A Lad of Grit: A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea in Restoration TimesWesterman, Percy F. (Percy Francis)
History
A Lad of Grit: A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea in Restoration Times
Westerman, Percy F. (Percy Francis)
Adventure stories; Great Britain -- History -- Restoration, 1660-1688 -- Juvenile fiction
I retreated slowly, so as to save my breath. Again the wealed-faced man
outdistanced his companion, and soon I could hear his deep panting
behind me.
Then suddenly I turned, and, throwing one of the largest stones, hit him
fairly in the midriff. With a loud howl he dropped on his knees and
pressed his hands to his injured part, his cudgel rolling down the slope
till stopped by the other man.
The third rogue, seeing how matters stood, also began to climb the
slope. For my part, flushed with my success, I slowly edged away,
intending to make a detour, regain the road, and then retrace my steps
towards Petersfield; for I knew what sort of road I had already passed,
but was in ignorance of the distance to which this wild valley extended.
Still climbing, I reached the sloping ridge round the base of which the
road bent. Once again I could follow the highway leading to the chalk
cutting, and to my unbounded delight I saw for the third time that
ponderous coach with its attendant troopers descending the hill at a
sharp pace.
The strong wind that was blowing towards the approaching cavalcade, and
the dusty road, both tended to deaden the sound of the horses’ hoofs and
the dull rumble of the carriage, and as yet the villains were unaware of
their danger.
On the summit of the ridge I turned towards them. Instinctively they
separated, yet came on apace--the man whom I had hit with the stone
limping onward with an effort, the others, each with a knife in his
hand, working away on either side with the intention of preventing my
escape. As the bearded ruffian came within throwing distance I flung a
stone with all my might, and had he not quickly bounded aside, there
would have been another point in my favour.
As soon as he gained the top of the ridge, though some feet below me, I
made a sudden rush towards him, intending to make a feint and then run
towards the troopers. The man stood on his guard, his knife glittering
in the sunlight, though evidently astonished at my apparent rashness.
When close upon him I darted to one side and ran quickly down the hill.
Suddenly my foot caught in a rabbit hole, and I fell headlong, rolling
over and over in my descent.
With a savage curse my assailant rushed towards my prostrate body, and
even as he did so he caught sight of the troopers.
His cursing changed into a howl of terror as he vainly tried to check
his descent; but ere he could recover himself three of the horsemen had
spurred their steeds betwixt him and the rest of the troop. He lay on
the ground whining dismally, while the soldiers hastily trussed him up
with a length of stout cord.
Meanwhile the coach had stopped, and as I approached, limping from the
effects of my fall, its two occupants looked out of the window to
enquire the cause of the disturbance.
Hastily I told my story, and hardly had I finished, when the elder of
the two officers called to the sergeant: "Quickly, Sedgewyke! Secure
those other rascals!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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