Percy F. Westerman – The Complete Collection

Chapter 17

In his terror his skin turned almost a greyish white, while his thin legs, which struck me as being too weak for even his undersized body, were bent and shaking like a reed in a March gale.

Several of the rogues hurled imprecations at him, but their leader silenced them by raising his hand.

"I bain't a done nothin'!" cried the miserable wretch.

"I don't know as 'ow ye've been taxed wi' aught," ejaculated the captain, "but I'll do it now. Look you, Ned Crocker, have ye at any time been unfairly done by? No? Then why did ye blab on the run we made nigh Dancing Ledge, when Thompson, John Light, and Long Will of Corfe were taken?"

"'Tweren't me, maaster!" answered the rogue sturdily and doggedly, though his bearing did not fit with his manner of speech.

"Not ye? Ah, now harken! Know'st Jim Harker, the court-leet man and king's officer at Wareham?"

A shake of the head was the only reply, though the accused man shook more violently than before.

"No? Then methinks ye'll know him no more on this earth, for he's dead!"

The speaker paused to mark the effect of his words, then he continued:

"An', what's more, we killed him close to Arishmell Gap. 'Twas his own doin'. But on him we found this. Now, being no scholard, I ax Master Fallowfield to read what's on this paaper."

Master Fallowfield, who, as I afterwards learned from the conversation, was the parish clerk of Worth Matravers church on Sabbaths and holydays, and an arrant smuggler at other times, took the paper and read in a sonorous voice a message from a neighbouring justice to the ill-fated James Harker, telling him that the reward due to the informer Crocker would be paid at any time after Martinmas.

A deathly silence, broken only by the short gasps of the doomed wretch, followed this announcement.

"And the sentence is----?"

"Death! Death!" shouted the smugglers with no uncertain voice. Crocker made a desperate effort, shook off the men who advanced to hold him, and, flinging himself down before the captain, clasped his knees and begged for mercy. In a second, however, his executioners sprang upon him and bound him hand and foot, and a scarf was fastened over his eyes. One of the men drew a pistol. I watched the scene, for the moment unmindful of my dangerous position, but drawn by an indescribable feeling to watch the last moments of a doubly-dyed rogue.

Slowly the pistol was raised till its muzzle was level with the doomed man's temple. I could even see the smuggler's finger resting lightly on the trigger, while his eyes were turned towards the leader as if awaiting the signal to fire. The remainder of the rascals looked on impassively, as if thoroughly used to this kind of rough-and-ready justice.

But the fatal signal never came. The captain signed for the pistol to be lowered, the bandage was removed, and the culprit, already half-dead with fear, was told that he was pardoned conditionally.

Without waiting to hear the conditions, Crocker lurched forward and fell heavily to the ground in a dead faint.

"Hark ye, George Davies! When yon lubber comes to himself, tell him to make hotfoot for Lyme, and put hundreds of leagues of sea betwixt him and us. If he says nay, keep him safely till we return."

Once more the drunken revels were resumed, and again the rollicking chorus, for the men would sing naught else, echoed through the cave:

"He used to laugh a horrible laugh, His fav'rite cry was 'Priddys'!"

Gradually the dim light of the cave diminished, and I knew that night was falling. Torches and lanterns were lighted, and still the smugglers kept high carnival.

Suddenly, above the noise of the revellers, came a shrill whistle, and as if by magic the din of merrymaking gave place to an almost oppressive silence.

Again the whistle was repeated--like the cry of some bird of night--and one of the smugglers replied with a sound like the hooting of an owl.

Then came the noise of brushwood being removed, and a block and tackle were lowered through the chimneylike aperture.

"Now, my lads, look alive; casks first."

The smugglers worked with a will. The casks were rolled under the tackle, and whipped up to the open air. Six in all were sent up, and then the men began to handle the bales. At length two of the rogues laid hands on the box of silks wherein I lay concealed. I had a difficulty in restraining myself from springing up; but with a great effort I remained perfectly quiet, though expecting every moment to find a knife passed through my body, or a dozen rough hands seize me in their merciless grip.

"Be this one to go?"

"Bide a bit. I'll ax."

The footsteps died away and came again.

"Yes, Charlie, up with it!"

"What a weight!" muttered one man with an oath. "Here, d**k, come here a moment and bear a hand. Who'd a thought as that silk be so weighty?"

"Is the straw agoin' too?"

My heart was literally in my mouth.

"No; but stop! P'raps it'll save questions being axed, and straw's cheap enow."

I felt myself being lifted with my luxurious bed and carried across the floor of the cave. Then slings were fastened round the crate, the tackle creaked, and I was on my way to the open air, the box rubbing and grinding against the sides of the shaft in its ascent.

CHAPTER XIII

--The Escape

Strong hands seized the box and lifted it on to a cart, the rough springs of which shook alarmingly as they felt the weighty load.

Then came a hurried discussion as to the destination of the booty, some, including the parish clerk, Fallowfield, who had gained the upper regions by means of the tackle, urging that it had best be taken and placed in the tower of Worth Church, the others insisting that it would be best to make one journey do, and convey it as close to Wareham as possible, where their accomplices could make arrangements for its distribution.

The latter argument prevailed; a heavy tarpaulin was thrown over the cart, a whip cracked, and we were off. I could hear the sound of the brushwood being replaced and the rough farewell greetings of the smugglers, and, by the jolting of the cart and the muffled noise of the wheels, I knew that the route lay across a grassy down.

Presently I became emboldened sufficiently to clear away the material that prevented an outlook through the hole in the woodwork of the box. But my task was unavailing, for it was night, and the darkness so intense that nothing could be distinguished.

For quite half an hour the cart jolted over the sward, then the wheels struck the hard surface of a road, and the pace became quicker but more even.

There were but two men with the cart, and their conversation was carried on in a series of short sentences spoken in the broadest Dorset dialect.

Presently a low oath came from one of the men, and the cart was dragged off the roadway and hidden in a hollow, or such I thought it to be.

Wondering at the cause of this, I heard the sound of horse's hoofs coming nearer and nearer; then, with a deafening clatter on the stony road, the animal passed by, and the sounds died away in the distance.

"It be 'e, sure enow," muttered one of the men.

"Yes, it be. Howsoever 'e bain't seen we, so let's get the cart back to t' roaad."

Who the mysterious "'e" might be I could not discover; one of the king's officers, perchance, though in this lawless district they rarely ride alone.

The task of getting the cart back to the roadway was longer than the men had reckoned upon, and when at length they succeeded, one remarked in a breathless voice that dawn was breaking.

Soon the light was sufficient for me to see out of my spyhole. We were descending a steep hill, and on one side towered a lofty down, round which the white mists of morning still hung like fleecy clouds.

"'Tis no use to go to Wareham," remarked one of the men. "We'd be stopped, sure as faate."

"That's so," replied the other. "There's but one thing to do."

"What's that?"

"Leave the stuff at Carfe and take caart home."

"Where?"

"Where! Why, in the castle, ye dolt!"

Soon the cart was being driven through a village street. I could see the houses distinctly. They were all built of stone, and most of them were roofed with stone as well. This, then, was Corfe, or Carfe, as the inhabitants call it.

Here a thought occurred to me to spring from my hiding place and make a dash for freedom, but the weight of the tarpaulin, which was securely lashed down, prevented me; so I was perforce obliged to remain, though firmly resolved to free myself at the first favourable opportunity.

The cart proceeded on its way, and passed through a wide marketplace in the centre of which stood a cross. Then it rumbled over a stone bridge and entered the courtyard of the castle.

Corfe Castle was well known by reason of its stubborn defence against the malignants during the Great Rebellion, Lady Banks having all but successfully withstood a lengthy siege when rank treachery did its fell work.

On the fall of the fortress it was "slighted" by order of Old Noll himself, and the keep and walls were blown up with powder. So strong was the construction of the masonry that the work of destruction was only partially done, though the keep was riven from base to summit, and several of the smaller towers were thrown bodily out of plumb.

This much I had heard from report, and now, in spite of my cramped position, and faintness from want of food, I could not help looking with interest on the shattered walls, which still showed the black marks of the powder, though now, after a lapse of twenty years, their barrenness was beginning to be hidden by a kindly garb of ivy.

The fear of sorcery and witchcraft was firmly fixed in the minds of the Dorset peasantry, and in consequence few would venture amid the grim ruins by day, still less by night, so the smugglers' hiding place was practically free from interruption.

The cart came to a sudden stop in an archway under the keep, and, with a hurried warning: "Look alive; the sun's nearly up", the men proceeded to unfasten the tarpaulin. This was done, the canvas fell in a heap on the ground, and the men began to unload the straw.

The time for action had arrived. With a bound I sprang from the cart, nearly overthrowing the astonished men, who yelled with terror, as if his Satanic Majesty had suddenly appeared.

I did not stop to think in which direction I should run, but started off towards a gap in the walls. Passing through this, I found myself on a steep bank, at the bottom of which a white chalky road led towards a town some miles away, the towers of whose churches were plainly visible in the morning light, while away to the right was a large expanse of water which I guessed correctly was the harbour of Poole.

Descending the steep, grassy mound at a breakneck pace, I gained the road and headed northwards, keeping the sun on my right hand. After running a quarter of a mile or so, and finding no signs of pursuit, I slackened my pace and walked, the effect of my prolonged fast being very evident.

An hour later I was crossing a long causeway close to the town. Here I met a cowherd, who looked at me in astonishment, my clothes being in rags and covered with wisps of straw, while my face, blackened with dirt, was surmounted by a crop of ruffled hair that did duty for a hat.