CHAPTER X.
JONAS MEETS WITH A STRANGE ADVENTURE.
When Jonas left his master to go to their rendezvous he little dreamt of what was in store for him.
The horses and carriage were drawn up at the appointed spot, and Jonas, thinking of the large reward which the colonel had often promised him, was on the bright look out for the pre-arranged signal.
Now, as we have seen, Miller Harmer had been informed of this mysterious stranger in Darlington, and had watched him and his servant, and even heard the pre-arranged signal.
He had long sighed for an opportunity of confronting the bold stranger, who so slyly had crept into the good graces of his daughter, but whose name, rank, and intentions he knew not.
The first thing to do was to procure assistance.
He went straightway to the lock-up, and informed the authorities of his suspicions.
“It may be one of them chaps as came in masks t’other night and rescued Bob Bertram,” said a burly officer, indignant at the idea of the disgrace which had thus been cast upon them.
For it must be explained here that Wildfire Ned and his groom had effected Bob’s rescue in the manner described about one o’clock in the morning, when all the village was wrapped in sleep, and the two constables on guard were half tipsy.
“If it only be one o’themchaps,” said the chief officer, “I’d give a hundred gold pieces, that I would, for I shall never rest content till I have cracked one o’ their skulls; the mean devils, to come when no one expected on ’em, and fight their way in and out of the lock-up.”
This thought was alike echoed by all.
They felt great annoyance that two youths should have possessed the nerve and courage to fall upon the lock-up guard, and thrash them as Wildfire Ned and Tim the groom had done.
If Ned had sent warning that he was coming to rescue Bob, the constables, of course, would have been there a dozen strong to oppose him, and this they considered would have been “fair play.”
But now that Miller Harmer brought information that there was more than one suspicious stranger in the village, the constable made sure that they were the identical two they so much desired to capture.
From the bustle and preparations made by the half dozen constables one would suppose that the valiant guardians of the public peace were bent upon storming some castle or stronghold.
With lanterns and staves and clubs they sallied forth.
“Lead on, Mr. Miller,” said the chief, buttoning up his doublet. “Lead on, sir, we’ll give the two rascals such a dressing as they never had before in all their lives.”
Old Harmer conducted the constables to his mill.
He unlocked the huge doors and admitted them.
They hid themselves behind a lowering pile of corn and flour sacks, and darkened their lanterns.
“Stand firm, my merry men,” said the chief of the party. “Stand firm; and when the signal is given arrest the rascal as he enters.”
Miller Harmer now went to the half-opened door.
He gave three shrill whistles, each after an interval of about half a minute.
“Here the villain comes,” said Harmer, hiding himself.
Jonas at that moment was observed approaching in a stealthy, cat-like manner, crawling along under the shadow of the trees and cottages of the village.
He was seen to stop once or twice, and look furtively around him.
He did not know why, but a feeling of suspicion assured him that in some way his master’s scheme for abducting Ellen Harmer would involve heavy blows, if not broken sconces.
He had armed himself, therefore, with a stout, short club of oak, which he concealed under his cloak.
As he approached the mill door he was half-inclined to run away again.
“Courage, Jonas, courage,” said he to himself, half aloud. “Remember the rich reward in store for you. The colonel, my master, is a bold, brave devil, and I must be so likewise. So I am,” said Jonas, slapping his chest. “Who knows but what I may be a gentleman one of these fine days, if all goes on well? Won’t that be grand? Courage, then, Jonas; none but the brave deserve the fair. Onward! rewards and honour await you! That whistle, though, didn’t much sound like master’s,” he thought, “and yet it must be. There it is again. All is right; the girl is secured. Onward, Jonas; teach these rustic villagers what brave stuff Londoners are made of.”
He crept towards the mill slowly and very carefully, and it must be confessed that his legs trembled violently under him, and his teeth chattered.
“He comes,” said the miller, in a half-whisper. “Make ready to receive him.”
Jonas crawled up to the half-opened mill-door, and peered into the darkness before him.
“That you, master?” he whispered.
“Y-e-e-s,” was the soft answer.
“Have you got the maiden safe and sound?”
“Y-e-e-s.”
“Won’t the old miller be surprised in the morning when he finds she’s gone, ha! ha!” chuckled Jonas.
He passed the threshold, and was much astonished to see the door shut behind him.
Before he had time to breathe freely a long staff was aimed at his head.
The stroke was well intended, and a powerful one also; but it missed the right object, and fell with a hard crack on the head of a constable by mistake in the darkness.
A loud groan and a curse followed the fall of the oaken staff.
In an instant Jonas comprehended all.
He was entrapped, and escape impossible.
“Oh! the bloodthirsty scoundrels!” he groaned. “That blow was meant for me.”
He produced his own small cudgel, and laid about him right and left in the darkness.
He then fell upon his hands and knees, and crawled from the midst of his enemies.
Total darkness prevented the officers from seeing what they were doing or ought to do.
But they hit right and left among themselves, and some of them were tripped up by Jonas.
“I’ve got him! I’ve got him!” roared the chief constable. “He tried to crawl through my legs, but couldn’t.”
“Give it to him, then!” said another.
And sure enough the chief constabledidgive it to him.
But he had the wrong man between his legs, and was pounding away on the back of an unlucky prostrate comrade, like as if he were thumping a big drum.
Shouts, oaths, and groans were now heard on all sides.
Jonas, as nimble as a monkey, climbed on to the sacks of flour piled up right and left.
His own weight toppled them over.
They fell among the combatants, and knocked several of them over.
Old Harmer, surprised at the change in the state of things, and, fearful that Jonas should escape, rushed to a long rope, and pulled the mill bell, which hung in an old tower.
He tugged away, and alarmed the whole village.
In less than five minutes the male portion of the villagers rushed forth from their houses, half dressed.
Dogs barked, men shouted, women screamed, and children cried.
All was now a scene of great excitement and confusion.
Some armed with pokers, tongs, old rusty swords, pitchforks, and oaken clubs, rushed along the village green.
“To the mill! To the mill!” roared some.
“’Tis the Skeleton Crew!” shrieked others.
“They have murdered the miller, and run off with Ellen!”
“The constables are half murdered!”
“On, lads, on!”
These and similar shouts were now heard on every hand.
The rustics looked pale and startled at the bare mention of the Skeleton Crew, for they had long known what a savage, remorseless band they were.
Many, at the bare mention of the Skeleton Crew, ran into their cottages again, and barred their doors.
Not a few fell on their knees, and began to mumble out their prayers in a very rapid manner.
Some dozen or more stout-hearted, broad-backed fellows, however, boldly ran towards the mill, and dashed in.
They asked no questions, but commenced to hit right and left in the darkness, and it was some time ere they discovered their mistake.
When they did, however, they began to swear at each other in a very violent manner; nor did they heed the sighs and groans of the chief constable and his unlucky followers, who were half smothered under the sacks of flour.
They searched the mill in every direction, but, for full half-an-hour, were unable to discover Master Jonas.
That worthy youth had clambered over the sacks, and made his way up to the third story of the mill.
He looked in every direction for some means to escape, but found none.
The infuriated rustics, led on by old Harmer himself, now ascended the stairs in single file, and instituted a vigorous search.
They brought with them several dogs to assist in the affair.
One of these, more diligent in his search than others, scented out Master Jonas, who was concealed behind a flour-bin.
He might have long remained there, unknown to the searchers, but the miller’s dog gave Jonas such a quiet nip in the leg, as made that worthy howl aloud with pain.
“He’s here!”
“We’ve got him!”
“No you haven’t,” said Jonas.
With a sudden bound he rushed from his hiding place, and dashed towards the two trap-doors through which the sacks were raised from below.
They stood open; and in front of him dangled a long rope almost to the ground.
This he seized, and began to slide down with the skill of an acrobat.
But an accident happened to him that he least expected.
The crane was pushed out from the wall, and, to Jonas’s horror, he found himself dangling right over the mill-dam!
“Oh, the murdering villains! What must I do now?” thought the luckless servant. “They have shoved out the crane, and here am I dancing between the sky and a deep mill-dam.”
“Cut the rope! cut the rope!”
“Drown the rascal!”
“He can’t escape!”
“Lower the rope!”
“No, cut it—cut it!” roared old Harmer. “D—n the rope, so we capture the villain.”
With right good-will, several began to cut and hack the rope.
Jonas felt the rope’s vibration, and shut his eyes.
“It’s all over, now,” he said. “D—n the colonel, and all Darlington put together. I wish I was safe in London again. If this is the grand reward the colonel promised me, confusion to him.”
Jonas had a passing desire to say his prayers, but he was such a thoughtless knave that he had forgotten them long ago.
“That’s it, that’s it,” cried many voices.
“Help! murder! thieves! cut-throats! help—help!” shouted a dozen voices.
This was the confusion and noise which Colonel Blood had heard when he took the last glance at Andrew Gamble, who was carried away by the stream.
But he never for a moment dreamed that all this distant hubbub was occasioned by the tight rope performance of his man, Jonas.
With a vigorous cut, the rope was at last severed!
Amid the shouts and cheers of the bystanders, Jonas fell from a height of twenty feet right into the deep mill-dam, with a loud splash!
“Fish him out, fish him out, lads; we musn’t let the rogue escape us now. He is one of those who rescued Bob Bertram.”
Poor Jonas rose to the surface, and in desperate despair clung to the branch of an overhanging tree, some distance from the edge of the dam.
In a moment the villagers were very busy with pitchforks, rakes, and the like, “fishing him out.”
One fellow, with more vigour than judgment, took aim with his long fork, but missed his distance, and gave Jonas a painful thrust in his seat of honour, instead of hooking his clothes, as intended.
“Five gold pieces to any one who secures the villain,” roared the chief constable, who now rushed upon the scene, puffing and blowing.
The promised reward caused a very great deal of excitement in those present.
A rope was now procured.
With great dexterity some one present made a noose in it, and very cleverly threw it over Jonas’s head.
“Pull away, lads,” said the rope-thrower. “Now, then, all together!”
“You’ll choke the varlet,” some one said.
“Small odds,” said the rope-thrower, “small odds, so we get him dead or alive.”
“Now, then,” said another, “altogether; a strong pull, and a long pull, mind.”
So vigorously did they haul away at the rope that in less than a minute Jonas was dragged to the bank, half-strangled and half-drowned.
“Light ho! lights here!” cried a dozen voices, and lamps were immediately brought to the spot.
“That’s him! that’s one on ’em!” said the chief constable. “I could tell him out of a hundred; that’s him as has been prowling about Darlington, and rescued Bob Bertram.”
“He looks a villain every inch of him,” said old Harmer. “I’m sorry we haven’t got t’other; he’s the worst of the two; and the rascals ain’t satisfied with what they’ve already done, but must concoct a scheme for running off with my daughter Ellen.”
“Horrible!”
“Aw-ful!” chimed in one and another.
“Undo the rope,” said the chief constable, “at least, loosen it a bit; we don’t want to hang him yet.”
“No; that fun has to come,” said another, with a loud laugh.
“Bring him along, lads; I’ll lead the way with the light!” said the chief constable.
And poor Jonas was dragged forth to prison with a long halter around his neck.
He was dripping wet, and soaked to the marrow.
His thighs were bruised and wounded by cuffs, the fork-prongs, and dog-bites.
His legs trembled from under him.
Dogs barked at him, men jeered, and women clapped their hands.
He was cast into gaol by the chief constable with looks of professional pride and triumph.
“Got one of the scoundrels, any how!” said he.
Wet and exhausted as he was, and presenting a very sorry sight, Master Jonas was thrust into a cell.
The villagers crowded around him and gazed through the prison bars, with gaping mouths, as if they were looking at some strange, half-tamed animal in a travelling menagerie.
But what has become of his master, Colonel Blood?
The next chapter will show.