All the adventures of the preceding night appeared but a dream, when early next morning—at least so early as I could hope to find any high officials at their office—I rode through the crowded streets of London, and delivered the despatch of Commodore Howe at the Admiralty.
"Immediate" being written on the envelope, I had to remain in a waiting-room for more than an hour, after which the answer was entrusted to me, addressed, "On H.M. Service," to Commodore Howe. As I afterwards learned from the public prints, this document, among other instructions, empowered him to avail himself of "the services and information of the two French deserters named on the margin—Theophile Damien and Benoit Bossoit."
I consigned it to my sabretasche, remounted, and quitted London at a quick pace about two p.m.
On leaving the greater thoroughfares behind, when traversing the suburbs I easily lost my way, and at a tavern, near which a number of fellows in their shirtsleeves were playing skittles, I drew up to inquire the way to Portsmouth.
I questioned one who was seated at the door smoking; he was a man with a very sullen and forbidding expression of face, who had his left hand thrust into the breast of his vest. He wore a shabby snuff-coloured suit with large steel buttons; his legs were incased in long riding-boots spotted with mud, and I perceived the brass butts of a pair of pistols, peeping from his square flapped side pockets.
I was somewhat surprised when this sinister-looking stranger, after giving me a long and ferocious stare, started from his seat, uttered a deep imprecation, and entered the house. I then called to the skittle players, and repeated my question to them.
On this they simultaneously abandoned their game, and gathered about me.
"The Portsmouth road lies straight before you," said one; "be you going to France, my lad?"
On my replying in the affirmative, they gave a simultaneous cheer, and, amid cries of "Old England for ever!" and "Down with the Johnny Crapauds!" I had to drink with them all, and they continued to wave their hats as long as I was in sight, while galloping along the road they had indicated.
Being anxious to reach Portsmouth and to rejoin, I rode at a hard trot; the road was good, the country open and level. Two mounted persons appeared at times behind me; but I continued to keep in advance of them. Some association of ideas made me think of the sulky fellow I had seen at the tavern door, and of the two highwaymen of the preceding night; but after a time I perceived that one of the riders was a lady, and that both were coming along at a rasping pace, as if determined not to be distanced and left behind by me.
I had taken the Epsom road, thus a ten miles' ride brought me to Ewell, near which, in a pleasant green lane, where the plum and apple trees that bordered the way intertwined their branches overhead—one of those quiet, dewy, and shady green lanes that are so peculiarly English, where the bees hum, and the gossamer webs are spun—I drew bridle to breathe my horse.
I now heard the sound of hoofs coming rapidly along the road, and in a minute after, there swept past me the fair traveller I had seen, and some yards behind her rode a man in livery. They were both admirably mounted on blood horses. Her ample skirt, her long fair hair, and the ostrich plume in her hat streamed behind her. I could see with a glance that she had her horse well in hand, though it flew almost at racing speed, causing mine to rear and strain upon the bit, as she passed me with a merry ringing laugh of delight, and with a flourish of her whip, so much as to say, "A challenge—we have distanced you at last!"
This I was not slow in understanding, and feeling somewhat piqued, put spurs to my nag, and dashed off in pursuit by the highway that led to Epsom.
Twice I saw her looking back, which her valet, though a good horseman, scarcely dared to do; and each time she plied her little riding-switch with no very sparing hand, and like a girl of spirit.
Copsewood in full foliage, thatched cottages half buried among ivy, hops and flowers, ripe corn fields, and red brick houses, seemed to fly past, and in a very short space we found ourselves traversing Banstead Downs. I gained on them fast, for my horse had been thoroughly breathed. I soon passed the livery servant, and a few more bounds brought me neck and neck with his mistress, who turned to me laughingly, a flush—the genuine flush of youth, pleasure, and exercise glowing in her soft cheek—and simultaneously we pulled in our horses on recognising each other.
She was the charming blonde I had met on Wandsworth Common—the heroine of my last night's adventure!
My cavalry cloak was rolled and strapped to my saddlebow; and I thought there could be no mistaking my private's uniform now, and indeed, her countenance changed very perceptibly as she said, half breathlessly—
"Good morning, my friend. So I have actually been running away from the person to whose courage mamma and I owe so much!"
"It would almost seem so," said I, bowing.
"Believe me, sir, I knew not that it was you," she resumed, colouring deeply, and casting down her eyes (how fair her soft loveliness looked by day!). "I saw but a horseman before me, and could not resist the temptation of passing him."
"Nor could I resist the desire of accepting your very palpable challenge," I replied, just as the valet came up, fearfully blown, and in his crimsoned face I recognised the features of the valiant Mr. John Trot.
"But I was not altogether trying a race with you," said the young lady, still blushing deeply, and beginning to move her horse away; "I was riding fast to overtake mamma, who is in yonder carriage. She is come to drink the waters of Ashted Spa, and I doubt not will be glad to tender you once again her thanks."
With these words, and with an air that seemed to say, "This interview, or this mistake, has lasted long enough," she bowed and urged her horse towards the carriage, which was standing about fifty paces distant on the high road, and from a window of which I saw a lady observing us.
The young girl's figure showed to perfection on horseback, and her riding-habit, which was of light green cloth, trimmed with narrow gold braid, suited well her blonde beauty and golden-coloured hair. She wore a broad black beaver hat, from which a single ostrich feather drooped gracefully on her left shoulder. Loosened by the roughness of the gallop, her soft hair flowed over her neck in silky ripples—I know no more fitting term—of light golden brown, that glittered in the sunshine. Her riding-gauntlets were of yellow leather, and her hands, as they grasped the reins and riding-switch, seemed small, compact, and beautifully formed.
"I thought we had lost you, madcap!" said her mamma, with annoyance in her tone and manner; "what caused you to gallop thus along the Downs, as if riding a race?"
"I was running something very like it, certainly, mamma; but do you not see that we have been overtaken by—the—the gentleman who saved us from robbery last night?"
"I am hastening back to Portsmouth, madam," said I, with a profound salute. "In my ignorance of the country I have taken the road to Epsom instead of that which leads to Cobham, and to this mistake I owe the good fortune of meeting with you again."
"You had not time, probably, to visit us before leaving town this morning?" said she.
"I had the mischance, madam, to lose your card."
At that moment, a man of sinister aspect, and shabbily attired, but with holsters at his saddle, looked fixedly at us, as he rode slowly past, on a bald-faced bay horse.
His left hand was bound up by a red handkerchief, and, consequently, he held the reins of his bridle with the right. He glared at me, with a glance of such undisguised ferocity, that I had not a doubt he was the wounded rascal of last night's adventure—the same man, he of the snuff-coloured suit and steel buttons, whom I had seen with the skittle players in the suburbs of London.
Was he dogging me?
If so, 'twere well to be prepared. All this flashed upon my mind with the usual rapidity of thought; but I was too much interested by my new friends to attend to him then, and, ere our interview was over, he had disappeared upon the way to Guildford—the road I was to pursue.
"Zounds! I must look out," thought I, "or there may be a blank in Lindsay's muster-roll to-morrow.”