LI BRAHY OF THE U N IVLRSITY Of ILLINOIS 823 H7l8k v.l THE KING'S MAIL. THE KING'S MAIL BY HENRY HOLL IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, SON, AND CO. 47, LUDGATE HILL. [The Sight of Translation i» Reserved.'] 5p* HAEBILD, pBWr, LONDON V. 1. PREFACE. My dear Hazlitt, — There is an old saying — at least I believe it to be an old saying, but as I have no copy of Ray's Collection of Proverbs to refer to, I must take it for granted that it is, and abide by it accordingly — that " an inch of truth goes further than a yard of fiction." Whether or not the said " inch of truth" may have conferred so extended a benefit upon me, I am not in a position to judge. It is sufficient for me to know, that having met with "a peg to hang a thought upon," I took the liberty of suspending three volumes on it, thereby testing its capa- bilities in a manner winch, if it only survive the shock, will create a better opinion of all pegs — past, present, and to come. But how about the -"thought"? you may say. Gently, my good friend, and do not drive me in a corner too soon, or what becomes of my three volumes ! And now for the " inch." VI PEEEACE. My wife told me — and I trust I am too good a husband to question any of her facts — that once upon a time, and somewhere about the close of the last, or the beginning of the present century, a certain gentleman — and by position and means he was a gentleman — was supposed to have been guilty of a trespass against the laws and regu- lations of his country, which some people may think anything but gentlemanly, and committed the felony which, under more extenuating cir- cumstances, is presumed to take place at the end of the first volume, which offence was said to have been discovered after his death, by the same signs and tokens as are set forth in the ninth chapter of the third volume. Whether such an occurrence ever did, or did not take place, matters little as far as a work of fiction is concerned, although, being "native there and to the manner born," my fair in- formant — and I am sure no one will question this fact — may be supposed to have a satisfactory knowledge of that portion of Sussex in which my story lies, and be possessed of certain hear- say tales, facts, or scandals belonging to the district. PREFACE. Vii Stimulated thus far, and having laid hold of the "peg," I lost no time in exploring the country bordering on my locality, and assisted by sundry descriptions, derivable from the old associations and experience of others, drew on my imagination for the rest, sat down to my work, and behold the result ! There were some difficulties to be got over, and certain informations to be arrived at, apper- taining to the date of my story, which cost me some time and trouble to surmount, more espe- cially as regarded mail travelling in 1 785 ; and I should be most unmindful of an act of courtesy on the part of Lieutenant- Colonel Maberly, if I neglected this opportunity of acknowledging the service he rendered me, by pointing out to my attention certain Reports on Mr. Palmer's Claim, deposited in the Post-office, which I happily ob- tained a sight of, although by rather a circuitous route. My friend Edward Wright, F.S.A., whose abilities are too well recognized to require any testimony of mine, also assisted me by a variety of old road books ; so that what with one help and another, I arrived as near my point as was necessary, without being too particular as to Vlll PKEFACE. facts, or sufficiently indifferent of them to be accused of carelessness. And I should wish it to- be distinctly understood, that the then proprietor of " Chase House" — as I have designated it — is- in no way to be held responsible for what is here set forth, or be made amenable to censure. The circumstances written of are of the past and gone, only to be regarded in the light of a tale, and cast aside accordingly. A word of thanks to my friend Wilkie Collins for introducing me to my publishers, and to you for (( seeing me through the press," and. I. have done. But as I am anxious to have at least the sanction of one good name to this my first attempt at novel writing, I would wish to inscribe my book to you, and by so doing- place before my work a name illustrious in letters — a name that, while English literature endures, will ever be remembered with affection, and acknowledged with delight. Yours ever truly, H. HOLL. The G-eeen, Ealing, May, 1863. THE KING'S MAIL. CHAPTER I. THE CROSS EOADS. Lounging about the entrance of an inn-yard in the quiet, old-fashioned town of Godalming, a group of idlers stood gaping up the narrow way, while — grating from its iron frame, gilt and bedi- zened, to make it look as much like the real tliinsr as possible — the sign of the " King's Arms" swung with a quiet sense of dignity about it, as though it only condescended to move to the fine November breeze out of its royal grace, not from any outward pressure on the part of the wind, which came blowing up the High Street, flapping the " Red Lion" until it almost turned him topsy turvy, and, starting the " White Bear" from the one hinge by which he had been swinging all the summer, sent him sprawling into the middle of the road. VOL. I. B Up and down that old inn-yard in the year of grace 1785 walked a tall, sallow-faced man, ex- postulating in angry terms with the ostler, who, with a whisk of hay in his hand, leant against the stable door indifferent to the traveller's impa- tience, and not to be put out of his way by him or half-a-dozen like him ; while the idlers at the entrance of the yard 1 dived their hands into their pockets as they stood watching the strange man go walking up and down, and would have been content to look at him for another hour at least, delighted with the unusual occupation they had found of whiling away a little of their spare time, which, as a rule, hung rather heavily on their hands. " He is dead lame, your honour," said the ostler, rubbing himself down with the whisk of hay, as if to keep his hand in. " The brute had better have broken his neck than fallen lame at a time like this," exclaimed the stranger with an oath, looking savagely out of his dark eyes as though the broken neck would have been more to his liking. " You must have rode hard, sir. When he came in last night he had hardly a leg to stand on, and is so dead beat he couldn't carry you a mile, to say no tiling of a dozen." And the ostler THE CROSS ROADS. O spoke as though he had quite made up his mind that he couldn't. An impatient utterance and a few more hasty- strides about the yard, instead of having the desired effect of cooling, appeared to increase the traveller's irritation, as he said — " Eode hard, indeed ! If he had been worth his keep, he would have done it easily enough. It is but four and thirty miles, and he baited twice upon the road." " Four and thirty miles is a long pull at the rate you rode him/' said the ostler, doggedly, evidently determined to back the horse. The stranger made no reply, but with an an- noyed and disappointed look stood debating with himself what was the best thing to do. A church clock striking eight, roused him from his mo- mentary reverie. Turning hastily towards the ostler he said — " How am I to get on then ? Have you another horse in the stable, anything fit for a gentleman to ride ?" " Nothing but an old broken-w r inded chaise hack, and she's blind and not over sure-footed j but she's posted 'twixt here and Portsmouth these twenty years, and knows the road well enough if her legs warn't so stiff." <( Curse you and your hack too \" exclaimed the stranger, turning upon the ostler with any- thing but a look of affection. Now the ostler did not much care for looks at any time, unless indeed Jane the barmaid had a mind to try her hand at it ; then he gave in at once. But there was an expression about the traveller's eye he had never seen before, a cruel, savage expression, which as suddenly died away the moment he found the eye opposed to his looking angry as his own, as though an innate cowardice prevented his natural malevolence from breaking out too violently. Eesuming in a calmer tone, he said — " You can get me a horse from some of the other inns, can't you V " Not in the whole town, sir. Everything that can drag a leg is off to Guildford Market, and unless you wait for the mail " u Wait till one o'clock in the morning and dangle my legs about here, when I ought to be half-way on my road by this. I must walk it, I suppose." Turning on his heel the stranger strode up to the entrance of the yard, from whence the idlers kept watching him, as if the sight of a passenger in the streets of Godalming were an unusual occurrence, and one they had not seen in all their lives before. THE CROSS ROADS. 5 The landlord meanwhile bustled out of the side-door of the inn, and as the stranger paused on the outside looking up the High Street, slash- ing his boots with his riding whip, in pettish anger at the unforeseen delay that had come upon his journey, made his bow, and with all an inn- keeper's politeness lamented the lameness of his horse and the impossibility of mounting him on any other, it being market-day at Guildford, " but if his honour liked a walk " " There is nothing else left for it since that brute of mine has broken down, and your infernal town can't supply another, so the sooner I am off the better. There is no difficulty in finding the way, I suppose V " Straight as the crow flies," replied the land- lord, bowing even lower than before, and perform- ing an imaginary washing of his hands, as if that necessary operation had been forgotten in his morning's ablutions ; " and a good road all the way to Haslemere. It is rather roughish after- wards, I hear folks say, and apt to break your springs bumping along the cart-ruts, but easy enough walking, only a little up and down ; but pleasant for all that, and in as wild a part of Sussex as you could find through all the county.'" " I ntust take my chance and get on as well 6 as I can, but I shall be back to-morrow or the next day, when perhaps that lazy brute of mine will be able to carry me to London. He shall, if spur and whip can make him, or I'll know a reason why." As the landlord had nothing to urge against this amiable determination on the part of the tra- veller, he washed his hands again — a habit he had acquired ever since the day his gracious majesty, King George the Third, had stopped to change horses at his own " Royal Arms/'' and smacked his royal lips over a tankard of home-brewed ; and there the precious tankard stood in the coffee-room under a glass shade to keep it safe from common lips, to be gazed at by all true and loyal subjects with a feeling of profoundest awe and speechless veneration. Bidding the innkeeper " Good morning V* with the worst possible grace, and without even glanc- ing at the illustrious sign- board swaying over his head, the stranger turned down the High Street, evidently desirous of cutting short all further colloquy. The landlord bowed to his departing guest, wished him a " pleasant walk," then went into his inn again to superintend the domestic economy of the " King's Arms f while the half-dozen THE CROSS ROADS. 7 loungers hanging about the posts at the yard gate dived their hands still deeper into their pockets, as though they could never get to the bottom of them, and looked after the retreating figure in stupified astonishment, wondering how any man who could afford to ride, would walk twelve miles. " If I had the drivin' of him I'd make him lame," exclaimed the ostler, putting his head round the corner of the gate, and wringing his whisk of hay into a long rope-like twist ; but as the ostler could not put his mental driving into ope- ration he contented himself by giving his head a threatening nod on one side, watched the re- treating figure out of sight, then went into the stable to look after the lame horse. The stranger kept on his way at a steady and determined pace, as though he had quite brought his mind to make the best of a bad bargain, and get over his task without loss of time. And as his measured steps sounded through the quiet street, the dozing dogs on the doorsteps, and the owners of the no less quiet shops, opened their eyes^ looking at him as he passed in the full belief that some unheard-of wager was about to be de- cided, or why, in the name of fortune, should any man walk at the rate of four miles an hour, when the usual pace in those parts was but one ? It 8 THE KING'S MAIL. was quite certain he did not belong to Godalming —no denizen of that nor of any other country town, being ever known to walk in proper earnest : resting on street posts and in corners as sensible men should, the good townsfolk of that sleeping place crawled along as though walking were an exercise they did not understand, and too active an operation for them to put in practice. The stranger meanwhile performed the passage of the High Street, passed by the Town Hall, and footed sturdily along until he reached the out- skirts of the town. Before him lay the open road high banked with wooded slopes, or set with pleasant hedgerows. The bright morning sun and the crisp November air stimulated him to his walk, which, now he was well set to it, promised to be less wearisome than he had at first imagined. With the sense of unusual freedom about him the stranger journeyed on his way, humming some old air familiar to our grandfathers, and in the full enjoyment of his walk went cheerily along. He met a country lass when close to the village of Milford, and for a few minutes paused to chat with her, laughing, and talking to her about her sweetheart, and appearing particularly anxious to know when she was to be married, the girl not quite understanding what to make of the fine THE CROSS EOADS. 9 London gentleman, who pretended to know all about her and her intended, and talked of them as though he had been acquainted with them all their lives. They parted at last to go upon their different ways, the girl blushing to the ears, and he with a loud ringing laugh turning and looking after her, wondering how it was country girls could blush in the way they did. The road lay straight before him now as he went walking on, sometimes singing, or w T ith his riding whip slash- ing at the stray brambles hanging from the hedge side. Leaving the scattered houses some way behind, he came at last to the junction of two roads. The one bearing to the left had a red, sandy appearance, and was altogether of a rougher character than the right hand road. Which was he to take ? He stood doubting for a while, look- ing first up one, then the other, then round about him, hoping to light upon some finger-post to decide the question. An old wooden stump stood at the corner of the roads, but time had rotted away the cross pieces, and obliterated the trace of letters. The roads only were there, and which was he to choose ? No one was in sight, no horseman or fanner's cart on either, nor a passing labourer to direct him on his way. Which should he take ? The 10 right hand road was evidently the most used of the two, was broader, and better kept. Should he walk back to those white cottages, and ask ? Not he ! He would decide by the toss of a guinea ; and <( heads " won it. He turned on to the right hand road and resumed his walk. " That ass of a landlord never told me there were two roads ; but this looks the right one, and so ' luck's } the word. It has stood my friend before to-day, and must again, or Martin Blake- borough shall smart for it. Yes, my fine spark, you must not forget old friends now you are high in the market, and what's more you shan't, or I am not the man I take myself to be." As he spoke a strange fury shot from his eyes, and slashing his riding whip at everything within his reach, he walked along. He was out of sight of Milford now, and pacing on the great Portsmouth road came to the broad tract of flat and desolate waste called Hind Head Heath. Stretching for miles away on either side, its bare and dismal aspect seemed to lengthen out the long straight road, reaching in a continuous line to where the broken range of hills rose dark and black before him in the far off view, lowering against the sky. Undulating over that dreary tract the road appeared inter- THE CROSS ROADS. 1 I minable, crossing as it did right over the frown- ing heath, its broad space dwindling in the dis- tance to a mere span. There lay his way along that cheerless road, and uttering impatient curses at his horse's lameness, he walked sulkily, yet sturdily along. He had little to comfort him in his selfish and unpleasant musings, walking over that expanded and uncultivated waste, as with his head bent forward, his arms crossed behind his back, he uttered angry ejaculations ; communing with him- self at times ; then breaking off into imaginary conversations as if with an antagonistic and strong- willed opponent, with whom he appeared to argue, threaten, raising his hand at intervals as if to give yet greater energy to his words; or stepping on to the heath, plucked a faded sprig of heather, tore it between his teeth, or crushed it in his hand, as though that faded sprig possessed some vital energy, some opposing force, which he could trample on and tear to pieces. And at times like these he looked as if he could trample on and could crush anything that stood between him and his desires. He was now some miles upon his journey, yet still no sign of a farmer's house, or wayside hovel, and he in the midst of that long straight road, 12 stretching far away, without a living thing to break the dull, monotonous view. Before, behind, nothing but road, and on all sides heath. A small mound of rough, uneven ground came upon him as a relief in the midst of that dull flat scene. Mounting upon it, he gazed round him, in hopes of seeing something, either far away or near at hand, to take the sense of loneliness from him and break the cheerless gloom by which he was surrounded. Long and earnestly he gazed, but only saw the Hind Head Hills rising before him, broken and black, but nearer than they had been by some miles. He had evidently taken the wrong road, and stood undecided whether to walk back and follow the left-hand turning, the en- trance of which he had quitted, or strike across the heath, and so get into what was undoubtedly the shorter and more direct route to Haslemere ; but its rough, uneven surface made him pause before he ventured on so uncertain and un- promising an expedition. Cursing the landlord for a fool, and his beast' s lameness, over and over again, he turned to take another survey, and fix upon some guiding point to keep him in a straight line, when in the distance he saw a horse and cart coming from the direction of Godalming. Now, then, at last he THE CROSS ROADS. 13 should be able to obtain the necessary information as to the road he ought to take, and perhaps get a lift in the man's cart to help him on. Descending from the hillock, he stood waiting the coming up of the man in the cart. The horse came swiftly down the road, trotting good ten miles an hour, the wheels spinning be- hind it, and the dust pounding under its hoofs. Clattering up the rising ground, the horse and cart came on to where the hillock rose by the wayside. At sight of the strange man standing under it, the driver pulled up, and approached at a slackened speed, keeping his horse well in hand, and holding his whip ready to start him into a gallop. With his eyes fixed upon the stranger, he came cautiously along, casting sus- picious glances on either side, as if doubtful whether to turn back or gallop on. The man came to a dead halt at last, and half turned his horse's head. The stranger called to him, — yet still the driver of the chaise cart kept his horse half turned, and appeared more disin- clined than ever to approach. After a slight pause, the man drove a little nearer to the hrllock, then pulled up again, and halted when some dozen yards off, eyeing the stranger all the while, and half inclined 14 THE KING'S MAIL. to make a dash of it, and gallop past him at all hazards. The stranger shonted to him, and asked if he were on the right road to Haslemere ? " Haslemere !" replied the man in the cart ; ' ' no ! This is the way to Liphook ; you are on the Portsmouth road/' " Liphook \" shouted the pedestrian ; " they told me at the ( King's Arms' it was a straight road all the way." ' ' So it is, if you had kept the left-hand road. You should have turned off at Milford." " Can't I strike across the heath, and so get into it ?" inquired the stranger. " You'd find it rough work between here and the Beeches. Your best plan would be to go on to the ' Hind Head/ and so through the lanes." " How far is the ' Hind Head ' from here, and what is it ?" ' ' An ale-house on the other side the Devil's Punch Bowl. But you know it well enough, I dare say," said the driver, with a peculiar leer at the questioner. " Not I. I never was on the road before, and but for my horse failing should not have been here now. But as it is, there is no help for it, and I must find my way as well as I am able. THE CROSS ROADS. 15 How far am I to go before I get to the ale-liouse you talk of V 9 " Three miles/' replied the driver, a little less gruffly thau before. Determined, however, not to be put off his guard by appearances, he moved his horse cautiously along; not that he was actually afraid of a single footpad, but those fellows generally went in pairs, and the other might be skulking close at hand for aught he knew. At last he said, " It is bad travelling in these parts, and if you are a stranger here, as you say you are, I should advise you to push on at once, and avoid rough fellows on the road. Hind Head Heath is not an over safe place day or night, and as full of highwaymen as a rope is of onions. I only wish I had the hanging 'em, that's all." Touching his horse with his whip, the man drove on again, at even a quicker pace than he had come along the road from Grodal- ming. As the horse darted off, and the wheels spun by him, the traveller saw written on the side panel of the cart, ' ' John Bushell, maltster, Lip- hook." Despairing of further information, he turned into the road and pursued his way. The uncertain rays of a November sun were now obscured by low threatening clouds, drifting 16 THE KING'S MAIL. on in broken masses, while the wind whistled over the wide expanse of heath ; and as the bleak air came sighing by him, the wayfarer buttoned his riding coat over his chest, and quickening his pace, walked onward to where the dark and rugged moor hills stretched far away into the dis- tance, while the gusty wind swept over the bare brown heath, blowing the dust into small eddies in the road, and sweeping it in stormy whirls before him. The country became still wilder the nearer he approached the broken Hind Head Hills, while crumbling moorland, jagged and rough, loomed over head, and shut the desolate prospect from his sight. In hopes of obtaining a view of the way be- yond, he scrambled up the stony and precipitous ascent, and saw whence he stood how a con- tinuous chain of those bare, bleak hills bore away to the left, until the land fell off, to rise again in the stretched-out sweep of Blackdown. All was dark and bare, without a tree or shrub to break the trackless waste. Nothing but heather, whorts, and fern grew on the heathy soil, and he was glad to scramble down and pursue once more his solitary way. Turning at a sharp curve, the road twisted to the right hand, and rounding a huge hollow, bore THE CROSS EOADS. 17 away under the broken hills, which shut it in as in a cave, while stunted bushes, tangled and wild with thorns, hung drooping over the fearful gorge, fringing its dreadful steep with overhanging shrubs and briars. And there before him, standing* blackly out against the sky, a gibbet was set up, while hanging in the creaking chains a mouldering corpse swayed with a dull heavy motion in the wind ; and some way further on, a wooden cross was raised, on which was inscribed how a poor traveller had been found upon that spot, cruelly murdered by unknown men. Not a living thing was in sight, nor a sound to break the awful gloom of that dull road, circling half way round the Devil's Punch Bowl, except the distant grating of the gibbet's chain,, or the sudden winging of some startled bird. The frightful hollow dived with a sudden plunge into the earth. Scooped like a cauldron out of the wild and barren ground, its depth looked awful, its wide expanse forming a monstrous circle, as if all the armies of the world had met together and dug it out as a huge pit in which to bury their dead. Fascinated, yet awe-struck by the sight, he gazed for a few moments, then drawing back, vol. i. c 18 turned to pursue his way. Starting with a sud- den spring he bounded into the road, as he saw a man sleeping, or feigning sleep, lying among the bushes growing at the edge of the gorge. He raised his whip, grasping it so as to form a weapon of the handle, and stood looking at the sleeping figure, expecting him to start upon his legs and grapple with him. The man slept on, and treading swiftly yet silently, the stranger went stealthily and fearfully onwards. The dismal road at length was passed. Before him lay a wide extent of distant country, which broke on his delighted view in all the glorious pic- turesqueness of wood and valley. He stood upon the upland, gazing wistfully down the descending road sloping to the vale beyond, its steep sides covered with gorse and fern, while browsing in the midst the sheep climbed up and down, or spread themselves in woolly knots in peaceful resting. Another mile, and before him stood the ale- house, with its swinging sign-board, cracked and started from its frame, on which was written in indistinct and time-worn letters, the "Hind Head." CHAPTER II. THE " HIND HEAD." Tired with. his walk, hungry and thirsty, the pedestrian turned towards the ale-house. The maltster's cart stood on the outside, the horse looking as cool and comfortable as though ten miles an hour were a mere nothing to him, and a trot to Guildford and back, a matter not to be thought about, while resting in the snug chim- ney corner of the house, his master sat with his mug of home-brewed before him, smoking his pipe, and appearing as much at his case as even Dobbin himself. , Making his way inside the house, the wayfarer looked about him with a feeling of warmth and comfort at the crackling fire, blazing on the old- fashioned hearth, while the three or four farm labourers lounging upon the well-worn benches of the wooden screen circling the fire, drew a little on one side to make room for the smartly- dressed new comer, and smoked their pipes in respectful silence. 20 THE KING'S MAIL. The stranger gave a half nod to the maltster, took his seat, called for bread and cheese and a mug of ale. The men smoked on, or spoke to each other in low under tones, while the stranger ate his bread and cheese with a relish, drank a long draught of the " Hind Head's " home-brewed, and called for a fresh mugful. Refreshed and comforted with his food and drink, the traveller looked about him at the strange abode in which he was located, and the usual accompaniments of a wayside, old-fashioned house of entertainment — the wide chimney, the huge logs blazing on the hearth, and the kettle steaming over it, hanging by its iron hook and chain, while half-way up the gaping fire-place hung wondrous hams, put there to dry and smoke ; and on the rack, crossing the low ceiling of the room, chines and flitches lay in a row, while nailed against the white-washed walls, or fastened to the framework of the rack, slung knots of onions and dried herbs, ready for winter use. In the corner, opposite the maltster, a man, dressed in a velveteen jacket, corduroy knee- breeches and leather gaiters, reaching from the top of his ancle-boots half-way up his thighs, sat in a doze over the fire, his brawny figure swaying THE "HIND HEAD." 21 "backwards and forwards witli its own listless weight, his broad shoulders and bull-like neck showing at a glance enormous power of bone and muscle. Roused from his drunken slumber by the stir occasioned by the entrance of the new comer, the man raised his face, red and flushed from con- stant drinking, and eyed about him with a savage, scowling expression, as if questioning the right of any one to make a noise whilst he was asleep ; his crisp, short hair, tinged with the iron gray of time, curled over his massive head, which, now he raised it to its full height, towered over the rest of the sitters by some inches. The large proportions of the man were evident at a glance, and a kind of enforced silence came upon the rest of the men, in presence of the powerful bully, who had just roused himself out of his doze. " Hold your jabber, can't ye V J shouted the man, in the strong dialect peculiar to Sussex; " can't a feller sleep a bit, but you must keep scraping and clatterin', and nagging like women at a christenin' V Then, turning to the landlord, and stretching out his empty mug, he called, " Here, old skinflint, another pint from the same barrel as before, and don't try to put any o' the new stuff on Ned Pull en, or I'll chuck it in your face — mind that." 22 the king's mail. "If you'll take my advice, you'll stay as you are ; you'll only be getting quarrelsome, and doing somebody a mischief, if you has any more. I know your ways of old, Master Ned." " If you don't do what I tell 'ee, and that pretty quick, I'll be doin' you a mischief, and one as you won't get over for a month nor more," cried the half-drunken bully, rising from his seat, his head almost touching the ceiling of the room ; "Ned Pullen's a man, and not to be talked to by the likes o' you." " Oh, you needn't bawl in that style at me," replied the landlord, as though hewere no stranger to Ned, or his bullying either, and not to be put out of his way by it ; l ' I ain't your wife, nor I'm not going to fight you neither, so you needn't kick up a row where there's no one to mind you." 1 ( "Wife or no wife," stormed the excited ruffian, dashing his big fist upon the table, as the landlord dived into his cellar for the ale ; tc she had better not talk to me. Ned Pullen's a man, and I should like to see the chap as says he ain't. Oh, here's my pint, and it's lucky for you if it's the right sort." It evidently was the right sort by the way Pullen sucked it down, smacked his lips, then THE " HIND HEAD. Zj sank with a satisfied grunt upon liis seat again. "All right this time; you knows what I likes well enough , if you warn't such a sneak, always trying to cheat a man out of his natural drink. The squire hasn't a better barrel in his cellar nor that/-' " Or you'd have found it out long ago, and let his pheasants and hares alone, if only for a chance of trying its flavour/' said the maltster. " Oh, hang him, no !" roared Pullen; "there's no gettin' at his ale; he keeps it for his fine chaps from Lon'on ; they'll drink it up, and him arter, if it comes to that ; they'll never leave him while he has a guinea in his pocket or an acre to his back, and sarve him right for lettin' men, as was bred and born on the estate, die in a ditch, for aught he cares, or we care either, for the matter o' that." " You're in the luck of it, Ned, with your wife at home to help you to a pint out of her pocket, or you'd find the ale at the " Hind Head" as hard to come at as the squire's. I only wish my wife war of the same mind, and did the work, while I drank ale," cried one of the men, while the rest of his companions laughed, and shook their heads, thinking how little chance there was of their wives following the example of Dame Pullen. 24 the king's mail. u I tell you what it is, Master Dick Downer, you'll never be satisfied till I have knocked your head off; I have done it once before, and I'll do it again, if you don't keep your tongue in your teeth," exclaimed Pullen, staggering to his feet, as if to put Ins threat in execution. u No harm,man," interposedthenew comer, "a pint of ale all round, landlord, and I'll pay for it." The thought of more ale dropped Pullen into his seat, without another word, and draining his half-emptied mug, he handed it to the landlord to be refilled. Lifting his replenished and foaming measure to his lips, Pullen drank a long gulping draught, and never took the mug away until he had swallowed its contents. Sinking his head upon his chest, he swayed about for a few minutes, then went to sleep again by the side of the chimney corner. Anxious to assure themselves of the sound- ness of the drunken bully's slumbers, the men sat for a few minutes silently watching the drooping head, and listening to the slow, heavy breathing of the sleeping man. " What squire is it you talk of?" inquired the stranger, when assured of the soundness of Pullen's slumbers; "and who is it owns the land about here, this^ fellow has taken such a spite against ?" THE "hind head." 25 " Oh, it's not the squire of tins place Ned grumbles at ! — not that he's over particular who he grumbles at or quarrels with when the drink's in him, as it is now/' said the maltster, nodding his head in the direction of the sleeping man, who was fetching his breath with a heavy snort. " Though I remember the time, when he was as fine a man as ever stept in the county, and civil spoken into the bargain; but drink and idle habits have been his ruin, as they have been the ruin of better men nor him before to-day. Good or bad, well-doing or ill- doing, all's one to drunken Ned, who'll quarrel and fight with any man,, and sot his life away so long as there is ale to be got, or a shilling to be wrung out of his wife's earnings to buy it with. If it warn't that she does odd jobs for the gentry round here, who give her needlework and help her on a bit, Master Ned would have been in the poorhouse long ago." " And a good job, too ! It'ed bring his stomach down a bit, mayhap, and teach him what bread and water was made of," joined in the landlord, speaking in the same undertone as the maltster; although, judging from the heavy breath- ing of the sleeping man, there was not much fear of his overhearing what they said. 26 the king's mail. " Does lie do nothing for his living, then ? w inquired the stranger. " As little as he can, you may take my word for it — at least no regular work, since he was turned off the estate by the old squire for his drunken habits, ill-using his wife, and driving his son away to sea. The only thing he does, just to keep his hand in, I suppose, is a little night work now and then." " Night work ! how do you mean V " Poaching/'' replied the maltster, stooping forward, as though it were necessary to com- municate the fact in a loud whisper. "He is a known hand at that, and a desperate fellow to meet with, I can tell you; for he is as strong as the side of a house, and the most noted bruiser miles and miles about. Why, bless you, he's as well known in Sussex as the Lord Mayor in London, and has been up a dozen times before the Bench for breaches of the peace ; but, somehow or other, always managed to get off. He and his family before him, have lived on the estate for more than a couple of centuries, so the old squire didn't want to press too hard, I suppose. But he's gone, worse luck, and the young squire, who has come into the estate, vows vengeance against him, and swears he'll pay him out the first time he catches THE "hind head." 27 him with a gun or net on his land. But, bless you, Ned doesn't care a snap of his fingers for him or his threats either ; the moment his back's turned, he and his pals are at their old tricks, set the keepers at defiance, and walk over the place as if it were their own." "Well, my friend," said the stranger, when the maltster paused to knock the ashes out of his pipe, wishing to change the conversation to what he had uppermost in his mind, "you did not give me much information as to the road — a worse one I was never on, and one I should not like to try after dark." " It would be a dangerous game," replied the maltster, refilling and lighting his pipe, "unless you were well armed, and had a mind to try a random shot or two, and stand the chance of getting an ounce of lead in your head for your pains. That Devil's Punch Bowl is an ugly spot, and no end of murders and robberies have taken place there. Why, it was only the week before last, a sailor, who had been paid off at Ports- mouth, was tramping it to London, when he was knocked on the head by a couple of fellows, who pounced upon him, and, after emptying his pockets, pitched him neck and crop down the gulf, where he lay stunned, and, by a mercy, 28 the king's mail. wasn't killed, for a fall down there is enough to knock the life out of any man/' " Were the fellows taken ?" " Not they, nor likely to be. Why the landlord here could tell you a hundred stories of Hind Head Heath, and more robberies and murders on it than he could count. It is known as the most dangerous spot to travel on all England over, and I would not advise any man to try it, unless in company, or with his pistols ready cocked, for a man is set upon and stopped by a couple of mounted nashmen before he knows where he is, who knock him off his horse, rob or murder him, then scamper over the Heath, where old Nick himself could not catch them, though he's pretty sure to run them down at last, and provide safe quarters for them, too. But my nag's waiting — good morning." The maltster rose from the chimney corner, while the traveller, anxious to pursue his way, paid his score, and inquired of the ale-house keeper if he could direct him to Chase House. " Chase House ?" echoed the landlord, " If Ned Pullen were sober, he'd show you fast enough; he was born and bred on the squire's land, and could take you there blindfolded." " Oh, it's Master Blakeborough's place you THE "hind head." 29 want, is it?" inquired the maltster, eyeing the stranger from head to foot. " Yes, Martin Blakeborough's." "Ay, ay, we know him well enough. But how came you by this road ? — you should have struck off at Milford." " I told you when I met you on the Heath I had mistaken my way, but you did not seem too well disposed to set me right." ' ( Ay, I remember," replied the maltster, c ' but I don't much like speaking to strangers on the Heath when I come from market. You have come a plaguy long way round for all that; it is good fifteen miles by Hind Head, and the direct road through Haslemere would have taken you there in twelve." " How far shall I have to walk before I get there?" " Six miles if a yard, and rough walking, too." ' ' Which way must I take ?" " I'll show you." The maltster moved to the open doorway of the house, and pointing to a broken and rough lane at right angles with the ale-house, said — "That is the nearest road, but bad walkiug for about a mile and a half, and so on through Haslemere ; when you get there, any one will tell you the way, for Chase House is the oldest 30 place in the county, and the Blakeboroughs one of the oldest families, and in ancient times were men of mark, I can tell you ; but their race is run, I am afraid ; more's the pity." c ' How do you mean ?" " Well, sir, I don't want to speak ill words of an old family, if I can help it; but if Martin Blakeborough don't wind it up, my name's not John Bushell, that's all." " The young squire is not very popular among his neighbours, it appears." The maltster stared at the traveller, as he re- plied, " Popular ! of all the wild, reckless fellows ever put foot in stirrup, I take him to be the worst ! The gentry turn their backs on him, and there's not a gentleman's house ten miles round could give him shelter, without bringing scandal upon their wives or daughters. Popular ! ask the poor farm tenants, whose young crops he and his companions ride over, with as little care as they would over a piece of stubble, injure their fences, and worry their cattle. There's one comfort, it can't last long, for what with horse- racing, wenches, cards and dice, the estate will soon slip through his fingers." "You give him a good character," replied the stranger. 31 " Not worse than lie deserves/' said the land- lord, who had joined them on the outside the house, and now stood by them, listening to their conversation, " although perhaps I ought not to say so. A man like me can't afford to find fault with his betters, whatever he may think ; but Master Bushel? s character of the young squire is a true one, only not half bad enough." " It can't be up to the mark, however black he's painted," resumed John Bushell, with whom the squire was evidently no favourite ; ' ( a man without regard to kith or kin, or the name his father left him, famous in the county and as old as the first William's. He's a likely one to make it last, isn't he, or hand it down to his son ? Not he ! — he'll sell and mortgage, strip the estate, and leave it as bare as a hop-pole before he ha3 done with it, or played his precious pranks out. He has no more regard to the honour and honesty of his race, than I have to a sack of malt, which is worth just so much money as it will fetch, the best bidder buys both. And his son — if ever he live to have one — will cry shame upon him, for parting with his birthright to pay losses at cards and dice. Broad acres and ancient oaks, staked against bits of painted card -board, or loaded bones. We all know about here, the Manor 32 the king's mail. Farm has just been sold to raise the wind, and if what we hear of his last run at Newmarket is true, it wont be long before another slice of the old land goes after it." " He may sober down, perhaps," pleaded the stranger, in extenuation, " when he has sown his wild oats." " Wild oats, indeed !" cried the bluff maltster, echoing the word, and scowling upon the new comer. "Wild oats! a man made up of mischief like that I" There's not an ill- going fellow in the whole county he doesn't make up to as a com- panion, out of spite, now his betters have shut their doors against him, till he, and his, have be- come a terror to the neighbourhood. Why, there's drunken Ned Pullen there, whom he would hang if he caught him in one of his preserves, isn't half so great a poacher as himself. He'll snare any one's game, drag any man's pond, if he has only a grudge against him ; and as for wenches, not a girl's safe from him." " There's Dick Coombs' s, for one," said the landlord, shaking his head. " Poor Dick !" f( Ah ! poor Dick, indeed ! But what does he care, whose heart he breaks, or whose child he ruins ? He is a fine gentleman, and can do what he likes, because he can jingle more guineas in his pocket than a poor fellow like Dick, and ruin him out and out, if he has a spite against him. There isn't even an old servant left in the place ! Man, woman, and child, all turned off, to make room for a set of vagabonds, who will pick his bones after the prime feasters have made a meal of him ! He is a disgrace to the county, and I wish it was well rid of him." " Can you tell if he has any company at his place ?" inquired the traveller, " Leave him alone for that," rejoined the maltster ;