Collected works of j s f.., p.60
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 60
“We must dismount for a few hours, Will,” said Philip, “otherwise our cattle will go dead lame. My poor Cæsar is not so young as he was, and I do not like to distress him. It is now seven o’clock; what say you if we dismount until midnight?”
It seemed a long time to me, for I was raging to push forward anywhere and anyhow, if only I could get news of my dear Rose Lisle, but I knew that we could do no less than he proposed. I had hoped we might get some news of her in Sheffield, but when we rode into it I found it to be a place larger than Pontefract, with many inns, and filled with smoke, coming from the furnaces of workers in iron and steel, so that I cared not how soon we got away from the bad air and clanking hammers.
“Mind what you do or say here, Will,” said Philip. “I fear we are amongst Roundheads in this place, and I have no mind to experience such treatment as we met in Pontefract market-place, when old Master Pratt clapped us into his cellar. I know of a place where they are true to the King, so we will make for that and be safe until our horses are rested.”
We accordingly passed through the town, not entirely unobserved, and finally drew rein at a hostelry which stood in a retired situation over against the road which leads from Yorkshire into Derbyshire. Here we found an ancient landlord, who greeted Philip Lisle very cordially and bade us welcome. But neither he nor his could tell us aught of Rose, so we were fain to stable our steeds and sit down to wait with what patience we could. They set meat and drink before us, but neither felt inclined for eating, and I think a mouthful of bread would have choked me. At last, indeed, I grew so restless that I proposed we should go forth and make inquiry at some of the other inns in the town.
“We should surely do as well occupied in that fashion as sitting here doing naught,” said I; “and as for me, I can bear this idleness no longer, and shall go mad if I am not occupied.”
“Agreed,” said Philip; and we set out into the town and proceeded as cautiously as possible to make inquiries at such inns as travellers usually put up at. No news, however, did we hear, and received many a scolding for our foolishness in asking folks to remember what had happened four days before. They had too much to do, said all that we spoke to, to remember every stray party that paused to water their horses. So we did no good in that direction, and presently returned to our own inn, which we left shortly after midnight, the horses being somewhat recovered by their rest and rations.
It was a bright moonlight night, and the country to the west, which we were now traversing, rapidly assumed shapes and forms with which until then I had never been familiar. The ground began to rise until it was shaped in high hills, more or less steep, with long valleys, now wooded and now barren, winding away between them. To my eyes, which had never seen aught higher than the hills at Brayton and Hambleton, nor any valley wider than that of Went, this scenery was very awful, and brought over me a curious feeling of admiration and wonder. It was so silent and lonely, with no sound save the clank of our horses’ feet, or the clatter of our swords against the stirrup-irons, and the clouds that floated over the moonlit hills looked so weird and ghostly, that I could almost have imagined myself in some of the fairy haunts that I had heard folks talk about.
Through these dales and over the passes that cross the surrounding hills, we rode for some hours until we had climbed over Derwent Edge, and were drawing near to the country round the Peak. Here the hills assumed rougher and wilder shapes, and the valleys became deeper and darker. Presently the road along which we had ridden became less well defined, and we found ourselves traversing what was little more than a bridlepath that wound up and down the hillsides. It was now morning, and the sun was rising above the hills to the westward, and our horses once more began to show signs of fatigue. However, I could see nothing in the shape of human habitation whichever way I turned.
“It seems as if we had lost our way,” I said, drawing rein until Philip Lisle came abreast of me. “The path grows narrower and narrower, and bids fair to be lost altogether presently.”
“I have been this way once before,” said he, pulling up his horse and looking round, “and it runs in my mind that there is a farmstead close by. Let us push on over yonder hill and see if we cannot discover it.”
When we came to the top of the high ground he had pointed out, the farmstead lay exactly beneath us — a lonely and desolate-looking group of buildings, round which I could see no sign of life. On the steep hillsides that rose about it a few mountain sheep strayed hither and thither, but there were no cattle in the valley, and no smoke came from the chimneys of the house.
“It looks as if its inhabitants were all gone to the wars, Will,” said Philip Lisle, as we descended the hillside and drew near to the house. “Nevertheless, it shall go hard with us if we cannot find something for our horses. This used to be a house of call for travellers twenty years ago.”
When we came up to the door of the house and knocked loudly thereon we received no answer for some time, and were thus obliged to come to the conclusion that the place was deserted, which idea was strengthened when we saw that the farmyard was empty, and that there was no fodder in any of the barns or sheds. The out-buildings, indeed, were falling to pieces, the damp and the dry rot having conspired to finish them off, both inside and out. From what we could see of the house through the dirty windows it was in a similar state, and looked as if it had no tenants other than rats, mice, and vermin.
We were turning away from this uninviting place when we heard the sound of a bolt being withdrawn from its staple, followed by the rattling of a chain, and presently the door was opened to us by a tall old man who looked more like a wild animal than a human being, so fiercely did his eyes glare through the knotted and tangled mass of hair which grew all over his face. He was clothed in little better than rags, and his arms and feet were bare, while his shoulders — which he shrugged as if he were cold, though it was a fine warm summer morning — were covered with a sheep-skin rudely-dressed, and left with the feet and tail still hanging to it.
“God save you, master!” said Philip, drawing nearer to the door. “This was a house of call, an I mistake not, in former days.”
“Yes, yes,” said the old man, whose fierce eyes were examining our persons and our horses as if he had never seen aught like us before. “Yes, yes; do your horses want a feed? I am very poor, but there is a little corn in the stables.”
“Then they shall have it,” said Philip. “Come, Will, let us dismount. The cattle will be all the better for an hour’s rest. Your homestead does not seem to be in very good condition, master,” he continued as the old man went before into the stable. “What hath happened here of late?”
“It was robbed, robbed,” piped the old man in his cracked voice. “Those Roundhead knaves sacked it of all I had — grain and straw. Pray God ye be not of their following!”
“Nay, we are for the King,” said Philip, “and will pay handsomely for whatever we eat. Have you no food or drink for us, master, as well as for our horses?”
“There is a little ale, just a little,” said the old man, “and some cheese and bread, if that will content you, gentlemen. Once upon a time travellers fared well with me, but, alas! I have naught left for myself nowadays, save yonder two or three sheep which I am too infirm to catch.”
While we had been talking he had led the way to a stable which was somewhat less dilapidated than the rest of the buildings, and was fairly well fitted with two stalls, in which we placed our horses. This done, he produced a feed of corn for each from a bin that stood in the corner, afterwards going before us back to the house.
“Come in, noble gentlemen, come in,” said he as we reached the threshold. “’Tis a poor place, but if you will pass through the kitchen you will find a parlour more suited to your quality. ’Tis indeed the only apartment in the house where I can entertain you, for all else hath been cleared off.”
We went through the desolate-looking kitchen into a smaller apartment, wherein the sole furniture consisted of a deal table and two or three rough chairs.
“Marry!” quoth Philip. “You seem to have fallen on sore times, friend, of late years.”
“Yes, yes,” said the old man. “Yes, sore indeed — but you need refreshment, gentlemen. I will bring you what I have. It is not often that travellers pass this way nowadays.”
He presently returned and set before us a platter of bread and cheese and a great jug of ale, the sight of which was not unwelcome to us, sharp set as we were by our long ride through the night.
“You have a deep cellar, master,” said Philip, tossing off his pot at a draught. “Your ale is cold as an icicle.”
“Ay,” said the old man, “deep enough, but poorly furnished, sir, since all these troubles came upon me.”
“Ay,” said Philip, “these be troublous times, ’tis true. Tell us, master, do you know where the estate of one Captain Trevor, an officer in His Majesty’s forces, lieth? It is somewhat near the Peak, so I have heard, and we are now in that neighbourhood, if I mistake not.”
“Yes,” answered the old man, “you are now at the foot of the Peak, and Squire Trevor’s estate lieth before you at a distance of seven miles. Follow this bridle-path along the valley until you come to the road again, and then ride straight on till you reach the park gates.”
“Have you seen aught of Captain Trevor lately?” inquired Philip. “Is he much seen in these parts?”
“Nay,” said the old man, “not since the war began, gentlemen. But I see you have drunk all the ale — shall I fetch you another stoupful?”
“Why,” said Philip, “I am certainly thirsty this morning, so fill up again, master, and then you might give our horses a drink of water. I dare say the poor brutes are as dry as their riders.”
We continued eating and drinking while the old man went out to the stables. I ate little, being in no frame of mind for food, but I had grown strangely thirsty since leaving my horse, and took deep draughts of the ale, which was co ol and refreshing.
“Beshrew me, Will,” said Philip Lisle, suddenly, “I have turned vastly sleepy since we halted. My eyes keep winking against my will.”
“So do mine,” I answered. “I have nodded more than once since we sat down. ’Tis the long ride through the fresh air.”
“Bethink thee, lad,” said he, “we have had no sleep these two nights. ’Tis hard work to go without sleep, and ride all the time too. Indeed, I could lay my head down on this table and be off in—”
Now before he had finished speaking he leaned forward, and, resting his head on his arms, dropped suddenly off into a sound slumber. I leaned my head against the wall and watched him. There was a bee humming outside. Its monotonous buzz, buzz, buzz, sounded pleasantly in my ears. My eyes closed gently, and I was suddenly as sound asleep in my corner of the wall as Philip Lisle with his head on the table.
How long we slept I cannot tell, but I suddenly woke with a start to find myself lying on the floor of the little room. It was evidently night, for the light had gone, and through the window I could see a star peeping over the top of the hill which towered up above the house. My head ached in terrible fashion, and my eyes, having once opened, continued to blink at the starlight while my senses were collecting themselves. I suddenly tried to raise my hand to my head. It was fast bound to my side! and the other was similarly secured. Then my senses came back to me rapidly enough and I saw what fools we had been. The old man had drugged us, and bound us while we slept, probably to rob and murder us for the sake of our horses and our money.
I tried to move and found that I was securely fastened at shoulders, waist, and feet. I could do naught but roll about, and I turned over hoping to strike against Philip in the darkness. I had heard him breathing when my senses came back to me, and concluded that he must be somewhere near me and in like plight to myself. But I had not taken more than two rolls across the floor in the direction in which I fancied him to be, when I heard sounds outside the window which made me hold my breath and lay as motionless as a log of timber.
CHAPTER III.
OF OUR FORTUNATE MEETING WITH CAPTAIN TREVOR.
THE noise I heard outside the house was caused by the trampling of a horse’s feet on the pavement in front of the door, followed by the jingling of steel and harness as the rider alighted. Then came the sound of footsteps on the threshold, and a man’s voice said, “Hollo, there; what, is the old knave asleep?”
“Nay, nay, noble captain, nay; did you ever know me to fall asleep when there was grist to bring to the mill? But speak low, captain dear, for there is somewhat inside that must not be waked.”
“Ah, and what is it this time, Benny? A fine, fat Sheffield merchant? Will he bleed well?”
“Nay, nay,” quavered the old man. “Tis two of those accursed Cavaliers — Heaven’s malediction be upon all of their sort! — that came wandering by this morning.”
“Ah! and drank of thy ale, eh, Benny?”
“Yes, and deeply, I assure you. Oh, I made it strong enough. But now hark ye, captain dear, there are two of them, and one is a great giant of a fellow, yea, head and shoulders taller than Long Dick, but more wooden-headed, I warrant, for he never spoke a word and let his companion do all the talking — oh, a great fellow, but stupid enough.”
“Ay, and the other?”
“Why, the other is an ordinary being, and methinks I have seen him before, somewhere. Perhaps it was—”
“Ay, but hast drawn their teeth, Benny?”
“Yes, indeed, captain dear, oh yes. Their swords and pistols are safe stowed, I warrant you.”
“Well, and the booty? You searched them, of course, when they were safe and sound?”
“Yes, and bound,” said the old man. “The great man had thirty guineas in a bag, and a breeches pocket full of crown pieces; and the other had twenty guineas, but no silver. Then there are their horses safely bestowed in the stable, and their trappings, and the men’s clothes and arms, so that old Benny hath not done so bad a day’s work, eh, captain?”
“Excellent, Benny, excellent. And the money, my cock of Egypt, where hast bestowed it?”
“In the usual place, captain dear; oh, in the usual place,” said the old villain, with so much craft and subtlety in his voice that I could almost see his rascally old eyes glinting and gleaming through his white hair.
“Well, but what are we to do with the fellows, Benny?” asked the other man. “The usual thing — four inches of cold steel, and drop them into the well?”
“I should have done it before now,” said the old man; “but the big man is too heavy for me to drag, and then I might have been seen from the hillsides. Shall we do it now, captain dear?”
“Why, is there any hurry, Benny? Will the fellows wake soon?”
“Not they,” laughed the old man. “Not this side of Doomsday, I warrant me.”
“Why, then, let me eat and drink, Benny, and then we will do the necessary deed. Besides, there is Long Dick coming up the valley, and he can bear us a hand if need be. So set out meat and drink, my Trojan, while I stable my steed. Fifty guineas, quotha. ’Tis well, Benny, excellent well.”
Then the sound of horse’s feet went across the yard, and I heard the old man moving about with pots and pans in some apartment next to our own. As for me, a great sweat had sprung out all over me when I heard these bloody murderers so calmly discussing our fate. What was to be done? There I was, tied hand and foot so that I could not move, and Philip Lisle lay still sound asleep at my side, equally powerless with myself. If only I could have freed myself from the ropes which bound me, I would have risen and gone forth, and then and there screwed the old man’s head round until his further chance of maltreating travellers had been gone. But there I was, big enough and strong enough to fight three men of ordinary size, and yet helpless as a child because my arms were tied.
Presently the other man came back from stabling his horse, and I heard the two conversing in low tones in the next room. I heard, also, the clatter of dishes, and wished fervently that the food would choke them both. I thought of all manner of things in those dreadful moments — of my mother, of Rose, of Jack Drumbleforth and Jacob Trusty, of Lucy and Ben Tuckett, and of matters which had happened many a year before and had been forgotten until then. I could see no possible way of escape. Presently the men would come in, and run their knives into us, with no more compunction than if we had been sheep, and after that they would throw us into the old well, and leave us to rot. I would have given all I had in the world for the use of my arms at that terrible moment.
After what seemed a long time I heard another horse enter the yard in front, and presently a third voice was joined to the two already engaged in conversation. Then the sweat came out on my brow in great beads, and at every sound as of feet coming our way I trembled with anger and helpless rage. I strained at the cords that bound me, and felt them nip the flesh beneath.
And then an idea suddenly flashed across my mind like a ray of hope. I remembered once being at Doncaster Fair, and watching a man of enormous strength who was showing the people what he could do with his muscles and sinews. First of all he lifted weights, such as bars of iron and lead, and after that he swung heavy clubs about as if they had been mere willow wands. But what the people most admired was the following trick: the man produced a long strand of rope, and bound it tightly round his chest, after which he drew a deep breath, and then, sending out his chest to its full extent, he snapped the rope as if it had been a bit of straw or a woman’s strand of worsted.
Now, I was at that time as strong and mighty of muscle and sinew as any man of the age, and I knew that for every pound the strong man at the fair could lift, I could lift two. And at this terrible moment it occurred to me that now was the time to put forth my great strength and burst the bonds that bound me, so that I might at least have a blow at the villains in the next room before they threw me and my companion into the well.
