CHAPTER IX
MY MEETING WITH AN OLD FOE
FOR over an hour a continuous stream of men in soiled buff coats passed in more or less military precision. Their arms, save those of the officers, had been piled or stacked, their colours handed over, and their cannons, most of which they themselves had spiked, were already parked and placed under a strong guard.
In many instances the men were still suffering from wounds, bandaged heads and limbs in slings being numerous.
The completeness of the surrender was, however, marred by the fact that on the previous night the rebel Earl of Essex had escaped from the town and taken boat to Fowey, whence, we afterwards learnt, a brig had conveyed him to Plymouth.
Nor was the renegade Chaloner to be found amongst the prisoners, much to the Royal commander's disappointment; whether he were dead or alive no one knew. The other two rebel officers, Hobbs and Gale, against whom serious counts were proved, had already been strung up in front of the Shire Hall.
Sixty of the common rank and file alone were retained, and under a strong guard these were compelled to cleanse out the dishallowed church and to restore it, as far as possible, to its former condition.
Directly the surrender was completed, the troops were dismissed, precautions being taken against a surprise, though 'twas evident that the rebellion in this part of Cornwall had been stamped out.
As soon as we were at liberty Colonel Firestone and I turned our horses over to the care of a camp follower, and made our way to the place where the rebels' arms had been given up, for I was anxious to regain my sword, while my companion was equally solicitous on behalf of his own weapons.
As we passed by the Shire Hall, before which the bodies of the two rebel officers still swung to the gaze of a curious throng of soldiers and townsfolk, we saw the crowd being parted by a body of armed men, who had great difficulty in preventing the infuriated townspeople from tearing a prisoner from their midst, while shouts and threats filled the air.
Planting ourselves firmly in the midst of the crowd, so that the armed guard would pass within a few feet of us, we jostled with the surging mass, till at length we could see the features of the prisoner.
Instinctively an exclamation of surprise burst from my lips. Stripped of coat and doublet, his face cut and bruised and stained with dried blood and dirt, was—not Chaloner, but the so-called Southampton "merchant," the charlatan Cutler!
Half dead with fear, his legs hardly able to support his trembling body, the wretched man was urged onwards by his guards, as, with his hands pressed to his ears as if to shut out the threats and execrations of the crowd, he was marched towards the provost's quarters.
"What has he done?" I asked, laying a detaining hand on the shoulder of a dragoon who, carrying the trickster's torn coat, was following the guards.
"Done?" he replied. "Dost know the villain?"
"I know that he has done us more than once," I replied grimly.
"I trove he'll do you no more, for he'll dance at the end of a rope within the hour," said the soldier, preparing to move on. "For he has been caught in the act of robbing the dead."
"Then we've seen the last of Master Cutler," remarked my companion as we resumed our way. "At least, unless we see his body gracing a gallows."
Upon arriving at the ground where the arms of the surrendered army had been deposited, we were somewhat dismayed at the magnitude of our task; but upon our applying to the camp marshal for permission to try and recover our weapons, that officer was able to inform us of the probable place where Chaloner's dragoons had stacked their arms.
Muskets had been piled in a military manner, but stands of pikes, swords, pistols, breastplates, morions, Swedish feathers, and other arms of offence and defence lay heaped in indescribable disorder.
For over an hour we searched without success, till I suggested that we might question some of the prisoners who had been retained to clean out the church, and, my comrade falling in with the idea, we returned to the scene of our recent adventures.
After a short conversation with the captain of the guard, an officer of Hopton's troop, with whom Firestone was acquainted, we entered the building.
"There's our man," exclaimed the colonel, pointing to the sergeant of dragoons who had so brutally used us on the day of our capture by Chaloner.
"Come hither, sirrah," said Firestone, and the man, now thoroughly frightened, obeyed.
"What did you do with our arms when your men mishandled us?"
"I know not," stammered the man.
"Think again," continued my companion, "or we must needs refresh your failing memory."
"I know not," repeated the sergeant.
"Two rebels even now dance at the end of a rope outside the Shire Hall," remarked Firestone in a dry, casual sort of voice. "They murdered their prisoners and burnt the houses of loyal Cornishmen; methinks I know of a third who ill-treated men having the misfortune to fall into his hands."
"I did but carry out mine orders," replied the dragoon.
"Brutality is not necessary to the obedience of orders," snapped Firestone. "Come, now, say where our arms were placed, or the provost will have speech with you, with the great possibility of the gallows to finish up with. Now, sirrah, what say you?"
"They were sold at Liskeard."
"To whom?"
"To the host of the 'Stag.'"
"For how much?"
"A barrel of cider."
"You rascal!" shouted Firestone, shaking his fist in the man's face. "You rascal! To sell the arms of two loyal gentlemen for a barrel of cider. Get back to your work, you prick-eared rebel, lest I forget myself."
And, wild with rage, my comrade stalked out of the building.
For my part my indignation was almost as great, and I resolved at the earliest opportunity to regain possession of my sword, the gift of the armourer of Newport. However, as the countryside was overrun with the remnants of the surrendered army, it was deemed wise to defer the journey for a few days at least.
One morning, however, I was seized with a sudden impulse to ride alone over to Liskeard, a distance of twelve miles, and to offer a reasonable sum to the innkeeper for the weapons, or, failing to obtain them in this manner, to threaten him with a visit from our men for illegal trafficking with rebels; and, having executed my mission, the result would be a pleasant surprise to Nick Firestone.
It was after midday ere I obtained the necessary permission from the provost to leave the camp, and, having made an excuse to my comrade, I saddled my horse and rode off.
This animal was not the one I had ridden from home, neither was it the passable nag that I had had given me on joining Hopton's camp, but a powerful black charger which I bought immediately after the surrender of the rebel army, and was, in consequence, ignorant of its temper.
In under two hours I arrived at Liskeard, where I found the host of the "Stag" most amenable to my request, and, protesting that he had been compelled to take my sword and a brace of pistols belonging to Firestone in payment for the cider, he handed them over in consideration of the sum of a crown—a far less amount than I had expected to have had to pay.
Delighted with the success of my mission, I had refreshment, and afterwards set out on my journey back to the camp. But I had barely covered half the distance when my horse began to show symptoms of restlessness, and before I was fully aware of the fact, it suddenly plunged, bounded forward, and, regardless of my effort to retain it, tore headlong over the dusty road.
Thinking it would soon tire itself out, and consoling myself that I was still going in the direction of the camp, I let the creature have a loose rein, till at length it suddenly turned, cleared a low stone wall with a bound, and headed across a field.
Now I sought to rein in the frantic animal, but in vain. Across country it tore, till it reached a wild tract of open country two miles from the highway, and, sinking to its knees in a marsh, I was able to leap from the saddle.
Tugging at the exhausted creature's reins, I succeeded in extricating it from the bog-land; then, loth to take further risk, I walked it in the direction from which I had come.
At length I espied a stone hut, or hovel, from which a thin column of smoke was rising. In the excitement of my wild ride I had failed to notice it before. As I drew nearer I saw that at one time it must have been an ancient British cromlech, a massive slab of granite resting upon two uprights. A rough wall of stone had converted the cromlech into a rude dwelling, and here apparently human beings existed. Door there was none, a gap in the wall serving that purpose.
The soft, springy turf deadened the sound of my approach, and, gaining the entrance, I stooped down and peered within, having tied up my horse to a thorn bush, and taken the precaution of holding one of my pistols in my hand.
In front of the fire a hare was roasting on a rough spit, while the smoke and the sudden change from the glare of the sunlight made it impossible to distinguish things clearly. Lying on the ground was a man. He was fast asleep, and even my voice failed to rouse him. The floor of this singular dwelling had been excavated to a depth of about two feet below the surface of the ground outside, so that there was a height of nearly seven feet between the floor and the roof of solid rock.
I stepped within and stirred the sleeper with my foot.
With a sudden start he awoke and jumped to his feet. It was Captain Chaloner!
It was Captain Chaloner, in spite of his scared face, unkempt hair and beard, his torn and travel-stained clothes. Doubtless he thought that a troop of horse stood without.
"Yield yourself, Captain Chaloner," I exclaimed, holding up my cocked pistol.
"I yield," he replied, without hesitation, somewhat to my discomfiture, for I knew not where I was, neither did he know that I was alone, so what was I to do with my prisoner?
"Make ready to go," I continued, "for we must needs journey to Lostwithiel."
"Promise me that your men will not harm me," he said imploringly, whereat I unthinkingly informed him that there was no one without.
"Then on what authority do you arrest me?" he exclaimed, with a sudden change of tone.
"The authority of right and might," I replied, showing him the pistol once more. "You must needs walk five paces ahead of me, and at the first sign of escape I shoot you down."
"What must needs be," he rejoined. "But, Master Markham, consider a moment. I am of opinion that the matter of Ashley Castle being bestowed upon me is the cause of your hatred towards me, though I swear it was not through my asking."
"You are right, though I'll not believe you did not ask it to be conferred upon you."
"Then why seek my life?"
"I do not seek your life, although by doing my duty I have little doubt but that you'll be hanged for your treachery. Had I not struck up the barrel of a musket, you would certainly have been shot down from the tower of Lostwithiel Church when you tried your utmost to burn or blow us up."
"Good lad! Good lad!" sneered Chaloner. "I thank you for the service."
"And now make ready," I continued, ignoring his insolent manner. "For 'tis late in the afternoon, and we must needs be in camp ere sunset."
"Since you are alone, Master Markham, can you not forego the honour of taking me into the Royalist camp? Consider, sixteen good miles of rough road, darkness long before we arrive there, and the chance of meeting some of my men. For, look you, I am not alone. Furthermore, if you let me go free, I'll promise, on my word of honour——"
"Your word of honour!" I repeated scornfully.
"Ay, I'll swear it, if you will, that I'll hand over the deed of settlement of Ashley Castle, and take ship overseas till the war be at an end. I mean what I say," he continued as I shook my head at his base proposal. "See, I have the document here."
Stooping down, he lifted up a pile of clothing that lay on the floor.
There was a sudden flash, a loud report, and I reeled backwards with a sharp pain like a hot iron searing through my shoulder.
I had a dim recollection of firing my pistol straight at him as he still remained huddled on the floor, and seeing him half spring to his feet, only to fall forward with convulsive struggles. Then, with a red mist swimming before my eyes, I staggered to where my horse was tethered, clambered into the saddle, and gave spur.
After a while my senses became clearer. My left arm was paining me, while a dark stain flooded the shoulder and front of my doublet. My horse had settled down to a trot, though whither 'twas bearing me I knew not nor Hardly cared. I had some consolation in the thought that I was being borne somewhere, and, providing I could keep my saddle, all would be well at the next village or homestead I came to.
The sun was close on the time of setting, and by the fact that its ruddy glare came from the direction slightly behind my right shoulder, I knew we were heading southwards.
As my senses returned the pain of my wound increased, the incessant jolting causing the blood to flow freely. I could not help wondering what might have been my fate had I fallen from the saddle during the period of unconsciousness, for my feet were firmly wedged in the stirrups, and, if unable to disengage them, I would have been a shapeless mass of shattered pulp. I had seen a similar thing at Edgehill, and knew full well what it meant.
At length the horse gained the summit of a lofty hill, and before me stretched the seemingly boundless expanse of the English Channel, a gentle declivity of about half a mile separating me from the water, though on either hand a spur of the hill in what must be a pair of rugged headlands.
Suddenly the horse was seized with the same unseen terror that had caused it to bolt on the highway. It reared almost on its haunches, and only by keeping a tight grip on its mane with my sound arm was I able to retain my seat. Then, with its freshly-found wind, the startled animal bounded forward.
"'Tis time to cry halt," I exclaimed to myself, and, putting all the strength of my unwounded limb into the pull, I strove to rein in the animal, as I saw that what I took to be a gentle slope actually terminated in a cliff, though considerably lower than the adjacent portions of the coast.
My efforts, as before, were useless, and only tended to increase the horse's pace and fury. Several times I tried to turn its head, but in spite of this the animal kept straight for the sea.
Not a moment was to be lost. I determined to shoot the brute and risk a headlong fall on the soft turf. Forgetting my wound for the moment, I took the reins in my left hand. Then, drawing my remaining pistol from its holster, I snapped it at the horse's forehead but, to my dismay, there was no report.
The weapon had missed fire.
At that moment I realised that there were persons riding to my aid. At least a score of horsemen were galloping furiously down the spur on my right, with the evident intention of intercepting my runaway steed and diverting its flight. Some of them had carbines, and made ready to fire, though I had misgivings as to their marksmanship. But the efforts of the horsemen were in vain; my horse thundered past the leader at more than twenty paces, and, defying pursuit, continued its mad flight.
Throwing away the useless pistol, I drew my sword, determined to slay the animal before it carried me to destruction; but before I could shorten the blade for a stroke we had gained the edge of the cliff.
The horse gave a neigh, whether of triumph or of terror I knew not, and with undiminished speed shot into space. In a few brief seconds I must have turned completely round; I saw the red sheer face of the cliff appear to shoot upwards, the air whistled past my head, and with a heavy splash my horse and I struck the surface of the water simultaneously.
Then everything became a blank.