This troop of horsemen, for such it was, might probably amount in the aggregate to twenty men, and presented an appearance like that of a strong muster at a rustic fox-chase, due allowance being made for the various weapons of offence; to wit, naked sabres, firelocks, and a world of huge horse-pistols, which the present field carried along with them. This resemblance was heightened by the presence of an old huntsman and a gamekeeper or two, in scarlet and green jackets, and a few yelping hounds that had followed after them. The majority of the crew consisted of sturdy yeomen; some of whom, mounted upon wild, unbroken colts, had pretty lives of it to maintain their seats, and curveted about in "most admired disorder"; others were seated upon more docile, but quite as provoking specimens of the cart-horse breed, whose sluggish sides, reckless alike of hobnailed heel or ash sapling, refused to obey their riders' intimations to move; while others again, brought stiff, wrong-headed ponies to the charge—obstinate, impracticable little brutes, who seemed to prefer revolving on their own axes, and describing absurd rotatory motions, to proceeding in the direct and proper course pointed out to them.
Dick could scarcely forbear laughing at these ridiculous manœuvres; but his attention was chiefly attracted towards three individuals, who were evidently the leaders of this warlike expedition. In the thin, tall figure of the first of these, he recognised Ranulph Rookwood. With the features and person of the second of the group he was not entirely unacquainted, and fancied (nor incorrectly fancied) that his military bearing, or, as he would have expressed it, "the soldier-like cut of his jib," could belong to no other than Major Mowbray, whom he had once eased of a purse on Finchley Common. In the round; rosy countenance and robustious person of the last of the trio he discovered his ancient ally, Titus Tyrconnel.
"Ah, Titus, my jewel, are you there?" exclaimed Dick, as he distinguished the Irishman. "Come, I have one friend among them whom I may welcome. So, they see me now. Off they come, pell-mell. Back, Bess, back—slowly, wench, slowly—there—stand!" And Bess again remained motionless.
The report of Turpin's pistol reached the ears of the troop; and as all were upon the alert, he had scarcely presented himself at the archway, when a loud shout was raised, and the whole cavalcade galloped towards him, creating, as may be imagined, the wildest disorder; each horseman yelling, as he neared the arch, and got involved in the press occasioned by the unexpected concentration of forces at that point, while oaths and blows, kicks and cuffs, were reciprocated with such hearty good-will, that, had Turpin ever read Ariosto or Cervantes, or heard of the discord of King Agramante's ramp, this mêlée must have struck him as its realisation. As it was, entertaining little apprehension of the result, he shouted encouragement to them. Scarcely, however, had the foremost horseman disentangled himself from the crowd, and, struggling to the door, was in the act of levelling his pistol at Turpin's head, when a well-directed ball pierced the brain of his charger, and horse and man rolled to the ground. Vowing vengeance, a second succeeded, and was in like manner compelled to bite the dust.
"That will let old Peter know that Ranulph Rookwood is at hand," exclaimed Dick. "I shan't throw away another shot."
The scene at the archway was now one of complete confusion. Terrified by the shots, some of the boors would have drawn back, while others, in mid career, advanced, and propelled them forwards. It was like the meeting of two tides. Here and there, regardless of the bit, and scared by the firing, a wild colt broke all bounds, and, hurling his rider in the air, darted off into the green; or, in another case, rushed forward, and encountering the prostrate cattle cumbering the entrance to the priory hall, stumbled, and precipitated his master neck-over-heels at the very feet of his enemy. During all this tumult, a few shots were fired at the highwayman, which without doing him a jot of mischief, tended materially to increase their own confusion.
The voice of Turpin was now heard above the din and turmoil to sound a parley; and as he appeared disposed to offer no opposition, some of his antagonists ventured to raise themselves from the ground, and approach him.
"I demand to be led to Sir Ranulph Rookwood," said Turpin.
"He is here," said Ranulph, riding up. "Villain, you are my prisoner."
"As you list, Sir Ranulph," returned Dick, coolly; "but let me have a word in private with you ere you do aught you may repent hereafter."
"No words, sir—deliver up your arms, or—"
"My pistols are at your service," replied Dick. "I have just discharged them."
"You may have others. We must search you."
"Hold!" cried Dick; "if you will not listen to me, read that paper." And he handed Ranulph his mother's letter to Mr. Coates. It was without the superscription, which he had thrown aside.
"My mother's hand!" exclaimed Ranulph, reddening with anger, as he hastily perused its contents. "And she sent this to you? You lie, villain—'tis a forgery."
"Let this speak for me," returned Dick, holding out the finger upon which Lady Rookwood's ring was placed. "Know you that cipher?"
"You have stolen it," retorted Ranulph. "My mother," added he, in a deep stern whisper, articulated only for Turpin's hearing, "would never have intrusted her honour to a highwayman's keeping."
"She has intrusted more—her life," replied Dick, in a careless tone. "She would have bribed me to do murder."
"Murder!" echoed Ranulph, aghast.
"Ay, to murder your brother," returned Dick; "but let that pass. You have read that note. I have acted solely upon your mother's responsibility. Lady Rookwood's honour is pledged for my safety. Of course her son will set me free."
"Never!"
"Well, as you please. Your mother is in my power. Betray me, and you betray her."
"No more!" said Ranulph, sternly. "Go your ways. You are free."
"Pledge me your word of honour I am safe."
Ranulph had scarcely given his pledge, when Major Mowbray rode furiously up. A deep flush of anger burnt upon his cheeks; his sword was drawn in his hand. He glanced at Turpin, as if he would have felled him from the saddle.
"This is the ruffian," cried the major, fiercely, "by whom I was attacked some months ago, and for whose apprehension the reward of three hundred pounds is offered by His Majesty's proclamation, with a free pardon to his accomplices. This is Richard Turpin. He has just added another crime to his many offences. He had robbed my mother and sister. The postboy knew him the moment he came up. Where are they, villain? Whither are they gone?—answer!"
"I know not," replied Turpin, calmly. "Did not the lad tell you they were rescued?"
"Rescued!—by whom?" asked Ranulph, with great emotion.
"By one who calls himself Sir Luke Rookwood," answered Turpin, with a meaning smile.
"By him!" ejaculated Ranulph. "Where are they now?"
"I have already answered that question," said Dick. "I repeat, I know not."
"You are my prisoner," cried the major, seizing Turpin's bridle.
"I have Sir Ranulph's word for my safety," rejoined Turpin. "Let go my rein."
"How is this?" asked Mowbray, incredulously.
"Ask me not. Release him," replied Ranulph.
"Ranulph," said the major, "you ask an impossibility. My honour—my duty—is implicated in this man's capture."
"The honour of all of us is involved in his deliverance," returned Ranulph, in a whisper. "Let him go. I will explain all hereafter. Let us search for them—for Eleanor. Surely, after this, you will help us to find them," added he, addressing Turpin.
"I wish, with all my soul, I could do so," replied the highwayman.
"I see'd the ladies cross the brook, and enter these old ruins," interposed the postboy, who had now joined the party. "I see'd 'em from where I stood on the hillside; and as I kept a pretty sharp look-out, and have a tolerably bright eye of my own, I don't think as how they ever comed out again."
"Someone is hidden within yon fissure in the wall," exclaimed Ranulph; "I see a figure move."
And he flung himself from his hor
se, rushing towards the mouth of the cell. Imitating his example, Major Mowbray followed his friend, sword in hand.
"The game begins now in right earnest," said Dick to himself; "the old fox will soon be unearthed. I must look to my snappers." And he thrust his hand quietly into his pocket in search of a pistol.
Just as Ranulph and the major reached the recess they were startled by the sudden apparition of the ill-fated attorney.
"Mr. Coates!" exclaimed Ranulph, in surprise. "What do you here, sir?"
"I—I—that is—Sir Ranulph—you must excuse me, sir—particular business—can't say," returned the trembling attorney; for at this instant his eye caught that of Turpin, and the ominous reflection of a polished-steel barrel, held carelessly towards him. He was aware, also, that on the other hand he was, in like manner, the mark of Rust and Wilder; those polite gentlemen having threatened him with a brace of slugs in his brain if he dared to betray their hiding-place. "It is necessary that I should be guarded in my answers," murmured he.
"Is there anyone within that place besides yourself?" said the major, making a movement thither.
"No, sir, nobody at all," answered Coates, hastily, fancying at the same time that he heard the click of the pistol that was to be his death-warrant.
"How came you here, sir?" demanded Ranulph.
"Do you mean in this identical spot?" replied Coates, evasively.
"You can have no difficulty in answering that question," said the major, sternly.
"Pardon me, sir. I find considerable difficulty in answering any question, situated as I am."
"Have you seen Miss Mowbray?" Ranulph asked eagerly.
"Or my mother?" said the major, in the same breath.
"Neither," replied Coates, rather relieved by these questions.
"I suspect you are deceiving us, sir," said the major. "Your manner is confused. I am convinced you know more of this matter than you choose to explain; and if you do not satisfy me at once, fully and explicitly, I vow to Heaven—" and the major's sword described a glittering circle round his head.
"Are you privy to their concealment?" asked Ranulph. "Have you seen aught of them, or of Luke Bradley?"
"Speak, or this moment is your last," said the major.
"If it is my last, I cannot speak," returned Coates. "I can make neither head nor tail of your questions, gentlemen."
"And you positively assure me you have not seen Mrs. Mowbray and her daughter?" said Ranulph.
Turpin here winked at Coates. The attorney understood him.
"I don't positively assert that," faltered he.
"How!—you have seen them?" shouted Ranulph.
"Where are they?—in safety—speak!" added the major.
Another expressive gesture from the highwayman communicated to the attorney the nature of his reply.
"Without, sir—without—yonder," he replied. "I will show you myself. Follow, gentlemen, follow." And away scampered Coates, without once venturing to look behind him.
In an instant the ruined hall was deserted, and Turpin alone left behind. In the excitement of the moment, his presence had been forgotten. In an instant afterwards the arena was again occupied by a company equally numerous. Rust and Wilder issued from their hiding-places, followed by a throng of the gipsy crew.
"Where is Sir Luke Rookwood?" asked Turpin.
"He remains below," was the answer returned.
"And Peter Bradley?"
"Stays there likewise."
"No matter. Now make ready, pals. Give 'em one shout—Hurrah!"
Ranulph Rookwood and his companions heard this shout. Mr. Coates had already explained the stratagem practised upon them by the wily highwayman, as well as the perilous situation in which he himself had been placed; and they were in the act of returning, to make good his capture, when the loud shouts of the crew arrested them. From the clamour, it was evident that considerable reinforcement must have arrived from some unlooked for quarter; and, although burning to be avenged upon the audacious highwayman, the major felt it would be a task of difficulty, and that extreme caution could alone insure success. With difficulty restraining the impatience of Ranulph, who could scarcely brook these few minutes of needful delay, Major Mowbray gave particular instructions to each of the men in detail, and caused several of them to dismount.
By this arrangement Mr. Coates found himself accommodated with a steed and a pair of pistols, with which latter he vowed to wreak his vengeance upon some of his recent tormentors. After a short space of time occupied in this manner, the troop slowly advanced towards the postern, in much better order than upon the previous occasion; but the stoutest of them quailed, as they caught sight of the numerous gipsy gang drawn out in battle array within the abbey walls. Each party scanned the other's movements in silence and wonder, anxiously awaiting, yet in a measure dreading, their leader's signal to begin. That signal was not long delayed. A shot from the ranks of Rookwood did instant and bitter execution. Rob Rust was stretched lifeless upon the ground. Nothing more was needed. The action now became general. Fire-arms were discharged on both sides, without much damage to either party. But a rush being made by a detachment of horse, headed by Major Mowbray, the conflict soon became more serious.
The gipsies, after the first fire, threw aside their pistols, and fought with long knives, with which they inflicted desperate gashes, both on men and horses. Major Mowbray was slightly wounded in the thigh, and his steed receiving the blow intended for himself, stumbled, and threw his rider. Luckily for the major, Ranulph Rookwood was at hand, and with the butt-end of a heavy-handled pistol felled the ruffian to the earth, just as he was upon the point of repeating the thrust.
Turpin, meanwhile, had taken comparatively a small share in the conflict. He seemed to content himself with acting upon the defensive, and, except in the case of Titus Tyrconnel, whom, espying amidst the crowd, he had considerably alarmed by sending a bullet through his wig, he did not fire a single shot. He also succeeded in unhorsing Coates, by hurling, with great dexterity, the empty pistol at his head. Though apparently unconcerned in the skirmish, he did not flinch from it, but kept his ground unyieldingly. "A charmed life" he seemed to bear; for amid the shower of bullets, many of which were especially aimed at himself, he came off unhurt.
"He that's born to be hanged will never be drowned, that's certain," said Titus. "It's no use trying to bring him down. But by Jasus! he's spoiled my best hat and wig, anyhow. There's a hole in my beaver as big as a crown piece."
"Your own crown's safe, and that's some satisfaction," said Coates; "whereas mine has a bump on it as big as a swan's egg. Ah! if we could only get behind him."
The strife continued to rage without intermission; and though there were now several ghastly evidences of its fury, in the shape of wounded men and slaughtered and disabled horses, whose gaping wounds flooded the turf with gore, it was still difficult to see upon which side victory would eventually declare herself. The gipsies, though by far the greater sufferers of the two, firmly maintained their ground. Drenched in the blood of the horses they had wounded, and brandishing their long knives, they presented a formidable and terrific appearance, the effect of which was not at all diminished by their wild yells and savage gesticulations.
On the other hand, headed by Major Mowbray and Ranulph, the troop of yeomen pressed on undauntedly; and where the sturdy farmers could get a firm gripe of their lithe antagonists, or deliver a blow with their ox-like fists, they seldom failed to make good the advantage which superior weight and strength gave them. It will thus be seen that as yet they were pretty well matched. Numbers were in favour of the gipsies, but courage was equally distributed, and, perhaps, what is emphatically called "bottom," was in favour of the rustics. Be this as it may, from what had already occurred, there was every prospect of a very serious termination to the fray.
From time to time Turpin glanced to the entrance of the cell, in the expectation of seeing Sir Luke Rookwood make his appearance; and, as he was constantly disappoi
nted in his expectation, he could not conceal his chagrin. At length he resolved to despatch a messenger to him, and one of the crew accordingly departed upon this errand. He returned presently with a look of blank dismay.
In our hasty narrative of the fight we have not paused to particularise, neither have we enumerated, the list of the combatants. Amongst them, however, were Jerry Juniper, the knight of Malta, and Zoroaster. Excalibur, as may be conceived, had not been idle; but that trenchant blade had been shivered by Ranulph Rookwood in the early stage of the business, and the knight left weaponless. Zoroaster, who was not merely a worshipper of fire, but a thorough milling-cove, had engaged to some purpose in a pugilistic encounter with the rustics; and, having fought several rounds, now "bore his blushing honours thick upon him."
Jerry, like Turpin, had remained tolerably quiescent. "The proper moment," he said, "had not arrived." A fatality seemed to attend Turpin's immediate companions. Rust was the first who fell; Wilder also was now among the slain. Things were precisely in this condition when the messenger returned. A marked change was instantly perceptible in Turpin's manner. He no longer looked on with indifference. He seemed angry and distrustful. He gnawed his lip, ever a sign with him of vexation. Addressing a few words to those about him, he then spoke more loudly to the rest of the crew. Being in the jargon of the tawny tribe, his words were not intelligible to the opposite party; but their import was soon made known by the almost instant and total relinquishment of the field by the gipsies. They took to their heels at once, to a man, leaving only a few desperately wounded behind them; and, flying along the intricate ruins of the priory, baffled all pursuit, wherever it was attempted. Jerry Juniper was the last in the retreat; but, upon receiving a hint from Dick, he vaulted like a roe over the heads of his adversaries, and made good his escape. Turpin alone remained. He stood like a lion at bay, quietly regarding the huntsmen hurtling around him. Ranulph Rookwood rode up and bade him surrender.
Rookwood Page 32
