Part 10

At first there was a look of mockery, if not of pity, on his face, but when he found how well I knew my business this soon changed to one of crafty eagerness. He thought me worth the killing, and he meant to do it; while I, on my part, had then a no less firm intention.

Thus round and round we went upon that narrow strip of shore, each fighting for his life beneath the staring moon; while those who watched us made no sound except to gasp when a stroke or thrust of more than common deadliness seemed to foretell the end.

At times our feet were fairly covered by the swirling foam, and once I was driven, knee-deep, back into the sea by a sudden, mighty rush that took me unawares, and came near finishing the business. But I saved myself by springing out of reach, and then, with an answering rush, drove my opponent back towards the cliffs.

And now it was that youth began to tell. The Roundhead's breath came faster than it had done, and there was more of fury in his fighting, less of tempered skill. Perceiving this, I played a luring game, and, retreating slowly, encouraged him to press me fiercely, content to guard myself while he attacked. His blows and thrusts came fast and furious, and one false movement would have surely meant my death, but I contrived to parry everything, and soon the tale began to tell upon him sorely. His breath rushed forth in gasps, and in the end I knew that I should kill him if the fight continued. But I had slain one man that night and had no desire to add another to the list if I could help it. Therefore I sprang back suddenly and cried:

"Hold! Let us end this business while we have the chance. You have fought well, indeed, but I am the younger man and have no wish to kill you. Let then each of us depart in peace while he hath both life and honour to his credit."

"What's that!" he wellnigh shrieked. "A beardless stripling such as thou doth offer quarter to a man like me? Behold my answer to your mockery!"

With that he charged upon me like a maddened bull, and, with a diving movement, aimed a blow at me which must have brought his very hilt against my ribs had it gone fairly home.

"How's that?" he hissed as he delivered it.

'Twas thus--with one swift, glancing stroke I turned his sword aside and ran him through the body. Our eyes met as I drew my blade out, and ne'er shall I forget the look in his; 'twas one of such startled horror and surprise as haunts me to this day.

He stood there swaying for a moment, staring at me like some stricken beast, then, with a sobbing cry of "Help! I'm done for!" reeled and fell back dead.

Heaven knows that when I saw him lying there a poor misshapen heap upon the shingle I felt no glory in the deed, but rather sorrow. He had fought manfully, and had, moreover, scorned to take advantage of my lonely state when urged to do so.

But there was little time for vain regrets, for barely had he fallen ere the other three came on with angry shouts and threatening swords.

"Have at him! Down with him!" they cried, and so pressed forward with a will, albeit with some caution also.

I fell back slowly till I reached the cliffs, then, having those behind me as a rear-guard, stood alert and ready, waiting for the onslaught; nor was it long in coming. There was a pause, then, as one man, they rushed upon me.

A dazzling flash of steel broke out beneath my eyes as three long shining blades shot forward in the moonlight. With one great swinging stroke I swept them all aside, then with a downward blow clave Harland through from chin to chine.

That was good start enough for anything, and made the other two draw back in doubtful wonder. But indeed they were fine lusty fellows, who by the look of them had known much fighting, and so next moment they came on again with still greater fierceness and determination.

For a time I held my own, parrying their deadly strokes, and checking every artful trick for mastering me; but no man can go on against such odds for ever, and what I had already gone through now told a woeful tale. My breath and strength began to fail, together with that quickness, both of hand and eye, which meant everything to me just then.

Suddenly my sword-arm stung with pain, and, by warm blood trickling down beneath my sleeve, I knew that I was wounded. At that I made a forward rush, then sprang aside and sought to gain some breath; but, perceiving how things stood, they got between me and the cliffs and drove me slowly back towards the sea.

My firm resolve now was to die fighting; take me alive, I swore they should not. I would, at any rate, save Ferguson three of his proffered pounds. Thus, as they came slowly on, I watched their every movement, and, by the look of exultation on their faces, I knew that they accounted me as vanquished, and only waited for a good safe chance either to make me prisoner or cut me down. But just as everything seemed hopeless, and I was meditating one last desperate effort, a loud voice hailed us from the cliff-top, crying:

"What's that? Who are you?"

"Help! help!" I answered, caring naught in my extremity whether I called on friend or foe.

That which followed was so utterly bewildering that I scarce know how to set it down with clearness. Fearing, doubtless, lest help might be at hand, and bent on ending matters ere it could arrive, my adversaries made a sudden furious rush, which forced me back, waist-deep, into the sea. Next moment, as it seemed, a man came running from the bottom of the cliffs with upraised sword.

"What now? What now?" he shouted. "Have at you for rank cowards!" and reaching my would-be slayers, he laid on with such a right good will that they turned and fled at headlong speed towards Charmouth.

Hot, breathless, and confused, I staggered from the water, and sinking down upon a rock, sat staring at my rescuer like one bedazed.

He was a sturdy, well-set man, some few years older than myself, with a fine, bold face and manner.

"Why, thou art wounded, friend," said he, pointing with his sword at the blood which trickled slowly from my sleeve.

"Nay, 'tis but a prick," I answered.

"Well, we had best make sure of that," said he, and kneeling down, pulled up my sleeve and found the wound. A small vein had been pierced, but nothing more. Taking a kerchief from his neck, he bound it tightly round the spot, then, rising, said:

"You were hard pressed, methinks."

"Yes, I have fought with five this night," I answered, "and have slain three of them--two here, and one up yonder."

"Good, now, by my life! Most excellent!" cried he. "I dearly love a man who wins to victory against such odds."

"The victory was far from being mine," I answered; "for, had you not thus come in the nick of time, I should most surely have been lying dead beneath the sea by now. You saved my life, sir, and I owe you much."

"Nay, 'twas naught," he murmured, sheathing his sword and gazing out across the moonlit water. "Faith, I scarcely struck a blow; 'twas but a nimbleness in coming down yon cliff-path. But to have killed three men out of five! Ah! that was lovely; that was worth the doing. Yes, by my life, such lusty deeds as those have made Old England what she is, and will, methinks, make her still greater and more feared in years to come."

"Well, well," said I, not wishing to dwell further on my work of death, "and whither go you, pray?"

"To Lyme, to join the Duke."

"Ah! I also go to Lyme, though not to join the Duke; but rather to my bed."

"Good, then by your leave I'll bear you company," said he. "So, when you are ready----"

"And that is now," I answered, rising.

He paused a moment to gaze down upon the two dead men, then off we went together.

"Know you who those coward rascals were?" he asked me as we strode along.

"Some of Duke Monmouth's men," I answered.

He stopped and looked at me, then broke into a laugh.

"What now?" I asked.

"Why, just to think of it," said he, "that I should start my fighting for the Duke's cause by drawing sword against his followers! But, say, why did these fellows thus attack you?"

"Because I stand in no high favour with a man named Robert Ferguson."

"Ah! a canting rogue. I know him well. And so you are not for the Duke?"

"Nay, I am for the King," I answered boldly, having now made up my mind on that point.

Again he laughed in merry fashion.

"Oh, what a mocking whirligig is life!" said he. "Here walk I side by side with one with whom perchance I may cross swords in battle."

"Aye, like enough," I answered grimly; "but, say, why stand you for the Duke?"

"Well, now, it might well be for the same reason that you join King James; but, to tell honest truth, it is because his side doth seem to promise most of fine adventure. I love adventure; I was made for it; and some day I will make my name thereby, though not with sword--with pen."

"Ah! you are a writer, then?"

"Nay, but a sorry scribbler as yet; but, look you, some day I will write a book which shall assuredly set all England tingling in my praise. In short, I will be famous. Mark well those words, and think upon them in the years to come."

"That I will," I answered wonderingly.

Talking of many things, we reached at length the place where he must turn aside into the town, while I, who thought it wisdom to avoid the haunts of men, intended to go home along the shore. There he took my hand, and said:

"I would crave one favour ere we part."

"Aye, twenty, and they are granted if 'tis in my power to do it," I answered warmly.

"Nay, 'tis but a little one," said he. "I would know the name of one who used his sword so well."

"My name is Michael Fane; and may I, too, know that of one who saved my life?"

"Dan Foe--a name unknown at present, but one which, as I told you, shall hereafter be as common and familiar as the King's. And so, friend Fane, good night; and if we meet in battle, may we fight fair and bravely, like true Englishmen!"

With that he grasped my hand again, then turned and sped towards the town.

And thus it was that I met one who, as Defoe (a name he took long afterwards), is known to all of you as the writer of that wondrous history of a shipwrecked man upon a lonely island.[1]

[1] The author of _Robinson Crusoe_ was out in the Monmouth Rebellion joining the Duke at Lyme.

On leaving him I hurried on my way along the silent shore with strangest thoughts for company. Once someone shouted from the cliffs, and, yet again, some fellows hailed me from a boat which lay close inshore; but I heeded not, save to increase my speed, for, truly, my adventures for that night were all-sufficient.

So, in the end, I reached The Havering without mishap, and there, tired out in body and in mind, I sought my bed, and slept like any dog.

*CHAPTER XVII*

*Tells how I had Speech of Ferguson*

Sound sleep works wonders on a healthy body, and so the morning found me mightily refreshed; nor did it trouble me to think that three dead men lay out upon the eastern shore. I had not sought the quarrel, but had only fought for life and liberty; therefore I felt no guiltiness, and let the matter rest: and, truly, there was quite enough to occupy my thoughts in other ways.

I will not dwell upon the saddened doings of that day. Ere noon we laid my father in his grave, high up above the sea--fit resting-place for one who had been born and bred in hearing of its solemn music, and who had ever loved it dearly.

Few people (scarce a dozen) gathered round us in the churchyard; nor was I sorry, for at such times a crowd of staring eyes is little to my liking. A week before it had been vastly different; scores would then have flocked to see the last of him who had been known by everyone. But now the town was rife with rank rebellion. Its people had gone mad with frenzied hopes as vain and empty as a shadow, but which, alas! within a few short weeks were turned into a scourge of death too horrible to contemplate. Yes, verily, Lyme Regis had gone daft in Monmouth's cause. The turmoil of it reached us like a sound of mockery in which we had no part; and, gazing down into the silent grave, I felt that it was well indeed with him who lay therein. And so we left him there, in peace, beside my mother.

That sad business done, the hours dragged by in dreary fashion, for at such times the mourners lag behind to mope and weep, as though 'twere sinful to be brave and cheerful, as though, in fact, there were no hope beyond the tomb. The only time I caught a change--a glint of hopefulness upon their dolorous faces--was at the reading of the will; and even that soon passed, for everything was left to me.

But all things, whether good or evil, have an end, and ere sunset I had waved a glad good-bye unto the last of those my doleful guests, and so was free to dwell in silence on my future plans. And truly there was plenty to be done, and little time in which to do it; for I had resolved to ride forth with the dawn to Exeter, where lay the Royalist army, commanded by the Duke of Albemarle.

I had come suddenly to this decision after that affair upon the shore, though not from any great love of the King's cause; rather had I reached it on account of what, to me, at any rate, seemed three good reasons. First, having once drawn my sword I felt that I must either go on fighting or go daft; secondly, I could no more fight for Monmouth, knowing what I did, than for the Evil One himself; and thirdly, I had a growing hope that I might meet both Ferguson and Tubal Ammon on the battlefield. Truly, I might kill the former while he yet stalked bare-faced in our midst; but that would mean sure death, and life had still some sweetness left for me. As for Ammon, well, it was far from likely that he would show himself in Lyme again. And even if he did, and we were favoured with a meeting, my killing of him would, I felt assured, be just as fatal to me as the slaying of his wicked master.

Thus you will see that I had no desire to draw my sword against my wretched and misguided fellow-countrymen; but to compass the destruction of the two arch-villains who, by their abominable machinations, had thus turned my life into a barren wilderness. 'Twas not a very clear or hopeful plan, I own, but still it was the best that I could frame; and at any rate, it would afford me plenteous room for vigorous action--the thing I needed most of all just then.

Meanwhile, as I have said before, there was a great deal to be done, and very little time in which to do it. First of all I called up Anne, the housekeeper, and Tom, the groom, into the study, and swiftly told them that I was going to leave them for a space, and that The Havering would be in their sole charge till my return. They were amazed, but seeing how firm-set and sharp I was about the business, they swore fidelity and asked no questions. That done, I locked up my father's papers, together with the broken Black Box, in our iron-bound deed-chest, and then bethought me to pay a final visit to the town; partly to learn the latest news concerning Monmouth, and partly (let me freely own it) that I might say farewell to Miriam at the "George". In doing this I ran some risk, but what were risks to one who had already fought, and killed three men?

Thus, when the dusk began to fall, I walked down into Lyme, as bold as brass. My mission to the "George" proved unavailing, for Miriam was not in; and though her father was I did not tarry. He had strong views upon the Monmouth rising (as indeed he had on everything), and would fain have set them out before me at great length, but time was far too precious. So, leaving messages for Miriam, I betook me to the Market Place, and found it full of soldiery and gaping townsfolk.

News had come in that the Dorset militia had marched into Bridport (a town some eight miles east of Lyme), and after hasty counsel with his generals, Monmouth had decided to attack them. As near as I could judge the force drawn up within the market square consisted of about five hundred foot, including fifty musketeers, together with some fourscore or so of horsemen. They were commanded by Lord Grey, and for the most part were trained soldiers who had seen hard fighting in the past.

The bright blue banner floated bravely in the wind, and beneath it sat the Duke on horseback. Just as I arrived upon the scene, he raised his hand; the crowd was hushed to sudden silence; and then, in a few clear, ringing words, he wished his little army God-speed, victory, and a safe return. At that a great shout rent the air; kerchiefs and hats were waved aloft, while on all sides the cry uprose:

"Monmouth! Our Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant religion!"

It was, indeed, a stirring scene, and as I think upon it now, and see again the Duke, all gracious smiles and bows, deep sadness holds me that the consummation of such zeal and great devotion should have been the hangman's rope--the headsman's axe!

But at the time I had small thought for anything save him who stood a few yards from the Duke, waving his hat, and shouting till his red-blotched face seemed like to burst into a ravening fire. Yes, Ferguson, the plotter, led the loud hosannas with a will; his voice rang high above the rest; and when the cries began to lull 'twas he who started fresh ones. I watched him for a moment, then, scarce knowing why, pressed through the crowd until I stood beside him. Turning my way, he saw me, ceased shouting, put on his hat, and drawing his cloak about him, moved away. Following, I plucked him by the sleeve, and, with a mocking smile, said:

"Good evening to you, Master Ferguson! That plot of yours last night proved somewhat of a failure, did it not?"

The face he turned upon me at those words was such as I shall ne'er forget; if looks could kill a man, I had most surely been dead then, as, with one fierce, hateful glance, and dog-like baring of the teeth, he turned his back upon me. But for all that I had not done with him. Following, I caught him by the sleeve again, and said:

"Stay, one moment, reverend sir, I pray you! Listen, I have at home a sweet memorial of your godliness; to wit, a small black box. And you hold that which lay therein; use such power against me as you will--I care not; but be assured of this, that you and I will meet again, and that I will have vengeance on those black-souled, murderous villains, Tubal Ammon and Elijah Annabat."

He started at that latter name, and so, with one long meaning stare I strode away, and took my stand right opposite the Duke.

From thence I saw friend Ferguson speak hurriedly to four rough, evil-looking men, the while he pointed at me; I saw them nod and rub their chins; I saw them move away. Then someone touched me on the shoulder and a voice said in my ear:

"Fool! Why run this risk? Was not last night enough?"

Turning, I found Dan Foe behind me.

"Ah, you!" said I. "What now?"

"What now!" he echoed sharply. "Why, this. I have seen everything, and they will surely have you by the heels unless you run for it at once."

There seemed to be some truth in that, and I was more than half inclined to act upon his seasonable warning, when a horseman clattered up behind us and forced his way into the crowd, crying:

"Make way! Make way!"

'Twas Fletcher of Saltoun, and the steed he rode was such as made one break the tenth commandment. Indeed, I never saw a finer horse.

The crowd fell back on either side to let him pass, and he was making straight towards the standard, when Old Dare of Taunton stepped out suddenly and seized the bridle.

"How now!" said he. "How came you by that horse?"

"I took it from its stable at the 'George'," replied the other.

"Then know that it is mine, and take it back," rejoined Old Dare with heat.

"Nay, friend," said Fletcher calmly, "you err most grievously; for are not all things common to the Cause? Let go her head, I pray you."

"Nay, but I will not," rejoined the old man stoutly. "No legs save mine have stridden her, nor shall they."

"Ah! there you surely err again," laughed Fletcher, "for are not mine astride her at this very moment?"

That angered Dare beyond endurance; putting forth all his strength he strove to turn the horse, while Fletcher, using rein and bridle, urged it forward. At this Old Dare went clean beside himself with rage; let go a string of oaths and curses terrible to hear; and, when the other mocked him, drew a riding-switch from out his boot and struck him full across the face. 'Twas a cruel, maddening blow, and, in an instant, Fletcher snatched a pistol from his saddle-bow and shot the old man dead.

A moment's gasping silence was followed by a ravening roar of voices, and verily the people would have torn young Fletcher limb from limb (for Dare was much beloved by Western folk) had not the Duke of Monmouth ridden up and saved his life by ordering him aboard the frigate as a prisoner. I did not wait to see the end of it, but, taking advantage of the turmoil, broke out from the crowd and made all speed for home. There I fell to making final preparations for the morrow, and midnight struck before I was abed. Soon after three I was astir again, and ere four was riding on my way to Exeter. The past few days had brought me many strange and perilous adventures; but these were as nothing when compared with those which lay before me in the unknown future. Should you doubt that statement, you have but to follow me to prove its truth.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*A Timely Warning*

As I rode along amid the old familiar scenes that bright June morning, with the gladsome singing of the birds for company, my thoughts were strange indeed. It seemed as though I had set foot upon the threshold of another life, and that the past--so near and yet so far--had been for ever buried in the grave which held my father. Those days--those happy days--were now as nothing but a darkened memory.

Less than a week before I had been riding on this selfsame road, as blithe and free from care as yonder soaring lark, and now----!

Pulling up, I turned a wistful gaze upon the sunlit sea. The ancient, wave-worn Cobb--strong and immovable in spite of kings and factions--stretched forth its long, curved, weather-beaten arm into the glittering water, as though it would fain gather in to safety those who dared the perils of the deep. Beyond it, straining at their anchors, lay the three ill-fated ships which henceforth would be part of one appalling tale of blood and failure.

A bright blue ensign fluttered gaily from the frigate, whose deck young Fletcher of Saltoun--a few hours back the hope of Monmouth's side--now trod a sorry prisoner, doomed to exile; his talents, hopes, and zeal all scattered to the wind by one mad act of rage.

This brought into my mind Old Dare of Taunton, lying dead there in the town--slain, to no purpose, in a brawl which boys might well have jeered at. Then, as other thoughts of death more ugly and disquieting arose, I moved on slowly--a prey to gloomy memories.

But, after all, I communed with myself, what mattered it? The past was gone; the future, rich in unknown adventures--wherein I had a certain mission--lay like a winding lane before me; while for the rest of it--that is, the present--I was well armed, had a good horse beneath me, lacked not money, and was sound in mind and body. What more was needed? Nothing! Let danger dog my heels at every step--I cared not anything, so long as in the end I might meet Ferguson and Ammon face to face and sword to sword.

Stooping, I patted Kitty's neck, and she, who knew my every mood and touch, broke out into a joyous canter, and away we flew along the springing turf which fringed the road. 'Twas all so like old times to be thus rushing through the cool, refreshing air, that for the moment everything seemed banished from my mind.