The Haunted Dragoon
Beside the Plymouth road, as it plunges down-hill past Ruan Lanihalechurch towards Ruan Cove, and ten paces beyond the lych-gate--where thegraves lie level with the coping, and the horseman can decipher theirinscriptions in passing, at the risk of a twisted neck--the base of thechurchyard wall is pierced with a low archway, festooned with toad-flaxand fringed with the hart's-tongue fern. Within the archway bubbles awell, the water of which was once used for all baptisms in the parish,for no child sprinkled with it could ever be hanged with hemp. But thisbelief is discredited now, and the well neglected: and the events whichled to this are still a winter's tale in the neighbourhood. I set themdown as they were told me, across the blue glow of a wreck-wood fire, bySam Tregear, the parish bedman. Sam himself had borne an inconspicuousshare in them; and because of them Sam's father had carried a white faceto his grave.My father and mother (said Sam) married late in life, for his trade waswhat mine is, and 'twasn't till her fortieth year that my mother couldbring herself to kiss a gravedigger. That accounts, maybe, for my beingborn rickety and with other drawbacks that only made father the fonder.Weather permitting, he'd carry me off to churchyard, set me upon a flatstone, with his coat folded under, and talk to me while he delved.I can mind, now, the way he'd settle lower and lower, till his headplayed hidey-peep with me over the grave's edge, and at last he'd beclean swallowed up, but still discoursing or calling up how he'd comeupon wonderful towns and kingdoms down underground, and how all thekings and queens there, in dyed garments, was offering him meat for hisdinner every day of the week if he'd only stop and hobbynob with them--and all such gammut. He prettily doted on me--the poor old ancient!But there came a day--a dry afternoon in the late wheat harvest--when wewere up in the churchyard together, and though father had his toolsbeside him, not a tint did he work, but kept travishing back and forth,one time shading his eyes and gazing out to sea, and then looking faralong the Plymouth road for minutes at a time. Out by Bradden Pointthere stood a little dandy-rigged craft, tacking lazily to and fro, withher mains'le all shiny-yellow in the sunset. Though I didn't know itthen, she was the Preventive boat, and her business was to watch theHauen: for there had been a brush between her and the Unity lugger, afortnight back, and a Preventive man shot through the breast-bone, andmy mother's brother Philip was hiding down in the town. I minded,later, how that the men across the vale, in Farmer Tresidder'swheat-field, paused every now and then, as they pitched the sheaves, togive a look up towards the churchyard, and the gleaners moved about insmall knots, causeying and glancing over their shoulders at the cutterout in the bay; and how, when all the field was carried, they waitedround the last load, no man offering to cry the Neck, as the fashionwas, but lingering till sun was near down behind the slope and the longshadows stretching across the stubble."Sha'n't thee go underground to-day, father?" says I, at last.He turned slowly round, and says he, "No, sonny. 'Reckon us'll climbskywards for a change."And with that, he took my hand, and pushing abroad the belfry door beganto climb the stairway. Up and up, round and round we went, in a sort ofblind-man's-holiday full of little glints of light and whiff's of windwhere the open windows came; and at last stepped out upon the leads ofthe tower and drew breath."There's two-an'-twenty parishes to be witnessed from where we'restandin', sonny--if ye've got eyes," says my father.Well, first I looked down towards the harvesters and laughed to see themso small: and then I fell to counting the church-towers dotted acrossthe high-lands, and seeing if I could make out two-and-twenty.'Twas the prettiest sight--all the country round looking as if 'twasdusted with gold, and the Plymouth road winding away over the hills likea long white tape. I had counted thirteen churches, when my fatherpointed his hand out along this road and called to me--"Look'ee out yonder, honey, an' say what ye see!""I see dust," says I."Nothin' else? Sonny boy, use your eyes, for mine be dim.""I see dust," says I again, "an' suthin' twinklin' in it, like a tincan--""Dragooners!" shouts my father; and then, running to the side of thetower facing the harvest-field, he put both hands to his mouth andcalled:"What have 'ee? What have 'ee?"--very loud and long."A neck--a neck!" came back from the field, like as if all shouted atonce--dear, the sweet sound! And then a gun was fired, and craningforward over the coping I saw a dozen men running across the stubble andout into the road towards the Hauen; and they called as they ran, "Aneck--a neck!""Iss," says my father, "'tis a neck, sure 'nuff. Pray God they save en!Come, sonny--"But we dallied up there till the horsemen were plain to see, and theirscarlet coats and armour blazing in the dust as they came. And whenthey drew near within a mile, and our limbs ached with crouching--forfear they should spy us against the sky--father took me by the hand andpulled hot foot down the stairs. Before they rode by he had picked uphis shovel and was shovelling out a grave for his life.Forty valiant horsemen they were, riding two-and-two (by reason of thenarrowness of the road) and a captain beside them--men broad and long,with hairy top-lips, and all clad in scarlet jackets and white breechesthat showed bravely against their black war-horses and jet-blackholsters, thick as they were wi' dust. Each man had a golden helmet,and a scabbard flapping by his side, and a piece of metal like ahalf-moon jingling from his horse's cheek-strap. 12 D was the numberingon every saddle, meaning the Twelfth Dragoons.Tramp, tramp! they rode by, talking and joking, and taking no more heedof me--that sat upon the wall with my heels dangling above them--than ifI'd been a sprig of stonecrop. But the captain, who carried a drawnsword and mopped his face with a handkerchief so that the dust ranacross it in streaks, drew rein, and looked over my shoulder to wherefather was digging."Sergeant!" he calls back, turning with a hand upon his crupper;"didn't we see a figger like this a-top o' the tower, some way back?"The sergeant pricked his horse forward and saluted. He was the tallest,straightest man in the troop, and the muscles on his arm filled out hissleeve with the three stripes upon it--a handsome red-faced fellow, withcurly black hair.Says he, "That we did, sir--a man with sloping shoulders and a boy witha goose neck." Saying this, he looked up at me with a grin."I'll bear it in mind," answered the officer, and the troop rode on in acloud of dust, the sergeant looking back and smiling, as if 'twas a jokethat he shared with us. Well, to be short, they rode down into the townas night fell. But 'twas too late, Uncle Philip having had fair warningand plenty of time to flee up towards the little secret hold under MabelDown, where none but two families knew how to find him. All the town,though, knew he was safe, and lashins of women and children turned outto see the comely soldiers hunt in vain till ten o'clock at night.The next thing was to billet the warriors. The captain of the troop, bythis, was pesky cross-tempered, and flounced off to the "JollyPilchards" in a huff. "Sergeant," says he, "here's an inn, though adamned bad 'un, an' here I means to stop. Somewheres about there's afarm called Constantine, where I'm told the men can be accommodated.Find out the place, if you can, an' do your best: an' don't let me seeyer face till to-morra," says he.So Sergeant Basket--that was his name--gave the salute, and rode histroop up the street, where--for his manners were mighty winning,notwithstanding the dirty nature of his errand--he soon found plenty todirect him to Farmer Noy's, of Constantine; and up the coombe they rodeinto the darkness, a dozen or more going along with them to show theway, being won by their martial bearing as well as the sergeant's veryfriendly way of speech.Farmer Noy was in bed--a pock-marked, lantern-jawed old gaffer ofsixty-five; and the most remarkable point about him was the wife he hadmarried two years before--a young slip of a girl but just husband-high.Money did it, I reckon; but if so, 'twas a bad bargain for her.He was noted for stinginess to such a degree that they said his wifewore a brass wedding-ring, weekdays, to save the genuine article fromwearing out. She was a Ruan woman, too, and therefore ought to haveknown all about him. But woman's ways be past finding out.Hearing the hoofs in his yard and the sergeant's stram-a-ram upon thedoor, down comes the old curmudgeon with a candle held high above hishead."What the devil's here?" he calls out. Sergeant Basket looks over theold man's shoulder; and there, halfway up the stairs, stood Madam Noy inher night rail--a high-coloured ripe girl, languishing for love, her redlips parted and neck all lily-white against a loosened pile ofdark-brown hair."Be cussed if I turn back!" said the sergeant to himself; and added outloud--"Forty souldjers, in the King's name!""Forty devils!" says old Noy."They're devils to eat," answered the sergeant, in the most friendlymanner; "an', begad, ye must feed an' bed 'em this night--or else I'llsearch your cellars. Ye are a loyal man--eh, farmer? An' your cellarsare big, I'm told.""Sarah," calls out the old man, following the sergeant's bold glance,"go back an' dress yersel' dacently this instant! These here honestsouldjers--forty damned honest gormandisin' souldjers--be come in hisMajesty's name, forty strong, to protect honest folks' rights in theintervals of eatin' 'em out o' house an' home. Sergeant, ye be verywelcome i' the King's name. Cheese an' cider ye shall have, an' I praythe mixture may turn your forty stomachs."In a dozen minutes he had fetched out his stable-boys and farm-hands,and, lantern in hand, was helping the sergeant to picket the horses andstow the men about on clean straw in the outhouses. They were turningback to the house, and the old man was turning over in his mind that thesergeant hadn't yet said a word about where he was to sleep, when by thedoor they found Madam Noy waiting, in her wedding gown, and with herhair freshly braided.Now, the farmer was mortally afraid of the sergeant, knowing he hadthirty ankers and more of contraband liquor in his cellars, and mindingthe sergeant's threat. None the less his jealousy got the upper hand."Woman," he cries out, "to thy bed!""I was waiting," said she, "to say the Cap'n's bed--""Sergeant's," says the dragoon, correcting her."--Was laid i' the spare room.""Madam," replies Sergeant Basket, looking into her eyes and bowing,"a soldier with my responsibility sleeps but little. In the firstplace, I must see that my men sup.""The maids be now cuttin' the bread an' cheese and drawin' the cider.""Then, Madam, leave me but possession of the parlour, and let me have achair to sleep in."By this they were in the passage together, and her gaze devouring hisregimentals. The old man stood a pace off, looking sourly.The sergeant fed his eyes upon her, and Satan got hold of him."Now if only," said he, "one of you could play cards!""But I must go to bed," she answered; "though I can play cribbage, ifonly you stay another night."For she saw the glint in the farmer's eye; and so Sergeant Basket sleptbolt upright that night in an arm-chair by the parlour fender. Next daythe dragooners searched the town again, and were billeted all aboutamong the cottages. But the sergeant returned to Constantine, andbefore going to bed--this time in the spare room--played a game ofcribbage with Madam Noy, the farmer smoking sulkily in his arm-chair."Two for his heels!" said the rosy woman suddenly, halfway through thegame. "Sergeant, you're cheatin' yoursel' an' forgettin' to mark.Gi'e me the board; I'll mark for both."She put out her hand upon the board, and Sergeant Basket's closed uponit. 'Tis true he had forgot to mark; and feeling the hot pulse in herwrist, and beholding the hunger in her eyes, 'tis to be supposed he'dhave forgot his own soul.He rode away next day with his troop: but my uncle Philip not beingcaught yet, and the Government set on making an example of him, wehadn't seen the last of these dragoons. 'Twas a time of fear down inthe town. At dead of night or at noonday they came on us--six times inall: and for two months the crew of the Unity couldn't call theirsouls their own, but lived from day to day in secret closets andwandered the country by night, hiding in hedges and straw-houses.All that time the revenue men watched the Hauen, night and day, likedogs before a rat-hole.But one November morning 'twas whispered abroad that Uncle Philip hadmade his way to Falmouth, and slipped across to Guernsey. Time passedon, and the dragooners were seen no more, nor the handsomedevil-may-care face of Sergeant Basket. Up at Constantine, where he hadalways contrived to billet himself, 'tis to be thought pretty Madam Noypined to see him again, kicking his spurs in the porch and smiling outof his gay brown eyes; for her face fell away from its plump condition,and the hunger in her eyes grew and grew. But a more remarkable factwas that her old husband--who wouldn't have yearned after the dragoon,ye'd have thought--began to dwindle and fall away too. By the New Yearhe was a dying man, and carried his doom on his face. And on New Year'sDay he straddled his mare for the last time, and rode over to Looe, toDoctor Gale's."Goody-losh!" cried the doctor, taken aback by his appearance--"What's come to ye, Noy?""Death!" says Noy. "Doctor, I hain't come for advice, for before thisday week I'll be a clay-cold corpse. I come to ax a favour. When theysummon ye, before lookin' at my body--that'll be past help--go you tothe little left-top corner drawer o' my wife's bureau, an' there ye'llfind a packet. You're my executor," says he, "and I leaves ye to dealwi' that packet as ye thinks fit."With that, the farmer rode away home-along, and the very day week hewent dead.The doctor, when called over, minded what the old chap had said, andsending Madam Noy on some pretence to the kitchen, went over andunlocked the little drawer with a duplicate key, that the farmer hadunhitched from his watch-chain and given him. There was no parcel ofletters, as he looked to find, but only a small packet crumpled away inthe corner. He pulled it out and gave a look, and a sniff, and anotherlook: then shut the drawer, locked it, strode straight down-stairs tohis horse and galloped away.In three hours' time, pretty Madam Noy was in the constables' hands uponthe charge of murdering her husband by poison.They tried her, next Spring Assize, at Bodmin, before the Lord ChiefJustice. There wasn't evidence enough to put Sergeant Basket in thedock alongside of her--though 'twas freely guessed he knew more thananyone (saving the prisoner herself) about the arsenic that was found inthe little drawer and inside the old man's body. He was subpoena'd fromPlymouth, and cross-examined by a great hulking King's Counsel forthree-quarters of an hour. But they got nothing out of him.All through the examination the prisoner looked at him and nodded herwhite face, every now and then, at his answers, as much as to say,"That's right--that's right: they shan't harm thee, my dear." And thelove-light shone in her eyes for all the court to see. But the sergeantnever let his look meet it. When he stepped down at last she gave a sobof joy, and fainted bang-off.They roused her up, after this, to hear the verdict of Guilty and herdoom spoken by the judge. "Pris'ner at the bar," said the Clerk ofArraigns, "have ye anything to say why this court should not passsentence o' death?"She held tight of the rail before her, and spoke out loud and clear--"My Lord and gentlemen all, I be a guilty woman; an' I be ready to dieat once for my sin. But if ye kill me now, ye kill the child in mybody--an' he is innocent."Well, 'twas found she spoke truth; and the hanging was put off tillafter the time of her delivery. She was led back to prison, and there,about the end of June, her child was born, and died before he was sixhours old. But the mother recovered, and quietly abode the time of herhanging.I can mind her execution very well; for father and mother had determinedit would be an excellent thing for my rickets to take me into Bodminthat day, and get a touch of the dead woman's hand, which in those timeswas considered an unfailing remedy. So we borrowed the parson'smanure-cart, and cleaned it thoroughly, and drove in together.The place of the hangings, then, was a little door in the prison-wall,looking over the bank where the railway now goes, and a dismal piece ofwater called Jail-pool, where the townsfolk drowned most of the dogs andcats they'd no further use for. All the bank under the gallows was thatthick with people you could almost walk upon their heads; and my ribswere squeezed by the crowd so that I couldn't breathe freely for a monthafter. Back across the pool, the fields along the side of the valleywere lined with booths and sweet-stalls and standings--a perfectWhitsun-fair; and a din going up that cracked your ears.But there was the stillness of death when the woman came forth, with thesheriff and the chaplain reading in his book, and the unnamed manbehind--all from the little door. She wore a strait black gown, and awhite kerchief about her neck--a lovely woman, young and white andtearless.She ran her eye over the crowd and stepped forward a pace, as if tospeak; but lifted a finger and beckoned instead: and out of the people aman fought his way to the foot of the scaffold. 'Twas the dashingsergeant, that was here upon sick-leave. Sick he was, I believe.His face above his shining regimentals was grey as a slate; for he hadcommitted perjury to save his skin, and on the face of the perjured nosun will ever shine."Have you got it?" the doomed woman said, many hearing the words.He tried to reach, but the scaffold was too high, so he tossed up whatwas in his hand, and the woman caught it--a little screw oftissue-paper."I must see that, please!" said the sheriff, laying a hand upon her arm."'Tis but a weddin'-ring, sir"--and she slipped it over her finger.Then she kissed it once, under the beam, and, lookin' into the dragoon'seyes, spoke very slow--"Husband, our child shall go wi' you; an' when I want you he shallfetch you."--and with that turned to the sheriff, saying:"I be ready, sir."The sheriff wouldn't give father and mother leave for me to touch thedead woman's hand; so they drove back that evening grumbling a good bit.'Tis a sixteen-mile drive, and the ostler in at Bodmin had swindled thepoor old horse out of his feed, I believe; for he crawled like a slug.But they were so taken up with discussing the day's doings, and what amort of people had been present, and how the sheriff might have usedmilder language in refusing my father, that they forgot to use the whip.The moon was up before we got halfway home, and a star to be seen hereand there; and still we never mended our pace.'Twas in the middle of the lane leading down to Hendra Bottom, where formore than a mile two carts can't pass each other, that my father pricksup his ears and looks back."Hullo!" says he; "there's somebody gallopin' behind us."Far back in the night we heard the noise of a horse's hoofs, poundingfuriously on the road and drawing nearer and nearer."Save us!" cries father; "whoever 'tis, he's comin' down th' lane!"And in a minute's time the clatter was close on us and someone shoutingbehind."Hurry that crawlin' worm o' yourn--or draw aside in God's name, an' letme by!" the rider yelled."What's up?" asked my father, quartering as well as he could."Why! Hullo! Farmer Hugo, be that you?""There's a mad devil o' a man behind, ridin' down all he comes across.A's blazin' drunk, I reckon--but 'tisn' that--'tis the horrible voicethat goes wi' en--Hark! Lord protect us, he's turn'd into the lane!"Sure enough, the clatter of a second horse was coming down upon us, outof the night--and with it the most ghastly sounds that ever creamed aman's flesh. Farmer Hugo pushed past us and sent a shower of mud in ourfaces as his horse leapt off again, and 'way-to-go down the hill. Myfather stood up and lashed our old grey with the reins, and down we wenttoo, bumpity-bump for our lives, the poor beast being taken suddenlylike one possessed. For the screaming behind was like nothing on earthbut the wailing and sobbing of a little child--only tenfold louder.'Twas just as you'd fancy a baby might wail if his little limbs wasbeing twisted to death.At the hill's foot, as you know, a stream crosses the lane--that widensout there a bit, and narrows again as it goes up t'other side of thevalley. Knowing we must be overtaken further on--for the screams andclatter seemed at our very backs by this--father jumped out here intothe stream and backed the cart well to one side; and not a second toosoon.The next moment, like a wind, this thing went by us in the moonlight--a man upon a black horse that splashed the stream all over us as hedashed through it and up the hill. 'Twas the scarlet dragoon with hisashen face; and behind him, holding to his cross-belt, rode a littleshape that tugged and wailed and raved. As I stand here, sir, 'twas theshape of a naked babe!Well, I won't go on to tell how my father dropped upon his knees in thewater, or how my mother fainted off. The thing was gone, and from thatmoment for eight years nothing was seen or heard of Sergeant Basket.The fright killed my mother. Before next spring she fell into adecline, and early next fall the old man--for he was an old man now--hadto delve her grave. After this he went feebly about his work, but heldon, being wishful for me to step into his shoon, which I began to do assoon as I was fourteen, having outgrown the rickets by that time.But one cool evening in September month, father was up digging in theyard alone: for 'twas a small child's grave, and in the loosest soil,and I was off on a day's work, thatching Farmer Tresidder's stacks.He was digging away slowly when he heard a rattle at the lych-gate, andlooking over the edge of the grave, saw in the dusk a man hitching hishorse there by the bridle.'Twas a coal-black horse, and the man wore a scarlet coat all powderedwith pilm; and as he opened the gate and came over the graves, fathersaw that 'twas the dashing dragoon. His face was still a slaty-grey,and clammy with sweat; and when he spoke, his voice was all of awhisper, with a shiver therein."Bedman," says he, "go to the hedge and look down the road, and tell mewhat you see."My father went, with his knees shaking, and came back again."I see a woman," says he, "not fifty yards down the road. She isdressed in black, an' has a veil over her face; an' she's comin' thisway.""Bedman," answers the dragoon, "go to the gate an' look back along thePlymouth road, an' tell me what you see.""I see," says my father, coming back with his teeth chattering, "I see,twenty yards back, a naked child comin'. He looks to be callin', but hemakes no sound.""Because his voice is wearied out," says the dragoon. And with that hefaced about, and walked to the gate slowly."Bedman, come wi' me an' see the rest," he says, over his shoulder.He opened the gate, unhitched the bridle and swung himself heavily up inthe saddle.Now from the gate the bank goes down pretty steep into the road, and atthe foot of the bank my father saw two figures waiting. 'Twas the womanand the child, hand in hand; and their eyes burned up like coals: andthe woman's veil was lifted, and her throat bare.As the horse went down the bank towards these two, they reached out andtook each a stirrup and climbed upon his back, the child before thedragoon and the woman behind. The man's face was set like a stone.Not a word did either speak, and in this fashion they rode down the hilltowards Ruan sands. All that my father could mind, beyond, was that thewoman's hands were passed round the man's neck, where the rope hadpassed round her own.No more could he tell, being a stricken man from that hour. But AuntPolgrain, the house-keeper up to Constantine, saw them, an hour later,go along the road below the town-place; and Jacobs, the smith, saw thempass his forge towards Bodmin about midnight. So the tale's trueenough. But since that night no man has set eyes on horse or riders.
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