Great Britain -- History -- Restoration, 1660-1688 -- Fiction
And very shortly thereafter arose a great cursing below, and a
swearing of many horrible oaths by the sergeant, with low grumbling
accompaniment of his men, as they rose from many a twisted posture of
swinish slumber. When with sousing, brushing, and breakfasting they
were again brought to some semblance of men, the futile search after
him that was by this well out of their reach was begun. Nor did it
cease till close on noon. Now, as the sergeant and his file of men
passed along the gallery, when there was left no further corner into
which they might thrust nose, eyes, or sword-point seeking for hidden
softness of human flesh, some spirit of bravado did seize upon me,
and I flung open the door of my chamber, where all morning I had kept
pretence of nursing poor Betty, sick only of an ill temper to be kept
a lig-a-bed against her will; and I called to the sergeant that he
had not searched here by daylight, and that all was at his service,
even poor Betty, being now awake; and he came to the door, and stood
upon the threshold, looking in upon us while Betty sat up in the bed
and glared upon him, fear and anger struggling for mastery in her
broad countenance, and rendering it grotesquely terrible. Now I was
clothed this time in fit manner, with gown and hair fresh and neat,
and, spite of my sorrow at losing Ned and the terrors of the night
just passed, I had a sense of triumph in my growing certainty of his
escape that I think I scarce tried to keep from appearing in my
countenance. For a moment he regarded me doubtfully, and then there
sprang into his eye a light as of days when he had been other than he
now seemed, and I thought he would have spoken gaily and kindly.
But, my father coming to the door, the sergeant checked his words,
and, his eye lighting upon Betty, a dark cloud of suspicion passed
over his face. This was succeeded by a look of resignation truly
humorous and comical, as he thanked me for the help I had already
given him, which was indeed, he said, more than he had deserved,
apologized for the disturbance he had caused, and so bowed himself
out. He straightway marched his detachment into Drayton, and, having
failed by violent means to avenge the death of his ensign, he now had
recourse to the law, summoning to him the coroner, and insisting upon
a speedy inquest, in hope to discover--the few witnesses of the deed
being put upon oath--the name of whom, if taken _flagrante delicto_,
he would have hanged before it could be told.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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