Peregrine's Progress Part 17

"And will you let your mother pray in vain?"

"In vain," he repeated, "in vain? Why, blast the Pope, hasn't she saved me from bein' scragged many a time--didn't she save me t'night?"

"Doesn't she pray rather that you may turn honest?"

"Honest!" quoth he, spitting. "Let them be honest as can! An' look 'ee, my lad, I'll tell ye what--you leave my dead mother alone or 't will be the worse for ye."

Having uttered which threat he strode on, scowling and snorting, now and then, in a very disturbing manner, so that I ventured no further remark and we walked a great way in silence until, suddenly venting a snort fiercer and louder then ever, he spoke:

"Honest!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Honest--why, curse your carkis, who are you to talk o' honesty? d'ye know as you're liable to be took by any o'

these honest uns--took an' appre'ended as my accomplice afore an'

arter the fact--d'ye know that?"

"G.o.d help me!" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, in agonised dismay. "Oh, heaven help me!"

"Let's 'ope so!" he nodded grimly. "Meantime, I intend to do a bit for ye that way meself--seein' as you 'elped me t'night wi' that cursed knot. I'd managed 'em all but one an' that were out o' reach--so because o' that theer knot an' my good mother, I'm a-goin' to--do the best I can for ye."

"How--when--what do you mean?" I questioned eagerly.

"Never you mind, only I am--an' no man can say honester or fairer, an'

I'm a-goin' t' do my best for ye because, bein' the son o' my blessed mother, I'm that tender-'earted that, though I'm th' son o' my feyther I've knowed myself to drop a tear in the very act o' business. She were an' old lady in a pair-'oss phaeton wi' plenty o' sparklers an'

nice white hair: a rosy old creetur, comfortably plump and round--'specially in front. 'O Mr. 'ighwayman!' says she, weepin'

doleful as she tipped me 'er purse an' the shiners, ''ow could ye do it?' 'Ma'm,' I says, wipin' my eyes wi' my pistol--and--'ma'm, I don't know--but do it I must!' An' I rode away quite down-'earted." Here he turned to regard me with his wry smile.

Thus we held on, by field paths and narrow muddy tracks until the moon was down and I was stumbling with weariness. At last, my strength almost spent, we entered a wood, a dismal place where a mournful wind stirred, where trees dripped upon me and wet leaves brushed my face like ghostly fingers, while rain-sodden underbrush and bracken clung about my wearied limbs. Through this clammy dreariness I followed my tireless companion until suddenly his dim form vanished and I was groping amid damp leaves; but through this dense thicket came his hand to seize and drag me on until I found myself in a place of utter darkness.

"Stand still!" he commanded.

A moment after I heard him strike flint and steel and presently he lighted a candle-end by whose welcome beam I saw we stood in a roomy cave. And an evil place I thought it, full of unexpected corners, littered with all manner of odds and ends and divers misshapen bundles. Having set down the candle, the highwayman drew a dingy blanket before the cave mouth and turned to scowl at me, eyeing my shrinking person over from dripping hat to sodden boots; and well might I shrink, for surely few waking eyes have beheld such a wild and terrifying vision as he presented, his battered face, his garments mired and torn, his hands hidden in the pockets of his riding-coat.

"Tyburn Tree!" said he suddenly. "The nubbing cheat! 'Tis there I'm like to go one o' these days an' all along o' my kind 'eart--with a curse on't. There were only three men in this 'ard world as knew o'

this 'ere refuge, an' Ben Purvis was shot three year ago an' poor Nick Scrope swings a-top o' River Hill--which left only me. An' now 'ere's you--curse on my kind 'eart, says I!"

"Indeed--oh, indeed you may trust me--"

"W'y, there it is--I must trust you, blast my kind 'eart, I says! But look now, my cove, this here cave being as ye might say the secoor 'aven of a pore soul as the world don't love--if you should ever peach to a nark or speak a word of it to the queer coves, why then this pore soul will come a-seekin' till you're found an' blow your danged face off."

Hereupon I broke into such fervent protestations of secrecy as seemed to satisfy him, for he turned, and from a roughly constructed cupboard took a black bottle and two mugs; having filled the mugs he pa.s.sed one to me and, raising the other to his lips, nodded:

"Happy days, pal!" said he; and so we drank together. The potent spirit warmed and comforted me despite the misery of wet boots and damp clothes, and seated on a box I was already half-asleep when his grip on my shoulder roused me and, starting up, I saw he had undone one of the bundles and spread the contents before me on the floor, namely: a rough jacket, cord breeches, woollen stockings and a pair of stout, clumsy shoes. "Get 'em on!" he commanded. So because I needs must, I obeyed; and though these rough garments fitted me but ill, I found them warm and comfortable enough.

"You'll do!" he nodded. "Roll ye'self in the mud an' your own mother'll never know ye. An' now--off wi' you!"

"Do you mean--I must go?" said I, aghast and shivering at the recollection of the dreary wilderness outside.

"Aye, I do so!" quoth he, seating himself on the small barrel that served him as a chair.

"And will you send me away dest.i.tute--without a penny?"

At this he was silent awhile, head bowed as one in profound thought, then groping in his capacious pocket, he at last drew forth my purse, stared at it, weighed it on his palm and suddenly thrust it into my hand; then as I stood amazed beyond speech, he took out my watch.

"Gold!" he muttered, as if to himself. "A gold tattler as would bring me--take it an' be d.a.m.ned!" saying which he thrust it savagely upon me.

"This--this is generous--" I began.

"Norra word!" he growled. "They said my feyther was a rogue an' hanged him according, but my mother was a saint as went back to heaven, so if you must thank anybody, thank 'er memory. An' now off wi' ye, lest minding my feyther, I take 'em back again."

Hereupon I made haste to be gone, but reaching the blanket at the cave mouth, I turned and came back again.

"Good-bye, Galloping Jerry!" said I, and held out my hand.

Now at this he drew in his breath sharply and sat scowling at my outstretched hand as though it had been something very rare and curious; at last he raised his keen eyes to my face in quick, strange scrutiny.

"Why, Lord love my eyes!" he exclaimed, like one greatly amazed, "Lord love my eyes and limbs!" Then, all at once, he took my hand, gripping it very hard, and held it thus a long moment, loosing it as suddenly; and so I turned and, lifting the blanket, went out into the dreary desolation of the wood.

On the misery of this night's wanderings I will not dwell; let it suffice to say that, sick and reeling with weariness and lack of sleep, I came at sunrise upon a barn into which I crept and here, with no better couch than a pile of hay, I was thankful to stretch my aching body, and so fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

CHAPTER XI

WHICH PROVES BEYOND ALL ARGUMENT THAT CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN

I awoke very stiff and sore and full of a black, oppressive melancholy despite the bright sunshine that poured in at every crack and crevice of the old barn. To this depression was added sudden dread as I recalled the incidents of last night and how (albeit unwittingly) I had favoured the escape of a desperate outlaw, thus placing myself in danger of arrest and possible imprisonment.

At this horrid thought I started up in great perturbation until observing thus my clumsy shoes, thick stockings and other garments of my rustical disguise, my apprehensions abated somewhat and I sat down again to ponder gloomily on my future course.

And now leapt Memory to tempt me, for I must needs think of my aunt who, viewed from my present deep of misery and loneliness, seemed like some G.o.ddess very high and remote. I yearned bitterly for that pa.s.sionate, if somewhat tyrannic, devotion to my every need and comfort, and for the serene, untroubled haven her love and mere presence had ever afforded me.

With the money in my possession I had but to charter a horse or vehicle and in a few hours should be with her again, safe from all fears and dangers, secure from all further hardships. Moved by this thought, I rose to eager feet, but remembering the keen, critical eyes and aggressive chin of my uncle Jervas, I sat down again.

I remained thus some considerable time, torn between these conflicting emotions until at last, clenching my hands, I determined I would go on and persevere in the adventure at all hazards; though I must confess I came to this final decision more from pride and fear of ridicule than strength of character.

I remember I had just arrived at this conclusion that was to so vitally affect and change my after life, when the door of the barn creaked suddenly open and a man appeared who, espying me where I sat crouched among the hay, stooped to view me over. For a moment I blinked, dazzled by the sun-glare, then I saw him for a tall, bony man with a long nose and a ferrety eye.

"Come out o' that!" quoth he, fondling the lash of an ugly-looking whip he carried. "Who give you leave to snore in my barn? Come out of it!"

"Sir," said I, rising and saluting him with a somewhat haughty bow, "I regret to have trespa.s.sed upon your property, but when I remind you of last night's dreadful storm and further inform you that I was lost, you will, I am sure--"

"Come out of it--d'ye hear!" he repeated more angrily then before.

"And don't try coming any o' your imperence wi' me, my lad--come, out ye go!"

"Willingly!" said I disdainfully. "Permit me first to a.s.sure you that if my sheltering in this barn has caused any damage to your property, I will reimburse you to any reasonable--"