HUE AND CRY
At the end of a gusty wild October afternoon, a man, leading two
horses, was marching up and down the little plot of short turf at
the top of the Hawk's Lynch. Every now and then he would stop on
the brow of the hill to look over the village, and seemed to be
waiting for somebody from that quarter. After being well blown,
he would turn to his promenade again, or go in under the clump of
firs, through which the rising south-west wind, rushing up from
the vale below, was beginning to make a moan; and, hitching the
horses to some stump or bush, and patting and coaxing them to
induce them, if so might be, to stand quiet for a while, would
try to settle himself to leeward of one of the larger trees.
But the fates were against all attempts at repose. He had
scarcely time to produce a cheroot from his case and light it
under many difficulties, when the horses would begin fidgeting,
and pulling at their bridles, and shifting round to get their
tails to the wind. They clearly did not understand the necessity
of the position, and were inclined to be moving stable-wards. So
he had to get up again, sling the bridles over his arm, and take
to his march up and down the plot of turf; now stopping for a
moment or two to try to get his cheroot to burn straight, and
pishing and pshawing over its perverseness; now going again and
again to the brow, and looking along the road which led to the
village, holding his hat on tight with one hand,--for by this
time it was blowing half a gale of wind.
Though it was not yet quite the hour for his setting, the sun had
disappeared behind a heavy bank of wicked slate-coloured cloud,
which looked as though it were rising straight up into the
western heavens, while the wind whirled along and twisted into
quaint shapes a ragged rift of white vapor, which went hurrying
by, almost touching the tops of the moaning firs,--altogether an
uncanny evening to be keeping tryst at the top of a wild knoll;
and so thought our friend with the horses, and showed it, too,
clearly enough, had anyone been there to put a construction on
his impatient movements.
There was no one nearer than the village, of which the nearest
house was half a mile and more away; so, by way of passing the
time, we must exercise our privilege of putting into words what
he is half thinking, half muttering to himself:--
"A pleasant night I call this, to be out on a wild goose chase.
If ever I saw a screaming storm brewing, there it comes. I'll be
hanged if I stop up here to be caught in it for all the
crack-brained friends I ever had in the world; and I seem to have
a faculty for picking up none but crack-brained ones. I wonder
what the plague can keep him so long; he must have been gone an
hour. There, steady, steady, old horse. Confound this weed! What
rascals these tobacconists are! You never can get a cheroot now
worth smoking. Every one of them goes sputtering up the side, or
charring up the middle, and tasting like tow soaked in saltpetre
and tobacco juice. Well, I suppose I shall get the real thing in
India."
"India! In a month from to-day we shall be off. To hear our
senior major talk, one might as well be going to the bottomless
pit at once. Well, he'll sell out--that's a comfort. Gives us a
step, and gets rid of an old ruffian. I don't seem to care much
what the place is like if we only get some work; and there will
be some work there before long, by all accounts. No more
garrison-town life, at any rate. And if I have any luck--a man
may get a chance there."
"What the deuce can he be about? This all comes of sentiment,
now. Why couldn't I go quietly off to India without bothering up
to Oxford to see him? Not but what it's a pleasant place enough.
I've enjoyed my three days there uncommonly. Food and drink all
that can be wished, and plenty of good fellows and fun. The look
of the place, too, makes one feel respectable. But, by George, if
their divinity is at all like their politics, they must turn out
a queer set of parsons--at least if Brown picked up his precious
notions at Oxford. He always was a headstrong beggar. What was it
he was holding forth about last night? Let's see. 'The sacred
right of insurrection.' Yes, that was it, and he talked as if he
believed it all too; and if there should be a row, which don't
seem unlikely, by Jove, I think he'd act on it, in the sort of
temper he's in. How about the sacred right of getting hung or
transported? I shouldn't wonder to hear of that some day. Gad!
suppose he should be in for an installment of his sacred right
to-night. He's capable of it, and of lugging me in with him. What
did he say we were come here for? To get some fellow out of a
scrape, he said--some sort of poaching radical foster-brother of
his, who had been in gaol, and deserved it too, I'll be bound.
And he couldn't go down quietly into the village and put up at
the public, where I might have set in the tap, and not run the
chance of having my skin blown over my ears, and my teeth down my
throat, on this cursed look-out place, because he's _too well
known_ there. What does that mean? Upon my soul, it looks bad.
They may be lynching a J. P. down there, or making a spread eagle
of the parish constable at this minute, for anything I know, and
as sure as fate, if they are, I shall get my foot in it."
"It will read sweetly in the naval and military intelligence--'A
court-martial was held this day at Chatham, president, Colonel
Smith, of Her Majesty's 101st Regiment, to try Henry East, a
lieutenant in the same distinguished corps, who has been under
arrest since the 10th ult., for aiding and abetting the escape of
a convict, and taking part in a riot in the village of
Englebourn, in the county of Berks. The defense of the accused
was that he had a sentimental friendship for a certain Thomas
Brown, an undergraduate of St. Ambrose College, Oxford, &c. &c.;
and the sentence of the Court--'
"Hang it! It's no laughing matter. Many a fellow has been broken
for not making half such a fool of himself as I have done, coming
out here on this errand. I'll tell T. B. a bit of my mind as sure
as--
"Hullo! didn't I hear a shout? Only the wind, I believe. How it
does blow! One of these firs will be down, I expect, just now.
The storm will burst in a quarter of an hour. Here goes! I shall
ride down into the village, let what will come of it. Steady
now--steady. Stand still you old fool; can't you?"
"There, now I'm all right. Solomon said something about a beggar
on horseback. Was is Solomon, though? Never mind. He couldn't
ride. Never had a horse till he was grown up. But he said some
uncommon wise things about having to do with such friends as T.
B. So, Harry East, if you please, no more tomfoolery after
to-day. You've got a whole skin, and a lieutenant's commission to
make your way in the world with, and are troubled with no
particular crotchets yourself that need ever get you into
trouble. So just you keep clear of other people's. And if your
friends must be mending the world, and poor men's plastering, and
running their heads against stone walls, why, just you let go of
their coat tails."
So muttering and meditating, Harry East paused a moment after
mounting, to turn up the collar of the rough shooting-coat which
he was wearing, and button it up to the chin, before riding down
the hill, when, in the hurly-burly of the wind, a shout came
spinning past his ears, plain enough this time; he heard the gate
at the end of Englebourn lane down below him shut with a clang,
and saw two men running at full speed towards him, straight up
the hill.
"Oh! here you are at last," he said, as he watched them. "Well,
you don't lose your time now. Somebody must be after them. What's
he shouting and waving his hand for? Oh, I'm to bring the cavalry
supports down the slope, I suppose. Well, here goes; he has
brought off his pal the convict I see--
Says he, you've 'scaped from transportation
All upon the briny main;
So never give way to no temptation,
And don't get drunk nor prig again!
There goes the gate again. By Jove, what's that? Dragoons, as I'm
a sinner! There's going to be the d-----st bear-fight."
Saying which, Harry East dug his heels into his horse's sides,
holding him up sharply with the curb at the same time, and in
another moment, was at the bottom of the solitary mound on which
he had been perched for the last hour, and on the brow of the
line of hill out of which it rose so abruptly, just at the point
for which the two runners were making. He had only time to glance
at the pursuers, and saw that one or two rode straight on the
track of the fugitives, while the rest skirted away along a
parish road which led up the hill side by an easier ascent, when
Tom and his companion were by his side. Tom seized the bridle of
the led horse, and was in the saddle with one spring.
"Jump up behind," he shouted; "now, then, come along."
"Who are they?" roared East,--in that wind nothing but a shout
could be heard,--pointing over his shoulder with his thumb as
they turned to the heath.
"Yeomanry."
"After you?"
Tom nodded, as they broke into a gallop, making straight across
the heath towards the Oxford road. They were some quarter of a
mile in advance before any of their pursuers showed over the brow
of the hill behind them. It was already getting dusk, and the
great bank of cloud was by this time all but upon them, making
the atmosphere denser and darker every second. Then, first one of
the men appeared who had ridden straight up the hill under the
Hawk's Lynch, and, pulling up for a moment, caught sight of them
and gave chase. Half a minute later, and several of those who had
kept to the road were also in sight, some distance away on the
left, but still near enough to be unpleasant; and they too after
a moment's pause, were in full pursuit. At first the fugitives
held their own, and the distance between them and their pursuers
was not lessened; but it was clear that this could not last.
Anything that horse-flesh is capable of, a real good Oxford hack,
such as they rode, will do; but to carry two full-grown men at
the end of a pretty long day, away from fresh horses and moderate
weights, is too much to expect even of Oxford horse-flesh; and
the gallant beast which Tom rode was beginning to show signs of
distress when they struck into the road. There was a slight dip
in the ground a this place, and a little further on the heath
rose suddenly again, and the road ran between high banks for a
short distance.
As they reached this point they disappeared for the moment from
the yeomanry, and the force of the wind was broken by the banks,
so that they could breathe more easily, and hear one another's
voices.
Tom looked anxiously round at the lieutenant, who shrugged his
shoulders in answer to the look, as he bent forward to ease his
own horse, and said--
"Can't last another mile."
"What's to be done?"
East again shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing.
"I know, Master Tom," said Harry Winburn.
"What?"
"Pull up a bit, sir."
Tom pulled up, and his horse fell into a walk willingly enough,
while East passed on a few strides ahead. Harry Winburn sprang
off.
"You ride on now, Master Tom," he said, "I knows the heath well;
you let me bide."
"No, no, Harry, not I. I won't leave you now, so let them come,
and be hanged."
East had pulled up, and listened to their talk.
"Look here, now," he said to Harry; "put your arm over the hind
part of his saddle, and run by the side; you'll find you can go
as fast as the horse. Now, you two push on, and strike across the
heath. I'll keep the road, and take off this joker behind, who is
the only dangerous customer."
"That's like you, old boy," said Tom, "then we'll meet at the
first public beyond the heath." They passed ahead in their turn,
and turned on to the heath, Harry running by the side, as the
lieutenant had advised.
East looked after them, and then put his horse into a steady
trot, muttering,
"Like me! yes, devilish like me; I know that well enough. Didn't
I always play cat's-paw to his monkey at school? But that convict
don't seem such a bad lot after all."
Meantime, Tom and Harry struck away over the heath, as the
darkness closed in, and the storm drove down. They stumbled on
over the charred furze roots, and splashed through the sloppy
peat cuttings, casting anxious, hasty looks over their shoulders
as they fled, straining every nerve to get on, and longing for
night and the storm.
"Hark! wasn't that a pistol-shot?" said Tom, as they floundered
on. The sound came from the road they had left.
"Look, here's some on 'em, then," said Harry; and Tom was aware
of two horsemen coming over the brow of the hill on their left,
some three hundred yards to the rear. At the same instant his
horse stumbled, and came down on his nose and knees. Tom went off
over his shoulder, tumbling against Harry, and sending him
headlong to the ground, but keeping hold of the bridle. They were
up again in a moment.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Come along, then," and Tom was in the saddle again, when the
pursuers raised a shout. They had caught sight of them now, and
spurred down the slope towards them. Tom was turning his horse's
head straight away, but Harry shouted,--
"Keep to the left, Master Tom,--to the left, right on."
It seemed like running into the lion's jaws, but he yielded, and
they pushed on down the slope on which they were. Another shout
of triumph rose on the howling wind; Tom's heart sank within him.
The enemy was closing on them at every stride; another hundred
yards, and they must meet at the bottom of the slope. What could
Harry be dreaming of? The thought had scarcely time to cross his
brain, when down went the two yeomen, horse and man, floundering
in a bog above their horses' girths. At the same moment the storm
burst on them, the driving mist and pelting rain. The chase was
over. They could not have seen a regiment of men at fifty yards'
distance.
"You let me lead the horse, Master Tom," shouted Harry Winburn;
"I knowed where they was going; 'twill take they the best part o'
the night to get out o' that, I knows."
"All right, let's get back to the road, then, as soon as we can,"
said Tom, surrendering his horse's head to Harry, and turning up
his collar, to meet the pitiless deluge which was driving on
their flanks. They were drenched to the skin in two minutes; Tom
jumped off, and plodded along on the opposite side of his horse
to Harry. They did not speak; there was very little to be said
under the circumstances, and a great deal to be thought about.
Harry Winburn probably knew the heath as well as any man living,
but even he had much difficulty in finding his way back to the
road through that storm. However, after some half-hour, spent in
beating about, they reached it, and turned their faces northwards
towards Oxford. By this time night had come on; but the fury of
the storm had passed over them, and the moon began to show every
now and then through the driving clouds. At last Tom roused
himself out of the brown study in which he had been hitherto
plodding along, and turned down his coat collar, and shook
himself, and looked up at the sky, and across at his companion,
who was still leading the horse along mechanically. It was too
dark to see his face, but his walk and general look were listless
and dogged; at last Tom broke silence.
"You promised not to do anything, after you came out, without
speaking to me." Harry made no reply; so presently he went on:--
"I didn't think you'd have gone in for such a business as that
to-night. I shouldn't have minded so much if it had only been
machine-breaking; but robbing the cellar and staving in the ale
casks and maiming cattle--"
"I'd no hand in that," interrupted Harry.
"I'm glad to hear it. You were certainly leaning against the gate
when I came up, and taking no part in it; but you were one of the
leaders of the riot."
"He brought it on hisself," said Harry, doggedly. "Tester is a
bad man, I know that; and the people have much to complain of:
but nothing can justify what was done to-night." Harry made no
answer.
"You're known, and they'll be after you the first thing in the
morning. I don't know what's to be done."
"'Tis very little odds what happens to me."
"You've no right to say that, Harry. Your friends--"
"I ain't got no friends."
"Well, Harry, I don't think you ought to say that after what has
happened to-night. I don't mean to say that my friendship has
done you much good yet; but I've done what I could, and--"
"So you hev', Master Tom, so you hev'."
"And I'll stick by you through thick and thin, Harry. But you
must take heart and stick by yourself, or we shall never pull you
through." Harry groaned, and then, turning at once to what was
always uppermost in his mind, said,--
"'Tis no good, now I've been in gaol. Her father wur allus agin
me. And now, how be I ever to hold up my head at whoam? I seen
her once arter I came out."
"Well, and what happened?" said Tom, after waiting a moment or
two.
"She just turned red and pale, and was all flustered like, and
made as though she'd have held out her hand; and then tuk and
hurried off like a frightened hare, as though she heerd somebody
comin'. Ah! 'tis no good! 'tis no good!"
"I don't see anything very hopeless in that," said Tom.
"I've knowed her since she wur that high," went on Harry, holding
out his hand about as high as the bottom of his waistcoat,
without noticing the interruption, "when her and I went gleanin'
together. 'Tis what I've thought on, and lived for. 'Tis four
year and better since she and I broke a sixpence auver't. And at
times it sim'd as tho' 'twould all cum right, when my poor mother
wur livin', tho' her never tuk to it kindly, mother didn't. But
'tis all gone now! and I be that mad wi' myself, and mammered,
and down, I be ready to hang myself, Master Tom; and if they just
teks and transports me--"
"Oh, nonsense, Harry! You must keep out of that. We shall think
of some way to get you out of that before morning. And you must
get clear away, and go to work on the railways or somewhere.
There's nothing to be downhearted about as far as Patty is
concerned."
"Ah! 'tis they as wears it as knows where the shoe pinches. You'd
say different if 'twas you, Master Tom."
"Should I?" said Tom; and, after pausing a moment or two, he went
on. "What I'm going to say is in confidence. I've never told it
to any man yet, and only one has found it out. Now, Harry, I'm
much worse off than you are at this minute. Don't I know where
the shoe pinches! Why I haven't seen--I've scarcely heard
of--of--well, of my sweetheart--there, you'll understand
that--for this year and more. I don't know when I may see her
again. I don't know that she hasn't clean forgotten me. I don't
know that she ever cared a straw for me. Now you know quite well
that you are better off than that."
"I bean't so sure o' that, Master Tom. But I be terrible vexed to
hear about you."
"Never mind about me. You say you're not sure, Harry. Come, now,
you said, not two minutes ago, that you two had broken a sixpence
over it. What does that mean, now?"
"Ah! but 'tis four years gone. Her's been a leadin' o' me up and
down, and a dancin' o' me round and round purty nigh ever since,
let alone the time as she wur at Oxford, when--"
"Well, we won't talk of that, Harry. Come, will yesterday do for
you? If you thought she was all right yesterday, would that
satisfy you?"
"Ees; and summat to spare."
"You don't believe it, I see. Well, why do you think I came after
you to-night? How did I know what was going on?"
"That's just what I've been a-axin' o' myself as we cum along."
"Well, then, I'll tell you. I came because I got a note from her
yesterday at Oxford." Tom paused, for he heard a muttered growl
from the other side of the horse's head, and could see, even in
the fitful moonlight, the angry toss of the head with which his
news was received, "I didn't expect this, Harry," he went on
presently, "after what I told you just now about myself, it was a
hard matter to tell it at all; but, after telling you, I didn't
think you'd suspect me any more. However, perhaps I've deserved
it. So, to go on with what I was saying, two years ago, when I
came to my senses about her, and before I cared for anyone else,
I told her to write if ever I could do her a service. Anything
that a man could do for his sister I was bound to do for her, and
I told her so. She never answered till yesterday, when I got this
note," and he dived into the inner breast pocket of his shooting.
coat. "If it isn't soaked to pulp, it's in my pocket now. Yes,
here it is," and he produced a dirty piece of paper, and handed
it across to his companion. "When there's light enough to read
it, you'll see plain enough what she means, though your name is
not mentioned."
Having finished his statement, Tom retired into himself, and
walked along watching the hurrying clouds. After they had gone
some hundred yards, Harry cleared his throat once or twice, and
at last broke out,--
"Master Tom."
"Well."
"You bean't offended wi' me, sir, I hopes?"
"No, why should I be offended?"
"'Cause I knows I be so all-fired jealous, I can't a'bear to hear
o' her talkin', let alone writin' to--"
"Out with it. To me, you were going to say."
"Nay, 'tis mwore nor that."
"All right, Harry, if you only lump me with the rest of mankind,
I don't care. But you needn't be jealous of me, and you mustn't
be jealous of me, or I sha'n't be able to help you as I want to
do. I'll give you my hand and word on it as man to man, there's
no thought in my heart towards her that you mightn't see this
minute. Do you believe me?"
"Ees; and you'll forgive--"
"There's nothing to forgive, Harry. But now you'll allow your
case isn't such a bad one. She must keep a good lookout after you
to know what you were likely to be about to-day. And if she
didn't care for you, she wouldn't have written to me. That's good
sense, I think."
Harry assented, and then Tom went into a consideration of what
was to be done, and, as usual, fair castles began to rise in the
air. Harry was to start down the line at once, and take work on
the railway. In a few weeks he would be captain of a gang, and
then what was to hinder his becoming a contractor, and making his
fortune, and buying a farm of his own at Englebourn? To all which
Harry listened with open ears till they got off the heath, and
came upon a small hamlet of some half-dozen cottages scattered
along the road.
"There's a public here, I suppose," said Tom, returning to the
damp realities of life. Harry indicated the humble place of
entertainment for man and horse.
"That's all right. I hope we shall find my friend here;" and they
went towards the light which was shining temptingly through the
latticed window of the road-side inn.