Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Splendid Spur<br />Being Memoirs of the Adventures of Mr. John Marvel, a Servant of His Late Maj by Arthur Quiller-Couch (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📖
- Author: Arthur Quiller-Couch
Book online «The Splendid Spur<br />Being Memoirs of the Adventures of Mr. John Marvel, a Servant of His Late Maj by Arthur Quiller-Couch (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📖». Author Arthur Quiller-Couch
“Well met, Captain!” said the fellow with the lantern—Reuben Gedges—stepping forward; “Give us your hand!”
He was holding out his own, when I sprang up, set the pistol close to his chest, and fired. His scream mingled with the roar of it, and dropping the lantern, he threw up his hands and tumbled in a heap. At the same moment, out went the light, and the other rascals, dropping Delia, turn'd to run, crying, “Sold—sold!”
But behind them came now a shout from Billy, and a crashing blow that almost severed Black Dick's arm at the shoulder: and at the same instant I was on Master Toy's collar, and had him down in the dust. Kneeling on his chest, with my sword point at his throat, I had leisure to glance at Billy, who in the dark, seem'd to be sitting on the head of his disabled victim. And then I felt a touch on my shoulder, and a dear face peer'd into mine.
“Is it Jack—my sweet Jack?”
“To be sure,” said I: “and if you but reach out your hand, I will kiss it, for all that I'm busy with this rogue.”
“Nay, Jack, I'll kiss thee on the cheek—so! Dear lad, I am so frighten'd, and yet could laugh for joy!”
But now I caught the sound of galloping on the road above, and shouts, and then more galloping; and down came a troop of horsemen that were like to have ridden over us, had I not shouted lustily.
“Who, in the fiend's name is here?” shouted the foremost, pulling in his horse with a scramble.
“Honest men and rebels together,” I answered; “but light the lantern that you will find handy by, and you shall know one from t'other.”
By the time 'twas found and lit, there was a dozen of Col. John Digby's dragoons about us: and before the two villains were bound, comes a half dozen more, leading in Captain Settle, that had taken to his heels at the first blow and climb'd the hill, all tied as he was about the hands, and was caught in his endeavor to clamber on Molly's back. So he and Black Dick and Jeremy Toy were strapp'd up: but Reuben Gedges we left on the road for a corpse. Yet he did not die (though shot through the lung), but recovered—heaven knows how: and I myself had the pleasure to see him hanged at Tyburn, in the second year of his late Majesty's most blessed Restoration, for stopping the Bishop of Salisbury's coach, in Maidenhead Thicket, and robbing the Bishop himself, with much added contumely.
But as we were ready to start, and I was holding Delia steady on Molly's back, up comes Billy and bawls in my ear—-
“There's a second horse, if wanted, that I spied tether'd under a hedge younder”—and he pointed to the field where we had first found Captain Settle—“in color a sad black, an' harness'd like as if he came from a cart.”
I look'd at the Captain, who in the light of the lantern blink'd again. “Thou bloody villain!” muttered I, for now I read the tragedy of the wagon beside the road, and knew how Master Settle had provided a horse for his own escape.
But hereupon the word was given, and we started up the hill, I walking by Delia's stirrup and listening to her talk as if we had never been parted—yet with a tenderer joy, having by loss of it learn'd to appraise my happiness aright.
CHAPTER XVIII. — JOAN DOES ME HER LAST SERVICE.
We came, a little before midnight, to Sir Bevill's famous great house of Stow, near Kilkhampton: that to-night was brightly lit and full of captains and troopers feasting, as well they needed to, after the great victory. And here, though loth to do so, I left Delia to the care of Lady Grace Grenville, Sir Bevill's fond beautiful wife, and of all gentlewomen I have ever seen the pink and paragon, as well for her loyal heart as the graces of her mind: who, before the half of our tale was out, kissed Delia on both cheeks, and led her away. “To you too, sir, I would counsel bed,” said she, “after you have eaten and drunk, and especially given God thanks for this day's work.”
Sir Bevill I did not see, but striding down into the hall, picked my way among the drinking and drunken; the servants hurrying with dishes of roast and baked and great tankards of beer; the swords and pikes flung down under the forms and settles, and sticking out to trip a man up; and at length found a groom who led me to a loft over one of the barns: and here, above a mattress of hay, I slept the first time for many months between fresh linen that smell'd of lavender, and in thinking how pleasant 'twas, dropped sound asleep.
Sure there is no better, sweeter couch than this of linen spread over hay. Early in the morning, I woke with wits clear as water, and not an ache or ounce of weariness in my bones: and after washing at the pump below, went in search of breakfast and Sir Bevill. The one I found, ready laid, in the hall; the other seated in his writing-room, studying in a map; and with apology for my haste, handed him Master Tingcomb's confession and told my story.
When 'twas over, Sir Bevill sat pondering, and after a while said, very frankly——
“As a magistrate I can give this warrant; and 'twould be a pleasure, for well, as a boy, do I remember Deakin Killigrew. Young sir——” he rose up, and taking a turn across the room, came and laid a hand on my shoulder, “I have seen his daughter. Is it too late to warn you against loving her?”
“Why yes,” I answer'd blushing: “I think it is.”
“She seems both sweet and quaint. God forbid I should say a word against one that has so taken me! But in these times a man should stand alone: to make a friend is to run the chance of a soft heart: to marry a wife makes the chance sure——”
He broke off, and went on again with a change of tone——
“For many reasons I would blithely issue this warrant. But how am I to spare men to carry it out? At any moment we may be assail'd.”
“If that be your concern, sir,” answer'd I, “give me the warrant. I have a good friend here, a seafaring man, whose vessel lies at this moment in Looe Haven, with a crew on board that will lay Master Tingcomb by the heels in a trice. Within three days we'll have him clapp'd in Launceston Jail, and there at the next Assize you shall sit on the Grand Jury and hear his case, by which time, I hope, the King's law shall run on easier wheels in Cornwall. The prisoners we have already I leave you to deal withal: only, against my will, I must claim some mercy for that rogue, Settle.”
To this Sir Bevill consented; and, to be short, the three
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