Micah Clarke Chapter 10 - Of Our Perilous Adventure on the Plain

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Chapter 10 of Micah Clarke. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recorded by Dionne Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. Micah Clarke by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Chapter 10 of our perilous adventure on the plane.

We were not half a mile from the town before the roll of cattle drums and the blair of bugles swelling up musically through the darkness announced the arrival of the regiment of horse, which our friends at the inn had been expecting.

It is well, perhaps, said Saxon, that we gave them the slip, for that young spring-hulled might have smelled a rat and played us some ill turn. Have you chance to see my silken kerchief? Not I, I answered. Nay, then, it must have fallen from my bosom during our ruffle. I can ill afford to leave it, for I travel light in such matters. Eight hundred men, quoth the major, and three thousand to follow. Should I meet this same Oglethorpe or Ogilvie when the little business is over, I shall read him a lesson on thinking less of chemistry and more of the need of preserving military precautions.

It is well always to be courteous to strangers and to give them information, but it is well also that the information should be false, as his may have been, I suggested. Nay, nay, the words came too glibly from his tongue. So ho, Chloe, so ho, she is full of oats and wood fain gallop, but it is so plaguey dark that we can scarce see where we are going.

We had been trotting down the broad high road, shimmering vaguely white in the gloom, with the shadowy trees dancing past us on either side, scarce outlined against the dark background of cloud. We were now coming upon the eastern edge of the Great Plain, which extends 40 miles one way and 20 the other, over the greater part of Wiltshire and past the boundaries of Somersetshire. The main road to the west skirts this wilderness, but we had agreed to follow a less important track, which would lead us to our goal, though in a more tedious manner. Its insignificance would, we hoped, prevent it from being guarded by the king's horse. We had come to the point where this broad by-road branches off from the main highway when we heard the clatter of horses' hooves behind us.

Here comes someone who is not afraid to gallop, I remarked. Halt here in the shadow, cried Saxon, in a short quick whisper. Have your blade loose in the scabbard. He must have a set errand who rides so fast of nights. Looking down the road, we could make out through the darkness a shadowy blur which soon resolved itself into man and horse. The rider was well nigh abreast of us before he was aware of our presence, when he pulled up his steed in a strange, awkward fashion and faced round in our direction. Is Micah Clarke there? He said in a voice which was strangely familiar to my ears. I am Micah Clarke, said I.

And I am Reuben Lockerbie, cried our pursuer in a mock, heroic voice. Ah, Micah Lad, I'd embrace you were it not that I should assuredly fall out of the saddle if I attempted it and perchance drag you along. That sudden pull up well nigh landed me on the roadway. I have been sliding off and clambering on ever since I bade goodbye to Havant. Sure, such a horse for slipping from under one was never bestridden by man.

Good heavens, Ruben, I cried in amazement. What brings you all this way from home? The very same cause which brings you, Micah, and also Don Decimo Saxon, late of the solent, whom me thinks I see in the shadow behind you. How fares it, oh illustrious one?

It is you then, young cock of the woods, growled Saxon in no very overjoyed voice. No less a person, said Ruben, and now, my gay cavalieros, round with your horses and trot on your way, for there is no time to be lost. We ought all to be at Taunton tomorrow.

But, my dear Ruben, said I, it cannot be that you are coming with us to join Monmouth. What would your father say?

This is no holiday jaunt, but one that may have a sad and stern ending. At the best, victory can only come through much bloodshed and danger. At the worst, we are as like to wind up upon a scaffold as not. Forwards, lads, forwards, cried he, spurring on his horse. It is all arranged and settled. I am about to offer my august person, together with a sword which I borrowed and a horse which I stole, to his most Protestant Highness, James, Duke of Monmouth.