In the Days of DrakeFletcher, J. S. (Joseph Smith)
General
In the Days of Drake
Fletcher, J. S. (Joseph Smith)
Drake, Francis, approximately 1540-1596 -- Fiction
Now about dark, and just as we were making up our minds to a fresh
start, and wondering how we should fare in the mountainous range which
we had yet to cross, there arose not far away along the highroad a
chorus of shouts and screams of such exceeding bitterness, that we felt
sure murder was being done. We leapt to our feet and advanced to the
edge of the highway, but feared to go further lest we should be seen.
"'Tis some footpad affray," said Pharaoh, "and none of our business."
But just then came still shriller cries of entreaty for help, and they
were so pleading and full of agony, that we both leapt into the road
with one accord.
"That is a woman's voice," said Pharaoh. "We must needs go to her
assistance, come what will. Have your staff in readiness, master, and if
there is need, strike hard."
We ran swiftly down the road for some fifty yards, and then, turning a
sharp corner, came suddenly upon the cause of the disturbance. In the
middle of the highway stood a coach, drawn by two mules, and on either
side of it were two tall fellows of ferocious aspect, striving to drag
from it the occupants, who screamed for help without ceasing. There was
no driver or servant visible; the rogues had doubtless escaped to the
woods at the first sign of danger.
"Take the two on the left," said Pharaoh, "and get in the first blow,
master. Look out for their daggers."
Now I had never been engaged in a fight since the days when Jasper and I
occasionally came to fisticuffs with the village boys at Beechcot, but
I felt my blood warm at the notion of combat, and so I sprang in between
the two desperadoes who were busy at the left side of the coach, and
laid my staff about their ears with hearty good-will. They were trying
to drag an old man from the coach when we came up, and were threatening
him with what I took to be the most horrible of curses. I hit one of
them fair and square on the shoulder before he knew of my presence, and
he immediately turned and fled, howling like a beaten dog. The other
turned on me with a cruel-looking knife, but I knocked it out of his
hand with a blow that must have broken his wrist, and he too fled into
the woods with a fearful imprecation. Meanwhile, Pharaoh had beaten off
his men on the other side; one was limping along the highway howling
with pain, and the other lay on the ground senseless. We had carried the
fight with sharp and startling effect.
Inside the coach sat an old gentleman and a young girl, and both were so
frightened, that when we assisted them to alight they were nearly
speechless, and could only sigh and moan. Presently, however, the young
lady found her tongue, and began to pour out an astonishingly rapid flow
of words to me, none of which I understood, but which I took to be
expressions of gratitude.
"Say naught," whispered Pharaoh in my ear, "I will talk to them in their
own lingo. Do not let them see that we are English."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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