IV.
I found Peter and Benjamin reloading their pieces near the window which we had barricaded a few hours previously, and immediately called on them for news of what had happened. It appeared that as daylight came they had watched the stable door jealously, and at last had counted six of our assailants emerge from it with their muskets. They had gazed up at the window which they had already shattered, and evidently catching sight of the lads’ faces—for we had left spaces through which we might observe whatever went on without—they had discharged their pieces at it. Peter and Benjamin had discharged theirs in return as their assailants crowded back within the stable door, but they were doubtful as to whether they had hit any of them, though Peter thought he had seen one man clap his hand to his side as he hurried into shelter.
“But they were in and out again like a lot o’ rabbits on a sand burrow,” says Benjamin. “You saw their fronts and backs within a minute.”
“Poor sort of fighting,” says I, and bidding them stand to the post, I went to find John and Humphrey.
It was by that time broad daylight, and I therefore thought it well to go round the house and see how matters stood with us. I found all my men at their posts, some of them a little sleepy with their long vigil, but all keen enough to resent the enemy whenever he thought fit to attack us. I contrived that every man should be relieved in turn, and sent those thus discharged from duty to the kitchen, where Barbara saw to their needs. I satisfied myself that all our defences were in good order, and that there was little chance of the besiegers breaking in upon us at any of the weaker spots in our armour. In fact it seemed to me, after going round the house for the second time, that unless some extraordinary measures were adopted against us, there was no reason why we should not hold our own against a whole troop as long as our provisions lasted.
I was engaged with John Stirk in further strengthening the defence of the window that opened into the herb-garden, when Peter came to tell me that a man was waving a flag from the stable door. “A flag of truce,” says I, and hurried away to observe this new action. I then saw that the enemy had tied a clout to the shaft of a fork, and were waving it over the half-door of the stable, with an evident desire to provoke our attention. “We’ll play the game fairly,” says I, and hastily improvised a flag, which I bade Peter thrust out of the window while I went to find Mistress Alison. “They desire a parley,” says I, “you must play spokeswoman again, if you please, cousin.”
“I had rather do aught than bandy words with Anthony Dacre,” says she, following me unwillingly. “Put the words into my mouth, if you please, Master Richard.”
However, there was no need for her fears on this occasion, for instead of Anthony Dacre there appeared one of the troopers in answer to our signal. He came across the fold, carrying his flag of truce in his right hand, and looking somewhat quizzically at the barricaded window. “A queer fellow this,” says I, observing him closely. “We should have some sport with him.”
Mistress Alison looked at me with a little flash in her eyes. “Sport!” she says, and seemed as if she would have said more. But the man had by that time come close beneath the window, and stood looking up at it. He was a tall, gaunt fellow, with as long a face as ever I saw, and a mouth that seemed to twist itself naturally to the pronouncing of long words.
“Within there!” say he. “Ye that do suffer investment, and are as captives in the beleaguered city—does anybody hear me or not?”
“I hear you, sir,” says Mistress Alison, putting her face to the opening which we had contrived. “What is your wish?”
“Why, mistress,” says he, trying to catch a glimpse of her, “as for wishes they are casual things, and I have long eschewed them. I wish naught save to accomplish my duty——”
“I have no time to stand here chattering,” says Mistress Alison. “Come, your errand!”
“I come as a messenger of peace,” says the fellow. “Know, maiden, that my name it is Merciful Wiggleskirk, and that my nature is no less merciful than my name. I am a man of war, and yet my soul hankers exceedingly after peace——”
“Am I to stand listening to this babbler all day?” says my cousin to the rest of us. “Come, fellow!” she says sharply. “What is it that you want?”
“I desire your surrender, mistress,” says he. “There are some of us”—he cocked his eye in the direction of the stable—“that do carnally desire the sight and smell of blood, which are matters that I cannot abide. Therefore, I come, merciful as my name, to bid you yield yourselves in the interest of peace. Let there be peace between us, I pray you,” he says, rolling his eyes towards the window.
“Is that all you have to say, fellow?” asks my cousin.
“Verily, I have spoken, maiden,” says he.
“Then,” she says, “you can go back and say that there will be much blood—yea, enough to turn your squeamish stomach sick, Master Merciful Wiggleskirk, unless you and your fellow rascals depart on the instant. What! you come like thieves and robbers, and then insult us with your offers of mercy—oh!” she says, “get you within shelter, lest we fire upon you.”
“Peace, peace!” he says. “Peace, mistress. Woe in me that I should——”
“Get your musket in order, Peter,” says she in a loud voice. Whereupon the long-faced man uttered a deep groan and hastened back to the stable, holding his flag above his head. Mistress Alison turned away without a word, and I was following her when John Stirk stopped me.
“Master Dick,” says he, “there’s a thought strikes me that’s worth meditating upon. They’re all in the stable now, and there is but one door through which they can come, and this window commands it. Why should they be allowed to come through that door, Master Dick? Why,” says he, “shouldn’t they have a taste of besiegement?”
“Faith!” says I, “a rare notion, John. Why did it not strike me before? However——”
“Humphrey and me,” says he, “posted at this, window will stop any of them from coming through yonder door.”
“And so you shall,” I says, and gave the necessary orders, transferring Peter and Benjamin from the window where we stood to John and Humphrey’s old post over the garden door. And since we now knew with certainty where all our enemies lay concealed, I withdrew Gregory and Jasper from the courtyard windows and bade them take the rest of which, being oldish men, they were somewhat sore in need. This done, I went back to John and Humphrey, and waited the next move of the game.
Now, after Merciful Wiggleskirk had returned to the stable there was for some time no sign of any action on the part of the enemy, both halves of the door being shut to behind him. But at the end of an hour, the upper half was swung open, and Jack Bargery’s head and shoulders appeared. He was evidently in dispute with those inside, for he appeared to be talking in a loud voice, and shook his head fiercely as he fumbled at the latch of the lower half of the door. “There would be little loss to anybody if a bullet found its billet in his ugly carcase,” says I. “Fire, Humphrey.”
“With good will,” says he, and pulled the trigger.
The fellow at the stable door staggered and clapped his hand to his shoulder. “Three inches too high,” says Humphrey musingly, and began to reload his piece. “First blood to us, anyway,” says John, “and ’twill read them a lesson.” And so it did, for none of them showed so much as a nose-end at the stable door for the next six hours. Instead of being bottled ourselves we had bottled them fairly. And yet, as I knew quite well, we were enjoying but a temporary respite, for naught could be easier when the darkness came on, than for one of them to slip away to Pomfret and bring assistance from Fairfax’s camp. I marvelled more than once that they had not done this the previous night, but I suppose Anthony Dacre had considered that matters would go better for him if he conducted his operations with a small posse instead of a large one, the command of which would doubtless have been in other hands than his.
The day wore on in quietness, John and Humphrey keeping a sharp watch on the stable door. From the time that Jack Bargery had dropped back with a bullet in his shoulder until late in the afternoon there was no sign of our assailants. But as it grew dark, the top half of the door was thrown open again and the flag once more thrust out. I was on guard at the moment, the brothers being gone to the kitchen for a bite and sup, and I immediately despatched a messenger for Alison while I waved our own flag through the window. It was Merciful Wiggleskirk who once more appeared, and he came across the ford as Alison answered my summons.
“I fear I must trouble you again, cousin,” says I. “’Tis another flag of truce. Will you make inquiry of the messenger as to its meaning?”
She frowned as she put her face to the opening. “Well, fellow?” says she. “You are come again, eh?”
“On a merciful errand, mistress,” he answered. “In truth, we are at war, but should our enmity extend to the very animals? I pray you, mistress, to call a truce while we lead our horses across the ford to drink at the trough. The poor beasts do thirst exceeding sore—yea, even as the hart desireth——”
“No blasphemies, fellow,” says she, and turns to me inquiringly. “What shall I say?” she asks.
“No,” I says. “’Tis but a trick that they may get out of the stable. Once under cover of the house wall they may go where they please untouched. In their present position we have them safe so long as daylight lasts.”
“Yes,” she says, meditatively. “Yes—but—there’s a notion struck me,” she says, looking at me with a queer expression in her eyes. “Your danger, Master Richard—I think I see a way out of it. Would there be any harm if we allowed this man to water his horses, one at a time, on condition that none of his fellows leave the stable?”
“No great harm in that,” I says, not quite seeing what she aimed at, but having some faith in her woman’s wit; “but assure him that if any of the others leave the stable they will be shot.”
She turned to the window. “Listen, fellow,” says she. “You may bring out the horses yourself, one at a time, and water them at the trough, but if one of your companions shows his face we shall shoot him.”
“Agreed, mistress,” says he. “’Tis for the poor animals.”
“And hark ye,” she said, “there is a little window near the trough—place yourself near it when you come with the horses—I have something to say to you.”
I saw the man’s face light up with a greedy look, as if he saw some prospect of gain to himself. “I understand, mistress,” says he, and hurried off to the stable, while Alison turned to me again.
“I don’t comprehend your meaning, cousin,” I says. “What is your notion?”
“That you should bribe this trooper to carry your despatch forward to Fairfax,” says she. “It will but be a day late—and you can explain the cause of delay—and—and—it may be the saving of your own neck, Master Richard,” she says.
I stood very still looking at her. “Hah!” says I, at last. “So you’ve been thinking of that, cousin. Why, that’s kind——”
“Nay,” she says, with a heightened colour, and her eyes that had wandered away coming back to me, “let us have no misunderstandings, pray! I could ill bear the thought,” she says, “that any man should come to his death through rendering me a service. And so if you think it a wise plan——”
“I’ll try it,” says I, and made haste to summon John and Humphrey back to their posts. “If any man leaves the stable door except Wiggleskirk,” I says, “shoot him on the instant,” and with that I ran down to the little window that opened on the fold just against the great horse-trough. As I waited there for Wiggleskirk, I cut the stitches that secured the despatch to my doublet. Then I bethought me that it might be well to write some explanation of my conduct, so I hurried to the kitchen and found pen and ink and hastily wrote a few lines on the back of the paper. “The bearer of these,” I wrote, “delayed by untoward circumstances, sends them forward by the only available opportunity.” “That’s all that’s possible,” says I, and went back to the window.
Wiggleskirk was there, keeping the horse and the pump between him and the stable. When he caught sight of my face, he started. “Hist!” says I, “come closer, but make no sound. Hark ye, lad, art willing to carry something to Fairfax at Pomfret for a handful of gold pieces?”
“To Fairfax?” he says, with some suspicion. “And what may it be, master?”
“A despatch from General Cromwell,” says I, “that should have been delivered last night if I had not been surrounded in this fashion.”
“From Cromwell to Fairfax?” says he, his mouth agape. “Why, that’s very serious matters, master. A handful of gold, did you say? But what shall I tell——”
“There’s naught to tell,” says I. “Here’s the despatch, and there’s the money. Now, will you take it, saying naught to your companions out there, and asking no questions?”
He looked at the packet, and then at the handful of gold that I had laid on the window-sill. “Agreed!” says he. He looked curiously into my face. “As soon as it’s dark,” he says. “Rely on me—though ’faith, I don’t understand——”
“There’s no need that you should,” says I, and shuts the window in his face. I gave a sigh of relief as I drew the bolts to—I had, at any rate, thanks to Alison, done something to rid myself of the despatch and to secure its delivery.
| Chapter V | Of my Reconciliation with Sir Nicholas, of his Last Wish, and of his Death and Our own Sore Straits. |