CHAPTER XL
OF THE ONSET AT THE HAUNTED MILL
A wild, black night full of wind and rain and mud—a raging, tearing wind with rain that hissed in every vicious gust—a wind that roared fiercely in swaying tree-tops and passing, moaned dismally afar; a wind that flapped the sodden skirts of the Major's heavy riding-coat, that whirled the Sergeant's hat away into the blackness and set him cursing in French and Dutch and English.
"What is't, Zeb?" enquired the Major during a momentary lull as they rode knee and knee in the gloom.
"My hat sir ... the wind with a cur——" The words were blown away and the Sergeant, swearing unheard, bent his head to the lashing rain.
"Are we ... right ... think you? ... long way ... very dark egad..."
"Dark sir, never knowed it darker and the rain—may the dev..."
"Are we nigh the place Zeb d'ye think, we should be ... by now——"
"Not so fur your hon ... a bye-road hereabouts if 'twarn't dark, with ten thousand..."
In a while as they splashed on through the gloom the Major felt a hand on his arm.
"By your left, sir ... bye-road ... can't see on account o' dark, may the foul fiend ... by your left, so!" Thus through mud and rain and buffeting wind they rode until at word of the Sergeant they dismounted.
"Must hide the horses, sir," said he in the Major's ear. "I know a snug place hard by, wait you here sir ... some shelter under the hedge ... never saw such a plaguy night, may all the foul——" And the Sergeant was gone, venting curses at every step. Very soon he was back again and the Major stumbled after him across an unseen, wind-swept expanse until looming blacker than the dark, they saw the ruin of the haunted mill. Inside, sheltered from rain and wind the Major unloosed his heavy coat and took from under his arm a certain knobby bludgeon and twirled it in the dark while Sergeant Zebedee, hard by, struck flint and steel, but the tinder was damp and refused to burn.
"Is a light necessary Zeb—if any should observe——"
"Why sir, like as not they'd think 'twas ghosts, d'ye see. And 'tis as well to survey field of operations, wherefore I brought a lanthorn and——" The Major reached out and caught his arm.
"Hark!" said he.
Above and around them were shrieks and howlings, timbers creaked and groaned and the whole ruined fabric quivered, ever and anon, to the fierce buffets of the wind, while faint and far was an ever-recurrent roll and rumble of thunder.
"Storm's a-waxing sir ... can't last, I..." Borne on the wind above the tempest came a faint hail. "Zounds, they're close on us!" exclaimed the Sergeant. "This way, sir, keep close, catch the tail o' my coat." Thus they stumbled on through the pitchy dark, found a wall, followed it, turned a corner, brought up against another wall and so stood waiting with ears on the stretch.
And soon amid this confusion of sounds was a stamping of horse, the tread of feet and presently voices within the mill itself; one in especial that poured out a flood of oaths and fierce invective upon rain and wind and all things in general.
"O burn me, and must we wait here, shivering in the darkness with a curse on't and me wet to the bone——"
"Content ye, my lushy cove, the others aren't far."
"The others, curse 'em! And what o' me shivering to the bones o' me as I'm a roaring lad——"
"What, Jerry," cried another voice, "is the Captain wi' you?"
"Aye, here I am—show a light!"
"Why so I will an ye gimme time. So we're all met, then—all here, Nick?" Followed the sound of flint on steel, a flash, a glow, a light dazzling in its suddenness, a light that revealed four masked men, mud-splashed and bedraggled, thronged about a lanthorn on the uneven floor.
"Now mark me all," said Joseph pushing up his vizard. "You, Jerry and the Captain will ride to the cross-roads, the finger-post a-top o' the hill. The coach should reach thereabouts in half an hour or so. Benno and I strike across the fields and join my gentleman's coach and come down upon you by the cross-roads. So soon as you've stopped the coach, do you hold 'em there till we come, then it's up wi' the lady and into my gentleman's coach wi' her. D'ye take me?"
"No we don't!" growled Jerry, shaking the rain from his hat, "how a plague are we t' know which is the right coach——"
"By stopping all as come your way——"
"Ged so—we will that!" nodded the Captain.
"And look'ee Jerry and be damned, if you——"
"Stand!" The four sprang apart and stood staring at the Major who stood, a pistol in each hand, blocking the doorway between them and the howling desolation outside. "Move so much as a finger either one of you and he's a dead man. Quick, Sergeant—their wrists—behind!" Thus while the Major stood covering the four with levelled weapons watchful and ready, Sergeant Zebedee stepped forward with several lengths of stout cord across his arm. Coming up to the Captain who chanced to be nearest, the Sergeant was in the act of securing him, when Jerry uttered a dreadful cry:
"God save us—look!" For an instant the Major's glance wavered and in that moment Joseph had kicked out the light and there and then befell a fierce struggle in the dark, a desperate smiting and grappling; no chance here for pistol-play, since friend and foe were inextricably mixed, a close-locked, reeling fray. So while the storm raged without, the fight raged within, above the howling of wind and lash of rain rose piercing cries, shouts, groans and hoarse-panted oaths. Smitten by a random blow the Major fell and was kicked and trampled upon by unseen feet; yet he staggered up in the dark, his long arms closed in relentless grip, his iron fingers sought and found a hold that never loosed even when he fell and rolled again beneath those unseen, trampling feet. Little by little the ghastly sounds of conflict died away and in their place was again the roar and shriek of wind.
"Zebedee—Sergeant Zeb!"
"Thank God!" a hoarse voice panted. "A moment sir—must have—light. Hot work your honour—never ask for warmer!" After some delay the Sergeant contrived to light his lanthorn; and the Major, looking into the face of the man he held, loosed his grip and got to his feet.
"'Tis him they call the Captain!" said the Sergeant, flashing his light.
"Pray God I haven't killed him!" the Major panted, clasping one hand to his side.
"'Twould but save the hangman a job, sir. Lord! but you're ripped and tore, sir!" The Major glanced from his disordered dress to the Sergeant's bloody face:
"Are you hurt, Zeb?" he questioned.
"Nought to matter, sir. Look'ee, here lies the rogue Jerry—zounds, and a-coming to already! Hold the light, sir—may as well tie him up nice and comfortable."
"And this other fellow too, Zeb—he's stirring, I'm glad to see——"
"Glad sir? Zooks, 'tis pity you didn't kill him——"
"Nay, I'll ha' no killing, Zebedee——"
"Zounds sir, why so queasy-stomached nowadays? 'Tain't as if you'd never——"
"Enough, Sergeant! I'm no longer a soldier and besides—things are—are different quite—nowadays."
"Why look'ee sir, where's t'others? Here be but two o' the rogues——"
"Only two, Zeb?—give me the lanthorn!" By its light they searched the mill inside and out; gruesome signs of the vicious struggle they found in plenty but, save themselves and their two groaning captives, the place was empty.
"'Tis mortal hard," mourned the Sergeant, "here's me i' the dark, seemingly a-knocking of 'em all down one arter t'other, continual. Yet, 'spite said zeal here's but two to show for same, sure enough."
"Why then we must after 'em, Zeb!" said the Major with a sudden sharp catch of the breath. "Go fetch the horses!" Forthwith Sergeant Zebedee hurried away and, left alone, the Major, leaning against the wall, set a hand to his side and kept it there until the Sergeant reappeared, leading their horses.
"You picked up my pistols, Zeb?"
"And put 'em back i' the holsters, sir. And the rogues are got away sure enough, their horses are gone, d'ye see."
"Then we must spur, Zebedee."
"Aye sir. And the rain's stopped, praise God!" quoth the Sergeant and blew out the lanthorn leaving their captives to groan in the dark.
"Take the lead, Zeb," said the Major as they reached the high-road—"the finger-post a-top the hill—and gallop."