The Splendid Spur<br />Being Memoirs of the Adventures of Mr. John Marvel, a Servant of His Late Maj by Arthur Quiller-Couch (libby ebook reader TXT) 📕

“Now for it!” said I in Matt's ear. Gliding forward, I peep'd out at the postern gate; but drew back like a shot.

I had almost run my head into a great black hearse, that stood there with the door open, back'd against the gate, the heavy plumes nodding above it in the night wind.

Who held the horses I had not time to see: but whispering to Matt, to give me a leg up, clamber'd inside. “Quick!” I pull'd him after, and crept forward. I wonder'd the man did not hear us: but by good luck the horses were restive, and by his maudlin talk to them I knew he was three parts drunk—on the funeral wines, doubtless.

I crept along, and found the tool chest stow'd against the further end: so, pulling it gently out, we got behind it. Tho' Matt was the littlest man of my acquaintance, 'twas the work of the world to stow ourselves in such compass as to be hidden. By coiling up our limbs we managed it; but only just before I caught the glimmer of a light and heard the pair of rascals returning.

They came very slow, grumbling all the way; and of course, I knew they carried the coffin.

“All right, Sim?” ask'd the minister.

“Aye,” piped a squeaky voice by the horses heads ('twas the shuffling stable boy), “aye, but look sharp! Lord, what sounds I've heerd! The devil's i' the hearse, for sure!”

“Now, Simmy,” the one-ey'd gaffer expostulated, “thou dostn' think the smoky King is a-took in, same as they poor folks upstairs? Tee-hee! Lord, what a trick!—to come for Master Tingcomb, an' find—aw dear!—aw, bless my old ribs, what a thing is humor!”

“Shut up!” grunted the minister. The end of the coffin was tilted up into the hearse. “Push, old varmint!”

“Aye-push, push! Where be my young, active sinews? What a shrivell'd garment is all my comeliness! 'The devil inside,' says Simmy—haw, haw!”

“Burn the thing! 'twon't go in for the tool box. Push, thou cackling old worms!”

“Now so I be, but my natural strength is abated. 'Yo-heave ho!' like the salted seafardingers upstairs. Push, push!”

“Oh, my inwards!” groans poor Matt, under his breath, into whom the chest was squeezing sorely.

“Right at last!” says the minister. “Now, Simmy, nay lad, hand the reins an' jump up. There's room, an' you'll be wanted.”

The door was clapp'd-to, the three rogues climb'd upon the seat in front: and we started.

I hope I may never be call'd to pass such another half hour as that which follow'd. As soon as the wheels left turf for the hard road, 'twas jolt, jolt all the way; and this lying mainly down hill, the chest and coffin came grinding into our ribs, and pressing till we could scarce breathe. And I dared not climb out over them, for fear the fellows should hear us; their chuckling voices coming quite plain to us from the other side of the panel. I held out, and comforted Matt, as well as I could, feeling sure we should find Master Tingcomb at our journey's end. Soon we climb'd a hill, which eas'd us a little; but shortly after were bumping down again, and suffering worse than ever.

“Save us,” moan'd Matt, “where will this end?”

The words were scarce out, when we turn'd sharp to the right, with a jolt that shook our teeth together, roll'd for a little while over smooth grass, and drew up.

I heard the fellows climbing down, and got my pistols out.

“Simmy,” growl'd the minister, “where's the lantern?”

There was a minute or so of silence, and then the snapping of flint and steel, and the sound of puffing.

“Lit, Simmy?”

“Aye, here 'tis.”

“Fetch it along then.”

The handle of the door was turn'd, and a light flash'd into the hearse.

“Here, hold the lantern steady! Come hither, old Squeaks, and help wi' the end.”

“Surely I will. Well was I call'd Young Look-alive when a gay, fleeting boy. Simmy, my son, thou'rt sadly drunken. O youth, youth! Thou winebibber, hold the light steady, or I'll tell thy mammy!”

“Oh, sir, I do mortally dread the devil an' all his works!”

“Now, if ever! The devil,' says he—an' Master Tingcomb still livin', an' in his own house awaitin' us!”

Be sure, his words were as good as a slap in the face to me. For I had counted the hearse to lead me straight to Master Tingcomb himself. “In his own house,” too! A fright seiz'd me for Delia. But first I must deal with these scoundrels, who already were dragging out the coffin.

“Steady there!” calls the minister. The coffin was more than halfway outside. I levell'd my pistol over the edge of the tool chest, and fetch'd a yell fit to wake a ghost—at the same time letting fly straight for the minister.

In the flash of the discharge, I saw him, half-turn'd, his eyes starting, and mouth agape. He clapp'd his hand to his shoulder. On top of his wild shriek, broke out a chorus of screams and oaths, in the middle of which the coffin tilted up and went over with a crash. “Satan—Satan!” bawled Simmy, and, dropping the lantern, took to his heels for dear life. At the same moment the horses took fright; and before I could scramble out, we were tearing madly away over the turf and into the darkness. I had made a sad mess of it.

It must have been a full minute before the hedge turn'd them, and gave me time to drop out at the back and run to their heads. Matt. Soames was after me, quick as thought, and very soon we mastered them, and gathering up the reins from between their legs, led them back. As luck would have it, the lantern had not been quench'd by the fall, but lay flaring, and so guided us. Also a curious bright radiance seem'd growing on the sky, for which I could not account. The three knaves were nowhere to be seen, but I heard their footsteps scampering in the distance, and Simmy still yelling “Satan!” I knew my bullet had hit the minister; but he had got away, and I never set eyes on any of the three again.

Leaving Matt to mind the horses, I caught up the lantern, and look'd about me. As well as could be seen, we were in a narrow meadow between two hills, whereof the black slopes rose high above us. Some paces to the right, my ear caught the noise of a stream running.

I turn'd the lantern on the coffin, which lay face downward, and with a gasp took in the game those precious rogues had been playing. For, with the fall of it, the boards (being but thin) were burst clean asunder; and on both sides had tumbled out silver cups, silver saltcellars, silver plates and dishes, that in the lantern's rays sparkled prettily on the