222 The Dead Drummer : a Legend of Salisbury Plain. 



but Gervase Matcham, — that lie had been a soldier, and reached 

 the rank of sergeant, — that he and a drummer-boy named Andrew 

 Brand had been selected by his Colonel to carry some regimental 

 pay to a detachment at a distance, — that on passing over Salisbury 

 Plain, the Tempter urged him to secure the treasure to himself 

 and to take the' life of Andrew, — that after a conversation with 

 the Fiend, he accomplished "the deed that damned him," and 

 sought to hide his shame by going to sea ; but after seeking death 

 in flood and fight for fifteen years, inexorable Fate had* dragged 

 him back to the very scene of his villainy. His confession finished, 

 — his companion says] 



"Hark ye, Waters, or Matcham, whichever' s your purser-name, 

 T'other, your own is, I'm sartain, the worser name : 

 Twelve years have we lived on like brother and brother, 

 Now — Your course lies one way, and mine lies another." 



"No "William, it may not be so, 

 Blood calls for blood, T'is Heaven's decree. 



And thou with me this night must go 

 And give me to the gallows-tree. 

 Ha ! see, he smiles — he points the way — 

 On, William, on ! — no more delay." 



Now Bill, as the story as told to me, goes, 

 And who, as his last speech sufficiently shows, 

 Was "a regular trump," — did not like to "turn Nose," 

 But then came a thunder clap louder than any 

 Of those that preceded, though they were so many. 

 And hark ! as its rumblings subside in a hum, 

 What sound mingles too ? — by the Hokey — a Drum ! 



I remember I once heard my grandfather say, 

 That some sixty years since he was going that way, 

 When they showed him the spot 

 Where the gibbet — was not — 

 On which Matcham' s corse had been hung up to rot. 

 It had fall'n down ; but how long before, he'd forgot. 

 And they told him, I think, at the Bear in Devizes, 

 Some town where the Sessions are held, or the 'Sizes, 

 That Matcham confessed, 

 And made a clean breast 

 To the Mayor; but that after he'd had a night's rest, 



And the storm had subsided, he pooh-pooh'd his friend, 

 Swearing all was a lie from beginning to end ; 



