"A FLIGHT FROM JUSTICE;" OR, HOW I BECAME A LIGHT DRAGOON By Lieut.-Col. PERCY GROVES, Royal Guernsey Artillery ( late 27th Inniskillings )

CHAPTER I

I was born in 1795, at the Kentish village of Charfield, of which my father, the Rev. James Wilmot, was patron and rector. My mother died before I was a week old, commending me with her latest breath to the care of a trusted servant, the wife of our factotum John Fowles—"Corporal Jack," as the villagers commonly called him. Nancy Fowles had also charge of my sister Kate, who was six years my senior.

In his youth my father had held a cornet's commission in the 17th Light Dragoons, but being severely wounded at Bunker's Hill, he was invalided home. He then retired from the service, went to Oxford, took his degree, was ordained, got married, and on the death of his father, in 1788, succeeded to our family living.

When my father returned from America he was accompanied by Corporal John Fowles (who had also received a wound while rescuing his disabled cornet from the enemy), and on quitting the army he purchased the corporal's discharge, and took him as his body-servant. Three years before I was born, Fowles married my mother's maid, Nancy Buck; they never had children, so continued in their respective situations.

A strong, healthy child, I grew into a strong, healthy boy, with more than a fair share of animal spirits, and a most impetuous temper. I loved to "roam the fields for health unbought," to box and play single-stick with John Fowles, ride about the country with my sister, and take an occasional cruise in a Deal lugger—for Deal was barely an hour's walk from Charfield Rectory, and I knew nearly every fisherman on that part of the coast. Meanwhile my education was not neglected, as I studied daily with our curate, and with Mademoiselle Hettier, Kate's governess, an emigrÉe whose relatives had all perished during the "Terror." Thus passed my life until I attained my fourteenth year, by which time I was well instructed in the "three Rs," history and geography, could speak French fluently and with a tolerable accent, knew a very little Latin, and was able to stammer through the Greek alphabet.

"I wish to speak about your future," said my father one evening when I bade him good-night. "You are now fourteen, and it is quite time that I expressed my views on that subject. My great desire is, that you should take orders and eventually succeed to the living. Do you like the prospect?"

"Ye—es, sir," I hesitatingly replied; "yes, I think so—that is, if it wasn't for Latin and Greek. I am very poor at them, you know."

"That's not altogether your fault, my boy," was his rejoinder. "Mr. Scott owns he does not possess the gift of teaching, but he is leaving us, on preferment, next week, and the new curate I have engaged is a very competent tutor. You have heard me mention my nephew Septimus Blagg?"

"Yes, father."

"Well Septimus is a sound classical scholar, and has coached men at Oxford. He has just been ordained, and is coming here as curate and your tutor. He will soon bring you on, and when you're sufficiently prepared you shall go up for matriculation. Good-night, Dick."

"Good-night, sir." And I retired, not quite sure whether I felt pleased or the contrary.

Septimus Blagg arrived at Charfield in due course. He was a lanky, sallow-faced, red-haired young man, with a fawning manner and a low purring voice. From the very first, Kate and I disliked and mistrusted him. The new tutor was, no doubt, a fine scholar, and apparently took considerable pains to instruct me; but somehow or other, I did not seem to make much progress with my classical studies; we were always doing the same work over and over again; never going ahead. At the end of twelve months, Septimus informed my father that I had no talent whatever for Latin or Greek, and recommended him to choose for me some profession in which a knowledge of classics was not indispensable.

"No, nephew, no! Dick must stick to the Church," was the decided reply. "He's still but a boy, and I'll wager he will easily matriculate when the time comes. With you for his tutor he is certain to succeed," my father added; for he had a high opinion of his curate, who made himself useful in many ways, and had completely hoodwinked his easy-going rector.

"As you please, sir," responded Septimus. "It was my duty to warn you of the possibility, nay, I must say the probability of failure; but of course I will continue to do my utmost for dear Richard." And the subject dropped.

Now Kate chanced to overhear this conversation, and asked me whether I really tried to profit by our cousin's teaching.

"Honestly I do, Kate," I answered. "With other work I get on well enough, as you know; but, though I try hard to pick up Latin and Greek, I never seem to make any progress. It's always the same work over and over again, until I'm fairly sick of it! If Cousin Septimus would only let me go ahead I'm sure I'd do better, but really I sometimes fancy he——"

"Keeps you back on purpose," interposed Kate, taking the words out of my mouth. "That is exactly what I think, Dick. I believe the wretch will do all he can to prevent you taking orders, in the hope of getting Charfield for himself. That is the reason you do not get on with your classics!"

"Egad! you're right," I exclaimed. "What shall we do—speak to father?"

"No, dear boy; we have no proof, and may be wrong in our suspicions," my sister replied. "We must try to outwit the man. Do your utmost, Dick, to master Latin and Greek in spite of his endeavours to hinder you; pick up all you can from him, but trust chiefly to your own efforts. Ma'moiselle could, I am sure, help you with Latin, for she is so clever at languages. I will speak to her."

I followed Kate's advice to the letter, and never hinted to my father that I doubted Mr. Blagg's good faith; but setting to work with a determination to succeed, by dint of hard study and the assistance of Mademoiselle Hettier—who still lived with us as Kate's companion—I made such progress that in a year's time all doubt of my being able to matriculate and subsequently take a respectable degree was removed. My father was delighted; my tutor unmistakably puzzled and discomfited—though he received with complaisance the compliments of his unsuspecting uncle, for Kate and I kept our secret.

Foiled in his attempt to retard my classical studies, Septimus Blagg tried other means to attain his end: he sought to blacken my character, knowing well that my father had too much respect for his cloth to permit a reputed ne'er-do-well to enter the Church. Septimus was far too wary to speak against me himself, so he bribed his landlord, Joseph Dobbs, the parish constable, to do his dirty work. Dobbs was a cowardly, bullying jack-in-office, quite unscrupulous; in fact the very man for the job. This rascal now began to play the spy upon me, and to report, with gross exaggerations, every boyish escapade. My father, however, knew Mr. Dobbs of old, and paid little heed to his reports. Indeed, on one occasion, when the fellow brought a palpably false charge against me, my indignant sire rated him soundly, threatened to deprive him of his office, and ordered John Fowles to turn him off the premises—an order which the ex-corporal cheerfully obeyed, and even exceeded by giving the slanderer a sound thrashing, on the plea that he "resisted the escort."

At this time I had no suspicion that Septimus Blagg was the instigator of these malicious charges, or I should certainly have shown him up.

For a few months after his warm reception at the rectory, Dobbs let me alone, but he was only biding his opportunity, and ere long he and his scoundrelly employer succeeded in landing me in a rare scrape.

In the month of March 1812, my father, Kate, and Mademoiselle Hettier went on a visit to Bingley Manor, twenty odd miles from Charfield. On Tuesday, March the 11th—I have good reason to remember the day!—I rode over to Bingley with an important letter, and did not reach home until after dark. As I entered the village Septimus Blagg stopped me.

"I am glad you have returned, Richard; in fact, I have been watching for you," he said. "There is painful news to tell you."

"Painful news, cousin!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, Richard," he rejoined. "Your young servant Harry Symes has been arrested on a very grave charge."

Now Harry Symes was a particular favourite of mine. He had been in our service some three years, but I had known him since childhood. His father was one of the most skilful and daring boatmen on the coast; he was also, unhappily, a notorious smuggler—a man who would stick at nothing when his blood was up. But though a determined law-breaker himself, William Symes had no wish that his only son should follow in his footsteps, so he had begged my father to take Harry into his service, and accordingly the lad was taken on as under-groom and to make himself generally useful indoors and out.

"What is Harry accused of?" I anxiously inquired. "Nothing disgraceful, I'll swear!"

"His father and other smugglers attempted to run a cargo before daybreak this morning, and were surprised by the Preventive Service officers. They made a desperate resistance, lives being lost on both sides. William Symes managed to escape, and came here to borrow some money from his son. He was seen by Joseph Dobbs, who very properly arrested him, but Harry interfered, assaulted Dobbs and his assistant with a hay-fork, and enabled his father to get clear away."

"And Harry was arrested?"

"Certainly he was, Richard, but not before he had dealt Dobbs a severe blow on the head, rendering him nearly insensible," answered Septimus. "He is now in the village cage, and I am uneasy lest any of his friends should attempt to rescue him. I shall advise Dobbs to keep watch over the cage all night, and remove the prisoner to Deal in the morning."

"Better mind your own business," I muttered; adding aloud, "Isn't the cage guarded at present?"

"No, Richard. Your father being absent, Dobbs has gone to Mr. Hardy's to report the arrest and ask for instructions; while his assistants, I believe, are on William Symes's track. Poor Harry! I fear he has committed a capital offence, and if so, his days are numbered."

These last words decided me. For aught I knew to the contrary, Harry Symes's life was in imminent peril, and I must save him if possible. The Charfield cage was an old ramshackle place, and if it was not watched I might be able to release my humble friend before Dobbs returned from the magistrate's. There was not a moment to lose, so bidding Septimus a curt good-night, I hastened to the stable and stalled and fed my mare without troubling the groom. Then, having procured a small crowbar from the tool-house, I ran to the cage, which stood quite apart from other buildings, and within five hundred yards of the rectory.

Not a soul was about, as far as I could see, so I whistled softly.

"That you, Master Dick?" whispered Harry, looking through the narrow grated window.

"Yes; I've come to release you. Keep very quiet."

The door of the cage was secured by a massive-looking staple and padlock, but both were old and eaten with rust; so a vigorous application of the crowbar wrenched them off. Pushing open the door, I entered the cage.

"Master Dick, you shouldn't have done this," Harry exclaimed. "You'll get yourself into rare trouble, I'm feared."

"Hush, you foolish fellow," I answered under my breath. "Take this money and cut away while the road's clear. I will meet you at the Dragon, Canterbury, early to-morrow, and we——"

"Not so fast, Master Wilmot," said a gruff voice, while a heavy hand fell on my shoulder, and turning quickly round, I found myself confronted by Dobbs and Septimus Blagg, behind whom stood the former's assistants—William Herd and Seth Fogg.

"I arrest you, Richard Wilmot, for attempting to rescue my prisoner," continued Dobbs. "Shove the darbies on t'other one, Bill, and do you, Seth, fetch the cart. We'll take these young devils to Dover jail this very night. Look sharp, both on ye."

Fogg went off on his errand with evident reluctance, and Herd, after fumbling in his pockets, declared that he must have left the handcuffs at home. Harry and I were so taken aback at the unexpected appearance of Dobbs and his companions that we stood stock-still, offering neither resistance nor remonstrance; but now Septimus Blagg came cringing up to me and, with well-feigned emotion, said: "Richard! Richard! has it come to this? Alas! what will my poor deluded uncle say?"

The sound of his hated voice roused me in a moment. Looking him fair in the face, I saw that his expression was one of triumph rather than regret. Then a sudden thought flashed across my mind—I had been betrayed by that fawning hypocrite!

"You hound!" I shouted in a fury. "You have set a trap for me—I'll swear it!"

"I reckon ye're not far wrong, Master Dick," muttered William Herd, casting an angry glance at the now trembling curate. "A darned dirty job it be!"

The man's remark, and my tutor's confusion, convinced me I had hit the right nail on the head—that Dodds and Septimus had deliberately planned to tempt me to rescue Harry Symes, there could be no reasonable doubt—and losing all control of my temper, and utterly regardless of the consequences, I rushed at Septimus Blagg and knocked him fairly off his legs. In falling his head came in violent contact with the half-open door, and he rolled over stunned and bleeding profusely.

"The young vill'n's killed the parson!" cried Dobbs, seizing me by the collar. "Help! Murder! Help!"

Snatching up a stool—the only piece of furniture in the cage—Harry Symes flew to my aid, and with a swashing blow stretched Dobbs senseless on the floor.

"Ecod! ye've done for the pair of 'em, I do believe," said Herd in scared tones, as he stooped to examine Dobbs's prostrate form. "Ye shouldn't have hit so mortal hard, lad; though it serves the rascal right."

"Knocked him fairly off his legs."

"Is he dead, Bill?" asked poor Harry anxiously.

"I'm feared so, lad," replied the old man, looking up. "Ye must get clear of the country both on ye, for it'll be a hangin' job if ye're cotched. Be off, lads, afore Seth Fogg comes back, and put a score of miles betwixt ye and Charfeld by mornin'."

"But you will get into trouble if we escape now, William," I said, hesitating to act on his advice.

"Never fear, Master Dick," he rejoined. "How could an old chap like me stop a couple of active lads such as ye be? Not as how I'd try, if I was as strong as Samson."

"That's true, sir," put in Harry; "and everybody in Charfield 'll know it."

"In course they will," said Herd. "Come, be off afore 'tis too late, and I'll take mighty good care that ye gets a fair start. And look ye, Master Dick," the old fellow went on, "I'll see that Parson Wilmot knows the rights of this business, never you fear. Now away ye goes, lads, and good luck go with ye!" And with that he pushed us out of the cage.

CHAPTER II

Fairly dismayed at our unfortunate position, we went off like hares, and turning out of the road, made our way across country in the direction of Ashford. It was a moonlight night and we could see our way fairly well, so on we ran until we were a good league from Charfield, when, hearing no sounds of pursuit, we threw ourselves down under a hay-stack to draw breath.

"This be a precious bad job, sir," said Harry; "I do wish you'd let me stop in the cage. Fancy you getting into such a scrape for the likes of me!"

"What is done cannot be undone, worse luck!" I answered dejectedly. "It is really my fault that we're in such a horrible mess, for had I not lost my temper and struck Mr. Blagg, I do believe they would have let us both go."

"Surely, Master Dick, they'd never have done that?"

"I think they would for their own sakes, Harry. You see, they knew I had guessed their plot, and that William Herd had an inkling of it, and I feel sure they would have gladly released us on our promising to hold our tongues."

"There's something in that, sir," assented my companion. "Mr. Blagg was regular skeert when you spoke your mind to him, and that's for sure."

"Yes; and had I only kept my hands off him, it would have been all right; but now the wretched affair cannot possibly be hushed up, and if we wish to save our liberty—if not our lives—we must fly the country."

In my excited state it never occurred to me that after all Blagg and Dobbs might not have been fatally injured; on the contrary, I made sure that Dobbs was dead, and thought it more than probable that my tutor, if not killed outright, would not survive. But for this firm impression, I should have made the best of way to Bingley Manor, and confessed everything to my father, leaving him to decide what was to be done; as it was, the bare idea of being tried for murder, or even manslaughter, filled me with horror, and I resolved to endure any hardships or privations rather than the disgrace of appearing in the prisoner's dock on such a terrible charge. How bitterly I reproached myself for that fatal burst of passion!—that mad blow which had brought such dire trouble upon Harry and myself; ruining our prospects and compelling us to fly from home and friends. I thought, with hot tears streaming down my cheeks, of my poor father and sister, how keenly they would feel the disgrace, and what fearful anxiety they would endure on my account. These mournful reflections were at length interrupted by Harry Symes.

"Don't you think, sir, that we should have made sure that Mr. Blagg was killed afore we run off?" he said.

"Herd declared that Dobbs was dead, and if caught we should be tried for his murder," I answered. "As far as our fate goes, it matters little whether my cousin is alive or not. I hope most sincerely that he is, poor fellow, though it would not save us."

"But you did not kill Dobbs, Master Dick," rejoined Harry. "That was my doing—may God forgive me for it!—and they can't punish you for my crime. Look ye, sir, let me go back and give myself up, and I'll warrant they won't trouble themselves about you once they gets hold of me."

This, of course, I would not hear of, and I told Harry that we were both in the same boat, and would sink or swim together. We were now fairly rested, so I proposed that we should continue on our way.

"Where are we bound for, sir?" he inquired.

"I hardly know, Harry. Suppose we make for Ashford and catch the early coach to London? I have five or six pounds with me, and my watch is worth as much more."

"I doubt Ashford would be safe, Master Dick," he replied. "As like as not the news of our escape will be brought by the early coach, and you're well known in Ashford. If we make for London we'd best take another road. But, sir, what'll we do in London when we get there? I reckon them Bow Street runners, as they talks so much of, will soon run us to ground."

"We must get out of England as soon as possible, and to do that we shall have to enlist or go to sea. I think London will be a good place either to take the shilling or get a berth on board some ship."

"Surely you never means to go for a soldier, Master Dick?" cried Harry aghast.

"Better that than be tried for murder at next assizes," I answered; adding, "Unless you would rather go to sea?"

"Not I, sir," was the reply. "Taint of myself I'm thinkin'; it's you, Master Dick. But if so be as your mind is made up, I'm with you. I'd as lief be a soldier as anything."

"Then come along, Harry; we'll take 'the king's shilling' together. Now, which way had we better follow?"

"The Maidstone road, I think, sir. Yon's Sheldon wood, and the lane as skirts it leads into the highway near Squire Cotton's, about two mile from here."

"True; we cannot do better. Come, lad! it is close on eleven o'clock, and we must be far on our way by daybreak."

"Beg pardon, sir," said my companion, touching his hat; "but hadn't you best take your spurs off in case we meets any folk?"

"Egad! I quite forgot I had them on," I laughed. "There! now we will put our best foot foremost."

CHAPTER III

In less than half-an-hour we reached the high-road, along which we proceeded at a brisk pace. Occupied with our thoughts—they were not of a pleasant nature—we conversed but little; in fact, we had walked in absolute silence for the last couple of miles, when Harry suddenly stopped and clapped hand to ear.

"What is it?" I asked.

"There's a carriage coming up behind us, sir," he replied. "At a hard pace too."

Turning round, I attentively listened, and, sure enough, heard the rattle of wheels and the sound of horses galloping furiously. The road was quite straight, and we had a clear view of a quarter of a mile or more. In a few moments a post-chaise came in sight, the horses tearing along, and evidently not under control.

"I shall try to stop them."

"See, Master Dick, there's no post-boy," cried my companion. "It's a runaway!"

Now, not fifty yards beyond where we stood was a very steep hill, and I knew that if the horses took the chaise down that hill at the pace they were going, a serious accident would be the almost inevitable result—nothing short of a miracle could prevent it. To stop the horses before they reached the hill would be a risky job, but in my present mood I cared very little about risk to life or limb, and so determined to make the attempt.

"Harry, lad, I shall try to stop them."

"Right, sir, I'm with you," was the prompt reply. "You take the near horse and I'll go for the off. Come on, sir."

We moved a few yards up the road, and the moment the horses came abreast of us we made a dash at them. Running by the near horse's head, I managed to catch his bridle close by the bit; at the same time throwing my right arm over his withers, I got a firm grip of the collar, and hung on like grim death. Harry was equally fortunate, and, after being dragged a short distance, we succeeded in bringing the runaways to a standstill, just as they reached the brow of the hill. As soon as the horses stopped the door of the chaise was flung open, and a gentleman, wearing an undress cavalry uniform, jumped out.

"Splendidly done, lads!" he exclaimed, clapping me on the shoulder. "You have undoubtedly saved me from a serious, if not fatal accident, and I thank you heartily. You're not hurt, I hope?"

"A bit shaken, that's all, thank you, sir," I answered. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Yes, Master Dick. 'Twas a near thing, though! Another ten yards, and we'd gone full tear down the hill."

"I am Major Warrington, of the 14th Light Dragoons," said the officer, shaking me warmly by the hand. "May I ask your name, young gentleman, and that of your—your companion?"

"My name is Wilmot, sir," I replied, somewhat hesitatingly, for, under the circumstances, I did not much care to tell my name to a stranger.

"And I am Mr. Wilmot's servant, your honour," said Harry.

"Well, Mr. Wilmot, and you, my brave lad, I am very grateful for the service you have rendered me," rejoined Major Warrington; "very grateful indeed. To say nothing of my escape from bodily injury, I am thankful that the horses and chaise have not been damaged, as it is of the utmost importance that my journey should not be hindered. I am hastening to Northfleet, to join a transport which sails for Lisbon at ten o'clock in the morning, and even now I shall be pushed for time." Then with a laugh he added, "I suppose I must ride post myself, or else drive from the perch, for the rest of the stage, as there's small chance of my post-boy turning up."

"Was he thrown, sir?" I asked.

"No. What happened was this," the major replied. "I was fast asleep, when the sudden stopping of the chaise roused me. Looking out, I saw the boy knocking at the door of a cottage. Before I had time to inquire what he wanted, the door opened, and—startled, I presume, by the flash of light—the horses went off at full speed. Of course, it was impossible for me to stop them, so I let down the windows, covered myself with cloak, rug, and cushions, and awaited events. We must have come full six miles, at almost racing speed; and I certainly never expected to get clear of the chaise with whole bones."

"And what became of the post-boy?" I asked.

"When the horses bolted he was at the cottage door, and possibly he may have followed me, but I cannot wait on the chance of his coming up. I must get forward to the next stage without delay, and be my own post-boy."

"Beg pardon, sir," Harry chimed in, "Master Dick and I are going London way, and it willn't be much out of our road, if we come with you as far as Shelwick—that's the next stage, sir. I can ride post, if you'll take Master Dick in the chay? I know the road well."

Harry's most unexpected suggestion took me fairly aback, and annoyed me not a little; but I did not like to offer any objection, so held my tongue. Major Warrington, too, was evidently surprised at the proposal, and looked inquiringly first at me and then at Harry.

"That will suit me admirably, Mr. Wilmot," he said, after an awkward pause. "It will be a pleasure to have your company as far as Shelwick; or farther, if our roads lie together. What say you?"

"I am willing, Major Warrington," I replied in a half-hearted manner; but seeing that he appeared hurt at my reluctant assent, I added, "Indeed I shall be very glad to accompany you."

"Then we'll be off at once," he rejoined. "Jump up, my lad."

"One moment, your honour," said Harry. "Master Dick, will you put the shoe on? We shall want it going down the hill." And as I went round the chaise to fix the drag-shoe, he whispered, "Tell the gentleman everything, sir. I'm sure he'll give you good advice, and maybe help us."

CHAPTER IV

"Drive on," said Major Warrington, stepping into the chaise and seating himself beside me. "Twenty past one"—looking at his watch—"have you any idea how far we are from Shelwick?"

"Nearly six miles from the posting-house, which is some little distance beyond the village," I answered.

"Well, I hope they'll be able to give me four posters," the major said. "I could only get a pair at the last stage."

"Have you come far to-night, sir?" I inquired.

"From Bingley, Mr. Wilmot. I have been staying with my brother-in-law, Lord Buckland, at Buckland Court. My servant started with the baggage for Northfleet on Monday, but urgent business detained me until this, or rather last evening. By the way, do you know Colonel Gascoigne of Bingley Manor? I ask because there is a Mr. Wilmot, a clergyman, staying at the Manor; probably you are related to him?"

This was indeed a home question! What should I say? Should I follow Harry Symes's advice, and make a clean breast of everything to the major? I hesitated; then—for I could not bring myself to deny my father—I said, almost in a whisper, "I am Mr. Wilmot's son." And, unable to control my emotion, I burst into tears.

"My dear boy!" exclaimed Major Warrington, laying his hand on my arm, "what is wrong with you? I fear you have got into some trouble—is it not so?"

"Into very great trouble, sir; but I—I dare not tell you what it is."

"Nonsense, Wilmot," he rejoined; "do not be foolish. Tell everything without reserve, and if it is in my power to help you I will. Anyhow, you may be sure that I will respect your confidence. Remember, my dear boy," he went on, seeing that I hesitated, "I am under great obligations to you and your servant, and it will be a pleasure to me to assist or advise you. Come! confide in me without fear."

So, touched by his kind manner and evident desire to help me, I told the whole story.

"Umph! You and Harry Symes are certainly in an awkward scrape," said Major Warrington, when I had finished; "but I do not consider you have done anything disgraceful."

"Thank you for saying that, sir," I murmured.

"You have acted foolishly—very foolishly!—by walking, almost with your eyes open, into the trap set for you by those scoundrels the tutor and his confederate," the major went on; "and thereby have committed a serious offence against the law. As for the tutor and parish-constable," he added, "their conduct was most disgraceful, and they richly deserve punishment, in addition to the rough handling they got from you."

"But, sir, I fear the constable was killed in the scuffle," I put in, thinking he might not have understood me. "His assistant, William Herd, said——"

"Never mind what William Herd said; it is more than probable he was mistaken," interrupted Major Warrington. "You do not know the fellow was killed, and in discussing this affair it is better that we should stick to facts, and facts only. We do know that you have committed a serious legal offence by breaking into the Charfield lock-up and assisting a prisoner to escape, and what we have to consider is how you are to be saved from the consequences of your foolish action."

"What do you advise, sir?" I asked anxiously, after a brief silence.

"No doubt I ought to advise you to return home and surrender yourselves, but such a step would place your father in a very painful position—as a magistrate he must of necessity commit you to prison; the more so, because you are his son. Once you are arrested, the law must take its course, and I am afraid it would go hard with you both."

"I am afraid it would," I sighed.

"On the other hand," pursued the major, "I believe that if you can avoid arrest for a time, and proper influence is brought to bear, the matter may be hushed up. Therefore I advise you to keep out of the way for a time, and if possible leave the country."

"That was our intention, sir," I rejoined. "We are going up to London to enlist."

"You need not go to London, my boy," said Major Warrington. "I am both able and willing to assist you, and my proposal is that you and Symes should accompany me to the Peninsula. Now what say you to that?"

"Can such an arrangement be made?" I exclaimed half incredulously.

"Certainly it can," was the reply, "otherwise I should not have made the offer. I am in command of the drafts going out in the Morning Star, and nobody will raise any objection if I choose to take a couple of likely recruits with me. The question is—are you willing to come?"

"Indeed I am, Major Warrington!" I answered joyfully. "Thank you most heartily for the offer; you are truly 'a friend in need'!"

"And the lad Symes—will he care to go on active service?"

"Yes, sir. I can answer for that."

"Then that point is settled," said the major. "Symes will enlist in the 14th, and you shall join us as a gentleman volunteer; the colonel will, I am sure, accept you on my recommendation. Before we embark," he continued, "I will write to your father, explaining how I chanced to fall in with you, and my reasons for advising you to take this step. You, too, must send him a dutiful letter, giving full particulars of the fracas at Charfield, and stating your reasons for supposing that your tutor and the constable laid a trap for you."

"William Herd promised to tell my father everything, sir," I interposed; "but, of course, I will write as you suggest."

"I shall also send a full account of the case to Lord Buckland, and beg him to use all his influence to get the affair hushed up," the major went on. "No doubt his friendship with Mr. Wilmot will induce him to do all he can; but the fact of your having rendered me so great a service, at the risk of your life, will make him doubly anxious to help you. I feel pretty confident that the matter will be satisfactorily settled, and in a few months you will be able to return home without fear."

"I think, sir, that once in the army I should like to stick to it," I remarked. "My father would not object, as after this scrape I couldn't very well enter the Church, and if all goes well I shall beg him to get me a commission. We're at the bottom of the hill now; I will jump out and take off the shoe."

CHAPTER V

"Rock of Lisbon's just sighted, gentlemen," the steward informed us as we sat at breakfast in the cuddy of the Morning Star, a wall-sided old brig which the transport authorities considered quite good enough to convey his Majesty's troops from the Thames to the Tagus.

Three weeks and five days had elapsed since we embarked at Northfleet, and we were all heartily sick of being cooped up in our dirty "floating home." The voyage had been unusually tedious, owing to bad weather, head winds, and the wretched sailing of the brig, so the prospect of once more stretching our legs on terra firma was very welcome.

"We should be at anchor before dusk," said Major Warrington.

"What a blessing!" ejaculated Frank Bradley, a newly fledged cornet, and the only 14th officer on board besides the major.

"Praise the saints! we'll be clear of this ould flea-trap in a few hours," exclaimed Doctor Mulcahy, the surgeon in medical charge of the drafts. "I give ye me word of honour, major, that since I came on board, me life's been one prolonged scratch! As for the poor fellows on the troop-deck, their state just beggars description."

"Then pray don't attempt to describe it, doctor," laughed the major. "We know by experience that your descriptions are sometimes rather too vivid. Come on deck, Wilmot, and take your first look at Portugal."

Major Warrington had treated me with the greatest kindness and generosity, and but for my anxiety to receive some news from home, I should have felt perfectly happy and contented despite the discomforts of the voyage. As I had only a few pounds with me, and no "kit" except what I stood up in, the major insisted on being my banker until I could get remittances from my father. I had purchased some necessaries at Northfleet, and young Bradley was very glad to part with superfluous articles of the preposterous outfit with which a London tailor had saddled him; thus I was able to present a respectable appearance as a gentleman volunteer.

The Morning Star anchored in the Tagus, just abreast of Belem, in the afternoon of the 5th April. Hardly was our anchor down when we were hailed from the deck of a British corvette which lay in the river half a cable's length ahead of us.

"What brig is that?"

"Mornin' Star, transport; with drafts of the 14th Light Dragoons and 3rd and 66th Regiments. One hundred and fifty-eight all told," shouted our skipper. "Three weeks out of the Thames."

"Have you a Major Warrington of the 14th on board?" was the next question.

"We has," bawled the skipper. "He commands the troops."

"What can they want with me?" said the major, who had just come on deck.

"You'll soon know, major," observed Bradley, "for they're sending a boat off. Here she comes! Look at the Portuguese bumboats scuttling out of her way!" And the next minute the corvette's gig ran alongside, and a smart little midshipman sprang up the accommodation ladder.

"Major Warrington?" he said, looking inquiringly round.

"Major Warrington?" he said.

"My name is Warrington, young gentleman," the major answered, stepping forward.

"Captain Calvert's compliments, sir, and will you kindly come on board the Alacrity. He has brought out a packet of letters for you."

"Do you belong to the Alacrity?" said the major in a tone of surprise. "Why, when did she sail from Portsmouth?"

"On the 25th of last month, sir, and anchored here this morning," the middy replied. "We met with beastly weather in the Bay, or should have got in two days ago." Then with an impudent look on his chubby face, he said to our skipper, "You left the Thames on the 12th, I believe? By George! your old hooker has taken her time over the passage. How many knots can she do at a pinch?" But the surly old shellback walked forward without vouchsafing an answer, beyond growling something about the "cheek of them young reefers."

Telling the middy that he would be with him in five minutes, Major Warrington took me aside, and informed me that Captain Calvert of the Alacrity was Lord Buckland's cousin, and that probably the letters he had brought out referred to my case.

"Would they have had time to write, sir?" I questioned.

"Before the Alacrity sailed?—yes, I think so," he replied. "The letters we wrote from Northfleet must have reached your father and Buckland by the 14th, and you may be sure they would not let the grass grow under their feet. I met Captain Calvert at Buckland, and he was then under orders to sail on the 30th March, but it appears he had to put to sea on the 25th. No doubt Lord Buckland knew of this, and took the opportunity to forward our letters."

"I hope they bring good news," I sighed. "I feel very anxious, major."

"Nonsense, boy; keep up your spirits, and I'll wager a guinea I shall be able to tell you that everything has been satisfactorily arranged as far as you are concerned. If it were bad news my brother-in-law would not have been in a hurry to write. Now I must not keep the captain's gig waiting, so I am off."

The major proved a true prophet. In less than half-an-hour he returned to the brig, bringing me a letter from my father. The letter was couched in most affectionate terms, without a single word of reproach. To my great relief I now learned that neither Septimus Blagg nor Dobbs had been seriously injured; but the latter got such a shock, that thinking he was dying he made a full confession of the plot which he and Septimus had hatched against me. As to wishing to prosecute, the two scoundrels were thankful to escape being indicted for conspiracy. My father wound up by saying that I could return home at once if I chose, but he thought that now I had started on a military career it would be well for me to keep to it, at any rate for the present. Harry Symes could go back to the rectory, or remain with me as he pleased. A banker's bill for £200 was enclosed, and the letter concluded with affectionate wishes for my welfare.

"Now, my boy," said Major Warrington, when I had finished reading the letter, "you will commence your military life with an easy mind! I have one more piece of news for you," he added. "Buckland has seen Lord L——, and obtained a promise that you shall have the first vacant cornetcy in the 14th. So, Wilmot, we must pray that there be no change in the Ministry for some little time to come."

CHAPTER VI

Much to our annoyance, we were detained at Lisbon until the first week in July, when an order arrived for the draft to proceed at once to Salamanca. Lord Wellington had entered Salamanca at the end of June, and his forces were in position on the south bank of the Douro, while the French under Marmont occupied the northern. It was the general opinion there would be warm work before long, and we hoped to join the regiment in time to take part in it. During my four months' sojourn in the Portuguese capital I had made great progress with my drills, and Major Warrington pronounced me quite competent to command a troop or take charge of a picket or patrol.

About three weeks before we left Lisbon I received the welcome news of my appointment to a cornetcy in the 14th—thanks to the influence of Lord Buckland with his friend the Cabinet Minister.

"I wish you all success, my dear Wilmot," said Major Warrington when congratulating me on my good fortune. "After all, the trouble you got into has proved a blessing in disguise, for you have now a noble career before you, and I predict that you will make an excellent light-cavalry officer. Entre nous," he added with a smile, "I don't think you were ever cut out for a parson. To my mind no man should enter the Church unless he has a very decided leaning that way."

"I agree with you, sir," I replied; "and judging by his letter, my father seems to be of similar opinion. He must look out for a more worthy successor to our family living."

"Well, I trust he will not bestow it on Mr. Septimus Blagg," laughed the major.

"Little fear of that," I rejoined. "Cousin Septimus is now, so my sister writes, an usher in a London school. I wish the poor boys joy of the fellow!"

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I will pass over our long march, for we met with no adventures worth recording. Harry Symes proved an excellent servant on the line of march, and one might have thought he had been campaigning all his life, so smart and intelligent was he. I urged him to go in for promotion, but he declared he would rather be my servant than regimental sergeant-major.

We arrived at Salamanca about nine o'clock on the evening of the 22nd July, just too late to share in the glorious victory in which our comrades had distinguished themselves. We, however, pushed on without delay, and came up with the regiment shortly after it had ceased from pursuing the flying enemy.

The officers of the 14th Light Dragoons welcomed me very cordially, the colonel being especially warm in his greeting.

"I am sorry you missed the fight to-day," said he. "It was a glorious affair, and we have given Marmont a thorough trouncing. Our losses are severe, and the 14th have to deplore the death of several gallant comrades. We shall follow up the French to-morrow, so you may have an opportunity of seeing a little fighting after all."

"He will see plenty of it before the campaign is over, colonel," observed Major Warrington.

The brigade to which the 14th belonged—it consisted of ourselves and the 1st Hussars of the German Legion—advanced next morning, and early on the 25th reached Arevalo. Here we halted and bivouacked. Patrols were sent out on the several roads, and, to my great delight, I was ordered to take charge of one, consisting of a sergeant and four men of the 14th, and four German hussars. My instructions were to proceed towards Blanchez Sancho, a small town some distance from Arevalo, and ascertain whether it was occupied by the enemy. Before we marched off, Major Warrington gave me a few words of advice and caution, and wished me good luck.

"You will hardly have a chance of distinguishing yourself," he concluded; "but it will please the colonel, who is already very well disposed towards you, if you carry out the duty intelligently, and do not get into a scrape."

The sergeant of my little party was a fine old soldier, William Hanley by name, who had been with the 14th at the passage of the Douro at Barca de Avinta, in May 1809, and in every engagement in which the regiment had fought since that date. He knew that part of the country well, and could speak a little Spanish. After riding four or five miles, we came to a small village—its name I forget—where I called a halt, as our horses were rather fatigued. The alcalde of the village welcomed us with many expressions of good feeling for the British and hatred for the French.

"As the old fellow seems so friendly, we might ask him to get a feed of corn for the horses," suggested Sergeant Hanley. "Poor beasts! they've had short rations and hard work these last four days, and we've a goodish distance to travel yet. Shall I ask him, sir?"

"Certainly, sergeant," I assented. "We might get some information from him as well."

The alcalde readily acceded to our modest request, and in a few minutes the corn was brought into the praÇa, where we sat. Having posted one of the German hussars on the church top, with orders to keep a sharp look-out, I gave the word to unbridle and feed. While the horses were feeding, Sergeant Hanley and I questioned the alcalde as to the whereabouts of the French, and he assured us that they were at Blanchez Sancho in some force.

The horses refreshed, we mounted and resumed our journey; three men being sent forward in advance, one fifty paces in front, the second fifty to the right, and the third fifty to the left front. Their orders were to halt the moment they came in sight of the enemy, a town, or any strange object.

The advance moved on in this order until they reached the summit of a hill overlooking Blanchez Sancho, when in accordance with my instructions they halted. I beckoned them to fall back, and then ordered my men to dismount. Accompanied by Sergeant Hanley, I now walked up to the summit of the hill, and from that coign of vantage perceived a column of French infantry drawn up to the east of the town.

"They're being inspected, Mr. Wilmot," observed the sergeant, looking through my field-glass—a present from Major Warrington. "They'll be moving off directly, I reckons. Ah! I thought so." As he spoke, the column took ground to its right, broke into the Madrid road, and in about ten minutes disappeared from our view.

We waited a quarter of an hour or so, then hurrying down the hill, rejoined our men. I gave the word to mount, and away we galloped towards the town, making for that side of it from which the column had marched. I have called Blanchez Sancho a town, but it was little more than a village, with one straggling street, standing on an open plain, and without hedges, walls, or inclosures of any kind.

Cautiously we rode down the street, keeping a sharp look-out for stragglers or followers of the column. At the end of the street the road turned to the right, and we now descried three dismounted dragoons running from a barley-field towards a house which stood isolated on the plain. We gave chase, and quickly caught them up. On my questioning them, they informed me that they belonged to a picket occupying the solitary house, and had been out to get forage. I inquired the strength of the picket.

"A sous-officier and ten dragoons, beside ourselves, m'sieur," was the reply, after a moment's hesitation. "Our comrades are now feeding their horses."

I interpreted the answer to Sergeant Hanley, and suggested that we might capture the entire picket if we could only take them by surprise.

"We can make the attempt, anyhow, Mr. Wilmot," the sergeant rejoined; "but, you'll excuse me, sir, we mustn't take all these chaps say for gospel. If they gives the strength of their party at fourteen, we'd best be prepared to tackle double that number."

"Ja wohl, mein herr," muttered one of the German troopers, nodding his head approvingly.

"And we'd better put it out of the power of these fellows to give the alarm," continued Sergeant Hanley. "With your leave we'll gag and pinion them."

This was quickly done, and placing the prisoners under charge of a hussar, we rode towards the house. It was a one-storeyed building, and in its rear was a high wall extending from its gable-ends, forming a yard or fodder-shed for feeding cattle in. This yard had only one means of ingress or egress, and that was by the door of the house through a narrow passage. We reached this door without being observed, and found it locked. It was quickly burst open. The French dragoons were in the yard feeding their horses and attending to stable duties for the night—so far our prisoners had spoken the truth. At the sound of the crash several of them rushed into the passage. Five of my men had dismounted, and they immediately opened fire with their carbines.

"Keep up a brisk fire, lads," I called to them, "and the enemy will think our strength is greater than it is."

Two or three of the Frenchmen returned our fire, but without effect, and they soon retired from the passage into the yard. While this was going on, I remained on horseback, giving orders as occasion required. Close to me was the open window of a room on the ground-floor, and suddenly an officer, springing up from beneath the window-sill, discharged a pistol at my head, the ball passing through my shako, or cap as we called it in those days. Harry Symes was standing beside me, and seizing the officer, he dragged him through the window.

"Rendez vous, m'sieur!" I exclaimed, presenting a pistol. "You are our prisoner."

"It is the fortune of war!" he said, shrugging his shoulders; and unbuckling his sword he handed it to me.

This was an important capture, and I determined to make the most of it.

"M'sieur," I said to the lieutenant, for such was our prisoner's rank, "the brigade to which we belong is close at hand, and I call upon you to order your men to surrender before its arrival."

"What if they refuse?" he replied.

"I shall fire the premises, and not a man will escape."

"Sapristie! you must be a Spaniard, not an Englishman," he exclaimed. "I am in your power and must obey you."

"Bien, m'sieur," I answered; and calling one of the Germans who spoke French fluently, I bade him escort the officer to the yard.

In a few minutes they returned and informed me that the whole picket had surrendered, and awaited my further orders. After a short consultation with Sergeant Hanley, I told the officer to call upon his men to come out one by one, each leading his horse, but leaving his sword in the yard. There was just room in the passage for a man and horse to pass. My order was obeyed; and as each dragoon passed through the door his carbine was taken from him, the butt smashed, and the pieces thrown aside. In this manner the whole picket—numbering twenty-eight sous-officiers and troopers—passed out, and formed up in ranks of four; each man standing at his horse's head, and his stirrups being crossed over his saddle. As soon as all the Frenchmen were out of the yard I gave the word to march, and we moved off; Sergeant Hanley and a German hussar heading the little column, three men riding on either flank, and Harry Symes and I, with the officer—whom I allowed to ride—between us, bringing up the rear.

"You are our prisoner."

The French dragoons marched very slowly, and it was nearly dark before we came in sight of the village where we had baited our horses on the way to Blanchez Sancho. The French officer now expressed his surprise that we had not fallen in with the brigade. I returned an evasive answer, and thinking it would be well to halt at the village for the night—at the pace we were travelling we should not have reached Arevalo before daybreak—I called Sergeant Hanley and told him to gallop on to the village and request our friend the alcalde to provide a secure resting-place for our prisoners, and, if possible, refreshment for man and beast.

"I fear the officer suspects that the brigade is not so near at hand as we led him to believe," I said in an undertone, "and it would be a risky job to march all these prisoners to Arevalo by night."

"True, sir," was the reply; "if they took it into their heads to make a sudden rush we'd have a warm time with 'em. I'll see the alcalde, sir, and arrange for their accommodation to-night, and then get a dozen or so of the villagers to come back with me and help guard 'em until we reach the village. There's nothing like being on the safe side!"

He then galloped off, and returned in about an hour's time accompanied by a score of villagers armed with sticks, pitchforks, and one or two old fowling-pieces.

"Mais, m'sieur! who are these rascals?" cried the Frenchman in some alarm.

"Do not fear, lieutenant," I answered, "these good people are the 'brigade'; they have come to escort you to the village."

"SacrÉ—you have deceived me!" he hissed, with all the venom of a Frenchman.

"Un ruse de guerre, mon ami, that is all," I retorted. "All is fair in love and war."

The Frenchman, however, was very sulky, and bitterly reproached me for the trick I had played him; it was not until we were seated in the alcalde's house, discussing a flask of good wine and a capital ham, that he recovered his good-humour.

At daybreak on the following morning we resumed our journey, and I had the satisfaction of bringing in my prisoners to Arevalo in safety.

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I will here bring my story to a close, for my adventures in the Peninsula would fill a small volume. I served with the gallant 14th Light Dragoons until the Peace of 1814; and as I am now an old man, I hope the reader will not accuse me of vanity when I say that Major Warrington's prediction was fulfilled, and I gained the reputation of being "an excellent light-cavalry officer."

The 14th returned to England in July 1814; and as soon as I could obtain leave of absence I hastened to Charfield, Harry Symes accompanying me. The whole village turned out to welcome us, and we felt fully repaid for the hardships and dangers we had experienced by the affectionate greeting we received.

I remained in the army until 1830, when having entered into the married state, I thought it time to retire and settle down to private life. My father attained a ripe old age, and before he died had the satisfaction of seeing his grandson, the Rev. Richard Warrington—son of Colonel Sir Charles Warrington by his marriage with my sister Kate—installed as Rector of Charfield; so the living did not go out of the family after all.

Harry Symes is now a prosperous farmer, and lives within a mile of our gates. He often pays me an evening visit to chat over the days "when we went soldiering," and I am sure that neither of us has ever regretted our "Flight from Justice."

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