Part 1 (1/2)
With Marlborough to Malplaquet.
by Herbert Strang and Richard Stead.
NOTE
The object of this series is to encourage a taste for history among boys and girls up to thirteen or fourteen years of age. An attempt has been made to bring home to the young reader the princ.i.p.al events and movements of the periods covered by the several volumes.
If in these little stories historical fact treads somewhat closely upon the heels of fiction, the authors would plead the excellence of their intentions and the limitations of their s.p.a.ce.
CHAPTER I
A BOUT AT SINGLESTICK
”Get thee down, laddie, I tell thee.”
This injunction, given for the third time, and in a broad north-country dialect, came from the guard of the York and Newcastle coach, a strange new thing in England. A wonderful vehicle the York and Newcastle coach, covering the eighty-six long miles between the two towns in the s.p.a.ce of two-and-thirty hours, and as yet an object of delight, and almost of awe, to the rustics of the villages and small towns on that portion of the Great North Road.
It was the darkening of a stinging day in the latter part of December, in the year 1701--it wanted but forty-eight hours to Christmas Eve--when the coach pulled up at the princ.i.p.al inn of the then quiet little country town of Darlington, a place which roused itself from its general sleepiness only on market and fair days, or now, since the mail-coach had begun to run, on the arrival or departure of the marvellous conveyance, whose rattle over the cobble-stones drew every inhabitant of the main street to the door.
No reply coming from the boy on the roof, the guard went on, ”Eh, but the lad must be frozen stark,” and swinging himself up to the top of the coach, he seized the dilatory pa.s.senger by the arm, saying, ”Now, my hearty, come your ways down; we gang na further to-day. Ye are as stiff as a frozen poker.”
”And no wonder,” came a voice from below; ”'tis not a day fit for man or dog to be out a minute longer than necessary. Bring the bairn in, Charley.” The invitation came from a kindly and portly dame, the hostess, who had come to the door to welcome such pa.s.sengers as might be disposed to put up for the night at the inn.
”I don't think I can stir,” the boy replied; ”I'm about frozen.”
He spoke in low tones and as if but half awake. He was, in fact, just dropping into a doze.
”Here, mates, catch hold,” the guard cried, and without more ado the lad was lowered down to the little group of loafers who had come to see the sight and to pick up any stray penny that might be available.
A minute later George Fairburn was rapidly thawing before the rousing fire in the inn's best parlour, and was gulping down the cup of hot mulled ale the good-natured landlady had put into his trembling hands.
”I'm all right, ma'am, now, and I'll go. Thank you and good night, ma'am.”
”Go, Fairburn?” cried another boy of about his own age, who sat comfortably in the arm-chair by the cosy chimney corner. ”Surely you are not going to turn out again this bitter night?”
”Indeed I am,” was the somewhat ungracious reply; ”my father is not a rich man, and I'm not going to put him to needless expense.”
The other boy blushed, but the next moment his face resumed its usual pallor. He was tall for his fourteen years, but evidently not particularly strong. He had, in truth, somewhat of a bookish look, and his rounded shoulders already told of much poring over a student's tasks. Fairburn, on the other hand, though less tall, carried in his face and form all the evidence of robust good health.
”I've relatives somewhere in Darlington, Blackett,” George explained, in a rather pleasanter tone, as if ashamed of his former surly speech, ”and I'm going to hunt them up.”
”Look here, Fairburn,” said the other, springing from his seat and placing a patronizing hand on his companion's shoulder, ”just make yourself comfortable here with me for the night, and I'll settle the bill for both of us in the morning.” He spoke rather grandly, jingling the coins in his pocket the while.
”I can settle my own bills, thank you,” answered Fairburn, a proud hot flush overspreading his face. And, seizing his little bag, the lad strode from the room and out of the inn, s.h.i.+vering as the chill northeasterly breeze caught him in the now dark and almost deserted street.
”Confound the fellow with his purse-proud patronage!” he muttered as he hurried along.
”Bless me, why is he so touchy?” Blackett was asking himself at the same moment. ”We seem fated to quarrel, Fairburn's family and ours.
Whose is the pride now, I wonder! Fairburn thinks a deal of his independence, as he calls it; I should call it simply pride, myself.