The Queen of the Moor

Front matter

BY FREDERIC ADYE "Talk with me Of that our land, whose wilds and floods. Barren and dark although they be. Were dearer than these chestnut woods ; Those heathy paths, that inland stream, And the blue mountains, shapes which seem Like wrecks of childhood's sunny dream ; Which that we have abandoned now Weighs on our heart like that remorse Which altered friendship leaves."— Shellby. Henson MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1897 All rights reserved First Edition published elsewhere. Second Edition 1897. CONTENTS CHAP. PACK I. TOR-ROT AL ... ... ... ... 1 II. MORNING ON THE MOOR ... ... 10 III. THE WAR PRISON ... ... ... 19 IV. " PARCERE SUBJECTIS " . . . ... ... 27 V. THE DARTMOOR HUNT ... ... ... 35 VI. A FOX-CHASE ON DARTMOOR ... ... 43 VII. SOUTH HESSARY ... ... ... 51 VIII.

A KISS IN TIME ... ... ... 59 IS. OKERY COTTAGE ... ... ... 67 X. THE SHERBURTON BULL ... ... 75 XI. MADAME GALMADT DE TORS-ROYAL ... 83 XII. BY THE CORNISH SEA ... ... ... 91 XIII. THE FORSTERS AT HOME ... ... 98 XIV. A FAMILY TALK ... ... ... 107 XV. FATHER SEGUIER ... ... ... 114 XVI. MISS CALMADY ENTERTAINS ... ... 124 XVII. A DINNER-PARTY AT TOR-ROYAL ... ... 131 XVIII. "DO TAKE HIM, He's THOROUGH-BRED " ... 140 XIX. THE FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER ... ... 149 XX. A PERILOUS SAIL ... ... ... 162 XXI. NAUGHTY GUNHILDA ... ... ... 171 XXII. THE HONOURABLE JACK ... ... 178 XXIII. "THERE SHOULD BE A GENTLEMAN!" ... 187 XXIV. SNOWBALLING ... ... ... VI CONTENTS CHAP. PAOK XXV. THE TAME HERON ... ... ... 201 XXVI. A SCENE ON THE ICE ... ... ... 208 XXVII. TnE FRENCH SERGEANT ... ... 215 XXVIII. DANGER AHEAD ... ... ... 224 XXIX.

A DISCIPLE OF LAVATER ... ... 230 XXX. THE REVEREND ROUNDER ... ... 237 XXXI. FRANK IN TROUBLE ... ... ... 244 XXXII. DRIVING THE DRIFT ... ... ... 253 XXXIII. POVERA PICCIOLA ... ... ... 260 XXXIV. THE king's shilling ... ... ... 269 XXXV. THE MARSEILLAISE ... ... ... 280 XXXVI. VÆ VICTIS ... ... ... ... 290 xxxvn. wistman's wood ... ... ... 297 XXXVIII. BROTHER AND SISTER ... ... ... 309 XXXIX. CECIL VISITS THE BARBICAN ... ... 321 XL. THE SEARCH-WARRANT ... ... ... 328 XLI. THE DOCTOR'S KITCHEN ... ... 340 XLII. GOOD-BYE TO THE MOOR ... ... 350 XLIII. WAR'S ALARUMS ... ... ... 358 XLIV. THE EIGHTEENTH OF JUNE ... ... 370 XLV. AMONG THE PROVENCE ROSES ... ... 387 XLVI. THE BELLS OF BOTTREAUX ... ... 395 XLVII. CONCLUSION ... ... ... ... 4Q4 CHAPTEE I TOR-ROYAL A wet day on Dartmoor in thc early autumn of 1814.

Chapter II Morning On The Moor

When, after such a sleep as the young and healthy alone enjoy, Frank Forster turned out of bed and threw open his chamber casement to let in the morning air, the moor presented a very different aspect from that of the previous evening. The heavy reefs of cloud had broken up and wero fast scudding away. Great patches of blue sky appeared and grew larger every minute, giving promise of a fine day. The short moorland grass, ferns and bracken and boulders of granite, glistened with wet, and the streams ran foaming and full with yesterday's rain. Frank's room was at the back of the house, and looked over the open moor. Billow on billow it stretched away like a great prairie to the horizon, dotted in tlie mid-distance with red specks of cattle, and others of duller brown, which were ponies. The air light and sweet, and all bright and beautiful, a fair domain.

To Frank's eyes it was very fair, and its mistress fairer still. I think I must let you into a secret as to the object of his visit. It was to ask his hostess to become his wife. On no less serious a mission had he ridden through the rain and arrived unexpected, but most welcome, at Tor-Royal. That he would have been equally welcome had his mission been known to his fair hostess is not so certain. It happened that she had no idea of her guest's intention. Perhaps it will be thought that on such a delicate errand lie should not have put himself up at his lady-love's house, as at an inn. But then it had always been his custom to do this, both during her father's life-time and afterwards, and it would surely have been a great offence to Miss Calmady had he, or even a chance acquaintance, gone to the little inn at Prince town instead of coming to Tor-Royal.

The gates of that hospitable mansion were always open, and every one was expected to put up there on a visit to the moor. Miss Calmady was not alone, a lady of mature age resided with her, and played the part of chaperone. She had been Cecil's governess, and after her mother's death companion and MORNING ON THE MOOR CHAP. II 11 housekeeper. She was not an interesting, but a very estimable person of extremely lady-like manners, and extremely common-place ideas. I am not sure that Cecil would not have preferred being without her, since they had no taste whatever in common, but Miss Fotheringay was poor and needed a home, and that was enough for Cecil ; and the worthy lady made herself very useful in the house. She hated the moor and cared for nothing on it, except Cecil herself. Why Cecil would live there she could not imagine.

Why not let the old place and go to live at Exeter, or even in Tavistock, where she might have some sort of society, with parties and other entertainments ? Cecil was so " odd," by which Miss Fotheringay meant that she was unconventional. She cared for none of those things in which a young lady, and especially one educated by Miss Fotheringay, sliould have delighted. Wool-work and crochet were an abomination to her, and she never touched the piano which stood in the little-used drawing-room, and suffered much from the dampness of the climate. It was dreadful to Miss Fotheringay that she should be so much out of doors, scurry ing over the moor on her ponies, for the breed of which Tor- Royal was noted, or wandering on foot with her light trout rod, and with no escort but her dogs. Particularly dreadful was it that Cecil should persist in superintending the stable and cattle-byre arrangements, for Miss Fotheringay herself abhorred cattle of all kinds as much as Cecil did the parties and wool-work.

Poor Miss Fotheringay ! It sometimes required all her love for her old pupil to reconcile her to the irresponsible freedom which that young lady accorded to herself, to say nothing of the freedom which she sometimes accorded to her serfs and vassals. Miss Fotheringay would have been somewhat of a martinet in household discipline, but what was the use when the real mistress of the establishment disliked nothing so much as any approach to regularity ? Regularity and economy were the strong points of the elder lady, and for years there had been a bitter contention between her and old Peter, the serving-man, on no less a point than as to who should keep the key of the beer-barrel. Neither of them wanted it for any private advantage, but Peter claimed this important right as butler, the lady as housekeeper.

It was a weighty question, and for a long while threatened the peace of the household. Cecil had tried to adjust the matter many times. Once a bright thought struck her ; why not two keys ? Miss Fotheringay to be formally invested with one as the symbol of office, while Peter held a private one, so that he could dispense hospitality at his own will, as heretofore 1 In vain ! Peter scorned such an undignified compromise, " aut Ceesar, CHAP. 12 aut nullus!" and eventually Peter gained the day ; but that key was always an object of jealousy between the two. I must say I think the lady should have had it, for it is certain that a deal more beer and cider were consumed in that establishment than was required for the legitimate purpose of assuaging thirst. The lady-housekeeper's economy was, however, a very good thing for Cecil, who had none of her own.

Her means were small, very small for a queen, perhaps. I doubt if her income was ever more than seven or eight hundred pounds a year, all told, and most of this was from land about Tavistock, and a farm at Plympton, for the moorland brought in very little. Yet with this she was rich ; what need or use had she for more ? She fed her own mutton and grew her own corn ; a little home farm provided the house with dairy produce, and the moor itself yielded fish and game of most delicious flavour in due season. Every year there was a sale of young stock and ponies, and these picked up their own living about the intakes or away on the moor, roaming for miles at their own discretion, but, branded with a double C on the flank, they were always known again. Altogether, Cecil might have saved money, but I never heard that she did ; it was not in the nature of her race to think twice about it.

As it was, she was sufficiently well off to be, for any one who loved a country life, and didn't mind the position of a prince-consort (he would never be anything more than that at Tor-Royal, he might be sure, so long as there should be left a scion of those who had served a Calmady), a tempting prize. Frank thought her so, and so did Frank's parents. It was with a very genuine " God bless you, my boy, go in and win ! " that the Cornish squire sped his eldest-born on this mission of love. It was verital dy a mission of love ; the estate of Tor-Royal formed no part of Frank's calculations, unless as a convenient centre for sport. He was over head and ears in love with Cecil, but he had formed no plans yet for the future. He had been to Oxford, and after four years of very pleasant residence at Exeter College, to which so many West-countrymen go, as though attracted by the familiar name, had succeeded, with some difficulty, but no ploughing, in taking his degree.

What was to come next he had no idea, and when he shyly con fessed to his mother his love for his old companion, and she told his father, they both thought it was no moro than might have been expected, and they must wait to see how things went before discussing anything else. Frank would have to do something or other ; his father was far from being rich, and there were several brothers and sisters. Frank would have the old Manor House at Forrabury some TI MORNING ON THE MOOR 13 day, but in the meanwhile it might perhaps be as well that he should take up some profession. However, if Miss Calmady should accept him, she would have a voice in the disposal of him, and she was a young lady who would be pretty sure to make her voice heard, so nothing could be settled beforehand. As may be supposed, Mr. Frank had a great deal to think of as he proceeded with his toilet on this important day, in the course of which he hoped to decide his fate.

It is always a nervous time with ingenuous youth. Somehow Frank did not feel so hopeful as he had been during yesterday's ride. Then it had seemed as though every mile was bringing him nearer to the certainty of bliss ; but the morning found him far less sanguine. Nothing had occurred overnight to damp his hopes. Cecil had received him most warmly, with all her old affection. He had dined with the two ladies, and had sat by the fire chatting with them till quite a late hour. Cecil must be fond of him surely ; she treated him differently from every one else, more like a brother — and, therefore, less like a lover. Had Frank been older by a few years, he would hardly have made so much of this. What a capital thing it would be ! How much her father, the old Squire, would have liked it ! Frank had been a great favourite with the old gentleman ; he was the son of his oldest friend, and about the same age as his own little son, who had died as an infant, to the father's bitter disappointment.

Frank had loved him in return too, almost as well as he did his own father ; it is certain he would have had a strong ally in his lady-love's father. For her mother he had never telt the same regard. She had always appeared rather a severe and stately dame to him, and one of the earliest recollections of his childhood was a scene in the lady's boudoir, in which, having shared in some youthful escapade with Cecil, he was unexpectedly called upon to share a whipping with her also. I don't know if she, too, would have been an ally on this occasion, or whether, after the fashion of some mothers of only children, she would have desired her daughter to look higher than one who was merely her equal. But in no case would it have greatly mattered ; had both parents been living at this time, any suitor to Miss Calmady's hand would have had to stand on his own merits, the same as now, and have been accepted or rejected according as he had, or had not, won her heart.

It remains to be seen whether this one has been so successful or not. Cecil looks very pretty in her well-fitting, short riding habit, standing by the fire in the breakfast-room, surrounded as usual by a group of dogs, and as fresh and fair as the morning itself. What a wonderful place is Dartmoor for CHAP. health ! Everybody seems a stone better there than else where. Nobody is afflicted, save now and then with a touch of rheumatism, and nobody dies, as a rule, except of old age ; while its restorative power is so great that it might be made a national sanitarium. Every West-countryman seems to be blessed with a very fine appetite, and Frank was no exception to this general rule. Nor was his appetite on this occasion impaired by the ordeal before him. A mighty Elizabethan breakfast he ate, of round of beef and fried potatoes, of game-pie, of marma lade ind toast, washed down by a great tankard of ale ; and, breakfast done, he went forth with his lady-love, determined that the fateful question should be put during their rambles.

For an hour or two they were about the homestead. Norma had to be visited, and was found in her roomy box quite fresh and fit after her night's rest. Then Cecil's little stud of Dartmoor ponies, two or three of which she broke and made for herself every year, perhaps sending them up to Exeter for sale at four or five years old. Then there were the red Devons in stall and byre, small but deep-girthed, short-legged cattle, of a dark blood-red colour, with wild dark eyes. Next, a hunt for eggs of the game-fowls, tin; same breed from which the Squire used to rear his fighting birds. These were a terribly high-bred strain of black breasted reds, which ran about wild as pheasants, and were nearly as good to eat. They had no longer to fight for their master's amusement, but they still did it for their own.

That very morning Cecil and Frank came upon a defunct warrior lying stiff and stark with his legs in the air, and the thrust of an antagonist's spur right through his brain : he had crowed his last crow of defiance, and his gallant little soul had departed to the Valhalla of feathered heroes, wherever that may be. The sight of him reminded Frank sadly of the poor old Squire ; he was so fond of seeing his birds set to, and how he gets on in his Valhalla without that sport Frank secretly wonders ; for, I regret to say, this profane thought crosses his mind, as in obedience to his companion he pulls out certain feathers from the dead cock's plumage to make flies with. This is a mania with Cecil ; she can never see a cat of a particularly rich tabby without desiring some of her hairs with which to tie her flies.

It cannot be said that the flies were like any insect in nature, but they took the fancy of the trout nevertheless. Then the saddle-room has to be inspected, and here Cecil shows herself quite the martinet, whatever she may be within doors, by severely pointing out a minute spot of rust on a bit. Finally she mounts her pony, a bay entire, of great strength and perfect symmetry, and, attended 'by MORNING ON THE MOOR II 15 Frank with a gun over his shoulder, and followed by a brace of liver and white field spaniels, rides through the yard gate on to the moor. Morning on the moor ! How can one describe it ? It needs the brush of a Leader, or the pen of a Blackmore. It is a most beautiful scene. The sailing clouds throw broad shadows over the undulating ground, while in the sunlight every blade of the short wet grass gleams like a diamond splinter.

The nearer hills are radiant with glowing heath, crimson and brown, but further off the lofty tors lose their colour, till they melt into the soft, pearly distance. Here and there are rock-strewn coombes, dark with mossy stones and ferns bathed in dew. Dashing along with liquid laughter, down comes the Blackabrook, dark as night, but lashing itself into creamy foam against the granite rocks with which its rough bed is strewn. On the eastern horizon, Benja-Tor rises gloomy and grand into the very skies, and Yar-Tor looks down on the meet of the Darts. Cecil, attended closely by her lover, rides out by the Peat Cot and the White-works, taking the direction of Fox-Tor mire, one of the dreariest swamps in the three kingdoms at that time. It is early yet for snipe, but Frank strides on in front for the chance of a partridge.

He gets a long shot or two, which he misses, but presently " tailors " a hapless hare as she goes loping away from them, having been kicked out of her form by the pony, and the dogs pull her down. Frank's shooting will not amount to much to-day, but it is sufficiently pleasant to be walking along by Cecil's pony, and chatting with her, or rather listening to her, for she has to do all the talking. Frank looks for a chance to begin, but when he does see an opening, his tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth, and all he can say is that it is very warm walking. He should have taken a pony, then, Cecil suggests. Oh no, thanks, he much prefers walking, and so on. The young man being thus nervous and awkward, their walk might have turned out an exceedingly stupid one after all, but for an incident which served to enliven it.

As they drew near to the edge of the moor they observed, about half-a-mile off, a horseman riding at speed. He was well-mounted, and going like great guns right in the direction of the bog. Evidently he was a stranger who did not know the country. In another minute he would be in it. In another minute he was in it. In vain Frank shouted and waved his cap ; in vain Cecil uttered piercing shrieks on a powerful dog-whistle. The rider looked up at the last moment, thereby losing his only chance of discerning the character of the ground before him, and in an instant his horse, a fine bay, plunged with a loud snort into the CHAP. treacherous quagmire, and sank up to his girths. Tlie rider rolled off on the landward side, and almost disappeared in the thick mud, but eventually getting right-side uppermost managed to scramble out, a deplorable object.

But the poor horse was in a terrible plight. He plunged furiously, snorting and screaming with terror, and at every plunge sank deeper, till by the time they reached the spot little but his head could be seen. It was doubtful if he could be got out ; but his would-be rescuers acted with decision, his late rider standing by hopelessly perplexed, as well hc might be. Frank managed to get the barrel of his gun under the animal's chin, and so helped to support him, while Cecil went off at speed to the White-works for men and planks. No fear of her pony getting into such a mess : you couldn't ride a Dartmoor pony into a bog, he will avoid one by instinct on the darkest night. Away he went, over the rough broken ground like a buck, with Cecil, sitting back in her saddle, sending him out his best pace.

It was a bad quarter of an hour for the two men thus left with the poor horse. Happily he was soon blown and ceased to plunge, but it was as much as Frank could do lying on his breast to keep him from being suffocated. Fortunately tho animal was sufficiently near to be thus reached from the sound turf, or lie must have sunk out of sight long before help arrived. It is an awful place that Fox-Tor mire ! I have walked through it on a narrow path with the water over boots for a couple of miles, under the guidance of an experienced moorsman, but would have been sorry to try it without. Here it was, the legend tells us, that John Childe of Plymstock lost his life. He had been hunting on Dartmoor, and being belated in the short winter day lost his way, and eventually got into this mire, from which there was no escape.

It was a bitter night, and by morning both he and his horse were frozen to death. There he was found with a piece of writing clutched in his cold hand. It was his last will and testament, simple and to the point, without witness, executor, or codicil, " Ye fyrst that fyndes and brynges me to my grave, Ye landes of Plymstoke he shall have." His own people set off to look for him, and finding him frozen in the mire, were taking back the body for burial, when the monks of Tavistock, having somehow become acquainted with the terms of the will, met them at Shaugh bridge, and after a sturdily contested battle, took the body of John Childe from them, and carrying it to Tavistock buried it in their abbey, thus securing the fair acres of the MORNING ON THE MOOR 17 manor of Plymstock for Mother Church.

So runs the legend, which I have always thought may be true, for the manor of Plymstock at this day belongs to the Dukes of Bedford, whose ancestors may have been lay-impropriators at the time, of the Reformation, when Tavistock Abbey must in turn have been despoiled of the lands of poor John Childe. In time to save the horse on this occasion help arrived from the White-works, for presently Cecil returned at a hand-gallop, attended by Ned Angeli, her farm-bailiff, stud-groom, game-keeper, and a great many other things, also on pony-back, with a coil of stout rope at his saddle bow. By the united help of men, planks, rope, and ponies, the bemired quadruped was at length dragged out of his perilous position, and landed on the sound turf, where he lay for a long while completely exhausted, and unable to stir.

Not until she had seen and superintended the rescue of the animal, did Cecil find time to look at the owner. When she did so it was a great strain on her courtesy to refrain from bursting into laughter. The unfortunate rider's appearance was most ludicrous. From head to foot he was bedaubed and spattered with a black peaty mud ; his short skirted riding-coat, neat white scarf, breeches and boots were all of one hue, and his face being smeared with the same he could not have felt very comfortable under the scrutiny of a young and good-looking woman. For there were in the man's get-up certain indications of form and fashion. It was somewhat difficult to judge under such conditions, but he appeared to be a well set up and handsome man. He was tall and of good figure, and from a certain stiffness of carriage, as well as the regulation whisker shaved off level with the ear, one would have guessed him to be a soldier.

And such he was, for he presently intro duced himself to Cecil as Major Wingate, and then she recognized the name as that of the newly-appointed commandant of the prison, whom she had not previously met. Major Wingate was profuse with his thanks. It had been a nice morning for a ride, and not being well acquainted with the moor, this had appeared a capital bit of galloping ground, at which remark Mr. Frank's features relaxed into something very like a broad grin, this being a never-failing joke to a moorsman. He was deeply indebted for the recovery of his horse, a valuable animal, for which lie had lately given fifty guineas at Exeter, and so on. Then they left the horse in the care of Ned Angeli, who was attempting to revive him by the aid of a large flask of c CHAr. ii whisky, and proceeded to Tor-Royal, whence a man was sent to Major Wingate's quarters for a change of clothes, that gentleman having accepted Miss Calmady's invitation to stay and dine.

After a warm bath and a fresh toilet the Major appeared greatly improved, and made himself very agreeable to his fair hostess at their four o'clock dinner. A very nice little dinner it was— soles from Torbay, a saddle of Dartmoor mutton, and birds of that delicious flavour only to be attained by wild feeding, with a bottle of the old Squire's port, made him feel a deal more comfortable than he had been in the mire. He confided to Cecil that he did not like either the moor or his new appointment, but was disposed to think better of both now that he had been so fortunate as to make her acquaintance. But to this Cecil, who was not so fond of compliments as some of her sex, made no response. Still it was evident that her visitor had made a favourable impression ; indeed, one is apt to regard with favour a person upon whom ono has just conferred a signal obligation.

She insisted upon keeping the horse, which had by this time recovered sufficiently to reach by degrees the Tor-Royal stables, and early in the evening Major Wingate left, hoping he might be allowed to renew the acquaintance thus commenced, to which Cecil graciously replied. Miss Fotheringay was particularly charmed with the Major's politeness, and if there was any one who was not charmed it was Mr. Frank Forster, who had thus been debarred throughout the day from declaring his love ; yet inasmuch as this grand passion was interfering neither with his appetite nor his rest, it might keep, at any rate, for another day.

Chapter III The War Prison

The chief building at Princetown has always been tlie prison. Princetown is nearly all prison. Whatever is not actually prison exists for the prison. It is, and was at the time of our story, nothing more nor less than a penal settle ment. Besides the prison were barracks for the prison guard, taverns for the refreshment of the prison-guard, private dwelling-houses for the chief officers of the guard, and so on. There is a prison there still, a notable one, but not so notable as the former, or with so honourable a raison d'etre. For Dartmoor prison at the time of which I write, was a great war prison, established for the retention of the luckless soldiers and sailors taken in the terrible continental war, which was still raging in the beginning of the present century. Europe was over-run with the victorious legions of Napoleon, whose next feat of arms was expected to be the invasion of England.

In dread of this invasion England had taken up arms against the conquering Gaul, and from 1789 to the final conflict of 1815, British armies and fleets were engaged almost without intermission in resisting the onward flight of the eagles of France. During such a pro tracted war of course prisoners were continually being captured, and these had to be provided with safe accommo dation in durance vile. It was a durance vile indeed ! England hardly knew what to do with so many foreign guests. At first she disposed of them in hulks moored in her naval harbours, and principally in the Hamoaze. But as the war went on with little prospect of a termination, the number of prisoners increased so rapidly that it was considered unsafe to keep so many able-bodied trained fighting men in naval ports, in case of the expected invasion coming off.

The prisoners themselves too gave great trouble confined in this way. Sickness broke out continually among so many cooped up in a small space, and the more adventurous occasionally set fire to the rotten old hulks in hope of making their escape in the general confusion which followed. eiiM'. At last it was decided to remove all prisoners of war from the hulks to certain stations inland, and the most important of these was that established in the west quarter of Dartmoor Forest, as it is called, though nearly treeless, where the scene of our story is laid. The prisoners themselves must have welcomed the change, for they hated the hulks, and with reason. How they were treated on board them it would not be easy now to ascertain, but the impression abroad at the time was that they were floating hells of misery.