Collected works of j s f.., p.61
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 61
I contracted my chest and arms as far as I could, and then suddenly expanded them so that the rope cracked again under the pressure. But, alas! there were more strands than one, and they cut into the thick part of my arms so cruelly that I almost cried out with pain. Nevertheless, I was spurred on to make another effort by the voices in the next room, so I drew breath once more, and once more tried to burst the bonds that bound me. I strove and strove and strove until the fire flashed from my eyes, and my chest was like to split, while the straining cords cut into my arms till the blood started and the sweat poured down my face. And then with one last effort the rope snapped sharply, and I sank back exhausted but free.
But there was no time for rest, and I immediately set to work to untie the bonds which confined my feet. This done, I crept over to where Philip Lisle lay asleep, and hastened to release him also. He was so soundly wrapped in slumber that all my tugging at his bonds and rolling him about did not suffice to wake him, and I did not dare to shout in his ear lest the men should hear me. So I withdrew him into the darkest part of the room, and then stole stealthily over to the door, with the intention of crushing the life out of the first man who entered. I had not stood there many minutes when I heard very soft footfalls approach the door, which was presently unbolted from the outside and then gently opened to the extent of two or three inches. I held my breath and waited, yet my heart thumped so violently against my ribs, that I feared it would be heard. However, my hands and arms were ready, and my fingers twitched to be at somebody’s throat.
Then the door was opened a little wider, and I heard the old man whispering as if to some one behind him.
“Fast asleep, captain dear, fast asleep! Don’t you hear how regularly they breathe? Aha, what a nice sleep they’ll have at the bottom of the old well, eh? You made the knife sharp enough, captain dear?”
“Sharp as a needle,” growled the other man. “Go in, Benny, and get it over.”
“Oh yes,” whispered the old villain. “Oh yes, I’m going. Do you hear them breathing, eh? Like children. Eh, eh, eh, how the warm blood will bubble under old Benny’s knife, captain dear! Eh — , sh — sh, my children — sh, here’s old Benny with his—”
As he came stealthily round the door I seized him by the throat and drove his head straight and true against the stone wall behind. I felt the skull crack under my hand, and the man’s body fell limp and lifeless at my feet, without ever a sound passing his lips. Then I caught the glittering knife from him as he fell, and turned on the other two men, who were crowding into the doorway after him, and whose forms I could just make out in the dim light. As I struck out at them they fell back into the kitchen through which we had passed in the morning, and I, following them up with my weapon, was upon them before they could reach the door. But here I lost the knife, which I drove into the doorpost with such force that I could not withdraw it. By that time, however, they had opened the door, and we all three went rolling out on the stone pavement with a hideous clatter. But I was topmost, and before they could rise I had each by the throat and was wondering if I could manage to squeeze the life out of both of them at the same time.
Now, they were both big men and of brawny build, and they no sooner found my hands at their throats than they began to fight desperately for their lives, so that one of them presently forced my hand away from his neck and strove to regain his feet. But my wits were now thoroughly at work, and as this man forced my hand away, I raised his fellow-villain’s head with the other hand and gave it such a knock against the stones that it cracked like an eggshell, and the man stiffened out and lay still. The one who had thought himself free had meanwhile drawn a knife, and I rose just in time to escape a blow aimed at my back. He came at me again as I got to my feet, but there fortunately lay close to hand a thick bar that had once been used as a swingle-tree, and with this I laid about the fellow’s head and shoulders to such purpose that he suddenly dropped his knife and ran howling for mercy towards the hills.
So now the fight was over, and it had all happened in very much less time than it has taken me to write down this account of it. I went into the house, and finding a lamp burning in a room where the men had evidently been eating their supper, carried it to Philip, who, sleeping amidst all the noise and clatter, had just begun to wake up and rub his eyes.
“Beshrew me, Will!” said he, as I bent over him with the lamp, “I fear I have slept a longer time than I thought to. Where are we, and what am I doing on the floor?”
“Wake up, sir,” said I, impatiently. “We have been drugged and wellnigh murdered, and we have lost a whole day.”
He was on his feet in an instant then, and listened attentively while I told him what had happened. Then he took and shook my hand very earnestly.
“Well done, Will, well done indeed!” said he. “Alas! I am much to blame. We ought to have been more cautious of that old man. But let us have a look at our enemies.”
As for the old man, he was dead enough, and I could not for the life of me feel sorry for him, so villainous and crafty had been his conduct towards us. The other fellow lying outside was in bad case too, but not dead, so we lifted him inside the house and put him into a comfortable position, after which we left him and began to hunt for our money, finding it after considerable search hidden under a flag in the cellar. This done, we made for the stables, and lost no time in saddling our horses, for we were both impressed with the idea that there might be more of these murderers, and that the third fellow had fled to seek assistance.
When we led the horses out of the stable and mounted them at the gate, the moon had just risen and the valley was full of clear, silver light. We were about to ride away when we suddenly caught the sound of horsemen advancing along a bridle-path that lay to the west. Soon we heard the sound of voices, mingling with the clank of bit and stirrup, so that we felt sure there was a troop of horse upon us.
“Draw behind the wall, Will, and let them go by,” said Philip. “If they are of our own party we will hail them; if not, we will let them go in peace.”
So we drew behind the wall of the granary, and the troop came along at a smart walk, and we heard the men laughing and talking.
“Old Benny’s farmstead,” said one of the foremost, “is going to rack and ruin. Let us whistle him out.”
“Nay,” said another, “let the old fox sleep in his hole. I had as lief set eyes on the devil as on his evil face.”
“Forward, lads, forward!” cried a voice from the rear. “We are not making such speed as we ought. Trooper Baxendale, lead on a little faster.”
Now, I had no sooner heard that voice than I gave a great start, and would have leaped forward if Philip Lisle had not held me with a strong hand. For the voice was the voice of Captain Trevor. “Silence, Will, silence!” whispered Philip. “Do naught rashly. Leave it to me and command thyself. See, here he comes.”
And looking out from the barn wall we saw Captain Trevor distinctly enough in the moonlight, as he rode at the tail of his little troop of twenty men. He passed by us, and then Philip rode out into the lane and hailed him.
“Hola! Captain Trevor.”
He turned sharply and stared in our direction, and his men drew rein and the horses stopped and stood champing their bits.
“Who calls?” said he, as we drew nearer.
“’Tis I, your old acquaintance, Philip Lisle, and here is with me Will Dale.”
“Master Lisle — and Will Dale, my dear Will Dale! Gentlemen, indeed I cannot think what brings you into this wild region, but ’tis for my better fortune, I am sure.”
And he leapt from his horse and came hastening to take our hands, and I knew, and was glad to know it, that the terrible suspicion we had fostered against him was groundless. But since he was innocent, who was it that was guilty?
CHAPTER IV.
OF THE END OF OUR SEARCH.
“ALAS, Will!” whispered Philip, as Captain Trevor approached us, “we are on the wrong track. This man is innocent enough. We have been fooled somewhere.”
“And what brings you here, gentlemen?” asked Captain Trevor, shaking hands with both. “Are you on some similar mission to my own? I am taking a troop of horse to Newark— ’tis my first adventure, Master Dale, since I left you.”
“Alas!” said Philip, “we are on a sad adventure indeed, and just now our prospects look black enough. However, there is one load off our minds, as you shall hear;” and he forthwith proceeded to give an account of all that had befallen us from the time that Belwether brought us the bad news to Pontefract Castle even to that moment.
Now, while he spoke Captain Trevor gave evidence of the keenest interest and of the liveliest indignation, and when Philip Lisle told him of our meeting with Dennis Watson, and of what Dennis had said respecting him, his face flushed and his hand grasped the hilt of his sword, in a way that boded no good to his false accuser.
“But you believed him not, gentlemen?” he said earnestly. “I trust you believed him not. And yet why have you come here if you did not believe him? Alas, gentlemen, I should have thought you had known me better than to believe me guilty of such black conduct!”
“Sir,” said I, “let me tell you that in my heart I did not believe it, but there were two witnesses against you and we were bound to satisfy ourselves in justice to ourselves and to you. Besides, we thought it possible that some terrible mistake had arisen.”
“Yes, yes,” said he; “but, oh, gentlemen, it is you who have made a terrible mistake. Can you not see, Master Dale, that the man who so falsely accused me is the man who hath wrought this mischief?”
“Dennis Watson?”
“Dennis Watson of a surety. Did I not hear, when I was at Dale’s Field, that he was your enemy and had more than once vowed to do you an injury? Rest assured, Master Dale, that it is he who hath planned and carried out this matter.”
Then I saw what fools we had been, and how easily Dennis Watson had duped us, and I swore a great oath that whenever he and I next met, whether in highway or byway, street or market-place, in church or court, there one of us two should go forth no more. And that oath I kept, even as God willed it.
“And now, gentlemen,” said Captain Trevor, “you must back to yonder wayside inn that you spoke of, for it is there that you will find the key to this mystery. Yea, I am convinced that the host who bore out Watson’s statement is implicated with him in this plot against you. Now, it will not be so much out of our way to go with you, for we can make Newark by way of Retford, so mount, gentlemen, and let us push on.”
“But these men?” said I, pointing towards the farmstead, which now stood white and clear in the moonlight. “Shall we not see to the one that is living?”
“Nay,” said Trevor, “his companion will presently return when he sees us ride away, and we have no time to attend to cut-throats. I have long known that this gang needed stamping out, Master Dale, and am obliged to you for what you have done. So now let us away.”
And with that we got into our saddles and departed, soon leaving the ruined farmstead far behind; and from that day to this I have never heard whether the man died or whether he recovered, nor did I much care, considering what trouble of mind he and his companions had put me to.
We rode along through the valleys between the hills during the whole of that night, and came into sight of Sheffield about six o’clock in the morning. But into Sheffield Captain Trevor would not go, because it was principally in the hands of the Parliamentarians, and we therefore took a roundabout direction southwards of the town, and went towards Rotherham by way of Beauchief Abbey and the villages of Woodhouse and Whiston. At Rotherham we stayed to bait our horses, it being then almost noon and the march having lasted nearly twelve hours. Here we heard news of His Majesty’s success at Leicester, which was communicated to us by a messenger going north from Newark. Here, too, we learnt that the King had expressed his hopes of shortly achieving a great victory over the Roundheads, which hopes, however, were unfulfilled, for the battle of Naseby, which took place a few days later, routed the Royalist army for ever.
It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when we left Rotherham and proceeded along the highway in the direction of Thrybergh. The wayside inn where we had seen Dennis Watson lay halfway between these two places, and it was not long before we came in sight of it and drew up to confer amongst ourselves as to what plan of action we should pursue.
“Leave it to me,” said Captain Trevor. “If matters are as I suspect, I will bring them to a successful ending. Do you, gentlemen, lie behind a little, while I and my men ride forward. We will call for drink, and while we are busy with our tankards at the inn-door you will ride up and presently begin to soundly rate the landlord for falsely directing you the other day. After which leave matters to me.” Acting upon this advice, we let Captain Trevor and his men ride on until they came to the door of the inn, where they were presently waited upon by the host, whom we took to be the man that had lied to us two days previously. This person brought out to them stoups of liquor, and while he stood at the door waiting their pleasure, Philip and I rode forward and suddenly made our appearance between him and the troopers. And we had no sooner drawn rein than I perceived that the fellow instantly recognized us, for he changed colour and gave a sharp backward look over his shoulder, as though he contemplated a retreat into the inn.
“How now, sirrah!” cried Philip. “A fine dance you have given us with your false news. You shall account to us pretty heavily for it, I promise you.”
“I know not what your worship means,” stammered the man, beginning to look very much afraid.
“What, hast thou the impudence to say so? Hark ye, sirrah, did not my friend here and myself call at your house for refreshment but two days ago?”
“Yes, sir, yes, certainly.”
“And did we not make inquiry of thee, and didst thou not affirm that a young gentleman and his two servants had lately met a young lady at this inn and gone forward with her?”
“Yes, your worship, but ’twas only truth.”
“Hah, truth, quotha! And did not Dennis Watson that was here at the time, and whom I doubt not thou knowest over well, did he not tell us in thy hearing that the young gentleman was one Captain Trevor?”
“I believe Master Watson did say so,” faltered the man. “Yes, I remember it very well.”
“Then thou liest, villain, and so did he,” struck in Captain Trevor, “for I am the man he spoke of, and it is months since I rode by thy rascally dwelling. And I would have you know, sirrah, that I am a magistrate and bear the King’s commission to put down naughty conduct such as thine.”
Now, when the man heard this he began to shake somewhat, but presently plucking up courage he replied that he feared naught, having done no wrong, and that there was law to protect him as well as another.
“As to what Master Watson said,” he continued, “what have I to do with it? Did I mention Captain Trevors name? Marry, I never heard it before this day. What I said, gentlemen, was out of my own knowledge, nor do I know whether what Master Watson said be true or not!”
“Master innkeeper,” said Captain Trevor, “thou art a pitiful liar and a knave. Now, we will tell thee for thy further information that there hath lately been a young lady kidnapped, whose friends we are, come hither to avenge her. And so we are like to have the truth out of thee, master innkeeper, for we think thou knowest something of this matter.”
Now, the man by that time was very much affrighted and began to shake in his limbs, but once more plucking up courage, he answered that he knew naught of kidnapping and was not to be bullied by any man.
“What, dost dare answer me, a King’s officer!” cried Captain Trevor. “Here, men, dismount and seize him.”
“’Tis at your peril!” said the man, struggling violently to free himself from the clutches of the two stalwart troopers who had seized him on either side. “You have no warrant to lay hands on me.”
“Warrant or no warrant, thou wilt find we shall treat thee as we please,” said Captain Trevor. “Come, sirrah, tell us presently what you know of this Watson that conspired with you here. And speak trippingly, or we will find means to help your tongue.”
“You dare not use violence,” said the man, half struggling between fear of us and defiance of our presence.
“Dare not? Friend, thou knowest not what thou art saying.”
“There is law for me as well as anybody,” said the man.
“Yea, and we are come to execute it.
We will be counsel and jury and judge all in one. Now come, sirrah, speak.”
But the man did naught but shake his head and grumble, whereat Captain Trevor bade them bind his eyes and tie him to his own pump, at the same time ordering his troopers to make ready their pistols.
“For indeed,” said he, with a roguish wink of the eye in our direction, “we shall be forced to resort to extreme measures, master landlord, unless you speak without more delay.”
Now, the innkeeper’s wife, who had been washing or baking at the rear of the house, at last came to the conclusion that there was something wrong at her front door, wherefore she left her work, and came upon us just as the men were fastening up the protesting landlord to the pump. And she, seeing him blindfolded, and the men standing around him with pistols in their hands, immediately set up such a screaming that the horses began to rear and prance.
“Ah!” said Captain Trevor, “there is a more powerful instrument than any we have used so far. Come, mistress, an you would not see your husband slaughtered before your eyes, tell him to speak.”
“Oh, speak, good Gregory, speak, good, kind Gregory. Oh, masters, spare him! Gregory, dost not hear, thou wooden-head? Alack-a-day, I knew thou wouldst cause ill out of yond business, only thou wouldst not hearken to me. Did I not say ’twas a shame and a sin — and as sweet and gentle a young lady as ever breathed?”
“Take off the bandage,” said Captain Trevor. “Come, Master Gregory, we would hear something further about’ this young lady. Speak out, man.”
But there was no time for rest, and I immediately set to work to untie the bonds which confined my feet. This done, I crept over to where Philip Lisle lay asleep, and hastened to release him also. He was so soundly wrapped in slumber that all my tugging at his bonds and rolling him about did not suffice to wake him, and I did not dare to shout in his ear lest the men should hear me. So I withdrew him into the darkest part of the room, and then stole stealthily over to the door, with the intention of crushing the life out of the first man who entered. I had not stood there many minutes when I heard very soft footfalls approach the door, which was presently unbolted from the outside and then gently opened to the extent of two or three inches. I held my breath and waited, yet my heart thumped so violently against my ribs, that I feared it would be heard. However, my hands and arms were ready, and my fingers twitched to be at somebody’s throat.
Then the door was opened a little wider, and I heard the old man whispering as if to some one behind him.
“Fast asleep, captain dear, fast asleep! Don’t you hear how regularly they breathe? Aha, what a nice sleep they’ll have at the bottom of the old well, eh? You made the knife sharp enough, captain dear?”
“Sharp as a needle,” growled the other man. “Go in, Benny, and get it over.”
“Oh yes,” whispered the old villain. “Oh yes, I’m going. Do you hear them breathing, eh? Like children. Eh, eh, eh, how the warm blood will bubble under old Benny’s knife, captain dear! Eh — , sh — sh, my children — sh, here’s old Benny with his—”
As he came stealthily round the door I seized him by the throat and drove his head straight and true against the stone wall behind. I felt the skull crack under my hand, and the man’s body fell limp and lifeless at my feet, without ever a sound passing his lips. Then I caught the glittering knife from him as he fell, and turned on the other two men, who were crowding into the doorway after him, and whose forms I could just make out in the dim light. As I struck out at them they fell back into the kitchen through which we had passed in the morning, and I, following them up with my weapon, was upon them before they could reach the door. But here I lost the knife, which I drove into the doorpost with such force that I could not withdraw it. By that time, however, they had opened the door, and we all three went rolling out on the stone pavement with a hideous clatter. But I was topmost, and before they could rise I had each by the throat and was wondering if I could manage to squeeze the life out of both of them at the same time.
Now, they were both big men and of brawny build, and they no sooner found my hands at their throats than they began to fight desperately for their lives, so that one of them presently forced my hand away from his neck and strove to regain his feet. But my wits were now thoroughly at work, and as this man forced my hand away, I raised his fellow-villain’s head with the other hand and gave it such a knock against the stones that it cracked like an eggshell, and the man stiffened out and lay still. The one who had thought himself free had meanwhile drawn a knife, and I rose just in time to escape a blow aimed at my back. He came at me again as I got to my feet, but there fortunately lay close to hand a thick bar that had once been used as a swingle-tree, and with this I laid about the fellow’s head and shoulders to such purpose that he suddenly dropped his knife and ran howling for mercy towards the hills.
So now the fight was over, and it had all happened in very much less time than it has taken me to write down this account of it. I went into the house, and finding a lamp burning in a room where the men had evidently been eating their supper, carried it to Philip, who, sleeping amidst all the noise and clatter, had just begun to wake up and rub his eyes.
“Beshrew me, Will!” said he, as I bent over him with the lamp, “I fear I have slept a longer time than I thought to. Where are we, and what am I doing on the floor?”
“Wake up, sir,” said I, impatiently. “We have been drugged and wellnigh murdered, and we have lost a whole day.”
He was on his feet in an instant then, and listened attentively while I told him what had happened. Then he took and shook my hand very earnestly.
“Well done, Will, well done indeed!” said he. “Alas! I am much to blame. We ought to have been more cautious of that old man. But let us have a look at our enemies.”
As for the old man, he was dead enough, and I could not for the life of me feel sorry for him, so villainous and crafty had been his conduct towards us. The other fellow lying outside was in bad case too, but not dead, so we lifted him inside the house and put him into a comfortable position, after which we left him and began to hunt for our money, finding it after considerable search hidden under a flag in the cellar. This done, we made for the stables, and lost no time in saddling our horses, for we were both impressed with the idea that there might be more of these murderers, and that the third fellow had fled to seek assistance.
When we led the horses out of the stable and mounted them at the gate, the moon had just risen and the valley was full of clear, silver light. We were about to ride away when we suddenly caught the sound of horsemen advancing along a bridle-path that lay to the west. Soon we heard the sound of voices, mingling with the clank of bit and stirrup, so that we felt sure there was a troop of horse upon us.
“Draw behind the wall, Will, and let them go by,” said Philip. “If they are of our own party we will hail them; if not, we will let them go in peace.”
So we drew behind the wall of the granary, and the troop came along at a smart walk, and we heard the men laughing and talking.
“Old Benny’s farmstead,” said one of the foremost, “is going to rack and ruin. Let us whistle him out.”
“Nay,” said another, “let the old fox sleep in his hole. I had as lief set eyes on the devil as on his evil face.”
“Forward, lads, forward!” cried a voice from the rear. “We are not making such speed as we ought. Trooper Baxendale, lead on a little faster.”
Now, I had no sooner heard that voice than I gave a great start, and would have leaped forward if Philip Lisle had not held me with a strong hand. For the voice was the voice of Captain Trevor. “Silence, Will, silence!” whispered Philip. “Do naught rashly. Leave it to me and command thyself. See, here he comes.”
And looking out from the barn wall we saw Captain Trevor distinctly enough in the moonlight, as he rode at the tail of his little troop of twenty men. He passed by us, and then Philip rode out into the lane and hailed him.
“Hola! Captain Trevor.”
He turned sharply and stared in our direction, and his men drew rein and the horses stopped and stood champing their bits.
“Who calls?” said he, as we drew nearer.
“’Tis I, your old acquaintance, Philip Lisle, and here is with me Will Dale.”
“Master Lisle — and Will Dale, my dear Will Dale! Gentlemen, indeed I cannot think what brings you into this wild region, but ’tis for my better fortune, I am sure.”
And he leapt from his horse and came hastening to take our hands, and I knew, and was glad to know it, that the terrible suspicion we had fostered against him was groundless. But since he was innocent, who was it that was guilty?
CHAPTER IV.
OF THE END OF OUR SEARCH.
“ALAS, Will!” whispered Philip, as Captain Trevor approached us, “we are on the wrong track. This man is innocent enough. We have been fooled somewhere.”
“And what brings you here, gentlemen?” asked Captain Trevor, shaking hands with both. “Are you on some similar mission to my own? I am taking a troop of horse to Newark— ’tis my first adventure, Master Dale, since I left you.”
“Alas!” said Philip, “we are on a sad adventure indeed, and just now our prospects look black enough. However, there is one load off our minds, as you shall hear;” and he forthwith proceeded to give an account of all that had befallen us from the time that Belwether brought us the bad news to Pontefract Castle even to that moment.
Now, while he spoke Captain Trevor gave evidence of the keenest interest and of the liveliest indignation, and when Philip Lisle told him of our meeting with Dennis Watson, and of what Dennis had said respecting him, his face flushed and his hand grasped the hilt of his sword, in a way that boded no good to his false accuser.
“But you believed him not, gentlemen?” he said earnestly. “I trust you believed him not. And yet why have you come here if you did not believe him? Alas, gentlemen, I should have thought you had known me better than to believe me guilty of such black conduct!”
“Sir,” said I, “let me tell you that in my heart I did not believe it, but there were two witnesses against you and we were bound to satisfy ourselves in justice to ourselves and to you. Besides, we thought it possible that some terrible mistake had arisen.”
“Yes, yes,” said he; “but, oh, gentlemen, it is you who have made a terrible mistake. Can you not see, Master Dale, that the man who so falsely accused me is the man who hath wrought this mischief?”
“Dennis Watson?”
“Dennis Watson of a surety. Did I not hear, when I was at Dale’s Field, that he was your enemy and had more than once vowed to do you an injury? Rest assured, Master Dale, that it is he who hath planned and carried out this matter.”
Then I saw what fools we had been, and how easily Dennis Watson had duped us, and I swore a great oath that whenever he and I next met, whether in highway or byway, street or market-place, in church or court, there one of us two should go forth no more. And that oath I kept, even as God willed it.
“And now, gentlemen,” said Captain Trevor, “you must back to yonder wayside inn that you spoke of, for it is there that you will find the key to this mystery. Yea, I am convinced that the host who bore out Watson’s statement is implicated with him in this plot against you. Now, it will not be so much out of our way to go with you, for we can make Newark by way of Retford, so mount, gentlemen, and let us push on.”
“But these men?” said I, pointing towards the farmstead, which now stood white and clear in the moonlight. “Shall we not see to the one that is living?”
“Nay,” said Trevor, “his companion will presently return when he sees us ride away, and we have no time to attend to cut-throats. I have long known that this gang needed stamping out, Master Dale, and am obliged to you for what you have done. So now let us away.”
And with that we got into our saddles and departed, soon leaving the ruined farmstead far behind; and from that day to this I have never heard whether the man died or whether he recovered, nor did I much care, considering what trouble of mind he and his companions had put me to.
We rode along through the valleys between the hills during the whole of that night, and came into sight of Sheffield about six o’clock in the morning. But into Sheffield Captain Trevor would not go, because it was principally in the hands of the Parliamentarians, and we therefore took a roundabout direction southwards of the town, and went towards Rotherham by way of Beauchief Abbey and the villages of Woodhouse and Whiston. At Rotherham we stayed to bait our horses, it being then almost noon and the march having lasted nearly twelve hours. Here we heard news of His Majesty’s success at Leicester, which was communicated to us by a messenger going north from Newark. Here, too, we learnt that the King had expressed his hopes of shortly achieving a great victory over the Roundheads, which hopes, however, were unfulfilled, for the battle of Naseby, which took place a few days later, routed the Royalist army for ever.
It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when we left Rotherham and proceeded along the highway in the direction of Thrybergh. The wayside inn where we had seen Dennis Watson lay halfway between these two places, and it was not long before we came in sight of it and drew up to confer amongst ourselves as to what plan of action we should pursue.
“Leave it to me,” said Captain Trevor. “If matters are as I suspect, I will bring them to a successful ending. Do you, gentlemen, lie behind a little, while I and my men ride forward. We will call for drink, and while we are busy with our tankards at the inn-door you will ride up and presently begin to soundly rate the landlord for falsely directing you the other day. After which leave matters to me.” Acting upon this advice, we let Captain Trevor and his men ride on until they came to the door of the inn, where they were presently waited upon by the host, whom we took to be the man that had lied to us two days previously. This person brought out to them stoups of liquor, and while he stood at the door waiting their pleasure, Philip and I rode forward and suddenly made our appearance between him and the troopers. And we had no sooner drawn rein than I perceived that the fellow instantly recognized us, for he changed colour and gave a sharp backward look over his shoulder, as though he contemplated a retreat into the inn.
“How now, sirrah!” cried Philip. “A fine dance you have given us with your false news. You shall account to us pretty heavily for it, I promise you.”
“I know not what your worship means,” stammered the man, beginning to look very much afraid.
“What, hast thou the impudence to say so? Hark ye, sirrah, did not my friend here and myself call at your house for refreshment but two days ago?”
“Yes, sir, yes, certainly.”
“And did we not make inquiry of thee, and didst thou not affirm that a young gentleman and his two servants had lately met a young lady at this inn and gone forward with her?”
“Yes, your worship, but ’twas only truth.”
“Hah, truth, quotha! And did not Dennis Watson that was here at the time, and whom I doubt not thou knowest over well, did he not tell us in thy hearing that the young gentleman was one Captain Trevor?”
“I believe Master Watson did say so,” faltered the man. “Yes, I remember it very well.”
“Then thou liest, villain, and so did he,” struck in Captain Trevor, “for I am the man he spoke of, and it is months since I rode by thy rascally dwelling. And I would have you know, sirrah, that I am a magistrate and bear the King’s commission to put down naughty conduct such as thine.”
Now, when the man heard this he began to shake somewhat, but presently plucking up courage he replied that he feared naught, having done no wrong, and that there was law to protect him as well as another.
“As to what Master Watson said,” he continued, “what have I to do with it? Did I mention Captain Trevors name? Marry, I never heard it before this day. What I said, gentlemen, was out of my own knowledge, nor do I know whether what Master Watson said be true or not!”
“Master innkeeper,” said Captain Trevor, “thou art a pitiful liar and a knave. Now, we will tell thee for thy further information that there hath lately been a young lady kidnapped, whose friends we are, come hither to avenge her. And so we are like to have the truth out of thee, master innkeeper, for we think thou knowest something of this matter.”
Now, the man by that time was very much affrighted and began to shake in his limbs, but once more plucking up courage, he answered that he knew naught of kidnapping and was not to be bullied by any man.
“What, dost dare answer me, a King’s officer!” cried Captain Trevor. “Here, men, dismount and seize him.”
“’Tis at your peril!” said the man, struggling violently to free himself from the clutches of the two stalwart troopers who had seized him on either side. “You have no warrant to lay hands on me.”
“Warrant or no warrant, thou wilt find we shall treat thee as we please,” said Captain Trevor. “Come, sirrah, tell us presently what you know of this Watson that conspired with you here. And speak trippingly, or we will find means to help your tongue.”
“You dare not use violence,” said the man, half struggling between fear of us and defiance of our presence.
“Dare not? Friend, thou knowest not what thou art saying.”
“There is law for me as well as anybody,” said the man.
“Yea, and we are come to execute it.
We will be counsel and jury and judge all in one. Now come, sirrah, speak.”
But the man did naught but shake his head and grumble, whereat Captain Trevor bade them bind his eyes and tie him to his own pump, at the same time ordering his troopers to make ready their pistols.
“For indeed,” said he, with a roguish wink of the eye in our direction, “we shall be forced to resort to extreme measures, master landlord, unless you speak without more delay.”
Now, the innkeeper’s wife, who had been washing or baking at the rear of the house, at last came to the conclusion that there was something wrong at her front door, wherefore she left her work, and came upon us just as the men were fastening up the protesting landlord to the pump. And she, seeing him blindfolded, and the men standing around him with pistols in their hands, immediately set up such a screaming that the horses began to rear and prance.
“Ah!” said Captain Trevor, “there is a more powerful instrument than any we have used so far. Come, mistress, an you would not see your husband slaughtered before your eyes, tell him to speak.”
“Oh, speak, good Gregory, speak, good, kind Gregory. Oh, masters, spare him! Gregory, dost not hear, thou wooden-head? Alack-a-day, I knew thou wouldst cause ill out of yond business, only thou wouldst not hearken to me. Did I not say ’twas a shame and a sin — and as sweet and gentle a young lady as ever breathed?”
“Take off the bandage,” said Captain Trevor. “Come, Master Gregory, we would hear something further about’ this young lady. Speak out, man.”
