FullReads

“Damn it!” says Dan’l Best and the Prince Regent, both in one breath.

“Hulloa! Be you here still?” says the Prince, turning sharp round at the sound of Dan’l’s voice. “And what be you waiting for?”

“For my brother Hughie’s reprieve,” says Dan’l.

“Well, but ’tis too late now, anyway,” says the Prince.

“I’ll bet ’tis not,” says Dan’l, “if you’ll look slippy and make out the paper.”

“You can’t do it. ‘Tis over two hundred and fifty miles, and you can’t travel ten miles an hour all the way like the coach.”

“It’ll reach Tregarrick to-morrow night,” says Dan’l, “an’ they won’t hang Hughie till seven in the morning. So I’ve an hour or two to spare, and being a post-boy myself, I know the ropes.”

“Well,” says his Royal Highness, “I’m in a very good temper because of this here glorious storming of St. Sebastian. So I’ll wager your brother’s life you don’t get there in time to stop the execution.”

“Done with you, O King!” says Dan’l, and the reprieve was made out, quick as lightning.

Well, sir, Dan’l knew the ropes, as he said; and moreover, I reckon there was a kind of freemasonry among post-boys; and the two together, taken with his knowledge o’ horseflesh, helped him down the road as never a man was helped before or since. ‘Twas striking nine at night when he started out of London with the reprieve in his pocket, and by half-past five in the morning he spied Salisbury spire lifting out of the morning light. There was some hitch here–the first he met–in getting a relay; but by six he was off again, and passed through Exeter early in the afternoon. Down came a heavy rain as the evening drew in, and before he reached Okehampton the roads were like a bog. Here it was that the anguish began, and of course to Dan’l, who found himself for the first time in his life sitting in the chaise instead of in the saddle, ’twas the deuce’s own torment to hold himself still, feel the time slipping away, and not be riding and getting every ounce out of the beasts: though, even to his eye, the rider in front was no fool. But at Launceston soon after daybreak he met with a misfortune indeed. A lot of folks had driven down overnight to Tregarrick to witness the day’s sad doings, and there wasn’t a chaise to be had in the town for love or money.

“What do I want with a chaise?” said Dan’l, for of course he was in his own country now, and everybody knew him. “For the love of God, give me a horse that’ll take me into Tregarrick before seven and save Hughie’s life! Man, I’ve got a reprieve!”

“Dear lad, is that so?” said the landlord, who had come down, and was standing by the hotel door in nightcap and bedgown. “I thought, maybe, you was hurrying to see the last of your brother. Well, there’s but one horse left in stable, and that’s the grey your master sold me two months back; and he’s a screw, as you must know. But here’s the stable key. Run and take him out yourself, and God go with ‘ee!”

None knew better than Dan’l that the grey was a screw. But he ran down to the stable, fetched the beast out, and didn’t even wait to shift his halter for a bridle, but caught up the half of a broken mop-handle that lay by the stable door, and with no better riding whip galloped off bare-back towards Tregarrick.

Aye, sir, and he almost won his race in spite of all. The hands o’ the town clock were close upon seven as he came galloping over the knap of the hill and saw the booths below him and sweet-stalls and standings–for on such days ’twas as good as a fair in Tregarrick–and the crowd under the prison wall. And there, above them, he could see the little open doorway in the wall, and one or two black figures there, and the beam. Just as he saw this the clock struck its first note, and Dan’l, still riding like a madman, let out a scream, and waved the paper over his head; but the distance was too great. Seven times the clapper struck, and with each stroke Dan’l screamed, still riding and keeping his eyes upon that little doorway. But a second or two after the last stroke he dropped his arm suddenly as if a bullet had gone through it, and screamed no more. Less than a minute after, sir, he pulled up by the bridge on the skirt of the crowd, and looked round him with a silly smile.

“Neighbours,” says he, “I’ve a-got great news for ye. We’ve a-taken St. Sebastian, and by all acounts the Frenchies’ll be drove out of Spain in less’n a week.”

There was silence in Boutigo’s van for a full minute; and then the old woman spoke from the corner:

“Well, go on, Sam, and tell the finish to the company.”

“Is there more to tell?” I asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Sam, leaning forward again, and tapping my knee very gently, “there were two men condemned at Tregarrick, that Assize; and two men put to death that morning. The first to go was a sheep-stealer. Ten minutes after, Dan’l saw Hughie his brother led forth; and stood there and watched, with the reprieve in his hand. His wits were gone, and he chit-chattered all the time about St. Sebastian.”