CHAPTER VII.
TRIED AND SENTENCED.
Every thoughtful person will have remarked how the important events in life are often led up to by some incident or mischance of the most trivial kind; and so this story of mine would, in all probability, never have been written if it had not been for the accidental dropping of my cap in the course of that senseless night adventure.
"Had you got it on when you crossed the brook?" asked Miles, when I explained what had happened. "D'you think you dropped it climbing up to the window?"
In answer to these inquiries I could only shake my head. From the time the farmer surprised us in the field I could only recall a vague impression of our wild scamper through the darkness.
"Oh, it's all right," said Rigby. "I expect it fell off when we were hauling you from the roof of the shed. If so, you can easily get it in the morning."
With that the talk ended, and we scrambled into bed. We had certainly silenced our enemies, and covered ourselves with a questionable kind of glory, by our escapade, for even Liddle admitted that our pluck could no longer be doubted. Yet, as I continued to lie broad awake, staring into the darkness long after my companions had fallen asleep, I was far from easy in mind or satisfied with the result of the adventure.
If I had dropped my cap in the fields and old Smiley found it, he was sure to take it at once to Dr. Bagley and state what had happened. Unfortunately, not more than a month before there had been a passage-at-arms between this same man and us boys, about a broken gate which he declared to have been our doing, though in that instance I think he was mistaken. Still, a formal complaint was made to the headmaster, who addressed us on the subject in the big schoolroom, warning us that in the event of any fresh instances of trespass and damage done by us to neighbouring property being brought under his notice, the culprit would be punished with the utmost severity. All this did not tend to ease my mind as I lay picturing up the possibility of a terrible interview in the doctor's study. There was only one thing I could decide to do, and that was to make search as early as possible on the following day, and try to recover this damaging piece of evidence before it fell into the hands of the enemy. Jumping out of bed next morning at the first sound of the bell, and dressing as hastily as possible, I rushed down into the yard, where, in spite of the cold and darkness, I carefully examined the roof of the outhouses, and the spot by the water-butt where we had climbed up and down. Hunt as I would, however, I was doomed to disappointment—the missing cap was nowhere to be seen; and at length the unwelcome truth was forced upon my mind that it must have fallen off during our flight across the fields, most likely have been dragged from my head as I plunged madly through a hedge.
Standing there shivering in the raw winter morning, I quickly came to the conclusion that I had now no choice but to pursue one course of action. The free time after breakfast was too short to allow of my doing anything till after morning school ended at twelve o'clock; then, even if it meant accepting the risk of being seen, I must run over the ground we had covered the night before, and attempt to find the cap. It was quite possible that neither the farmer nor his men might cross these particular fields before midday, and so, with good luck, this unfortunate proof of my guilt might be kept from falling into their hands.
How vividly the events of that unfortunate morning are impressed upon my mind! We had no separate classroom in those days; the one big school held all the forms in work hours, each division being marshalled round the desk of its particular master. The class which contained Miles Coverthorne, myself, and about a dozen other boys, was taken by a master named Jennings. We were seated at our desks preparing some work before standing round to be questioned. Exactly what the subject was I don't remember—probably the Latin grammar, to the study of which the greater portion of our time seems to have been devoted. Directly in front of me sat a youth who, from the possession of a peculiarly squeaky voice, was known as the "Jackdaw," a nickname which suited him in more ways than one, for he was as mischievous as the famous bird whom the legend declares to have stolen the cardinal's ring.
My eyes happening to wander from my book, I became aware of the fact that the "Jackdaw" was endeavouring to attract my attention. In the hand which he held out towards me was a queer-shaped object, which he evidently wished me to examine. I took it, and found that it was a toy which he had already informed me he intended to make. The article in question was one which it is probable my present-day readers will never have seen, and I find some difficulty in describing it without being able to demonstrate its working by showing the thing itself. In my young days, when children were more often obliged to make their own playthings, they were common enough. We called them "jumpers," and constructed them out of the breastbone of a goose, a bit of wood, and some twisted string. At the point of the bone was a small piece of cobbler's wax. This was warmed; then the bit of wood was wound round and round in the twisted string, which ran through two holes bored in the extremities of the fork; the end of the chip was then stuck to the wax, and the "jumper" placed ready for its leap. As the wax cooled, its hold gradually relaxed, till suddenly the bit of wood was let go, and, with the action of a compressed spring, sent the whole contrivance flying into the air.
Unable to resist the temptation of seeing how the "Jackdaw's" newly-made treasure would act, I wound up the string, warmed the wax by breathing on it, and foolishly set the toy down on the form by my side. I don't know whether the "jumper" was a specially strong one, but after a few moments' pause it suddenly sprang high in the air, and, describing a circle, fell with a clatter right on the master's desk.
Mr. Jennings looked up with a start from the book he was reading.
"Who did that?" he demanded sharply.
There was a general titter.
"Please, sir, I did," I faltered.
"Then stand out," ordered the master. "If I have to speak to you again for inattention, you will stay in and do your work after school."
As the words were uttered a sudden thought flashed through my mind that if I were kept in after school I should not be able to carry out my intention of slipping off and going in search of my cap. I glanced uneasily towards the end of the room where Dr. Bagley was seated at his desk, giving instruction to the head form. If he happened to catch sight of me thus banished from the class, it might mean further trouble. Fortunately, for the present the great man's attention was fully occupied. I waited anxiously for about ten minutes, and then ventured to ask Mr. Jennings if I might sit down.
"Certainly not," was the reply. "Remain where you are till the end of the lesson."
Hoping that the worst would not happen, I resumed my former position. There was a movement at the end of the room; the doctor had dismissed his boys to their seats to write an exercise. Slowly he rose from his chair, adjusted his spectacles, and, descending from his platform, came down the room. I saw that my fate was sealed, and stood like a condemned criminal on the drop, awaiting the withdrawal of the fatal bolt.
"Well, sir, and what brings you here?"
Not knowing what reply to make, I remained speechless, and Mr. Jennings answered the question.
"He has been wasting his time and disturbing the rest of the class playing with this silly toy, sir."
In those days the cane was the most usual form of punishment for all kinds of offences. Though sharp at the moment, it had the advantage of being soon over; and remembering my project, I almost hoped that the headmaster would order me to follow him to his desk, the usual place of execution. If this, however, was my wish, it was destined to be thwarted.
"Oh, indeed!" returned the doctor, in his most magisterial tones. "Then let me tell you, sir, that a boy who plays in work hours must make up his mind to work in play hours.—Mr. Jennings, kindly set him a task, and see that he remains at his desk during the free hour before dinner."
In my vexation I could have fallen on the "Jackdaw" and given him a good pommelling for having induced me to meddle with such an exceptionally lively "jumper" in school time. The mischief, however, was done now; and when the other boys were dismissed, and rushed out into the playground, I was forced to remain at my place with a Latin book open in front of me, a certain number of lines of which I was ordered to commit to memory.
I was still far from easy in mind, and could only hope that my cap was reposing in some ditch or thicket, where it was not likely to be noticed by any chance passers-by. Attempting to reassure myself with the thought of this possibility, I settled down to my task, and commenced repeating the Latin lines over and over again, in a monotonous undertone, until they should become fixed in my memory.
The hands of the clock must have reached half-past twelve, when the door of the schoolroom suddenly opened, and Sparrow the porter made his appearance.
"Mr. Eden, the doctor wants you—now, at once—in his study;" and with this abrupt announcement the man promptly turned on his heel and disappeared.
To us boys there was always a dreadful significance in that apparently harmless message, and my heart sank within me as I rose to my feet and prepared to obey. I walked down a short, dark passage, across a bare, draughty hall, and knocking on a forbidding-looking door, received a peremptory command to "come in."
Once across the threshold any doubt as to the reason of the summons was set at rest by the sight of Farmer Smiley sitting very bolt upright on a chair by the bookcase, with his hat on the floor by his side.
"D'you see this cap, sir?" began the headmaster, holding up the article in question. "It has your name on the lining, therefore I presume it is yours."
From the burning sensation in my cheeks I felt that my face must have given a plainer answer to the question than my mumbled reply.
"Then will you explain how it came to be lying this morning in the middle of one of Mr. Smiley's fields?"
However unwilling I might be to tell the story, the admissions were dragged from me—first, that I had visited the farmer's field with the object of enjoying a stolen ride on his horse; and, secondly, that I had actually done so late the previous night, when I was supposed to be asleep in bed.
"You actually mean to tell me that you climbed out of your dormitory window and went roaming over the country when it must have been close on midnight? I never heard of such outrageous conduct—never!"
"He warn't the only one," put in the old farmer; "there was two on 'em."
"Was any other boy with you?" demanded Dr. Bagley.
I shut my mouth tightly with the determination that nothing should induce me to betray my friend. Whether the doctor would have insisted on a reply to his question I cannot say, but fortunately a diversion was caused by the farmer, who probably felt satisfied in bringing home the charge against at least one of the culprits.
"Well, whether I seed one or two I ain't perticular about—leastways there's no doubt about this un. And," continued the speaker, going off at a tangent, "it seems to me a pity that a man can't live on a farm without his gates being broken and his beasts chased by a band of mischievous young rascals like this 'ere."
"Mr. Smiley," began the headmaster, "I can only say how much I regret that anything of this sort should have happened. I can assure you that I shall make an example of this boy, and take steps to prevent your meeting with any such annoyances in the future.—Now, sir," he continued, turning to me, "go straight to your bedroom, and stay there till I send for you to come down."
There is no necessity for me to enter into a full description of the painful incidents which followed this command. Dr. Bagley was not in a mood to be lenient. The various raids of "Foxes" and "Eagles" over the countryside had occasioned more than one complaint being lodged against us; and now that he had a clearly-proved case to deal with, the headmaster was determined to make such an example of the culprit as should discourage indulgence in such lawless practices in the future.
That afternoon I received a public caning before the whole school, and was informed that, as an additional punishment, I should be kept back to go home one day later than the rest.
Though the flogging was a severe one, I think I would have endured it a second time if the doctor would have substituted this for the remaining part of my sentence. At the end of a long half every extra day seemed an unbearably long period of time, and the thought of seeing all my comrades start for home while I lingered behind, and missed all the fun of travelling with them—such a prospect, I say, appeared almost unendurable. As has been already stated, owing to the limited accommodation on the coaches, our breaking-up really extended over two days: half the boys were starting on the Wednesday, and the other half on the Thursday; so I should have to remain till the Friday morning. Sitting on the end of my bed in the cold dormitory, where I had been ordered to spend the rest of the day in solitary confinement, I felt the soreness of this disappointment more than the smart of the weals inflicted by the headmaster's cane. There was, however, one consolation through it all—namely, the fact that I had not betrayed my comrade in the night's adventure. However crude our code of honour may have been, we were loyal to it; and I had the satisfaction of feeling that my school-fellows would remember this as a proof that I was no sneak. Furthermore, this was to be the end of Miles's school life, and it would have been a pity for him to finish up by being sent home in disgrace for what was, after all, merely a piece of thoughtless folly, and largely the fault of Liddle.
The short winter day was drawing to a close, and I was sitting in the deepening twilight, when the door suddenly opened, and in came Miles. He had been watching his opportunity to creep upstairs, and was carrying his boots in his hand, it being against the rules for boys to visit the dormitories between the times of getting up and going to bed.
"I say," he began, "I hope I haven't acted like a sneak. I've been thinking that perhaps I ought to have come forward and owned up to having been with you last night, but I'll tell you why I didn't. I thought perhaps the doctor had asked if any one else had gone, and you might have said 'No;' and in that case you'd only have got it worse for not telling the truth. I tried to get to see you before dinner, but I nearly got caught; and though I've been on the lookout ever since, this is really the first opportunity. I say, didn't old Smiley notice there were two of us? or how did it happen that I escaped?"
I told him exactly what had transpired in the course of my examination by the headmaster.
"You're an awful old brick, Sylvester!" he exclaimed. "It was jolly good of you to try to keep me out of the scrape when it was really my doing. All the same, now I know exactly what you said, I shall go to Bagley and tell him of my share in the business. I can't save you the thrashing, but he might let you off from staying behind that extra day."
"Don't be a fool!" I cried, catching him by the arm. "It can't make any difference now. He won't let me off, and you'll only get in a row yourself. Look here, Miles: you've had trouble enough lately, and I'm only too glad to have kept you out of this row. If you think you're indebted to me for a good turn, then do as I ask, and don't go spoiling it all by getting flogged for nothing."
He laughed, and sat down on the bed by my side.
"You're a regular old brick," he repeated; "and if you really mean it, why, I'll let sleeping dogs lie. But I wish there was more likelihood of my being able to do something for you in return. Who knows if we shall ever meet again? If we are forced to give up Coverthorne, I think I shall go to sea. I must have an open-air life, and I couldn't stand being penned up in an office."
We sat silent for a few moments in the gathering darkness, and I must own to an uncomfortable lump rising in my throat as I strove to find words in which to reply. We had come as new boys to the school on the same day, and had been close friends ever since, sharing our joys and sorrows, and never expecting that a day would come when our companionship would have a sudden and unlooked-for ending. I should have little to look forward to in returning to school after the Christmas holidays.
"Hullo! there goes the tea-bell," exclaimed. Miles. "Cheer up," he added, apparently reading my thoughts; "we shall meet again—who knows?"
"Who knows?" I echoed, as cheerfully as I could, and forcing a laugh.
My friend turned and stole softly from the room. If some one could have told us that we should see each other again before the year was out, we might have spent the night in guessing, and yet have remained without the remotest idea as to how, when, and where that extraordinary meeting was to take place.
CHAPTER VIII.
MY JOURNEY BEGINS.
It was certainly a bitter pill for me to swallow watching the boys start for home on the Wednesday and Thursday mornings, and what made the punishment seem all the harder was saying good-bye to Miles. Had it not been for that hare-brained antic, I might at least have travelled with him on the coach as far as Tod's Corner, and so enjoyed his companionship a few hours longer. A school, after the boys have gone home for the holidays, is a very desolate place. I had my meals at the headmaster's table, but, being in disgrace, ate them in solemn silence, and was glad enough when the ordeal was over, and I was free once more to go where I liked.
At length, on the Thursday afternoon, I found myself sitting at one of the long rows of desks in the empty schoolroom. The unusual quiet seemed to weigh on my spirits; and though I tried to cheer myself with the thought that only a few hours now remained before I should be on the way home, yet a certain gloomy foreboding as of impending trouble seemed to weigh on my mind. What could it be? After all, the loss of one day did not much matter, and I felt sure that when I explained the full circumstances of the case to my parents, they would take a lenient view of my foolish midnight escapade. Sitting idly mending an old quill pen which I had found on the floor, my thoughts turned once more to Miles and his uncertain future, and from this I came to recalling the incidents of my visit to Coverthorne.
What could be the explanation of that strange noise in the so-called haunted room? Of course, there were no such things as ghosts, and yet—and yet I myself had beaten a hasty retreat when left alone with those unearthly sounds, the origin of which it was impossible to trace. The very recollection of the experience made me turn and glance uneasily up and down the long room, as though I half expected to find myself sharing its solitude with some black bogey of a nursemaid's tale. The next instant I laughed at my own foolishness, and rising to my feet began to move about, for the room was cold.
The place had not been swept since the boys' departure. The floor was littered with torn paper, fragments of broken slates, and other rubbish which had been thrown about in the process of packing up. Some light-hearted youth, who had come into possession of a piece of chalk, had covered the blackboard with his scrawlings. Wandering aimlessly up the room, I came to a halt; then, hardly conscious of what I was doing, I opened one of the desks, and glanced down carelessly at its interior.
What good reason I afterwards had to remember that apparently purposeless' action! The books and other boyish possessions had been removed, and nothing remained but a mass of waste paper and other odds and ends, such as lay strewn about on the floor. I stirred this up with my hand. As I did so, my fingers came in contact with something hard, and I drew forth a small, oblong metal box, made, if I remember rightly, of pewter.
The desk had been occupied by a boy named Talbot, who was leaving these holidays, and so had taken his books with him. The object which I held in my hand, and which he had evidently overlooked, was a tinder-box, or rather a box containing tinder, flint, and steel, and little chips of wood tipped with sulphur. The so-called "lucifer" matches, I may remark, did not come into use until some years later. I stood for a moment undecided what to do with my find. Left in the desk it was certain to be discovered and carried off, either by one of the servants or the charwoman who cleaned the room. Talbot had a younger brother who would be returning after Christmas. I might restore the box to him; and with this intention I slipped it into my pocket.
I was up early enough on the following morning, devoured my breakfast in the kitchen by the light of a solitary candle, and then said a hasty good-bye to Dr. Bagley, who had just come down, and who, after sternly expressing a hope that I should amend my ways next term, thawed sufficiently to wish me a merry Christmas and send his compliments to my friends at home. Sparrow was to drive me in the pony-chaise as far as Round Green. We started off, with the single trunk which composed my luggage on the seat in front; and so began the most eventful journey of my life—one which it seems little short of a miracle did not end in my embarking on that still longer journey from which there is no return.
The coach was due to arrive at Round Green at about 9.30, and we were to wait for it, as usual, at the Sportsman Inn, which, being the end of a stage, was always stopped at for the purpose of changing horses.
It was a bitterly cold morning; the roads seemed as hard as iron, and our breath smoked as we talked. We had covered nearly half the distance, and were going along in fine fashion, when suddenly there was a clatter and a crash. I felt myself flung forward, heard a shout from Sparrow, and the next moment found myself rolling down a steep bank by the roadside, half blinded by the cold rime from the frosty grass. It took me a few seconds to recover myself, and when at length I scrambled to my feet, I saw at once what had happened. The pony had slipped on a sheet of ice, and come down badly, cutting its knees and smashing one of the shafts. Fortunately Sparrow had sustained no injury, and with the help of a countryman who happened to be crossing a neighbouring field we unharnessed our steed, and got it once more on its legs.
For a time the accident occupied the whole of our attention. Sparrow was in a fine state of mind, fearing that he would be blamed for the mishap. It was evident that we could not go on, and if we returned we should have to walk. Then it flashed across my mind that this delay would cause me to lose the coach. There was no catching a later train in those days, and I could not bring myself to face the prospect of spending another day in that deserted school.
"I shall go on," I declared to Sparrow, "and you can return with the pony."
"I doubt if you'll reach the Sportsman in time, Mr. Eden," was the answer. "And there's your box. We must back the chaise into the roadside till it can be sent for, but we ought not to leave your box."
"Oh, bother my luggage!" I began, when the countryman interrupted and came to the rescue.
"I doan't mind carrying the young gen'leman's box as fur as the Sportsman for a mug o' beer," he remarked; "then you can get back home with the pony."
The arrangement was no sooner suggested than I agreed to it, and Sparrow was obliged to acquiesce. The damaged carriage was pushed back into a gateway, my trunk was lifted out, and hoisted on to the broad shoulders of the labourer; and taking leave of the school porter, I turned to resume my journey to Round Green.
In the heat of the moment I had not paid much attention to the doubt expressed by Sparrow as to my reaching the inn in time to catch the coach, but now I began to wonder myself whether the thing could be done. Nowadays every boy has a watch; then they were a rarer possession. I had no means of telling the time, but guessed we had none to spare.
On I went, the man with the box trudging behind me. It soon became evident that, burdened as he was, he could not keep up with me unless I moderated my pace; and at length, when we reached the top of a rather stiff hill, he was obliged to stop and put down the trunk, in order to rest and regain his breath.
The sunshine sparkled on the frosted trees and hedges. It was one of those clear, still winter mornings when sounds carry a long distance, and as we waited there came to our ears the far-off "toot-toot" of a horn. It was the coach signalling its approach to Round Green. I sprang to my feet, and abandoning my box to its fate, rushed off along the road, with some wild notion of stopping the coach and leaving word for my luggage to be sent on. But I might as well have attempted to overtake the vehicle which had carried off my companions on the previous day. The inn was still more than a mile distant, and when at length, flushed and panting, I arrived in front of the building, the only trace to be seen of the Regulator was a glimpse of the steaming horses, which had worked the last stage, being led away by an hostler in the direction of the stables. Accustomed though I was to take hard knocks at school, I must say that I could have sat down and cried with vexation. Pulling myself together, I walked into the house, and there encountering Peter Judson, the landlord, and his wife, a stout, good-natured body, who always took a kindly interest in us boys, in a few words I related exactly what had happened.
"What stuff and nonsense not allowing him to go home with the rest!" exclaimed Mrs. Judson. "It just serves that old Dr. Bagley right, his chaise being broken!—Well, my dear," she continued, "I don't see there's anything to be done but for you to go back, and make a fresh start again to-morrow. The butcher will pass in about an hour's time; he is going Ashbridge way, and would take you along with him in his cart."
"Oh, I'm not going back," I answered doggedly. "Look here," I added, struck with a sudden idea: "I'll wait here, and go on by the night coach. I don't mind the cold, and I should get home to Castlefield in time for breakfast to-morrow morning."
"It's not certain you'd find room," muttered Peter, "unless you booked a place beforehand. There's a good many travelling now, just before Christmas."
"Oh, they'd stow him away somewhere, a little chap like him," remarked Mrs. Judson.
Just then a man's head appeared at the door of the bar-parlour in which we were talking, and I recognized Bob, the head stableman, who had been passing down the passage and had overheard our conversation.
"There's the True Blue put on extra to-day for the jail delivery," he remarked. "The young gen'leman might get through to Castlefield all right on that. I don't suppose he'd have any particular objection to going along of the 'birds,' seeing they're well looked after!"
The exact meaning of this speech I did not comprehend, but I gathered from it that there was a chance of my going on by an extra coach, which would pass before the mail, and I at once jumped at the opportunity.
"Oh yes; I'll go on by that," I exclaimed. "What time is it due?"
"About half-past four," answered the man.
Judson and his wife looked at each other and then at me.
"I don't see why he shouldn't go," remarked the latter. "George'll look after him all right. Besides, his friends will be expecting him to-day, and'll be sure to be sitting up. He ought to be home just afore or after midnight."
It was, accordingly, settled that I was to go on by the True Blue, which was due to pass at half-past four. The man appeared shortly after with my box. I gave him his mug of beer, and then settled down to while away the time as best I could till the coach should arrive. I looked over some back numbers of the Welmington Advertiser, went outside and chatted with the stablemen, and joined the landlord and his wife at their midday dinner. Slowly the afternoon wore away. Mrs. Judson had forced me to eat a hearty tea—"to keep out the cold," as the good soul put it—and I was standing warming myself by the taproom fire talking to Judson, when, happening to turn my head, I saw a man's face pressed close against the outside of the window. By this time it was quite dark. I could see nothing more of the stranger than his face, but from the way in which he moved his head it seemed to me that he was endeavouring to get a glimpse of the old eight-day clock which stood in a corner of the room behind the bar. Perceiving that I was looking at something, the landlord turned also, but had hardly done so when the face disappeared.
We waited for a moment, expecting that the stranger would enter the inn; then, as he did not appear, Judson strolled outside to see what the man wanted. I waited some time, and at length the landlord returned.
"You saw that fellow outside, didn't you, sir?" he asked. "Well, it's curious I can't see no trace of him anywhere. He looked rather a rough customer. I wonder what he wanted."
We had little time for speculation, for hardly had my companion finished speaking when the cheerful note of the horn gave warning that the coach was approaching; and the quiet little inn woke up at once with an unwonted show of life and bustle.
Great was my delight, as the guard of the coach entered the room, to recognize our old friend George Woodley, who, I afterwards discovered, had been changed from the Regulator to the True Blue; and in a few words I explained to him the situation in which I was placed.
"Oh, very well, sir," he answered, "come along; there's a seat outside, and we'll look after you all right."
I followed him down the passage and outside, where the fresh horses were just being put to—the glaring lamps of the coach sending forth rays of light into the darkness ahead, which seemed to make it all the more intense, though stars twinkled overhead. As we stepped into the road we were greeted with a roar of men's voices singing, without much regard to tune or time. The sound came from the outside passengers, who seemed to be diverting themselves with a sort of rough taproom chorus. I remember noticing that the usual pile of luggage on the roof was missing, and to my surprise the box-seat by the side of the coachman was vacant. Into this lofty perch it was that I now climbed; and as the driver gathered up his reins, on the point of starting, an incident happened which caught my attention. A man emerged from the deep shadow of the hedge at the roadside, and springing lightly on to the near front wheel, said in a hoarse whisper,—
"Is that you, Ned? Good-bye, old man! Here, shake hands. Good-bye—God bless you!"
There followed a sharp metallic jingle, which caused me to turn my head; and then it was that, for the first time, I became aware of the fact that the men behind me were all fettered.
CHAPTER IX.
THE RISING.
Tom Barker, the coachman, had just given the word to the hostler to "let 'em go!" when Judson came running out of the lighted doorway of the inn with something in his hand.
"Here's a hare and a brace of pheasants the squire wants delivered to Dr. Plumer of Castlefield, Tom," he said. "They may as well go on by you. I'll hang 'em on the lamp iron."
"All right," muttered Barker, and off we went. To sit beside the driver was in those days considered a very privileged position, and I felt not a little proud of the honour, in spite of the fact that I was filled with a feeling of uneasiness and astonishment at what I had just discovered with regard to my fellow-travellers. The good-natured driver must have guessed my thoughts, for he turned to me, remarking,—
"I suppose you know what sort of a load we've got to-night, sir?"
"Well, no—not exactly," I replied.
"Why, it's the jail delivery off to Botany Bay," was the answer.
"And what's the 'jail delivery'?" I asked, remembering that I had heard the words before, but still in doubt as to their exact meaning.
"Why, these is all jail-birds off to a warmer climate like the swallers," answered Tom, chuckling at his own grim joke, and skilfully winding up the long lash of his whip. "They've all been condemned to transportation at Welmington Assizes, and now they're on their way from jail to the hulks at Portsmouth."
Any doubt as to the correctness of this statement was dispelled by the convicts themselves, who launched out once more into their uproarious song, "We're off to Botany Bay," accompanying their chant with a weird jingling of their chains. This last sound sent a momentary thrill of horror through me, for I had never before seen human beings chained like brute beasts.
"They're all right!" continued Tom. "They've got the ruffles on, and they're all fast to the rail," he added, referring to an iron rail which ran across the coach behind the seat on the roof, to keep the luggage from slipping forward. "They can't do no harm. All the same, I've carried loads I liked better."
"How many are there?" I inquired.
"Ten, and two warders—one inside, and t'other out. There's one they've got inside, a regular highflier—Rodwood his name is. He's sentenced for life, I believe. The only wonder is he's escaped being hung."
"What was his crime?"
"Forgery—at least that's what they've got him for; but they say he's a desperate villain—one as'll stop at nothing when his blood is up, and would think no more of killing a man as came in his way than you or I might of knocking down a rat in a stable. Well, he's off safe enough now for t'other side of the world, and I hope they'll keep him there."
The convicts continued to sing and shout, then grew quieter, apparently tired by their exertions, though every now and again one or more of them burst out afresh in a forced manner, as though bent on making a display of bravado and unconcern. Once or twice, in the pauses of their singing, and amid the clatter of the horses' hoofs and the rumble of the wheels, I remember catching a slight sound, the origin of which it was impossible for even my sharp ears to clearly distinguish, but which I attributed to the swaying and grating of the lamp-iron on which the game had been hung.
On and on we rattled through the darkness. Tom and I exhausted our topics of conversation, and for the time being relapsed into silence. Guilty as I knew my fellow-passengers were of serious crimes, I could not help in a way feeling sorry for them, and contrasting their journey with mine—I myself on the way to the enjoyment of a jolly Christmas holiday with friends at home, and they to banishment from their native land, and to hard servitude beyond the sea.
The cold, too, was intense. I felt it, though warmly clad, and made sure that the poor wretches on the seats behind must be chilled to the bone. Even burly Tom Barker, protected with a driving coat and a big shawl, growled out that "it was a sharp un to-night, and no mistake," by which I understood him to imply that it was freezing hard.
At length, at the end of a stage, as we drew up outside an inn very similar to the Sportsman, Tom prepared to dismount from his perch, and invited me to do the same. I preferred, however, to remain where I was, and was watching the stablemen removing the horses, when, to my surprise, I heard a man's voice behind me pronounce my name.
"Mr. Eden."
Turning sharply, I found the convict directly behind me leaning forward in his seat. The bright light which shone out through the open door of the inn fell directly on his face, and I was shocked to recognize the rugged features of the man Lewis, in whose boat at Rockymouth, on more than one occasion, Miles and I had gone fishing.
"Excuse me, sir," continued the man. "I knew you as soon as you got up at Round Green. Maybe you've heard from Mr. Miles how I come to this. A tussle with the preventive men was what done it. I'm no thief."
Had it not been for the sadness of the situation, I could almost have smiled at this fresh proof of the dogged conviction, entertained by this man and his class, that defrauding the revenue was no crime.
"I should like to have said good-bye to Mr. Miles," continued Lewis. "Give him my respects when you see him. I suppose, sir, you haven't got such a thing as a bit of baccy about you?"
Remembering our holiday excursions, and somehow contrasting his present hapless condition with the freedom of the great sea, I could not but pity the unhappy fellow. I shook my head, signifying that I had not.
The next moment Tom Barker emerged from the inn, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. He clambered into his place; there was a "Give 'em their heads, Dick," and we were off again.
The next stage was not accomplished quite so successfully as the previous part of the journey. After a time one of the wheelers went lame. On examination, it proved to have been badly shod, and at the end of another mile Tom pulled up at a wayside blacksmith's to have the offending nail extracted. Here we had to wait some little time while the smith, who had stopped work for the day, was fetched from his cottage, which was down a dark lane, and not easy to find. It was during this pause in the journey, after the coach had remained stationary for about twenty minutes, that a man thrust his head out of the window and demanded, in loud and peremptory tones, the reason of the delay.
"See here, guard," he cried, "this sort of thing won't do! I'm due aboard one of the king's ships to-morrow!"
The convicts sent up a shout of laughter at this reference to the hulk for which they were bound, and I was soon aware that the speaker was not the warder, as I had at first imagined, but the man Rodwood of whom Tom had spoken. He kept up the joke with a few more sentences of a similar kind, until the gruff command, "Stow that!" from the warder caused him to subside once more into his seat. He spoke like an educated gentleman, and with the air of one accustomed to command. Indeed, I afterwards learned that he had once held a commission in the army, but owing to gambling debts had been obliged to sell out, whereupon he had entered upon a career of crime, which had terminated in a sentence of transportation for life. At length George Woodley and the smith put in their appearance; the injured horse was attended to, and we were enabled to resume our journey. Bowling along mile after mile in the darkness, it was difficult to judge how time was passing; but Tom, glancing at his old, turnip-shaped watch as we left the smithy, muttered,—
"Blessed if it ain't quarter-past eight, and we ain't got to Tod's Corner."
The mention of the crossroads, where at the beginning of the summer holidays we had been met by the gig from Coverthorne, caused my thoughts to fly off to the old house and the fun I had had with Miles, both at the commencement of the previous holidays and during that long friendship which had been brought to such an untimely end. Musing over the events of the holiday naturally led me back to a remembrance of the man with whom I had just been speaking. There he sat, bound for the opposite side of the globe; yet within half an hour we should pass within three miles of Rockymouth, that native village which he might never behold again. If it had been daylight, we should by this time have caught a glimpse of the sea from the highway along which we were travelling, and the night air seemed flavoured with the salt odour of the ocean.
Though cold and weary, the convicts had once more commenced their song, as though, being debarred the free use of their limbs, they were determined to keep themselves warm with the exercise of their lungs. I had grown by this time so much accustomed to their presence as to hardly notice their shouting; tired out with the day's adventures, only the fear of falling from my lofty perch prevented my dropping off to sleep. Even the sharp tingling of my ears would not have kept me awake. My chin kept falling with a jerk upon my breast, and the clatter of hoofs and the song of the prisoners mingled strangely with momentary fancies that I was back at school, or was talking with the loved ones at home.
At length I was roused up broad awake by the coach stopping. The road was very dark, owing to its being overshadowed by a number of tall trees. I peered about me, and catching sight of a ruined cottage with half of its thatched roof fallen in, I recognized the spot at once, and knew that we were come to within about a mile of Tod's Corner. Just beyond the glare of our lamps was the brow of a steep and dangerous hill, and we had pulled up while George jumped down and put on the drag.
In fancy I can see now the dark figure of Tom Barker beside me, reins in one hand and whip in the other, waiting for the signal to proceed. The convicts had ceased their singing, and all was quiet except for the impatient scrape of one of the leader's hoofs. I heard the tinkle of the drag as Woodley loosed the chain; then on the roof behind some one gave a short, sharp whistle.
Exactly what happened next I did not fully realize till later. Two men suddenly seized Tom Barker from behind, and a desperate struggle ensued. The silence was broken by an outburst of horrible threats and cursing, while, to make matters worse, the horses, startled by the noise and the fall of the coachman's whip on the backs of the wheelers, sprang forward, and, as though knowing instinctively that something was wrong, gave every sign of commencing to bolt.
I fear I cannot claim for myself any particular presence of mind: it was more the natural impulse of self-preservation which prompted me to act; for once let the horses start to gallop down that hill, and all our necks were as good as broken. Fortunately, although I had never enjoyed the privilege of handling the ribbons on a stage-coach before, I was accustomed to horses. I seized the reins in the nick of time, just as they were slipping over the splashboard, and bracing myself for the effort, succeeded in bringing the team to a standstill.
Even as I did so Tom Barker was flung from his seat, and fell heavily into the road, where he lay like a log, stunned if not dead. Terrified by this violence, I was about to spring down and make good my escape in the darkness, when I felt my arm seized in an iron grip, and a voice, which I recognized as belonging to the man Lewis, spoke in my ear.
"Stay still, sir; you may get hurt if you try to run. I'll see you come to no harm."
CHAPTER X.
HIGHWAY PIRATES.
It did not take me long to arrive at an understanding of the true state of affairs. The convicts had risen, overpowered their guards, and seized the coach. From scraps of conversation which passed between them, I subsequently learned that the man whom I had seen appear and disappear so mysteriously outside the Sportsman Inn was a friend of one of the prisoners, and, under the pretence of wishing him good-bye, had handed up a couple of small files, with which several of the men had freed themselves from their fetters. Once or twice I had heard a slight grating noise, but, as I have already said, I had attributed the sound to the swaying of the lamp.
By some method of communication such as criminals seem always able to establish, the three convicts inside had been informed of what was about to take place, so that at the same moment the outbreak took place on the roof they flung themselves on the warder who rode with them, and succeeded in holding him down and wresting from him the pistol with which he was armed.
To a certain extent stupefied by the shock of this sudden surprise, I had but a confused notion of what took place during the next ten minutes. Together with George Woodley, who had also been seized, I was thrust to the side of the road, while a man told off to keep watch over us ordered us gruffly to sit down facing the hedge with our feet in the ditch, as a greater precaution against our making any sudden attempt to bolt.
In this position we could only judge by the sounds and conversation going on behind us what was actually taking place.
"Better keep still, Master Eden," whispered George. "We'd be safer in a cage of wild beasts than among these men at this moment."
Obtaining the keys of the handcuffs from the pockets of their guards, those men who had not already freed themselves from their fetters were speedily liberated; the warders were now gagged, chained, and, as a further precaution, bound with the broad straps used for securing luggage on the coach roof. Not till this had been done was any heed paid to poor Tom Barker, who lay in the road exactly where he had fallen.
"Is he dead?" I heard a voice inquire callously.
"Can't say," was the gruff reply. "There's blood from his head on the stones. Hand down that lamp, and let's have a look. He's breathing," continued the speaker after a pause. "I should say he'll come round again before long."
At that moment a man, whom I recognized at once as Rodwood, bade every one be silent and listen to what he had to say. The hum of voices ceased, and the men gathered round the speaker, who raised himself by standing on one of the steps of the vehicle.
"Whatever happens now, there's no turning back," he began; "and what's to be done must be done quickly. The mail to Welmington will pass before long; and what's more, they'll be expecting us at the end of this stage, so after a while they'll send a man back to find out what's happened. For the present we're all in the same boat, and we'd better all pull together. The thing will be to choose a leader. Now, who'll you have?"
"Yourself," cried a voice, and to this there was a unanimous murmur of approbation.
"Very well," exclaimed the newly-appointed captain, jumping down into the centre of his gang. "Then the first thing is to get these two 'screws' out of the road. They'd have shot us if they could have got at their barkers, and I propose to serve 'em the same way. It's the safest plan. Hand me the pistols!"
The awful coolness with which the man made this terrible proposal thrilled me with horror. Left to himself, the fellow would, I feel sure, have carried out his abominable intention; but his comrades, hardened and reckless offenders as some of them were, could not be persuaded to follow him to such extremes of crime.
"No, no, Rodwood," cried one and another; "there's no need to risk being scragged. Hoist them inside this empty cottage; that'll give us a fair start before they're likely to be found. Put the coachman in there too, and tie his legs; he won't find voice enough to shout for help for some time yet, even if any one chanced to hear him."
The warders and poor Tom were accordingly half lifted, half dragged inside the ruined cottage, and the men came back to decide what was to be done next.
"Where are we going?" asked several voices.
"Well, we must clear out from here," answered Rodwood. "The whole countryside will be raised up against us before morning. We've got a coach and horses at our disposal, so why not go off in that? I'll drive, if no other man wants to handle the ribbons."
"That's all very well," muttered a man named Ned Arch, the convict to whom the file had been given. "That's all very well, but we can't go farther than the end of this stage. They'll be on the lookout there to change the horses, and they'll see at once that something's wrong if we try to drive through without stopping."
"True," answered Rodwood. "We must get off the main road."
It was at this point that I heard Lewis suddenly break in on the conversation.
"If there's no better plan going," he said, "why not make for the coast? We ain't above four miles from Rockymouth, I reckon, and once there I'll undertake to hide you all in a place where you can lie for a time with no danger of being found. I've got friends there to whom, with a bit of care, we can apply for help; and with anything like luck we ought to be safe across the water, every one of us, by this day week."
"Bravo!" cried Rodwood. "Trust a bold 'free trader' for finding a way out of a tight corner. There's our plan of campaign all ready made."
"Look here," broke in the man who had been standing guard over myself and George Woodley. "What's to be done with this pair, I'd like to know? You don't mean to leave 'em sitting here, I suppose?"
"I'd forgotten about the guard and that boy," exclaimed Rodwood. "Take them across the field, and tie them each to a tree in the copse yonder; but gag them first."
Fortunately for us, this suggestion on the part of their leader did not meet with the approval of the other convicts.
"Don't be hard on the lad," said one. "If he hadn't pulled up the horses, we should most of us have had our necks broken."
"Woodley's a good fellow too," remarked another: "he gave us all the baccy he had on him. Tied to a tree, that youngster will be dead of cold before morning; as for the 'screws,' why, they must take their chance."
"Well, these must take their chance too," returned Rodwood angrily. "If they come to be mixed up in this business, that's their own lookout, and not our fault."
"The boy will be frozen on a night like this," said a voice. "He did us a good turn, so why not take him with us? We shall find a chance of dropping him, and the guard too, later on."
"Take him with us!" retorted the leader. "We shall have enough trouble to get off as it is, without dragging a couple of informers round the country with us."
A heated discussion followed. Strange and out of place as it seemed in the breasts of such rascals, a sense of gratitude for what I had done, and for sundry little tokens of commiseration on the part of the kind-hearted George, mingled with their delight at finding themselves so far on the road to freedom, prompted them to show some return in preserving us from injury. It was freezing hard, and the cold was likely to increase still more before morning; therefore it was more than likely that a boy like myself, already tired out with the journey and the long day's adventures, if tied to a tree without the chance of moving about to keep up the circulation, would ultimately perish from the effects of the exposure, if he did not actually die before he was discovered. For the warders there was certainly more hope: the walls of the cottage afforded them a certain amount of shelter from the cutting wind, and, as I afterwards discovered, they had been flung down on some straw, which added to the warmth of their clothing. Rodwood might have ordered us to be put in the same place, but he feared that, if too many prisoners were huddled together in such a confined space, they might roll together on the floor, and in some way contrive to loosen each other's bonds.
It need hardly be said that I listened with straining ears and beating heart as the discussion proceeded. From Woodley's attitude I could tell that he, too, was on the alert; and but for the fact that our captors were now in possession of firearms, I think he might have attempted to spring to his feet and break away from the group with a sudden rush. At length Lewis turned the balance in our favour by declaring that unless we were allowed to accompany the party he would not act as guide, at the same time promising to hold himself responsible for our safe custody until the gang should have effected their escape.
Rodwood perhaps knew that his authority over the party was, after all, of a very nominal kind; and fearing to risk a mutiny before he should have made his position as captain still more assured, he at length gave in, merely insisting that we should be secured in some way to prevent the possibility of our escape.
"Once they get free we're as good as lagged again.—But," he added menacingly, turning in our direction, "you'd better try no tricks on with me, d'ye hear? There's no turning back as far as I'm concerned. It's life or death for me, and I'll make it a life-or-death matter for any one who tries to come between me and liberty."
Without further discussion Woodley and I were, accordingly, ordered to take our places inside the coach, where, to make doubly certain of our safekeeping, we were handcuffed together. It was no good expostulating; we could only submit, and feel thankful at receiving no worse treatment at the hands of these desperate men. But the grip of that cold steel on my wrist made me realize, more than anything else had done hitherto, the perilous nature of our situation. There was no knowing how long the friendly attitude on the part of the convicts would last, or what would be our fate if they were pursued, or were hard pressed in their attempt to escape.
Precious as every moment was to them, they still delayed making a start. One fellow, in whom the plundering instinct seemed to rise even stronger than that of personal safety, had opened the hind boot, and discovered, stowed away there, a large Christmas hamper which, among other things, contained two bottles of wine. Breaking the neck of one of these, and using a metal cup belonging to a flask found in the pocket of the coachman, the men drank all round, pledging each other with rough jests and hoarse laughter. Rodwood alone chafed at this waste of time, but once more found his authority of too brief duration to enforce obedience to his wishes. The men would probably have insisted on discussing the contents of the second bottle, had not something happened which drove even the thoughts of liquor from their minds. Clear and distinct on the frosty air came the clatter of horses' hoofs, and at the same moment the man who had been standing at the heads of our leaders called back the unwelcome news that a coach was coming from the direction of Tod's Corner.
It was then that, for the first time, Rodwood really asserted himself, and proved his natural capacity as a leader. Among his followers the sudden alarm created something like a panic; left to themselves they would certainly have abandoned the True Blue where it stood, and made off over the neighbouring hedges and fields—a proceeding the fatal consequences of which, as far as their own interests were concerned, it was not difficult to realize. With curses, and even with blows, Rodwood dashed here and there, seizing the men who were already turning to fly, and forcing them to take their places on the coach.
"As for you two," he said hurriedly, poking his head through the coach window, "if you value your lives, keep your mouths shut.—You understand, Nat?" turning to the man who rode inside to act as our guard.
"Yes, I understand," muttered this ruffian grimly. "They won't have the chance to say much, I'll warrant!"
The speaker was one of the least friendly disposed towards us of the whole gang. He had armed himself with a big stone, and sitting directly opposite Woodley and myself, would certainly have brained one or the other of us if we had made the faintest attempt to give an alarm.
In another moment there was a jerk as the vehicle started and went slowly grinding down the steep hill. About half-way we met the other coach coming up, and for one moment, as the glare of the lamps shone full upon us, I held my breath, wondering whether the escape would be discovered. The man Nat raised his stone in a threatening manner, but neither George nor I had any intention of risking a smashed skull by an outcry which would probably be lost amid the clatter of hoofs and the noise of the wheels.
The tension lasted only a few seconds. Rodwood, who had picked up and put on poor Tom's characteristic beaver hat, played his part well, returning the gruff salutation of the driver of the mail with the greatest coolness. We slipped by into the darkness, and the crisis was past.
So, handcuffed to Woodley, the captive of a gang of highway pirates, I entered on the third stage of that eventful holiday journey.