waters under your
arm, you are sure to get in," added Barecolt. "Come, come, Master
O'Donnell; do not hesitate. There is no time to be lost."
"On my life, that's a pretty joker!" cried O'Donnell, starting up:
"that I am to go and put my neck in peril for a man I never saw in my
life. I tell you, I'll have nothing to do with it. It's a bad case;
and if they shoot him, they must."
In vain, to all appearance, were the eloquence of Barecolt and the
arguments of the painter. The best they could obtain from O'Donnell
was a vague and unsatisfactory reply, that he would go on the morrow,
or that he would see about it. He asked, nevertheless, a number of
questions, as if he felt some interest in the affair, which for nearly
half-an-hour had the effect of inducing his two visiters to believe
that their entreaties would ultimately prove effectual; but at length
he suddenly turned the conversation to another subject, and once more
inquired of Arrah Neil; and Barecolt, rising, wished him good-night in
a sullen and disappointed tone, saying that, as he would have no hand
in it, some one else must be found who would undertake the task which
he declined.
As soon as the mighty captain issued forth into the street, however,
he burst into a laugh, much to Falgate's surprise. But Barecolt
laughed again, saying, "He will do it, Master Falgate! He will do it,
take my word for it. He is a cunning old chap, that Master O'Donnell,
and he will not let us know what he is going to do; but he'll go."
"I don't think it, Captain Barecolt; I don't think it," replied
Falgate, sadly; "and we cannot trust the good earl's safety to such a
chance."
"I don't intend to trust to any chance at all, Diggory Falgate,"
answered Barecolt, in one of his supreme tones. "You do not suppose an
officer of my experience will rest satisfied without clear knowledge
of what he is about? Draw back with me, Master Falgate. Go you under
the shadow of that entry, where you can see his door in front. I will
post myself by that penthouse, where I command both streets. He cannot
escape us then, and we will give him twenty minutes. But if he comes
forth, say not a word, move not a finger; rest as quiet as one of the
door nails till he has gone on, and then come and join me."
Not five of the twenty minutes which Captain Barecolt had allowed for
the issuing forth of Mr. O'Donnell had elapsed when the door of his
house opened, and a tall figure appeared, which, turning back its
head, said aloud, "Turn the lock, Dorothy," and then took its way up
the street, without observing either of the two watchers.
Diggory Falgate was soon by Barecolt's side, and they followed
together upon the steps of the worthy Irishman, till they saw him
approach the governor's house and enter the court; after which they
again ensconced themselves under a gateway, in order to obtain the
means of judging, by the duration of O'Donnell's stay, whether he was
admitted to the presence of Sir John Hotham or not. Ten minutes, a
quarter of an hour, half-an-hour passed, and, O'Donnell not having
appeared when the clock struck ten, Barecolt and his companion,
satisfied that their end was so far accomplished, made the best of
their way back to the "Swan." The cautious captain, however, to make
assurance doubly sure, directed Falgate to proceed once more to the
merchant's house at break of day, and to question him closely in
regard to the result of his visit; after which, having communicated to
Mrs. White what success they had achieved, and received her opinion
that Master O'Donnell would leave no stone unturned to effect their
object, they sat down to a good supper, which she had prepared for
them in the room where Mr. Dry had dined with Arrah Neil, and enjoyed
themselves for half-an-hour.
At the end of that time, Falgate, pronouncing himself tired, left
Captain Barecolt with the flagon (which he did not propose to quit for
another hour), and retired, taking care to close the door after him.
His course, however, did not lie straight to bed; for, finding the
worthy landlady locking up her spoons and ladles in her little
parlour, he joined her there, and entered into conversation with her
in a low and confidential tone. Their conference lasted a considerable
time, and was carried on apparently with some reluctance by Mrs. White
at first, but gradually became animated on her part also; and at
length, when Falgate asked her, "You are quite sure she was buried
there, and that what I tell you was on her coffin?"
"I'll take my oath of it," she replied; "I'll give it under my hand if
you like."
"I wish you would, Mrs. White," answered the painter; and, receiving
her promise that it should be done on the following day, he retired to
bed.
Before we close this somewhat long chapter, it may be necessary to
trace to a certain point the proceedings of our worthy friend
O'Donnell; but we will do so very briefly. Having passed the sentinel
in the court of the governor's house, he approached a small door at
the side and knocked for admission. A servant appeared almost
immediately; but, far from asking directly to speak with Sir John
Hotham, he said, "Ah, Master Wilson! is Oliver within? I want a chat
with him."
"Walk in, Master O'Donnell," replied the man, "and I will seek for
him. He was with Sir John a moment ago."
O'Donnell wasted no more words, but entered in silence, and after
having been kept for a minute or two in the dark passage, he was
joined by Oliver, the governor's body-servant, as he was called, with
a light. The two shook hands with great good-will, and Master Oliver
drew his Irish friend into a little room on the left, where
immediately O'Donnell produced two large, flat-sided, long-necked
bottles from under his cloak, and setting one down on the table he
said, "That's for you, Noll, and this is some gout-cordial for the
governor, which will soon send all his ailments away."
"God grant it!" replied the man, "for he is in a devil of a humour.
Shall I take it to him, Master O'Donnell? Many thanks for the good
stuff!"
"Welcome, welcome!" replied his companion: "but you must get me speech
of Sir John this very night, for I have got a dozen bottles of
cinnamon, such as you never tasted in your days, and a gentleman in
the town wants them. So I promised to give him an answer before I went
to bed, but thought it only dutiful to talk to the governor about them
first, in case he should like any."
"Ah! he'll talk about that," replied the servant, "though he won't
talk of anything else. Come up with me to his door, and we'll soon see
if he'll speak with you. Bring your bottle with you. That's as good as
a pass."
"Better sometimes," replied O'Donnell, drily; and following the
servant up-stairs and into the better part of the house, he was kept
for a moment or two in the corridor, and then admitted into the
presence of Sir John Hotham.