Relates one of the best adventures in which Colin Clink has yet signalised himself.
THE sun was already setting behind the rising grounds which marked the westward extreme of Sherwood forest; long lines of variously-coloured cloud, like far-off promontories jutting into seas of gold and silver, marked the place of his decline, when Jerry Clink, silent and alone, might have been seen sitting on a turfen bench by the doorway of a sort of half hut, half cavern, which lay in a small dell in the heart of the waste, far below those horizontal lines of light that now only tinged the heath-covered tops of the higher hills, or brought out in ghostly relief the scattered and tempest-worn oaks which stood like skeletons far aloof around. By his side stood an earthen pitcher containing his favourite compound, and out of his mouth ascended in peaceful spires the smoke of the immortal herb; while beside him, piled against the wall, lay a heap of bright purple ling or heath, which he had cut and gathered during the day. The old man looked the very personification of solitary enjoyment; a being whose only communion was with earth and sky; and to whom cloud and mountain were as the face of friends. Solitude had no pain for him; day no unsteady pleasures, nor night any fears. The crow that flew high overhead would caw in the upper skies as it cast an eye downwards, and saw him creeping below. The goatsucker would birr in his face as it crossed his path in the gloom; and the cuckoo in his season would give utterance to his notes from the trees closest upon his habitation. He never molested them, but seemed, as it were, a part of the wild nature around him. A tame jackdaw, that hopped and chattered about his dwelling, was the only thing whose voice he heard there, save only that of one human being, that sometimes cried in complaint or pain from a deep part of the cavern behind the front room of his hut, and that was the voice of James Woodruff.
As Jerry sat thus, sipping, smoking, or talking occasionally to his saucy jackdaw, which had now perched itself on the point of one of his toes, and was impudently saluting the leg that supported him with repeated dabs of his heavy beak, the figure of a man, half seen amongst the thick heath which covered the ground, appeared at a distance. Sometimes he turned one way, sometimes another, as though winding out a devious path amongst the broken irregularities of the ground; and anon he would stand still, and look around, as though irresolute and doubtful which course to pursue. Jerry watched a long time, but at length lost sight of him, partly owing to the irregularities of the earth, and partly to the near approach of night. As darkness fell upon the solitary world about him, Jerry retired into his hut; and having lighted a small oil lamp, which shed about as much light around as might have been comprised within the circumference of a tolerably-sized round table, and left all the rest of the place in deep spectral shadow, he sat down, with a huge pair of owl-eyed spectacles on, to the perusal of the only book on the premises. Well nigh had he read himself to sleep, when the, to him, extraordinary phenomenon of a civil rap at the door was heard.
Were some learned gentleman meditating in his study, and at a time when he believed himself perhaps to be the most alone, suddenly to receive a blow beside the head from an unseen hand, he could not have started from his seat with more instantaneous abruptness than did our old friend, Jerry, on hearing that unusual summons. Throwing the door wide open, in order to obtain a better view of whoever might be outside, he beheld the spare figure of a man standing before him.
“Well! what do you want here?” gruffly demanded Jerry.
“I'm lost in the forest,” replied the stranger, “though that, to be sure, is my business, and not yours; but if you could either direct me elsewhere not far off, or give me shelter till daylight——”
“No!” interrupted Jerry, “I shall have nobody here.”
And thereupon he was about to shut the door in Mr. Peter Veriquear's face—for he it was—had not that gentleman made it his business to clap his foot against it, and thus prevent Jerry's intention being carried into effect. The latter instantly flew into a towering passion at this interruption, and with a fearful oath threatened to ran his knife through him if he did not give way immediately. Peter replied that he had no intention in the world to affront him, or to force himself into the house of any man who did not think it his duty to admit him; but at the same time he appealed to him as a Christian to give him shelter for that one night. Jerry swore that no man nor woman either should ever cross his threshold—especially at that time of night—unless they strode across his corpse. Saying which, he kicked Mr. Veriquear's shins as savagely as might a vicious horse, and set him dancing an original hornpipe of his own extemporaneous composition, while old Clink slammed to the door, and bolted and barred it immediately.
It seemed then that the stratagem which Colin had formed, and of which Mr. Veriquear was deputed to carry out the first part, had failed. This plan had been,—that Peter should introduce himself to Jerry as a travelling merchant who had lost himself, and was in want of a night's shelter. That he should contrive to learn as much as possible of the place while in it; and then, during the night, while Jerry was fast asleep, quietly open the door to Colin and Roger Calvert, who had joined him in the enterprise, and who should have been waiting not far off, in readiness to take advantage of the opportunity thus afforded them at once to secure old Jerry from doing any mischief, and then to effect the liberation of James Woodruff without disturbance or unnecessary violence. But as Jerry's brutality and caution had rendered this design ineffective even at its commencement, Peter had no other course to pursue but to wait about in the neighbourhood of the cottage—of the situation of which the parties had pretty well assured themselves previously—until such time as his confederates should come up, and other modes of operation could be devised.
Accordingly he selected as comfortable a spot as the nature of the ground would admit, within sight of the hut, where he crouched down amongst the brushy heath, and waited, as he conceived it his business to do, until at length he heard the bell of some distant village church-clock strike twelve. In the stillness of the night it seemed as though that long drawn out sound might have been heard across an infinite space of country; but it was the more welcome to Peter's ears for being the signal which had been agreed upon for the appearance of his associates, Colin and Roger Calvert. In a short time he discerned indistinctly two figures cautiously approaching over the broken ground, and apparently on the look-out for their preconcerted signal from the cottage-door. Peter rose, and advanced to meet them. It was with some difficulty at first sight of him that he prevented their retreating, as thinking all was not right, and they were discovered; but, having contrived to make himself known, they instantly approached, and heard from him with disappointment the story of his ineffectual attempt to get admitted to a nights lodging within Jerry's cottage.