The Yeoman Adventurer | Page 6

disposing him on an old coat of mine, so that
he should not mess the table. In the house-place he looked much finer
and longer than in the open air, and I gloated over him as he lay there. I
longed to change my clothes, not so much for comfort's sake as to cut a
better figure in her eyes; but I dared not run the risk of not being at
hand when the dragoons arrived. I drew a quart jug of ale, threw most
of it away, got down a horn drinking-cup, drank a little, spilled some
down my clothes, slopped some on the table, made up the fire, and sat
down to wait. It was now about half-past three, the straw-coloured sun
was perching on the hill-tops, and darkness would soon be drawing on
apace.
For perhaps a quarter of an hour I sat there, living over again the
precious minutes under the bridge, when the clatter of hoofs awakened
me to the realities of the situation. Peeping cautiously past the edge of
the blind, I saw the dragoons--there were six of them--ride up to the
gate. Sharp orders rang out, and three of the men dismounted, including
him who had given the orders, and came up the yard. One stayed at the
gate to mind the horses, and the other two trotted off on the scout round
the fields near the farm.
I slipped back to my chair, and let my chin drop on my chest, as if I
were dozing in drink.
Some one said at the porch door, "In the King's name!" I took no notice,
and they crowded, jingling and noisy, into the porch. Again sharp
commands were given; the two men grounded their arms with a clang
on the stone floor of the porch, and waited there. The man in command
stepped forward into the firelight and said crisply, "In the King's
name!"
It was idle to pretend any longer. I raised my head and blinked
drunkenly at him. Then I filled the horn, sang thickly and with beery
gusto, "Here's a health unto His Majesty," and said, "Fill up and drink,
whoever you are, and shut the door. It's damned cold."

He had little, red, ferrety eyes, and they looked fiercely at me --fiercely
but not suspiciously, I thought. He waved my hospitality aside, and said,
"You are Oliver Wheatman?"
"Oliver Wheatman of the Hanyards, Esquire, at His Majesty's service to
command," I replied with great gravity, and filled another horn of ale. I
might pretend to be drunk, but I could not, unfortunately, pretend to
drink, and it was strongish ale. He made a motion to stop me--welcome
proof that he believed me tipsy in fact--and said, "Master Wheatman,
the less drunken you are, the better you will answer my questions."
"Sir," said I, draining off the horn, "I can drink and talk with any man
living, and, drunk or sober, I only answer the questions of my friends.
So get a horn off the dresser--I'm a bit tired--fill up, and tell me what
you want. D'you happen to be of my Lord Brocton's regiment?"
"I am."
"Then you'll be as drunk as me before you've finished with the
Hanyards. Our ale goes to the head most damnably quick, let me tell
you. You tell my dear old butty, the worshipful Master Jack Dobson,
that I've caught a jack half as thick and more than half as long as
himself. Here it be. Fetch a horn, I tell you, and drink to me and the two
jacks--Jack Dobson and this jack beauty here."
He was getting no nearer to the object of his visit, and, perhaps
thinking it would be well to humour me, he fetched a horn and tried our
Hanyards ale. This gave me a chance of taking stock of him.
He was a thin, wiry man of middle height and middle age. Such a face I
had never seen. The first sight of it made me suck in my breath as if I
had touched the edge of a razor. The bridge half of his nose had gone,
or he had never had it, and the lower half was stuck like a dab of putty
midway between mouth and eyebrows. His little, beady eyes were set
in large, shallow sockets, giving him an owl-like appearance. A mouth
originally large enough, and thickly lipped like a negro's, had been
extended, as it seemed, to his left ear by a savage sword slash which
had healed very badly. He had an air of mean, perky intelligence, as of

one of low rank and no breeding who had for many years been
accustomed to cringe to the great and domineer over smaller fry than
himself. Some sort of military rank he had, judging