CHAPTER I
Of the Fugitive from Sedgemoor
Well do I, Clifford Hammond, remember the 10th day of July in theyear of grace 1685. Rebellion, though some would have it 'twasjustifiable invasion, had appeared in the land. Monmouth had landedin Dorset, and had raised an army. How he fared, the men ofHampshire knew not as yet, though there were many who prayed for thesuccessful issue of his venture.
Little did I think, living on the borders of the New Forest, thatthe outbreak in the West would affect the welfare of our house. Yetit did, though, I must confess, indirectly; for had it not been forthe routing of the rebels at Sedgemoor, the voyage of the _GoldenHope_ would not have been undertaken, nor would I be able to relatethe desperate adventures of her crew in gaining the object of theexpedition. But I am forestalling my story.
Our family, the Hammonds of Brockenhurst, had lived within thebounds of the Forest for centuries, as witness the name of GeoffroiHammond, who served with distinction at the taking of the _GreatChristopher_ in the sea-fight of Sluys; or of Thomas Hammond, whofought at Agincourt: but I would make it plain that the Hammonds ofBrockenhurst have no connection with the rebel ColonelHammond--though, to his credit be it said, he treated His MajestyKing Charles the Martyr, during his captivity in the Isle of Wight,with far more courtesy than did his brother officers.
My father, Captain Richard Hammond--"Foul-weather Dick", as he wasaffectionately dubbed in the fleet--had had an adventurous careerboth ashore and afloat. Beginning with the fatal fight at Nasebywhen he was but a young cornet of horse of barely twenty years ofage, he had fought Dutch, Algerines, and, sad to relate, hisfellow-countrymen; but for the last ten years he had retired fromthe King's service, and had settled down to a quiet country life inhis native Hampshire.
Thanks to his father's devotion to his sovereign, the exchequer ofthe Hammond family had been sadly depleted. During theever-to-be-abhorred Rebellion, plate, jewels, money, all went, and'twas fortunate that our lands had not been confiscated by theCommonwealth. My father had to rely upon the unkept promises of HisMajesty King Charles II as a reward for the sacrifices of our housetowards the royal cause; nevertheless, the meagre pay of a seacaptain in the King's fleet, together with the income from the shoreestate, sufficed to keep us in comparative ease.
My father married late in life. His spouse, the daughter of SirDigby Tall (a baronet as impecunious as the majority of his class atthis time), died within three years of their union, leaving twochildren.
At the time my story opens I, Clifford Hammond, was sixteen years ofage, my sister Constance being eighteen months my junior. She was atall, sprightly girl, with fresh complexion, blue eyes, and richgolden hair, being, 'twas said, the image of her mother in heryouth.
No one would readily have taken Constance and me for sister andbrother, for I was olive-featured, with straight, dark-brown hairand grey eyes; tall in stature, yet inclined to slenderness.
On the particular morning to which I have referred, Constance and Ihad gone into Lyndhurst to give orders to a carrier respecting thepurchase of a certain article at Southampton. What the nature of thepurchase was we did not at the time know, although every month,summer and winter, year in and year out, my father had a similarpackage brought in by the regular carrier. Here I may mention thatmy sire, in spite of his sixty odd years, was a wonderfullywell-preserved man, his dark-brown locks (for he scorned to wear aperuke) being innocent of any trace of grey hairs. Yet I call tomind the occasion, when I was yet a child of tender years, uponwhich my father had perforce to attend the Verderers' Court atLyndhurst with his hair of a rusty, iron-grey hue. That was aboutthe time that Giles Shearing's wain was upset at Redbridge, and manya housewife in Lyndhurst and Brockenhurst who relied on theSouthampton carrier had to go short-handed. I no longer wonder atthe coincidence.
As we left Lyndhurst town on our return journey, I leading a shaggyForest pony on which my sister, holding the required purchase, wasperched, a troop of horse came riding with loose rein and hot spurthrough the quiet High Street.
They were fierce-looking fellows, with bronzed features, begrimedwith sweat and dust; upturned moustachios, and flowing locks. Theywore red frock-coats trimmed with white facings, the skirts buttonedback to enable them to sit the better in the saddle; dark-greenbreeches, long riding-boots of buff leather, and broad-brimmedbeaver hats, looped up on one side. All were armed with a broadswordand a pair of pistols, while not a few carried snaphances in abucket at the right side of the saddle, or slung across their backs.
This much I noticed as they tore onwards with undiminished pacethrough the narrow street, till they were lost to view in a cloud ofdust on the Southampton Road.
"There's some news for Cap'n Hammond, Master Clifford!" shoutedChambers the blacksmith from across the way. "They say as how DukeMonmouth's been beaten, and half his army cut to pieces. Thoseredcoats are Cornbury's Dragoons, and they are hot on the track ofthe Hampshire rebels. Heaven help the Mayor of Lymington and thescore of men he sent to the West!"
Young as I was, I realized that it was a case of woe to thevanquished. Although our county had not taken up the cause of therebel Duke to any thing like the extent of Dorset, Somerset, andWiltshire, several of the towns in the western division of Hampshirehad sent small contingents to aid Monmouth's cause, and Lymingtonhad been the chief offender in this respect. Fortunately for us,Brockenhurst had held aloof, though the villagers were none tookindly disposed towards King James's measures.
We hastened on our homeward journey, eager to convey the momentousnews to my father. For the first half of the way the road ranbetween dense masses of trees, intersected by shady glades, in whichthe leaves of last year still littered the ground. Ever and anon aherd of fallow deer would dash across the highway, or a troop ofForest ponies would scamper betwixt the trees, fearing in everyhuman being a possible master. Pigs also roamed in great numbers,for though it was the time of fence month[1] within the Forest, solax had the jurisdiction of the Verderers' Court become that thecommoners paid less heed to the regulations than they had for yearspast.
At length we emerged from the forest and gained the rolling expanseof heath, where, to right and left, as far as the eye could reach,the heather and the gorse gleamed in the bright sunshine like a seaof purple and gold.
"See, there's a man riding as fast as his horse can carry him!"exclaimed Constance, pointing down the bridle path that, runningbetween Ring wood and Beaulieu, crosses the highway near the placewhere we were.
"Aye, he seems in a mighty hurry," I replied, shading my eyes fromthe glare.
"Perchance 'tis another of those horse soldiers?"
"Nay, he wears no red coat," I answered, reassuring her; but thoughI did not mention it, I perceived two men riding a long distancebehind the first horseman as if in pursuit, and, unless my eyesdeceived me, they were dragoons.
"Let us hasten," urged Constance, as if filled with someforebodings, though she was usually a strong-minded girl.
"He'll not molest us," said I. "He is too intent on his errand, Itrow."
Nearer and nearer came the fugitive--for fugitive he was--till Icould distinguish his features. Then my heart gave a sudden bound,for I recognized the man: it was Jeremy Miles, a master mariner ofLymington, and one of the townsfolk who had gone west to join therebel standard.
Constance knew him also, for she exclaimed, "'Tis Captain Miles! Andsee, Clifford, there are soldiers after him!"
Something compelled me to stop and await the arrival of thefugitive, and, holding the pony's bridle by one hand, I assistedConstance to dismount.
As we stood we were hidden from the bridle path by a gorse-coveredbank that, being but breast high, was sufficiently low to enable usto command the track on which the horsemen were riding without beingseen by them until they gained the highway.
Not for one moment did I expect to be in danger, for Miles wasriding strongly and evidently holding his own, while 'twas unlikelythat the troopers, keen on his pursuit, would draw rein to molest aboy
and a girl.
The fugitive was now crossing the white dusty road within twentypaces of us, when suddenly his horse sank under him, throwing itsrider headlong to the ground. But before the expiring animal gave alast convulsive shudder, Miles had sprung to his feet and waslooking dazedly towards his pursuers, now but a mile behind.
"Captain Miles!" I shouted, urging my pony forward. "Captain Miles!Take Trotter and ride him across the heath."
"Why, 'tis Master Hammond!" he exclaimed. "Nay, lad, that beastwould not ship a crew like me: But they'll have their work cut outto take me. Come, young sir, I'll trouble you to give a hand with mymare, if you will."
Together, with Constance helping us, we dragged the body of theanimal off the road, and hid it in a slight depression behind somefurze bushes. Then hurriedly we strove to conceal the tell-taletracks on the dusty road.
The dragoons were now only a bare quarter-mile away.
[1] The period between the 20th June and the 20th July, during whichtime the ancient right of "Pannage", i.e. turning out pigs to feedon acorns and beech-mast, within the New Forest was withheld.
The Quest of the 'Golden Hope': A Seventeenth Century Story of Adventure Page 2
