Captain Blood | Page 9

and no questions
asked. He has the right to trial, and the right to trial by his peers."
"By his peers?"
The Captain was taken aback by these three words, which Mr. Blood
had stressed.
"Sure, now, any but a fool or a savage would have asked his name
before ordering him to the gallows. The gentleman is my Lord Gildoy."
And then his lordship spoke for himself, in a weak voice.
"I make no concealment of my association with the Duke of Monmouth.
I'll take the consequences. But, if you please, I'll take them after trial -
by my peers, as the doctor has said."

The feeble voice ceased, and was followed by a moment's silence. As is
common in many blustering men, there was a deal of timidity deep
down in Hobart. The announcement of his lordship's rank had touched
those depths. A servile upstart, he stood in awe of titles. And he stood
in awe of his colonel. Percy Kirke was not lenient with blunderers.
By a gesture he checked his men. He must consider. Mr. Blood,
observing his pause, added further matter for his consideration.
"Ye'll be remembering, Captain, that Lord Gildoy will have friends and
relatives on the Tory side, who'll have something to say to Colonel
Kirke if his lordship should be handled like a common felon. You'll go
warily, Captain, or, as I've said, it's a halter for your neck ye'll be
weaving this morning."
Captain Hobart swept the warning aside with a bluster of contempt, but
he acted upon it none the less. "Take up the day-bed," said he, "and
convey him on that to Bridgewater. Lodge him in the gaol until I take
order about him."
"He may not survive the journey," Blood remonstrated. "He's in no case
to be moved."
"So much the worse for him. My affair is to round up rebels." He
confirmed his order by a gesture. Two of his men took up the day-bed,
and swung to depart with it.
Gildoy made a feeble effort to put forth a hand towards Mr. Blood.
"Sir," he said, "you leave me in your debt. If I live I shall study how to
discharge it."
Mr. Blood bowed for answer; then to the men: "Bear him steadily," he
commanded. "His life depends on it."
As his lordship was carried out, the Captain became brisk. He turned
upon the yeoman.
"What other cursed rebels do you harbour?"

"None other, sir. His lordship...."
"We've dealt with his lordship for the present. We'll deal with you in a
moment when we've searched your house. And, by God, if you've lied
to me...." He broke off, snarling, to give an order. Four of his dragoons
went out. In a moment they were heard moving noisily in the adjacent
room. Meanwhile, the Captain was questing about the hall, sounding
the wainscoting with the butt of a pistol.
Mr. Blood saw no profit to himself in lingering.
"By your leave, it's a very good day I'll be wishing you," said he.
"By my leave, you'll remain awhile," the Captain ordered him.
Mr. Blood shrugged, and sat down. "You're tiresome," he said. "I
wonder your colonel hasn't discovered it yet."
But the Captain did not heed him. He was stooping to pick up a soiled
and dusty hat in which there was pinned a little bunch of oak leaves. It
had been lying near the clothes-press in which the unfortunate Pitt had
taken refuge. The Captain smiled malevolently. His eyes raked the
room, resting first sardonically on the yeoman, then on the two women
in the background, and finally on Mr. Blood, who sat with one leg
thrown over the other in an attitude of indifference that was far from
reflecting his mind.
Then the Captain stepped to the press, and pulled open one of the wings
of its massive oaken door. He took the huddled inmate by the collar of
his doublet, and lugged him out into the open.
"And who the devil's this?" quoth he. "Another nobleman?"
Mr. Blood had a vision of those gallows of which Captain Hobart had
spoken, and of this unfortunate young shipmaster going to adorn one of
them, strung up without trial, in the place of the other victim of whom
the Captain had been cheated. On the spot he invented not only a title
but a whole family for the young rebel.

"Faith, ye've said it, Captain. This is Viscount Pitt, first cousin to Sir
Thomas Vernon, who's married to that slut Moll Kirke, sister to your
own colonel, and sometime lady in waiting upon King James's queen."
Both the Captain and his prisoner gasped. But whereas thereafter young
Pitt discreetly held his peace, the Captain rapped out a nasty oath. He
considered his prisoner again.
"He's lying, is he not?"