Peregrine's Progress Part 16

"More like cursing. Jerry's a-flamming o' ye, young sir. An' the punch is ready at last." So while the storm raged outside, we sat down at the table beside the hearth where gla.s.ses were filled from a great bowl of steaming brew and forthwith emptied to my very good health.

And now to the accompaniment of howling wind and lashing rain, the Bow Street officers recounted the history of Galloping Jerry's capture.

"'T were this evenin' as ever was just about dark, on the 'ill yonder.

About 'arf way up there's a biggish tree, an' we was a-layin' for 'im there, Jimmy an' me, wi' our barkers ready, 'avin' been given the office. Presently we 'ears the sound o' hoofs an' down 'ill easy-like comes a mounted cove. It's 'im!' says I. 'Sure?' says Jimmy. 'Sartin,'

says I, 'I knows 'im by 'is 'at!' 'Werry good!' says Jimmy, an' lets fly an' down comes the 'oss 'eadfirst, squealin' like a stuck pig, an'

away down 'ill shoots Jerry, rollin' over an' over, an' then we was on 'im wi' our truncheons an' we give 'im wot for--eh, Jimmy?"

"Ar!" quoth Jimmy. "We did!"

"And a werry pretty little job it were--eh, Jimmy?"

"Ar!" quoth Jimmy. "It were!"

"Considerin' 'im such a werry desp'rit cove an' all--an' a pair o'

popps in 'is 'olsters as long as your arm--they're in the pockets o'

my greatcoat yonder--you can see 'em stickin' out. Yes, a sweet, pretty bit o' work as ever we done, eh, Jimmy?"

"Ar--though 'e floored you once."

"Aye--that was when 'e slipped off the darbies--Oh, a desp'rit cove an' the more credit to us! A desp'rit villain--slipped th' darbies, 'e did, an' us was forced to truss 'im wi' rope."

Here every one vied in expressions of acclaim and all eyes turned to that shadowy corner where the prisoner sat crouched in the same posture, b.l.o.o.d.y head bowed feebly on bowed breast. And now, as the gla.s.ses emptied and were refilled (with the exception of mine), we hearkened to tales of horrid murders and ghastly suicides, of gruesome deeds and b.l.o.o.d.y affrays of hunters and hunted until the landlady gasped and, calling the maid for company, went off to bed, while the men turned to stare uneasily behind them and I myself felt my flesh creep. But as the great bowl emptied, tongues began to stutter, and in the midst of a somewhat incoherent reminiscence of Tom's, the man Vokes snored loudly, whereupon Tom blinked and pillowing his bullet head on the table, promptly snored also; and glancing drowsily around upon the others, I saw they slumbered every one. Hereupon I rose, minded to seek my chamber, but before I reached the door I was arrested by a hoa.r.s.e whisper:

"Brother--for th' love o' G.o.d!"

Peering towards the captive, I saw him upon his back, his face ghastly in the shadow. "Oh, brother," he whispered faintly, "I think I'm a-dyin'! Show kindness to a dyin' man an' ease my poor arms a bit."

Moved by pity for his misery and seeing how cruelly he was bound, I contrived, with no small ado, to loosen his bonds somewhat, whereupon he blessed me faintly and closed his eyes. "If ye could bring me a drop more water, death 'ud come easier," he whispered.

So I rose and, coming to the table, found the jug empty, therefore out I went to the place beyond where I judged was the pump, and here found a bucket br.i.m.m.i.n.g with water wherewith I filled the jug. Creeping back to the kitchen, I stopped at once, my heart thumping, for to my wonder and dismay I beheld the prisoner on his feet, free of his bonds and rubbing and chafing his wrists and hands and arms. Then all at once this pitiful creature leapt to swift and terrible action, for at one bound, as it seemed, he had reached the chair where hung the officer's greatcoat, whipped forth and c.o.c.ked the pistols and with these murderous things levelled in his hands, crept upon the sleepers. The jug slipped from my nerveless hold and, roused by the crash of its fall, the man Tom lifted his head only to stare dazedly into the nearest pistol muzzle and the awful scowling face behind it; while the highwayman, reaching out his second pistol, awoke Mr. Vokes with a smart rap on the crown, whereupon, cursing drowsily, he sat up, clasping his hurt and immediately sank cowering in his chair, which action roused the landlord who stared, gasped a feeble "Lorramighty!"

and sat motionless.

"Norra word!" quoth the highwayman. "Let a man s' much as whisper an'

I blow that man's face off. Ah, an' by hookey, I would, whether or no, if I was th' b.l.o.o.d.y rogue ye tell me for, 'stead of an 'ighly respectable genelman o' the road with a eye to business. So now turn out your pockets all--an' quick about it."

It was strange to see with what apparent eagerness each man stripped himself of such valuables as he possessed, all of which the highwayman appraised with expert eye.

"Young master," quoth he, beckoning to me with a flourish of his nearest pistol, "come you here!" Trembling I obeyed and at his command transferred the spoil to the capacious pockets of his muddy coat--in I thrust them with unsteady fingers,--rings, purses, a couple of watches, silver snuff and tobacco boxes, etc.: which done, he bade me fetch the ropes that had bound him.

"Now you," quoth he, tapping the flinching Tom's bristly cheek with his pistol barrel, "you're a likely cove at tying knots--get to work, my lad, and sharp it is!"

So under his watchful eye, Tom proceeded to bind his companions very securely to their chairs, which done, the highwayman again summoned me and commanding Tom to remove his belt, constrained me to bind the officer's arms behind him therewith and scarce knowing what I did, I lashed the man Tom fast to his chair. This done, the highwayman showed me how I must gag them and when this had been done to his satisfaction, he nodded:

"And now," quoth the highwayman, his battered features twisted in a wry smile as they sat thus gagged and helpless, "hearken all. If I was the murderous cove you name me, I might cut your throats as ye sit, which would be a j'y, or I might shoot ye or set the place afire an'

roast ye, 'stead o' which I spits on an' leaves ye. An' now, young master, for your own sake--come along o' me; they'll likely be arter you too for this as a accomplice o' the fact. So come along o' Jerry an' d.a.m.n their eyes an' limbs, say I!" With which, having stayed to kick Mr. Vokes and the two Bow Street officers, he thrust pistols into pockets and seizing me in powerful grip, hurried me away.

CHAPTER X

THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE SAME

The storm had pa.s.sed and I remember the moon was shining as, turning our backs upon the silent inn of the "Jolly Waggoner," we made off along the road at a good, sharp pace. And now, what with the stillness of the night and the strange happenings of the last few hours and the wild figure of the highwayman who seemed even more grim and terrifying by moonlight, my overwrought emotions brought on me a nausea of horror and faintness so that I stumbled more than once, whereupon my companion, tightening his grip, dragged me on, cursing me heartily; so that, contrasting his brutality with my aunt Julia's tender, loving care and my desperate plight with the luxurious security of home, I felt all at once the hot smart of tears and so fell to a silent pa.s.sion of grief and yearning.

Thus we tramped on some while, the highwayman and I, until, having mastered this weakness somewhat, I ventured to steal a glance at him and immediately forgot my own grief in stark wonder and amaze to behold him weeping also, for upon his scarred cheek the moon showed me the gleam of tears, and even as I stared he rubbed at his eyes with hairy knuckle, sniffed and cursed softly. So great was my astonishment that I stopped to stare at him, whereupon he stopped to scowl at me.

"Well?" he enquired gruffly. "An' what now?"

"You--can shed tears also, then?" said I.

"Well, an' why not?" he demanded. "Can't a cove grieve now an' then if he's a mind to?"

"But you're a highwayman!"

"Which seein' you say so, I'll not deny," said he. "So I'll trouble you for your purse an' also your ticker--an' sharp's the word!" And speaking, he whipped a pistol beneath my chin, whereupon I delivered up the articles named as quickly as my consternation would allow. "And now," said he, pocketing my erstwhile property and seizing my arm again, "come on, friend, an' let this be a warnin' never to disturb a 'ighwayman wot grieves."

"Why do you grieve?"

"For my Chloe!"

"Your wife?"

"Wife--no! Never 'ad a wife--never shall. There's no woman breathin'

could ekal my Chloe for love an' faithfulness--used to nibble my 'air, she did, poor la.s.s!"

"Nibble your hair?" I repeated. "Pray who was she?"

"My mare, for sure--my pretty mare as 'adn't 'er ekal for speed nor wind--my mare as they Bow Street dogs shot an' left to bleed 'er life out in the mud an' be d.a.m.ned to 'em."

"Then the tale of your wife and babies weeping for you was untrue?"

"Every word of it, friend. An' what then? A man's apt to say anything to save 'is neck--now ain't 'e? Wouldn't you?"

Now at this I was silent and we walked for a while with never a word.

"And your mother?" I questioned at last. "Your mother praying for you--was that also untrue?"

"My mother," said he, lifting his face to the radiant moon, "my mother died three years ago--on her knees--prayin' for me--an' it's like enough she's on 'er knees afore th' Throne a-prayin' for me this werry minute."

"And yet you are a--highwayman?"

"Why, friend, 'tis in the family, y' see. My father was one afore me an' uncommon successful--much looked up to in 'is perfession, though a little too quick o' th' trigger finger--but 'e was took at last, 'ung at Tyburn an' gibbeted on Blackheath. They took me to see 'im in 'is chains, an' bein' only a little lad, I cried all the way back 'ome to my mother an' found 'er a-cryin' too. But because 'e'd been so famous in 'is perfession they gibbeted 'im very 'igh, an' so, as folk 'ad looked up to 'im in life they did the same in death."

"Yours is a very evil, dangerous life," said I, after a while.

"Evil?" he repeated. "Well, life mostly is evil if ye come to think on it. An' as for danger--'t's so-so--three times shot, six times in jail an' many a rousin' gallop wi' the hue an' cry behind. But arter all 'tis my perfession an' there's worse, so what I am I'll be."