AT last I began to draw near, by reasonable stages, to the neighbourhood of Wakefield; and the name of Mr.Burchell Fenn came to the top in my memory.This was the gentleman (the reader may remember) who made a trade of forwarding the escape of French prisoners.How he did so: whether he had a sign-board, ESCAPES
FORWARDED, APPLY WITHIN; what he charged for his services, or whether they were gratuitous and charitable, were all matters of which I was at once ignorant and extremely curious.Thanks to my proficiency in English, and Mr.Romaine's bank-notes, I was getting on swimmingly without him; but the trouble was that I could not be easy till I had come to the bottom of these mysteries, and it was my difficulty that I knew nothing of him beyond the name.I knew not his trade beyond that of Forwarder of Escapes - whether he lived in town or country, whether he were rich or poor, nor by what kind of address I was to gain his confidence.It would have a very bad appearance to go along the highwayside asking after a man of whom I could give so scanty an account; and I should look like a fool, indeed, if I were to present myself at his door and find the police in occupation! The interest of the conundrum, however, tempted me, and I turned aside from my direct road to pass by Wakefield; kept my ears pricked, as I went, for any mention of his name, and relied for the rest on my good fortune.If Luck (who must certainly be feminine) favoured me as far as to throw me in the man's way, I should owe the lady a candle; if not, I could very readily console myself.In this experimental humour, and with so little to help me, it was a miracle that I should have brought my enterprise to a good end; and there are several saints in the calendar who might be happy to exchange with St.Ives!
I had slept that night in a good inn at Wakefield, made my breakfast by candle-light with the passengers of an up-coach, and set off in a very ill temper with myself and my surroundings.It was still early; the air raw and cold; the sun low, and soon to disappear under a vast canopy of rain-clouds that had begun to assemble in the north-west, and from that quarter invaded the whole width of the heaven.Already the rain fell in crystal rods;
already the whole face of the country sounded with the discharge of drains and ditches; and I looked forward to a day of downpour and the hell of wet clothes, in which particular I am as dainty as a cat.At a corner of the road, and by the last glint of the drowning sun, I spied a covered cart, of a kind that I thought I had never seen before, preceding me at the foot's pace of jaded horses.Anything is interesting to a pedestrian that can help him to forget the miseries of a day of rain; and I bettered my pace and gradually overtook the vehicle.
The nearer I came, the more it puzzled me.It was much such a cart as I am told the calico printers use, mounted on two wheels, and furnished with a seat in front for the driver.The interior closed with a door, and was of a bigness to contain a good load of calico, or (at a pinch and if it were necessary) four or five persons.
But, indeed, if human beings were meant to travel there, they had my pity! They must travel in the dark, for there was no sign of a window; and they would be shaken all the way like a phial of doctor's stuff, for the cart was not only ungainly to look at - it was besides very imperfectly balanced on the one pair of wheels, and pitched unconscionably.Altogether, if I had any glancing idea that the cart was really a carriage, I had soon dismissed it; but I was still inquisitive as to what it should contain, and where it had come from.Wheels and horses were splashed with many different colours of mud, as though they had come far and across a considerable diversity of country.The driver continually and vainly plied his whip.It seemed to follow they had made a long, perhaps an all-night, stage; and that the driver, at that early hour of a little after eight in the morning, already felt himself belated.I looked for the name of the proprietor on the shaft, and started outright.Fortune had favoured the careless: it was Burchell Fenn!
'A wet morning, my man,' said I.
The driver, a loutish fellow, shock-headed and turnip-faced, returned not a word to my salutation, but savagely flogged his horses.The tired animals, who could scarce put the one foot before the other, paid no attention to his cruelty; and I continued without effort to maintain my position alongside, smiling to myself at the futility of his attempts, and at the same time pricked with curiosity as to why he made them.I made no such formidable a figure as that a man should flee when I accosted him; and my conscience not being entirely clear, I was more accustomed to be uneasy myself than to see others timid.Presently he desisted, and put back his whip in the holster with the air of a man vanquished.
'So you would run away from me?' said I.'Come, come, that's not English.'
'Beg pardon, master: no offence meant,' he said, touching his hat.
'And none taken!' cried I.'All I desire is a little gaiety by the way.'
I understood him to say he didn't 'take with gaiety.'
'Then I will try you with something else,' said I.'Oh, I can be all things to all men, like the apostle! I dare to say I have travelled with heavier fellows than you in my time, and done famously well with them.Are you going home?'
'Yes, I'm a goin' home, I am,' he said.
'A very fortunate circumstance for me!' said I.'At this rate we shall see a good deal of each other, going the same way; and, now I come to think of it, why should you not give me a cast? There is room beside you on the bench.'
With a sudden snatch, he carried the cart two yards into the roadway.The horses plunged and came to a stop.'No, you don't!'
he said, menacing me with the whip.'None o' that with me.'
'None of what?' said I.'I asked you for a lift, but I have no idea of taking one by force.'
'Well, I've got to take care of the cart and 'orses, I have,' says he.'I don't take up with no runagate vagabones, you see, else.'
