But the ghost did not require to be addressed first. Contrary to the usage of spirits, it spoke, after shaking its shadowy arm menacingly at Phaleg. The voice seemed changed, and was deeper than my uncle’s, before he shuffled off his mortal coil.
“What are you doing here?” he cried, with ghostly gruffness, “abusing the lad’s patience with idle tales. Am I to be disturbed in my grave by a gipsy rascal like you? I have disinherited him, and he knows it. I have burnt my will, and given my property to one who’ll take care of it.”
“That’s a lie, old chap,” replied Phaleg, who had regained his confidence, having probably begun to smell a rat. “I can tell a very different tale.”
“You may tell it where you please,” the ghost rejoined, “but no one will believe you. You’ll be hanged, rascal.”
“Not afore I brings a greater rogue than myself to the gallows.”
“The world is come to a pretty pass, when honest men’s characters can be sworn away,” the ghost said. “I’m well out of it.”
“Ay, that you are; and I advise you to go back to your coffin. It’s the fittest place for you,” the gipsy returned, with a brutal laugh.
The ghost groaned dismally.
“Groan away,” Phaleg continued; “you won’t frighten me. The devil, your master, couldn’t. Change your tone, Mister Ghost.”
. Apparently the ghost thought the suggestion worth attending to, for it replied, rather more mildly:
“You’ve come here on a fool’s errand.”
“I don’t think so,” Phaleg returned, in a jeering voice. “I can do business here quite as well as elsewhere — mayhap better. I didn’t expect the pleasure o’ your company; but I’m glad to see you, nevertheless, an’ quite prepared for you. Ghosts seems to have bad mem’ries — no wonder, all things considered — an’ yours wants jogging. You made a slight mistake just now, when you towd your newy you’d burnt your will. I can prove the contrairy. But I don’t want to take you unawares. Have you any objections to my tellin’ him where to find it?”
“Let him go home,” the ghost rejoined, significantly.
“Nay — nay, that’ll never do,” Phaleg said. “I cannot take all this trouble for nuffin’.”
“Nor I,” I cried, having drawn my own conclusions from their discourse. “I don’t mean to stir hence; and I’ll take good care that you, Phaleg, don’t stir either, till I’ve obtained the information you promised me.”
“You hear how the little bantam cock crows?” Phaleg exclaimed, with a laugh; “there’ll be a reg’lar fight for it, that’s sartain, if I disappoints him.”
“That there will,” I said resolutely; “and I’m armed, as you know.”
“Now, Mister Ghost,” the gipsy said, “you see how matters stands. Shall I stick to him, or come over to you? You’ll rest more comfortabler in your grave, I dare say, if I keeps your secret; but if I does, I must have better terms than he offers. So make up your mind quick.”
“You shall have anything you please, — only get rid of him,” the ghost cried.
“Now, young gent’man,” Phaleg said, “you perceives as how your uncle an’ me has come to an understandin’? The best thing you can do, therefore, is to make yourself scarce as quickly as you can. No talkin’ — mind.”
“‘Mum ‘ must be the word,” the ghost cried.
“You have betrayed yourself, Pownall,” I rejoined. “I suspected who it was from the first. You are a couple of precious rascals! but you’ll find that, boy as I am, I’m a match for both of you. Phaleg, you are my prisoner.”
“Your prisoner — ho! ho! Come, I likes that.”
.— “Yes, my prisoner — unless you do as I bid you. And first, I order you to seize and secure Simon Pownall.”
“Why, look you, my lad, I could easily do what you tells me, but I don’t see how it would answer my purpose.”
“It wouldn’t,” the barber-surgeon cried. “Stand by me, and we’ll soon dispose of him.”
Notwithstanding my bravado, I was much alarmed, for I felt I was in the power of these miscreants; and though I might shoot one of them, I should probably be mastered by the other. Having selected Phaleg, as the most dangerous of the two, I determined to make him my mark; but little time was allowed me for consideration, for almost before I could raise my gun, which I had previously lowered, the gipsy hurled his bludgeon with tremendous force at my head. Luckily, I avoided the blow by stooping, and I heard the missile take effect upon Simon Pownall, who was in a line with me, and who, giving vent to a groan very different from those he had uttered before, fell backwards into the grave; at least, I judged so by the sound. However, I was in great confusion, for unfortunately as I thought, but fortunately as it turned out, my gun went off as I stooped down. With a fearful oath Phaleg rushed upon me, threatening to finish me; and probably he might have done so, but at that moment the deep baying of a bloodhound was heard, accompanied by the voice of Ned Culcheth, cheering him on.
In spite of the threats of the gipsy, I shouted for aid at the top of my voice, and was instantly answered by the keeper. Phaleg had caught me by the throat, as the only means of silencing me, but he was now obliged to leave go, and dashing me, half-strangled, upon the ground, he leaped the churchyard wall, and disappeared.
He had not been gone more than a second, when Gaunt and Lupus pounced upon me, setting their heavy paws on my prostrate body, and growling horribly. Though I felt their dreadful jaws close to my face, I managed to cry out, and the keeper coming up at the same time, and quickly comprehending my situation, called them off before any harm could be done to me. As soon as I could find breath, I explained to him what had occurred. In return, he told me he had watched by Pownall’s house throughout the whole evening, but, not seeing the barber-surgeon go out, he concluded all was right so far as he was concerned. Still, he had not quitted his post until some ten minutes after midnight, when he proceeded towards the churchyard to see whether I required any assistance, and on hearing the discharge of the gun, he had hastened in the direction of the sound.
As we both of us agreed that Simon Pownall was safe enough in the grave into which he had fallen, we determined to pursue the gipsy without further delay; on which Ned immediately put his bloodhounds on the scent, and as they leaped the churchyard wall, we followed on their track.
Down the declivity we dashed, led on by the voices of the hounds, for it was too dark to keep them in view. Through the thick copse skirting the mere — along its reedy marge — we ran at a headlong pace, until we came to the little boat-house. Here the hounds were at fault, and bayed angrily.
“Can he have taken a boat?” Ned cried. “Dang him, he has. He has broken the chain, and got off.”
“But we can follow him; there’s another boat,” I exclaimed.
“Ay, ay,” Ned replied; “an’ we shan catch him, for we han got the swifter craft of the two.”
“Lose no time, then,” I cried, unable to control my impatience, and helping him to unfasten the boat.
In another instant we were ready; the hounds were on board, and Ned grasped the oars. Before plunging the latter into the water, he paused to listen for some sounds to guide him in the direction of the fugitive. We could hear nothing, owing to the mutterings of the dogs, and could see nothing upon the darkling surface of the mere, which seemed to blend insensibly with the gloom; and if we struck out in the wrong direction, we should probably lose him altogether, when fortunately a momentary burst of moonlight pointed the gipsy out to us, a good way off, pulling right across the mere.
“Hurrah! now then we have him, to a dead sartinty,” Ned cried, giving way instantly, and plying his oars with the utmost vigour.
I didn’t feel quite so certain that we should come up with him, notwithstanding the keeper’s exertions; but if we saw where he landed, we could not fail to run him down with the hounds. To keep him in view, however, was no easy matter, for, the gleam of light having been instantly withdrawn, it was now dark as pitch. In spite of all
our efforts to silence them, the hounds would not cease baying, and, consequently, though we could hear nothing of him, our movements must be made known to the fugitive, and help him to avoid us. Of this we were fully aware; and though I steered the boat as well as I could, I was in great uncertainty. How anxiously I watched for another gleam! At last it came; and then we found that, instead of being ahead, as we supposed, the gipsy had doubled upon us, and was rowing back towards the point from which he had started. The head of our boat was instantly turned, and we gave him chase.
“We must mind what we’re about, Ned, or he’ll give us the slip yet,” I cried; “and I wouldn’t lose him — no, not for a thousand pounds.”
“Never fear, sir,” the keeper replied, pulling away with lusty strokes.
Again, all was darkness and uncertainty. ‘ My eyes were strained to catch the slightest glimpse of the other boat, and my ears open for any sound, however faint.
“I think he has turned again, Ned,” I exclaimed. “Rest on your oars for a moment, and listen.”
The keeper complied, and the next instant got up, and, seizing the two hounds by the throat, so tightly as almost to throttle them, he said in a whisper to me:
“He’s comin’ direct towards us. Howd your tongues, wun ye — ye dang’d tell-tale brutes.”
Ned was right. In his attempt to escape, the cunning fox had run right into our jaws. The darkness which had hitherto favoured him, now helped us in our turn, and he did not descry us till he was within twenty yards of our boat. Uttering a fearful oath, he made an effort to turn; but it was now too late. On seeing his prey within reach, Ned instantly set free the hounds, snatched up the oars, and, with a loud shout in which I joined, dashed at him. Phaleg, I suppose, finding he could not escape, awaited us, and in a minute we were beside him. I thought we should have overset his boat, for we struck against it with great force.”
“Wun yo’ yield quietly?” Ned thundered.
“You’d best let me alone,” the gipsy rejoined, fiercely.
“Take care o’ the oars,” Ned cried to me. “Here, Lupus — here Gaunt — at him, lads!”
The savage hounds were as fully prepared for the attack as their master, and sprang after him into the other boat, yelling dreadfully. The contest was unequal, but Phaleg was desperate, and not disposed to yield tamely. He had unshipped an oar, and before Ned could seize him, he struck the keeper such a violent blow on the head, that I thought he had killed him. The poor fellow lost his footing, and fell overboard. But though he had thus liberated himself from one foe, Phaleg had two others, yet more formidable, to contend with. It was terrific to hear the yells of the bloodhounds, and the cries and imprecations of the gipsy. I thought they would tear him in pieces. He shouted to me to keep them off, promising to tell me all if I did so, but I had not the power of compliance. Besides, my attention was engrossed by poor Ned, who had just strength left to keep himself afloat in the water, and I tried to get him into the boat before he should sink altogether from exhaustion, for a stream of blood was running down his face from a wound in his head. In this I succeeded, and was just in time, for no sooner had I managed to help him on board, than with a loud groan he fell back insensible.
Almost at the same moment the struggle between the gipsy and the bloodhounds ceased. I thought they had got him down, but breaking from them at the expense of his skin, as was afterwards shown by the blood-stained condition of his assailants’ jaws, he sprang over the side of the boat, and swam off. I called to him, but he disregarded my cries; and as we were almost in the middle of the mere, I thought it impossible he could reach the shore, and therefore gave him up for lost.
My attention was now directed to Ned. He had begun to breathe again, and in a few minutes recovering speech, begged me to take him home, as he thought he must be severely injured. I examined his wound as well as I could, and finding the blood had ceased to flow, I bade him not be afraid, for I thought he was more stunned than really hurt, his skull being a pretty hard one; and after tying a handkerchief round his head, and placing him in the stem of the boat, I took up the oars and rowed in what I supposed to be the direction of his cottage. Of course, Gaunt and Lupus were with us, for when their prey had escaped from them, after exhibiting their vexation in a long howl, they returned to me, and were now crouching at their master’s feet.
As I could not shape my course very accurately, owing to the darkness, nearly an hour elapsed before I reached Ned’s dwelling, and by that time my predictions in regard to the nature of the injury he had received were fully verified, for he was able to step ashore without assistance; and he declared he should not say a word about it to Sissy till the morning, as he made no doubt he should be all right then. Unfastening the door, he begged me to come in with him, and stay till daylight. I acceded to the proposal; and Ned having thrown off some of his wet garments, and wrapped himself in an old great-coat, we seated ourselves by the fireside, with the dogs at our feet, and were soon fast asleep.
The bright sunshine awoke me, and, rubbing my eyes ‘ beheld a ghastly object. It was Ned, whose red locks were matted with coagulated blood. Sissy came down at the same moment, and screamed at the sight of her husband. The cry roused him, and, perceiving his wife, he became conscious of his condition, and dispelled her terrors by a hearty laugh. Telling her he would soon clear off the bloody stains, he proceeded to the pump, while I related to her what had occurred. The instant he came back they were folded in each other’s arms, and I left them together, and proceeded to Nethercrofts.
On the way thither I passed through the churchyard, and examined the grave into which Simon Pownall had fallen, in the hope of finding him there still; but he was gone. The events of that night did not tend to elucidate the mystery of my uncle Mobberley’s will, nor help me to its discovery. Simon Pownall denied all knowledge of the circumstances, protesting that he had never left his home that night, as he could prove on the testimony of his apprentice, Chetham Quick. But I was quite certain it was he who had played the ghost, for I ascertained that he had contrived to possess himself of my uncle’s wearing apparel, together with his hat and stick.
Nothing was heard of Phaleg; and his body not being found in the mere, the probability was, that, notwithstanding his lacerations from the bloodhounds, he had managed to swim ashore.
A few days afterwards I returned to the Anchorite’s.
END OF BOOK THE FIRST.
BOOK THE SECOND.
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH IT IS PROBABLE THAT I SHALL FORFEIT THE READER’S GOOD OPINION, AS I DISPLAY SAD WANT OF TEMPER AND GREAT INGRATITUDE, AND GIVE MY ENEMIES THE ADVANTAGE OVER ME.
I SHALL now resume the story of my life at an epoch of its greatest interest to myself, namely, when T had just turned twenty-one.
Though I had entered upon man’s estate, I still possessed a very youthful appearance, and I have seen the upper lip of many a bewitching Andalusian dame more darkly feathered than mine was at the period in question. Some people told me I was handsome, and my tailor (excellent authority, it must be admitted) extolled the symmetry of my figure, and urged me to go into the Life Guards. But these flattering comments did not turn my head. Thus much I may say for myself, and I hope without vanity; I excelled in all manly exercises; I could run, swim, or leap as well as most young men of my day; and I had never met with a horse that I should have hesitated to mount. My habits were so active, and I was endowed with a frame so vigorous, that I scarcely knew what it was to feel fatigue. I was a hard rider, fond of shooting, and of all field sports, and had stalked deer in the Highlands, and speared the wild-boar in the woods of Germany. No one could enjoy better health than I did, and the only time I was ever laid up was owing to an accident, as I shall presently relate. To complete my personal description, I may refer to the passport which I obtained on going abroad, and where I find the following items in my signalement:—” Hair, dark brown, and worn long; eyebrows, arched; eyes, blue; forehead, open; nose, straight; mouth, small; chin, round;
visage, oval; complexion, rosy; beard, none; height, five feet eleven inches.” As these particulars were meant to convey some idea of me to foreign authorities, they may possibly serve the same purpose to the reader.
It may seem, from what I have just stated, that I was more sedulous in cultivating the body than the mind. But such was not altogether the case. It is true that I did not work so hard as I might have done while I was at Cambridge, but I gained the Seatonian prize and Sir William Browne’s medal, and these distinctions were enough for my then ambition. Had I been less fond of boating, riding, and other sports, and had not idled away so much time, I might have won honours. As it was, I took a respectable degree.
On quitting Cambridge, I spent a few weeks at the Anchorite’s, and then set out on a lengthened continental tour. I remained abroad more than a year, and during the time visited several of the principal cities of Europe. While I was absent, some circumstances occurred which exercised a considerable influence over my future career; but, before I proceed to recount them, let me show how I stood in reference to Mrs. Mervyn.
In a previous portion of my history I have mentioned that my kind relative took charge of my education, sending me to college, paying all my expenses there, and when I left Cambridge, making me a handsome allowance. It had been her wish that I should go into the Church, but feeling no special vocation for the holy office, I could not with propriety accede to her wishes. My own predilections were for the army; but here Mrs. Mervyn was strenuously opposed to me, declaring that my poor mother had expressed a hope on her death-bed that her boy might never be a soldier. This I could not contradict, as I full well remembered that she had said the same thing to myself, and had even made me promise never to follow in my father’s footsteps. So medicine and Jaw alone were left, and as I was averse to both, it seemed not improbable that I should have no profession at all.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 457
