*CHAPTER II*
*Sherebiah Shouts*
An Angling Story--Old Izaak--Landed--Breakfast--Marlborough's Smile--TheStory of a Potticary--Dosed--On the Horizon--Highwaymen--A Man ofPeace--Behind the Scenes--Nos Duo--Promises--Black JohnSimmons--Sherebiah is Troubled
"'Tis here or hereabouts, baten years ha'n't tooken my memory. True,feyther o' mine calls me boy, and so I be to a old aged man like him;but when a man's comen on forty-four, and ha' seen summat o' theworld--well,
"'Man's life is but vain, for 'tis subject to pain An' sorrow, an' short as a bubble; 'Tis a hodge-podge o' business, an' money, an' care, An' care, an' money, an' trouble.'
Ay, 'tis so, 'tis so!"
Sherebiah sighed, but the sigh ill became his round, jolly face; it wasmerely to chime with the words of the song. He was walking, about sixo'clock on the morning after the cricket-match, along the bank of alittle hill-stream, rod in hand, yet not expecting to halt for a while,for he took no pains to moderate his voice. He was not alone. Hiscompanion was the youth who had won the match for Winton St. Mary on theprevious day--Harry Rochester, the parson's son. Each carried arod--the huge clumsy rod of those days, nearly seventeen feet in length;each was laden with wallet, landing-net, and other apparatus; and infact they had already had an hour's sport with ground-bait, having risenfrom their beds soon after three on this ideal angler's morning. A hazelay over the ground, and a light rain was falling.
Sherebiah was several yards ahead, scanning the banks. His voice sank alittle as he repeated the lines:
"'Tis a hodge-podge o' business, an' money, an' care, An' care, an' money, an' trouble."
"Cheer up!" said Harry, behind him. "I like the second verse best,Sherry:
"'But we'll take no care when the weather proves fair, Nor will we vex now though it rain--
He was interrupted by the sudden halt of Sherebiah. The man had swunground; his lips were shot out in the motion of shooing, a warning fingerwas held up. Harry's voice died away, and he hastened to hiscompanion's side.
"Yonder's the spot," said Sherebiah in a whisper, pointing to a largepool, shaded with willows, some thirty yards ahead. "Mum's the word!They be sharp-eared, they trouts. 'Tis there I took ten lusty nibblers,ten year agoo come Michaelmas. Faith, 'twas all I could do to carry'em; ay, and I shouldn' ha' got 'em home but for Tom Dorrell, t' carrierfrom Salisbury, who came trundlen along in his wagon. He be dead an'gone, poor soul, as must we all."
"And what did you do with them?" asked Harry with a smile.
Sherebiah was famous for his angling stories, and they had perhaps asmuch foundation as most. No one in the country-side knew the ways ofthe trout as he did; but he was equally at home in trolling for jack orpike, roving for perch, and sniggling for eels. None could match hisknowledge of the flies in their several seasons: the hour of the day atwhich each is most killing; the merits of the silver twist hackle andthe lady-fly, whether for dapping or whipping; when to use the blackgnat, when the blue; under what conditions of the evening sky the shyesttrout will rise to a red spinner. And who could tie a fly likeSherebiah Minshull? Many a time Harry had examined his rich store ofmaterials--as varied as the contents of a witch's cauldron: feathers ofevery bird that flies, manifold silks and wires and hooks, wax andneedles, hog's down and squirrel's fur. Many a time had he watched himdress a fly and thread a bait, and admired his dexterous whipping of thestreams.
"What did I do wi' 'em?" Sherebiah had sat down with legs far apart,and was carefully selecting a fly from his case. He spoke always in awhisper. "Well, 'tis ten year since, and my memory bean't what it was;but now I mind on't, I gi' one to Tom carrier for his lift, and a coupleto miller up by Odbury, and one to Susan Poorgrass at Sir Godfrey's--Iwas a-courten then; her wouldn't ha' me, thank the Lord!--and a coupleto Ned Greenhay, Sir Godfrey's keeper as was, for a brace o' leverets;and to please feyther o' mine I took three up to the Hall. Zooks! andsmall thanks I got, for old Squire hisself come to the door, and gi' mea douse, he did; said if I didn't find summat better to do than gotraipsen the country-side, poachen or wuss, he'd commit me for a rogueand vagabond. An' th' old curmudgeon kept the fish; ay, he did so!--Ah!ha' got it; 'tis a fly that cost me more time in the maken than a dozenothers; a beauty, to be sure; eh, Master Harry?"
He proceeded to put it on his hook. It was an artificial oak-fly, blue,green, brown, and orange so cunningly mingled that no trout could failto be deceived.
"We'll now see some sport," continued Sherebiah, still in a whisper, ashe prepared to cast. "I can't abide bait-fishen; sport, i' faith! 'tismere bludgeon-play. True, it fills the pot, but there's no pleasure in't. 'Tis no pastime for a true bob."
"Why, Sherry, 'twas only yestere'en I was reading in a most excellentbook of angling by Master Izaak Walton, and he, it seems, held little tothe fly. His discourse is in the main of bait."
"Why, there 'tis. I met Master Walton once, a-fishen in the Itchenabove Winchester--a quaint man, with a good breast for a song, for allhe was ripe for the grave. Myself I was but twenty or so, he a man offourscore and upward; ay, a fine hale old man, wi' a store o' memories.We fell into talk; a' told me how a' once rid to Lunnon wi' a rich jewelo' King Charles's in his doublet; ay, he was a royal man, wi' a jollyred face, but no harm in un, not a whit; and learned, too--but noangler. No, faith, no angler, for a' talked o' fishen down stream, a'did, when ne'er a child but knows fish lie wi' their heads up stream. Yecotch fish as 'ee do Frenchmen, from behind! Now, hook's ready. Mum,Master Harry, while I cast."
He dropped his fly deftly into the still pool, watching it with keeneyes and pursed lips. Meanwhile Harry had chosen an orle fly, and madehis cast a little lower down. The anglers were silent for some minutes.
"What's that?" asked Harry suddenly, looking up as a distant sound ofwood-chopping reached his ears.
"Mum, boy!" whispered Sherebiah in reply. "There, I beg pardon, MasterHarry, but you've scared away a samlet just as he opened his jaws.That? 'Tis Simon forester, belike, fellen Sir Godfrey's timber. Now, astill tongue----"
He broke off, rose, and followed his line stealthily for a yard or two.The surface of the water was disturbed, and Harry caught a glimpse of agleaming side. There was a splash; the rod bent; then Sherebiahhastened his steps as the fish went away with a rush.
"He's a-showen fight," whispered Sherry. "Whoa! he's sounded, MasterHarry; a big un. Pray the tackle may hold! Ah! he's clear, and offagain! Whoa! whoa! Nay, my pretty, 'ee may fight, but I'll land 'ee."
For ten minutes the contest continued; then the angler got in his lineslowly, and beckoned to Harry to assist him. The fish was carefullydrawn in; Harry stooped with his net at the critical moment, and with asudden heave landed a fine four-pounder, which he slipped intoSherebiah's creel.
"That's the way on't, Master Harry," said Sherebiah contentedly. "Hadno luck yourself, eh? What be 'ee a-fishen wi'?"
"An orle."
"Ah, 'tis an hour or two too early in the day for that, mebbe. Still,these waters of Sir Godfrey bean't often fished since young MasterGodfrey went to Cambridge college, and the trout mayn't be oversqueamish. Stick to 't!"
An hour passed, and both anglers were well satisfied. Sherebiah's flyproved irresistible, either from its cunning make or the wary skill withwhich he whipped the stream. Four fat trout had joined the first in hisbasket; two had rewarded Harry's persistence; then he laid down his rodand watched with admiration the delicate casts of his companion.Sherebiah landed his sixth. The haze having now disappeared, and thesun growing hot, he wound up his line and said:
"Rain afore seven, fine afore 'leven. I be mortal peckish, MasterHarry; what may 'ee have in your basket, now?"
"Powdered beef, I think, Sherry; and Polly put in a cate or two and someradishes, and a bottle of cider; plain fare, you see."
"Well, hunger's the best saace, I b'lieve. We poor folks don't need toperk up our a
ppetites. I warrant, now, that mighty lord we sawyesterday would turn up his nose at powdered beef. Fine kickshawses a'had at Sir Godfrey's, no doubt. To think o' such a mighty lord, theQueen's purse-bearer an' all, bein' kept in a little small village byrust or dry-rot, just like a ordinary man! Old Squire would ha' likedto gi' him a bed, I reckon; but Sir Godfrey were aforehand, an' there helies till this mornen: axle was to be mended by six, if Lumpy had towork all night to finish the job. Med I axe 'ee a question, MasterHarry? Do 'ee think that shinen piece a' flung to feyther were his own,or out o' Queen's purse?"
Harry laughed.
"Lord Godolphin doesn't go about the country with the Queen's purseslung at his waist, Sherry. What he meant was that he was LordTreasurer, the Queen's chief minister, the man who rules the country,you know."
"Well, now, if I didn't think it'd be folly to carry the Queen's purseloose about the country! Then 'tis Lord Godolphin says we're to fightthe French?"
"Yes, he and my lord Marlborough between them."
"Ah! there 'tis. My lord Marlborough bean't free with his money liket'other lord. _He_ wouldn't ha' given old feyther o' mine nothen. Why,I was at Salisbury in '88 when my lord--Lord Churchill he was then, tobe sure--was there to meet King Willum, and I held his horse for 'n, andhe gi' me--what do 'ee think he gi' me, Master Harry?"
"Well?"
"Nowt but a smile! What med 'ee think o' that for a lord? 'Thank 'ee,my man,' says he, and puts his foot in the stirrup and shows his teethat me, and rides off! Lord! Now t'other one, the Lord Godolphin, he isa lord, to be sure, a fine free-handed gentleman, though he ha'n't gotsuch fine teeth. I like a lord to be a lord, I do."
"My lord Marlborough is indeed rather close-fisted, they say."
"Ay, but I ha' knowed a wuss. Did ever I tell 'ee of Jacob Spinney thepotticary? I was a growen lad, and feyther o' mine wanted to put me toa trade. So he bound me prentice to Jacob Spinney, that kept apotticary's shop by Bargate at S'thampton. Zooks! Jacob was adeceiver, like his namesake in the Book. A' promised feyther he'd gi'me good vittles and plenty on 'em, bein' a growen lad; but sakes, Inever got no meat save at third boilen; 'twas like eatin' leather. A'said I was growen too fast, a' did, and he'd keep me down. Pudden--Inever put my lips to pudden for two year, not once. I took downshutters at zix i' the mornen, and put 'em up at eight o' nights;betwixt and between I was pounden away at drugs, and carryen parcels,and scrubben floors and nussen mistress' babby: ay, what med 'ee thinko' that? If so happened I broke a bottle, or overslept fiveminutes--oons! there was master a-strappen me to a hook in the wall hekept o' purpose, and layen a birch over my shoulders and keepen me onbread and water or turmuts not fit for a ox. I dwindled crossways to ashadder, Master Harry, I did so, and every week th' old villain made mewrite a letter to feyther, sayen as how I was fat and flourishen like agreen bay tree. Do what a' would, however, I growed and growed, atfourteen a long slip of a feller all arms and legs. Two mortal year Iput up wi' un; then I got tired. One day, mistress was out, and I wasrollen pills in the little back shop, when master come in. He was in aterrible passion, goodness alone knows what about. He pitched into mefor wasten his drugs and eatin' up all his profits, and hit me with hiscane, and sent me spinnen agen the table, and knocked off his bestchiney mortar, and there 'twas on the floor, smashed to atomies. Bein'his own doen, it made his temper wuss, it did, and he caught me by thehair and said he'd skin me. I' fecks, I were always a man o' peace,even as a boy, but I'd had long sufferen enough, and now my peacefulblood was up. I wriggled myself free--and there he was, flat on thefloor, and me a-sitten on him. He hollered and cussed, for all he was aPuritan; and, haven respect unto my neighbours, I stuffed a handkercherinto his mouth. There I sits, a-thinken what to do wi' un. 'Twas infor a penny in for a pound wi' me then; I'd have to run, 'dentures or no'dentures, and it seemed fair to have my pen'orth afore I went. Therewas that hook I knowed so well, and that strap hangen still and loose:'I'll gi' un a taste o' the birch he be so uncommon fond on,' thinks I.So I hoists un up, and soon has un strapped ready; but looken at un Ithinks to myself: 'You be a poor wamblen mortal arter all, skinny forall the pudden you eat. I'll ha' mercy on your poor weak flesh.'Besides, I had another notion. So I casts un loose and sits un on achair and straps un to chair-back, hands to sides.
"You med have heard of Jacob Spinney's famous mixture for pimples?Well, 'twas knowed all over Hants and Wilts. 'Twas a rare sight o'market days to see the farmers' wives a-troopen into the shop forbottles o' the mixture. But th' odd thing was, Spinney hisself wasowner of a fair pimpled face, yet never did I know un take a dose o' hisown firm cure. 'I pity 'ee,' says I to un, as he sat strapped to thechair; 'poor feller, wi' all those pimples. Shall have a dose, poorsoul.' Many's the bottle I'd made up: 'twas brimstone and powder o'crab and gentian root in syrup. Well, I mixed a dose all fresh aforehis eyes, and got a long wooden spoon, and slipped the handkercher outo' his mouth and the dose in. The ungrateful feller spets it out andbegins to holler again; so in goes the handkercher, and says I: 'Yedon't know what's for your own good. Bean't it tasty enough? Ah,Master Spinney, often and often 'ee've physicked me; what's good for mewithout pudden will be better for 'ee with; you shall have a dose.' SoI made un a dose o' senna and jalap and ipecacuan, but I was slow withthe handkercher, and afore I could get the spoon in he had his teethclinched tight. But I hadn't nussed the babby for nothen. I ups withfinger and thumb and pinches his nose; he opens his mouth for breath,and in goes spoon, and sputter as he med he had to swaller, he did.
"Ah, I was wild and headstrong in they young coltish days. I bean't sofond o' pudden now. Not but what they mixtures did Jacob Spinney aworld o' good, for his next prentice had a easier time nor me, steppeninto his master's business when he was laid in churchyard. _I_ got nogood on 'em, to be sure, for I had to run away and try another line o'life, and ha' been a rollen-stone ever since. Ay well, 'tis all one to aman o' peace."
During his narrative the breakfast had been finished.
"Well, Sherry, when I'm out of sorts I'll come to you," said Harry,rising. "Now, while you pack up, I'll go a stroll up the hillside;there'll be a good view now the day is clearing, and maybe I'll get aglimpse of Salisbury spire."
He left the river-bank and strolled leisurely up a gentle ascent, whichgradually became steeper until it terminated somewhat suddenly in astretch of level ground. Fifty yards from the edge rose a long grassymound, a well-known landmark in the neighbourhood. It was, in fact, abarrow, dating centuries back into the dim ages--the burial place,perhaps, of British warriors who had fought and fallen in defence oftheir country against the Roman invader. Harry had always felt aromantic interest in these memorials of the past, and more than once hadstood by such a barrow, alone in the moonlight of a summer night, whilehis imagination called up visions of far-off forgotten things.
He sat down now with his back to the mound, and allowed his eyes to roveover the prospect. Tradition said that three counties were visible fromthis elevated spot, and on a clear morning like this it seemed likelyenough that report said true. Far to the left, peeping over the barecontour of Harnham Hill, rose the graceful spire of Salisbury Cathedral,at least fifteen miles away as the crow flies. His eye followed thewinding course of the little stream below him, losing it here and therebehind some copse or knoll, tracing it again to its junction with alarger stream, till this in its turn was lost to view amid the distantelm-bordered meadows. Nearer at hand he saw the old Roman road,grass-grown and silent now, bounding the park of Sir Godfrey Fanshawe,crossing the stream by an ancient bridge, and running into the Londonroad at some invisible point to the right. It was a very pleasingprospect, brilliant beneath the cloudless sky, and freshened by theearly morning showers.
As he looked along the forsaken highway, once trodden perhaps by thelegions of Constantine the Great, his glance was momentarily arrested bya small moving speck in the distance. "Some wagon from one of SirGodfrey's home farms," he thought. It was approaching h
im, for itpassed out of sight into a clump of trees, then reappeared, and wasagain hidden by an intercepting ridge. The road was downhill; infifteen or twenty minutes, perhaps, the wagon would pass beneath him, ata point nearly three-quarters of a mile away, where the highway skirteda belt of trees perched on the side of a steep declivity. Between himand the road lay a ditch which, as he knew, was apt in winter-time tooverflow on to the meadows and the lower parts of the track, making asticky swamp of the chalky soil. But it was dry now, and the floodingswere only indicated by the more vivid green of the grass and the tallreeds that filled the hollow on this side. On the other side a strongstone wall edged the road, marking the boundary of Sir Godfrey's park;it was overhung with elms, from which at this moment Harry saw acongregation of rooks soar away.
Thus idly scanning the roadway, all at once his eye lit upon the figureof a horseman half concealed by the belt of reeds in the hollow. He wasmotionless; his back was towards Harry, his horse's head pointingtowards the road, from which he was completely screened by the reeds andthe willows.
"What is he doing there?" thought Harry. He rose, and walked towardsthe edge of the descent. Narrowly scanning the brake, he now descriedtwo other horsemen within a few yards of the first, but so wellconcealed that but for his quickened curiosity he would probably neverhave discovered them. For all he knew, there might be others. "What istheir game?" His suspicion was aroused; the vehicle he had seenapproaching was perhaps not a wagon; it might be a chaise belonging toSir Godfrey; it might be---- "Why, 'tis without a doubt Lord Godolphinhimself on his way to London, and coming by the shortest cut." Therewas no need for further speculation; in those days the inference wassure: a carriage in the distance, a party of horsemen lurking in a copseby the roadside---- "'Tis highway robbery--ah! the Queen's purse!"
Harry unconsciously smiled at the thought. His first impulse was towarn the approaching travellers. But the carriage was at present out ofsight; he could not make signals, and before he could reach the stretchof road between the ambuscade and their prey, the travellers wouldcertainly be past, while he himself might be seen by the waitinghorsemen, and headed off as he crossed a tract of open country. Movingdownwards all the time, he in a flash saw all that it was possible todo. The stream passed under the roadway some twenty yards beyond thespot where the horsemen were lying in wait; the banks were reedy, andmight screen an approach to the copse beyond the wall. There was a barechance, and Harry took it.
He raced downhill towards Sherebiah, who was sitting on the bank still,placidly smoking his pipe; landscape had no charm for him.
"Sherry," said Harry in jerks, "Lord Godolphin or someone is drivingdown the road; highwaymen hiding in the reeds; in five or sixminutes--come, come, we have no time to lose."
"Then we'll go home along," said Sherry, putting his pipe in his pocketas he rose.
"Nonsense! we can't slink away and leave them to be robbed." Harry tookSherry by the arm to drag him along.
"What be the good? Fishen-rods bean't no match for pistols, and bein' aman o' peace----"
"Come, I can't wait. I'll go alone, then."
He released the man's arm and stepped into the stream. Sherebiahhesitated for a moment; then, seeing that Harry was in earnest, hedropped his tackle and strode forward, saying:
"Zooks, not if I knows it! I'm a man o' peace, sure enough, butfairplay's a jewel. Have at the villains!"
He followed Harry into the water. Side by side they raced on, dodgingthe weeds, scrambling over occasional rocks, slipping on the chalkybottom, making at top speed for the bridge. As they approached thisthey went more slowly, to avoid being heard. Fortunately, at the pointwhere the road crossed the stream there was a line of rocks, over whichthe water plunged with a rustle and clatter, drowning the sound of theirfootsteps. They had to stoop low to avoid the moss-grown masonry of thearch; as they emerged on the farther side they heard a muffledexclamation from one of the horsemen, and climbing the steep face of thetree-covered slope towards the wall they heard a shot, then another,mingled with shouts and the dull thuds of horses' hoofs on theturf-covered road.
On the way Harry had explained his plan in panting whispers. Runningalong now under cover of the wall, they came opposite to the scene ofthe ambush.
"Now, Sherry, do your best," said Harry, as he prepared to mount thewall.
Instantly a new clamour was added to the uproar in the road.
"This way!"
"Shoot 'em!"
"Lash the noddy peaks!"
"Pinch their thropples!"
"Quoit 'em down!"
"Haick! haick!"
By this time Harry was on the wall, by favour of Sherebiah's strong arm.A slug whizzed past his head and sank with a thud into the trunk of atree just behind; next moment the horse-pistol from which it had beendischarged followed the shot, the butt grazing Harry's brow. There wasno time to take in the details of the scene. Harry made a spring forthe masked horseman who had fired at him, two yards from the wall; butthe fellow, alarmed by the various shouts and the sudden appearance ofSherebiah at Harry's side, dug the spurs into his steed's flanks andgalloped off down the road, over the bridge, and out of sight. One ofhis companions lay motionless on the road; the others had ridden away atthe first alarm from the wall.
Harry mopped his brow and looked about him. Lord Godolphin stoodupright in the carriage, his lips grimly set, a smoking pistol in hishand. His son was on foot with drawn sword; a postilion was crawlingout of the ditch all bemired, pale and trembling.
"Odzooks!" cried my lord, "a welcome diversion!"
Harry makes a Diversion]
He was perfectly cool and collected, though his hat was off and his wigawry. "A thousand thanks, my men. Whew! 'twas in the nick of time.Where are the rest of you?"
"There are no more, my lord," said Harry, lifting his cap.
"No more! But the shouts, then?--I heard a dozen shouting, at least.Are the rest on the other side of the wall?"
"All on this side, my lord," said Harry with a smile. "Here is the mob."
He indicated Sherebiah, who touched his cap and bobbed to his lordship.
Godolphin stared, then chuckled and guffawed.
"Egad! 'tis a rare flam. Frank, this fellow here did it all, shoutedfor a dozen; by George, 'twas a mighty neat trick! And, by George, Iknow your face; I saw you yesterday, I believe! What's your name, man?"
"Sherebiah Stand-up-and-bless Minshull, my lord," said Sherry, "by thewater o' baptism, your honour, for I was born while old Rowley were infurren parts. If a'd been born two year arter, my lord, I med ha' beenchrisomed wi' less piety."
"I remember you, and the old gaffer your father--a fine old fellow.Well, my man, your name suits me better; 'tis for us to stand up andbless, eh, Frank? And here's a guinea for you."
Sherebiah put his hands behind him and looked down at the coin in mylord's hand.
"Nay, nay, my lord," he said slowly. "True, I did the shouten, or moston't, but 'twas Master Harry his notion. Pa'son's son, you see, my lord;know'd all the holy story o' Gideon; says to me, 'Sherry,' says he,'shout high and low, bass and tribble, give it tongue,' says he; and Igi'd it tongue, so I did."
Both gentlemen laughed heartily.
"I recognize you now," said my lord, turning to Harry, who lookedsomewhat embarrassed. "Surely you are the hero of yesterday's cricketmatch? You swing a straight bat, my lad, and, stap me! you've a quickwit if you devised this late surprise. How came you on the scene?"
"We'd been fishing yonder, my lord, and I chanced to spy your carriageand the villains waiting here, almost at the same time. It was clearwhat they were about, and as there was no time to warn you we came alongthe stream, and--Sherry shouted."
His smile as he said the last words met an answering smile on LordGodolphin's face.
"A mighty clever trick indeed--eh, Frank? We're beholden to you. 'Twasa mere chance that I sent my mounted escort on ahead by the highway toarrange a change of horses, never thinking
to be waylaid at this time o'day."
"Ay, 'twas the Queen's purse, my lord," struck in Sherebiah. "To knowQueen's purse-bearer were a-comen along old road like a common mortal,'twere too much for poor weak flesh and blood."
"The ignorant bumpkins mistook your meaning," said Frank.
"So it appears. But come, you're the parson's son, I believe. I forgetyour name?"
"Harry Rochester, my lord."
"Going to be a parson yourself, eh?"
"I am going up to Oxford in October, my lord; my father wishes me totake orders."
"Ah! And your own wish, eh?"
Harry hesitated.
"Come, out with it, my lad."
"I had thought, my lord, I should like to carry the Queen's colours; but'tis a vain thought; my father's living is small, and----"
"And commissions in the Queen's army sell high. 'Tis so, indeed. Well,I heard something of your father last night at Sir Godfrey's; you can'tdo better than follow his example. And hark 'ee, if ever you want afriend, when you've taken your degrees, you know, come and see me; I oweyou a good turn, my lad; and maybe I'll have a country vicarage at mydisposal."
"Thank you, my lord!"
"And now we must get on. Dickory, you coward, help these two friends ofours to remove that tree. The villains laid their ambush well; you seethey felled this larch at an awkward part of the road."
"And I thowt 'twas Simon forester a-choppen," said Sherebiah, as hewalked towards the tree.
"What shall we do with this ruffian on the road?" said Frank Godolphin."He appears to be stone dead. 'Twas a good shot, sir."
"Leave the villain. You'll lay an information before Sir Godfrey oranother of your magistrates, young master parson. Did you recognize anyof the gang?"
"No, my lord. I only saw the masked man. Perhaps Sherry was morefortunate."
"Not me neither," said Sherebiah hastily. He had gone to the fallenman, looked in his face, and turned him over. "'Twas all too quick andsudden, and my eyes was nigh dazed wi' shouten."
"Well, well, Sir Godfrey's is near at hand; go and inform him, and hewill scour the country. We must push on."
The tree was removed; the bedraggled and crestfallen postilions resumedtheir saddles, and with a parting salutation my lord drove off. Harrystood looking thoughtfully after the departing carriage.
"Master Harry," said Sherebiah, coming up to him, "this be a badbusiness. The man bean't dead."
"He's saved for the hangman, then."
"Ay, and who med 'ee think he be?"
"You do know him, then! What does this mean, Sherry?"
"Well, I be a man o' peace, and there's mischief to come o' this day'spiece o' work, sure as I'm Sherebiah Stand-up-and-bless. 'Tis blackJohn Simmons, Cap'n Aglionby's man."
"A scoundrel his master may well be rid of."
"Ay, if the man were dead! But he be alive; the lord didn't shoot'n atall; 'a fell off his horse and bashed his nob; an' he's got a tongue,Master Harry."
"Well, what then? If he rounds on his fellows, so much the better.What are you afraid of, Sherry?"
"I bean't afeard, not I; but the Cap'n----"
He paused, and Harry looked at him enquiringly. Sherebiah turned away.
"Ah! little sticks kindle fires, little sticks kindle fires, they do."
The Adventures of Harry Rochester: A Tale of the Days of Marlborough and Eugene Page 4
