Читать книгу Moreton Bay - F. W. Mole - Страница 6

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The sun shone fair over England, and no cloud dulled its brilliancy as Mary Worthington, mounted on Lucifer, rode along the high road into Tavistock. Dressed in her high-necked bodice of navy blue with a smart habit laced with gold, no other costume could have done more justice to her graceful figure. She wore her looped hat of black beaver, from which a golden feather trailed backwards to mingle with her red-gold hair. There was in every line of her something cool, determined, and self-reliant.

Peasants curtsied and yeomen touched their hats to her as she passed them by on the broad highway, for she was known to them all—Mary Worthington of Pentecost farm. Not as a princess or a peeress of the realm was she known to them, but as a yeoman's daughter, with all the ease and grace of perfect maidenhood. To all she had a kind word and a pleasant smile as she rode on her well groomed colt, unaccompanied by page or esquire, and her questing eyes reflected the flawless sky of a perfect June day.

Then came riding towards her out of a cross road one Pearce Lannigan, Commissioned Captain of the 57th regiment, who had served in the Peninsular war under Napier, and who was hated by his soldiery for his ungovernable temper and his wanton acts of unnecessary tyranny.

On this day of destiny he was in a particularly bad temper. He had been detached with his company to take charge of the new settlement at Moreton Bay in the remotest corner of his Majesty's dominions. He was a man of somewhat more than middle height, slender as a rapier is slender, of a steely, supple strength. Mounted on a hunter that he had ridden far, for his jack-boots were splashed with mud and his steel spurs blood-stained, he looked every inch a cavalry man rather than a foot soldier. His keen black eyes were upon the figure of Mary Worthington, as she rode ahead of him, and he hastened to overtake her. But she, disliking the appearance of him from the quick short glance she gave him, stopped at a wayside farriers with the pretence of having her horse's shoes looked over, and the man rode on into Tavistock.

On this day of destiny John Pooler, a swarthy vagrant, was ordered by Earl Belriven, on the unsupported evidence of the steward, to be whipped at the whipping post and placed in the stocks for purloining wood out of the Earl's deer park. The whipping had been duly administered, and the unfortunate vagrant from his uncomfortable position in the stocks, was beseeching passers by for a drink of water to cool his flaming tongue, when Captain Lannigan rode by. He reined in his horse and looked unpityingly at the unfortunate vagrant. At this juncture, the sufferings of the prisoner were balm to his disgruntled mood, and in him there was no pity.

"I'faith my fine fellow, you want water, eh? Now sink me, sirrah, what's Englishmen coming to when they cannot bear a little salutary punishment without whining."

A crowd began to collect.

"What's this rapscallion in the stocks for?" he asked, looking round at the crowd.

"Please zur, 'is 'ides being tanned for pinchin' wood from my Lord Belriven's park, an' the watch clapped 'im in the stocks."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said the brave Captain looking round with a grin. "Well the rogue should be taught to bear adversity with fortitude. You'd whine, would you, my fine fellow? Well, take that—and that—and that." Suiting his action to the words the gallant captain who had taught his regiment discipline in the campaign under Sir Arthur Wellesley, thrashed the powerless and defenceless prisoner in the stocks with his heavy hunting crop.

Then something very sudden happened. A young girl with flashing eyes and clenched teeth, mounted on a great black horse like polished ebony, charged into the scene, scattering the crowd to right and left.

"You brute! You beast! You coward!" she gasped out. "You take that—and that—and that—!" With each vehement exclamation she struck the brave and gallant Captain Lannigan across the face and neck and shoulders with her whalebone riding whip. The crowd cheered and shouted.

"That's the gime, Miss. Give it 'im 'ot for thrashin' poor Johnnie."

The gallant captain was too amazed at the sudden onslaught upon him to realise precisely what had happened. The jeering of the crowd, however, brought him suddenly to his senses. Turning his horse round, he faced an infuriated Diana, who, with heightened colour and heaving bosom, was now speechless with indignant fury.

"You hell-cat. I'll make you pay for your damned interference." Instantly he spurred his horse at her and attempted to seize her and pull her from her saddle. But she was more than his equal in horsemanship. With a wrist like tempered steel, she wheeled Lucifer round suddenly and the Captain missing her as he leant over to seize her round the waist almost fell to the ground.

"You'd man-handle me, would you, you coward!" she hissed, striking his horse with her whip, which made the hunter bound forward, getting her clear. Turning her horse, she again faced her aggressor, and said with infinite scorn, her eyes flashing defiance. "Did God give you your manhood to thrash and ill-treat a helpless prisoner, and to crush with your brute force a mere girl who has chastised you for your brutality?"

"S'death, you vixen, I'll humble you. No person, man or woman, ever struck Pearce Lannigan but who lived to regret it."

In the madness of his rage and setting at nought all reason; he again attempted to seize her, but she again eluded him by the dexterous handling of her horse.

Then a young man, attracted by the crowd, appeared on the scene. He arrived in time to hear Lannigan's threat, and looked at the girl and the man. Dazed for a moment by the majestic anger and surpassing beauty of the maid, he recovered his bewildered senses and sprang to action. Seizing the rein of the Captain's restless horse at the bit, he steadied him and reaching forward he grasped the Captain's left foot and by a dexterous twist and heave, swung him from the saddle, and he fell heavily in the mud near the town pump.

Such a humiliation was intolerable. Rising quickly, he faced his fresh antagonist. With an oath he said, "God's curse on me if I don't kill you, you meddlesome clod."

The crowd formed a ring. A man led the Captain's horse out of the way. Mary Worthington, still in the saddle, was also in the ring. She wondered who her champion was but when some one in the crowd said, "Stand up to him Mr. Nigel," she knew that her protector was Nigel Lording of whom she had heard, but had never met. He was a Cornishman, and the most famous athlete and wrestler in the South of England. Educated at Oxford and trained in the rough and tumble of Cawsand and Saltash, and among the miners of Cornwall, he was an unknown quantity to Captain Lannigan, who, as the champion boxer of Wellesley's army, laid the flattering unction to his soul that he would soon teach this hoodlum a terrible lesson for his damnable interference.

"Stand back, you fellows, while I thrash this pup," shouted the fuming Captain, picking up his heavy hunting crop.

Nigel Lording grinned as he adroitly dodged a fierce cut made at him by the irate Captain.

Seeing the savage cut made at her champion by the Captain, Mary Worthington said, "I've named you coward and now I'll name you poltroon unless you fight this man fair."

"God's blood, I'll fight him, and claim you as the stake, you jade."

"For that insult, I name you bully and cur," and she dashed one of her riding gauntlets in the Captain's face.

Mary's champion stepped forward to pick up the glove, but Captain Lannigan placed his right foot upon it, crushing it into the mud.

"When I've thrashed this meddlesome bumpkin, my beauty, I'll treat you as I've treated your glove," shouted the infuriated Captain, glaring. "Stand clear!"

"You're speaking in a monstrous big voice my fine bully. I'm staying to see fair play," was the reply that he got from the beautiful Mary.

At the Captain's command to stand clear, the gathering crowd gave way. Instinctively a human ring was formed inside of which were Captain Lannigan, Nigel Lording, and Mary Worthington, who was still seated on Lucifer. Riding round and round, she kept the crowd back with her horse, like a well mounted policeman. So intent were the spectators in anticipation of the coming fight, that their attention was startlingly arrested when a horseman rode among them and shouted.

"Way there! What's to do on the King's Highway! Blister me, but if it's not my fire-eating Lannigan brawling in the street of Tavistock! Why, demme, and there's Lady Godiva herself in the centre of it all. And what have we here? S'death if it isn't the Cornish wrestler himself."

The crowd instantly made way as Lord Belriven rode into the ring.

"A fight, eh? S'blood, I'll be the referee. It's over the lady, I'll wager."

When the position was explained to his lordship, he said; "Blaze in and win my Captain. The prize is worth fighting for. Why, demme, but she's the primest bit of maidenhood in all Devon. Odds fish, but I'd fight the Cornishman myself for such a prize. If ye don't win, my brave Captain, ye'll deserve to be cashiered. Ye'll not fight in the street, though, but over there on the green at the crossroads."

The green was the common recreation ground for the villagers. Here the fair was held and the bonfire lit on Guy Fawkes' night. Here, too, was the quintain erected and merry were the shouts when the tilter failed to hit the board in the middle and was hurled from his saddle by the swinging arm, or enveloped in a shower of soot or flour.

It was on this green that Captain Lannigan and Nigel Lording, stripped to the waist, faced each other. Both were splendidly handsome men. If Nigel Lording excelled in wrestling, Captain Lannigan had learnt boxing in the school of John Gully. In the army, he was regarded as a worthy successor of Jack Shaw, the lifeguard-man, killed at Waterloo.

"Now then, stand clear you gaping loafers," commanded Earl Belriven. "This is a fight to a finish. Gentleman of England in the person of Captain Lannigan, versus Yeoman of England in the person of young Squire Lording of Lannercost farm. Pugilist versus wrestler. Rough and tumble. Go to it."

The Captain took up his stand with his left foot well in advance of his right. With a movement quick as thought, Nigel Lording executed a flying slide and attacked with his legs the advanced leg of the Captain. This attack was so sudden and so unexpected that the Captain was thrown off his balance. If he had guessed his opponent's intention, he would have removed his left leg out of harm's way; but as he didn't, there was nothing that he could do to land an effective blow, as he was out of reach. Then Nigel Lording gave a marvellous exhibition of the leg twist and knee throw. He turned sharply to the left with his muscular body and struck a powerful blow with his right thigh against the back of the Captain's left knee joint. This manoeuvre threw the Captain forcibly on his hands and knees, from which point Nigel Lording followed up his advantage with the toe hold, and waist lock. The Captain cursed, but immediately he was seized by the waist with the right arm of his adversary, who at the same time placed his right hand on the inside of the Captain's right thigh. Simultaneously he took a firm grip of the Captain's left foot pulling hard and outward on it, at the same time bearing down with his entire weight upon his left ankle, which he retained securely locked between his calf and thigh. This deadly hold caused the captain the most excruciating pain, almost breaking his ankle, but the Captain managed to sit on the right thigh of Nigel Lording's, and with a herculean effort regained his feet. Quick as he was, Nigel Lording dived for his left leg using only his left arm to gain the leg grip and his right to cover his face against attack. This, however, left him open to the Captain's rabbit punch with his right, and he was hit a terrific blow on the neck by his opponent, who expected to gain a knock-out, but the blow, however, was nullified by Nigel Lording's hunching his shoulders which shortened his neck, leaving it almost invulnerable, but the blow tore the skin and left a bloody mark. This made Nigel Lording more cautious. He seized the Captain's left leg again but this time with his right arm instead of his left, thus covering his face from a possible attack. Before the Captain could recover, his left leg was lifted from the ground, consequently he had no equilibrium to deliver his rabbit punch, instead, he was thrown violently by a sudden heave and a twist, combined with a deadly heave by Nigel Lording with his left shoulder. Before the Captain could recover Nigel Lording pounced upon him and threw him heavily to the ground, his head striking the turf violently. Though knocked senseless, he escaped a fractured skull by the merest good luck and the softness of the ground. Had this throw been made on the cobblestone road where the disturbance started, he would undoubtedly have been killed, and that, as events turned out, was to be deplored.

The knock-out was complete, and the crowd cheered. Their favourite had won. Bloody and bruised, Nigel Lording, followed by the cheering crowd, walked over to the village pump and washed himself clean. Then he suddenly thought of the glove, the gage of battle. Looking round, he asked if any one had picked it up. It was handed to him soiled and dirty, by a little girl with a smiling face, but soiled as it was, he pressed it to his lips.

Mary Worthington noticed this unrehearsed act of gallantry and felt uplifted by it. Dismounting from her horse and looping the reins over her left arm, she walked over to where her champion stood, and held out her hand. "How can I thank you!" she said, with tears in her eyes, and a suppressed throb in her throat.

"Madame," he replied, "I am honoured to have been of service to you. The only reward I claim is the privilege of keeping your glove," and he pressed it once more to his lips.

"For this great service you have rendered me, I shall ever be beholden to you, sir," she said, as the warm blood suffused the fairness of her face with its sensitive blush. Then she added, as the significance of her defender's act in kissing her glove became manifest to her, "In permitting you, sir, to retain my glove, I name you my true knight in the hope that I shall always find such a doughty champion if I am ever again beset."

"Madame, I accept the honour of your knighthood as from a most gracious queen, and believe me to be your most humble, obedient servant."

And so they parted.

Meanwhile, Captain Lannigan, sullen, battered, and humiliated, painfully mounted his horse which he received from the hands of a labourer who was holding him, and rode away with Earl Belriven to the Manor of Grassmere.

"S'death, Lannigan, but the yeoman was too good for the gentleman after all, eh? You put up a great fight, but your age and condition were against you, forsooth!"

"I'd give years of my life to have both him and the girl in my power to deal with in my own way. Who is she?"

"The daughter of one of my tenants and as proud and high-mettled as the horse she rides. I'll warrant she'll take some taming, Lannigan, and it's my purpose to see more of her."

"Then God help her if she gets into the crutches of 'The Falcon.' Ye'd be no kinder to her than I would be if I had her where I've been ordered to go."

"And where may that be, my Captain?"

"To take over control of the penal settlement at Moreton Bay."