Chapter Nine.
Stephen and Andrew Battiscombe had, without hesitation, given their names and other particulars of their family to Cornet Bryce.
“Well, my friends, I can tell you that I think there is a chance, though a slight one, that you may escape hanging,” he observed, as he rode alongside them in a familiar fashion, two of his men going in front and two guarding the rear. “Our General and some of the officers under him are not above taking bribes, and if you can persuade them that your father will pay handsomely, you may possibly get off, provided they do not hang you without asking questions. I give you the hint, as it may be of value to you.”
“Thank you,” said Andrew. “I am very sure that our father will be ready to pay any sum he can afford to save our lives; should we even now obtain our liberty, the person who enables us to escape would be handsomely rewarded.”
“He will probably be shot or lose his commission if caught, besides which, to do so he would neglect his duty as a soldier,” answered the Cornet. “No, no, young gentlemen, I gave you advice for your benefit, not for my own. I am not surprised at your making the proposal to me; some might take it. I thirst for no man’s blood, and I have no wish to handle blood-money. My father served under Cromwell, and though I am in the service of King James, I have not forgotten the principles of my ancestors. Would that I could free you without dishonour!”
These remarks accounted for the Cornet’s kind treatment to his prisoners. They had too much reason to fear that they should not find many like him in the camp. As they could reach no town that night, all the horses being too tired, the Cornet knocked at the door of a farm-house and demanded admittance. The farmer cast an eye of compassion on the two prisoners, but said nothing, and, without a moment’s hesitation, admitted the officer and his troopers, while he sent two of his men to lead their horses to the stables. His wife, on observing that two of the troopers were wounded, came forward and offered at once to dress their hurts.
“I have some skill in that way,” she said, “and I hope that if any of the Duke of Monmouth’s men were to come asking help, I should not be hardly dealt with if I gave it.”
“I would advise you, dame, not to try the experiment,” said Cornet Bryce. “I fear you and your goodman would run a great risk of being hung up if you were to afford help to the youngest drummer-boy in the rebel army.”
“Alack! alack! these are cruel times,” cried the good woman. “We hear that the king’s General is hanging up the poor people by scores; we do not desire to get our necks into the same noose. You will note, good sir, that we are peaceable people, that we gave you an instant welcome, and will provide the best our house can afford.”
“Do as you propose, good dame, and I will report as well of you as I can,” said the Cornet, placing himself at the table, where he directed his two prisoners to sit, close to him. The farmer busied himself in helping his wife. As Stephen examined his countenance, he thought he recognised it as that of a man who had been in Monmouth’s army. He made no remark. Once or twice, while the Cornet and his men were engaged in discussing their food, the farmer cast a glance at Stephen and Andrew, which showed, Stephen thought, that he also recognised them, and said very clearly, “Do not take any notice of me.”