CHAPTER XXXII
A PAINFUL INCIDENT
A few hours later, when hunters and watchers had had a little rest, camethe rude awakening after the hour of triumph.
Jock Miggs, still trussed and pinioned, had been hauled out of thepound. Master Inch, the beadle, resplendent in gold-laced coat and themajesty of his own importance, had taken the order of ceremony into hisown hands.
His Honour, Squire West, would be round at the Court House about noon,and Inch, still smarting under the indignity put upon him through theinstrumentality of the highwayman, had devised an additional little planof revenge.
Sir Humphrey Challoner had emphatically declared that the beadle shouldbe publicly whipped for having dared to lay hands on the Squire ofHartington's person. Master Inch remembered this possible and appallingindignity, which mayhap he would be called upon to suffer, and thereforewhen the bolts of the pound were first drawn, disclosing the swathed-upbundle of humanity which was supposed to be the highwayman, the beadleshouted in his most stentorian, most pompous tones,--
"To the pond with him!"
The soldiers--most of them lads recruited from the Midland counties, anda pretty rough lot to boot--were only too ready for this additional bitof horseplay.
'Twas fun enough to sit an old scold in the ducking-stool, but to carryon the same game with Beau Brocade, the notorious highwayman, who haddefied the four counties and set every posse of soldiers by the ears,would be rare sport indeed.
With a shout of joy they seized Jock Miggs by the legs and shoulders,and with much laughter and many a lively sally they carried him to theshallow duck-pond at the further end of the green. Very sadly, and withmany an anxious shake of the head, the village folk followed the littleprocession, which was headed by the Sergeant and pompous Master Inch.
At the moment when the unfortunate shepherd was being swung in mid-air,preparatory to his immersion in the water, one of the soldierslaughingly dragged away the coat which swathed poor Miggs's head andshoulders, and was near suffocating him.
"We don't want 'im to drown, do we?" he said, just as his comradesdropped the wretched man straight into the pond.
Immediately there was a loud cry from beadle and spectators,--
"Lud love us all! that bain't Beau Brocade!"
And one timid voice added,--
"Why! 'tis Jock Miggs, the shepherd!"
The beadle nearly had a fit of apoplectic rage. That cursed highwaymansurely must be in league with the devil himself. The soldiers weregasping with astonishment, and staring open-mouthed at the drippingfigure of Jock Miggs, who with unruffled stolidity was quietlystruggling out of the water.
"Lordy! Lordy! these be 'mazing times," he muttered in his vague,fatalistic way as he shook himself dry in the sunshine, after the mannerof his own woolly sheep-dog.
"Oho! ho! ha! ha! ha!" came in merry chorus from the crowd of villagefolk, "look at Jock Miggs, the highwayman!"
The soldiers, were absolutely speechless. Master Inch, the beadle, hadsaid emphatically,--
"Damn!"
Truly there was nothing more to be said: those who were inclined to besuperstitious felt convinced that the devil himself had had something todo with this amazing substitution.
That it was Beau Brocade who had been captured on the Heath last nightnone of those who were present at the time doubted for a single instant.To their minds the highwayman had been mysteriously spirited away by theagency of Satan his friend, who had quietly deposited Jock Miggs, theshepherd, in his place.
John Stich, with Mistress Betty beside him, had watched theseproceedings from the other end of the green, fully prepared to come toMiggs's assistance and to disclose the latter's identity at once if thehorse-play became at all too rough. He now pushed his way through thegroup of soldiers, and good-naturedly taking hold of the bewilderedshepherd's arm, he led him to the porch of the Royal George.
"You'd like to wet your gullet after this, eh, Jock?" he said, as heordered a tankard of steaming ale to be brought forthwith to thedripping man.
The soldiers, somewhat shamefaced, had pressed into the bar-parlour ofthe inn: presently there would be a few broken heads in the village as aresult of the morning's work, but for the moment the yokels had notbegun to chaff: 'twas Jock who was the centre of attraction outside inthe porch, sitting on a bench and sipping large quantities of hot ale.
"Let's all drink a glass of ale to the health of Jock Miggs, thehighwayman!" came in merry accents from one of the gaffers.
"Hurrah for Jock Miggs, the highwayman!" was the universal gleefulchorus.
"Be gy! Don't he look formidable!" quoth one of the villagers, pointingat the shepherd's scared figure on the bench.
"Let me perish!" said another in mock alarm, "but I'se mightily afeeardo' him."
Mistress Betty too had mixed with the throng, and was eyeing Jock, withirrepressible laughter dancing in her saucy little face.
"Lud! 'tis that funny bit of sheep's wool!" she said gaily. "Faith! andyou do look sadly, Jock Miggs, and no mistake! Have you been in thepond?"
"How did 'e foind that out?" queried Miggs, vaguely. "Aye! they dumpedOi in t' pond, they did ... and nearly throttled Oi ... 'tis a blamedshame!"
He had sipped huge tankards of hot ale until he felt thoroughly warm,and was steaming now like a great loaf just out of the oven.
"Dumped ye in the pond?" laughed Mistress Betty. "You were no beautybefore, Jock Miggs ... but now ... Oh! Gemini! ... Why, what had youdone?"
"I'd done nowt!" retorted the bewildered shepherd. "A foine gentlemanhe took a fancy to me old smock, he did ... he put a pistol to my head... then he give me his own beautiful coat for to make me look decent... and I were just puttin' it on when them soldiers fell on me ... andnigh throttled me, and clapped me in the pound they did..."
"Ye seem to have had a rough time o' it, friend Miggs," said John Stich,kindly.
"Aye, that be so!" commented Jock, vaguely. "'Mazing times these be!"
"They mistook you in your fine clothes for Beau Brocade," explained oneof the villagers.
"May be so!" quoth Miggs. "I dunno."
But Mistress Betty held up a rosy finger at the unfortunate shepherd,and said with grave severity,--
"Ye are not Beau Brocade, Jock Miggs, are ye?"
"I dunno!" replied Jock Miggs with imperturbable vagueness. "I don'trightly know who Oi be! I think them soldiers made a mistake, but Idunno."
He was undoubtedly the hero of the hour, and the rest of his morning wasspent in pleasant conviviality with all his friends in the village,until by about noon the worthy shepherd was really hopelessly at sea asto who he really was. At one o'clock he became quite convinced that hewas Beau Brocade the highwayman--or at any rate a very dangerouscharacter--and had only escaped hanging through his reputation ofsupernatural cunning and bravery.
The Sergeant and soldiers were drowning their acute disappointment inthe bar-parlour of the Royal George. They certainly were not in luck,for even at the very moment when egged on by the Sergeant they wereplanning a fresh battue of the Heath, there came into Brassington anadvance guard from the Duke of Cumberland, with the news that His RoyalHighness would pass through the village with his army corps on his wayto the north. The Sergeant was requisitioned to arrange for HisHighness's quarters at the Royal George: the men would not be allowed togo hunting after a highwayman, in case their officers had need of themfor other purposes.
All thoughts of a fresh hunt after their elusive quarry would thereforehave to be abandoned until after the army had passed throughBrassington, and Sergeant and soldiers could but hope that they would beleft behind, in order that they might make one more gigantic attempt toearn the hundred guineas reward, offered for the capture of BeauBrocade.