Miss Jane Porter - "The Scottish Chiefs"

Emile Zola - "The Flood"

Unkown - "The High History of the Holy Graal"

Marietta Holley - "Samantha at Saratoga"

The Splendid Spur

A >> Arthur T. Quiller Couch >> The Splendid Spur




I broke off, for she had come to a stop, wringing her hands and
looking in my face most dolefully.

"Oh, dear--oh, dear! Jack, we have had such merry times: and you are
spoiling all the fun!"

We follow'd the road after this very moodily; for Delia, whom I had
made sharer of the rebels' secret, agreed that no time was to be
lost in reaching Bodmin, that lay a good thirty miles to the
southwest. Night fell and the young moon rose, with a brisk breeze
at our backs that kept us still walking without any feeling of
weariness. Captain Billy had given me at parting a small compass, of
new invention, that a man could carry easily in his pocket; and this
from time to time I examin'd in the moonlight, guiding our way
almost due south, in hopes of striking into the main road westward.
I doubt not we lost a deal of time among the byways; but at length
happen'd on a good road bearing south, and follow'd it till daybreak,
when to our satisfaction we spied a hill in front, topp'd with a
stout castle, and under it a town of importance, that we guess'd to
be Launceston.

By this, my comrade and I were on the best of terms again; and now
drew up to consider if we should enter the town or avoid it to the
west, trusting to find a breakfast in some tavern on the way.
Because we knew not with certainty the temper of the country, it
seem'd best to choose this second course: so we fetch'd around by
certain barren meadows, and thought ourselves lucky to hit on a road
that, by the size, must be the one we sought, and a tavern with a
wide yard before it and a carter's van standing at the entrance, not
three gunshots from the town walls.

"Now Providence hath surely led us to breakfast," said Delia, and
stepped before me into the yard, toward the door.

I was following her when, inside of a gate to the right of the house,
I caught the gleam of steel, and turn'd aside to look.

To my dismay there stood near a score of chargers in this second
court, saddled and dripping with sweat. My first thought was to run
after Delia; but a quick surprise made me rub my eyes with wonder---

'Twas the sight of a sorrel mare among them--a mare with one high
white stocking. In a thousand I could have told her for Molly.

Three seconds after I was at the tavern door, and in my ears a voice
sounding that stopp'd me short and told me in one instant that
without God's help all was lost.

'Twas the voice of Captain Settle speaking in the taproom; and
already Delia stood, past concealment, by the open door.

"... And therefore, master carter, it grieves me to disappoint thee;
but no man goeth this day toward Bodmin. Such be my Lord of
Stamford's orders, whose servant I am, and as captain of this troop
I am sent to exact them. As they displease you, his lordship is but
twenty-four hours behind: you can abide him and complain. Doubtless
he will hear--_ten million devils!_"

I heard his shout as he caught sight of Delia. I saw his crimson
face as he darted out and gripp'd her. I saw, or half saw, the
troopers crowding out after him. For a moment I hesitated. Then came
my pretty comrade's voice, shrill above the hubbub---

"Jack--they have horses outside! Leave me--I am ta'en--and ride,
dear lad--ride!"

In a flash my decision was taken, for better or worse. I dash'd out
around the house, vaulted the gate, and catching at Molly's mane,
leap'd into the saddle.

A dozen troopers were at the gate, and two had their pistols
levell'd.

"Surrender!"

"Be hang'd if I do!"

I set my teeth and put Molly at the low wall. As she rose like a
bird in air the two pistols rang out together, and a burning pain
seem'd to tear open my left shoulder. In a moment the mare alighted
safe on the other side, flinging me forward on her neck. But I
scrambled back, and with a shout that frighten'd my own ears, dug my
heels into her flanks.

Half a minute more and I was on the hard road, galloping westward
for dear life. So also were a score of rebel troopers. Twenty miles
and more lay before me; and a bare hundred yards was all my start.

[Illustration: The two pistols rang out together.]




CHAPTER XI

I RIDE DOWN INTO TEMPLE: AND AM WELL TREATED THERE.


And now I did indeed abandon myself to despair. Few would have given
a groat for my life, with that crew at my heels; and I least of all,
now that my dear comrade was lost. The wound in my shoulder was
bleeding sore--I could feel the warm stream welling--yet not so sore
as my heart. And I pressed my knees into the saddle flap, and
wondered what the end would be.

The sorrel mare was galloping, free and strong, her delicate ears
laid back, and the network of veins under her soft skin working with
the heave and fall of her withers: yet--by the mud and sweat about
her--I knew she must have travelled far before I mounted. I heard a
shot or two fired, far up the road: tho' their bullets must have
fallen short: at least, I heard none whiz past. But the rebels'
shouting was clear enough, and the thud of their gallop behind.

I think that, for a mile or two, I must have ridden in a sort of
swoon. 'Tis certain, not an inch of the road comes back to me: nor
did I once turn my head to look back, but sat with my eyes fastened
stupidly on the mare's neck. And by-and-bye, as we galloped, the
smart of my wound, the heartache, hurry, pounding of hoofs--all
dropp'd to an enchanting lull. I rode, and that was all.

For, swoon or no, I was lifted off earth, as it seemed, and on easy
wings to an incredible height, where were no longer hedges, nor road,
nor country round; but a great stillness, and only the mare and I
running languidly through it.

"Ride!"

Now, at first, I thought 'twas someone speaking this in my ear, and
turn'd my head. But 'twas really the last word I had heard from Delia,
now after half an hour repeated in my brain. And as I grew aware of
this, the dullness fell off me, and all became very distinct. And
the muscles about my wound had stiffen'd--which was vilely painful:
and the country, I saw, was a brown, barren moor, dotted with peat-
ricks: and I cursed it.

This did me good: for it woke the fighting-man in me, and I set my
teeth. Now for the first time looking back, I saw, with a great gulp
of joy, I had gained on the troopers. A long dip of the road lay
between me and the foremost, now topping the crest. The sun had
broke through at last, and sparkled on his cap and gorget. I
whistled to Molly (I could not pat her), and spoke to her softly:
the sweet thing prick'd up her ears, laid them back again, and
mended her pace. Her stride was beautiful to feel.

I had yet no clear idea how to escape. In front the moors rose
gradually, swelling to the horizon line, and there broken into steep,
jagged heights. The road under me was sound white granite and
stretch'd away till lost among these fastnesses--in all of it no
sign of man's habitation. Be sure I look'd along it, and to right
and left, dreading to spy more troopers. But for mile on mile, all
was desolate.

Now and then I caught the cry of a pewit, or saw a snipe glance up
from his bed; but mainly I was busied about the mare. "Let us but
gain the ridge ahead," thought I, "and there is a chance." So I rode
as light as I could, husbanding her powers.

She was going her best, but the best was near spent. The sweat was
oozing, her satin coat losing the gloss, the spume flying back from
her nostrils--"Soh!" I called to her: "Soh! my beauty; we ride to
save an army!" The loose stones flew right and left, as she reach'd
out her neck, and her breath came shorter and shorter.

A mile, and another mile, we passed in this trim, and by the end of
it must have spent three-quarters of an hour at the work. Glancing
back, I saw the troopers scattered; far behind, but following. The
heights were still a weary way ahead: but I could mark their steep
sides ribb'd with boulders. Till these were passed, there was no
chance to hide. The parties in this race could see each other all
the way, and must ride it out.

And all the way the ground kept rising. I had no means to ease the
mare, even by pulling off my heavy jack-boots, with one arm (and
that my right) dangling useless. Once she flung up her head and I
caught sight of her nostril, red as fire, and her poor eyes starting.
I felt her strength ebbing between my knees. Here and there she
blundered in her stride. And somewhere, over the ridge yonder, lay
the Army of the West, and we alone could save it.

The road, for half a mile, now fetched a sudden loop, though the
country on either side was level enough. Had my head been cool, I
must have guessed a reason for this: but, you must remember, I had
long been giddy with pain and loss of blood--so, thinking to save
time, I turned Molly off the granite, and began to cut across.

The short grass and heath being still frozen, we went fairly for the
first minute or so. But away behind us, I heard a shout--and it must
have been loud to reach me. I learn'd the meaning when, about two
hundred yards before we came on the road again, the mare's forelegs
went deep, and next minute we were plunging in a black peat-quag.

Heaven can tell how we won through. It must have been still partly
frozen, and perhaps we were only on the edge of it. I only know that
as we scrambled up on solid ground, plastered and breathless, I
looked at the wintry sun, the waste, and the tall hill tow'ring to
the right of us, and thought it a strange place to die in.

For the struggle had burst open my wound again, and the blood was
running down my arm and off my fingers in a stream. And now I could
count every gorsebush, every stone--and now I saw nothing at all.
And I heard the tinkling of bells: and then found a tune running in
my head--'twas "Tire me in tiffany," and I tried to think where last
I heard it.

But sweet gallant Molly must have held on: for the next thing I woke
up to was a four-hol'd cross beside the road: and soon after we were
over the ridge and clattering down hill.

A rough tor had risen full in front, but the road swerved to the
left and took us down among the spurs of it. Now was my last lookout.
I tried to sway less heavily in the saddle, and with my eyes
searched the plain at our feet.

Alas! Beneath us the waste land was spread, mile upon mile: and I
groaned aloud. For just below I noted a clump of roofless cabins,
and beyond, upon the moors, the dotted walls of sheep-cotes, ruined
also: but in all the sad-color'd leagues no living man, nor the sign
of one. It was done with us. I reined up the mare--and then, in the
same motion, wheeled her sharp to the right.

High above, on the hillside, a voice was calling.

I look'd up. Below the steeper ridge of the tor a patch of land had
been cleared for tillage: and here a yoke of oxen was moving
leisurely before a plough ('twas their tinkling bells I had heard,
just now); while behind followed the wildest shape--by the voice, a
woman.

She was not calling to me, but to her team: and as I put Molly at
the slope, her chant rose and fell in the mournfullest singsong.

"So-hoa! Oop Comely Vean! oop, then--o-oop!"

I rose in my stirrups and shouted.

At this and the sound of hoofs, she stay'd the plough and, hand on
hip, looked down the slope. The oxen, softly rattling the chains on
their yoke, turn'd their necks and gazed. With sunk head Molly
heaved herself up the last few yards and came to a halt with a
stagger. I slipp'd out of the saddle and stood, with a hand on it,
swaying.

"What's thy need, young man--that comest down to Temple wi' sword a-
danglin'?"

The girl was a half-naked savage, dress'd only in a strip of sacking
that barely reach'd her knees, and a scant bodice of the same, lac'd
in front with pack thread, that left her bosom and brown arms free.
Yet she appear'd no whit abash'd, but lean'd on the plough-tail and
regarded me, easy and frank, as a man would.

"Sell me a horse," I blurted out: "Twenty guineas will I give for
one within five minutes, and more if he be good! I ride on the
King's errand."

"Then get thee back to thy master, an' say, no horse shall he have
o' me--nor any man that uses horseflesh so." She pointed to Molly's
knees, that were bow'd and shaking, and the bloody froth dripping
from her mouth.

"Girl, for God's sake sell me a horse! They are after me, and I am
hurt." I pointed up the road. "Better than I are concerned in this."

"God nor King know I, young man. But what's on thy saddle cloth,
there?"

'Twas the smear where my blood had soak'd: and looking and seeing
the purple mess cak'd with mud and foam on the sorrel's flank, I
felt suddenly very sick. The girl made a step to me.

"Sell thee a horse? Hire thee a bedman, more like. Nay, then, lad--"

But I saw her no longer: only called "oh-oh!" twice, like a little
child, and slipping my hold of the saddle, dropp'd forward on her
breast.

* * * * * * *

Waking, I found myself in darkness--not like that of night, but of
a room where the lights have gone out: and felt that I was dying. But
this hardly seem'd a thing to be minded. There was a smell of peat
and bracken about. Presently I heard the tramp of feet somewhere
overhead, and a dull sound of voices that appear'd to be cursing.

The footsteps went to and fro, the voices muttering most of the time.
After a bit I caught a word--"Witchcraft": and then a voice speaking
quite close--"There's blood 'pon her hands, an' there's blood yonder
by the plough." Said another voice, higher and squeaky, "there's
scent behind a fox, but you don't dig it up an' take it home." The
tramp passed on, and the voices died away.

By this I knew the troopers were close, and seeking me. A foolish
thought came that I was buried, and they must be rummaging over my
grave: but indeed I had no wish to enquire into it; no wish to move
even, but just to lie and enjoy the lightness of my limbs. The blood
was still running. I felt the warmth of it against my back: and
thought it very pleasant. So I shut my eyes and dropp'd off again.

Then I heard the noise of shouting, far away: and a long while after
that, was rous'd by the touch of a hand, thrust in against my naked
breast, over my heart.

"Who is it?" I whispered.

"Joan," answered a voice, and the hand was withdrawn.

The darkness had lifted somewhat, and though something stood between
me and the light, I mark'd a number of small specks, like points of
gold dotted around me--

"Joan--what besides?"

"Joan's enough, I reckon: lucky for thee 'tis none else. Joan o' the
Tor folks call me, but may jet be Joan i' Good Time. So hold thy
peace, lad, an' cry out so little as may be."

I felt a ripping of my jacket sleeve and shirt, now clotted and
stuck to the flesh. It pain'd cruelly, but I shut my teeth: and
after that came the smart and delicious ache of water, as she rinsed
the wound.

"Clean through the flesh, lad:--in an' out, like country dancin'. No
bullet to probe nor bone to set. Heart up, soce! Thy mother shall
kiss thee yet. What's thy name?"

"Marvel, Joan--Jack Marvel."

"An' marvel 'tis thou'rt Marvel yet. Good blood there's in thee, but
little enow."

She bandaged the sore with linen torn from my shirt, and tied it
round with sackcloth from her own dress. 'Twas all most gently done:
and then I found her arms under me, and myself lifted as easy as a
baby.

"Left arm round my neck, Jack: an' sing out if 'tis hurtin' thee."

It seemed but six steps and we were out on the bright hillside, not
fifty paces from where the plough yet stood in the furrow. I caught
a glimpse of a brown neck and a pair of firm red lips, of the grey
tor stretching above us and, further aloft, a flock of field fare
hanging in the pale sky; and then shut my eyes for the dazzle: but
could still feel the beat of Joan's heart as she held me close, and
the touch of her breath on my forehead.

Down the hill she carried me, picking the softest turf, and moving
with an easeful swing that rather lull'd my hurt than jolted it. I
was dozing, even, when a strange noise awoke me.

'Twas a high protracted note, that seem'd at first to swell up
toward us, and then broke off in half a dozen or more sharp yells.
Joan took no heed of them, but seeing my eyes unclose, and hearing
me moan, stopped short.

"Hurts thee, lad?"

"No." 'Twas not my pain but the sight of the sinking sun that wrung
the exclamation from me--"I was thinking," I muttered.

"Don't: 'tis bad for health. But bide thee still a-while, and shalt
lie 'pon a soft bed."

By this time, we had come down to the road: and the yells were still
going on, louder than ever. We cross'd the road, descended another
slope, and came all at once on a low pile of buildings that a moment
before had been hid. 'Twas but three hovels of mud, stuck together
in the shape of a headless cross, the main arm pointing out toward
the moor. Around the whole ran a battered wall, patched with furs;
and from this dwelling the screams were issuing--

"Joan!" the voice began, "Joan--Jan Tergagle's a-clawin' my legs--
Gar-rout, thou hell cat--Blast thee, let me zog! Pull'n off Joan--
Jo-an!"

The voice died away into a wail; then broke out in a racket of
curses. Joan stepped to the door and flung it wide. As my eyes grew
used to the gloom inside, they saw this:--

A rude kitchen--the furniture but two rickety chairs, now toss'd on
their faces, an oak table, with legs sunk into the earth, a keg of
strong waters, tilted over and draining upon the mud floor, a ladder
leading up to a loft, and in two of the corners a few bundles of
bracken strewn for bedding. To the left, as one entered, was an open
hearth; but the glowing peat-turves were now pitch'd to right and
left over the hearthstone and about the floor, where they rested,
filling the den with smoke. Under one of the chairs a black cat spat
and bristled: while in the middle of the room, barefooted in the
embers, crouched a man. He was half naked, old and bent, with matted
grey hair and beard hanging almost to his waist. His chest and legs
were bleeding from a score of scratches; and he pointed at the cat,
opening and shutting his mouth like a dog, and barking out curse
upon curse.

No way upset, Joan stepped across the kitchen, laid me on one of the
bracken beds, and explain'd--

"That's feyther: he's drunk."

With which she turn'd, dealt the old man a cuff that stretch'd him
senseless, and gathering up the turves, piled them afresh on the
hearth. This done, she took the keg and gave me a drink of it. The
stuff scalded me, but I thanked her. And then, when she had shifted
my bed a bit, to ease the pain of lying, she righted a chair, drew
it up and sat beside me. The old man lay like a log where he had
fallen, and was now snoring. Presently, the fumes of the liquor, or
mere faintness, mastered me, and my eyes closed. But the picture they
closed upon was that of Joan, as she lean'd forward, chin on hand,
with the glow of the fire on her brown skin and in the depths of her
dark eyes.

[Illustration: Joan]




CHAPTER XII.

HOW JOAN SAVED THE ARMY OF THE WEST; AND SAW THE FIGHT ON BRADDOCK
DOWN.


But the pain of my hurt followed into my dreams. I woke with a start,
and tried to sit up.

Within the kitchen all was quiet. The old savage was still stretch'd
on the floor: the cat curled upon the hearth. The girl had not
stirr'd: but looking toward the window hole, I saw night out side,
and a frosty star sparkling far down in the west.

"Joan, what's the hour?"

"Sun's been down these four hours." She turned her face to look at
me.

"I've no business lying here."

"Chose to come, lad: none axed thee, that _I_ knows by."

"Where's the mare? Must set me across her back, Joan, and let me
ride on."

"Mare's in stable, wi' fetlocks swelled like puddens. Chose to come,
lad; an' choose or no, must bide."

"'Tis for the General Hopton, at Bodmin, I am bound, Joan; and wound
or no, must win there this night."

"And that's seven mile away: wi' a bullet in thy skull, and a peat
quag thy burial. For _they_ went south, and thy road lieth more south
than west."

"The troopers?"

"Aye, Jack: an' work I had this day wi' those same bloody warriors:
but take a sup at the keg, and bite this manchet of oat cake while
I tell thee."

And so, having fed me, and set my bed straight, she sat on the floor
beside me (for the better hearing), and in her uncouth tongue, told
how I had been saved. I cannot write her language; but the tale, in
sum, was this:--

When I dropp'd forward into her arms, Joan for a moment was taken
aback, thinking me dead. But (to quote her) "'no good,' said I, 'in
cuddlin' a lad 'pon the hillside, for folks to see, tho' he _have_
a-got curls like a wench: an' dead or 'live, no use to wait for others
to make sure.'"

So she lifted and carried me to a spot hard by, that she called the
"Jew's Kitchen;" and where that was, even with such bearings as I
had, she defied me to discover. There was no time to tend me, whilst
Molly stood near to show my whereabouts: so she let me lie, and went
to lead the sorrel down to stable.

Her hand was on the bridle when she heard a _Whoop!_ up the road; and
there were half a dozen riders on the crest, and tearing down hill
toward her. Joan had nothing left but to feign coolness, and went on
leading the mare down the slope.

In a while, up comes the foremost trooper, draws rein, and pants out
"Where's he to?"

"Who?" asks Joan, making out to be surprised.

"Why, the lad whose mare thou'rt leadin'?"

"Mile an' half away by now."

"How's that?"

"Freshly horsed," explains Joan.

The troopers--they were all around her by this--swore 'twas a lie;
but luckily, being down in the hollow, could not see over the next
ridge. They began a string of questions all together: but at last a
little tun bellied sergeant call'd "Silence!" and asked the girl,
"did she loan the fellow a horse?"

Here I will quote her again:--

"'Sir, to thee,' I answer'd, 'no loan at all, but fair swap for our
Grey Robin.'

"'That's a lie,' he says; 'an' I won't believe thee.'

"'Might so well,' says I; 'but go to stable, an' see for thysel'
(Never had grey horse to my name, Jack; but, thinks I, that's
_his'n_ lookout.)"

They went, did these simple troopers, to look at the stable, and
sure enough, there was no Grey Robin. Nevertheless, some amongst
them had logic enough to take this as something less than proof
convincing, and spent three hours and more ransacking the house and
barn, and searching the tor and the moors below it. I learn'd too,
that Joan had come in for some rough talk--to which she put a stop,
as she told me, by offering to fight any man Jack of them for the
buttons on his buffcoat. And at length, about sundown, they gave up
the hunt, and road away over the moors toward Warleggan, having (as
the girl heard them say) to be at Braddock before night.

"Where is this Braddock?"

"Nigh to Lord Mohun's house at Boconnoc: seven mile away to the
south, and seven mile or so from Bodmin, as a crow flies."

"Then go I must," cried I: and hereupon I broke out with all the
trouble that was on my mind, and the instant need to save these
gallant gentlemen of Cornwall, ere two armies should combine against
them. I told of the King's letter in my breast, and how I found the
Lord Stamford's men at Launceston; how that Ruthen, with the
vanguard of the rebels, was now at Liskeard, with but a bare day's
march between the two, and none but I to carry the warning. And "Oh,
Joan!" I cried, "my comrade I left upon the road. Brighter courage
and truer heart never man proved, and yet left by me in the rebels'
hands. Alas! that I could neither save nor help, but must still ride
on: and here is the issue--to lie struck down within ten mile of my
goal--I, that have traveled two hundred. And if the Cornishmen be
not warned to give fight before Lord Stamford come up, all's lost.
Even now they be outnumber'd. So lift me, Joan, and set me astride
Molly, and I'll win to Bodmin yet."

"Reckon, Jack, thou'd best hand _me_ thy letter."

Now, I did not at once catch the intent of these words, so simply
spoken; but stared at her like an owl.

"There's horse in stall, lad," she went on, "tho' no Grey Robin.
Tearaway's the name, and strawberry the color."

"But, Joan, Joan, if you do this--feel inside my coat here, to the
left--you will save an army, girl, maybe a throne! Here 'tis, Joan,
see--no, not that--here! Say the seal is that of the Governor of
Bristol, who stole it from me for a while: but the handwriting will
be known for the King's: and no hand but yours must touch it till
you stand before Sir Ralph Hopton. The King shall thank you, Joan;
and God will bless you for't."

"Hope so, I'm sure. But larn me what to say, lad: for I be main
thick witted."

So I told her the message over and over, till she had it by heart.

"Shan't forgit, now," she said, at length; "an' so hearken to me for
a change. Bide still, nor fret thysel'. Here's pasty an' oat cake,
an' a keg o' water that I'll stow beside thee. Pay no heed to
feyther, an' if he wills to get drunk an' fight wi' Jan Tergagle--
that's the cat--why let'n. Drunk or sober, he's no 'count."

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