Part 3

"Chok' it all!" cried one of his companions, a sturdily built, black-browed, bullet-headed fisher youth of some eighteen years. "If so be you woan't fight, Billy Gudgeon, I will, so there then. Be you afeard, maister?"

"No, I don't think I'm afraid of you," said Jack, "but I don't see what we've got to fight about. As your friend yonder said, we're quits. And I'm in a hurry. Good night."

"Boo! boo!" yelled the rest, encouraged by this seeming display of the white feather. "Rare plucked un to fight Boney! Afeard of Jan Lamiger! Boo! boo!"

Jan Lamiger slouched forward as Jack was turning away, and as an earnest of battle cleverly flicked off his hat. Jack was round in an instant.

"Very well, Jan, or whatever your name is, if you're set on fighting, I suppose I must oblige you."

He took off his coat, folded it, and placed it carefully on a stone pillar hard by: then he picked up his hat, set it on top, and rolled up his shirt-sleeves. The young fisherman meanwhile divested himself of his jersey, and listened with a smug smile to the encouraging hints and practical instructions of his mates.

Jack felt a trifle bored. It was much beneath his dignity as a midshipman of his Majesty King George to be fighting fisher lads in the open fish-market of Luscombe, but it would have been still more beneath his dignity to refuse the challenge and have the pack of fisher lads at his heels. He was relieved to find that the Square was quite deserted save for the group about him. A few seconds earlier he had had an impression that there were a number of fisher folk about. The people had, in fact, hastily retired into their cottages when they saw what was afoot. They had no objection to the lad's trouncing a king's officer, but when that officer happened to be a relative of Squire Bastable at the Grange it was perhaps just as well not to countenance the fight openly. For they had no doubt that Jan Lamiger would win. He stood half a head higher than the midshipman, and was probably three stone heavier. And, moreover, he had some little reputation in the neighborhood as a boxer and wrestler. Had he not thrown all comers at Wickham Fair? And knocked Tom Buggins, the light-weight, clean out of time at Casterbridge only last month?

It was a somewhat rough battle-ground; the cobbles of the Square would make a hard fall; but neither of the combatants had chosen the spot, nor did it occur to them to seek a more convenient place for their encounter.

Those were the days in which skill in the use of the fists was a real title to consideration among all classes, high and low. And fortunately for Jack, it was an art cultivated with great perseverance by the young gentlemen of H.M.S. _Ariadne_. A new midshipman had to fight his way into the right to call anything his own. So frequent were the battles on board, that the art had reached a very high degree of perfection. Even the muscular heroes of the prize-ring might have envied the quickness of eye, the wariness, the nimbleness of movement, the skill in feint, of these young warriors.

The group had become by this time enlarged by the addition of several other boys, big and small, eager to see the fight and the imminent discomfiture of the king's officer. They drew away to give the principals fighting room. The two at once got to work. In the first half-minute Jack found that he had no novice to deal with, and that in sheer physical strength he was hopelessly outmatched. But the big lumbering fisher had nothing like the quickness of wit or the science of the slighter midshipman. Hitherto he had won his bouts by staying power added to a certain rudimentary knowledge of fisticuffs that might pass for skill among the yokels at a country fair. But in all his previous battles he had never met an opponent who forced the pace like this one. Where was he? He seemed to be on all sides at once. Jan dealt what he firmly believed was a staggering right-hander, only to hit air and to feel a smart tap on the left side of his chin. He flung out his left hand, and before he knew what was happening, he felt a similar tap on the right side. This kept things even, but it spoilt Jan's temper. He forgot his science in his irritation, and lurched forward to give full effect to his weight and height. The result was disastrous. Where did that whack in the left eye come from? He had hardly realized that he could not see quite so well as usual, when something very hard and knobby came into his right eye, and while the stars were still dancing before him a neat left-hander from Jack sent him reeling back on to the cobblestones, where he sat up and peered about him dazedly.

It was clear that the battle was over in a single round. There was no fight left in Jan. The crowd was silent now. Several were assisting Jan to rise, and Jack quickly rolled down his sleeves, put on his hat and coat, and walked away, leaving the Square by the alley through which he had entered it. Perfect stillness reigned in the village; but Jack was conscious that the windows and doorways were now filled with faces watching the scene. He smiled as he left the village behind him.

*CHAPTER IV*

*CONGLETON'S HOLLOW*

Jack was beginning to enjoy himself. There is something bracing in antagonism: the knowledge that he was regarded as an enemy by the people of Luscombe, so far from daunting him, whetted his appetite for duty. He made up his mind to say nothing to Mr. Bastable of what had occurred.

When he got back to the Grange he found the household bubbling with an excitement of its own. Mr. Bastable had brought back with him two new suits of yeomanry uniform, and Tony, the coachman, and Andrew, the groom, had just fitted them on and were displaying their finery to the admiring eyes of Molly, the cook, and Betty, the housemaid. The men grinned sheepishly as Jack passed them.

"Bean't they fine, Measter Jack?" said Molly, giggling.

"Splendid! You won't be afraid of Boney now."

"Sakes alive, no, sir! But I be mortal afeard o' William's blunderbuss. It do look a terrible deathly instrument, to be sure; and what would happen to us if it went off by accident goodness only knows."

William was the gardener, who, though too old and bent to make an efficient yeoman, had been armed, like Overcombe, the butler, with a blunderbuss, Mr. Bastable having thought it worth while to give the men of his household weapons of defense.

"You never know," he said to Jack; "Boney may land or he may not; if he lands, the more men we have to fight him, the better; and a blunderbuss behind a wall may do some damage. I'm going to exercise 'em every day."

"And what about Monsieur de Fronsac, cousin? Will you arm him, too?"

"Well, I didn't intend to. I thought I could hardly expect him to fight against his own countrymen. But he is so bitter against the Monster that he declares he won't remain neutral. While his countrymen lick the feet of the Monster, he says, he disowns 'em. He's got a pistol, and uncommon handy he is with it, too. There he is," he added, as a loud report was heard; "he's practising behind the coach-house. Let us go and see what he can do."

De Fronsac smiled when he saw them.

"You see, Messieurs, I exercise myself," he said. As he spoke he stooped and lifted a horn button from the ground. Walking up to the wall he placed the button edgewise against a brick; turned, stepped a dozen paces, swung round, and almost without seeming to take aim, fired. The button was shattered into small fragments.

Jack could not but envy the Frenchman's skill.

"You must have had plenty of practice, Monsieur," he said.

"Yes, truly. Ve of the noblesse know to use de pistol, assuredly."

Next day there was to be a yeomanry parade at Wickham Ferrers. Arthur begged off his lessons for the day, wishing to go with Jack to see the training. There were no horses for them to ride or drive, Mr. Bastable's three being required to mount himself and his men, so they had to walk. It was only six miles; they started early, and were on the field before the troops arrived. They got a good deal of amusement out of the scene. Many of the yeomen were raw recruits who found the management of horses and arms at the same time somewhat beyond them. Falls were frequent, and the officers got very red in the face with the exertion of commanding and countermanding. When the parade was over, the two boys had early dinner with Mr. Bastable and the other officers at the _Wickham Arms_, and started to walk back in the cool of the evening.

They came by a path that led past the tower once inhabited by the melancholy Congleton. Jack looked up at it, wondering what sort of place that lonely room at the top was. But Arthur said that the only doorway was strongly barricaded, and Jack was not inclined to waste time in breaking in. Another half-mile brought them to the middle of the Hollow. Jack had not mentioned the incident of two nights before; it would seem too much like prying into De Fronsac's affairs; but he was thinking of it when a shot rang out from the depths of the copse, followed by a cry. Arthur paused in the act of capturing a belated butterfly.

"What's that, Jack?"

"A cry for help! Come on!"

He vaulted the wall; after a moment's hesitation Arthur scrambled over; and they dashed toward the thickest part of the wood, Jack a few yards ahead. Heedless of scratches and tears they pushed through the tangle in the direction of the sounds, and, Jack suddenly finding himself blocked by a thick clump of brambles, Arthur came panting up to him.

"Over there, Jack, I think!" he said. "I heard some one moving."

He pointed to the left. They listened; there was no sound but the ripple of a tiny stream.

"Let's go on!" said Jack in a whisper, pointing ahead. "'Twas there the sound first came from."

He disentangled himself from the bush, not without damage to hands and clothes, and skirting the obstacle, the two pushed still deeper into the wood, dim in spite of the glow of the westering sun. In a few moments they saw through the trees a more brightly-lit patch of ground, and came to an open glade, covered with fern and tall grass run to seed. At the far side stood the ruins of a large timber summer-house, built of logs something like those of the pioneers in America of which Jack had read. It was somewhat dilapidated. But what took his attention immediately was the figure of a man sitting on one of the fallen logs, apparently stanching with a red handkerchief a wound in the head.

As the two boys made their appearance at the edge of the glade the man started and tried to rise; but he staggered back with a groan, and continuing clumsily to stanch his wound, eyed them sullenly with uneasy suspicion as they approached.

Jack went up to him impulsively.

"We heard a shot and a cry. Did you call out?" he asked. "You are hurt. Can we do anything?"

The man was an undersized, mean-featured, ill-conditioned looking fellow. He had a low beetling brow, and his cheeks were black with the unshorn growth of several weeks. He was evidently badly hurt, and, villainous though he looked, Jack was eager to aid him.

"It is nothing," said the man, in a low and surly tone, with a slight foreign accent. "I am getting better, if only the bleeding would stop!"

Jack could see the handkerchief was drenched with blood.

"You were shot! Who fired?" he asked.

"Ah, who? I want to know. It was all at once. I did not see."

"And how did it happen, then?"

"Why, I walk along, looking straight in front, when behind me a shot is fired. I feel the pain. I call out; the pain indeed is no little; see, the bullet cut my scalp three inches long, at least. A little lower, and without doubt I am a dead man."

"And you did not see who fired?"

"No, how can I? I turn round; but the villain hears you as you come, and he escapes. That way I hear him go."

He pointed in the direction suggested by Arthur.

"It was some robber, without doubt," he added.

Jack looked uneasily around. Where was the man? Perhaps still in the copse ready to repeat his shot. But with another glance at the victim Jack felt that there was something strange in his story. Who would rob an ill-clad, dirty-looking fellow like this? He did not appear worth the pains. And what had brought him to the Hollow? He was certainly a foreigner; the copse was off the highway; what was he doing there?

From beneath his black shaggy brows the man was keenly watching. Apparently he saw by Jack's expression that doubts were crossing his mind. Still dabbing his head he began to speak again.

"I am unlucky. I am of Spitalfields, a silk weaver. At Wickham Ferrers I have at the inn fine silks. I visit the nobility and gentry; they give me orders. I am on my way to the house of Mr. Bastable--the squire, people call him. He is rich; his lady will buy my silks."

"But this is not the way to Mr. Bastable's."

"Is it not? They told me there was a short cut through the wood. Ah! the villains! It is a trap. They had me here to shoot me. Yes, that is it."

"And your samples?"

The man started.

"Yes, my samples," he said hurriedly, looking round. "They steal them. But I have others at Wickham Ferrers, at the inn. I go for them at once."

He rose as he spoke. Erect, he stood a head shorter than Jack.

"I beg you keep close to me till we are out of the wood. Ah! I feel sick, I am not able to walk so far. I am shaken; I can not wait on a lady this evening. Can you tell me a lodging in the village?"

"Do you know of one, Arthur?"

"There's old Mother Philpot; she could put him up."

"I thank you. Philpot: I will remember the name."

The boys walked with him until they reached the edge of the plantation. Then Arthur pointed out the path that led down to the village; the man refused their offer of further assistance, and when he had gone from sight they struck off at an angle toward the Grange.

Arthur was greatly excited at the incident, and talked about it all the way home. Jack was puzzled. It seemed so unlikely that a peddler carrying silks should go so far out of his way, and that he should be set upon and robbed of a bundle of samples when the more valuable bulk of his wares lay at Wickham Ferrers.

At dinner he mentioned the occurrence. Mr. Bastable was as much annoyed as concerned.

"This won't do," he said. "We're a peaceable and law-abiding folk here."

"The smugglers, cousin?"

"Oh! the smugglers!" Mr. Bastable's face again wore that strange quizzical smile that Jack had noticed whenever smuggling was mentioned. "That's another matter. I say we're a law-abiding folk. There hasn't been a robbery, an assault, or anything of that kind, for years. So near the Grange, too. As a justice of the peace, I must see that fellow and get a description of the assailant; we'll raise the hue and cry and have him fast by the heels, I warrant him. I'll send Tony to Mother Philpot at once."

"He said he didn't see the man who fired the shot."

"Nonsense. How could any one take his samples without being seen?"

"Permit me," said De Fronsac, smiling. "From vat Monsieur Jack says, de poor man is a compatriot. He is a weaver of Spitalfields, but he talk viz a foreign accent. De French families in Spitalfields have been dere so many generations dat dey are now English; dey vould have no accent, and dis poor man must be, as I myself, a victim of de troubles in France of dis day--perhaps he is a victim of dat Monstair. Vill it not be convenient dat I go to see him at his lodgment, and speak to him in his own language, and learn all dat he has to tell?"

"'Tis very good of you, Monsieur; but I don't want to spoil your dinner, and this must be done at once, or the villain will get away."

"De dinner, it is noding!" said De Fronsac with a smile, not perceiving the little grimace that for an instant showed itself on Kate's lips, or the glance exchanged between her and her mother. "I vill go at once. I do anyzing to serve a friend like you, Monsieur," he said, with a low bow as he rose.

After De Fronsac's departure the family discussed the incident at length, Mr. Bastable becoming more and more indignant as he thought of the outrage committed in that quiet spot and so near his own doors. But Jack felt very uneasy. He could not help connecting the event with the voices he had heard in the copse two nights before. The speakers had seemed to be in altercation; one of them had been De Fronsac. And De Fronsac had offered to go and question the injured man. Jack wondered whether he had better tell his cousin what was passing through his mind, but he did not like to make him uneasy or suspicious if, after all, there was no cause for it. So he decided to say nothing--at least, until De Fronsac had reported the result of his interview.

The family were in the drawing-room when the tutor returned.

"I have accomplish' my mission," he said. "I am hot; I valk fast. De man is indeed, I regret to say, a compatriot. He is in England from a young man; vid his parents he arrive fourteen years ago, ven de troubles began. I dink he is honest man. He see only very little bit of de man vat shoot him, but it seem he vas short, and zick, and vid red hair. Dat is vun zing he know: de man had de hair red."

"Red-haired men are as common as blackberries in these parts," said Mr. Bastable. "That won't help us much. Why didn't the fellow use his eyes to better purpose? I warrant, if a man shot me I'd know a little more about him. However, I'll send Tony to Wickham Ferrers, and we'll have some men out scouring the country. Unluckily 'tis getting dark."

Mr. Bastable went to bed later than usual that night, in case the man should be caught and brought before him as a justice of the peace for committal. But the searchers had made no discovery, and the squire at last retired, going round the house with more than usual care to see that doors and windows were carefully bolted.

Next morning they were seated at breakfast when Tony knocked at the door and came in with a face full of news.

"Please, sir, there's bin housebreaking now. Mother Philpot's house were broke into last night, and the Mounseer carried off."

"What! what!" shouted Mr. Bastable with a very red face, holding upright the knife and fork with which he was carving a fine piece of pickled pork.

"'Tis true, sir. Mother Philpot were just gwine up along to roost, when there come a knock at the door. She opened, poor soul, and three men with faces black as sut pushed past. One caught her by the arm and told her to be mum and no harm would come o't; t'others went into Mounseer's chimmer and pulled un out as soon as they'd got his coat and things on, and took un away. He was all a-shaking, sir. Mother Philpot says, says she: 'A were a-trembling like an apsen, and so were I!'"

"This is monstrous!" cried Mr. Bastable, pushing back his chair.

"Alas! my compatriot is in danger yet still," said De Fronsac, carefully folding his napkin.

"And the silks! I had set my heart on a plum-colored dress, Humfrey," said Mrs. Bastable.

"Silks! Fiddlesticks! 'tis an outrage; 'tis contempt of court! 'tis--'tis--hang it! I don't know what it isn't. Tony, get my horse saddled. I'll ride over to Wickham myself, and get the colonel to scour the country with dragoons, or we'll send to Budmouth for those fellows of the German Legion, and see what they're good for. We can't allow this sort of thing in Luscombe, and by George! we won't."

The angry squire strode away, leaving his breakfast unfinished.

"Your poor father will be so hungry, and so bad-tempered all day," said Mrs. Bastable, whom nothing seemed to ruffle. "Jack, will you carve the pork? You have not finished, Monsieur de Fronsac?"

"Absolutely, Madame," said the Frenchman with a bow and a smile. "Dere is yet an hour before ve study; I vill valk to de village and back. De fresh air it is salubrious; and de fishermen interess me. My estates vere in Brittany; and in my days of youth I pass much time among fishermen. Ven I come back, ve vill study de properties of angles, Monsieur Arthur."

And with a smile Monsieur de Fronsac left the room.

*CHAPTER V*

*A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION*

"I know!" said Arthur that evening, coming up to Jack, who was practising skittles in an alley behind the house. He looked up slyly in Jack's face.

"You do, do you? And what do you know?"

"About you."

"Well, I suppose you do. I'm Jack Hardy, son of Major James Hardy, late of the East India Company's service, and--"

"Didn't he touch you at all?"

"Who? Father? Yes, he used to lay it on pretty thick when I was a young un like you."

"Jan Lamiger, I mean."

"Oh, that's it, is it? And what do you know about Jan Lamiger, may I ask?"

"Tony told me. He says Jan Lamiger has got two black eyes and a green nose. Oh! don't I wish I'd seen it! Just don't I!"

"Well, my young cockchafer, you hold your tongue about it. I don't want it all over the country that a king's officer has been sparring with a lout like Jan Lamiger."

"All right. You needn't be stuck up about it. Did he go squash?"

"Your language is not very choice, Master Bastable. Hullo! There's Gudgeon's chimney on fire again."

"It's always on fire."

"What do you mean?"

"So it is--in the winter."

"Well, I s'pose he doesn't have fires in the summer, but it isn't winter yet."

"I don't care. I've seen the chimney smoking away like that often enough; sometimes twice a week."

"That's rather curious, isn't it? Doesn't he ever have 'em swept?"

"I don't know. I asked Bill Gudgeon about it once, and he said they can't afford sea-coal, and burn up all their muck like that."

"Just the sort of answer I should expect from him. Well, there's your tutor coming to teach you a, b, ab, b, a, b, bab. Cut away!"

"I say!"

"Well, what is it now?"

"I hate Frenchmen."

"A very wise and proper thing for an English boy."

"And I hate lessons."

"Very wrong. You'll grow up a dunce and disgrace to the name of Bastable. Cut!"

"Bother!"

He made a wry mouth and went slowly away. Jack smiled.

"He'll do!" he said to himself. "But I wonder why Gudgeon's chimneys seem so uncommonly foul. I think I must pay Bill's father a visit some day."

He mentioned the matter of the chimney to Mr. Bastable when that gentleman returned later in the day, after starting the chase for the rogues who had dared to disturb the peace of law-abiding Luscombe. Mr. Bastable laughed.

"Yes, Gudgeon has an uncommon quantity of muck on his farm," he said, "but some good stuff, too--some uncommonly good stuff."

Jack did not regard this as a very satisfactory explanation.

That night he was roused from a very heavy sleep by a touch on his arm.

"Who's that?" he cried, springing up at once.

"Only me," said Arthur in a whisper. "I say, Jack, I heard some one moving about below. It seemed to be in De Fronsac's room."

"Well, he's stumping about doing some more poetry perhaps. Go to bed."

"But I believe he's gone out."

"'Tis rather a close night. Perhaps he wanted air."

"I believe he knows something about that fellow who was shot. I watched his face."

"Oho!"

Jack was surprised to find that the boy's suspicions jumped so nearly with his own.

"Look here, who've you told that to?"

"Only you."

"That's all right. I'm going out."

"So am I," was the quiet rejoinder.

"I don't think so. I'm not going to make a row opening doors. I'm going out at the window."

"If you do, I will, too."

"All right. Go and pull on some things and be back here in fifty-nine seconds. Sharp!"

The boy hurried away.