The White Gauntlet Part 6

he continued, as the horseman glided beyond his reach--"My pistols!"

"Ho, there!" shouted he to his followers. "Your carbines! Fire upon him! Where are your weapons, you careless vagabonds? To horse, and follow!"

"An ye take my advice, masters," put in the landlord of the inn--a st.u.r.dy tapster of independent speech--"ye'll stay wheer ye are. An ye doan't, ye'll be havin' yeer ride for nothin'. Ye mawt as well gie chase to a wild goose. He'll be two mile frae this, 'fore you can git astride o' your nags."

"What, varlet!" cried the cuira.s.sier captain, turning furiously upon the speaker--"you presume--"

"Only, great coronel, to gie ye a bit o' sound advice. Ye ma' folla it or no' an' ye pleeze; but if ye folla him ye won't catch him--not this night, I trow, though theer _be_ a full moon to light ye on his track."

The air of imperturbable coolness, with which the Saxon Boniface made rejoinder, instead of increasing the fury of the officer, seemed rather to have the effect of tranquillising him.

"You know him, then?" demanded he in an altered tone.

"Well, e-e's! a leetlish bit only. He be one o' my customers, and have his drink occasional as he pa.s.ses by here. I know his horse a bit better mayhap. That be a anymal worth the knowin'. I've seed him clear that geeat--it be six-feet-high--moren once, wee've seed him do it.

Ha'nt we, lads?"

"That we have, Master Jarvis," replied several of the bystanders, to whom the appeal had been made.

"E-ees, indeed, great coronel," continued the landlord, once more addressing his speech to the captain of cuira.s.siers, "an' if yer fellows want to folla him, they maun be up to ridin' cross country a bit, or else--"

"His name!" eagerly interrupted the officer, "You know where the knave lives?"

"Not exactly--neyther one nor t'other," was the equivocal reply. "As for his name, we only knows him 'bout here as the _Black Horseman_, an'

that he belong som'ere among the hills up the Jarret's Heath way--beyond the great park o' Bulstrode."

"Oh! he lives near Bulstrode, does he?"

"Somer bot theer, I dar say."

"_I_ know where he lives," interposed one of the rustics who stood by.

"It be a queery sort o' a place--a old red brick house; an' Stone Dean be the name o't. It lie in the middle o' the woods 'tween Beckenfield an' the two Chaffonts. I can take ye theer, master officer, if ye be a wantin' to go."

"Jem Biggs!" said the landlord, sidling up to the last speaker, and whispering the words in his ear, "thee be a meddlin' 'ficious beggar.

If thee go on such a errand, don't never again show thy ugly mug in my tap room."

"Enough!" impatiently exclaimed the officer; "I dare say we shall easily find the fellow. Dismount, men," continued he, turning to some of the troopers, who had sprung into their saddles. "Return your horses to their stalls. We may as well stay here for the night," he added in a whisper, to his cornet; "it's no use going after him till the morning.

As the old prattler says, we might have our ride for nothing. Besides, there's that little appointment in Uxbridge. By the angel Gabriel!

I'll find the knave if I should have to scour every corner of the county. More wine, landlord!--burnt sack!--and beer for these thirsty vagabonds! We'll drink the king once more, with three times three. Ha!

where's our courtier? Gone too?"

"He's just ridden off, captain," answered one of the troopers, still seated in his saddle. "Shall I gallop after, and bring him back?"

"No," replied the officer, after a moment's consideration. "Let the stripling go his way. I know where _he's_ to be found; and shall do myself the honour of dining with him to-morrow. The wine! Come! fill your cans, you right royal rascals, and drink--_The King_!"

"_The King! Hurraw_!"

Volume One, Chapter VIII.

Desirous of escaping from the disagreeable companionship--into which he had been so unceremoniously, as well as unwillingly, drawn--the young courtier had taken advantage of the confusion, and trotted quietly away.

On rounding a corner--beyond which the road was not visible from the inn--he put spurs to his horse, and urged the animal into a gallop.

Though he had given no offence, he was not without apprehension, that he might be followed, and summoned back: for the brace of bullies, from whom he had just parted, appeared quite capable of committing further outrage. He knew that, in the name of the king, excesses were of every-day occurrence. The Monarch's minions had become accustomed to insult the people with impunity. The soldiers in particular bore themselves offensively--more especially those hungry troopers, who, returning unpaid from the Northern campaign, were thrown idle upon the country. The disgrace they had fairly earned--by fleeing before the Scots, from the ford of Newburn--had deprived them of the sympathies of their own countrymen: as a natural consequence provoking towards the latter a sort of swaggering and reckless hostility.

The incident which had occurred, and in which he had been an involuntary actor, inspired Walter Wade with some emotions that were new to him: and, as he slackened his pace, after a sharp canter, he fell into a train of reflections very different from those hitherto engaging his thoughts.

He was still too young to have entered into the politics of the time.

He knew that there was trouble between the king and his people; but, breathing only the atmosphere of the "Presence," he could have no other belief, than that the right was on the side of royalty.

He knew that the king, after an interregnum of eleven years, had summoned a Parliament, to settle the differences between himself and his subjects. He knew this, from having been officially present at its opening. He knew, moreover, that this Parliament, after sitting only a few days, had been summarily dismissed: for he had been also present at its prorogation.

What should the young courtier care for such incidents as these--however significant they might be to the patriot, or politician?

To do him justice, however, Walter Wade, young as he was, was not altogether indifferent to what was pa.s.sing. The spirit of his ancestry--that love of liberty, that had displayed itself at Runnymede-- was not absent from his bosom. It was there; though hitherto held in check by the circ.u.mstances surrounding him. He had witnessed the punishments of the pillory--by summary sentence of Star Chamber and High Commission Court; he had been present at fearful spectacles, of ear-croppings and other mutilations; and, although among companions, who beheld such scenes with indifference--or often regarded them as sources of amus.e.m.e.nt--more than once had he been profoundly affected by them.

Stripling though he was, more than once had he reflected upon such royal wrongs. Circ.u.mstances, however, had placed him among the ranks of those, to whom the smiles of a tyrant were sweet; and he was still too young and unreflecting, to give other than a pa.s.sing thought to the theme of Liberty.

That the enemies of the king suffered justly, was the belief that was breathed around him. He heard the statement on all sides, and from pretty lips--from the lips of a queen! How could he question its truth?

His encounter with the cuira.s.siers had produced an impression upon him, calculated to shake his political sentiments--almost to change them.

"A scandal!" muttered he to himself. "That these military bullies should be allowed to act as they please! I wonder the king permits it.

Perhaps it may be true what 'wicked Pym,' as the queen calls him--said in the Parliament House:--that his Majesty encourages their insubordination. Ah! if I had thought so, I should have joined that brave fellow, who drank just now to _the people_. By-the-bye, who can _he_ be? He's gone up the road--as if he lived our way. A splendid rider, and a horse worthy of him. I never saw either before. If he be of Bulstrode neighbourhood, he must have come into it since my time.

Perhaps a traveller only? And yet his horse looked fresh, as if he had just stepped out of the stable. He could not have ridden him farther than from Uxbridge?

"I thought those fellows were preparing to pursue him," continued he, glancing back over his shoulder. "They must have given up the idea: else I should hear them behind me. If they come on, I shall slip aside among the trees, and let them pa.s.s. I don't want any more converse with such companions as Captain Scarthe--that's what his cornet called him, I think; nor yet with Master Cornet Stubbs himself. Stubbs indeed!

Surely, there must be something in names?"

On finishing this series of reflections, the young courtier drew bridle, and halted for the purpose of listening.

He could hear voices behind--at the inn--a chorus of rough voices in loud vociferation. It was the "hip hurrah," of the troopers responding to the toast of "_the king_" There were no other sounds--at least none to indicate that the pursuit was being continued.

"Good! they are not following him. Prudent on their part, I should say.

If he has kept on, as he started he will be miles off by this."

"There's no chance of my overtaking him!" continued he, once more heading his horse to the road. "My faith! I wish I could. Now that I remember the circ.u.mstance, I've heard there are robbers on this route.

Sister wrote me about them, not long since. They stopped a lady's coach, and plundered it; though they did no hurt to the lady beyond stripping her of her jewels--even to the rings in her ears! Only one of them--the captain I suppose--came near the coach. The others stood by, but said not a word. How very funny of the fellows to act so! Well, if it be my ill-fortune to encounter robbers, I hope it may also be my good fortune to find them equally well-mannered. I don't mind giving them all I've got,--it's not much--if they'll only let me pa.s.s on, unmolested like the lady. I'faith, I've been a fool to leave London so late: and that unlucky adventure at the inn has made it later. It's quite right.

There's a beautiful moon, to be sure; but what of that, in this lonely place? It would only help to give light to the rascals; and enable them all the more easily to strip me of my trappings."

Notwithstanding his apparent indifference to an encounter with robbers, which these reflections might indicate, the young traveller was not without some apprehension. At the time, the roads of England were infested with highwaymen, and footpads. Robberies were incidents of daily occurrence--even on the very skirts of the metropolis; and on the highways, and byeways, the demand for your purse was almost as common as the modern solicitation for alms.

In general, the "gentlemen of the road" were not sanguinary in their disposition. Some were even courteous. In truth, many of them were men who, by the tyrannous exactions of the Sovereign, had been beggared in fortune, and forced to adopt this illegal mode of replenishing their exchequers. They were not all ruffians by instinct. Still there were some of them, with whom "Stand and deliver!" meant "Death if you do not!"

It was not without a feeling of nervousness, that Walter Wade scanned the long slope of road extending towards the crest of Red Hill--at the bottom of which he had now arrived. It was on this very hill--as stated in the correspondence of his sister--that the coach had been stopped, and the lady rifled of her rings.

The road running up the steep acclivity was of no great width--nothing resembling the broad macadamised "turnpike" of modern times. It was a mere track, just wide enough for wheels--bordered by a beechen forest, through which the path wound upward; the trees standing close along each side, and in some places forming arcades over it.

The young traveller once more reined up, and listened. The voices from the inn no longer reached his ear--not even in distant murmuring. He would have preferred hearing them. He almost wished that the pursuit had been continued. Little as he might have relished the companionship of Captain Scarthe, or Cornet Stubbs, it would have been preferable to falling into that of a party of highwaymen or footpads.

He bent forward to catch any sound that might come from the road before him. He could hear none--at least, none of a character to make him uneasy. The soft monotone of the goatsucker fell upon his ear, mingled with the sharper note of the partridge, calling her young across the stubble. He heard, also, the distant barking of the watch-dog, and the sheep-bell tinkling in the fold; but these sounds, though characteristic of tranquil country life--and sweet to his ear, so long hindered from hearing them--were not inconsistent with the presence either of footpad or highwayman; who, lurking concealed among the trees, need not interrupt their utterance.