CHAPTER XVII
SUSPENSE
The fate of John Grimbal was learned within an hour or two of Inspector Chown’s departure from Monks Barton; and by the time that Martin Grimbal had been apprised of the matter his brother already lay at the Red House.
John had been found at daybreak upon the grass-land where he rode overnight on his journey to intercept the mail. A moment after he descried the distant cart, his horse had set foot in a hole; and upon the accident being discovered, the beast was found lying with a broken leg within twenty yards of its insensible master. His horse was shot, John Grimbal carried home with all despatch, and Doctor Parsons arrived as quickly as possible, to do all that might be done for the sufferer until an abler physician than himself reached the scene.
Three dreary days saw Grimbal at the door of death, then a brief interval of consciousness rewarded unceasing care, and a rumour spread that he might yet survive. Martin, when immediate fear for his brother’s life was relieved, busied himself about Blanchard, and went to Plymouth. There he saw Will, learned all facts concerning the letter, and did his best to win information of the prisoner’s probable punishment. Fears, magnified rumours, expressed opinions, mostly erroneous, buzzed in the ears of the anxious party at Monks Barton. Then Martin Grimbal returned to Chagford and there came an evening when those most interested met after supper at the farm to hear all he could tell them.
Long faces grouped round Martin as he made his statement in a grey June twilight. Mr. Blee and the miller smoked, Mrs. Blanchard sat with her hand in her daughter’s, and Phoebe occupied a comfortable arm-chair by the wood fire. Between intervals of long silence came loud, juicy, sounds from Billy’s pipe, and when light waned they still talked on until Chris stirred herself and sought the lamp.
“They tell me,” began Martin, “that a deserting soldier is punished according to his character and with regard to the fact whether he surrenders himself or is apprehended. Of course we know Will gave himself up, but then they will find out that he knew poor John’s unfortunate letter had reached its destination—or at any rate started for it; and they may argue, not knowing the truth, that it was the fact of the information being finally despatched made Will surrender. They will say, I am afraid, as they said to me: ’Why did he wait until now if he meant to do the right thing? Why did he not give himself up long ago?’”
“That’s easy answered: to please others,” explained Mr. Lyddon. “Fust theer was his promise to Phoebe, then his mother’s illness, then his other promise, to bide till his wife was brought to bed. Looking back I see we was wrong to use our power against his awn wish; but so it stands.”
“I ought to go; I ought to be alongside un,” moaned Phoebe; “I was at the bottom of everything from fust to last. For me he run away; for me he stopped away. Mine’s the blame, an’ them as judge him should knaw it an’ hear me say so.”
“Caan’t do no such vain thing as that,” declared Mr. Blee. “’T was never allowed as a wife should be heard ’pon the doin’s of her awn husband. ’Cause why? She’d be one-sided—either plump for un through thick an’ thin, or else all against un, as the case might stand.”
“As to the sentence,” continued Martin, “if a man with a good character deserts and thinks better of it and goes back to his regiment, he is not as a rule tried by court-martial at all. Instead, he loses all his former service and has to begin to reckon his period of engagement—six or seven years perhaps—all over again. But a notoriously bad character is tried by court-martial in any case, whether he gives himself up or not; and he gets a punishment according to the badness of his past record. Such a man would have from eighty-four days’ imprisonment, with hard labour, up to six months, or even a year, if he had deserted more than once. Then the out-and-out rascals are sentenced to be ‘dismissed her Majesty’s service.’”