Chapter 11
"Well, we knew he'd gone, boy."
"Yes, uncle, but I was afraid that he'd stop talking to Mrs Champernowne, and she would tell him about their coming here. But he didn't stop, and he has gone right away."
"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Uncle Paul. "Well, you see how near we have been to getting into trouble with the authorities; for of course they are very strict over such things as these. There, now I must write an important letter to send off in acknowledgment of that despatch; so you be off now for about half-an-hour, and go and play like a good boy."
"Yes, uncle," said Rodd, rather grumpily; and he went slowly out, with the intention of getting somewhere on to the high ground where he could watch the sergeant's red coat till he was out of sight. "I wish Uncle Paul wouldn't talk to me like that," he muttered, as he went out of the garden gate. "Go out and play like a good boy! It does make me feel so wild! He'll be saying good little boy next, and I am past sixteen; and he wasn't doing it to tease me either, for he was quite serious, what with the prisoners, and the sergeant coming like that. Bother him! He looked at me as he went away just as if he suspected that I'd left the sandwiches and the fish where that poor fellow could get them. Here, I mustn't let him see that I am following him. I'll go round by that other track and get up behind those stones. Then I can see the whole way to the prison. Oh, he didn't know anything, or else he'd have spoken out. But that's the worst of doing what you oughtn't to. You always feel as if everybody suspects you. Well, I didn't want to do any harm, and Uncle Paul didn't think it was very wrong, in spite of his grumbling about the French. If he had he wouldn't have called me Pickle. It would have been Rodney, and his voice would have sounded very severe, for he can be when he likes. Spoiled and indulged me!
That he hasn't!"
The ascent was so steep by the track he had chosen that the boy was soon high above the cottages, hurrying along by a ridge of stones which led up to what looked like a young tor, so situated that it sheltered the two cottage gardens, and the enclosed field or two where the neighbour's cow was pastured, from the north and east wind, and also acted as a lew for Mrs Champernowne's bees, which could reach their straw hive homes comfortably without being blown out by the wanton breezes which travelled across the moors.
Rodd was pretty well out of breath when he reached the little tor, and so he drew in a fresh supply as he dropped upon his knees and crawled round the last stone to his proposed look-out, feeling certain he would be able to see the sergeant's bright scarlet coat with its white belts, as he marched straight away for the prison.
He did see him, but not so far off as he had antic.i.p.ated, and the sight took his breath completely away again, for as he crept round he became conscious of a peculiar scent that was not wild thyme but tobacco, and before he realised what it was, he came plump face to face with their late visitor, who was seated upon the soft close turf with his back against a stone, basking in the suns.h.i.+ne, and evidently enjoying a rest.
"Here we are again, then, sir!" he cried, in his sharp military way. "I thought I'd just sit down here for a bit on the chance that you might come up and like to have a word or two to say to me."
He looked very hard at Rodd as he spoke, and the boy felt his face burn, while the next moment there was a sensation as if the cool wind were fanning his hot cheeks.
"Come out to speak to me, didn't you, sir?" said the sergeant.
Rodd was silent for a few moments, for his throat felt dry, while he pa.s.sed his tongue over his lips to moisten them.
"No," he said, at last, with an effort. "I came up here to see if you had gone, and watch you back to the prison."
The sergeant laughed softly, and thrust one finger into the bowl of his pipe, before sending out a fresh cloud of smoke.
"Ah," he said, "I am not surprised. Well, here we are. Do you want to say anything to me?"
Rodd opened and shut his lips again, but no words came till he made an effort, and then said,
"You want to speak to me?"
"Right, sir. Yes, I do. You remember when I came upon you up yonder by that pool?"
Rodd nodded and frowned.
"Well, I suppose you noticed that there was a hole at the bottom of those rocks across there, where the little stream came out?"
"Yes," said Rodd, with his brow puckering up.
"Well, yesterday evening, as I said to your uncle, I went over the ground again to see if I could find any track of those escaped prisoners."
Rodd nodded shortly.
"Well, I took off my gaiters and shoes and stockings and waded across the pool, and nearly doubled myself up to get into that hole; and after I had gone a little way I found that there was quite a dry cave there with streaks of light coming down from above between the piled-up stones."
Rodd nodded again.
"Just in the highest part where the water did not reach, some one had lit a fire with bits of ling and dry peat. It was still warm--at least, the ashes were, and somebody had been busy cooking trout there, grilling them, thriddled on a stick of hazel; and very curious it was too, for somehow or other, the water, instead of running down, had been running up backwards like, and carried with it that there fis.h.i.+ng-basket of yours, and the wallet, and laid them upon that nice dry sandy place close up to the fire along by which there were ever so many heads of those little fish, and their backbones. Rum, wasn't it? Do you think an otter could have done that?"
"No," said Rodd, after a few moments' pause; and he spoke sharply and angrily. "No, I don't think that."
"More don't I," said the sergeant dryly, and he half closed his eyes and sent a faint little curl of smoke into the air. "Now, young gentleman, what do you think would happen if I was to go yonder to the governor at the prison, and say that I believed you had helped the King's enemies to escape? You didn't, of course, eh?"
Rodd moistened his lips again, and his frank young face looked very much puckered and wrinkled as he pulled himself together and looked almost defiantly at his questioner, who exclaimed--
"Well, you heard what I said."
The boy nodded.
"Well, speak out. You didn't, of course?"
Rodd drew a deep breath, moistened his lips again, and then out the words came. "Yes," he said, "I did!"
"Hah!" said the sergeant, as he fixed the boy with his keen grey eyes and spoke to him as if he were one of his recruits. "Well, I like that.
Spoken like a man. My old mother used to say, 'Speak the truth, Tom, and then you needn't be afraid of any man.' Look here, youngster, I am only a soldier, and you are a young gentleman, or else you wouldn't be visiting and making holiday here; but do you mind shaking hands?"
"Yes," said Rodd hotly, "I know: I suppose I have done wrong, and you have got your duty to do; so go and do it."
"Here," cried the sergeant, "grip, boy, grip! I like you for all this more and more. I had my duty to do, and I did it as far as I could; but I was too late. The prisoners had escaped, and we have heard this morning, the news being brought by a miserable-looking sneak of a fellow who had come to the governor to ask for the reward for not taking them, that they got down to Salcombe very late last night and boarded one of the orange boats in the little harbour, where I expect they had friends waiting for them, for the schooner sailed at once, and I dare say they are within sight of a French port before now. Yes, I had my duty to do, me and my lads, but the prisoners escaped, same as I would if I had been in a French prison, shut up for doing nothing, and because our two countries were at war. There, I am not going to blame you now it's all over, as you own to it like a man. They both came to you, I suppose, for a bit of help, and you gave it to them. But when I was on duty I should have nailed you if I had caught you in the act. There, that'll do. Thought I should like to tell you about it, and hold you like at the point of the bayonet, and see what you'd say. I know it's precious hard to tell the truth sometimes, and it must have been very hard here.
But you did it like a man. But I say: you never thought that basket and wallet would tell tales when you left those poor beggars a mouthful to eat; and I hope if there's any more war to come and I'm took, and make a good try to slip away--I hope, I say, that I shall come upon some brave young French lad who will do as good a turn to me as you did to those poor fellows, who were making a run for freedom, and to get out of the reach of our bayonets and guns."
Rodd thrust his hand into his pocket, and flushed up now more than ever, for the sergeant caught him by the wrist.
"No, no, my lad," he cried; "none of that! I didn't come here to get money out of you. I was a boy once myself. Only a common one, but pretty straightforward and honest, or else I don't suppose I should have won these three gold chevrons which I have got here upon my arm. Well, I wouldn't have taken pay then for doing a dirty action, fond as I was of coppers with the King's head on; and I wouldn't do it now. So don't you make me set up my hackles by trying to offer me anything for this.
Besides, I've got a whole half-crown your uncle gave me, and I am not even going to ask you whether he had a finger in this pie."
"No, he hadn't--he hadn't indeed," cried Rodd warmly. "On my honour, sergeant, I did it all."
"All right, my lad, I'll take your word; but just you take my advice.
The law's law, and they're pretty sharp about here, so if you hear the gun fire and the soldiers are out after any poor fellows who have escaped, don't you get meddling with 'em again. Time I was off back."
And without another word the sergeant sprang up and strode away, leaving Rodd watching him for a time and admiring the man's upright carriage and bold elastic step, till happening to cast his eyes in another direction, he found himself looking down upon Mrs Champernowne's cottage, and, with letter in hand and straw hat on head, Uncle Paul, looking in all directions as if in search of his missing boy.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE SALCOMBE BOATS.
"I am very, very sorry, sir," said Mrs Champernowne. "Of course I am only a poor widow, and I let my apartments to gentlemen who come down fis.h.i.+ng or to take walks for their health over the moor. But your stay down here has been something more than that. It has been a real pleasure to me ever since you and the young gentleman have been here.
And not only am I very sorry that you are going away, but it has quite upset me to hear that you are going sailing away over the stormy seas, searching for all kinds of strange things in foreign abroad."
"Oh, come, come, Mrs Champernowne," cried Uncle Paul, as he saw the poor woman lift up her ap.r.o.n and put one corner to her eye. "There oughtn't to be anything in a naturalist's expedition to upset you."
"Ah, you don't know, sir," said Mrs Champernowne, speaking to Uncle Paul, but shaking her head sadly at Rodd all the while. "I have had those who were near and dear to me go sailing away quite happy and joyful like, just the same as you and Mr Rodney might, and never come back again, for the sea is a very dangerous place."
"Oh, perhaps so, and of course there are exceptions," said Uncle Paul; "but as a rule people do come back safe."