LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2671, 28 October 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THE BOUNTY SHILLING.

{Concluded.)

Just without the door, at the moment srhen the two approached it, a fine looking man of middle >ge, evidently a person in condition, was alighting from his horse, with •ovidonoea of haate, as if he had been suddenly summoned. One of the people held his bridle as he dismounted; and two or three others saemed desirous of making themselves usefal to one whom they evidently liked as well as knew, and more than possibly foared. The head of the widow swam a little and even bright Sußan felt a slight Binkiog of the heart, marking the gathering and confusion at the'door, and necessarily associating them with the absence of the son and lover, at that moment the one predominant object of the whole world.

Bat Susan had not taken the bold step of coming to the ' Nine Chickens ' for nought, am was aoon discovered. There was nothing without t 3 show that Diok Harlowe had been at the inn, much more waa there at that moment; bat there was equally nothing to ■how that he waa [not, and his girlish fiancee meant to measure both sides of the question before deciding. She pressed her way into the tap-room, rather leading than acaom panying the slower dame, but the moment -that she was well within the door, she uw that which explained itself only too well.

There stood a recruiting sergeant, with tour, or five reoraits, half a dozen regular soldiers, a fife and drum—the latter had joit arrived from Warwick. Near the officer stood Diok Harlowe, swollen of face and very sullen as well as sorrowful looking —ribbons on the hat, whloh he seamed to be holding in ols hand because he would not allow It to remain on his ho&d—aud very evidently under guard of the soldiers who bad come In with the recruits. This was the meaning, then, of the gathering at the door; the villagers and neighboring farmers had discorered the entrapping of Dick, a general favorite, and showed the will, if not the power, to resist his being dragged away. The poor fellow saw his mother and be trothed the moment after they entered; possibly he had been helplessly looking at least for the former ; and there was somebing very like a wall In his ordinarily manly tones ai he said, without attempting to move toward them :

'See what b pass they ha' brought; me to,

mother ; and you, Susan—all along wi' my being a beaat last night! They say I hi.' listed, to go away to the wars and fight as a soldier ; though I don't remember nought o" that. Any way, what can Ido but g> fcr « soldi.r now that they ha' gotten me 1— though it does make my heart bo sore to think o' loavln home and them that I love and going to shoot and be shot at, smoa? the wild Injlua and the Frenchmen—ths.t; i 5 does !'

' Why did you do such a thing, my pio.■■ dear boy ? —why did you ?' was all that ihe tfil oted widow could say, tears filling he? eyes, and her hands olasplng helplessly. But perhaps good husbands were soaroer than sons in Midland England at that period ; that may even be so at thia muoh later day At all events the fiancee displayed much more outspoken spirit than the mother.

' You ba not going a step. Dick Harlowe, for a soldier among Indiana, or Frenchmen, or what not! I, Susan Ackley, Bay it ; and I mean what I speafe. No—you needn't look at me ao, good people ; for most-of you know that I am Dick flarlowe's promised wlf ?, and that I have a right to say my say ! Aa for you, you red-ooated wretch ! (to the reoiuitiog-sergeant), ' you have played Bomj triok on him—you know lhat you have ; for he would never have ' 'listed,' as you call it, and flung away his old mother and me and everything of his own will." ' 1 didn't list, Susan! aa I am a man I diln't, so far as I know!' said the poor feliow. 'I must ha* baen tricked some way, as you say, or sure I would never ha' done it! ' ' Shame 1 ahame to trap a man ! sheme I shame! ' The words came from many different lips, and Bcemed to express the general feeling both within and without doors. There may have been some sticks tighter grasped, In addition; but the presence of regular soldie: s and the terror of the law both combined to make any attempt at rescue by force unlikely as wll as dangerous. The recruiting sergeant msy, before that time, have seen something of the same character in other place?, and he felt the necessity of a little verbal overawing to prevent more trouble. 'Take care what you are doing, good p;ople!'he spoke, io a Joud voice, with a trine of tiemble in It. *I know my right"; and the rights of the king. Don't put yourselves in tho hands of the law, any of you, or by the Lord you will smart for it! Thin man, who is not any better than the rest of you, has taken the King's Bounty; and lam going to take him to Worcester, dead or alive—mind that!'

* If I had my will of yon, you wret:h with a coat the color of blood—ugh I—there might be somebody going to Worcester, dead—and Dick Harlowe wouldn't be the man !' flashed out Susan Aokley, in ungovernable feeling, raising the suspicion oi a laugh even amid the painful surroundings, and perhaps creating on impression among some of the more thoughtful that if Dick Harlowe escaped the service and own? to his marriage he might not only have a loving was a *""*■ ~ ~'*z nma - h MW ioto the bargain. me 01 iiauusome... , » But at the moment another onaraatsr osme upon the scene —the man v-/ a0 had been alighting from his horse before the inn at the moment of the owO women entering— ; and who had been for those few minnteo listening at the door, unobserved by most of those within. When they saw him they know him at once as Sir Thomas Barelay, of Teddingstone, Justice of the Peaoe and custet rotuloium of the Yale of Eresham, whose hurried alighting from his horse had been no pretepoe, a message having reached him a few minutes earlier as he passed through Nansoroft, on his way to Stratford, of probable trouble at the ' Nine Ob.iox.ens.' He had heard, at the door, enough to possess him very olosely of the Btate of facta at that moment existing, through the conversation already recounted ; and now he advanced up the room, all present manifesting respect for his person and his well-known uprightness and dignity of iharaoter. • What is all this ?' he asked. ' Bsfusal on the part of a recruit to enter His Majesty's' service, and threatening words from an officer f Sergeant, what does it all mean ? Answer, and the rest of yon keep silence.' 'Please, yonr worship,' replied the sergeant, touohing his hat, 'this man enlisted last night, and now denies service; and these people have acted like making a forced resoue. That is all, your worship; and maybe your worship may think that it is quite enough.' ' Never mind what I may think, sergeant,' replied Sir Thomas, with dignity; then adding: ' you are quite sure of what you say—that he did enlist V ' Quite sure, your worship!' replied the sergeant, again touohing his hat. ' This man enlisted last night, at I have already told your worship. Look at the ribbons on his hat, and his passing the night with me ; would that have been so if he had not taken bounty ?' 'l'm not here to answer question*, sergeant, but to ask them and be answered,' replied Sir Thomas, a seoond time, with some severity; ' there have been somewhat too many complaints of late, of what they call " trapping " recruits ; and lam likely to make full investigation of this. England needs soldiers, my man, but she can raise them fairly and honorably; and when she cannot, let her beg for her rights instead of fighting for them by doing wrong to her people.' There was a murmur of satisfaction _in the tap room, extending to the people without. Such words as those of Sir Thomas Barclay were not too often heard in the old land at that day, be it remembered; and a single good word sometimes makes a long link between anthority and those subject to it. The magistrate did not, as he could not, recognise the signs of approval. His next Words were to the unfortunate rocruit. 'What havo you to say, young man I Speak truly as you know. Did you enlist or did yon not V * I be 'shamed to confess, your worship,' answered Diok Harlowe, his face expressing all the humiliation he alleged, ' that 1 do not know quite all I ha' done or ha' not done ; I was drunk last night, yonr worship, more than half thanks to him.' ' Shame, indeed, for a young man of your speech and appearance!' said Sir Thomas, sorrowfully. ' Well, what more ?' 'I corned from home last night, your worship, in anger with my old mother there, and Bhe a widow ; also with a young lass, Susan Aekley there, that I ha' been con. traeted with for more than a year.' ' That is true, your worship, and I am not a bit ashamed of it!'the young girl could not avoid throwing in, with oourtesy. ' I corned here to the Nine Chickens half desperate like, like a fool,' the young fellow went on, with one glanoeof helpless and hopeless gratitude to Susan. ' I found this man here, this man wi' the red coat; and I was a bigger fool not to know that he was the king's officer, looking for us poor fellows. I drunk ale with him—then wica—he main free about pay in' the icore. Then I must ha' been drunk, for I remember nought more. He do say that I listed while he was talking to me and giving me wine ; but I don't remember nought of it. And that be all,- your worship, as I oan say for myself.' The oountenanoe of the justioe fell, after a glance at the young jrirl and another at the oompelled recruit. He was evidently disap ■ pointed in a momentary hope of being able to find some pretext for relieving the young fellow from bis painful position, without trenching upon the law of whioh even he stood in fear.

' If you were drunk last night, no matter how you became io, young man,' he said, very gravely,' you cannot be a competent witness as to anything that ooourred; and I shall be compelled to aooept the testimony of this offioar, who, however ur justly he may have dealt with you morally, oau hold you for the king's service, if he has the letter of the law with him.

* Ob, my son! Oh, Dick, what will I ever do without'ee!' broke out the poor widow, hearing this final destruction of her hopes, and falling weeping on the shoulder of Susan, who might possibly have indulged in some corresponding weakness if she had not been (let the whole truth be told) too muoh in a rage at the folly of Diok and the triokery of the qffieer, to be yet ready for any snob, exhibition of womanly tenderness. 'I be main sorry, your worship, if you can do nought for me,' said poor Diok, very humbly. * It be hard to go away from everything that one loves ; but if I ha' been a drunken fool, I must e'en lie on the bad I ho' made, I suppose (saving your worship's pre. sence), and bear it as I may!' 1 1 never knowed that handsome, silly fellow to look so well, or talk half so sensible, as now when they be going to take him away from me!' commented Susan, now more than half crying, bat of course, sot permitting

that thought to rise above her breath that ■ru3 juat ready to break into tobi of mingled i;ager and grief. ' There is one or more questions to bo asked.' oontinusd Bir Thomas, with the same grave expression. 'I have your evidence, sergeant, thut this man enlisted, and I must tike it. much as I ma/ doubt the means by »'hioh you secured hia consent to wear tho King's uniform. But one thing remain;)— did you off>r him the Bounty Money, and did he receive it ?'

'He certainly did, your worship; he took the Bounty shilling and put it in his poeket, ■aid the sergeant with a half smile of triumph as he remembered how deftly he had slipped the oo n in • he pockets of the muddled young fallow'. velveteens. 'I took no Bounty shilling 1 I never saw anything of one !* exclaimed Dick, very energetically. Then his face fell, and he added : 'That is, I don't remember nought o' any shilling, your worship.* ' Of course not—they never do, aftsr they have had it!' sneered the sergeant, who knew how few of them ever saw the fatal coin natil it was taken from their persons in the nrestigation which doomed them to the ranks and to exile. .

' Silsnce!' spoke the Magistrate, sternly, and manifestly again directing the oorreation at the sergeant. 'I am pained to aay,"' he went on, ' that there is probably no doubt in the matter; but as a mere form we will look into the whole affair, and the young man shall lose none of his rights at my hands. The coin waa marked as usual, sergeant, was it not ?'

' Certainly, your worship.' * Has this young man been out of this house, or out of your custody, sinoa then, so that he could have rid himself of it in any manner ? ' was the next inquiry. ' Not a moment, your worship j it was nay business to keep eye and hand on him, and I have done it!' triumphantly answered the sergeant. ' Then, of course, if he reoeived the bounty, he has it still about him,' continued Bir Thomas.

' He must have it, your worship, for I saw him take it and put it into the pooket of his breeohes there,' answered the sergeant, a smile of confidence on hit face that, up to that moment" unaware of the possession of the fatal shilling, the poor fellow could not possibly have rid himself of id; At his words, however, suddenly, and without any apparent cause for their producing suoh an effect, Diok Harlowe, who had been standing bowed in discouragement, straightened himself as if he had been supplied with a new backbone, and a strange expression of wondering relief went over his face. Oddly enough, too, the widow clapped her hands as if in pleased surprise, then leaned over and spoke a few low words in the ear of Susan, who thereupon literally danced with joy, and could no longer be restrained from addressing the magistrate. ' Tour worship,' she said, ' mayhap yon will not think me over bold, for dame Harlowe and I be in great grief, as your worship may believe, M— ' iA y6at worship"* question before all these people t' ' Certainly, mT pistty girl, if it is one conoesT.iflg the objeot of this inquiry,' answered Sir Thomas.

1 If this bounty shilling be found on Dick Harlowe, then he lasst go to serve the King ?' she inquired. * He certainly must do so, my girl, in that case, and you and fcla mother must try to make the best of what is bad for you,' the magistrate replied. ' For then the chain of proof that he really did enlist will be complete, and his own admitted intoxication at the time makes him incapable of denying anything that occurred, with the hope of being believed. I am sorry to say it, but you must see and understand so much.* But again, at this juncture, Susan Aokley gave evidence of a tendency already once ascribed to her—the propensity to persist in seeing both sides of a story. ' One more question, your worship, if it be not against rules,' she said, going on with it, without waiting for permission. 'lf the bounty be not found on him, what thenP The soldier do say that he have been all the time with him, ■> that he not ha' time to spend it ,and that he seen him put it in a certain pocket. If it be not found on him, what then, your worship.* ' You are a determined girl, and an outspoken one, as well as I doubt not true and loving!' the Magistrate could not refrain from remarking, before answering the last question, as he did with admiring eyes full on the young girl's flushed face. 'lf the bounty be not found on him, when he is searched, as is both his right and that of the King—then the chain of proof fails, and the yourg man must be discharged as never having enlisted, unless other svidenoe than that of the officer, who is interested, oan be brought egainet him-*

'Let him be gearohed, your worship 1' oried Susan, with as much vivaoity as if she had been demanding that the man she loved should be crowned. ' Dick, lad, let some one searoh that pocket, wi'oufc another minute 1' ' Searoh me ?' said the man thus threatened, who seemed to be almost hopelessly dazed for the moment, like one coming in out of darkness, and blinded with a sudden light. 'Search me P Certainly, lass! Let any one here put hand on me, and welcome, except that sergeant who has done me this mipchief, or one of his redcoats.' 'There, your worship hears! He isn't afraid to be searched ! Who shall do it, so that it shall be all fair and just!'oried the young girl, her eyes sparkling more saucily than ever, and her whole manner that of intense excitement.

'lt is out of the line of my duty, but the case is a peouliar one,' said Sir Thomas, indefinably oatching the new spirit of the scene. 'I well see, then, that the young man turns out that pooket, and all his pookets honestly and completely, if he has no objection.' «I do be thankful to your worship, for I could ha' asked nothing half so fair 1' said Diok Harlowe, with his voice hoarse and his head still in a whirl; and, at the words, he approached the magistrate more closely. 'ln which pocket did he say that I put it P Does your worship remember V 'I remember very well, young man!' replied Sir Thomas. 'I only wish that you had as clear a memory. In the right pooket of your velveteens. Show me that first, if you please.' Diok Harlowe obeyed, and turned out the right pooket of his velveteens, all the spectators looking on with painful interest, and the justice atooping low to be certain that no legerdemain could be practised on either side. Direotly, as the pooket oame out, Sir Thomas uttered a low—•Whew!' Well, the good magistrate may have done so, for the whole bottom of the pocket was torn off, so that a six-pound cannon ball, much more a shilling, would have fallen throagh to the floor the moment it was dropped therein. 1 he story, if it exists at all, is very nearly told. How the recruiting sergeant, whose shilling had been thus doubly wasted, swore, below his breath, one may imagine without attempting to put the injurious words into shape. How the other pookets of Diok Harlowe were turned out by him—of oourse, with no result—may also be imagined; as also how the good-looking, silly fellow, released, embraoed his old mother, and begged her pardon a thousand times for the anger he had manifested the night before, at her failing to mend that very pooket, the mending of which would undoubtedly have condemned him to exile and dangerous service in the Peninsula or on the fields of Flanders. How the good magistrate, before dismissing him, read Dick a leoture on the folly of frequenting ale-houses, and the blessing he was likely to enjoy, if he did not forfeit it, in the presence of such a sparkling, determined, handsome, and notable little wife—whom he thereupon ohuoked under the chin, with the privilege of his years and station, and would undoubtedly have kissed but for the presenoe of too many village chatterers. And how Suian, once they were alone together, alternately pulled his ears for his folly in misunderstanding her, kissed him for her own love, and inspired him for the battle with poverty whioh they were to fight together, and whioh they afterwards fought to such good, advantage, under the roof of the little vine-'olad thatched-root cottage and elsewhere, with good Dame Harlows long their loving companion and the nurse of their elder children. All these are only parts and pendants of the pleasant little Warwickshire and Worcestershire local legend, often told verbally in the ale-houses on both sides of the Tele of Evesham, but now, for the first time, given out to the world in the shape of the Bounty Shilling, whioh seems never to have reached that dignity at all—so that, the objeot itself being a fiotion, it may easily follow that the story nw never existed.