Chapter I

I was born in 1795, at the Kentish village of Charfield, of which my father, the Rev. James Wilmot, was patron and rector. My mother died before I was a week old, commending me with her latest breath to the care of a trusted servant, the wife of our factotum John Fowles--"Corporal Jack," as the villagers commonly called him. Nancy Fowles had also charge of my sister Kate, who was six years my senior.

In his youth my father had held a cornet's commission in the 17th Light Dragoons, but being severely wounded at Bunker's Hill, he was invalided home. He then retired from the service, went to Oxford, took his degree, was ordained, got married, and on the death of his father, in 1788, succeeded to our family living.

When my father returned from America he was accompanied by Corporal John Fowles (who had also received a wound while rescuing his disabled cornet from the enemy), and on quitting the army he purchased the corporal's discharge, and took him as his body-servant. Three years before I was born, Fowles married my mother's maid, Nancy Buck; they never had children, so continued in their respective situations.

A strong, healthy child, I grew into a strong, healthy boy, with more than a fair share of animal spirits, and a most impetuous temper. I loved to "roam the fields for health unbought," to box and play single-stick with John Fowles, ride about the country with my sister, and take an occasional cruise in a Deal lugger--for Deal was barely an hour's walk from Charfield Rectory, and I knew nearly every fisherman on that part of the coast. Meanwhile my education was not neglected, as I studied daily with our curate, and with Mademoiselle Hettier, Kate's governess, an _emigrée_ whose relatives had all perished during the "Terror." Thus passed my life until I attained my fourteenth year, by which time I was well instructed in the "three Rs," history and geography, could speak French fluently and with a tolerable accent, knew a very little Latin, and was able to stammer through the Greek alphabet.

"I wish to speak about your future," said my father one evening when I bade him good-night. "You are now fourteen, and it is quite time that I expressed my views on that subject. My great desire is, that you should take orders and eventually succeed to the living. Do you like the prospect?"

"Ye--es, sir," I hesitatingly replied; "yes, I think so--that is, if it wasn't for Latin and Greek. I am very poor at them, you know."

"That's not altogether your fault, my boy," was his rejoinder. "Mr. Scott owns he does not possess the gift of teaching, but he is leaving us, on preferment, next week, and the new curate I have engaged is a very competent tutor. You have heard me mention my nephew Septimus Blagg?"

"Yes, father."

"Well Septimus is a sound classical scholar, and has coached men at Oxford. He has just been ordained, and is coming here as curate and your tutor. He will soon bring you on, and when you're sufficiently prepared you shall go up for matriculation. Good-night, Dick."

"Good-night, sir." And I retired, not quite sure whether I felt pleased or the contrary.

Septimus Blagg arrived at Charfield in due course. He was a lanky, sallow-faced, red-haired young man, with a fawning manner and a low purring voice. From the very first, Kate and I disliked and mistrusted him. The new tutor was, no doubt, a fine scholar, and apparently took considerable pains to instruct me; but somehow or other, I did not seem to make much progress with my classical studies; we were always doing the same work over and over again; never going ahead. At the end of twelve months, Septimus informed my father that I had no talent whatever for Latin or Greek, and recommended him to choose for me some profession in which a knowledge of classics was not indispensable.

"No, nephew, no! Dick must stick to the Church," was the decided reply. "He's still but a boy, and I'll wager he will easily matriculate when the time comes. With you for his tutor he is certain to succeed," my father added; for he had a high opinion of his curate, who made himself useful in many ways, and had completely hoodwinked his easy-going rector.

"As you please, sir," responded Septimus. "It was my duty to warn you of the possibility, nay, I must say the _probability_ of failure; but of course I will continue to do my utmost for dear Richard." And the subject dropped.

Now Kate chanced to overhear this conversation, and asked me whether I really tried to profit by our cousin's teaching.

"Honestly I do, Kate," I answered. "With other work I get on well enough, as you know; but, though I try hard to pick up Latin and Greek, I never seem to make any progress. It's always the same work over and over again, until I'm fairly sick of it! If Cousin Septimus would only let me go ahead I'm sure I'd do better, but really I sometimes fancy he----"

"Keeps you back on purpose," interposed Kate, taking the words out of my mouth. "That is exactly what I think, Dick. I believe the wretch will do all he can to prevent you taking orders, in the hope of getting Charfield for himself. _That_ is the reason you do not get on with your classics!"

"Egad! you're right," I exclaimed. "What shall we do--speak to father?"

"No, dear boy; we have no proof, and may be wrong in our suspicions," my sister replied. "We must try to outwit the man. Do your utmost, Dick, to master Latin and Greek in spite of his endeavours to hinder you; pick up all you can from him, but trust chiefly to your own efforts. Ma'moiselle could, I am sure, help you with Latin, for she is so clever at languages. I will speak to her."

I followed Kate's advice to the letter, and never hinted to my father that I doubted Mr. Blagg's good faith; but setting to work with a determination to succeed, by dint of hard study and the assistance of Mademoiselle Hettier--who still lived with us as Kate's companion--I made such progress that in a year's time all doubt of my being able to matriculate and subsequently take a respectable degree was removed. My father was delighted; my tutor unmistakably puzzled and discomfited--though he received with complaisance the compliments of his unsuspecting uncle, for Kate and I kept our secret.

Foiled in his attempt to retard my classical studies, Septimus Blagg tried other means to attain his end: he sought to blacken my character, knowing well that my father had too much respect for his cloth to permit a reputed ne'er-do-well to enter the Church. Septimus was far too wary to speak against me himself, so he bribed his landlord, Joseph Dobbs, the parish constable, to do his dirty work. Dobbs was a cowardly, bullying jack-in-office, quite unscrupulous; in fact the very man for the job. This rascal now began to play the spy upon me, and to report, with gross exaggerations, every boyish escapade. My father, however, knew Mr. Dobbs of old, and paid little heed to his reports. Indeed, on one occasion, when the fellow brought a palpably false charge against me, my indignant sire rated him soundly, threatened to deprive him of his office, and ordered John Fowles to turn him off the premises--an order which the ex-corporal cheerfully obeyed, and even exceeded by giving the slanderer a sound thrashing, on the plea that he "resisted the escort."

At this time I had no suspicion that Septimus Blagg was the instigator of these malicious charges, or I should certainly have shown him up.

For a few months after his warm reception at the rectory, Dobbs let me alone, but he was only biding his opportunity, and ere long he and his scoundrelly employer succeeded in landing me in a rare scrape.

In the month of March 1812, my father, Kate, and Mademoiselle Hettier went on a visit to Bingley Manor, twenty odd miles from Charfield. On Tuesday, March the 11th--I have good reason to remember the day!--I rode over to Bingley with an important letter, and did not reach home until after dark. As I entered the village Septimus Blagg stopped me.

"I am glad you have returned, Richard; in fact, I have been watching for you," he said. "There is painful news to tell you."

"Painful news, cousin!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, Richard," he rejoined. "Your young servant Harry Symes has been arrested on a very grave charge."

Now Harry Symes was a particular favourite of mine. He had been in our service some three years, but I had known him since childhood. His father was one of the most skilful and daring boatmen on the coast; he was also, unhappily, a notorious smuggler--a man who would stick at nothing when his blood was up. But though a determined law-breaker himself, William Symes had no wish that his only son should follow in his footsteps, so he had begged my father to take Harry into his service, and accordingly the lad was taken on as under-groom and to make himself generally useful indoors and out.

"What is Harry accused of?" I anxiously inquired. "Nothing disgraceful, I'll swear!"

"His father and other smugglers attempted to run a cargo before daybreak this morning, and were surprised by the Preventive Service officers. They made a desperate resistance, lives being lost on both sides. William Symes managed to escape, and came here to borrow some money from his son. He was seen by Joseph Dobbs, who very properly arrested him, but Harry interfered, assaulted Dobbs and his assistant with a hay-fork, and enabled his father to get clear away."

"And Harry was arrested?"

"Certainly he was, Richard, but not before he had dealt Dobbs a severe blow on the head, rendering him nearly insensible," answered Septimus. "He is now in the village cage, and I am uneasy lest any of his friends should attempt to rescue him. I shall advise Dobbs to keep watch over the cage all night, and remove the prisoner to Deal in the morning."

"Better mind your own business," I muttered; adding aloud, "Isn't the cage guarded at present?"

"No, Richard. Your father being absent, Dobbs has gone to Mr. Hardy's to report the arrest and ask for instructions; while his assistants, I believe, are on William Symes's track. Poor Harry! I fear he has committed a capital offence, and if so, his days are numbered."

These last words decided me. For aught I knew to the contrary, Harry Symes's life was in imminent peril, and I must save him if possible. The Charfield cage was an old ramshackle place, and if it was not watched I might be able to release my humble friend before Dobbs returned from the magistrate's. There was not a moment to lose, so bidding Septimus a curt good-night, I hastened to the stable and stalled and fed my mare without troubling the groom. Then, having procured a small crowbar from the tool-house, I ran to the cage, which stood quite apart from other buildings, and within five hundred yards of the rectory.

Not a soul was about, as far as I could see, so I whistled softly.

"That you, Master Dick?" whispered Harry, looking through the narrow grated window.

"Yes; I've come to release you. Keep very quiet."

The door of the cage was secured by a massive-looking staple and padlock, but both were old and eaten with rust; so a vigorous application of the crowbar wrenched them off. Pushing open the door, I entered the cage.

"Master Dick, you shouldn't have done this," Harry exclaimed. "You'll get yourself into rare trouble, I'm feared."

"Hush, you foolish fellow," I answered under my breath. "Take this money and cut away while the road's clear. I will meet you at the Dragon, Canterbury, early to-morrow, and we----"

"Not so fast, Master Wilmot," said a gruff voice, while a heavy hand fell on my shoulder, and turning quickly round, I found myself confronted by Dobbs and Septimus Blagg, behind whom stood the former's assistants--William Herd and Seth Fogg.

"I arrest you, Richard Wilmot, for attempting to rescue my prisoner," continued Dobbs. "Shove the darbies on t'other one, Bill, and do you, Seth, fetch the cart. We'll take these young devils to Dover jail this very night. Look sharp, both on ye."

Fogg went off on his errand with evident reluctance, and Herd, after fumbling in his pockets, declared that he must have left the handcuffs at home. Harry and I were so taken aback at the unexpected appearance of Dobbs and his companions that we stood stock-still, offering neither resistance nor remonstrance; but now Septimus Blagg came cringing up to me and, with well-feigned emotion, said: "Richard! Richard! has it come to this? Alas! what will my poor deluded uncle say?"

The sound of his hated voice roused me in a moment. Looking him fair in the face, I saw that his expression was one of triumph rather than regret. Then a sudden thought flashed across my mind--I had been betrayed by that fawning hypocrite!

"You hound!" I shouted in a fury. "You have set a trap for me--I'll swear it!"

"I reckon ye're not far wrong, Master Dick," muttered William Herd, casting an angry glance at the now trembling curate. "A darned dirty job it be!"

The man's remark, and my tutor's confusion, convinced me I had hit the right nail on the head--that Dodds and Septimus had deliberately planned to tempt me to rescue Harry Symes, there could be no reasonable doubt--and losing all control of my temper, and utterly regardless of the consequences, I rushed at Septimus Blagg and knocked him fairly off his legs. In falling his head came in violent contact with the half-open door, and he rolled over stunned and bleeding profusely.

"The young vill'n's killed the parson!" cried Dobbs, seizing me by the collar. "Help! Murder! Help!"

Snatching up a stool--the only piece of furniture in the cage--Harry Symes flew to my aid, and with a swashing blow stretched Dobbs senseless on the floor.

"Ecod! ye've done for the pair of 'em, I do believe," said Herd in scared tones, as he stooped to examine Dobbs's prostrate form. "Ye shouldn't have hit so mortal hard, lad; though it serves the rascal right."

"Is he dead, Bill?" asked poor Harry anxiously.

"I'm feared so, lad," replied the old man, looking up. "Ye must get clear of the country both on ye, for it'll be a hangin' job if ye're cotched. Be off, lads, afore Seth Fogg comes back, and put a score of miles betwixt ye and Charfeld by mornin'."

"But you will get into trouble if we escape now, William," I said, hesitating to act on his advice.

"Never fear, Master Dick," he rejoined. "How could an old chap like me stop a couple of active lads such as ye be? Not as how I'd try, if I was as strong as Samson."

"That's true, sir," put in Harry; "and everybody in Charfield 'll know it."

"In course they will," said Herd. "Come, be off afore 'tis too late, and I'll take mighty good care that ye gets a fair start. And look ye, Master Dick," the old fellow went on, "I'll see that Parson Wilmot knows the rights of this business, never you fear. Now away ye goes, lads, and good luck go with ye!" And with that he pushed us out of the cage.