Punctually to the minute our steeds were brought round, the farewells
were said, and with a loose rein we cantered down the narrow
cobble-paved street towards the Landport Gate. The horses' hoofs echoed
under the dark gateway and clattered across the drawbridge, the town of
Portsmouth was left behind, and the dense cluster of timbered and
red-tiled houses gave place to verdant fields and clumps of tall trees
that even now were beginning to burst into leaf.
We were each armed with sword and pistols, for the highways were far
from safe, and we wot not what awaited us at our journey's end. The
fine spring morning told on our spirits and we were in good humour.
Conversation, mingled with laugh and jest, flowed fast, and one would
have imagined we were setting out for a holiday rather than on an
expedition on which fortune, nay life and death, depended.
At the summit of Portsdown we halted to look back upon the good old
seaport once more, then we cantered easily down the long slope to the
village of Purbrook. Then came the steady climb through the Forest of
Bere, where memories of a journey seven years before rose before my
mind.
At Butser we reined our horses while I pointed out the scene of my
encounter with the three Dorset smugglers. Then we reached the lofty
summit of the road, from which the magnificent view of the valley of the
Rother could be seen under its fairest conditions.
At Petersfield we stopped for our midday meal, and after giving our
horses a well-earned rest, we resumed our way northward till the bold
headline of Hindhead loomed up in front of us.
At Rake we stopped to visit the scenes of old associations, calling in
at the "Flying Bull", where Giles Perrin, now grey-haired, bent, and
decrepit, still followed his calling.
"Lord ha' mercy on me if 'tis not young Master Wentworth!" he exclaimed,
showing that, though grown in stature, I had not outgrown the appearance
of my boyhood; and when Drake told him of my newly found title, the old
man tottered away to let the frequenters of the inn know the news;
whereat we, unwilling to tarry longer, pushed on towards the towering
heights of Hindhead.
Presently we crossed a heath beyond which we could perceive the village
of Liphook. In the distance we could make out a crowd of people whose
infuriated shouts were plainly audible.
"Come on, lads, let's see what this uproar means!" shouted Felgate, and,
setting spur to our steeds, we soon covered the distance that lay
between us and the howling mob.
The cause of the tumult was soon plain. At the outskirts of the village
was a small stagnant pond, by the side of which was erected a post with
a swinging beam. At one end of the beam was a rough chair in which was
bound a miserable old woman of repulsive appearance, whose face bore a
look of mute despair. Around her the crowd surged, yelling: "Duck her!
Duck the witch!" while eggs and filth were thrown with no uncertain aim
at the unhappy specimen of humanity whom the mob had seen fit to bait.
As we approached, the crowd, too intent to notice our coming, had seized
the beam and were swinging it over the pond with the object of immersing
the occupant of the ducking stool.
We reined in for a moment to take counsel amongst ourselves.
"Rescue her by all means," said Felgate.
"But she is a witch; beware of the evil eye," demurred Drake, who, like
all West-countrymen, deeply believed in witchcraft and sorcery, far more
so than dwellers in other parts of England.
"Witch or no witch, she is a woman," retorted Felgate, "and it behoves
all true gentlemen to protect a woman in danger."
With that we spurred forward and reached the outskirts of the crowd just
as the great beam was being slowly lowered into the water.
"Hold!" shouted Felgate authoritatively, forcing his horse into the
press. The mob gave way, still shouting fierce imprecations against the
terrified old woman, and making hostile demonstrations against the
interrupters of their fiendish sport.
"Who is responsible for this conventicle?" he continued, urging his
horse towards the ducking stool.
"I am, worthy sir," replied a short, stout man with heavy, beetling
brows, who stood his ground doggedly.
"And who are you, sirrah?" demanded Felgate, giving him a fierce look
that cowed him for the time. "And where is your warrant for this deed?"
"By virtue of the act passed in the reign of His Majesty King James the
First, of blessed memory, concerning the punishment of sorcerers,
witches, warlocks, and the like."
"Tut, tut, man, the statute is dead! Have you a magistrate's warrant,
Form 226, giving you authority for this? Quick, answer me! I am a
King's officer, so on your peril speak truly!"
The man shook his head.
"Then let her go free!"
Here the mob redoubled its cries, and a few missiles came hurtling
through the air towards us.
"Draw, comrades, draw!" shouted Felgate, and, unsheathing our swords, we
urged our horses through the crowd till we reined up abreast of our
chivalrous friend.
"Would ye have 'em take a witch out of your hands?" cried the officious
man, appealing to the crowd.
"No! No! Down with them, and death to the witch!" came like a hoarse
roar from the excited crowd.
"Ay, ay, down with them!" repeated their incautious leader, seizing
Felgate's horse by the bridle and attempting to force it on its
haunches.
His ill-advised action soon earned its reward, for Felgate struck him a
heavy blow with the hilt of his sword, then, clutching at him as he
fell, he backed his horse through the crowd till he reached the edge of
the pond. Then with a mighty effort he flung the man into the slimy
water, where he fell with a heavy splash. A moment later he reappeared,
clambered to the bank, and made his way towards the village, cursing us
at the top of his voice.
But the danger was not yet over, for the mob showed signs of a combined
and active resistance. Fortunately we were together by the side of the
pool, so that none of our attackers could get behind us.
"Draw your pistols and fire at the first man who steps forward!" said
Felgate, loud enough for all to hear him.
At the sight of six levelled weapons the crowd drew back; then,
satisfied that the cowards were properly cowed, Felgate jumped from his
horse, made his way to the ducking stool, and cut the bonds that held
the old crone to the chair.
Baulked of their prey, the mob still surged round us, and with a shout
of: "Let 'em have the cat!" a great black object was sent flying towards
us, and, striking my horse on the crupper, resolved itself into an
enormous black cat, that spat and howled, digging its claws into the
horse's hide, and arching its back like the demon cat that is the
reputed companion of every witch.
A word from the old woman caused the animal to jump towards her, and,
climbing on her shoulders, it mewed and purred with a fearsome delight.
Lifting the beldam to his horse, Felgate placed her pillionwise behind
him. We closed in on either side, and, forcing our way through the mob,
our pistols still pointed ominously at them, we gained the highroad once
more, and trotted unmolested through the village of Liphook.
Now that the danger was past, Drake and I could not help laughing at our
cavalier companion and his fair burden, for the hag had clasped him
tightly round the waist with her skinny arms, while the cat, perched on
her shoulders, was rubbing its head against the back of Felgate's plumed
hat, so that it was being continually thrust over his eyes despite his
frequent attempts to place it firmly on his head.
"How far do you journey with your gentle burden?" quoth Greville.
"Bless me for a landlubber if I thought of it at all!" replied Felgate.
"Say, mistress, where shall we set you down?"
"At the top of the Devil's Punch Bowl, if it pleases you, sir," replied
the old woman in a quavering voice, "for then I shall be safe."
"'Tis a big request, Felgate," I remarked, knowing that the summit of
Hindhead, close to which the Bowl is situated, was a good six miles off,
and an uphill road the whole way.
"Never mind; a good deed but half done is a sorry performance." And
with this we set spurs to our horses and trotted briskly up the long
slope that led to the towering heights that showed clearly before us.
Although I had oft journeyed across this bleak hill, never before had I
seen it under such depressing circumstances. The sun had long vanished
behind a bank of dark-grey, undefined clouds, while a cold wind howled
across our path, moaning through the treetops and raising clouds of
choking dust on the sun-dried highway.
Just as we reached the summit, where the road makes a vast horseshoe
curve round the dark, forbidding cavity known as the Devil's Punch Bowl,
a heavy rainstorm came on, blotting out the horizon, while a vivid flash
of lightning, followed at a short interval by a tremendous clap of
thunder, startled our horses, and, be it confessed, ourselves as well.
"Thunder in April! And in company with a witch! This smacks of His
Satanic Majesty with a vengeance!" muttered Drake, drawing closer to me.
"Set me down here, sir," whined the hag, and Felgate having done so, she
turned towards us.
"I have not far to go now--my home is down there," indicating with a
skinny finger the rain-blotted heathery pit beneath us.
"And now," she continued, "take an old dame's blessing for your kindness
in helping the helpless, and may success reward your search."
"Our search?" exclaimed Greville, astonished at her words.
"Ay, your search," mumbled the old crone.
"And shall we succeed?" I asked.
"Not till the waters run dry!" she replied mysteriously, and with that
another flash of lightning left us blinking in semi-darkness. When we
looked round the witch had gone. A moment later we saw her making her
way with great agility down the steep slope of the Bowl, till she
disappeared from our view behind a large clump of heather and gorse.
"Well, I'm----," and here Felgate broke off for want of a word to
express his surprise.
"How did she know we were on a treasure hunt?"
"That's more than I can tell," replied Drake, and drawing our cloaks
tighter around our shivering bodies, we rode down the hill, silent and
depressed, through the driving rain, towards the town of Godalming.