CHAPTER XVI. — THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD HEATH.

Night came, and found us but midway between Temple and Launceston: for tho’ my comrade stepp’d briskly beside me, ’twas useless to put Molly beyond a walk; and besides, the mare was new from her day’s journey. This troubled me the less by reason of the moon (now almost at the full), and the extreme whiteness of the road underfoot, so that there was no fear of going astray. And Billy engaged that by sunrise we should be in sight of the King’s troops.

“Nay, Jack,” he said, when by signs I offered him to ride and tie: “never rode o’ horseback but once, and then ’pon Parson Spinks his red mare at Bideford. Parson i’ those days was courtin’ the Widow Hambly, over to Torrington: an’ I, that wanted to fare to Barnstaple, spent that mornin’ an’ better part o’ th’ afternoon, clawin’ off Torrington. And th’ end was the larboard halyards broke, an’ the mare gybed, an’ to Torrington I went before the wind, wi’ an unseemly bloody nose. ‘Lud!’ cries the widow, ‘’tis the wrong man ’pon the right horse!’ ‘Pardon, mistress,’ says I, ‘the man is well enow, but ’pon the wrong horse, for sure.’”

Now and then, as we went, I would dismount and lead Molly by the bridle for a mile or so: and all the way to Launceston Billy was recounting his adventures since our parting. It appeared that, after leaving me, they had come to Plymouth with a fair passage: but before they could unlade, had advertisement of the Governor’s design to seize all vessels then riding in the Sound, for purposes of war; and so made a quick escape by night into Looe Haven, where they had the fortune to part with the best part of their cargo at a high profit. ’Twas while unlading here that Billy had a mind to pay a debt he ow’d to a cousin of his at Altarnun, and, leaving Matt Soames in charge, had tramped northward through Liskeard to Launceston, where he found the Cornish forces, and was met by the news of the Earl of Stamford’s advance in the northeast. Further meeting, in Sir Bevill’s troop, with some north coast men of his acquaintance, he fell to talking, and so learn’d about me and my ride toward Braddock, which (it seem’d) was now become common knowledge. This led him to seek Sir Bevill, with the result that you know: “for,” as he wound up, “’tis a desirable an’ rare delight to pay a debt an’ see some fun, together.”

We had some trouble at Launceston gate, where were a few burghers posted for sentries, and, as I could see, ready to take fright at their own shadows. But Billy gave the watchword (“One and All”), and presently they let us through. As we pass’d along the street we marked a light in every window almost, tho’ ’twas near midnight; and the people moving about behind their curtains. There were groups too in the dark doorways, gather’d there discussing, that eyed us as we went by, and answered Billy’s Good-night, honest men! very hoarse and doubtfully.

But when we were beyond the town, and between hedges again, I think I must have dozed off in my saddle. For, though this was a road full of sharp memories, being the last I had traveled with Delia, I have no remembrance to have felt them; or, indeed, of noting aught but the fresh night air, and the constellation of the Bear blazing ahead, and Billy’s voice resonant beside me.

And after this I can recall passing the tower of Marham Church, with the paling sky behind it, and some birds chattering in the carved courses: and soon (it seem’d) felt Billy’s grip on my knee, and open’d my eyes to see his finger pointing.

We stood on a ridge above a hollow vale into which the sun, though now bright, did not yet pierce, but passing over to a high, conical hill beyond, smote level on line after line of white tents—the prettiest sight! ’Twas the enemy there encamped on the top and some way down the sides, the smoke of their trampled watch fires still curling among the gorsebushes. I heard their trumpets calling and drums beating to arms; for though, glancing back at the sun, I judged it to be hardly past four in the morning, yet already the slopes were moving like an ant-hill—the regiments gathering, arms flashing, horsemen galloping to and fro, and the captains shouting their commands. In the distance this had a sweet and cheerful sound, no more disquieting than a ploughboy calling to his team.

Looking down into the valley at our feet, at first I saw no sign of our own troops—only the roofs of a little town, with overmuch smoke spread above it, like a morning mist. But here also I heard the church bells clashing and a drum beating, and presently spied a gleam of arms down among the trees, and then a regiment of foot moving westward along the base of the hill. ’Twas evident the battle was at hand, and we quicken’d our pace down into the street.

It lay on the slope, and midway down we pass’d some watch fires burn’d out; and then a soldier or two running and fastening their straps; and last a little child, that seem’d wild with the joy of living amid great events, but led us pretty straight to the sign of “The Tree,” which indeed was the only tavern.

It stood some way back from the street, with a great elm before the porch: where by a table sat two men, with tankards beside them, and a small company of grooms and soldiers standing round. Both men were more than ordinary tall and soldier like: only the bigger wore a scarlet cloak very richly lac’d, and was shouting orders to his men; while the other, dress’d in plain buff suit and jack boots, had a map spread before him, which he studied very attentively, writing therein with a quill pen.

“What a plague have we here?” cries the big man, as we drew up.

“Recruits if it please you, sir,” said I, dismounting and pulling off my hat, tho’ his insolent tone offended me.

“S’lid! The boy speaks as if he were a regiment,” growls he, half aloud: “Can’st fight?”

“That, with your leave, sir, is what I am come to try.”

“And this rascal?” He turned on Billy.

Billy heard not a word, of course, yet answered readily—

“Why, since your honor is so pleasantly minded—let it be cider.”

Now the first effect of this, deliver’d with all force of lung, was to make the big man sit bolt upright and staring: recovering speech, however, he broke into a volley of blasphemous curses.

All this while the man in buff had scarce lifted his eyes off the map. But now he looks up—and I saw at the first glance that the two men hated each other.

“I think,” said he quietly, “my Lord Mohun has forgot to ask the gentleman’s name.”

“My name is Marvel, sir—John Marvel.” I answer’d him with a bow.

“Hey!”—and dropping his pen he starts up and grasps my hand—“Then ’tis you I have never thanked for His Gracious Majesty’s letter.”

“The General Hopton?” cried I. “Even so, sir. My lord,” he went on, still holding my hand and turning to his companion, “let me present to you the gentleman that in January sav’d your house of Bocconnoc from burning at the hands of the rebels—whom God confound this day!” He lifted his hat.

“Amen,” said I, as his lordship bowed, exceedingly sulky. But I did not value his rage, being hot with joy to be so beprais’d by the first captain (as I yet hold) on the royal side. Who now, not without a sly triumph, flung the price of Billy’s cider on the table and, folding up his map, address’d me again—

“Master Marvel, the fight to-day will lie but little with the horse—or so I hope. You will do well, if your wish be to serve us best, to leave your mare behind. The troop which my Lord Mohun and I command together is below. But Sir Bevill Grenville, who has seen and is interested in you, has the first claim: and I would not deny you the delight to fight your first battle under so good a master. His men are, with Sir John Berkeley’s troop, a little to the westward: and if you are ready I will go some distance with you, and put you in the way to find him. My lord, may we look for you presently?”

The Lord Mohun nodded, surly enough: so, Billy’s cider being now drunk and Molly given over to an ostler, we set out down the hill together, Billy shouldering a pipe and walking after with the groom that led Sir Ralph’s horse. Be sure the General’s courtly manner of speech set my blood tingling. I seem’d to grow a full two inches taller; and when, in the vale, we parted, he directing me to the left, where through a gap I could see Sir Bevill’s troop forming at some five hundred paces’ distance, I felt a very desperate warrior indeed; and set off at a run, with Billy behind me.

’Twas an open space we had to cross, dotted with gorsebushes; and the enemy’s regiments, plain to see, drawn up in battalia on the slope above, which here was gentler than to the south and west. But hardly had we gone ten yards than I saw a puff of white smoke above, then another, and then the summit ring’d with flame; and heard the noise of it roaring in the hills around. At the first sound I pull’d up, and then began running again at full speed: for I saw our division already in motion, and advancing up the hill at a quick pace.

The curve of the slope hid all but the nearest: but above them I saw a steep earthwork, and thereon three or four brass pieces of ordnance glittering whenever the smoke lifted. For here the artillery was plying the briskest, pouring down volley on volley; and four regiments at least stood mass’d behind, ready to fall on the Cornish-men; who, answering with a small discharge of musketry, now ran forward more nimbly.

To catch up with them, I must now turn my course obliquely up the hill, where running was pretty toilsome. We were panting along when suddenly a shower of sand and earth was dash’d in my face, spattering me all over. Half-blinded, I look’d and saw a great round shot had ploughed a trench in the ground at my feet, and lay there buried.

At the same moment, Billy, who was running at my shoulder, plumps down on his knees and begins to whine and moan most pitiably.

“Art hurt, dear fellow?” asked I, turning.

“Oh, Jack, Jack—I have no stomach for this! A cool, wet death at sea I do not fear; only to have the great hot shot burning in a man’s belly—’tis terrifying. I hate a swift death! Jack, I be a sinner—I will confess: I lied to thee yesterday—never kiss’d the three maids I spoke of—never kiss’d but one i’ my life, an’ her a tap-wench, that slapp’d my face for ’t, an’ so don’t properly count. I be a very boastful man!”

Now I myself had felt somewhat cold inside when the guns began roaring: but this set me right in a trice. I whipp’d a pistol out of my sash and put the cold ring to his ear: and he scrambled up; and was a very lion all the rest of the day.

But now we had again to change our course, for to my dismay I saw a line of sharpshooters moving down among the gorsebushes, to take the Cornishmen in flank. And ’twas lucky we had but a little way further to go; for these skirmishers, thinking perhaps from my dress and our running thus that we bore some message open’d fire on us: and tho’ they were bad marksmen, ’twas ugly to see their bullets pattering into the turf, to right and left.

We caught up the very last line of the ascending troop—lean, hungry looking men, with wan faces, but shouting lustily. I think they were about three hundred in all. “Come on, lad,” called out a bearded fellow with a bandage over one eye, making room for me at his side; “there’s work for plenty more!”—and a minute after, a shot took him in the ribs, and he scream’d out “Oh, my God!” and flinging up his arms, leap’d a foot in air and fell on his face.

Pressing up, I noted that the first line was now at the foot of the earthwork; and, in a minute, saw their steel caps and crimson sashes swarming up the face of it, and their pikes shining. But now came a shock, and the fellow in front was thrust back into my arms. I reeled down a pace or two and then, finding foothold, stood pushing. And next, the whole body came tumbling back on me, and down the hill we went flying, with oaths and cries. Three of the rebel regiments had been flung on us and by sheer weight bore us before them. At the same time the sharpshooters pour’d in a volley: and I began to see how a man may go through a battle, and be beat, without striking a blow.

But in the midst of this scurry I heard the sound of cheering. ’Twas Sir John Berkeley’s troop (till now posted under cover of the hedges below) that had come to our support; and the rebels, fearing to advance too far, must have withdrawn again behind their earthwork, for after a while the pressure eas’d a bit, and, to my amaze, the troop which but a minute since was a mere huddled crowd, formed in some order afresh, and once more began to climb. This time, I had a thick-set pikeman in front of me, with a big wen at the back of his neck that seem’d to fix all my attention. And up we went, I counting the beat of my heart that was already going hard and short with the work; and then, amid the rattle and thunder of their guns, we stopp’d again.

I had taken no notice of it, but in the confusion of the first repulse the greater part of our men had been thrust past me, so that now I found myself no further back than the fourth rank, and at the very foot of the earthwork, up the which our leaders were flung like a wave; and soon I was scrambling after them, ankle deep in the sandy earth, the man with the wen just ahead, grinding my instep with his heel and poking his pike staff between my knees as he slipp’d.

And just at the moment when the top of our wave was cleaving a small breach above us, he fell on the flat of his pike, with his nose buried in the gravel and his hands clutching. Looking up I saw a tall rebel straddling above him with musket clubb’d to beat his brains out: whom with an effort I caught by the boot; and, the bank slipping at that instant, down we all slid in a heap, a jumble of arms and legs, to the very bottom.

Before I had the sand well out of my eyes, my comrade was up and had his pike loose; and in a twinkling, the rebel was spitted through the middle and writhing. ’Twas sickening: but before I could pull out my pistol and end his pain (as I was minded), back came our front rank a-top of us again, and down they were driven like sheep, my companion catching up the dead man’s musket and ammunition bag, and I followed down the slope with three stout rebels at my heels. “What will be the end of this?” thought I. The end was, that after forty yards or so, finding the foremost close upon me, I turn’d about and let fly with my pistol at him. He spun round twice and dropp’d: which I was wondering at (the pistol being but a poor weapon for aim) when I was caught by the arm and pull’d behind a clump of bushes handy by. ’Twas the man with the wen, and by his smoking musket I knew that ’twas he had fired the shot that killed my pursuer.

“Good turn for good turn,” says he: “quick with thy other pistol!”

The other two had stopped doubtfully, but at the next discharge of my pistol they turn’d tail and went up the hill again, and we were left alone. And suddenly I grew aware that my head was aching fit to split, and lay down on the turf, very sick and ill.

My comrade took no notice of this, but, going for the dead man’s musket, kept loading and firing, pausing now and then for his artillery to cool, and whistling a tune that runs in my head to this day. And all the time I heard shouts and cries and the noise of musketry all around, which made me judge that the attack was going on in many places at once. When I came to myself ’twas to hear a bugle below calling again to the charge, and once more came the two troops ascending. At their head was a slight built man, bare-headed, with the sun (that was by this, high over the hill) smiting on his brown curls, and the wind blowing them. He carried a naked sword in his hand, and waved his men forward as cheerfully as though ’twere a dance and he leading out his partner.

“Who is that yonder?” asked I, sitting up and pointing.

“Bless thy innocent heart!” said my comrade, “dostn’t thee know? Tis Sir Bevill.”

’Twould be tedious to tell the whole of this long fight, which, beginning soon after sunrise, ended not till four in the afternoon, or thereabouts: and indeed of the whole my recollection is but of continual advance and repulse on that same slope. And herein may be seen the wisdom of our generals, in attacking while the main body of the enemy’s horse was away: for had the Earl of Stamford possessed a sufficient force of dragoons to let slip on us at the first discomfiture, there is little doubt he might have ended the battle there and then. As it was, the horse stood out of the fray, theirs upon the summit of the hill, ours (under Col. John Digby) on the other slope, to protect the town and act as reserve.

The foot, in four parties, was disposed about the hill on all sides; to the west—as we know—under Sir John Berkeley and Sir Bevill Grenville; to the south under General Hopton and Lord Mohun; to the east under the Colonels Tom Basset and William Godolphin; while the steep side to the north was stormed by Sir Nicholas Slanning and Colonel Godolphin, with their companies. And as we had but eight small pieces of cannon and were in numbers less than one to two, all we had to do was to march up the hill in face of their fire, catch a knock on the head, may be, grin, and come on again.

But at three o’clock, we, having been for the sixth time beaten back, were panting under cover of a hedge, and Sir John Berkeley, near by, was writing on a drumhead some message to the camp, when there comes a young man on horseback, his face smear’d with dirt and dust, and rides up to him and Sir Bevill. ’Twas (I have since learn’d) to say that the powder was all spent but a barrel or two: but this only the captains knew at the time.

“Very well, then,” cries Sir Bevill, leaping up gaily. “Come along, boys—we must do it this time.” And, the troop forming, once more the trumpets sounded the charge, and up we went. Away along the slope we heard the other trumpeters sounding in answer, and I believe ’twas a sursum corda! to all of us.

Billy Pottery was ranged on my right, in the first rank, and next to me, on the other side, a giant, near seven foot high, who said his name was Anthony Payne and his business to act as body-servant to Sir Bevill. And he it was that struck up a mighty curious song in the Cornish tongue, which the rest took up with a will. Twas incredible how it put fire into them all: and Sir Bevill toss’d his hat into the air, and after him like schoolboys we pelted, straight for the masses ahead.

For now over the rampart came a company of red musketeers, and two of russet-clad pikemen, charging down on us. A moment, and we were crushed back: another, and the chant rose again. We were grappling, hand to hand, in the midst of their files.

But, good lack! What use is swordsmanship in a charge like this? The first red coat that encounter’d me I had spitted through the lung, and, carried on by the rush, he twirled me round like a windmill. In an instant I was pass’d; the giant stepping before me and clearing a space about him, using his pike as if ’twere a flail. With a wrench I tugg’d my sword out and followed. I saw Sir Bevill, a little to the left, beaten to his knee, and carried toward me. Stretching out a hand I pull’d him on his feet again, catching, as I did so, a crack on the skull that would have ended me, had not Billy Pottery put up his pike and broke the force of it. Next, I remember gripping another red coat by the beard and thrusting at him with shortened blade. Then the giant ahead lifted his pike high, and we fought to rally round it; and with that I seem’d caught off my feet and swept forward:—and we were on the crest.

Taking breath, I saw the enemy melting off the summit like a man’s breath off a pane. And Sir Bevill caught my hand and pointed across to where, on the north side, a white standard embroider’d with gold griffins was mounting.

“’Tis dear Nick Slanning!” he cried; “God be prais’d—the day is ours for certain!”

CHAPTER XVII. — I MEET WITH A HAPPY ADVENTURE BY BURNING OF A GREEN LIGHT.

The rest of this signal victory (in which 1,700 prisoners were taken, besides the Major-General Chudleigh; and all the rebels’ camp, cannon and victuals) I leave historians to tell. For very soon after the rout was assured (the plain below full of men screaming and running, and Col. John Digby’s dragoons after them, chasing, cutting, and killing), a wet muzzle was thrust into my hand, and turning, I found Molly behind me, with the groom to whom I had given her in the morning. The rogue had counted on a crown for his readiness, and swore the mare was ready for anything, he having mix’d half a pint of strong ale with her mash, not half an hour before.

So I determin’d to see the end of it, and paying the fellow, climb’d into the saddle. On the summit the Cornish captains were now met, and cordially embracing. ’Tis very sad in these latter times to call back their shouts and boyish laughter, so soon to be quench’d on Lansdowne slopes, or by Bristol graff. Yet, O favor’d ones!—to chase Victory, to grasp her flutt’ring skirt, and so, with warm, panting cheeks, kissing her, to fall, escaping evil days!

How could they laugh? For me, the late passionate struggle left me shaken with sobs; and for the starting tears I saw neither moors around, nor sun, nor twinkling sea. Brushing them away, I was aware of Billy Pottery striding at my stirrup, and munching at a biscuit he had found in the rebels’ camp. Said he, “In season, Jack, is in reason. There be times to sing an’ to dance, to marry and to give in marriage; an’ likewise times to become as wax: but now, lookin’ about an’ seein’ no haughty slaughterin’ cannon but has a Cornishman seated ’pon the touch-hole of the same, says I in my thoughtsome way, ‘Forbear!’”

Presently he pulls up before a rebel trooper, that was writhing on the slope with a shatter’d thigh, yet raised himself on his fists to gaze on us with wide, painful eyes.

“Good sirs,” gasp’d out the rebel, “can you tell me—where be Nat Shipward?”

“Now how should I know?” I answer’d.

“’A had nutty-brown curls, an’ wore a red jacket—Oh, as straight a young man as ever pitched hay! ’a sarved in General Chudleigh’s troop—a very singular straight young man.”

“Death has taken a many such,” said I, and thought on the man I had run through in our last charge.

The fellow groaned. “’A was my son,” he said: and though Billy pull’d out a biscuit (his pockets bulged with them) and laid it beside him, he turn’d from it, and sank back on the turf again.

We left him, and now, the descent being gentler, broke into a run, in hopes to catch up with Col. John Digby’s dragoons, that already were far across the next vale. The slope around us was piled with dead and dying, whereof four out of every five were rebels; and cruelly they cursed us as we passed them by. Night was coming on apace; and here already we were in deep shadow, but could see the yellow sun on the hills beyond. We crossed a stream at the foot, and were climbing again. Behind us the cheering yet continued, though fainter: and fainter grew the cries and shouting in front. Soon we turn’d into a lane over a steep hedge, under the which two or three stout rebels were cowering. As we came tumbling almost atop of them, they ran yelling: and we let them go in peace.

The lane gradually led us to westward, out of the main line of the rout, and past a hamlet where every door was shut and all silent. And at last a slice of the sea fronted us, between two steeply shelving hills. On the crest of the road, before it plunged down toward the coast, was a wagon lying against the hedge, with the horses gone: and beside it, stretch’d across the road, an old woman. Stopping, we found her dead, with a sword-thrust through the left breast; and inside the wagon a young man lying, with his jaw bound up,—dead also. And how this sad spectacle happened here, so far from the battlefield, was more than we could guess.

I was moving away, when Billy, that was kneeling in the road, chanced to cast his eyes up toward the sea, and dropping the dead woman’s hand scrambled on his feet and stood looking, with a puzzled face.

Following his gaze, I saw a small sloop moving under shorten’d canvas, about two miles from the land. She made a pleasant sight, with the last rays of sunlight flaming on her sails: but for Billy’s perturbation I could not account, so turn’d an enquiring glance to him.

“Suthin’ i’ the wind out yonder,” was his answer: “What’s a sloop doing on that ratch so close in by the point? Be dang’d! but there she goes again;”—as the little vessel swung off a point or two further from the breeze, that was breathing softly up Channel. “Time to sup, lad, for the both of us,” he broke off shortly.

Indeed, I was faint with hunger by this time, yet had no stomach to eat thus close to the dead. So turning into a gate on our left hand, we cross’d two or three fields, and sat down to sup off Billy’s biscuits, the mare standing quietly beside us, and cropping the short grass.

The field where we now found ourselves ran out along the top of a small promontory, and ended, without fence of any sort, at the cliff’s edge. As I sat looking southward, I could only observe the sloop by turning my head: but Billy, who squatted over against me, hardly took his eyes off her, and between this and his meal was too busy to speak a word. For me, I had enough to do thinking over the late fight: and being near worn out, had half a mind to spend the night there on the hard turf: for, though the sun was now down and the landscape grey, yet the air was exceeding warm: and albeit, as I have said, there breath’d a light breeze now and then, ’twas hardly cool enough to dry the sweat off me. So I stretch’d myself out, and found it very pleasant to lie still; nor, when Billy stood up and sauntered off toward the far end of the headland, did I stir more than to turn my head and lazily watch him.

He was gone half an hour at the least, and the sky by this time was so dark, that I had lost sight of him, when, rising on my elbow to look around, I noted a curious red glow at a point where the turf broke off, not three hundred yards behind me, and a thin smoke curling up in it, as it seem’d, from the very face of the cliff below. In a minute or so the smoke ceased almost; but the shine against the sky continued steady, tho’ not very strong. “Billy has lit a fire,” I guessed, and was preparing to go and look, when I spied a black form crawling toward me, and presently saw ’twas Billy himself.

Coming close, he halted, put a finger to his lip and beckoned: then began to lead the way back as he had come.

Thought I, “these are queer doings:” but left Molly to browse, and crept after him on hands and knees. He turn’d his head once to make sure I was following, and then scrambled on quicker, but softly, toward the point where the red glow was shining.

Once more he pull’d up—as I judg’d, about twelve paces’ distance from the edge—and after considering for a second, began to move again; only now he worked a little to the right. And soon I saw the intention of this: for just here the cliff’s lip was cleft by a fissure—very like that in Scawfell which we were used to call the Lord’s Rake, only narrower—that ran back into the field and shelved out gently at the top, so that a man might easily scramble some way down it, tho’ how far I could not then tell. And ’twas from this fissure that the glow came.

Along the right lip of this Billy led me, skirting it by a couple of yards, and wriggling on his belly like a blind worm. Crawling closer now (for ’twas hard to see him against the black turf), I stopp’d beside him and strove to quiet the violence of my breathing. Then, after a minute’s pause, together we pulled ourselves to the edge, and peer’d over.

The descent of the gully was broken, some eight feet below us, by a small ledge, sloping outward about six feet (as I guess), and screen’d by branches of the wild tamarisk. At the back, in an angle of the solid rock, was now set a pan pierced with holes, and full of burning charcoal: and over this a man in the rebels’ uniform was stooping.

He had a small paper parcel in his left hand, and was blowing at the charcoal with all his might. Holding my breath, I heard him clearly, but could see nothing of his face, for his back was toward us, all sable against the glow. The charcoal fumes as they rose chok’d me so, that I was very near a fit of coughing, when Billy laid one hand on my shoulder, and with the other pointed out to seaward.

Looking that way, I saw a small light shining on the sea, pretty close in. ’Twas a lantern hung out from the sloop, as I concluded on the instant: and now I began to have an inkling of what was toward.

But looking down again at the man with the charcoal pan I saw a black head of hair lifted, and then a pair of red puff’d cheeks, and a pimpled nose with a scar across the bridge of it—all shining in the glare of the pan.

“Powers of Heaven!” I gasped; “’tis that bloody villain Luke Settle!”

And springing to my feet, I took a jump over the edge and came sprawling on top of him. The scoundrel was stooping with his nose close to the pan, and had not time to turn before I lit with a thud on his shoulders, flattening him on the ledge and nearly sending his face on top of the live coal. ’Twas so sudden that, before he could so much as think, my fingers were about his windpipe, and the both of us struggling flat on the brink of the precipice. For he had a bull’s strength, and heaved and kicked, so that I fully looked, next moment, to be flying over the edge into the sea: nor could I loose my grip to get out a pistol, but only held on and worked my fingers in, and thought how he had strangled the mastiff that night on the bowling-green, and vowed to serve him the same if only strength held out.

But now, just as he had almost twisted his neck free, I heard a stone or two break away above us, and down came Billy Pottery flying atop of us, and pinned us to the ledge.

’Twas short work now. Within a minute, Captain Luke Settle was turned on his back, his eyes fairly starting with Billy’s clutch on his throat, his mouth wide open and gasping; till I slipp’d the nozzle of my pistol between his teeth; and with that he had no more chance, but gave in, and like a lamb submitted to have his arms truss’d behind him with Billy’s leathern belt, and his legs with his own.

“Now,” said I, standing over him, and putting the pistol against his temple, “you and I, Master Turncoat Settle, have some accounts that ’twould be well to square. So first tell me, what do you here, and where is Mistress Delia Killigrew?”

I think that till this moment the bully had no idea his assailants were more than a chance couple of Cornish troopers. But now seeing the glow of the burning charcoal on my face, he ripped out a horrid blasphemous curse, and straightway fell to speaking calmly.

“Good sirs, the game is yours, with care. S’lid! but you hold a pretty hand—if only you know how to play it.”

“’Tis you shall help me, Captain: but let us be clear about the stakes. For you, ’tis life or death: for me, ’tis to regain Mistress Delia, failing which I shoot you here through the head, and topple you into the sea. You are the Knave of trumps, sir, and I play that card: as matters now stand, only the Queen can save you.”

“Right: but where be King and Ace?”

“The King is the Cornish army, yonder: the Ace is my pistol here, which I hold.”

“And that’s a very pretty comprehension of the game, sir: I play the Queen.”

“Where is she?”

For answer, he pointed seaward, where the sloop’s lantern lay like a floating star on the black waters.

“What!” cried I. “Mistress Delia in that sloop! And who is with her, pray?”

“Why, Black Dick, to begin with—and Reuben Gedges—and Jeremy Toy.”

“All the Knaves left in the pack—God help her!” I muttered, as I look’d out toward the light, and my heart beat heavily. “God help her!” I said again, and turning, spied a grin on the Captain’s face.

“Under Providence,” answered he, “your unworthy servant may suffice. But what is my reward to be?”

“Your neck,” said I, “if I can save it when you are led before the Cornish captains.”

“That’s fair enough: so listen. These few months the lady has been shut in Bristol keep, whither, by the advice of our employer, we conveyed her back safe and sound. This same employer—”

“A dirty rogue, whom you may as well call by his name—Hannibal Tingcomb.”

“Right, young sir: a very dirty rogue, and a niggardly:—I hate a mean rascal. Well, fearing her second escape from that prison, and being hand in glove with the Parliament men, he gets her on board a sloop bound for the Virginias, just at the time when he knows the Earl of Stamford is to march and crush the Cornishmen. For escort she has the three comrades of mine that I named: and the captain of the sloop (a fellow that asks no questions) has orders to cruise along the coast hereabouts till he gets news of the battle.”

“Which you were just now about to give him,” cried I, suddenly enlighten’d.

“Right again. ’Twas a pretty scheme: for—d’ye see?—if all went well with the Earl of Stamford, the King’s law would be wiped out in Cornwall, and Master Tingcomb (with his claims and meritorious services) might snap his thumb thereat. So, in that case, Mistress Delia was to be brought ashore here and taken to him, to serve as he fancied. But if the day should go against us—as it has—she was to sail to the Virginias with the sloop, and there be sold as a slave. Or worse might happen; but I swear that is the worst was ever told me.”

“God knows ’tis vile enough,” said I, scarce able to refrain from blowing his brains out. “So you were to follow the Earl’s army, and work the signals. Which are they?” For a quick resolve had come into my head, and I was casting about to put it into execution.

“A green light if we won: if not, a red light, to warn the sloop away.”

I picked up the packet that had dropp’d from his hand when first I sprang upon him. It was burst abroad, and a brown powder trickling from it about the ledge.

“This was the red light—to be sprinkled on the burning charcoal, I suppose?”

The fellow nodded. At the same moment, Billy (who as yet had not spoke a word, and of course, understood nothing) thrust into my hand another packet that he had found stuck in a corner against the rock.

“Now tell me—in case the rebels won, where was the landing to be made?”

“In the cove below here—where the road leads down.”

“Aye, the road where the wagon stood.”

Captain Luke Settle blink’d his eyes at this: but nodded after a moment.

“And how many would escort her?”

He caught my drift and laughed softly—

“Be damn’d, sir, but I begin to love you, for you play the game very proper and soundly. Reuben, Jeremy, and Black Dick alone are in the plot; so why should more escort her? For the skipper and crew have their own business to look after.”

“Then, Master Settle, tho’ it be a sore trial to you, those three Knaves you must give me, or I play my Ace,” and I pressed the ring of my pistol sharply against his ear as a reminder.

“With all my heart, young sir, you shall have them,” says he briskly.

“And this is ‘honor among thieves,’” thought I: “You would sell your comrade as you sold your King:” but only said, “If you cry out, or speak one word to warn them—”

Before I could get my sentence out, Billy Pottery broke in with a voice like a trumpet—

“As folks go, Jack, I be a humorous man. But sittin’ here, an’ ponderin’ this way an’ that, I says, in my deaf an’ afflicted style, ‘Why not shoot the ugly rogue, if mirth, indeed, be your object?’ For to wait till an uglier comes to this untravel’d spot is superfluity.”

How to explain matters to Billy was more than I could tell: but in a moment he himself supplied the means. For the rocks here were of some kind of slate, very hard, but scaly: and finding two pieces, a large and a small, he handed them to me, bawling that I was to write therewith. So giving him my pistol, I made shift to scribble a few words. Seeing his eyes twinkle as he read, I stood up.

The charcoal by this time was a glowing mass of red: and threw so clear a light on us that I feared the crew on board the sloop might see our forms and suspect their misadventure. But the lantern still hung steadily: so signing to Billy to drag our prisoner behind a tamarisk bush, I open’d the second packet, and poured some of the powder into my hand.

It was composed of tiny crystals, yellow and flaky: and holding it, for a moment I was possessed with a horrid fear that this might be the signal to warn the sloop away. I flung a look at the Captain: who read my thoughts on the instant.

“Never fear, young sir: am no such hero as to sell my life for that tag-rag. Only make haste, for your deaf friend has a cursed ugly way of fumbling his pistol.”

So taking heart, I tore the packet wide, and shook out the powder on the coals.

Instantly there came a dense choking vapor, and a vivid green flare that turned the rocks, the sky, and our faces to a ghastly brilliance. For two minutes, at least, this unnatural light lasted. As soon as it died away and the fumes clear’d, I look’d seaward.

The lantern on the sloop was moving in answer to the signal. Three times it was lifted and lower’d: and then in the stillness I heard voices calling, and soon after the regular splash of oars.

There was no time to be lost. Pulling the Captain to his feet, we scrambled up the gully, and out at the top, and across the fields as fast as our legs would take us. Molly came to my call and trotted beside me—the Captain following some paces behind, and Billy last, to keep a safe watch on his movements.

At the gate, however, where we turned into the road, I tethered the mare, lest the sound of her hoofs should betray us: and down toward the sea we pelted, till almost at the foot of the hill I pull’d up and listen’d, the others following my example.

We could hear the sound of oars plain above the wash of waves on the beach. I look’d about me. On either side the road was now bank’d by tall hills, with clusters of bracken and furze bushes lying darkly on their slopes. Behind one of these clusters I station’d Billy with the Captain’s long sword, and a pistol that I by signs forbade him to fire unless in extremity. Then, retiring some forty paces up the road, I hid the Captain and myself on the other side.

Hardly were we thus disposed, before I heard the sound of a boat grounding on the beach below, and the murmur of voices; and then the noise of feet trampling the shingle. Upon which I ordered my prisoner to give a hail, which he did readily.

“Ahoy, Dick! Ahoy, Reuben Gedges!”

In a moment or two came the answer—

“Ahoy, there, Captain—here we be!”

“Fetch along the cargo!” shouted Captain Settle, on my prompting.

“Where be you?”

“Up the road, here—waiting!”

“One minute, then—wait one minute, Captain!”

I heard the boat push’d off, some Good-nights call’d, and then (with tender anguish) the voice of my Delia lifted in entreaty. As I guess’d, she was beseeching the sailors to take her back to the sloop, nor leave her to these villains. There follow’d an oath or two growl’d out, a short scrimmage, and at last, above the splash of the retreating boat, came the tramp of heavy feet on the road below.

So fired was I at the sound of Delia’s voice, that ’twas with much ado I kept quiet behind the bush. Yet I had wit enough left to look to the priming of my pistol, and also to bid the Captain shout again. As he did so, a light shone out down the road, and round the corner came a man bearing a lantern.

“Can’t be quicker, Captain,” he called: “the jade struggles so that Dick and Jeremy ha’ their hands full.”

Sure enough, after him there came in view two stooping forms that bore my dear maid between them—one by the feet, the other by the shoulders. I ground my teeth to see it, for she writhed sorely. On they came, however, until not more than ten paces off; and then that traitor, Luke Settle, rose up behind our bush.

“Set her here, boys,” said he, “and tie her pretty ankles.”

“Well met, Captain!” said the fellow with the lantern—Reuben Gedges—stepping forward; “Give us your hand!”

He was holding out his own, when I sprang up, set the pistol close to his chest, and fired. His scream mingled with the roar of it, and dropping the lantern, he threw up his hands and tumbled in a heap. At the same moment, out went the light, and the other rascals, dropping Delia, turn’d to run, crying, “Sold—sold!”

But behind them came now a shout from Billy, and a crashing blow that almost severed Black Dick’s arm at the shoulder: and at the same instant I was on Master Toy’s collar, and had him down in the dust. Kneeling on his chest, with my sword point at his throat, I had leisure to glance at Billy, who in the dark, seem’d to be sitting on the head of his disabled victim. And then I felt a touch on my shoulder, and a dear face peer’d into mine.

“Is it Jack—my sweet Jack?”

“To be sure,” said I: “and if you but reach out your hand, I will kiss it, for all that I’m busy with this rogue.”

“Nay, Jack, I’ll kiss thee on the cheek—so! Dear lad, I am so frighten’d, and yet could laugh for joy!”

But now I caught the sound of galloping on the road above, and shouts, and then more galloping; and down came a troop of horsemen that were like to have ridden over us, had I not shouted lustily.

“Who, in the fiend’s name is here?” shouted the foremost, pulling in his horse with a scramble.

“Honest men and rebels together,” I answered; “but light the lantern that you will find handy by, and you shall know one from t’other.”

By the time ’twas found and lit, there was a dozen of Col. John Digby’s dragoons about us: and before the two villains were bound, comes a half dozen more, leading in Captain Settle, that had taken to his heels at the first blow and climb’d the hill, all tied as he was about the hands, and was caught in his endeavor to clamber on Molly’s back. So he and Black Dick and Jeremy Toy were strapp’d up: but Reuben Gedges we left on the road for a corpse. Yet he did not die (though shot through the lung), but recovered—heaven knows how: and I myself had the pleasure to see him hanged at Tyburn, in the second year of his late Majesty’s most blessed Restoration, for stopping the Bishop of Salisbury’s coach, in Maidenhead Thicket, and robbing the Bishop himself, with much added contumely.

But as we were ready to start, and I was holding Delia steady on Molly’s back, up comes Billy and bawls in my ear—

“There’s a second horse, if wanted, that I spied tether’d under a hedge younder”—and he pointed to the field where we had first found Captain Settle—“in color a sad black, an’ harness’d like as if he came from a cart.”

I look’d at the Captain, who in the light of the lantern blink’d again. “Thou bloody villain!” muttered I, for now I read the tragedy of the wagon beside the road, and knew how Master Settle had provided a horse for his own escape.

But hereupon the word was given, and we started up the hill, I walking by Delia’s stirrup and listening to her talk as if we had never been parted—yet with a tenderer joy, having by loss of it learn’d to appraise my happiness aright.