The Yeoman Adventurer
cause, but the only son of a widowed mother for no cause whatsoever.
Christ, I said to myself, would not have raised the young man of Nain
merely to get married.
Still there was the work, and I spurned my gloomy thoughts and turned to
think of it. And first I took stock of my means of offence. There were
loaded pistols in the holsters, fine long weapons with polished walnut
stocks inlaid with silver lacery and the initials 'C.W.', the Colonel's
without a doubt. At the saddle-bow there hung a sizeable leathern pouch,
and this I found to contain a good supply of charges. I was a sure shot,
and I tried my skill on a gate as Sultan flew by, splintering the latch at
which I aimed to a nicety, the well-trained horse taking no more notice of
the shot than of a wink at a passing market-wench. So far so good. Then
there was the sergeant's tuck, and I shouted with a schoolboy's glee at
having for the first time in my life a sword at my side. Of how to use it
I knew nothing, unless many bouts at single-stick with Jack should be some
sort of apprenticeship in swordcraft. I practised pulling it out, and
then, imitating Brocton, made the forty-inch blade twist and tang in the
air, which pleased me greatly. I felt quite a Cavalier now, and said
within myself that old Smite-and-spare-not's bones should soon be rustling
in their grave with envy.
And so into Meece, wondering if the fat host of the "Black Bull" would
recognize in the splendidly mounted horseman the dusty schoolboy of ten
years ago. There he was in the porch, grown intolerably fatter, talking to
my ancient gossip, Rupert Toms, the sexton, now heavily laden with years
and infirmities. I pricked on, having no time to spare for either prayer
or provender, since every moment was precious, though a tankard of double
October, mulled with spice and laced with brandy, would have been precious
too, for the matter of that.
At the tail of the village, where the curve of the road runs into the
straight again to climb the long hill, I came for a moment into touch with
my affair. A horseman was in sight, rattling down the slope, and I saw
that he was an officer, a keen-featured, middle-aged man, with the set
face of one who rides on urgent business. Yet he checked his horse when
near me, and cried curtly, "What news from Stafford?"
A word with him might be worth while, so I too pulled up and answered
very politely, "It's market-day."
"Damn the market! What news of the troops, sir? Is my Lord Brocton still
there?"
"I believe he is."
"Then damn my Lord Brocton! Did you chance to see him?"
"I had that honour late last night."
"Anything the matter with him?"
"He'd had enough," said I simply.
"That's what comes of shoving sprigs of your bottle-sucking nobility into
the service. Damn his nobility! There's another of them back yonder, as
much use as an old tup."
"If I detain you much longer," said I, with exaggerated sweetness,
"you'll be damning me."
"Nothing likelier. I damn everything and everybody that don't suit me.
That's why I'm captain at fifty instead of colonel at thirty. What of it?"
"Lord Brocton's nine miles off, and I'm not."
"Think I care? Damn you, too, and I'll fight you when we meet again. Like
a lark! Wish I'd time now. Good day, sir!"
He dug the rowels into his horse and was off. An earnest, choleric man
with his heart in his work, for which I liked him, even to his persistent
damning.
I put Sultan to the slope and he kept bravely at it till I eased him off
where the rise was steepest. My late encounter clearly meant that affairs
were ripening fast farther north, and it might also mean danger behind me
sooner than I had looked for. The blood danced in my veins at the prospect
of the adventures that awaited me. Ho, for life and work! Would it be long
before the blue eyes lanced me through and through again, as when I kissed
her hand among the trees by the roadside? I looked at the frosty sun and
judged that it was nigh on twenty-four hours since I had stood in the
porch and watched mother and Kate across the cobbles into the
road--twenty-four hours that had done more for me than the twenty-four years
that had gone before them, for they had given me a man's task, a man's
thoughts, the stirrings of a man's being, the beginning of a man's agony.
We were at the top now with the open country stretching for miles around
us. But the dale beneath, through which the main road ran a mile away to
the east, was thick with trees, and I could get no inkling of how things
were going. I strained my ears to listen, but no warning sound could I
hear. The countryside was still and calm as a frozen sea, and war and its
terrors seemed so impossible that for a moment I felt as if it was only a
dream-life that I was living and that I must wake soon and hear Joe Braggs
trolling out his morning song in honour of Jane. But Sultan craned round
his shapely head as if to ask me why I was loitering in the cold, bleak
air; so with a cheery slap on his glossy neck, I gave him the reins and
away he went, with me spitting ghostly Broctons on the sergeant's tuck.
Through the skirts of the woodland he carried me, and then up again till
on the top of Clayton Bank I pulled him up a second time for another
survey of the situation.
The little town was now in full view a mile ahead, lying on the slope and
top of some rising ground. Across the meadows to my right, and now plainly
to be seen less than half a mile away, was the main road from Stone. Again
I was disappointed. A long, rude post-wagon, pulled by eight horses and
driven by a man on an active little nag, was groaning its way south; a
solitary horseman was ambling north--and that was all I could see.
What had happened to the Colonel? Were the dragoons in the town or not? I
dug my heels into Sultan's flanks and put him to it at his best, and in a
few minutes was on the outskirts of the town.
The town consists in the main of two streets. The High Street is simply
the town part of the main road from the south and Stone to Congleton and
the north--the line along which the Stuart Prince was marching. It
deserves its name, for it lies along the edge of the slope on which the
town lies. Parallel to it in the dip lies Lower Street, and the road I was
on curls past the end of this street and climbs gently to join the upper
road. I could thus get into the heart of the town through the poorer
quarter of it, and soon the kidney-stones of Lower Street rang under
Sultan's hoofs.
The stir and noise of Stafford was completely absent. The townspeople,
mainly hatters by trade, were plying their craft indoors as if no enemy
were at their gate. In fact, as I learned afterwards, there was no fuss
and much fun and good business when the Highlanders actually came on the
scene. The farther a town was from them the more it funked them, which
was, as everybody knows now, truest of all of London. As I turned up the
lane by St. Giles', the church bells chimed two. Past the church in the
corner between the lane and the High Street was the "Rising Sun." Once
Sultan was safe in its stables I could set about getting news of the
Colonel before Margaret and Master Freake arrived.
It was stiff work up the last thirty yards, and Sultan shook himself
together after it when he drew out on the level High Street. Here were
throngs of people and some signs of trouble toward. In particular I
noticed the town fathers in their black gowns of office, and, most
conspicuous of all, the crimson and fur of his worship. I judged they were
coming from a council meeting in the town hall, which stood in the middle
of the wide High Street. There was much high debate, wagging of fingers
and smiting of fist in palm, but no approach to the tumult and terror of
yesternight. The Mayor stood for a moment confabbing at the door of a
grocery, and then shot into it. I saw him struggling out of his gown as he
disappeared, and thence inferred that the chief burgess was a grocer in
private life.
So much I saw before pulling Sultan round to pass under the archway
leading into the yard of the "Rising Sun." I dismounted and called for an
ostler. No man appearing, I was about to lead Sultan farther down the yard
towards the stables when there was a scurry of feet behind me as if the
whole ostler-tribe of the "Rising Sun" was hastening to my assistance. I
turned round rattily to find myself looking into the barrel of a pistol,
while three or four men pounced on me and pinned me against the wall.
"Damn ye, horse-thief, for the black of a bean I'd blow your brains out,"
said Colonel Waynflete. "Stick tight, lads; and you, good host, fetch
along Master Mayor and the constable, and have me the scoundrel laid by
the heels. If this were only my commandery on the Rhine! I'd strappado you
and then hang you within the next half-hour. My bonny Sultan! How are you,
my precious?"
When a raw youth leaves farming for knight-erranting he must expect sharp
turns and rough tumbles, but surely Fate and Fortune were overdoing it
now. It was the Colonel beyond doubt, and Margaret had limned him to the
life. The hawk-eyes, the hook nose, the leathery skin, the orange-tawny
campaign-wig with the grizzled hair peeping under the rim of it, the tall,
thin, supple figure, all were there. And if I had been in any doubt of it,
Sultan would have settled the matter, for his pleasure at finding his
master was delightful to witness.
In hot blood I did not mind a pistol, and in the coldest blood I could
easily have kicked loose from the men who had got hold of me. But Margaret
kept my limbs idle and my mouth shut. There was no real danger, for that
matter, unless Margaret and Master Freake failed to turn up at the "Rising
Sun," and there was no reason to suppose they would fail. The Colonel gave
me no chance to speak to him privately, and to speak to him publicly might
upset his plans. How he had got here a free man, what strange turn things
had taken in his favour, I could not imagine. Margaret would be here in an
hour and put matters right, so for her sake it would be best and easiest
to say nothing. I simply made up my mind that the varlet on my right,
whose dirty claws and beery breath were sickening me, should have the
direst of drubbings before the day was out.
Mine host bustled off for the Mayor, and, the news having gone around,
the yard was filled with people watching the fun and making a
mocking-stock of me. The Colonel saw Sultan off to be groomed and baited,
and then, without so much as a look at me, went into the inn and sat down
to his interrupted meal. I could see him plainly through the window, and
hugely admired his coolness. The maids clustered around to have a peep at
me. Such as were old and ugly declared off-hand that I was indisputably
ripe for the gallows, but a younger one with saucy eyes and cherry-red
cheeks blew a kiss, and called out to beery breath to deal gentlier with
me. He moved a little in turning to grin at her, and I shot my knee into
his wind and doubled him up on the ground. A stouter lad took his place,
but his breath was sweet and I gained much in comfort by the change.
The situation had the saving grace of humour. For twenty-four hours I had
been on the stretch to save Colonel Waynflete from his enemies. To do it I
had left mother and sister, and home and lands. To do it I had come out
openly on the side of rebellion and treason. The sword had been at my
breast, and the wind of a bullet had stirred the hair of my head. I might
have spared my pains. All this pother of mine was over the man sitting
yonder, heartily enjoying his dinner. All my heroics had ended in my being
arrested as a horse-thief.
I closed my eyes. Picture after picture came before me of Margaret in her