The Yeoman Adventurer
at eve. And I, who am six feet in my socks, had hardly to lower my eyes to
look into hers. Her face was beautiful beyond all imagining of mine. I had
conjured up visions of Dido enthralled of Aeneas, of Cleopatra bending
Antony to her whim. But the conscious art of my day-dreams had wrought no
such marvel as here I saw in very flesh before me. I felt as one who
drinks deep of some rich and rare vintage, and wonders why the gods have
blessed him so. And further, as small things jostle big things in the
mind, I knew that this was the real queen that had dazzled Joe Braggs.
"What do you call it?" she said, looking down at the fish.
"A jack, or pike, madam."
"'The tyrant of the watery plains,' as Mr. Pope calls him. You've heard
of Mr. Pope, the poet?" She spoke as if 'No' was the inevitable answer.
"Strictly speaking, no, madam," said I gravely, "but I have read his
so-called poems." She frowned. "Horace calls the jack," I continued,
"_lupus_, the wolf-fish, as one may say, and a very good name too.
Doubtless madam has heard of Horace."
My quip brought a glint into her eyes and a richer colour to her cheek.
"Yes, heard of him," she said, with a trace of chagrin in her voice. "And
now, O Nimrod of the watery plains, how far is it to the village smithy?"
"Just under a mile, madam."
"And how long does it take to shoe a horse?"
"How many shoes, madam?"
Again the glint in her eyes, and this time I saw some of the blue in
them. "One, sir," she said shortly.
"Ten to fifteen minutes, madam."
"He's a very long time," she said under her breath.
"The smith is probably very busy to-day."
"Busy! Why so?"
"The dragoons may have found him much work," said I, merely my way of
explaining the delay. But the words stabbed her. She laid a hand on my arm
and cried gaspingly, "Dragoons! What do you mean? Quick!"
"The Duke of Cumberland is marching north from Lichfield against the
Stuart, and Lord Brocton's dragoons are in the village."
"Brocton! O God! Brocton! My father is taken! And by Brocton!" She spoke
aloud in her agitation, and I saw that she was cut to the quick. And I
rejoiced, so strange is the human heart, that it was Lord Brocton's name
that came in anguish off her tongue. Oh for one blow at the man whose
father had harried mine into an untimely grave!
In sharp, frosty air sound travels far across the meadows of the
Hanyards. The hills that hem the valley to the west perhaps act as a
sounding board. Anyhow, further inquiry as to her trouble was stopped by
the rattle of distant hoofs. We were standing now less than a dozen paces
from the bridge. A straggling hedge, on a low bank, crossed flush up to
the bridge by a stile, cut the field off from the road. I rushed to the
stile, and cautiously pushed my head through near the ground. Half a mile
of level road stretched to my right towards the village, and along it, and
now less than six hundred yards away, a squad of dragoons was galloping
towards us. The hedge was thin and leafless, and there was not cover
enough for a rabbit. I ran back. "Dragoons," said I.
"After me," she replied carelessly, and I saw that danger for herself
left her cold.
I kicked the great jack motionless, flung him to the foot of the bank
under the hedge, and the rod after him, hurried her up to the stile,
leaped into the water, took her in my arms, and carried her under the
bridge. In less than a minute after I stopped wading, the dragoons
clattered overhead.
Not an hour ago I had been aching for life and adventures, and here I
was, up to the loins in water, with a goddess in my arms. Her right arm
was round my neck, and her cheek so near that I felt her sweet, warm
breath fanning my own. As the sounds died away, I turned and looked at her
face, and I had my reward. Her eyes told me that she thanked and trusted
me.
"Well done, fisherman!" she said for the second time.
"You're heavier than the jack," replied I, hitching her as far from the
water as possible before wading back. A minute later I put her down on the
bank with tumbled, yellow hair and face flaming red. I examined her
critically, and cried triumphantly, "Not a stitch wet!"
CHAPTER II
THE SERGEANT OF DRAGOONS
I threw the jack across my shoulder and we started for the Hanyards.
Madam offered no explanations, and I made no inquiries. It was obvious to
me that the dragoons had gone on to the little hedge ale-house, a good,
long mile away, where the road from the village struck into a roundabout
road to Stafford. Here, in the "Bull and Mouth," Mother Braggs ruled by
day and Master Joe by night, and here beyond a doubt the stranger lady had
tarried while her father had gone on with the horses to the nearest smithy
at Milford.
There was ample time to get to the Hanyards, but still, for safety's
sake, we kept behind hedges as far as possible. She walked ahead, and I
followed behind, water oozing out of my boots and breeches at every step,
and the jack's tail flopping against my legs. Never had I gone home from
fishing with such prizes. What pleased me most was her silence. It matched
the trust in her eyes. Except for brief instructions as to the direction,
no word passed until we gained the Hanyards from the rear, and I led her
into the house-place unobserved by anyone.
"There is little time to talk," I began. "The dragoons are certain to
come here, as this is the only house between the inn and the village. Your
father is, you fear, a prisoner, and indeed it seems the only explanation
of his absence. I do not ask why. I gather that there is no purpose to be
served by your sharing his fate."
"Free, I may be able to help him. A prisoner, I should...." She stopped,
hesitating.
"My Lord Brocton?" said I interrogatively. For the second time her face
burned, and I saw in it shame and distress and fear. My lord was piling up
a second account with me, and for humbling this proud beauty he should one
day pay the price in full.
But it was time to act. I ran to the porch and roared out, "Jane! Jane!
Where are you? Come here quick!"
Jane came running in from the kitchen. She stopped dead with surprise
when she saw my companion, and could not even cackle on about the jack.
"Now, Jane, do exactly what I say. Take this lady upstairs and dress her
as nearly like yourself as you can. It's good you are much of a height.
Pack her own clothes carefully out of sight. Off, quick!"
They disappeared upstairs, and I watched the yard gate with eager eyes.
No dragoons appeared, and in a short time madam and Jane were back in the
house-place. Jane had done her work well. The great lady was now a fine
country serving-wench, her shapeliness obscured in a homespun gown that
fitted only where it touched, her feet in huge, rough boots, her yellow
hair plastered back off her forehead and bunched into one of Jane's
'granny caps,' and indeed totally hidden by the large flap thereof, which
in Jane's case served the purpose of "keepin' the draf out'n 'er
neck-hole" when she was at work in the dairy. For my share of disguising,
I now rubbed together some ruddle and dry soil, and the mixture gave a
necessary touch of coarseness to her hands. Altogether she was changed out
of recognition, even if, which was not the case, any of her pursuers had
seen her previously.
"Jane," said I, "her name is Molly Brown. She has served here two years.
Her mother lives at Colwich. Have you both got that?"
"Molly Brown--two years--mother at Colwich," said madam with a smile, and
Jane repeated it after her.
"Now, Molly," said I, with an answering smile, "Jane will start you
churning. It's an easy job. You just turn a handle till the butter comes.
Do not flatter yourself that you'll get any butter, but I'll forgive you
that. And, having learned from Jane how to pretend to do it, you need not
churn in earnest till the dragoons ride into the yard. Listen to Jane, and
you, Jane, for the next ten minutes, teach the lady how to talk
Staffordshire fashion."
"Rate y'are, Master Noll," said Jane, who was plainly bursting with the
importance of her task.
"First lesson, madam," said I. "'Rate y'are,' not 'Right you are!' It was
not Mr. Pope's manner of speech, but it will suit your circumstances
better. Off to the dairy, and leave the dragoons to me!"
"Rate y'are, Master Noll," said madam, and, our anxieties
notwithstanding, we both joined in Jane's rattle of laughter.
They went off to the dairy, and I began my own preparations. I displayed
the great jack in full view on the table, forestalling Kate's housewifely
objections by disposing him on an old coat of mine, so that he should not
mess the table. In the house-place he looked much finer and longer than in
the open air, and I gloated over him as he lay there. I longed to change
my clothes, not so much for comfort's sake as to cut a better figure in
her eyes; but I dared not run the risk of not being at hand when the
dragoons arrived. I drew a quart jug of ale, threw most of it away, got
down a horn drinking-cup, drank a little, spilled some down my clothes,
slopped some on the table, made up the fire, and sat down to wait. It was
now about half-past three, the straw-coloured sun was perching on the
hill-tops, and darkness would soon be drawing on apace.
For perhaps a quarter of an hour I sat there, living over again the
precious minutes under the bridge, when the clatter of hoofs awakened me
to the realities of the situation. Peeping cautiously past the edge of the
blind, I saw the dragoons--there were six of them--ride up to the gate.
Sharp orders rang out, and three of the men dismounted, including him who
had given the orders, and came up the yard. One stayed at the gate to mind
the horses, and the other two trotted off on the scout round the fields
near the farm.
I slipped back to my chair, and let my chin drop on my chest, as if I
were dozing in drink.
Some one said at the porch door, "In the King's name!" I took no notice,
and they crowded, jingling and noisy, into the porch. Again sharp commands
were given; the two men grounded their arms with a clang on the stone
floor of the porch, and waited there. The man in command stepped forward
into the firelight and said crisply, "In the King's name!"
It was idle to pretend any longer. I raised my head and blinked drunkenly
at him. Then I filled the horn, sang thickly and with beery gusto, "Here's
a health unto His Majesty," and said, "Fill up and drink, whoever you are,
and shut the door. It's damned cold."
He had little, red, ferrety eyes, and they looked fiercely at
me--fiercely but not suspiciously, I thought. He waved my hospitality
aside, and said, "You are Oliver Wheatman?"
"Oliver Wheatman of the Hanyards, Esquire, at His Majesty's service to
command," I replied with great gravity, and filled another horn of ale. I
might pretend to be drunk, but I could not, unfortunately, pretend to
drink, and it was strongish ale. He made a motion to stop me--welcome
proof that he believed me tipsy in fact--and said, "Master Wheatman, the
less drunken you are, the better you will answer my questions."
"Sir," said I, draining off the horn, "I can drink and talk with any man
living, and, drunk or sober, I only answer the questions of my friends. So
get a horn off the dresser--I'm a bit tired--fill up, and tell me what you
want. D'you happen to be of my Lord Brocton's regiment?"
"I am."
"Then you'll be as drunk as me before you've finished with the Hanyards.
Our ale goes to the head most damnably quick, let me tell you. You tell my
dear old butty, the worshipful Master Jack Dobson, that I've caught a jack
half as thick and more than half as long as himself. Here it be. Fetch a
horn, I tell you, and drink to me and the two jacks--Jack Dobson and this
jack beauty here."