CHAPTER III--Concerning my Journey to Portsmouth
Grief does not for long hold its sway over the buoyant spirit of youth,and, in spite of the heavy blow that I had sustained, my boyishdisposition speedily reasserted itself, and I looked forward withundisguised eagerness to my journey to my new home in Portsmouth town.
Already I had heard many wondrous tales of the happenings in that townfrom the lips of old Master Herbert Collings and of Henry Martin. In mymind I pictured my worthy uncle taking me round the dockyard, showing methis and that vessel, and pointing out this captain who fought againstthe Dutch, and that master mariner who repulsed the Barbary corsair.
With bright visions of the future I gave little heed to the troubles ofthe past, and eagerly wished for the end of the nine long days that mustpass ere I left the quiet of our little village of Rake for the busylife of a naval town.
A day spent in Midhurst, where I was well fitted out with clothes,helped to make the time pass, and on the evening previous to theeventful day of my departure, I climbed the steep ascent of Rake Hill tobid farewell to some of my friends who dwelt on the by-road towardsLyss.
It was dark ere I set out homewards, and on the summit of the hill Istopped to look across the coombe, where flickered the innumerable woodfires of the iron smelters' forges. It reminded me strangely of thateventful day, but a few weeks past, when I journeyed over the selfsameroad with my father, and instinctively I breathed a prayer for vengeanceagainst his foul murderer.
Suddenly the distant thud of horses' hoofs smote upon my ear, and beforeI reached the foot of the hill, where stands the "Flying Bull", Iperceived a cavalcade rapidly approaching.
As I drew to the side of the highway to watch them pass, I could see inthe starlight that there was a body of horse, some dozen at least,surrounding a carriage. The horsemen were accoutred in breast- andback-plates and steel helmets, and from their sour visages I knew themto be Roundheads. Inside the carriage a candlelamp burned, throwing adim light on the occupants; and, brief as was my glimpse, I saw thatthey were lavishly attired, and wore lovelocks under their plumed beaverhats.
Whether they journeyed as prisoners I could not tell, though from thecareless jovial expression of their faces it seemed otherwise; butbefore I could remark much else the party had galloped past, and werewell on their way along this southern highway towards Portsmouth. When Ireached my home I at once retired for the night, and was soon dreamingof horsemen and chariots till the rays of the morning sun, thrownathwart my bed, awoke me.
In my eagerness to start I could scarcely be persuaded to eat anything.In vain did Mistress Heatherington coax me--my excitement was too great.At length the two-horsed wain belonging to Farmer Hill drew up outsideour house. By this conveyance I was to be taken to Petersfield, thereto proceed by a chapman's cart that journeyed thrice weekly betwixt thattown and Portsmouth.
My packages and boxes were lifted into the wagon. I climbed up besidethe driver, and with many a handwave my old home was left behind me, anda new world lay before me.
I was now fourteen years of age, and for a country-bred lad I flatteredmyself that I was no fool. Tall for my age, broad-shouldered andsupple-limbed, I possessed an unusual amount of strength, and could bearfatigue in a manner that could only be accounted for by the fact that Ihad led an active outdoor life.
Slowly the wagon ascended the steep incline of Rake Hill. The summitgained, there was time for a parting glance across the coombe ere thefour-mile stretch of downhill road commenced. At first I talkedexcitedly with the driver, a sour-faced, wizened man, whose short jerkyanswers, spoken in broadest Sussex, did not encourage conversation; sopresently I dropped all attempt at talking, and took note of the variousplaces and persons we met on the road.
At Sheet Bridge we were stopped by a toll-gate, the driver exchanging afew angry words with the villainous-looking man who held the gate.
Beyond was a short, steep hill, up which we both walked, the driverhaving thrown the reins across his horse's back. At the summit was agallows, from which hung something black. As we drew nearer I could seethat the dark object was all that remained of what was once a man. Thecorpse, daubed with pitch, was encircled with iron hoops like a cage,and as the wind howled over the hilltop the chain that suspended thecage creaked horribly.
The corpse could not have been there for long; it certainly was notthere on the occasion of my last journey with my father to Petersfield.I noticed that the little finger of each hand was missing!
The driver looked at me over his shoulder, as if to note the effect thatthis horrible sight might have on a youth.
"See you?" he queried, knowing full well that I could not well missseeing it unless I were blind.
I nodded. "Let yon be a waarning to 'e, young maaster. Do 'e nevertaake to killin'. 'Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood beshed.'" And with this remarkable discourse he slowly climbed back tohis seat on the wagon, I following him.
But I was not satisfied. Those missing fingers puzzled me, and Iventured to ask why the hands had been mutilated. For answer he plungedhis hand into one of his many pockets and produced a small object thatlooked like a leather purse. This he opened and pulled out a humanfinger, the stump being mounted with silver! For a moment he held itbefore my eyes; then, as if too precious to be exposed to the light ofday, he carefully replaced it in its wrappings.
"Young maaster," he replied, "for certain prevention of agues, fever,smallpox, plague, and all divers illnesses, for certain proof againstthe evil eye, there is nowt that can compare with the little finger of amurderer."
By this time the square tower of Petersfield Church was in sight, andsoon after we drew up in the courtyard of the "Red Lion", where, sinceit was market day, there were numbers of carts and wagons from thecountryside for miles around.
In the midst of the bustle and noise I saw that mingled with thecountryfolk were several soldiers, while in a corner of the courtyardwas a ponderous coach, which, if I mistook not, was the very one thatpassed me yesternight at Rake Hill.
It was but ten in the morning, and the two occupants of the coach hadnot yet appeared. Apparently an accident had befallen the conveyance,for a smith was busily engaged with hammer and cold chisel in repairingone of the wheels.
Notwithstanding their Puritanical garb, most of the troopers had, evenat this early hour, partaken of spirituous drinks, and, judging by theirgestures and talk, were evidently anticipating the restoration of HisMajesty King Charles.
Perceiving a serving maid at one of the windows, one of the soldiersbegan to make love to her in dumb show, kissing his hand and waving hisiron headpiece to the damsel, who seemed nothing loath to accept hisadvances.
Presently she opened the casement, and, leaning out, threw him a flower.Few women can throw straight, and this one was no exception. Her missileflew far above the man's head, and, running backwards in a vainendeavour to catch it, he fell heavily into a large trough of pigs'mash, where, half-stunned by the force of his fall, he lay wallowing inthe sticky mess, till he was helped out by his comrades, to theaccompaniment of their jeers and laughter.
Having carried all my belongings into the inn, the old carter bade mefarewell; and as the sound of his footsteps was lost in the outside din,I felt as if the last link that bound me to the home of my childhood wassevered.
The host of the "Red Lion", an old soldier by appearance, came in andasked me what I lacked. I told him I was waiting for the chapman whotravelled between Winton, Petersfield, and Portsmouth, and at the sametime ordered a meal, for the morning ride had made me hungry.
The landlord hurried off, for callers were many that morning, and whilstI was waiting I took stock of the room. It was panelled, and had thickoak rafters and low ceiling. Though the weather was warm, a large fireblazed on the hearth, while the wall above the chimney corner was hungwith an assortment of old weapons.
There were three other occupants of the room, two of whom sat in thechimney corner, leaning over the fire
as if it were a winter's day,while the third was spread out on the settle, gazing stolidly at hiscompanions. They had evidently been engaged in deep conversation, buton my arrival they stopped talking and eyed me with no goodwill.
All three were villainous-looking men, dark-skinned and heavy-browed.One had a livid weal across his cheek, while another was deeply pittedwith smallpox. The third had his face nearly concealed in a dark beardthat grew so high on his cheek as almost to meet his eyebrows. Theirclothes were old and ragged; their belongings were limited to a smallbundle that was placed by each man's side. Three large tankards, lyingupset on the floor, showed that their refreshment had been copious,while the reek of strong spirits hung around them like an invisiblecloud.
They made no secret of the fact that my inquisitive glances wereunwelcome, and so much did they scowl that I turned hastily away andlooked out of the window, where the brilliant sunshine, beating down onthe crowded courtyard, made a pleasing contrast to the dismal triowithin.
The arrival of another wayfarer next diverted my thoughts. The newcomerwas a burly, good-natured farmer, who, after giving the three men acheery salutation, which they returned surlily enough, sat down oppositeto me.
Just then the landlord reappeared, and offered excuses for not having abetter room at his disposal. "Two officers and a troop of horse," saidhe, "have stayed here overnight. What their business is I know not.The men are free with everything but their own affairs. Not even spicedale makes their tongues wag in that direction. Their masters say less.Still, 'tis not my business; they pay well. But even this younggentleman has to stay here for want of better room. Ah, bethink me!Didst pass Carver, the chapman, on your way hither?"
"Are your wits wool-gathering, Master Host?" replied the other. "Seeingthat Carver gave notice that on Tuesday he would go direct from Winton,instead of through this town, and that to-day happens to be Tuesday----"
"Of course!" ejaculated the landlord; "I had forgotten."
For a moment I felt staggered, then I asked if there were other means ofcontinuing my way.
"None, young sir; but there is ample accommodation here for man andbeast till Thursday, when a wagon from Alton to Portsmouth passes thishostel."
I shook my head. The idea of spending two days and nights in this placewas out of the question. "I must go on," I replied, "even if I walk."
"You've pluck!" exclaimed the farmer. "'Tis a good eighteen miles.Were it any day but this I'd take you part of the way."
I thanked him, and asked the landlord to take care of my trunks till theThursday; and, having finished my repast, I prepared to go.
Having paid my account in gold, and received a quantity of silverchange, which the landlord counted slowly into my hand, I bade thekindly farmer good-bye, and set off southward along a dusty, chalkyroad.
After crossing a small stream, and proceeding over a long causeway, theroad began slowly, yet gradually, to rise, evidently making for a gapbetween two lofty hills. Two miles brought me to the foot of the downs,where all signs of cultivation terminated abruptly, and only a treelessexpanse of turf-covered hills met my eye.
It was warm work that last part of the ascent, and on gaining the summitof the road I found that the hillside still towered on both sides, thehighway running through a steep chalk cutting.
Out of breath, I sat down on a grassy bank and looked back upon thecountry I had just left. Miles and miles of well-wooded land laybeneath me, extending far away to the North Downs. I could see the townof Petersfield nestling around the square tower of the old church. Icould trace the dusty road along which I had journeyed, save the lasthalf-mile, which was hidden by a chalk cliff that rose some two hundredyards away on the right.
For over a quarter of an hour I sat enjoying this magnificent view, whensuddenly round the bend of the road by the base of the cliff appearedthree men whom I had no difficulty in recognizing as the ill-favouredvisitors at the "Red Lion".
Then like a lightning flash the thought swept across my mind that,having seen the landlord give me a sum of silver, they had followed meto this lonesome spot.
I immediately sprang to my feet, and walked sharply onwards through thecutting. Ever and anon I looked back, and found that they wereincreasing their pace into almost a trot; so, directly I had put thebrow of the hill betwixt them and me, I ran steadily but not too swiftlydown the road. Even as I ran I took in my surroundings. In front wasthe long, white road, still descending till it turned to the left beyonda grassy spur of the hill that hid it from view, though at aconsiderable distance from it. Here and there were a few stunted bushes,too scanty to afford shelter, while not a habitation nor a human beingwas to be seen.
Again I looked back. Notwithstanding the climb, the men had gained onme, and were even now running at full speed down the incline--not twohundred yards away. One had out-distanced the others, yet all threewere keeping up a rapid pace.
Instinctively I increased my speed to the utmost, and, with my elbowspressed closely against my sides, swung down the road in a vainendeavour to meet a friendly being, or at least to outdistance mypursuers.
Once round that bend, surely there would be a house or some succour; butno, only another stretch of chalky road. Then I thought to leave theroad and climb the steep, grassy slope on my left, and before mypursuers had turned the corner I was staggering madly up the bank,where, under the frail shelter of a stunted bush, I lay down and pantedlike a hunted hare.
In a very short time the first of my pursuers appeared round the bend.It was the one with the scarred face, and, being in addition grimed withsweat and dust, and panting heavily, he presented a truly ferociousaspect.
When he saw the open road with no sign of his quarry he stopped,swearing and blaspheming horribly, till his fellow rogues came up. Frommy hiding place I could distinctly hear and see all, they being butforty yards away, and some fifty feet below me. In spite of my terror Ikept them in view, and, being weaponless, I looked around for some meansof defence. Close to my feet was a large rabbit hole, and knowing frompast experience that these animals frequently throw up flints and otherstones from their burrows, I plunged my hand into the newly excavatedearth, and to my delight found a large jagged flint, and soon after myarmoury consisted of five good-sized stones. Then a piece of wood,lying within two yards of the bush, and evidently a part of a hurdle,met my eye. This I seized, but the act led to my undoing, for one ofthe men, happening to look my way, saw me as I cautiously backed towardsmy shelter.
A volley of hideous oaths greeted my discovery, and immediately theblack-bearded fellow and the man who had proved the fastest of the threebegan to climb the hill.
I retreated slowly, so as to save my breath. Again the wealed-faced manoutdistanced his companion, and soon I could hear his deep pantingbehind me.
Then suddenly I turned, and, throwing one of the largest stones, hit himfairly in the midriff. With a loud howl he dropped on his knees andpressed his hands to his injured part, his cudgel rolling down the slopetill stopped by the other man.
The third rogue, seeing how matters stood, also began to climb theslope. For my part, flushed with my success, I slowly edged away,intending to make a detour, regain the road, and then retrace my stepstowards Petersfield; for I knew what sort of road I had already passed,but was in ignorance of the distance to which this wild valley extended.
Still climbing, I reached the sloping ridge round the base of which theroad bent. Once again I could follow the highway leading to the chalkcutting, and to my unbounded delight I saw for the third time thatponderous coach with its attendant troopers descending the hill at asharp pace.
The strong wind that was blowing towards the approaching cavalcade, andthe dusty road, both tended to deaden the sound of the horses' hoofs andthe dull rumble of the carriage, and as yet the villains were unaware oftheir danger.
On the summit of the ridge I turned towards them. Instinctively theyseparated, yet came on apace--the man whom I had hit with the stonelimping onward with
an effort, the others, each with a knife in hishand, working away on either side with the intention of preventing myescape. As the bearded ruffian came within throwing distance I flung astone with all my might, and had he not quickly bounded aside, therewould have been another point in my favour.
As soon as he gained the top of the ridge, though some feet below me, Imade a sudden rush towards him, intending to make a feint and then runtowards the troopers. The man stood on his guard, his knife glitteringin the sunlight, though evidently astonished at my apparent rashness.
When close upon him I darted to one side and ran quickly down the hill.Suddenly my foot caught in a rabbit hole, and I fell headlong, rollingover and over in my descent.
With a savage curse my assailant rushed towards my prostrate body, andeven as he did so he caught sight of the troopers.
His cursing changed into a howl of terror as he vainly tried to checkhis descent; but ere he could recover himself three of the horsemen hadspurred their steeds betwixt him and the rest of the troop. He lay onthe ground whining dismally, while the soldiers hastily trussed him upwith a length of stout cord.
Meanwhile the coach had stopped, and as I approached, limping from theeffects of my fall, its two occupants looked out of the window toenquire the cause of the disturbance.
Hastily I told my story, and hardly had I finished, when the elder ofthe two officers called to the sergeant: "Quickly, Sedgewyke! Securethose other rascals!"
Half a dozen troopers were quickly out of their saddles, and, leavingtheir horses in the care of two others, made their way up the slopetowards the spot where the remaining rogues were last seen. He of thescarred face was quickly captured, being well-nigh winded with theeffects of the stone I had thrown; but the third was a more determinedquarry, though, in his stupidity, instead of climbing upwards (being farlighter than the soldiers, encumbered as they were with breast-piecesand riding-boots), he must needs make for the road, where he raced offat breakneck speed.
"A crown for the man who brings him down, dead or alive!" shouted theofficer, who looked upon the pursuit with the eagerness of a sportsman.
Already the soldiers had regained their horses, and, leaving four as aguard over the prisoners, dashed in pursuit of the fugitive. Too latethe wretch saw his mistake, and again ran from the road towards a steepbank of chalk that towered up for nearly fifty feet above the stretch oflevel grassland at its base.
Lifting me into the coach, the elder man gave orders to follow thechase, and soon we pulled up close to where the terror-stricken fugitivewas making a desperate effort to scale the slippery bank.
"Middleton, we have some sport! I'll wager my largest snuffbox againstthine that the rogue will outwit your eleven men."
"Taken," replied the other. "Now, men," he shouted, "remember, a crown,dead or alive!"
The troopers were drawn up in an irregular line along the edge of theroad, and had drawn their pistols from their holsters.
Bang! A man on the extreme left had fired. The ball struck the cliffjust above the fugitive's head, bringing down a small avalanche of chalkand dust. Digging his hands into the yielding soil, the wretched manraised himself another two feet. Being but thirty yards from us, hisdesperate efforts were plainly visible.
Bang! Bang! Two reports in quick succession echoed down the valley.This time, whether hit or not, the man slid some six feet downwards,till his foot caught in a projection and stopped his descent.
"Not so fast there," grumbled the sergeant. "If you fire like that, whocan claim the reward? Now, then, Wagstaff!"
Calmly, as if at the butts, the row of men began to fire in turn. Atthe sixth shot the miserable villain made a feeble attempt to regain hisformer position, but ere he had ascended another two feet a shot struckhim in the back of the head, and he tumbled to the bottom of the bank ahideously disfigured corpse.
Striding over to the body the sergeant turned it over on its back, madesure that life was extinct, then returned to the door of the coach, and,saluting, said: "Trooper Jenkins's shot, sir, brought the rogue down."
The elder man gave the sergeant the promised reward, then, turning tohis companion, with a low bow, presented him with the snuffbox.
With this ceremonious display the tragedy was brought to a close, andthe two officers, learning that I was on my way to Portsmouth, consentedto let me ride with them.
The troopers formed up again, the prisoners firmly bound to two of theirnumber, and the cavalcade passed onwards, leaving by the roadside amotionless object that had once been a man.
As we journeyed along, the officers plied me with questions, taking agreat interest in my account of my meeting with the three footpads. Theolder of the two officers was about forty years of age, bronzed with thesun and wrinkled with exposure to the weather. His blue eyes twinkledin a kindly manner, while his lips, partly concealed by his closelytrimmed moustache and beard, denoted both firmness and discretion.
His companion, apparently ten years younger, also wore a beard of VanDyck cut. His appearance, however, denoted a man who was given toperform actions on the spur of the moment rather than to be ruled bydeliberate counsel. He was addressed as Middleton by his companion, butI could not then gather what was the name of the elder man. Both menwore flowing lovelocks, and affected the rich apparel of the Cavaliers,which contrasted vividly with the sombre garb of their escort.
When I mentioned that I was on my way to my uncle, Master Anderson, theyounger of the twain gave his companion a wink that did not escape me,and remarked: "Then, Master Aubrey, we'll see more of thee anon, if Imistake not."
The coach now descended a long declivity, at the bottom of which lay astraggling village, which, I was told, boasted of the name of Horndean.Here we rested the horses, my two benefactors going into the inn, fromwhich presently a man came out bringing me a cup of milk and a plate ofcoarse brown bread and rich yellow cheese.
In half an hour the journey was resumed, the road leading up a short,steep incline and then plunging into a dense wood, which once formed aroyal hunting-ground--the Forest of Bere.
At length we entered a deep, dark hollow, where the shade made ablinding contrast to the glare of the sun.
Suddenly there was a shrill whistle, followed by a sound of scuffling, ascore of round oaths, and the sharp report of firearms.
The coach came to a sudden standstill, throwing me from my seat, whilethe others jumped out, unsheathing their swords as they did so.
I too made for the door, and could see the troopers preparing to fireinto a thicket on the left-hand side of the road, while one of theirnumber lay on the ground, his head bleeding from a severe wound.
After the next volley some of the men plunged into the underwood,encouraged by the voice of the sergeant shouting: "After him, men, atall costs; he cannot be far off."
A moment later there was a sound of harsh voices, the noise of stonesstriking against steel, more pistol-shots, and then quietness, broken atlength by the return of the troopers bearing between them a man whomoaned and cursed lustily as he was carried by none too tender hands.
"How now, Sedgewyke!" thundered his officer. "Who is this? 'Tis notthe man we lost. Where is he?"
The sergeant saluted, and told his story: The troop was riding in astraggling manner, one of the men, who had a prisoner bound behind him(he with the scarred face), being in the rear. Without warning a stoutrope that had been stretched between two trees on opposite sides of theroad was dropped, and, catching the unfortunate soldier under the chin,hurled him and his prisoner to the ground. In a moment a party of menhad run from the cover of the brushwood, freed the captive, and, afterhamstringing the trooper's horse, had made their escape to the depths ofthe forest before the rest of the escort could realize what hadoccurred.
Pursued by the soldiers, they let fly a shower of stones, and in theconfusion that followed had made good their retreat, with oneexception-- a man who had received a ball in the right ankle.
Though chagrined by the loss of their
prisoner, the capture of one ofhis rescuers was a redeeming feature of the fray, and the latest captivewas brought before the officers for the purpose of being interrogated.
He was a young man, scarce more than twenty years of age, with a heavypoll of red hair. His sinewy arms were tattooed with various devices,while on his chest, exposed during the scuffle, a death's-head andcross-bones were crudely drawn. When questioned he maintained a surlysilence, only asking for water in a dialect that, country-bred though Iam, I could not readily understand.
"Methinks I have met others of this kind before," remarked the elderofficer. "A Dorset man, I'll wager, and, that being so, he's eithersmuggler or pirate. Whether he be of Poole or Weymouth 'tis all thesame. Far rather would I meet Dutchman or Frenchman in fair fight thanbe cast ashore on the devil-haunted coast of Purbeck. Now, Sedgewyke, Ipray you dispatch that horse and let us hasten on, unless we wish to bebenighted on the highway."
The sergeant saluted again and retired, while Middleton and his friendreturned to the carriage. A shot announced that the maimed animal'ssufferings were ended, and the troopers, with their two prisoners nowsafely in the centre, broke into a trot, the coach swaying to and fro asit rumbled over the rough road.
The sun was sinking low when we reached the summit of Portsdown, a longstretch of chalky down, whence I saw Portsmouth for the first time.
To one living in the hilliest and most picturesque part of Hampshire andSussex this first glimpse came as a disappointment. I saw below me anisland so flat as to make it appear difficult to tell where the landended and where the water began. Save for a few trees and somescattered houses there was little to break the dreariness of it, while,the tide being out (as I afterwards learnt), long expanses of mud oneither side increased this aspect of monotonous desolation. At the farend of the island I could distinguish the cluster of houses that formedthe town. At the near end was a narrow creek, which we must needs crossto gain our destination, while away on the right was a square tower,which, they told me, was the castle of Portchester.
This was my first view of Portsmouth, and also of the sea, and I mustconfess I felt heartily disappointed with both.
We soon descended the hill, passed through the little hamlet of Cosham,and crossed the creek by a narrow bridge. A short three miles nowseparated us from the town, and on approaching it I saw a large mound ofearth, called the Town Mount, crowned by fortifications and fronted by aline of bastions and earthworks, which in turn were encircled with amoat that communicated with the mill dam on the right.
Beyond rose the red-tiled roofs of the houses, the whole being dominatedby the massive square tower of St. Thomas's Church.
At the Landport Gate we were received by a guard of soldiers, and as weentered the town my first impressions were removed by the sight of somuch life and bustle.
Inside the line of fortification the guard had turned out for thepurpose of doing honour to my travelling companions. The sight of therows of pikemen with their eighteen-feet weapons riveted my attentiontill I was recalled to my senses by being dismissed by my benefactors,who gave me in charge of a sour-visaged soldier, with instructions totake me to the house of Master Anderson in St. Thomas's Street.
Soon I found myself at the door of a tall, gabled house, where, withoutwaiting, my guide left me.
With a feeling of timidity I knocked, and the door was opened. I sawbefore me a rotund little man with a puffy face that a well-trimmedbeard partially concealed. His face was pitted with smallpox, but hiseyes, though swollen with the result of high living, twinkled in akindly manner, yet showed promise of quickly firing up in anger.
I was unable to utter a word, and stood still, feeling considerablyuneasy under his enquiring gaze. Neither did he speak; so, driven todesperation, I at length gathered up courage and stammered: "Sir, I amyour nephew, Aubrey Wentworth."
A Lad of Grit: A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea in Restoration Times Page 3
