Chapter EIGHT (2)

"Ride on a short distance to the south and wait for me there," he said to his brother; "I will then turn back and see if the people are likely to treat us hospitably. I will tell them that we want a place of rest, as we know of none in the neighbourhood, and that if they will find some oats or beans or other provender for our horses, and provide us with some food, we will be thankful and pay them whatever they may demand." Near the cottage was a boat-house, which appeared to be high enough to serve as a stable, and they hoped that their horses might be sheltered in it during the night. Accordingly, after proceeding a little distance beyond the cottage, Stephen turned back and rode up to the door, and gave a couple of knocks with the hilt of his sword. The next instant it was opened, and a grey-headed old man in a fisherman's dress appeared.

"What do you want here, master?" he asked.

Stephen, after surveying the old man, answered as he had intended.

"Food for a horse I don't keep in store, and for a man I have little enough, though I might give you some bread and cheese," said the old fisherman.

"We will pay you for whatever you can supply us with and be thankful," said Stephen.

"Two men and horses; why, you will eat me out of house and home," said the old man, peering forth at Andrew, whom he could see in the distance. "My son, however, will be in anon from fishing; if he has got a good haul there will be food enough, and as for the horses, why, now I come to think on't, I have a couple of sacks of damaged oats, got out of a vessel not far off; if your animals are hungry, as you say, they will manage to eat them."

"By all means, my friend," said Stephen. "And I suppose you can put our horses up in your boat-house?"

"As to that, as the boat's away, and it is summer weather, there is room for them."

"Well, then, I will call my brother, and we will take advantage of your hospitality," said Stephen, and he rode back and called Andrew.

"Bring us the oats without delay, my friend," said Stephen; "our poor beasts want food as much as we do."

The old man went into his hut and reappeared with a good-sized basketful of oats. The young men, taking off their bridles, allowed the poor beasts to commence their meal, fastening them up with some ropes, of which there were several coils in the boat-house.

"You have come far, I suspect," observed the old fisherman, as he watched the horses devour their provender.

"You must give them some water, though," said Stephen, "or they will not get through enough food to sustain them."

The old man got a bucket, and went to a well a little distance from the cottage, among a group of trees, the only ones to be seen in the neighbourhood.

"A merciful man is merciful to his beast," he observed, as he brought the water, which the horses greedily drank. "Travellers have need to look after their steeds for their own sakes. Are you riding northward? It may be if you are, you are going to join the Duke of Monmouth's army. We have heard say that he has gone in that direction."

"No, we have no intention of joining his army," answered Stephen evasively, thankful to find that the news of the Duke's defeat had not as yet reached thus far. They now, closing the door of the boat-house, accompanied the old man to the cottage. They fancied that he was alone, but on entering they discovered an old woman seated by the fire, engaged in preparing the evening meal. She looked up from her task, and asked her husband who the strangers were.

"Travellers, goodwife; they want some food, and you must just put on whatever you have got to give them. Fry some more bacon and some of the salt fish we have in store. They will pay for it, goodwife," he whispered in her ear. "It is some time since your eyes have been gladdened by the sight of silver."

The old lady looked satisfied, and was soon frying a further supply of bacon and fish. The smell made Stephen and Andrew feel so sick with hunger, that they begged leave to fall-to without waiting for the return of Mark, the son of the old couple. It took them some time, however, to appease their appetites. The old man and his wife looked on with astonishment at the amount of food they stowed away.

"One would suppose that you two had not eaten anything since yesterday," observed the old man.

"You are not far wrong, friend," answered Stephen. "We have had good reason for spurring fast. As we are weary, we will beg you to let us stow ourselves away in a corner of your room and go to sleep, asking you to call us should any strangers come near the hut."

"You are welcome to do that, seeing we have no beds to offer you except Mark's, and he might grumble should he find himself turned out of his."

"We would not do that on any account. Do let us lie down without delay," said Stephen. "See, my brother's head is already nodding over the table."

They had brought in their cloaks, unstrapped from their saddles, and rolling themselves up in them, with some lumps of wood for pillows, they were asleep almost as soon as they had stretched themselves on the ground.

The old man and his wife sat talking in low voices for some time, every now and then glancing at their guests, till the door opened, and the son they had spoken of entered the room. He was a big, broad-shouldered, black-bearded man.

"Whom have we here?" he asked, turning his eyes towards the sleeping fugitives.

"That is more than I can tell you, Mark," answered his father. "They say they came from the south, and, as far as I can make out, they are pushing on to Bristol. They seem to have ridden hard, and are dead beat."

"That may or may not be," said Mark. "I heard say yesterday a good many men have been deserting from the Duke of Monmouth's army. That is not to be wondered at, seeing that the king's forces are rapidly gathering around him; wiser if they had never joined. However, that is no business of ours."

"So I say, son Mark," said the old man. "You are a wise fellow not to run your head into danger, let the world wag as it lists; all we have to do is to catch fish and find a market for them. Have you had a good haul?"

"Pretty fair; and I hope the packman will be here ere long to carry them to Bridgewater, where they say the Duke of Monmouth and his men are encamped. I will now turn in, father, to be ready to send off the fish as soon as the packman comes."

Mark accordingly turned into his bunk in a little recess, for it could not be called a room, in the hut, and was soon snoring away, while his father sat up by the fire in a rough arm-chair, ready, apparently, to awaken him as soon as the packman should arrive. Stephen and Andrew were so thoroughly done up that they slept on the whole night through, undisturbed by voices or any other noise; indeed, had a gun been fired over their heads, they would scarcely have heard it. They started up at daybreak.

"We should be off as soon as we have taken some food," whispered Stephen to his brother. "I wish that we had gone a couple of hours ago; the moon is in the sky, and we could have seen our way."

They rose to their feet, and looked about them; they could see no one in the hut. Presently the old man appeared from behind a piece of an old sail, which served to screen off his sleeping-place.

"We must be going, friend," said Stephen, "and we will thank you for some more food, as we know not when we may obtain any."

"You shall be welcome to what we have," and he called out to his wife, "Mollie, Mollie, get up and cook some breakfast for these young gentlemen; they wish to be on their way."

While the meal was preparing they went out to look at their horses. The animals were munching some oats, which it was evident that either the old man or his son had given them; the former followed and got some water, which the poor beasts much required. Both animals looked much better for their food and rest. Stephen and Andrew hoped that they should be able to make a long day's journey, and find some safer place of concealment than the hut of the old fisherman. On their return to it they found breakfast ready, which they discussed with good appetites; and then paying the old man handsomely for the food and lodging he had afforded them, hastened out again, intending to ride off without further delay. Stephen led out his horse, and Andrew followed, when, as he was about to mount, he exclaimed, "Why, the poor animal is lame." He led him on a few paces; there could be no doubt about it.

"This is unfortunate," he said. "But I will not delay you, Stephen; you ride on, and I will run down his leg; perhaps in the course of an hour or two the lameness may go off. I cannot fancy what has caused it."

"No, no," answered Stephen; "I will remain with you whatever happens; the chances are the news of the fight won't reach this place for some days to come. We will share each other's fortunes, whatever they may be." All Andrew could say would not induce Stephen to ride on alone. They examined the horse's leg, but could discover no cause for its lameness; they rubbed down the leg, and did all they could in hopes of taking it off. Presently the old fisherman appeared, and seemed much surprised at hearing that the horse was lame.

"We must trust to your hospitality for a few hours longer," said Stephen. "We should run the risk of having the horse break down altogether were we to proceed in its present condition."

The old man made no objection, so they put their horses back into the boat-house, and re-entered the hut. They inquired if his son had returned on the previous evening.

"Yes," he answered; "and he has now gone out in the boat to catch some more fish, so we shall have enough to feed you. You must rest on the ground as you did last night."

As they had scarcely recovered from their fatigue, they were glad enough to lie down again and get some more sleep. They were aroused for dinner, which was composed chiefly of fish, and as soon as it was over, they went out to look at their horses. Andrew led his from the stable, and walked it up and down; it already appeared better. "I really think we might push forward; it would be safer than staying here. The chances are Feversham's cavalry will be scouring the country in all directions to make prisoners, and before long some of them may be here."

Stephen agreed, and went back to the hut to pay the old man and wish him good-bye. He was standing at the door of the hut, when Andrew cried out, "Quick! quick! I see some horsemen in the distance, and they are coming this way. They may be friends, but they are more likely to be enemies."

The old man heard what was said, but made no remark. Stephen hurried to the boat-house, and quickly bridling and saddling his horse, mounted, without stopping to look behind them.

"Halloo! I thought you were going the other way," the old man shouted after them.

They waved their hands without replying. On they galloped, and soon lost sight of the horsemen; but whether the latter were pursuing them was the question. Andrew's horse went better than they expected. The country was generally level, though the roads were none of the best. They had proceeded for a couple of hours or more when Andrew's horse began to flag; the animal was evidently feeling its lameness; still they had reached no place where they could hope to obtain the concealment they sought for. Their wish was to get among the rocky and wooded part of North Devon, and beyond the district from which any of those who had joined the rebellion would come; there would then be less chance of their being sought for. Yet they felt, if it was suspected that they had been with Monmouth, they would even so run the risk of being betrayed.

"We must obtain disguises of some sort, though it may be difficult to find them," said Stephen, "for it would be dangerous to enter a town."

It was certainly important to get rid of their uniforms, for those alone would betray them, as soon as the fate of the battle was known. At the same time they thought if they could obtain the dresses of gentlemen, they should less likely be suspected while travelling, at all events, than if they disguised themselves as countrymen, as their dialect and appearance would at once show that they were strangers. The long summer's day was well-nigh closing in when they reached a hilly district, where they hoped to find concealment.

"What shall we do with our horses?" asked Andrew. "It will be difficult to hide them and find provender for them at the same time; besides which, should they be discovered, they would betray that we were in the neighbourhood. To turn them loose would be equally dangerous, for they would break into some corn-field or garden, and inquiries would be made to whom they belonged."

"The only way, I fear, will be to kill them and throw them over the cliffs," said Stephen.

"Then we shall have no means of travelling farther on," observed Andrew. "At all events, do not let us kill them to-night, but try to find some place where we can conceal both ourselves and them."

They rode on, the sun descending on their right into the waters of the Bristol Channel, enabling them to steer a tolerably direct course. At last they came to a deep wooded dell, the sides covered with trees, being so steep that it at first appeared that they could not possibly get down them. The sound of falling water assured them that there was a stream at the bottom, which would enable them to give their horses water. They were not likely to find a better place. They accordingly, dismounting, led their horses down, endeavouring as little as possible to disturb the ground, so as to leave no traces behind them. They were not disappointed in the locality. There was water and grass for their horses, and they had some dry bread and fish, with which the old fisherman supplied them, in their knapsacks for themselves, while the trees grew so closely that it was impossible for any one above to discover them. They, therefore, having watered their horses and eaten some of their scanty provision, lay down with a sense of tolerable security to sleep, while their animals cropped the grass close to them. Still they were anxious to get farther southward, where, among the rough Cornish miners, they were likely, they hoped, to be able to effectually conceal themselves till the search for fugitives from the battle-field was likely to be over. Night passed quietly away, the weather continuing fine, and at early dawn, their horses being thoroughly refreshed, they led them up out of the dell. The country was now much more wild and rugged than any they had yet passed over, and their progress was proportionately slow. Under other circumstances they would have enjoyed the scenery, but their hearts were too sad and their anxiety too great to enable them to think of anything but the means of securing their safety. They had proceeded for about a couple of hours, and were looking out for a place where they could stop and eat the scanty remains of food they had brought with them, when they caught sight of two horsemen coming towards them.

"Who can those men be?" asked Andrew.

"King's dragoons," answered Stephen. "It would be no use to fly. Our only chance is to dash forward and cut our way past them if they attempt to stop us."

"Agreed," said Andrew. "You take the fellow on our right, and I will tackle the other."

They rode quietly forward, nerved for the contest; but just as they were about to plunge their spurs into their horses' flanks, three other dragoons appeared coming along the road. There was a deep ravine on the right full of trees and brushwood. Andrew proposed that they should ride down it as far as they could go, and then throwing themselves from their horses, endeavour to make their way through the wood till they could find some place of concealment. The attempt was a desperate one, as the dragoons might follow as fast as they could. At the same time, they would have somewhat of a start, and being more lightly clad than the dragoons, would make quicker way.

"Whatever we do let us keep together," said Stephen; "and, if die we must, die fighting side by side."

"Agreed," said Andrew, who was always ready to follow his younger brother's lead. Just, however as Andrew was about to ride his horse down the steep bank, the dragoons dashed forward at so rapid a rate, that Stephen saw it would be impossible to follow without the risk of being cut down when unable to defend himself.

"Keep on the road," he cried out to Andrew, who had just time to turn his rein, and drawing his sword, galloped forward. The next moment the dragoons fired. The weapons of all four were clashing together. Both were tolerably skilful swordsmen. Stephen wounded his antagonist in the sword-arm. Andrew gave the other a plunge in the side which made him reel in his saddle, and dashed on to encounter the other three, who were now spurring forward to meet them. They had some hope of success, and their courage was high, though their horses were not equal to those of their opponents. They quickly met, when Stephen found his sword whirled from his grasp, and his horse borne to the ground. At the same moment Andrew uttered a cry, and Stephen saw him, to his dismay, fall bleeding from his horse.

"We give in," cried Stephen, anxious to save his brother. Notwithstanding, two of the dragoons, with swords uplifted, were about to cut them down, when the third, who appeared by his uniform to be an officer, cried out, "Do not strike," throwing up his men's weapons at the same time.

"You have acted like gallant fellows, whoever you are," he said, turning to Stephen, and getting off his horse, stepped forward to assist in lifting up Andrew, whom Stephen was endeavouring to help. The two dragoons who had first been encountered now came up swearing vengeance. The officer ordered the other men to look to their hurts, while he attended to Andrew's, which was not so severe as Stephen had at first supposed.

"You have come from the field of Sedgemoor," he said, surveying the two young men. "You will return with us to Lord Feversham's camp, and must take the consequences of your folly. You are gentlemen, and I do not wish to treat you as I should common clowns."

The hurts of the wounded men being bound up, the two prisoners were placed on their own horses, having been deprived of their weapons, while their arms were bound behind them, and their feet secured under their saddles. The officer now led the way along the road they had just come.

"We have had a long search for you," observed the officer. "We heard of your having been harboured at a fisherman's hut, and have been following you ever since, though you managed to elude us yesterday. I do not wish to alarm you, but you must be prepared for the fate which has overtaken all the rebels that have been captured. General Feversham is not very lenient, and Colonel Kirk, who is expected immediately, is inclined to hang every one he can catch. I myself will do what I can for you, for I am pleased with the bold way that you attacked us; I despise a cowardly enemy."

"We are much obliged to you for your courtesy," answered Stephen. "But, sir, does it not occur to you that we should be less inconvenienced if we had at least our arms at liberty, and were able to guide our horses over this rough road. Should they fall, we shall be in an unpleasant predicament, and may chance to break our necks or limbs."

"Will you give your word that you will not attempt to escape, rescue or no rescue?" asked the officer.

Stephen thought for a moment without answering. There might be an opportunity of getting free, and should they give their word of honour not to escape, they would be unable to take advantage of it. There was, however, very little probability that any party of their friends would be found able to attack five well-armed dragoons, for even the wounded men were still able to make a stout defence. The officer appeared to suspect his thoughts.

"Remember, my friends," he observed, "should a rescue be attempted, the first thing we should do would be to shoot each of you through the head."

"Thank you for your frankness, sir," said Stephen. "What do you say, Andrew; shall we give a promise not to escape, with a remote prospect of being rescued, and the tolerable certainty of being shot should we make the attempt to take advantage of it?" said Stephen.

"We will give our word provided we are also to have our legs at liberty, and can ride like gentlemen," answered Andrew. "We must do it provisionally, however. If the number of men who may attempt to rescue us is double that of the dragoons, they will then have a good excuse for letting us go; and that is, I believe, after all, what Cornet Bryce wishes."

"I fear that the Cornet will not agree to our arrangement," said Stephen, "though he may think that there is very little chance of ten or twenty men suddenly appearing in this part of the country to rescue us."

"Still let us try," said Andrew; "it will show him that we entertain some hope of being rescued, that our friends will revenge themselves on him if we are ill-treated. As to shooting us, I do not think he is the man to do that. We must run no small risk either way, and be prepared for it."

"Well, lads, have you made up your minds?" asked the Cornet, who, though holding a subordinate rank, was a man of a certain age.

Andrew, as the eldest, made the proposal he had suggested.

"Not very likely that I should agree to it," he answered. "I have you now in my power, and if your friends attempt to rescue you, I must pistol you as I promised."

"Look here, Cornet," said Andrew, "should you kill us, our friends will to a certainty cut you down in revenge; for supposing that twenty or thirty of them appear, you would have no chance, and as to giving our word not to attempt under such circumstances to escape, we cannot do it."

"Well, then, you must take the consequences," answered the Cornet; "you must ride on with your legs bound under you, but I will allow you the use of your hands, for if your horses were to fall you might break your necks, and I should have only dead men to convey to the camp."

Stephen, who all along had had no wish to give his word, was glad of this arrangement. The Cornet ordering his men to halt, himself unloosed the prisoners' hands, and bade them take the reins and see that they kept their horses on their feet. The cavalcade now moved forward at a more rapid rate than they before ventured to go. Neither Stephen nor Andrew had the slightest hope of being rescued, as few of the cavalry who had fled from Sedgemoor had kept together, each man having gone off in the direction where he hoped safety might most quickly be found. They concluded, with correctness, that many had been already captured, and that the dragoons were scouring the country in all directions in search of others. Their only consolation was, that they had fallen into the hands of a humane man, who was certainly not thirsting for their blood. Where there is life there is hope. They therefore rode on less downcast than under the circumstances might have been expected.