Jack Hardy: A Story of English Smugglers in the Days of Napoleon

by Herbert Strang

  *CHAPTER IV*

  *CONGLETON'S HOLLOW*

  Jack was beginning to enjoy himself. There is something bracing inantagonism: the knowledge that he was regarded as an enemy by the peopleof Luscombe, so far from daunting him, whetted his appetite for duty.He made up his mind to say nothing to Mr. Bastable of what had occurred.

  When he got back to the Grange he found the household bubbling with anexcitement of its own. Mr. Bastable had brought back with him two newsuits of yeomanry uniform, and Tony, the coachman, and Andrew, thegroom, had just fitted them on and were displaying their finery to theadmiring eyes of Molly, the cook, and Betty, the housemaid. The mengrinned sheepishly as Jack passed them.

  "Bean't they fine, Measter Jack?" said Molly, giggling.

  "Splendid! You won't be afraid of Boney now."

  "Sakes alive, no, sir! But I be mortal afeard o' William's blunderbuss.It do look a terrible deathly instrument, to be sure; and what wouldhappen to us if it went off by accident goodness only knows."

  William was the gardener, who, though too old and bent to make anefficient yeoman, had been armed, like Overcombe, the butler, with ablunderbuss, Mr. Bastable having thought it worth while to give the menof his household weapons of defense.

  "You never know," he said to Jack; "Boney may land or he may not; if helands, the more men we have to fight him, the better; and a blunderbussbehind a wall may do some damage. I'm going to exercise 'em every day."

  "And what about Monsieur de Fronsac, cousin? Will you arm him, too?"

  "Well, I didn't intend to. I thought I could hardly expect him to fightagainst his own countrymen. But he is so bitter against the Monsterthat he declares he won't remain neutral. While his countrymen lick thefeet of the Monster, he says, he disowns 'em. He's got a pistol, anduncommon handy he is with it, too. There he is," he added, as a loudreport was heard; "he's practising behind the coach-house. Let us go andsee what he can do."

  De Fronsac smiled when he saw them.

  "You see, Messieurs, I exercise myself," he said. As he spoke hestooped and lifted a horn button from the ground. Walking up to thewall he placed the button edgewise against a brick; turned, stepped adozen paces, swung round, and almost without seeming to take aim, fired.The button was shattered into small fragments.

  Jack could not but envy the Frenchman's skill.

  "You must have had plenty of practice, Monsieur," he said.

  "Yes, truly. Ve of the noblesse know to use de pistol, assuredly."

  Next day there was to be a yeomanry parade at Wickham Ferrers. Arthurbegged off his lessons for the day, wishing to go with Jack to see thetraining. There were no horses for them to ride or drive, Mr.Bastable's three being required to mount himself and his men, so theyhad to walk. It was only six miles; they started early, and were on thefield before the troops arrived. They got a good deal of amusement outof the scene. Many of the yeomen were raw recruits who found themanagement of horses and arms at the same time somewhat beyond them.Falls were frequent, and the officers got very red in the face with theexertion of commanding and countermanding. When the parade was over,the two boys had early dinner with Mr. Bastable and the other officersat the _Wickham Arms_, and started to walk back in the cool of theevening.

  They came by a path that led past the tower once inhabited by themelancholy Congleton. Jack looked up at it, wondering what sort of placethat lonely room at the top was. But Arthur said that the only doorwaywas strongly barricaded, and Jack was not inclined to waste time inbreaking in. Another half-mile brought them to the middle of theHollow. Jack had not mentioned the incident of two nights before; itwould seem too much like prying into De Fronsac's affairs; but he wasthinking of it when a shot rang out from the depths of the copse,followed by a cry. Arthur paused in the act of capturing a belatedbutterfly.

  "What's that, Jack?"

  "A cry for help! Come on!"

  He vaulted the wall; after a moment's hesitation Arthur scrambled over;and they dashed toward the thickest part of the wood, Jack a few yardsahead. Heedless of scratches and tears they pushed through the tanglein the direction of the sounds, and, Jack suddenly finding himselfblocked by a thick clump of brambles, Arthur came panting up to him.

  "Over there, Jack, I think!" he said. "I heard some one moving."

  He pointed to the left. They listened; there was no sound but theripple of a tiny stream.

  "Let's go on!" said Jack in a whisper, pointing ahead. "'Twas there thesound first came from."

  He disentangled himself from the bush, not without damage to hands andclothes, and skirting the obstacle, the two pushed still deeper into thewood, dim in spite of the glow of the westering sun. In a few momentsthey saw through the trees a more brightly-lit patch of ground, and cameto an open glade, covered with fern and tall grass run to seed. At thefar side stood the ruins of a large timber summer-house, built of logssomething like those of the pioneers in America of which Jack had read.It was somewhat dilapidated. But what took his attention immediatelywas the figure of a man sitting on one of the fallen logs, apparentlystanching with a red handkerchief a wound in the head.

  As the two boys made their appearance at the edge of the glade the manstarted and tried to rise; but he staggered back with a groan, andcontinuing clumsily to stanch his wound, eyed them sullenly with uneasysuspicion as they approached.

  Jack went up to him impulsively.

  "We heard a shot and a cry. Did you call out?" he asked. "You arehurt. Can we do anything?"

  The man was an undersized, mean-featured, ill-conditioned lookingfellow. He had a low beetling brow, and his cheeks were black with theunshorn growth of several weeks. He was evidently badly hurt, and,villainous though he looked, Jack was eager to aid him.

  "It is nothing," said the man, in a low and surly tone, with a slightforeign accent. "I am getting better, if only the bleeding would stop!"

  Jack could see the handkerchief was drenched with blood.

  "You were shot! Who fired?" he asked.

  "Ah, who? I want to know. It was all at once. I did not see."

  "And how did it happen, then?"

  "Why, I walk along, looking straight in front, when behind me a shot isfired. I feel the pain. I call out; the pain indeed is no little; see,the bullet cut my scalp three inches long, at least. A little lower, andwithout doubt I am a dead man."

  "And you did not see who fired?"

  "No, how can I? I turn round; but the villain hears you as you come,and he escapes. That way I hear him go."

  He pointed in the direction suggested by Arthur.

  "It was some robber, without doubt," he added.

  Jack looked uneasily around. Where was the man? Perhaps still in thecopse ready to repeat his shot. But with another glance at the victimJack felt that there was something strange in his story. Who would roban ill-clad, dirty-looking fellow like this? He did not appear worththe pains. And what had brought him to the Hollow? He was certainly aforeigner; the copse was off the highway; what was he doing there?

  From beneath his black shaggy brows the man was keenly watching.Apparently he saw by Jack's expression that doubts were crossing hismind. Still dabbing his head he began to speak again.

  "I am unlucky. I am of Spitalfields, a silk weaver. At Wickham FerrersI have at the inn fine silks. I visit the nobility and gentry; theygive me orders. I am on my way to the house of Mr. Bastable--thesquire, people call him. He is rich; his lady will buy my silks."

  "But this is not the way to Mr. Bastable's."

  "Is it not? They told me there was a short cut through the wood. Ah!the villains! It is a trap. They had me here to shoot me. Yes, that isit."

  "And your samples?"

  The man started.

  "Yes, my samples," he said hurriedly, looking round. "They steal them.But I have others at Wickham Ferrers, at the inn. I go for them atonce."

  He rose as he spoke. Erect, he stood a head
shorter than Jack.

  "I beg you keep close to me till we are out of the wood. Ah! I feelsick, I am not able to walk so far. I am shaken; I can not wait on alady this evening. Can you tell me a lodging in the village?"

  "Do you know of one, Arthur?"

  "There's old Mother Philpot; she could put him up."

  "I thank you. Philpot: I will remember the name."

  The boys walked with him until they reached the edge of the plantation.Then Arthur pointed out the path that led down to the village; the manrefused their offer of further assistance, and when he had gone fromsight they struck off at an angle toward the Grange.

  Arthur was greatly excited at the incident, and talked about it all theway home. Jack was puzzled. It seemed so unlikely that a peddlercarrying silks should go so far out of his way, and that he should beset upon and robbed of a bundle of samples when the more valuable bulkof his wares lay at Wickham Ferrers.

  At dinner he mentioned the occurrence. Mr. Bastable was as much annoyedas concerned.

  "This won't do," he said. "We're a peaceable and law-abiding folkhere."

  "The smugglers, cousin?"

  "Oh! the smugglers!" Mr. Bastable's face again wore that strangequizzical smile that Jack had noticed whenever smuggling was mentioned."That's another matter. I say we're a law-abiding folk. There hasn'tbeen a robbery, an assault, or anything of that kind, for years. Sonear the Grange, too. As a justice of the peace, I must see that fellowand get a description of the assailant; we'll raise the hue and cry andhave him fast by the heels, I warrant him. I'll send Tony to MotherPhilpot at once."

  "He said he didn't see the man who fired the shot."

  "Nonsense. How could any one take his samples without being seen?"

  "Permit me," said De Fronsac, smiling. "From vat Monsieur Jack says, depoor man is a compatriot. He is a weaver of Spitalfields, but he talkviz a foreign accent. De French families in Spitalfields have been dereso many generations dat dey are now English; dey vould have no accent,and dis poor man must be, as I myself, a victim of de troubles in Franceof dis day--perhaps he is a victim of dat Monstair. Vill it not beconvenient dat I go to see him at his lodgment, and speak to him in hisown language, and learn all dat he has to tell?"

  "'Tis very good of you, Monsieur; but I don't want to spoil your dinner,and this must be done at once, or the villain will get away."

  "De dinner, it is noding!" said De Fronsac with a smile, not perceivingthe little grimace that for an instant showed itself on Kate's lips, orthe glance exchanged between her and her mother. "I vill go at once. Ido anyzing to serve a friend like you, Monsieur," he said, with a lowbow as he rose.

  After De Fronsac's departure the family discussed the incident atlength, Mr. Bastable becoming more and more indignant as he thought ofthe outrage committed in that quiet spot and so near his own doors. ButJack felt very uneasy. He could not help connecting the event with thevoices he had heard in the copse two nights before. The speakers hadseemed to be in altercation; one of them had been De Fronsac. And DeFronsac had offered to go and question the injured man. Jack wonderedwhether he had better tell his cousin what was passing through his mind,but he did not like to make him uneasy or suspicious if, after all,there was no cause for it. So he decided to say nothing--at least,until De Fronsac had reported the result of his interview.

  The family were in the drawing-room when the tutor returned.

  "I have accomplish' my mission," he said. "I am hot; I valk fast. Deman is indeed, I regret to say, a compatriot. He is in England from ayoung man; vid his parents he arrive fourteen years ago, ven de troublesbegan. I dink he is honest man. He see only very little bit of de manvat shoot him, but it seem he vas short, and zick, and vid red hair.Dat is vun zing he know: de man had de hair red."

  "Red-haired men are as common as blackberries in these parts," said Mr.Bastable. "That won't help us much. Why didn't the fellow use his eyesto better purpose? I warrant, if a man shot me I'd know a little moreabout him. However, I'll send Tony to Wickham Ferrers, and we'll havesome men out scouring the country. Unluckily 'tis getting dark."

  Mr. Bastable went to bed later than usual that night, in case the manshould be caught and brought before him as a justice of the peace forcommittal. But the searchers had made no discovery, and the squire atlast retired, going round the house with more than usual care to seethat doors and windows were carefully bolted.

  Next morning they were seated at breakfast when Tony knocked at the doorand came in with a face full of news.

  "Please, sir, there's bin housebreaking now. Mother Philpot's house werebroke into last night, and the Mounseer carried off."

  "What! what!" shouted Mr. Bastable with a very red face, holding uprightthe knife and fork with which he was carving a fine piece of pickledpork.

  "'Tis true, sir. Mother Philpot were just gwine up along to roost, whenthere come a knock at the door. She opened, poor soul, and three menwith faces black as sut pushed past. One caught her by the arm and toldher to be mum and no harm would come o't; t'others went into Mounseer'schimmer and pulled un out as soon as they'd got his coat and things on,and took un away. He was all a-shaking, sir. Mother Philpot says, saysshe: 'A were a-trembling like an apsen, and so were I!'"

  "This is monstrous!" cried Mr. Bastable, pushing back his chair.

  "Alas! my compatriot is in danger yet still," said De Fronsac, carefullyfolding his napkin.

  "And the silks! I had set my heart on a plum-colored dress, Humfrey,"said Mrs. Bastable.

  "Silks! Fiddlesticks! 'tis an outrage; 'tis contempt of court!'tis--'tis--hang it! I don't know what it isn't. Tony, get my horsesaddled. I'll ride over to Wickham myself, and get the colonel to scourthe country with dragoons, or we'll send to Budmouth for those fellowsof the German Legion, and see what they're good for. We can't allowthis sort of thing in Luscombe, and by George! we won't."

  The angry squire strode away, leaving his breakfast unfinished.

  "Your poor father will be so hungry, and so bad-tempered all day," saidMrs. Bastable, whom nothing seemed to ruffle. "Jack, will you carve thepork? You have not finished, Monsieur de Fronsac?"

  "Absolutely, Madame," said the Frenchman with a bow and a smile. "Dereis yet an hour before ve study; I vill valk to de village and back. Defresh air it is salubrious; and de fishermen interess me. My estatesvere in Brittany; and in my days of youth I pass much time amongfishermen. Ven I come back, ve vill study de properties of angles,Monsieur Arthur."

  And with a smile Monsieur de Fronsac left the room.