"Knocked him fairly off his legs."
"Knocked him fairly off his legs."
"Is he dead, Bill?" asked poor Harry anxiously.
"I'm feared so, lad," replied the old man, looking up. "Ye must get clear of the country both on ye, for it'll be a hangin' job if ye're cotched. Be off, lads, afore Seth Fogg comes back, and put a score of miles betwixt ye and Charfeld by mornin'."
"But you will get into trouble if we escape now, William," I said, hesitating to act on his advice.
"Never fear, Master Dick," he rejoined. "How could an old chap like me stop a couple of active lads such as ye be? Not as how I'd try, if I was as strong as Samson."
"That's true, sir," put in Harry; "and everybody in Charfield 'll know it."
"In course they will," said Herd. "Come, be off afore 'tis too late, and I'll take mighty good care that ye gets a fair start. And look ye, Master Dick," the old fellow went on, "I'll see that Parson Wilmot knows the rights of this business, never you fear. Now away ye goes, lads, and good luck go with ye!" And with that he pushed us out of the cage.
CHAPTER II
Fairlydismayed at our unfortunate position, we went off like hares, and turning out of the road, made our way across country in the direction of Ashford. It was a moonlight night and we could see our way fairly well, so on we ran until we were a good league from Charfield, when, hearing no sounds of pursuit, we threw ourselves down under a hay-stack to draw breath.
"This be a precious bad job, sir," said Harry; "I dowish you'd let me stop in the cage. Fancy you getting into such a scrape for the likes of me!"
"What is done cannot be undone, worse luck!" I answered dejectedly. "It is really my fault that we're in such a horrible mess, for had I not lost my temper and struck Mr. Blagg, I do believe they would have let us both go."
"Surely, Master Dick, they'd never have done that?"
"I think they would for their own sakes, Harry. You see, they knew I had guessed their plot, and that William Herd had an inkling of it, and I feel sure they would have gladly released us on our promising to hold our tongues."
"There's something in that, sir," assented my companion. "Mr. Blagg was regular skeert when you spoke your mind to him, and that's for sure."
"Yes; and had I only kept my hands off him, it would have been all right; but now the wretched affair cannot possibly be hushed up, and if we wish to save our liberty—if not our lives—we must fly the country."
In my excited state it never occurred to me that after all Blagg and Dobbs might not have been fatally injured; on the contrary, I made sure that Dobbs was dead, and thought it more than probable that my tutor, if not killed outright, would not survive. But for this firm impression, I should have made the best of way to Bingley Manor, and confessed everything to my father, leaving him to decide what was to be done; as it was, the bare idea of being tried for murder, or even manslaughter, filled me with horror, and I resolved to endure any hardships or privations rather than the disgrace of appearing in the prisoner's dock on such a terrible charge. How bitterly I reproached myself for that fatal burst of passion!—that mad blow which had brought such dire trouble upon Harry and myself; ruining our prospects and compelling us to fly from home and friends. I thought, withhot tears streaming down my cheeks, of my poor father and sister, how keenly they would feel the disgrace, and what fearful anxiety they would endure on my account. These mournful reflections were at length interrupted by Harry Symes.
"Don't you think, sir, that we should have made sure that Mr. Blagg was killed afore we run off?" he said.
"Herd declared that Dobbs was dead, and if caught we should be tried for his murder," I answered. "As far as our fate goes, it matters little whether my cousin is alive or not. I hope most sincerely that he is, poor fellow, though it would not save us."
"Butyoudid not kill Dobbs, Master Dick," rejoined Harry. "That wasmydoing—may God forgive me for it!—and they can't punish you for my crime. Look ye, sir, let me go back and give myself up, and I'll warrant they won't trouble themselves about you once they gets hold of me."
This, of course, I would not hear of, and I told Harry that we were both in the same boat, and would sink or swim together. We were now fairly rested, so I proposed that we should continue on our way.
"Where are we bound for, sir?" he inquired.
"I hardly know, Harry. Suppose we make for Ashford and catch the early coach to London? I have five or six pounds with me, and my watch is worth as much more."
"I doubt Ashford would be safe, Master Dick," he replied. "As like as not the news of our escape will be brought by the early coach, and you're well known in Ashford. If we make for London we'd best take another road. But, sir, what'll we do in London when we get there? I reckon them Bow Street runners, as they talks so much of, will soon run us to ground."
"We must get out of England as soon as possible, and to do that we shall have to enlist or go to sea. Ithink London will be a good place either to take the shilling or get a berth on board some ship."
"Surely you never means to go for a soldier, Master Dick?" cried Harry aghast.
"Better that than be tried for murder at next assizes," I answered; adding, "Unless you would rather go to sea?"
"Not I, sir," was the reply. "Taint of myself I'm thinkin'; it's you, Master Dick. But if so be as your mind is made up, I'm with you. I'd as lief be a soldier as anything."
"Then come along, Harry; we'll take 'the king's shilling' together. Now, which way had we better follow?"
"The Maidstone road, I think, sir. Yon's Sheldon wood, and the lane as skirts it leads into the highway near Squire Cotton's, about two mile from here."
"True; we cannot do better. Come, lad! it is close on eleven o'clock, and we must be far on our way by daybreak."
"Beg pardon, sir," said my companion, touching his hat; "but hadn't you best take your spurs off in case we meets any folk?"
"Egad! I quite forgot I had them on," I laughed. "There! now we will put our best foot foremost."
CHAPTER III
Inless than half-an-hour we reached the high-road, along which we proceeded at a brisk pace. Occupied with our thoughts—they were not of a pleasant nature—we conversed but little; in fact, we had walked in absolute silence for the last couple of miles, when Harry suddenly stopped and clapped hand to ear.
"What is it?" I asked.
"There's a carriage coming up behind us, sir," he replied. "At a hard pace too."
Turning round, I attentively listened, and, sure enough, heard the rattle of wheels and the sound of horses galloping furiously. The road was quite straight, and we had a clear view of a quarter of a mile or more. In a few moments a post-chaise came in sight, the horses tearing along, and evidently not under control.
"I shall try to stop them.
"I shall try to stop them."
"See, Master Dick, there's no post-boy," cried my companion. "It's a runaway!"
Now, not fifty yards beyond where we stood was a very steep hill, and I knew that if the horses took the chaise down that hill at the pace they were going, a serious accident would be the almost inevitable result—nothing short of a miracle could prevent it. To stop the horses before they reached the hill would be a risky job, but in my present mood I cared very little about risk to life or limb, and so determined to make the attempt.
"Harry, lad, I shall try to stop them."
"Right, sir, I'm with you," was the prompt reply. "You take the near horse and I'll go for the off. Come on, sir."
We moved a few yards up the road, and the moment the horses came abreast of us we made a dash at them. Running by the near horse's head, I managed to catch his bridle close by the bit; at the same time throwing my right arm over his withers, I got a firm grip of the collar, and hung on like grim death. Harry was equally fortunate, and, after being dragged a short distance, we succeeded in bringing the runaways to a standstill, just as they reached the brow of the hill. As soon as the horses stopped the door of the chaise was flung open, and a gentleman, wearing an undress cavalry uniform, jumped out.
"Splendidly done, lads!" he exclaimed, clapping me on the shoulder. "You have undoubtedly saved me from a serious, if not fatal accident, and I thank you heartily. You're not hurt, I hope?"
"A bit shaken, that's all, thank you, sir," I answered. "Are you all right, Harry?"
"Yes, Master Dick. 'Twas a near thing, though! Another ten yards, and we'd gone full tear down the hill."
"I am Major Warrington, of the 14th Light Dragoons," said the officer, shaking me warmly by the hand. "May Iask your name, young gentleman, and that of your—your companion?"
"My name is Wilmot, sir," I replied, somewhat hesitatingly, for, under the circumstances, I did not much care to tell my name to a stranger.
"And I am Mr. Wilmot's servant, your honour," said Harry.
"Well, Mr. Wilmot, and you, my brave lad, I am very grateful for the service you have rendered me," rejoined Major Warrington; "very grateful indeed. To say nothing of my escape from bodily injury, I am thankful that the horses and chaise have not been damaged, as it is of the utmost importance that my journey should not be hindered. I am hastening to Northfleet, to join a transport which sails for Lisbon at ten o'clock in the morning, and even now I shall be pushed for time." Then with a laugh he added, "I suppose I must ride post myself, or else drive from the perch, for the rest of the stage, as there's small chance of my post-boy turning up."
"Was he thrown, sir?" I asked.
"No. What happened was this," the major replied. "I was fast asleep, when the sudden stopping of the chaise roused me. Looking out, I saw the boy knocking at the door of a cottage. Before I had time to inquire what he wanted, the door opened, and—startled, I presume, by the flash of light—the horses went off at full speed. Of course, it was impossible for me to stop them, so I let down the windows, covered myself with cloak, rug, and cushions, and awaited events. We must have come full six miles, at almost racing speed; and I certainly never expected to get clear of the chaise with whole bones."
"And what became of the post-boy?" I asked.
"When the horses bolted he was at the cottage door, and possibly he may have followed me, but I cannot wait on the chance of his coming up. I must get forward to the next stage without delay, and be my own post-boy."
"Beg pardon, sir," Harry chimed in, "Master Dick and I are going London way, and it willn't be much out of our road, if we come with you as far as Shelwick—that's the next stage, sir. I can ride post, if you'll take Master Dick in the chay? I know the road well."
Harry's most unexpected suggestion took me fairly aback, and annoyed me not a little; but I did not like to offer any objection, so held my tongue. Major Warrington, too, was evidently surprised at the proposal, and looked inquiringly first at me and then at Harry.
"That will suit me admirably, Mr. Wilmot," he said, after an awkward pause. "It will be a pleasure to have your company as far as Shelwick; or farther, if our roads lie together. What say you?"
"I am willing, Major Warrington," I replied in a half-hearted manner; but seeing that he appeared hurt at my reluctant assent, I added, "Indeed I shall be very glad to accompany you."
"Then we'll be off at once," he rejoined. "Jump up, my lad."
"One moment, your honour," said Harry. "Master Dick, will you put the shoe on? We shall want it going down the hill." And as I went round the chaise to fix the drag-shoe, he whispered, "Tell the gentleman everything, sir. I'm sure he'll give you good advice, and maybe help us."
CHAPTER IV
"Driveon," said Major Warrington, stepping into the chaise and seating himself beside me. "Twenty past one"—looking at his watch—"have you any idea how far we are from Shelwick?"
"Nearly six miles from the posting-house, which is some little distance beyond the village," I answered.
"Well, I hope they'll be able to give me fourposters," the major said. "I could only get a pair at the last stage."
"Have you come far to-night, sir?" I inquired.
"From Bingley, Mr. Wilmot. I have been staying with my brother-in-law, Lord Buckland, at Buckland Court. My servant started with the baggage for Northfleet on Monday, but urgent business detained me until this, or rather last evening. By the way, do you know Colonel Gascoigne of Bingley Manor? I ask because there is a Mr. Wilmot, a clergyman, staying at the Manor; probably you are related to him?"
This was indeed a home question! What should I say? Should I follow Harry Symes's advice, and make a clean breast of everything to the major? I hesitated; then—for I could not bring myself to deny my father—I said, almost in a whisper, "I am Mr. Wilmot's son." And, unable to control my emotion, I burst into tears.
"My dear boy!" exclaimed Major Warrington, laying his hand on my arm, "what is wrong with you? I fear you have got into some trouble—is it not so?"
"Into very great trouble, sir; but I—I dare not tell you what it is."
"Nonsense, Wilmot," he rejoined; "do not be foolish. Tell everything without reserve, and if it is in my power to help you I will. Anyhow, you may be sure that I will respect your confidence. Remember, my dear boy," he went on, seeing that I hesitated, "I am under great obligations to you and your servant, and it will be a pleasure to me to assist or advise you. Come! confide in me without fear."
So, touched by his kind manner and evident desire to help me, I told the whole story.
"Umph! You and Harry Symes are certainly in an awkward scrape," said Major Warrington, when I had finished; "but I do not consider you have done anything disgraceful."
"Thank you for saying that, sir," I murmured.
"You have acted foolishly—very foolishly!—by walking, almost with your eyes open, into the trap set for you by those scoundrels the tutor and his confederate," the major went on; "and thereby have committed a serious offence against the law. As for the tutor and parish-constable," he added, "their conduct was most disgraceful, and they richly deserve punishment, in addition to the rough handling they got from you."
"But, sir, I fear the constable waskilledin the scuffle," I put in, thinking he might not have understood me. "His assistant, William Herd, said——"
"Never mind what William Herd said; it is more than probable he was mistaken," interrupted Major Warrington. "You do notknowthe fellow was killed, and in discussing this affair it is better that we should stick to facts, and facts only. Wedoknow that you have committed a serious legal offence by breaking into the Charfield lock-up and assisting a prisoner to escape, and what we have to consider is how you are to be saved from the consequences of your foolish action."
"What do you advise, sir?" I asked anxiously, after a brief silence.
"No doubt Ioughtto advise you to return home and surrender yourselves, but such a step would place your father in a very painful position—as a magistrate he must of necessity commit you to prison; the more so, because you are his son. Once you are arrested, the law must take its course, and I am afraid it would go hard with you both."
"I am afraid it would," I sighed.
"On the other hand," pursued the major, "I believe that if you can avoid arrest for a time, and proper influence is brought to bear, the matter may be hushed up. Therefore I advise you to keep out of the way for a time, and if possible leave the country."
"That was our intention, sir," I rejoined. "We are going up to London to enlist."
"You need not go to London, my boy," said Major Warrington. "I am both able and willing to assist you, and my proposal is that you and Symes should accompany me to the Peninsula. Now what say you to that?"
"Can such an arrangement be made?" I exclaimed half incredulously.
"Certainly it can," was the reply, "otherwise I should not have made the offer. I am in command of the drafts going out in theMorning Star, and nobody will raise any objection if I choose to take a couple of likely recruits with me. The question is—are you willing to come?"
"Indeed I am, Major Warrington!" I answered joyfully. "Thank you most heartily for the offer; you are truly 'a friend in need'!"
"And the lad Symes—will he care to go on active service?"
"Yes, sir. I can answer for that."
"Then that point is settled," said the major. "Symes will enlist in the 14th, and you shall join us as a gentleman volunteer; the colonel will, I am sure, accept you on my recommendation. Before we embark," he continued, "I will write to your father, explaining how I chanced to fall in with you, and my reasons for advising you to take this step. You, too, must send him a dutiful letter, giving full particulars of thefracasat Charfield, and stating your reasons for supposing that your tutor and the constable laid a trap for you."
"William Herd promised to tell my father everything, sir," I interposed; "but, of course, I will write as you suggest."
"I shall also send a full account of the case to Lord Buckland, and beg him to use all his influence to get the affair hushed up," the major went on. "No doubt hisfriendship with Mr. Wilmot will induce him to do all he can; but the fact of your having rendered me so great a service, at the risk of your life, will make him doubly anxious to help you. I feel pretty confident that the matter will be satisfactorily settled, and in a few months you will be able to return home without fear."
"I think, sir, that once in the army I should like to stick to it," I remarked. "My father would not object, as after this scrape I couldn't very well enter the Church, and if all goes well I shall beg him to get me a commission. We're at the bottom of the hill now; I will jump out and take off the shoe."
CHAPTER V
"Rockof Lisbon's just sighted, gentlemen," the steward informed us as we sat at breakfast in the cuddy of theMorning Star, a wall-sided old brig which the transport authorities considered quite good enough to convey his Majesty's troops from the Thames to the Tagus.
Three weeks and five days had elapsed since we embarked at Northfleet, and we were all heartily sick of being cooped up in our dirty "floating home." The voyage had been unusually tedious, owing to bad weather, head winds, and the wretched sailing of the brig, so the prospect of once more stretching our legs onterra firmawas very welcome.
"We should be at anchor before dusk," said Major Warrington.
"What a blessing!" ejaculated Frank Bradley, a newly fledged cornet, and the only 14th officer on board besides the major.
"Praise the saints! we'll be clear of this ould flea-trap in a few hours," exclaimed Doctor Mulcahy, the surgeon in medical charge of the drafts. "I giveye me word of honour, major, that since I came on board, me life's been one prolonged scratch! As for the poor fellows on the troop-deck, their state just beggars description."
"Then pray don't attempt to describe it, doctor," laughed the major. "We know by experience that your descriptions are sometimes rather too vivid. Come on deck, Wilmot, and take your first look at Portugal."
Major Warrington had treated me with the greatest kindness and generosity, and but for my anxiety to receive some news from home, I should have felt perfectly happy and contented despite the discomforts of the voyage. As I had only a few pounds with me, and no "kit" except what I stood up in, the major insisted on being my banker until I could get remittances from my father. I had purchased some necessaries at Northfleet, and young Bradley was very glad to part with superfluous articles of the preposterous outfit with which a London tailor had saddled him; thus I was able to present a respectable appearance as a gentleman volunteer.
TheMorning Staranchored in the Tagus, just abreast of Belem, in the afternoon of the 5th April. Hardly was our anchor down when we were hailed from the deck of a British corvette which lay in the river half a cable's length ahead of us.
"What brig is that?"
"Mornin' Star, transport; with drafts of the 14th Light Dragoons and 3rd and 66th Regiments. One hundred and fifty-eight all told," shouted our skipper. "Three weeks out of the Thames."
"Have you a Major Warrington of the 14th on board?" was the next question.
"We has," bawled the skipper. "He commands the troops."
"What can they want with me?" said the major, who had just come on deck.
"You'll soon know, major," observed Bradley, "for they're sending a boat off. Here she comes! Look at the Portuguese bumboats scuttling out of her way!" And the next minute the corvette's gig ran alongside, and a smart little midshipman sprang up the accommodation ladder.
"Major Warrington?" he said, looking inquiringly round.
"Major Warrington?" he said.
"Major Warrington?" he said.
"My name is Warrington, young gentleman," the major answered, stepping forward.
"Captain Calvert's compliments, sir, and will you kindly come on board theAlacrity. He has brought out a packet of letters for you."
"Do you belong to theAlacrity?" said the major in a tone of surprise. "Why, when did she sail from Portsmouth?"
"On the 25th of last month, sir, and anchored here this morning," the middy replied. "We met with beastly weather in the Bay, or should have got in two days ago." Then with an impudent look on his chubby face, he said to our skipper, "You left the Thames on the 12th, I believe? By George! your old hooker has taken her time over the passage. How many knots can she do at a pinch?" But the surly old shellback walked forward without vouchsafing an answer, beyond growling something about the "cheek of them young reefers."
Telling the middy that he would be with him in five minutes, Major Warrington took me aside, and informed me that Captain Calvert of theAlacritywas Lord Buckland's cousin, and that probably the letters he had brought out referred to my case.
"Would they have had time to write, sir?" I questioned.
"Before theAlacritysailed?—yes, I think so," he replied. "The letters we wrote from Northfleet must have reached your father and Buckland by the 14th, and you may be sure they would not let the grass grow under their feet. I met Captain Calvert at Buckland, and he was then under orders to sail on the 30th March, but it appears he had to put to sea on the 25th. No doubt Lord Buckland knew of this, and took the opportunity to forward our letters."
"I hope they bring good news," I sighed. "I feel very anxious, major."
"Nonsense, boy; keep up your spirits, and I'll wager a guinea I shall be able to tell you that everything has been satisfactorily arranged as far as you are concerned. If it were bad news my brother-in-law would not have been in a hurry to write. Now I must not keep the captain's gig waiting, so I am off."
The major proved a true prophet. In less than half-an-hour he returned to the brig, bringing me a letter from my father. The letter was couched in most affectionate terms, without a single word of reproach. To my great relief I now learned that neither Septimus Blagg nor Dobbs had been seriously injured; but the latter got such a shock, that thinking he was dying he made a full confession of the plot which he and Septimus had hatched against me. As to wishing to prosecute, the two scoundrels were thankful to escape being indicted for conspiracy. My father wound up by saying that I could return home at once if I chose, but he thought that now I had started on a military career it would be well for me to keep to it, at any rate for the present. Harry Symes could go back to the rectory, or remain with me as he pleased. A banker's bill for £200 was enclosed, and the letter concluded with affectionate wishes for my welfare.
"Now, my boy," said Major Warrington, when I had finished reading the letter, "you will commence your military life with an easy mind! I have one more piece of news for you," he added. "Buckland has seen Lord L——, and obtained a promise that you shall have the first vacant cornetcy in the 14th. So, Wilmot, we must pray that there be no change in the Ministry for some little time to come."
CHAPTER VI
Muchto our annoyance, we were detained at Lisbon until the first week in July, when an order arrived for the draft to proceed at once to Salamanca. Lord Wellington had entered Salamanca at the end of June, and his forces were in position on the south bank of the Douro, while the French under Marmont occupied the northern. It was the general opinion there would be warm work before long, and we hoped to join the regiment in time to take part in it. During my four months' sojourn in the Portuguese capital I had made great progress with my drills, and Major Warrington pronounced me quite competent to command a troop or take charge of a picket or patrol.
About three weeks before we left Lisbon I received the welcome news of my appointment to a cornetcy in the 14th—thanks to the influence of Lord Buckland with his friend the Cabinet Minister.
"I wish you all success, my dear Wilmot," said Major Warrington when congratulating me on my good fortune. "After all, the trouble you got into has proved a blessing in disguise, for you have now a noble career before you, and I predict that you will make an excellent light-cavalry officer.Entre nous," he added with a smile, "I don't think you were ever cut out for a parson. To my mind no man should enter the Church unless he has a very decided leaning that way."
"I agree with you, sir," I replied; "and judging by his letter, my father seems to be of similar opinion. He must look out for a more worthy successor to our family living."
"Well, I trust he will not bestow it on Mr. Septimus Blagg," laughed the major.
"Little fear of that," I rejoined. "Cousin Septimusis now, so my sister writes, an usher in a London school. I wish the poor boys joy of the fellow!"
I will pass over our long march, for we met with no adventures worth recording. Harry Symes proved an excellent servant on the line of march, and one might have thought he had been campaigning all his life, so smart and intelligent was he. I urged him to go in for promotion, but he declared he would rather be my servant than regimental sergeant-major.
We arrived at Salamanca about nine o'clock on the evening of the 22nd July, just too late to share in the glorious victory in which our comrades had distinguished themselves. We, however, pushed on without delay, and came up with the regiment shortly after it had ceased from pursuing the flying enemy.
The officers of the 14th Light Dragoons welcomed me very cordially, the colonel being especially warm in his greeting.
"I am sorry you missed the fight to-day," said he. "It was a glorious affair, and we have given Marmont a thorough trouncing. Our losses are severe, and the 14th have to deplore the death of several gallant comrades. We shall follow up the French to-morrow, so you may have an opportunity of seeing a little fighting after all."
"He will see plenty of it before the campaign is over, colonel," observed Major Warrington.
The brigade to which the 14th belonged—it consisted of ourselves and the 1st Hussars of the German Legion—advanced next morning, and early on the 25th reached Arevalo. Here we halted and bivouacked. Patrols were sent out on the several roads, and, to my great delight, I was ordered to take charge of one, consisting of a sergeant and four men of the 14th, and four German hussars. My instructions were to proceed towards Blanchez Sancho, a small town some distance from Arevalo, and ascertainwhether it was occupied by the enemy. Before we marched off, Major Warrington gave me a few words of advice and caution, and wished me good luck.
"You will hardly have a chance of distinguishing yourself," he concluded; "but it will please the colonel, who is already very well disposed towards you, if you carry out the duty intelligently, and do not get into a scrape."
The sergeant of my little party was a fine old soldier, William Hanley by name, who had been with the 14th at the passage of the Douro at Barca de Avinta, in May 1809, and in every engagement in which the regiment had fought since that date. He knew that part of the country well, and could speak a little Spanish. After riding four or five miles, we came to a small village—its name I forget—where I called a halt, as our horses were rather fatigued. The alcalde of the village welcomed us with many expressions of good feeling for the British and hatred for the French.
"As the old fellow seems so friendly, we might ask him to get a feed of corn for the horses," suggested Sergeant Hanley. "Poor beasts! they've had short rations and hard work these last four days, and we've a goodish distance to travel yet. Shall I ask him, sir?"
"Certainly, sergeant," I assented. "We might get some information from him as well."
The alcalde readily acceded to our modest request, and in a few minutes the corn was brought into thepraça, where we sat. Having posted one of the German hussars on the church top, with orders to keep a sharp look-out, I gave the word to unbridle and feed. While the horses were feeding, Sergeant Hanley and I questioned the alcalde as to the whereabouts of the French, and he assured us that they were at Blanchez Sancho in some force.
The horses refreshed, we mounted and resumed our journey; three men being sent forward in advance, onefifty paces in front, the second fifty to the right, and the third fifty to the left front. Their orders were to halt the moment they came in sight of the enemy, a town, or any strange object.
The advance moved on in this order until they reached the summit of a hill overlooking Blanchez Sancho, when in accordance with my instructions they halted. I beckoned them to fall back, and then ordered my men to dismount. Accompanied by Sergeant Hanley, I now walked up to the summit of the hill, and from that coign of vantage perceived a column of French infantry drawn up to the east of the town.
"They're being inspected, Mr. Wilmot," observed the sergeant, looking through my field-glass—a present from Major Warrington. "They'll be moving off directly, I reckons. Ah! I thought so." As he spoke, the column took ground to its right, broke into the Madrid road, and in about ten minutes disappeared from our view.
We waited a quarter of an hour or so, then hurrying down the hill, rejoined our men. I gave the word to mount, and away we galloped towards the town, making for that side of it from which the column had marched. I have called Blanchez Sancho a town, but it was little more than a village, with one straggling street, standing on an open plain, and without hedges, walls, or inclosures of any kind.
Cautiously we rode down the street, keeping a sharp look-out for stragglers or followers of the column. At the end of the street the road turned to the right, and we now descried three dismounted dragoons running from a barley-field towards a house which stood isolated on the plain. We gave chase, and quickly caught them up. On my questioning them, they informed me that they belonged to a picket occupying the solitary house, and had been out to get forage. I inquired the strength of the picket.
"Asous-officierand ten dragoons, beside ourselves,m'sieur," was the reply, after a moment's hesitation. "Our comrades are now feeding their horses."
I interpreted the answer to Sergeant Hanley, and suggested that we might capture the entire picket if we could only take them by surprise.
"We can make the attempt, anyhow, Mr. Wilmot," the sergeant rejoined; "but, you'll excuse me, sir, we mustn't take all these chaps say for gospel. If they gives the strength of their party at fourteen, we'd best be prepared to tackle double that number."
"Ja wohl, mein herr," muttered one of the German troopers, nodding his head approvingly.
"And we'd better put it out of the power of these fellows to give the alarm," continued Sergeant Hanley. "With your leave we'll gag and pinion them."
This was quickly done, and placing the prisoners under charge of a hussar, we rode towards the house. It was a one-storeyed building, and in its rear was a high wall extending from its gable-ends, forming a yard or fodder-shed for feeding cattle in. This yard had only one means of ingress or egress, and that was by the door of the house through a narrow passage. We reached this door without being observed, and found it locked. It was quickly burst open. The French dragoons were in the yard feeding their horses and attending to stable duties for the night—so far our prisoners had spoken the truth. At the sound of the crash several of them rushed into the passage. Five of my men had dismounted, and they immediately opened fire with their carbines.
"Keep up a brisk fire, lads," I called to them, "and the enemy will think our strength is greater than it is."
Two or three of the Frenchmen returned our fire, but without effect, and they soon retired from the passage into the yard. While this was going on, I remained on horseback, giving orders as occasion required. Close to me was the open window of a room on the ground-floor,and suddenly an officer, springing up from beneath the window-sill, discharged a pistol at my head, the ball passing through my shako, or cap as we called it in those days. Harry Symes was standing beside me, and seizing the officer, he dragged him through the window.
"Rendez vous, m'sieur!" I exclaimed, presenting a pistol. "You are our prisoner."
"It is the fortune of war!" he said, shrugging his shoulders; and unbuckling his sword he handed it to me.
This was an important capture, and I determined to make the most of it.
"M'sieur," I said to the lieutenant, for such was our prisoner's rank, "the brigade to which we belong is close at hand, and I call upon you to order your men to surrender before its arrival."
"What if they refuse?" he replied.
"I shall fire the premises, and not a man will escape."
"Sapristie!you must be a Spaniard, not an Englishman," he exclaimed. "I am in your power and must obey you."
"Bien, m'sieur," I answered; and calling one of the Germans who spoke French fluently, I bade him escort the officer to the yard.
In a few minutes they returned and informed me that the whole picket had surrendered, and awaited my further orders. After a short consultation with Sergeant Hanley, I told the officer to call upon his men to come out one by one, each leading his horse, but leaving his sword in the yard. There was just room in the passage for a man and horse to pass. My order was obeyed; and as each dragoon passed through the door his carbine was taken from him, the butt smashed, and the pieces thrown aside. In this manner the whole picket—numbering twenty-eightsous-officiersand troopers—passed out, and formedup in ranks of four; each man standing at his horse's head, and his stirrups being crossed over his saddle. As soon as all the Frenchmen were out of the yard I gave the word to march, and we moved off; Sergeant Hanley and a German hussar heading the little column, three men riding on either flank, and Harry Symes and I, with the officer—whom I allowed to ride—between us, bringing up the rear.
"You are our prisoner."
"You are our prisoner."
The French dragoons marched very slowly, and it was nearly dark before we came in sight of the village where we had baited our horses on the way to Blanchez Sancho. The French officer now expressed his surprise that we had not fallen in with the brigade. I returned an evasive answer, and thinking it would be well to halt at the village for the night—at the pace we were travelling we should not have reached Arevalo before daybreak—I called Sergeant Hanley and told him to gallop on to the village and request our friend the alcalde to provide a secure resting-place for our prisoners, and, if possible, refreshment for man and beast.
"I fear the officer suspects that the brigade is not so near at hand as we led him to believe," I said in an undertone, "and it would be a risky job to march all these prisoners to Arevalo by night."
"True, sir," was the reply; "if they took it into their heads to make a sudden rush we'd have a warm time with 'em. I'll see the alcalde, sir, and arrange for their accommodation to-night, and then get a dozen or so of the villagers to come back with me and help guard 'em until we reach the village. There's nothing like being on the safe side!"
He then galloped off, and returned in about an hour's time accompanied by a score of villagers armed with sticks, pitchforks, and one or two old fowling-pieces.
"Mais, m'sieur!who are these rascals?" cried the Frenchman in some alarm.
"Do not fear, lieutenant," I answered, "these good people are the 'brigade'; they have come to escort you to the village."
"Sacré—you have deceived me!" he hissed, with all the venom of a Frenchman.
"Un ruse de guerre, mon ami, that is all," I retorted. "All is fair in love and war."
The Frenchman, however, was very sulky, and bitterly reproached me for the trick I had played him; it was not until we were seated in the alcalde's house, discussing a flask of good wine and a capital ham, that he recovered his good-humour.
At daybreak on the following morning we resumed our journey, and I had the satisfaction of bringing in my prisoners to Arevalo in safety.
I will here bring my story to a close, for my adventures in the Peninsula would fill a small volume. I served with the gallant 14th Light Dragoons until the Peace of 1814; and as I am now an old man, I hope the reader will not accuse me of vanity when I say that Major Warrington's prediction was fulfilled, and I gained the reputation of being "an excellent light-cavalry officer."
The 14th returned to England in July 1814; and as soon as I could obtain leave of absence I hastened to Charfield, Harry Symes accompanying me. The whole village turned out to welcome us, and we felt fully repaid for the hardships and dangers we had experienced by the affectionate greeting we received.
I remained in the army until 1830, when having entered into the married state, I thought it time to retire and settle down to private life. My father attained a ripe old age, and before he died had the satisfaction of seeing his grandson, the Rev. Richard Warrington—son of Colonel Sir Charles Warrington by his marriage with mysister Kate—installed as Rector of Charfield; so the living did not go out of the family after all.
Harry Symes is now a prosperous farmer, and lives within a mile of our gates. He often pays me an evening visit to chat over the days "when we went soldiering," and I am sure that neither of us has ever regretted our "Flight from Justice."
I
"'Tisour best chance," Ben said, as he dipped the quill into the captain's silver ink-pot. "Nay, 'tis our only chance."
The brig was labouring heavily on the sweeping swell of the North Atlantic. From where he sat, facing the square stern windows that looked out upon the helpless vessel's wake, Ben could see the dark, pursuing rollers as they loomed up against the lighter rack of leaden clouds. All was silent, terribly silent, on board. There was no sound now of busy seamen's voices, no measured tread of patrolling feet upon the decks; nothing but the slow, monotonous creaking of the ship's oaken timbers as she lazily slid into the furrow and buoyantly rose to mount the glassy slope of the next on-coming wave.
"Yes, 'tis our only chance," the boy repeated, as he drew towards him the blank leaf of paper that he had torn from the log-book. "God grant that it may be of some avail!"
The plaintive cry of a distant gull startled him in his loneliness. It was like the cry of one of his dead shipmates calling upon him from another world. He glanced nervously through the open door of the captain's room, where the captain lay silent in his last sleep. Again he dipped the quill into the ink, and began to write the words that he had already prepared in his mind—
"God send speedie help to his Majesties brig Aurora, homewardbound fr. S. John's to Plimouthe and in dyer distresse. N. Lat. 58°, W. Long. 10° as nere as can be made out. Benjamin Clews 27 July 1746."
This was the message upon which he rested his firmest hopes. And when it was written and the ink was dry, he folded up the paper, wrapped it in a piece of oilskin, and inclosed the packet in a little box-like boat which he had fashioned for the purpose. On the tightly fitting lid of the box he had carved the words "Pleas open," so that no one finding it should doubt there was something precious within.
It was already dusk when he carried the box from the cabin and strode forward along the brig's desolate deck. Mounting to the forecastle, he climbed up on one of the guns, and, leaning over the stout bulwarks, peered down into the darkening sea, with its flickering, phosphorescent lights. The vessel was still drifting, drifting eastward with the ocean current, as she had been drifting for many days.
"It may never be found," the lad sighed, as he flung the box far out upon the waves. "And even if perchance it be picked up, nothing may come of it." He walked slowly aft again. "'Tis not for myself that I care," he mused; "I'd die like the rest of 'em. But the brig is the King's. She is in my charge, so to speak, and I must save her if I can."
He glanced aloft at the close-reefed maintop-sail and at the two storm staysails, and wished in his heart that he had the skill and strength to unfurl more canvas, and thus bring the vessel more speedily to land. Sail had been shortened in the gale of twelve days before, when there had yet been seamen alive and well enough to work the ship. But the gale had fallen to a calm, and now the few small sails that were set only served to keep the brig before the light breeze that came from the westward over the sea.
Ben walked aft to the helm, luffed theAuroraup tothe wind, and again lashed the tiller. Then he went below to the cook's galley, where a fire was still burning, and lighted two lanterns. He left one of them on the deck outside the galley door, and taking the other in his hand, strode forward and descended to the lower deck.
Silently entering the petty officers' quarters, he approached one of the hammocks—the only one that was not empty—and gently rested his hand upon it. A slight movement satisfied him.
"How are you now, Mr. Avison?" he inquired, holding up the lantern.
The man turned and looked over the hammock's side. His face was unsightly with the eruption of the terrible disease that had decimated theAurora'screw.
"Thank'ee, Ben, I'm a bit easier now," he answered, in a thin, weak voice. "What's o'clock? 'Tis after sundown, I see."
"It's five bells in the first night watch," said Ben. "You've been asleep these two watches. Could you eat something, think you, quartermaster? There's a canful of soup in the galley. 'Twould do you a vast of good. I could warm it, if you'd take a drop. Will you?"
"Well, my lad," returned the quartermaster, "I might try to manage just a little, if you'd be so kind. But you're too weary to do cook's work now, sure. How long might it be since you had a rest?"
Ben smiled a sickly smile. "Never mind me," he said, "I'm all right. I'd a watch below the day before yesterday, after the captain was past my help. Doctor Rayner forced me to have a snooze on top of his box; said he'd not forgive me unless I did. I tied a lanyard to my wrist and gave him the other end of it, so that he might haul tight and wake me if he wanted me for anything. He never did haul, though. When I awoke he'd slipped his moorings and sailed off on the long voyage, as Tom Harkiss would have said."
The quartermaster drew a sharp breath and leaned over, gazing at the boy with bleared and lustreless eyes.
"Dead?" he cried. "The surgeon dead?"
Ben nodded.
"God help us, then!" said the quartermaster. "And do you say, boy, that there's only me and you left?"
"That's all," answered Ben sadly. And then he added more cheerfully, "Now I'll lay aft and fetch that soup."
Some few minutes later Ben Clews returned with the flagon of warm soup, and proceeded slowly to feed his sick companion spoonful by spoonful. Very soon the quartermaster fell back exhausted.
"That's enough, boy," said he; "I can't manage no more. You'd best take what's left for yourself, and then get into your bunk. The brig's all safe for a day or two, so long as there's no wind. But if a wind should spring up, look you, we shall be as good as a derelict, short-handed as we are, and maybe be blown back again into the Roarin' Forties. You may lay we shan't run aground at the rate we're goin' now, though. I daresay I shall be well again afore we make land. I've got over the worst of it, and'll be able to lend a hand in a day or two. Then we must see about givin' the poor cap'n and the surgeon a decent buryin', as befits gen'lemen." He paused to take breath. "Of course, Ben, there aren't no sort of sign of land yet, eh? You've kep' a good look-out, I suppose?"
Ben was sitting on the corner of a sea-chest pulling off his boots. He leaned wearily back, and answered with a yawn—
"I can't say as I've seen any real sign," he said. "But somehow it seems to me we can't be very far off. A school of gulls flew over us this morning, and one of 'em—quite a young one—perched on the taffrail. She looked as if she'd just come off her roost."
"That should be a kind of sign," agreed the quartermaster. "What did the cap'n say when the last reckonin' was took? Did he give any word as to where we might make a landfall?"
Ben drowsily answered, "Somewheres off the west of Ireland, if I remember aright."
The quartermaster was silent for many moments. He was mentally calculating the chances of theAurorareaching land in safety.
"Ben," he said presently, "d'ye think you could put your hand on a chart and find out our bearings?"
But Ben did not answer. He was sound asleep.
And while he slept, the message that he had cast upon the waters went drifting eastward. It drifted for many days, but always steadily eastward in the grip of the great Gulf Stream. And at last it was found. It was picked up by an Orkney fisherman off the west coast of Pomona Island. The slip of paper was duly passed from hand to hand until it came into the possession of Captain Speeding, whose little frigate theFirebrand, twenty-eight guns, was at that time stationed in Stromness Bay for the protection of fisheries and of trade.
Of course Captain Speeding could not think of quitting his comfortable quarters and sailing off on what, after all, was probably a wild-goose chase. How could he tell that the message was genuine? It might well be a mere hoax, a wily ruse of one of the Scapa Flow smugglers, or even (which was quite likely) a clever trick of John Goff, the redoubtable pirate of the Pentland Firth, to get his Majesty's shipFirebrandand her bristling guns temporarily away from the islands, so that he might run in his ill-gotten cargo undisturbed. Captain Speeding had been in active search of John Goff and his freebooting crew for months past, and it was not his intention to let the rascals slip through his fingers.
And yet, considering the matter from the point of viewof duty, he dared not ignore the summons that had come to him from across the sea. The distressed ship was one of his Majesty's, and if the writing of the appealing letter was to be credited, succour was urgent.
"Look here, Brown," cried the captain of theFirebrand, flinging the torn and sea-stained slip of paper across the wardroom table to his first lieutenant—"this thing troubles me. If there's anything in it, 'tis my bounden duty, I take it, to send relief of some sort—eh? Read it over again. Read it, and tell me if you think 'tis genuine."
Mr. Brown spread out the flimsy sheet in front of him, screwed up his eyes, and read aloud, slowly and deliberately, the words inscribed upon it—
"God send speedy help to his Majesty's brigAurora, homeward bound from St. John's to Plymouth, and in dire distress. North latitude 58 degrees, west longitude 10 degrees, as near as can be made out. Benjamin Clews, 27th July 1746."
"Well?" interrogated the captain.
"I'd lay my life 'tis genuine," said Mr. Brown. "I know theAurora. I saw her in Chatham dockyard three years ago. What's more, I believe my old messmate Arthur Vincent sailed with her on this same cruise. The only thing that troubles me is the writing on this thing." He tapped the paper with his fingers. "This is a youngster's hand—some swab of a ship's boy. Why didn't one of the officers write it? That's what I want to know."
Captain Speeding took a turn aft along the cabin floor with his hands clasped behind his back, and stood at the open port meditatively looking out across the calm, sunlit bay to where a faint film of blue peat smoke floated above the quaint old gabled houses of Stromness. Then he returned to the table, hastily took out his watch, and said decisively—
"Brown, get the chart of the North Atlantic. Findthe brig's position at the time when the word was sent off; allow for her being disabled, and calculate where she may be found. I am going to despatch Moreland in search with the cutter. The craft can't be far off, for, you see, this message has only been in the water fourteen days."
"I have already consulted the chart," remarked Mr. Brown. "I make out that theAurorais somewhere in the neighbourhood of the St. Kilda Islands."
"I never heard of them," confessed the captain. "Are they inhabited?"
"God knows," said Mr. Brown.
II
"D'yehear, Ben? D'ye hear?"
Ben woke up with a start and rubbed his eyes.
"Did you speak, quartermaster?"
"Speak? Lor' bless you, lad, I've been a-speakin' this half-hour past. What in thunder's all that noise? Listen! I've heard it ever since daybreak. I can't make it out nohow."
Ben sat up and listened. A prolonged half-roaring, half-musical sound filled the air from without.
"It do sound queer, don't it?" he said. "I wonder what 'tis?"
"Best tumble up and find out," advised the quartermaster. "I'd say 'twas birds if it wasn't so loud. Birds couldn't make all that row."
Ben pulled on his boots and went up to the forecastle deck. The sight and sounds that met him were such as he had never before encountered in all his three years' voyaging.