Westward Ho!, Charles Kingsley [whitelam books txt] 📗

Eustace vanished.

“Pooh!” said Amyas to himself, “I can find out enough, and too much, I fear, without the help of such crooked vermin. I must see Cary; I must see Salterne; and I suppose, if I am ready to do my duty, I shall learn somehow what it is. Now to sleep; tomorrow up and away to what God sends.”

“Come in hither, men,” shouted he down the passage, “and sleep here. Haven’t you had enough of this villainous sour cider?”

The men came in yawning, and settled themselves to sleep on the floor.

“Where’s Yeo?”

No one knew; he had gone out to say his prayers, and had not returned.

“Never mind,” said Amyas, who suspected some plot on the old man’s part. “He’ll take care of himself, I’ll warrant him.”

“No fear of that, sir;” and the four tars were soon snoring in concert round the fire, while Amyas laid himself on the settle, with his saddle for a pillow.

 

… … .

 

It was about midnight, when Amyas leaped to his feet, or rather fell upon his back, upsetting saddle, settle, and finally, table, under the notion that ten thousand flying dragons were bursting in the window close to his ear, with howls most fierce and fell. The flying dragons past, however, being only a flock of terror-stricken geese, which flew flapping and screaming round the corner of the house; but the noise which had startled them did not pass; and another minute made it evident that a sharp fight was going on in the courtyard, and that Yeo was hallooing lustily for help.

Out turned the men, sword in hand, burst the back door open, stumbling over pails and pitchers, and into the courtyard, where Yeo, his back against the stable-door, was holding his own manfully with sword and buckler against a dozen men.

Dire and manifold was the screaming; geese screamed, chickens screamed, pigs screamed, donkeys screamed, Mary screamed from an upper window; and to complete the chorus, a flock of plovers, attracted by the noise, wheeled round and round overhead, and added their screams also to that Dutch concert.

The screaming went on, but the fight ceased; for, as Amyas rushed into the yard, the whole party of ruffians took to their heels, and vanished over a low hedge at the other end of the yard.

“Are you hurt, Yeo?”

“Not a scratch, thank Heaven! But I’ve got two of them, the ringleaders, I have. One of them’s against the wall. Your horse did for t’other.”

The wounded man was lifted up; a huge ruffian, nearly as big as Amyas himself. Yeo’s sword had passed through his body. He groaned and choked for breath.

“Carry him indoors. Where is the other?”

“Dead as a herring, in the straw. Have a care, men, have a care how you go in! the horses are near mad!”

However, the man was brought out after a while. With him all was over. They could feel neither pulse nor breath.

“Carry him in too, poor wretch. And now, Yeo, what is the meaning of all this?”

Yeo’s story was soon told. He could not get out of his Puritan head the notion (quite unfounded, of course) that Eustace had meant to steal the horses. He had seen the innkeeper sneak off at their approach; and expecting some night-attack, he had taken up his lodging for the night in the stable.

As he expected, an attempt was made. The door was opened (how, he could not guess, for he had fastened it inside), and two fellows came in, and began to loose the beasts. Yeo’s account was, that he seized the big fellow, who drew a knife on him, and broke loose; the horses, terrified at the scuffle, kicked right and left; one man fell, and the other ran out, calling for help, with Yeo at his heels; “Whereon,” said Yeo, “seeing a dozen more on me with clubs and bows, I thought best to shorten the number while I could, ran the rascal through, and stood on my ward; and only just in time I was, what’s more; there’s two arrows in the house wall, and two or three more in my buckler, which I caught up as I went out, for I had hung it close by the door, you see, sir, to be all ready in case,” said the cunning old Philistine-slayer, as they went in after the wounded man.

But hardly had they stumbled through the low doorway into the back-kitchen when a fresh hubbub arose inside—more shouts for help. Amyas ran forward breaking his head against the doorway, and beheld, as soon as he could see for the flashes in his eyes, an old acquaintance, held on each side by a sturdy sailor.

With one arm in the sleeve of his doublet, and the other in a not over spotless shirt; holding up his hose with one hand, and with the other a candle, whereby he had lighted himself to his own confusion; foaming with rage, stood Mr. Evan Morgans, alias Father Parsons, looking, between his confused habiliments and his fiery visage (as Yeo told him to his face), “the very moral of a half-plucked turkey-cock.” And behind him, dressed, stood Eustace Leigh.

“We found the maid letting these here two out by the front door,” said one of the captors.

“Well, Mr. Parsons,” said Amyas; “and what are you about here? A pretty nest of thieves and Jesuits we seem to have routed out this evening.”

“About my calling, sir,” said Parsons, stoutly. “By your leave, I shall prepare this my wounded lamb for that account to which your man’s cruelty has untimely sent him.”

The wounded man, who lay upon the floor, heard Parsons’ voice, and moaned for the “Patrico.”

“You see, sir,” said he, pompously, “the sheep know their shepherd’s voice.”

“The wolves you mean, you hypocritical scoundrel!” said Amyas, who could not contain his disgust. “Let the fellow truss up his points, lads, and do his work. After all, the man is dying.”

“The requisite matters, sir, are not at hand,” said Parsons, unabashed.

“Eustace, go and fetch his matters for him; you seem to be in all his plots.”

Eustace went silently and sullenly.

“What’s that fresh noise at the back, now?”

“The maid, sir, a wailing over her uncle; the fellow that we saw sneak away when we came up. It was him the horse killed.”

It was true. The wretched host had slipped off on their approach, simply to call the neighboring outlaws to the spoil; and he had been filled with the fruit of his own devices.

“His blood be on his own head,” said Amyas.

“I question, sir,” said Yeo, in a low voice, “whether some of it will not be on the heads of those proud prelates who go clothed in purple and fine linen, instead of going forth to convert such as he, and then wonder how these Jesuits get hold of them. If they give place to the devil in their sheepfolds, sure he’ll come in and lodge there. Look, sir, there’s a sight in a gospel land!”

And, indeed, the sight was curious enough. For Parsons was kneeling by the side of the dying man, listening earnestly to the confession which the man sobbed out in his gibberish, between the spasms of his wounded chest. Now and then Parsons shook his head; and when Eustace returned with the holy wafer, and the oil for extreme unction, he asked him, in a low voice, “Ballard, interpret for me.”

And Eustace knelt down on the other side of the sufferer, and interpreted his thieves’ dialect into Latin; and the dying man held a hand of each, and turned first to one and then to the other stupid eyes,—not without affection, though, and gratitude.

“I can’t stand this mummery any longer,” said Yeo. “Here’s a soul perishing before my eyes, and it’s on my conscience to speak a word in season.”

“Silence!” whispered Amyas, holding him back by the arm; “he knows them, and he don’t know you; they are the first who ever spoke to him as if he had a soul to be saved, and first come, first served; you can do no good. See, the man’s face is brightening already.”

“But, sir, ‘tis a false peace.”

“At all events he is confessing his sins, Yeo; and if that’s not good for him, and you, and me, what is?”

“Yea, Amen! sir; but this is not to the right person.”

“How do you know his words will not go to the right person, after all, though he may not send them there? By heaven! the man is dead!”

It was so. The dark catalogue of brutal deeds had been gasped out; but ere the words of absolution could follow, the head had fallen back, and all was over.

“Confession in extremis is sufficient,” said Parsons to Eustace (“Ballard,” as Parsons called him, to Amyas’s surprise), as he rose. “As for the rest, the intention will be accepted instead of the act.”

“The Lord have mercy on his soul!” said Eustace.

“His soul is lost before our very eyes,” said Yeo.

“Mind your own business,” said Amyas.

“Humph; but I’ll tell you, sir, what our business is, if you’ll step aside with me. I find that poor fellow that lies dead is none other than the leader of the Gubbings; the king of them, as they dare to call him.”

“Well, what of that?”

“Mark my words, sir, if we have not a hundred stout rogues upon us before two hours are out; forgive us they never will; and if we get off with our lives, which I don’t much expect, we shall leave our horses behind; for we can hold the house, sir, well enough till morning, but the courtyard we can’t, that’s certain!”

“We had better march at once, then.”

“Think, sir; if they catch us up—as they are sure to do, knowing the country better than we—how will our shot stand their arrows?”

“True, old wisdom; we must keep the road; and we must keep together; and so be a mark for them, while they will be behind every rock and bank; and two or three flights of arrows will do our business for us. Humph! stay, I have a plan.” And stepping forward he spoke—

“Eustace, you will be so kind as to go back to your lambs; and tell them, that if they meddle with us cruel wolves again tonight, we are ready and willing to fight to the death, and have plenty of shot and powder at their service. Father Parsons, you will be so kind as to accompany us; it is but fitting that the shepherd should be hostage for his sheep.”

“If you carry me off this spot, sir, you carry my corpse only,” said Parsons. “I may as well die here as be hanged elsewhere, like my martyred brother Campian.”

“If you take him, you must take me too,” said Eustace.

“What if we won’t?”

“How will you gain by that? you can only leave me here. You cannot make me go to the Gubbings, if I do not choose.”

Amyas uttered sotto voce an anathema on Jesuits, Gubbings, and things in general. He was in a great hurry to get to Bideford, and he feared that this business would delay him, as it was, a day or two. He wanted to hang Parsons, he did not want to hang Eustace; and Eustace, he knew, was well aware of that latter fact, and played his game accordingly; but time ran on, and he had to answer sulkily enough:

“Well then; if you, Eustace, will go and give my message to your converts, I will promise to set Mr. Parsons free again before we come to Lydford town; and I advise you, if you have any regard for his life, to see that