The
years slipped away, however, and there had arisen nothing either to
confirm or to dissipate this belief; only the story remained fresh in
the minds of Border folk, and the horror of the last scene grew rather
than lessened with repeated telling.
But there is a belief--not always borne out by facts--that "murder will
out"; a faith that, "though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they
grind exceeding small." Ten years had passed, and the spring of 1795 was
at hand, when it chanced one day that a citizen of Newcastle, homeward
bound from Morpeth, had reached a point on the road near Gosforth; here,
without word or challenge, a footpad, springing on to the road, fired a
pistol at the postillion of the postchaise, knocking off the man's cap
and injuring his face. The frightened horses plunged, and dashed off
madly with the vehicle, leaving in the footpad's possession no booty of
greater value, however, than the postillion's cap.
Later in the same day the same footpad fired, without effect, on two
mounted men, who galloped off and gave the alarm, and a well-armed band
setting out from Gosforth soon captured the robber, still with the
incriminating postillion's cap in his possession. He was a man named
Hall, a soldier belonging to the 6th Regiment of Foot, of which a
detachment was then stationed in the district.
Pages:
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318