Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
their friends, and those who defended their enemies. My partners in
breakfast and beer-can swore that I was no prisoner, but the best and
most loyal subject, and the finest-hearted fellow they had ever the luck
to meet with. Whereas the men from the linhay swore that I was a rebel
miscreant; and have me they would, with a rope's-end ready, in spite
of every [violent language] who had got drunk at my expense, and been
misled by my [strong word] lies.
While this fight was going on (and its mere occurrence shows, perhaps,
that my conversation in those days was not entirely despicable--else
why should my new friends fight for me, when I had paid for the ale, and
therefore won the wrong tense of gratitude?) it was in my power at any
moment to take horse and go. And this would have been my wisest plan,
and a very great saving of money; but somehow I felt as if it would be a
mean thing to slip off so. Even while I was hesitating, and the men were
breaking each other's heads, a superior officer rode up, with his sword
drawn, and his face on fire.
“What, my lambs, my lambs!” he cried, smiting with the flat of his
sword; “is this how you waste my time and my purse, when you ought to be
catching a hundred prisoners, worth ten pounds apiece to me? Who is this
young fellow we have here? Speak up, sirrah; what art thou, and how much
will thy good mother pay for thee?”
“My mother will pay naught for me,” I answered; while the lambs fell
back, and glowered at one another: “so please your worship, I am no
rebel; but an honest farmer, and well-proved of loyalty.”
“Ha, ha; a farmer art thou? Those fellows always pay the best. Good
farmer, come to yon barren tree; thou shalt make it fruitful.”
Colonel Kirke made a sign to his men, and before I could think of
resistance, stout new ropes were flung around me; and with three men on
either side I was led along very painfully. And now I saw, and repented
deeply of my careless folly, in stopping with those boon-companions,
instead of being far away. But the newness of their manners to me, and
their mode of regarding the world (differing so much from mine own), as
well as the flavour of their tobacco, had made me quite forget my duty
to the farm and to myself. Yet methought they would be tender to me,
after all our speeches: how then was I disappointed, when the men who
had drunk my beer, drew on those grievous ropes, twice as hard as the
men I had been at strife with! Yet this may have been from no ill will;
but simply that having fallen under suspicion of laxity, they were
compelled, in self-defence, now to be over-zealous.
Nevertheless, however pure and godly might be their motives, I beheld
myself in a grievous case, and likely to get the worst of it. For the
face of the Colonel was hard and stern as a block of bogwood oak; and
though the men might pity me and think me unjustly executed, yet they
must obey their orders, or themselves be put to death. Therefore I
addressed myself to the Colonel, in a most ingratiating manner; begging
him not to sully the glory of his victory, and dwelling upon my pure
innocence, and even good service to our lord the King. But Colonel Kirke
only gave command that I should be smitten in the mouth; which office
Bob, whom I had flung so hard out of the linhay, performed with great
zeal and efficiency. But being aware of the coming smack, I thrust
forth a pair of teeth; upon which the knuckles of my good friend made a
melancholy shipwreck.
It is not in my power to tell half the thoughts that moved me, when
we came to the fatal tree, and saw two men hanging there already, as
innocent perhaps as I was, and henceforth entirely harmless. Though
ordered by the Colonel to look steadfastly upon them, I could not bear
to do so; upon which he called me a paltry coward, and promised my
breeches to any man who would spit upon my countenance. This vile
thing Bob, being angered perhaps by the smarting wound of his knuckles,
bravely stepped forward to do for me, trusting no doubt to the rope I
was led with. But, unluckily as it proved for him, my right arm was free
for a moment; and therewith I dealt him such a blow, that he never spake
again. For this thing I have often grieved; but the provocation was very
sore to the pride of a young man; and I trust that God has forgiven me.
At the sound and sight of that bitter stroke, the other men drew back;
and Colonel Kirke, now black in the face with fury and vexation, gave
orders for to shoot me, and cast me into the ditch hard by. The men
raised their pieces, and pointed at me, waiting for the word to fire;
and I, being quite overcome by the hurry of these events, and quite
unprepared to die yet, could only think all upside down about Lorna,
and my mother, and wonder what each would say to it. I spread my hands
before my eyes, not being so brave as some men; and hoping, in some
foolish way, to cover my heart with my elbows. I heard the breath of
all around, as if my skull were a sounding-board; and knew even how the
different men were fingering their triggers. And a cold sweat broke all
over me, as the Colonel, prolonging his enjoyment, began slowly to say,
“Fire.”
But while he was yet dwelling on the “F,” the hoofs of a horse dashed
out on the road, and horse and horseman flung themselves betwixt me and
the gun muzzles. So narrowly was I saved that one man could not check
his trigger: his musket went off, and the ball struck the horse on the
withers, and scared him exceedingly. He began to lash out with his heels
all around, and the Colonel was glad to keep clear of him; and the men
made excuse to lower their guns, not really wishing to shoot me.
“How now, Captain Stickles?” cried Kirke, the more angry because he had
shown his cowardice; “dare you, sir, to come betwixt me and my lawful
prisoner?”
“Nay, hearken one moment, Colonel,” replied my old friend Jeremy; and
his damaged voice was the sweetest sound I had heard for many a day;
“for your own sake, hearken.” He looked so full of momentous tidings,
that Colonel Kirke made a sign to his men not to shoot me till further
orders; and then he went aside with Stickles, so that in spite of all my
anxiety I could not catch what passed between them. But I fancied that
the name of the Lord Chief-Justice Jeffreys was spoken more than once,
and with emphasis and deference.
“Then I leave him in your hands, Captain Stickles,” said Kirke at last,
so that all might hear him; and though the news was good for me, the
smile of baffled malice made his dark face look most hideous; “and I
shall hold you answerable for the custody of this prisoner.”
“Colonel Kirke, I will answer for him,” Master Stickles replied, with a
grave bow, and one hand on his breast: “John Ridd, you are my prisoner.
Follow me, John Ridd.”
Upon that, those precious lambs flocked away, leaving the rope still
around me; and some were glad, and some were sorry, not to see me
swinging. Being free of my arms again, I touched my hat to Colonel
Kirke, as became his rank and experience; but he did not condescend to
return my short salutation, having espied in the distance a prisoner,
out of whom he might make money.
I wrung the hand of Jeremy Stickles, for his truth and goodness; and
he almost wept (for since his wound he had been a weakened man) as he
answered, “Turn for turn, John. You saved my life from the Doones; and
by the mercy of God, I have saved you from a far worse company. Let your
sister Annie know it.”
CHAPTER LXVI
SUITABLE DEVOTION
Now Kickums was not like Winnie, any more than a man is like a woman;
and so he had not followed my fortunes, except at his own distance. No
doubt but what he felt a certain interest in me; but his interest was
not devotion; and man might go his way and be hanged, rather than horse
would meet hardship. Therefore, seeing things to be bad, and his master
involved in trouble, what did this horse do but start for the ease and
comfort of Plover's Barrows, and the plentiful ration of oats abiding
in his own manger. For this I do not blame him. It is the manner of
mankind.
But I could not help being very uneasy at the thought of my mother's
discomfort and worry, when she should spy this good horse coming home,
without any master, or rider, and I almost hoped that he might be caught
(although he was worth at least twenty pounds) by some of the King's
troopers, rather than find his way home, and spread distress among
our people. Yet, knowing his nature, I doubted if any could catch, or
catching would keep him.
Jeremy Stickles assured me, as we took the road to Bridgwater, that the
only chance for my life (if I still refused to fly) was to obtain
an order forthwith, for my despatch to London, as a suspected person
indeed, but not found in open rebellion, and believed to be under the
patronage of the great Lord Jeffreys. “For,” said he, “in a few hours
time you would fall into the hands of Lord Feversham, who has won this
fight, without seeing it, and who has returned to bed again, to have his
breakfast more comfortably. Now he may not be quite so savage perhaps
as Colonel Kirke, nor find so much sport in gibbeting; but he is equally
pitiless, and his price no doubt would be higher.”
“I will pay no price whatever,” I answered, “neither will I fly. An hour
agone I would have fled for the sake of my mother, and the farm. But
now that I have been taken prisoner, and my name is known, if I fly,
the farm is forfeited; and my mother and sister must starve. Moreover, I
have done no harm; I have borne no weapons against the King, nor desired
the success of his enemies. I like not that the son of a bona-roba
should be King of England; neither do I count the Papists any worse than
we are. If they have aught to try me for, I will stand my trial.”
“Then to London thou must go, my son. There is no such thing as trial
here: we hang the good folk without it, which saves them much anxiety.
But quicken thy step, good John; I have influence with Lord Churchill,
and we must contrive to see him, ere the foreigner falls to work again.
Lord Churchill is a man of sense, and imprisons nothing but his money.”
We were lucky enough to find this nobleman, who has since become so
famous by his foreign victories. He received us with great civility;
and looked at me with much interest, being a tall and fine young
man himself, but not to compare with me in size, although far better
favoured. I liked his face well enough, but thought there was something
false about it. He put me a few keen questions, such as a man not
assured of honesty might have found hard to answer; and he stood in a
very upright attitude, making the most of his figure.
I saw nothing to be proud of, at the moment, in this interview; but
since the great Duke of Marlborough rose to the top of glory, I have
tried to remember more about him than my conscience quite backs up.
How should I know that this man would be foremost of our kingdom in
five-and-twenty years or so; and not knowing, why should I heed
him, except for my own pocket? Nevertheless, I have been so
cross-questioned--far worse than by young Lord Churchill--about His
Grace the Duke of Marlborough, and what he said to me, and what I said
then, and how His Grace replied to that, and whether he smiled like
another man, or screwed up his lips like a button (as our parish tailor
said of him), and whether I knew from the turn of his nose that no
Frenchman could stand before him: all these inquiries have worried me
so, ever since the Battle of Blenheim, that if tailors would only print
upon waistcoats, I would give double price for a vest bearing
this inscription, “No information can be given about the Duke of
Marlborough.”