Читать книгу A First Fleet Family - Becke Louis - Страница 8

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I Make A Start In The World Honestly, And Mary Broad Proves Her Love For Will Bryant

I will not relate in detail all the fear and grief that fell upon me at finding myself a prisoner on such a dreadful charge — as it was to my mind — of obstructing the King’s Revenue Officers in their duty, and the sorrow and shame of my father at finding me in such a perilous situation.

On the morning after our capture, we were all marched, handcuffed in pairs, into Newport, and lodged in the market-place, to be examined by the magistrate. Before entering the magistrate’s room, I was taken away separately by one of the Preventive Service men to another room, where my father awaited me.

Meanwhile, the others were taken before the magistrates— Squire Fairfax and our Parson — the latter a gentleman who was especially dreaded by any smuggler that happened to be brought before him, as he was a very harsh man, though he loved the brandy that was smuggled well enough. Indeed, so red was his nose, that the fisher-folk used to say that it was as good as a riding-light on a dark night. Well, to make a long story short, the eight of them were committed for trial at the next Winchester Assizes.

As for the talk I had with my father, it was but little. His reproaches stung me so keenly that I could not, for my life, attempt to say much, and was glad when I was marched out again, though sadly ashamed to be had up like a common thief before the Squire and Parson. Yet it was most lucky for me that it was Squire Fairfax, for father had seen him that morning, and, whatever it was that passed between them, it made things easier for me. Mr. Sharpe, the great Newport attorney, had been engaged by my father to appear and say what there was to say on my behalf.

So he just told the magistrates the truth about the matter, and William Bryant was called for. Will came in, and in a very honest manner took all the blame upon himself for having led me astray, and the Squire gave him a severe talking to for his behaviour. Then Mr. Fairfax, taking a pinch of snuff, turned to me and said,—

“I understand, my lad, that you have got mixed up with these law-breakers in a laudable desire to learn something besides following the plough — though that, indeed, is honest labour — in order that you might be of some service to your King and country. I am told that you are anxious to serve His Majesty — God bless him! — and on my making that known to the King’s officer, who laid you by the heels last night, I found that he is not anxious to press the charge against you, and so, the sooner you make up your mind, and volunteer for service, the better it will be for you. As for your fellow-prisoners, they were caught in very different circumstances, and it has been our duty to deal very differently with such villains.”

This was a surprise to me, and I muttered something, by way of thanks, in reply and left the room. My father followed me out, and in a broken voice said, —

“Well, William, you have your wish, and now you can take yourself off from the old place as soon as you have a mind to it.”

“What does he mean, and how has it all come about?” I asked.

And then father explained that he had told the Preventive Officer who had captured us, and Squire Fairfax as well, that I was mad to go soldiering or sailoring, and that this inclination had got me into this scrape.

Then young Lieutenant Fairfax, who was present at the time, remarked, — “Well, if the boy wants to go and make a man of himself, let him go, and I’ll get him enlisted into my company and keep an eye upon him.”

“Well,” said the Preventive Officer, “I won’t stand in his way, and won’t press the charge, if Bryant gives evidence confirming his story, and if he likes to join the Marines, why, the Squire can acquit him, and the Squire’s son can enlist him, and there’s an end of it.”

A week later, and I had taken a sad farewell of my father and his sister—my Aunt Dorothy, who kept house for him — and was on my way to Portsmouth in a wherry to join the Marine depôt. Miserable enough I felt, I can tell you, as I stepped into the boat in charge of a red-headed, but good-tempered, corporal, who, all the way from Solcombe to Ryde, where we embarked, tried to improve my spirits by telling me stories of the practical jokes played by his comrades on recruits, and warning me to take all in good part, unless I was one who was free with my hands.

My recollections of those days in barracks, and all that befell me, are few; but, nothing that did occur there had any influence on my after life. I was not wanting in intelligence, and, indeed, though ’tis I who say it, I was something of a better sort than the young men then enlisting. Thus I soon got out of the awkward squad, and was reported as drilled and fit for duty.

We were then quartered in Weevil Barracks, and Lieutenant Fairfax had returned to duty at the same time as I had joined my regiment, or rather division. The Marines were in divisions, and, of course, I belonged to the Portsmouth Division, and, by Mr. Fairfax’s influence, I was drafted into his company. He was a most honourable and generous man, and everything that he could do to encourage me to learn my duty he did, and did in such kindly fashion as made me deeply grateful to him, and anxious to do credit to his teaching.

While I lay in barracks learning to be a soldier, or rather a Marine — for there is all the difference between them, let me tell you — the smugglers were tried at Winchester Assizes, and were all of them, excepting poor Will Bryant, sentenced to five years in prison. But Will, because he received a bad character, was given a sentence of seven years. I thought a good deal of poor Mary Broad when I heard of this, for, said I to myself, the poor girl will be greatly upset at such woeful news for her; but then I took comfort; and, if the truth was known, was rather glad at heart, as I thought, silly fool that I was, that this gave me a chance still to win her when I came back covered with glory from my first campaign and talking about foreign places and storming parties and the like.

But all these hopes were doomed to bitter disappointment, for the next news I heard of Mary proved how little I understood the great courage and affection that lay in her heart for Will Bryant.

One day Lieutenant Fairfax sent for me to his quarters, and I went there somewhat fluttered, for, though this young gentleman, by his kind and condescending manner to me, had so won my heart that he was to my mind as great a man as a general, he was yet so stern when he had to find fault that I cannot truly say whether the men of his company feared or loved him most.

“Come in, Dew,” said he, as I stood at the door and saluted. “Have you heard anything lately of Mary Broad, my sister’s maid? I think you were a little sweet in that direction, eh, my lad?”

“No, sir,” I answered, with a great redness coming to my face; “I think Mary is a good girl, and I hope she is doing her duty in the Squire’s service.”

“Well, I have some news that will surprise you. Three or four days ago Bryant made a determined attempt to escape from Winchester Gaol, and Mary, who had previously disappeared from the Manor House without leaving any message or clue as to where she was going, has been caught in helping the lusty smuggler out of gaol.”

This news staggered me, indeed, but I could scarcely believe Mary would try such a dangerous thing as this, and so, with all due respect, I ventured to tell the lieutenant.

“All the same,” says he, “’tis true. She got into the prison by bribing one of the warders and telling him that she was Bryant’s sister, and she smuggled in a rope and all sorts of gear, and just as the plot was ripe and they were about to get away, the whole thing was discovered, and the pair of them are now by the heels.”

“This is very bad, sir,” I managed to say, “What will be done to her do you think, sir?”

“Hang ’em both, like as not, I am sorry to say.”

“Great heavens, sir! they’ll surely not hang the woman. She is only a girl as yet, sir.”

“Hang ’em they will though, Dew, and although I am an officer in the King’s Service, and you are only a private, and it’s rank blasphemy to say so, I wish to the Lord they’d escaped and got clean away. Look you, Dew, Will Bryant is a devilish fine fellow, too good to be hanged, and the girl — well, the girl is too good for him. That will do, Dew, I have nothing more to say to you.”

There was a tear in my officer’s eye as he said the last words, and turned away from me. As for me, I was too completely upset to feel anything but a dull sense that glory was of no use to me now, and so I went away to the barrack-room, and, lying down on my cot, turned my face to the wall and cried like the boy I was, heedless of the coarse jests and laughter of my comrades.

And for many a day after that the image of sweet Mary Broad was in my mind, until again I longed for nothing so much as active service, and for the time when I should meet that French or Spanish bullet whose billet would be my poor, wretched self.