Part 7 (2/2)

The footsteps died away and came again.

”Yes, Charlie, up with it!”

”What a weight!” muttered one man with an oath. ”Here, d.i.c.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 m.u.f.fled noise of the wheels, I knew that the route lay across a gra.s.sy 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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. Pa.s.sing 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, gra.s.sy 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.

In answer to my question he told me that I was in Wareham, and a few minutes afterwards I was sitting in a bakery, eagerly devouring a half-loaf and a cup of milk that a kindly baker provided for me.

Seeing that I was utterly exhausted, he allowed me to lie down in front of his oven, and, in spite of the hardness of my couch, I slept soundly till midday, when I was aroused by Greville Drake and some of the late crew of the Gannet, who were being entertained in the town till they could be conveyed to their homes.

I was, however, too ill to be moved; so the kindly baker, hearing my story, and being informed of my rank, had me put to bed in his own house, where later in the day a magistrate attended to take down my depositions as to the gang of smugglers.

That night I got worse, and for three weeks I lay betwixt life and death with an ague brought about by the cold and exposure.

Then one morning I awoke to find my Uncle George sitting by my bedside. The kindly little man had heard of my being ill at Wareham, and had immediately travelled posthaste to my side.

From that day my recovery became rapid, and in less than a fortnight I could sit up.

One afternoon, as the late autumnal sun was sinking in the west, I heard the tramping of feet and the clanking of fetters. My uncle helped me to the window, and on looking out I saw the whole gang of smugglers, save two who had preferred death to capture, being led through the town on the way to Dorchester Jail.

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