The Splendid Spur/Chapter 8

before daylight we were afoot, and the first ray of cold sunshine found us stepping from the woods into the plain, where now the snow was vanish'd and a glistening coat of rime spread over all things. Down here the pines gave way to bare elms and poplars, thickly dotted, and among them the twisting smoke of farmstead and cottage, here and there, and the morning stir of kitchen and stable very musical in the crisp air.

Delia stepped along beside me, humming an air or breaking off to chatter. Meeting us, you would have said we had never a care. The road went stretching away to the north-west and the hills against the sky there; whither beyond, we neither knew nor (being both young, and one, by this time, pretty deep in love) did greatly care. Yet meeting with a waggoner and his team, we drew up to enquire.

The waggoner had a shock of whitish hair and a face purple-red above, by reason of the cold, and purple-black below, for lack of a barber. He purs'd up his mouth and look'd us slowly up and down.

“Come,” said I, “you are not deaf, I hope, nor dumb.”

“Send I may niver!” the fellow ejaculated, slowly and with contemplation: “'tis an unseemly sight, yet tickling to the mirthfully minded. Haw—haw!” He check'd his laughter suddenly and stood like a stone image beside his horses.

“Good sir,” said Delia, laying a hand on my arm (for I was growing nettled), “your mirth is a riddle: but tell us our way and you are free to laugh.”

“Oh, Scarlet—Scarlet!” answer'd he: “and to me, that am a man o' blushes from my cradle!”

Convinc'd by this that the fellow must be an idiot, I told him so, and left him staring after us; nor heard the sound of his horses moving on again for many minutes.

After this we met about a dozen on the road, and all paus'd to stare. But from one—an old woman—we learn'd we were walking toward Marlboro', and about noon were over the hills and looking into the valley beyond.

'Twas very like the other vale; only a pleasant stream wound along the bottom, by the banks of which the road took us. Here, by a bridge, we came to an inn bearing the sign of “The Broad Face,” and entered: for Captain Settle's stock of victuals was now done. A sour-fac'd woman met us at the door.

“Do you stay here,” Delia advis'd me, “and drink a mug of beer while I bargain with the hostess for fresh food.” She follow'd the sour-fac'd woman into the house.

But out she comes presently with her cheeks flaming and a pair of bright eyes. “Come!” she commanded, “come at once!” Setting down my half emptied mug, I went after her across the bridge and up the road, wondering. In this way we must have walk'd for a mile or more before she turn'd and stamp'd her little foot—

“Horrible!” she cried. “Horrible—wicked—shameful! Ugh!” There were tears in her eyes.

“What is shameful?”

She made no reply, but walk'd on again quickly.

“I am getting hungry, for my part,” sigh'd I, after a little.

“Then you must starve!”

“Oh!”

She wheel'd round again.

“Jack, this will never do. If you are to have a comrade, let it be a boy.”

“Now, I am very passably content as things are.”

“Nonsense: at Marlboro', I mean, you must buy me a suit of boy's clothes. What are you hearkening to?”

“I thought I heard the noise of guns—or is it thunder?”

“Dear Jack, don't say 'tis thunder! I do mortally fear thunder—and mice.”

“'Twouldn't be thunder at this time of year. No, 'tis guns firing.”

“Where?—not that I mind guns.”

“Ahead of us.”

On the far side of the valley we enter'd a wood, thinking by this to shorten our way: for the road here took a long bend to eastward. Now, at first this wood seem'd of no considerable size, but thicken'd and spread as we advanced. 'Twas only, however, after passing the ridge, and when daylight began to fail us, that I became alarm'd. For the wood grew denser, with a tangle of paths criss-crossing amid the undergrowth. And just then came the low mutter of cannon again, shaking the earth. We began to run forward, tripping in the gloom over brambles, and stumbling into holes.

For a mile or so this lasted: and then, without warning, I heard a sound behind me, and look'd back, to find Delia sunk upon the ground.

“Jack, here's a to-do!”

“What's amiss?”

“Why, I am going to swoon!”

The words were scarce out, when there sounded a crackling and snapping of twigs ahead, and two figures came rushing toward us—a man and a woman. The man carried an infant in his arms: and tho' I call'd on them to stop, the pair ran by us with no more notice than if we had been stones. Only the woman cried, “Dear Lord, save us!” and wrung her hands as she pass'd out of sight.

“This is strange conduct,” thought I: but peering down, saw that Delia's face was white and motionless. She had swoon'd, indeed, from weariness and hunger. So I took her in my arms and stumbled forward, hoping to find the end of the wood soon. For now the rattle of artillery came louder and incessant through the trees, and mingling with it, a multitude of dull shouts and outcries. At first I was minded to run after the man and woman, but on second thought, resolv'd to see the danger before hiding from it.

The trees, in a short while, grew sparser, and between the stems I mark'd a ruddy light glowing. And then I came out on an open space upon the hill-side, with a dip of earth in front; and beyond, a long ridge of pines standing up black, because of a red glare behind them; and saw that this came not from any setting sun, but was the light of a conflagration.

The glare danced and quiver'd in the sky, as I cross'd the hollow. It made even Delia's white cheek seem rosy. Up amid the pines I clamber'd, and along the ridge to where it broke off in a steep declivity. And lo! in a minute I look'd down as 'twere into the infernal pit.

There was a whole town burning below. And in the streets men were fighting, as could be told by their shouts and the rattle and blaze of musketry. For a garment of smoke lay over all and hid them: only the turmoil beat up as from a furnace, and the flames of burning thatches, and quick jets of fire-arms like lightning in a thundercloud. Great sparks floated past us, and over the trees at our back. A hot blast breath'd on our cheeks. Now and then you might hear a human shriek distinct amid the din, and this spoke terribly to the heart.

Now the town was Marlboro', and the attacking force a body of royal troops sent from Oxford to oust the garrison of the Parliament, which they did this same night, with great slaughter, driving the rebels out of the place, and back on the road to Bristol. Had we guess'd this, much ill luck had been spared us; but we knew nought of it, nor whether friends or foes were getting the better. So (Delia being by this time recover'd a little) we determined to pass the night in the woods, and on the morrow to give the place a wide berth.

Retreating, then, to the hollow (that lay on the lee side of the ridge, away from the north wind), I gather'd a pile of great stones, and spread my cloak thereover for Delia. To sleep was impossible, even with the will for it. For the tumult and fighting went on, and only died out about an hour before dawn: and once or twice we were troubled to hear the sound of people running on the ridge above. So we sat and talked in low voices till dawn; and grew more desperately hunger'd than ever.

With the chill of daybreak we started, meaning to get quit of the neighbourhood before any espied us; and fetch'd a compass to the south without another look at Marlboro'. At the end of two hours, turning north-west again, we came to some water meadows beside a tiny river (the Kennet, as I think), and saw, some way beyond, a high road that cross'd to our side (only the bridge was now broken down), and further yet, a thick smoke curling up; but whence this came I could not see. Now we had been avoiding all roads this morning, and hiding at every sound of footsteps. But hunger was making us bold. I bade Delia crouch down by the stream's bank, where many alders grew, and set off towards this column of smoke.

By the spot where the road cross'd I noted that many men and horses had lately pass'd hereby to westward, and, by their footmarks, at a great speed. A little further, and I came on a broken musket flung against the hedge, with a nauseous mess of blood and sandy hairs about the stock of it; and just beyond was a dead horse, his legs sticking up like bent poles across the road. 'Twas here that my blood went cold on a sudden, to hear a dismal groaning not far ahead. I stood still, holding my breath, and then ran forward again.

The road took a twist that led me face to face with a small whitewashed cottage, smear'd with black stains of burning. For seemingly it had been fir'd in one or two places, only the flames had died out: and from the back, where some outbuilding yet smoulder'd, rose the smoke that I spied. But what brought me to a stand was to see the doorway all crack'd and charr'd, and across it a soldier stretch'd—a green-coated rebel—and quite dead. His face lay among the burn'd ruins of the door, that had wofully singed his beard and hair. A stain of blood ran across the door stone and into the road.

I was gazing upon him and shuddering, when again I heard the groans. They issued from the upper chamber of the cottage. I stepp'd over the dead soldier and mounted the ladder that led upstairs.

The upper room was but a loft. In it were two beds, whereof one was empty. On the edge of the other sat up a boy of sixteen or thereabouts, stark naked and moaning miserably. With one hand he seem'd trying to cover a big wound that gaped in his chest: the other, as my head rose over the ladder, he stretch'd out with all the fingers spread. And this was his last effort. As I stumbled up, his fingers clos'd in a spasm of pain; his hands dropp'd, and the body tumbled back on the bed, where it lay with the legs dangling.

The poor lad must have been stabb'd as he lay asleep. For by the bedside I found his clothes neatly folded and without a speck of blood. They were clean, though coarse; so thinking they would serve for Delia, I took them, albeit with some scruples at robbing the dead, and covering the body with a sheet, made my way downstairs.

Here, on a high shelf at the foot of the ladder, I discover'd a couple of loaves and some milk, and also, lying hard by, a pair of shepherd's shears, which I took also, having a purpose for them. By this time, being sick enough of the place, I was glad to make all speed back to Delia.

She was still waiting among the leafless alders, and clapp'd her hands to see the two loaves under my arm.

Said I, flinging down the clothes, and munching at my share of the bread—

“Here is the boy's suit that you wish'd for.”

“Oh, dear! 'tis not a very choice one.” Her face fell.

“All the better for escaping notice.”

“But—but I like to be notic'd!”

Nevertheless, when breakfast was done, she consented to try on the clothes. I left her eyeing them doubtfully, and stroll'd away by the river's bank. In a while her voice call'd to me—

“Oh, Jack—they do not fit at all!”

“Why, 'tis admirable!” said I, returning, and scanning her. Now this was a lie: but she took me more than ever, so pretty and comical she look'd in the dress.

“And I cannot walk a bit in them!” she pouted, strutting up and down.

“Swing your arms more, and let them hang looser.”

“And my hair. Oh, Jack, I have such beautiful hair!”

“It must come off,” said I, pulling the shears out of my pocket.

“And look at these huge boots!”

Indeed, this was the main trouble, for I knew they would hurt her in walking: yet she made more fuss about her hair, and only gave in when I scolded her roundly. So I took the shears and clipp'd the chestnut curls, one by one, while she cried for vexation; and took occasion of her tears to smuggle the longest lock inside my doublet.

But, an hour after, she was laughing again, and had learned to cock the poor country lad's cap rakishly over one eye: and by evening was walking with a swagger and longing (I know) to meet with folks. For, to spare her the sight of the ruin'd cottage, I had taken her round through the fields, and by every by-path that seem'd to lead westward. 'Twas safer to journey thus; and all the way she practic'd a man's carriage and airs, and how to wink and whistle and swing a stick. And once, when she left one of her shoes in a wet ditch, she said “d—n!” as natural as life: and then

We jump'd over a hedge, plump into an outpost of rebels, as they sat munching their supper.

They were six in all, and must have been sitting like mice: for all I know of it is this. I had climb'd the hedge first, and was helping Delia over, when out of the ground, as it seem'd, a voice shriek'd, “Run—run!—the King's men are on us!” and then, my foot slipping, down I went on to the shoulders of a thick-set man, and well-nigh broke his neck as he turn'd to look up at me.

At first, the whole six were for running, I believe. But seeing only a lad stretch'd on his face, and a second on the hedge, they thought better of it. Before I could scramble up, one pair of hands was screw'd about my neck, another at my heels, and in a trice there we were pinion'd.

“Fetch the lantern, Zacchaeus.”

'Twas quickly lit, and thrust into my face; and very foolish I must have look'd. The fellows were all clad in green coats, much soil'd with mud and powder. And they grinn'd in my face till I long'd to kick them.

“Search the malignant!” cried one. “Question him,” call'd out another; and forthwith began a long interrogatory concerning the movements of his Majesty's troops, from which, indeed, I learn'd much concerning the late encounter: but of course could answer nought. 'Twas only natural they should interpret this silence for obstinacy.

“March 'em off to Captain Stubbs!”

“Halloa!” shouted a pock-mark'd trooper, that had his hand thrust in on my breast: “bring the lantern close here. What's this?”

'Twas, alas! the King's letter: and I bit my lip while they cluster'd round, turning the lantern's yellow glare upon the superscription.

“Lads, there's promotion in this!” shouted the thick-set man I had tumbled on (who, it seem'd, was the sergeant in the troop): “hand me the letter, there! Zacchaeus Martin and Tom Pine—you two bide here on duty: t'other three fall in about the prisoners—quick march! 'The wicked have digged a pit'”

The rogue ended up with a tag from the Psalmist.

We were march'd down the road for a mile or more, till we heard a loud bawling, as of a man in much bodily pain, and soon came to a small village, where, under a tavern lamp, by the door, was a man perch'd up on a tub, and shouting forth portions of the Scripture to some twenty or more green-coats assembled round. Our conductor pushed past these, and enter'd the tavern. At a door to the left in the passage he halted, and knocking once, thrust us inside.

The room was bare and lit very dimly by two tallow candles, set in bottles. Between these, on a deal table, lay a map outspread, and over it a man was bending, who look'd up sharply at our entrance.

He was thin, with a blue nose, and wore a green uniform like the rest: only his carriage proved him a man of authority.

This Captain Stubbs listened, you may be sure, with a bright'ning eye to the sergeant's story; and at the close fix'd an inquisitive gaze on the pair of us, turning the King's letter over and over in his hands.

“How came this in your possession?” he ask'd at length.

“That,” said I, “I must decline to tell.”

He hesitated a moment; then, re-seating himself, broke the seal, spread the letter upon the map, and read it slowly through. For the first time I began heartily to hope that the paper contain'd nothing of moment. But the man's face was no index of this. He read it through twice, folded it away in his breast, and turn'd to the sergeant—

“To-morrow at six in the morning we continue our march. Meanwhile keep these fellows secure. I look to you for this.”

The sergeant saluted and we were led out. That night we pass'd in hand-cuffs, huddled with fifty soldiers in a hayloft of the inn and hearkening to their curious talk, that was half composed of Holy Writ and half of gibes at our expense. They were beaten men and, like all such, found comfort in deriding the greater misfortunes of others.

Before daylight the bugles began to sound, and we were led down to the green before the tavern door, where already were close upon five hundred gather'd, that had been billeted about the village and were now forming in order of march—a soil'd, batter'd crew, with torn ensigns and little heart in their movements. The sky began a cold drizzle as we set out, and through this saddening weather we trudged all day, Delia and I being kept well apart, she with the vanguard and I in the rear, seeing only the winding column, the dejected heads bobbing in front as they bent to the slanting rain, the cottagers that came out to stare as we pass'd; and hearing but the hoarse words of command, the low mutterings of the men, and always the monotonous tramp-tramp through the slush and mire of the roads.

'Tis like a bad dream to me, and I will not dwell on it. That night we pass'd at Chippenham—a small market town—and on the morrow went tramping again through worse weather, but always amid the same sights and sounds. There were moments when I thought to go mad, wrenching at my cords till my wrists bled, yet with no hope to escape. But in time, by good luck, my wits grew deaden'd to it all, and I march'd on with the rest to a kind of lugubrious singsong that my brain supplied. For hours I went thus, counting my steps, missing my reckoning, and beginning again.

Daylight was failing when the towers of Bristol grew clear out of the leaden mist in front; and by five o'clock we halted outside the walls and beside the ditch of the castle, waiting for the draw-bridge to be let down. Already a great crowd had gather'd about us, of those who had come out to learn news of the defeat, which, the day before some fugitives had carried to Bristol. To their questions, as to all else, I listen'd like a man in a trance: and recall this only—that first I was shivering out in the rain and soon after was standing beside Delia, under guard of a dozen soldiers, and shaking with cold, beneath a gateway that led between the two wards of the castle. And there, for an hour at least, we kick'd our heels, until from the inner ward Captain Stubbs came striding and commanded us to follow.

Across the court we went in the rain, through a vaulted passage, and passing a screen of carved oak found ourselves suddenly in a great hall, near forty yards long (as I reckon it), and rafter'd with oak. At the far end, around a great marble table, were some ten or more gentlemen seated, who all with one accord turn'd their eyes upon us, as the captain brought us forward.

The table before them was litter'd with maps, warrants, and papers; and some of the gentlemen had pens in their hands. But the one on whom my eyes fastened was a tall, fair soldier that sat in the centre, and held his Majesty's letter, open, in his hand: who rose and bow'd to me as I came near.

“Sir,” he said, “the fortune of war having given you into our hands, you will not refuse, I hope, to answer our questions.”

“Sir, I have nought to tell,” answer'd I, bowing in return.

With a delicate white hand he wav'd my words aside. He had a handsome, irresolute mouth, and was, I could tell, of very different degree from the merchants and lawyers beside him.

“You act under orders from the—the”

“Anti-Christ,” put in a snappish little fellow on his right.

“I do nothing of the sort,” said I.

“Well, then, sir, from King Charles.”

“I do not.”

“Tush!” exclaim'd the snappish man, and then straightening himself up—“That boy with you—that fellow disguis'd as a countryman—look at his boots!—he's a Papist spy!”

“There, sir, you are wrong!”

“I saw him—I'll be sworn to his face—I saw him, a year back, at Douai, helping at the mass! I never forget faces.”

“Why, what nonsense!” cried I, and burst out laughing.

“Don't mock at me, sir!” he thunder'd, bringing down his fist on the table. “I tell you the boy is a Papist!” He pointed furiously at Delia, who, now laughing also, answer'd him very demurely—

“Indeed, sir”

“I saw you, I say.”

“You are bold to make so certain of a Papist”

“I saw you!”

“That cannot even tell maid from man!”

“What is meant by that?” asks the tall soldier, opening his eyes.

“Why, simply this, sir: I am no boy at all, but a girl!”

There was a minute, during which the little man went purple in the face, and the rest star'd at Delia in blank astonishment.

“Oh, Jack,” she whisper'd in my ear, “I am so very, very sorrow: but I cannot wear these hateful clothes much longer.”

She fac'd the company with a rosy blush.

“What say you to this?” ask'd Colonel Essex—for 'twas he—turning round on the little man.

“Say? What do I say? That the fellow is a Papist, too. I knew it from the first, and this proves it!”