“Uugh—ugh—grr! For the Lord’s sake, sir—”
I loos’d my hold: ’twas Matt Soames. “Your pardon,” whisper’d I; “but why have you left your post?”
“Black Sampson is watchin’, so I took the freedom—ugh! my poor windpipe!—to—”
He broke off to catch me by the sleeve and pull me down behind the bush. About twelve paces ahead I heard a door softly open’d and saw a shaft of light flung across the path between the glist’ning laurels. As the ray touch’d the outer wall, I mark’d a small postern gate there, standing open.
Cowering lower, we waited while a man might count fifty. Then came footsteps crunching the gravel, and a couple of men cross’d the path, bearing a large chest between them. In the light I saw the handle of a spade sticking out from it: and by his gait I knew the second man to be my one-ey’d friend.
“Woe’s my old bones!” he was muttering: “here’s a fardel for a man o’ my years!”
“Hold thy breath for the next load!” growl’d the other voice, which as surely was the good minister’s.
They pass’d out of the small gate, and by the sounds that follow’d, we guess’d they were hoisting their burden into a cart. Presently they re-cross’d the path, and entered the house, shutting the door after them.
“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. Though 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
