Chapter XL
IN WHICH THE SKELETON CREW ARE VERY BUSY, AND MAKE A RICH HAUL OF PLUNDER, LED ON BY DEATH-WING AND PHILLIP REDGILL.
“What would you have done without me?” said Death-wing to Phillip Redgill, when they were once more alone, and in confidential conversation.
“Why, I must have been hung, I suppose,” said Phillip, with an attempt at a smile.
“A prospect you much liked, I know.”
“Well, it must have been, had not your men rescued me.”
“I know it, and yet all through your career of villany you have looked upon me and my band as hardfisted, ungrateful scoundrels—I know you have.”
“Not so bad as that, quite.”
“Oh, yes, you have. I have heard and know more than you imagine about your doings about town. Had you not taken our oath years ago, not all England could have saved you from gracing a gallows.”
“Well, I know it, and am glad I did take the oath, but what do you require of me now?”
“Nay, we do not want you—it is you who need us.”
“How do you mean?”
“Have you forgotten your wife—is there not vengeance in your heart against Fumbleton, who has taken her from you?”
“There is, and against others besides him.”
“Who?”
“The two young Warbecks.”
“And no one else?”
“Yes, against old Sir Richard himself.”
“Do you contemplate killing them?”
“I do.”
“But how?”
“Through your aid, Death-wing.”
“And the price?”
“Half of all the estates which fall to me—Darlington Hall and all its fair domains.”
“But can you get them all at one stroke?”
“I can, for if these brats, Charley and Ned, are put out of the way, I am the sole heir, as I have said before.”
“Then, so be it—it shall be done,” said the grim chief, “but not yet.”
“Why not?”
“You must become a member of the Crew first—an active member, I mean—and then we can talk about it.”
“I am willing.”
“Then to try your courage, I will soon find fitting opportunities. Are you a good shot?”
“Capital.”
“And can handle your sword?”
“Like any gentleman.”
“’Tis well, but——”
He was about to say more, when two of the Crew entered the room.
“Well,” said Death-wing to them, “have you followed him?”
“Yes, both night and day.”
“What news?”
“He has found favour with the Dozen again, and to-night they have robbed Colonel Blood’s house of all its wealth.”
“And escaped?”
“Yes.”
“You followed them?”
“We did, and saw where they deposited their plunder.”
“Very good. What else?”
“They carried off Ellen Harmer with them, and Captain Jack is now in possession of the King’s signet ring.”
“Impossible!”
“No, Death-wing, it is quite correct.”
“How do you know?”
“I was in Captain Jack’s company to-night, and saw the ring upon his red, fat finger.”
“Explain yourself.”
“I knew the Darlington post-boy, and for a good price learned all the news; dressed myself up in his clothes, and went into the very public-house where he and Bates were drinking.”
“Then he doesn’t seem to concern himself about apprehending Ned Warbeck, and casting him into prison?”
“Not the least, for he is now no longer captain of the Dozen, and Colonel Blood has offered a reward for his head, dead or alive.”
“Good news,” said Phillip, grinning like a fiend, “excellent news! I feel happy.”
“And who had the commission to capture him?”
“Bates, the new captain—the very man who helped to rob the colonel’s mansion.”
“What a couple of tricky villains,” said Phillip, biting his lip in rage and disappointment.
“When I found this out,” said the spy, “and had deceived them by telling the news I had heard from the true post-boy, I left the public-house.”
“And informed Colonel Blood of it all?”
“Yes; I wrote a note to the colonel on the instant, and delivered it myself. He had just returned home and found the havoc which had been made of his place. He was in a terrible rage.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“He did. And when—still in the clothes of the post-boy—I told him of the past murder at Darlington, he stormed and raved like a devil.”
“What then took place?”
“I did not remain in his sight long, for I was very anxious to come and tell you all the news, but still I watched all the movements.”
“Perfectly right.”
“The colonel went to the royal barracks and demanded a file of men to assist him in capturing the bold burglars.
“The officer in command refused.
“Colonel Blood stormed and raved like a madman.
“‘Where is the king?’ said he.
“‘Dancing in the ball-room.’
“‘Take my card to him,’ said Blood; ‘it is all-sufficient. He will be sure to see me.’
“‘Why not go up into the ball-room yourself?’ said the officer.
“I hid myself under a dark archway and listened to all that passed.
“Blood complained of his dress, and at last a second officer took up the card.
“In a few moments the king descended into the court-yard, apparently in a very bad temper.
“They walked towards the dark archway in which I was concealed.
“I heard all that passed between them.
“‘Well, Blood,’ said the king, in a cross mood, ‘what is the meaning of all this? You want a file of soldiers, I am told.’
“Colonel Blood explained all about the robbery, and swore in the king’s presence like a trooper.
“The king listened, smiled and frowned by turns, and at last said—
“‘Blood, what has become of that exquisite lass you abducted from Darlington? I am dying to see her.’
“The colonel changed colour, and stammered out some excuse.
“‘Nay, no apologies, colonel, and all that kind of thing; I want the girl, I tell you, and will have her. Is she safe?’
“‘Well, sire, I think there cannot be a doubt about it.
“‘She escaped twice or thrice, it is true; but I know where she is, I think, and it was more with an object to regain possession of her than anything else I wished to have a file of soldiers. But I want a search-warrant, signed by your majesty, for I fear me she has taken refuge in some noble’s house.’
“‘I have not got my seal ring to-night, Blood,’ said the king, with a bitter laugh. ‘No matter, take the soldiers, as many as you need; break open any house you come across, whether rich or poor, it doesn’t matter, so you find the girl and bring her to me.’
“‘Your majesty is very kind,’ said Blood, bowing.
“‘Not so kind as you think, perhaps, colonel.’
“‘Sire,’ said Blood, in surprise.
“‘Listen to me, Blood, kings can be deceived sometimes as well as other people.’
“‘I don’t understand you, sire.’
“‘I will explain myself; the girl escaped from your custody hence, you say?’
“‘She did.’
“‘When had you the maid last?’
“‘Well, not very long ago, sire.’
“‘No, I think not, not many hours ago, Blood.’
“‘Sire!’
“‘Nay, don’t stare in surprise. She was in your house this very night.’
“Blood turned pale; his deceit was now discovered, and he could not deny it; but, he said, with a bold front,
“‘Who has so deceived you, sire?’
“‘No one, Blood.’
“‘I have enemies who have circulated this report.’
“‘But I know it to be true.’
“‘You, sire?’
“‘Yes, me; I saw her in your house not three hours ago.’
“‘You did, most gracious prince?’
“‘Yes, and spoke to her.’
“The colonel bowed, he could not answer a word.
“‘Come,’ said the king, ‘no more deception, take the file of men you need—bring the wench to me ere sunrise, or you will incur my lasting displeasure.’
“So speaking, the king left the court-yard.”
“This is quite an adventure,” said Death-wing, “go on; what happened next?”
“Did they capture Captain Jack?” asked Phillip, in great impatience. “I hear the colonel shot the villain.”
“Listen,” said Death-wing, “and don’t speak Redgill. What occurred next?”
“Colonel Blood,” continued the spy, “hurried away with the soldiers, and ere long reached the public house.
“I followed them, and as we approached the place I ran forward and listened at the shutters.
“I could hear old Bates and Jack talking together in the parlor.
“There was not any one else in the house, for it was closed.
“I darted away into the darkness and watched.
“Blood did not at first wish to disclose his name, but at last he did so, and, as the publican was so obstinate, he burst in the door.
“The soldiers rushed in at one door, but Jack and Bates escaped the backway.
“I ran to intercept their flight, for I could hear the tilt of swords.
“When I got to the spot, two soldiers were then on the ground weltering in their blood.
“They had been killed by Jack and Bates.
“‘Help! help!’ cried Blood’s men; ‘up the street! after them! they have escaped! help! help!’
Chapter XLI
THE SKELETON CREW HOLD A MERRY MEETING—ADVENTURES OF THE GANG—DEATH-WING NARRATES HIS EXPERIENCE IN FRANCE, AND OF HIS ESCAPE FROM GAOL WHEN UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH.
When the spies of the Skeleton Crew had told their tales, Death-wing much commended them for the prudence and caution with which they had proceeded in all they had done.
“We will not stir out to-night,” said Death-wing, “there are too many on foot for us to do any business comfortably and quietly; besides, you know, comrades, Col. Blood will never be able to discover the hiding-place of the Dozen. When, therefore, this little affair has blown over and got cold by to-morrow night, we will give Captain Jack and his friends a call at their snug hiding-place, and secure everything.”
“Bravo!” resounded on all sides.
“To-morrow night, then, we will have ample revenge on the Dozen,” said Death-wing, “and punish the arch traitor Captain Jack as he deserves to be.”
“What do you propose, Captain Death-wing?” asked Phillip Redgill.
“I propose to-night to have a carouse, my lad, in honour of your joining our band.”
“Bravo!”
“Excellent!”
“Bring out the wine, boys, and let us enjoy ourselves to-night, for perhaps in less than twenty-four hours more than one of us will be laid low.”
“No fear of that, captain.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Death-wing, “something strikes me that it will prove a desperate fight between us and old Bates’s men, for he may turn tail and get the king’s troops to assist him. Never mind, bring out the wine, and let us enjoy ourselves.”
In a few moments the Skeleton Crew brought out a great number of bottles and glasses, and, sitting round the immense dining table, began to enjoy themselves in great glee.
“Now,” said Death-wing, “as our new companion here, Phillip Redgill, hasn’t any clear notion of what he will have to do among us, let each of you advance and detail all you have done of late, either by my orders, or according to your own whims, that will give our novice a better idea than all the instructions in the world. Advance in order,” said Death-wing, “and stand at my right hand, so that all may hear and see.”
As he spoke one of the crew advanced, and said, “I threw off my disguise and went to Barnet fair, where I fell in with two of Captain Jack’s band.”
“It is against our rules to ‘work’ with any other band; but go on, let us hear,” said Death-wing.
“We went to a farm-house, and stripped it of everything, and got clear away without being detected.”
“Very good! cleverly done. What then?”
“We were about to divide the spoil, but I drugged their wine and ran off with all the booty.”
“Capital! it serves Captain Jack’s men right. What did the plunder consist of?”
“Silver and gold coin, plate, fine linen, and such like. I brought it all safe away; it is here, stowed in the rendezvous.”
“Is that all?”
“It is.”
“You may sit down. And now for the next,” said Death-wing, pointing to a huge fellow, who now advanced to give an account of his doings. “What have you accomplished?”
“I have had a strange adventure, Captain Death-wing,” was the gruff reply.
“With whom?”
“With a party of noble ladies and gentlemen.”
“Indeed, ’tis seldom you trouble them much. But how did it happen?”
“There was a wedding party down in the country, and I heard that the father of the bride was going to give her a large sum of money as a dowry.”
“Who was the father?”
“A very wealthy old farmer.”
“Well, and how did you manage it?”
“The night before the wedding I took with me many of the crew in order to make sure of the prize.
“We soon reached the farm, and hid under the walls of the garden and orchard.
“It was ten o’clock, and the night was cold and dark.
“As we intended to have a fine feast in the woods after our little job of robbery, one of my comrades here got over the wall and crept into the hen-house, and in less than five minutes he passed over to us no less than a dozen chickens, lots of eggs, and, besides all that, strangled two dozen of ducks, and threw them over also.
“One of our party secured all these things, and concealed them in a neighbouring wood until such time as we had performed all we intended to do at the farm-house.
“One hour passed after another, and still we remained concealed under and behind the orchard wall.
“As the village clock struck ten, we clambered over, and the first thing we did was to approach the watch dogs as best we could, and kill them on the spot.
“This difficult little bit of business was accomplished, and all things promised success.
“We next got in at the old parlour window, and began operations.
“While so engaged, the old farmer awoke, and came down stairs, gun in hand.
“We heard him approaching, and remained as silent as mice.
“‘Who is there?’ he asked.
“We made no answer.
“‘Who is there?’ he again said, in a determined tone.
“But we all remained perfectly still, and stirred not an inch.
“He fired both barrels of his gun.
“But he missed his aim, and the next moment he found himself gagged and bound both hand and foot.
“The noise of the report, however, had thoroughly aroused all his servants, and now begin a horrible scene.
“Any one but members of the Skeleton Crew would have fled before such impending danger.
“But not so with us.
“In a few moments we prepared for the farmer’s servants, and beat them back.
“Indeed, after a few moments of fighting all was over with them, for, seeing our skeleton attire, they fled in the utmost consternation.
“Their shouts and cries were awful.
“We did not lose much time, but ransacked the house of everything valuable, placed the articles in a light cart, and drove away.”
“Did you get the old man’s money?”
“Yes, every farthing. There were five large bags of gold discovered in an old oak chest, which I have every reason to believe was intended for his daughter’s dowry.
“But the adventure did not end here.”
“What, then, happened?” asked Death-wing.
“We went into the forest, and hid part of our treasure until such time as we could convey it away more conveniently.
“We lighted our fires in a deep hollow of the ground, and cooked the ducks and chickens, which, together with plenty of wine we had also stolen, made up a first-rate supper.”
“So I should think.”
“This is some of the very wine you are now drinking,” said the speaker to his chief.
“Very good stuff it is,” said Death-wing, quaffing off a bumper, and smacking his lips. “Very good stuff it is; but it has one great fault—there is not enough of it. We must pay the farmer another visit, I think, shortly. Go on with your story.”
“During the night, while we were drinking and smoking, and enjoying ourselves in the forest, never thinking that any one had observed us, or knew anything of what we had done, a gipsy woman crept up to me, and before I was aware of it, said,
“‘The officers are on your track.’
“‘How do you know it?’ I answered.
“‘I have just come from the farm, and all is in an uproar. They have got all the county officers there, and are preparing to follow you.’
“I laughed at this, for I knew they could never find out where we had got to.
“However, I listened to the gipsy, and gave her some refreshment, and she became very chatty.
“She seemed to know all about our doings, and said if she had a mind to do so she could find out you, Captain Death-wing, any day she liked.”
“Indeed; she must be very clever, then.”
“At all events that is what she said, and remarked that more than once she has seen rewards offered for you, but would never divulge who, what, nor where you were.”
“A capital woman, and what was her name?”
“Hannah!”
“I know her,” said Death-wing, “but will not speak of her now. We have had business together more than once; she is a living repository of secrets. Go on.”
“She told me that the farmer’s daughter was coming from London, and that she possessed presents of immense value which her intended lordly husband had given her as bridal presents.”
“‘Is she coming alone?’ I asked.
“‘No,’ was the reply; ‘but it is very easy to attack the escort and secure her; in fact, I have received orders from Lord Rochfort to do so.’
“‘You?’ I asked.
“‘Yes, me,’ she proudly answered; ‘I have a numerous band at my command, and can do anything in that way.’”
“‘And why does Lord Rochfort wish to have her captured?’
“‘Because her beauty has enslaved his elder brother, whom he does not desire to marry, for if his brother dies without issue Lord Rochfort succeeds to his vast estates.’
“‘But have you told him that you can or will do this?’
“‘No,’ she replied, ‘not positively; she may be escorted by a powerful party of well-mounted, well-armed men.’
“‘No matter,’ said I, ‘if she is rich in jewels and diamonds, as you say, leave the matter in our hands, and I warrant we will not only secure the girl, but create no noise or bother about it.’
“‘But how?’
“‘Leave that matter to me,’ I replied.
“For some time she would not consent; but when I had pledged the honour of the crew that no harm should befall the wench she consented, and departed, after telling me the exact time at which the intended bride was expected to pass by that particular part of the road.
“As soon as Hannah had departed I and my comrades started out to have a look at the road.
“Now, not far from the forest wherein we were concealed, there were cross roads with finger posts.
“I hit upon my plan immediately.”
“And what was it?” Death-wing asked.
“Why, to change the finger posts, and thus send them in the wrong direction.”
“A capital plan,” said Death-wing.
“And did it succeed?” asked several.
“Yes, as I will explain shortly.”
“Early in the morning we got spades and loosened the finger posts, so as to be able to change them in a few moments.
“We waited for hours, but no carriages appeared.
“At last, a long way off, we espied two vehicles approaching.
“But one was about half a mile ahead of the other.
“The first one contained the intended bride, the farmer’s beautiful daughter, and a female attendant.
“In the second rode Lord Rochfort’s brother, and a few friends.
“Now, I had sent up the road for two of my men whose business it was in some way to stop or retard the progress of the second coach.
“This they managed to do, and very cleverly indeed.”
“How?” asked many.
“When the bride’s coach approached the cross roads we changed the finger boards.
“The driver followed their painted directions, and instead of going by the main read turned short into the forest carriage way.
“Before the mistake could be rectified, I had the gates closed after them, and thus they could not return.
“Meanwhile, however, those whom I had posted up the road had suddenly thrown a lasso round the horses’ legs, and down they tumbled carriages and all.
“My comrades then, before the nobleman inside could get out of the half-smashed carriage, jumped into the middle of the road, cut the traces, and vaulting on the backs of the horses galloped away, leaving the travellers in the mud, cursing and swearing most lustily.
“They dashed down the road and soon joined me, for I was at that moment engaged with the hinder carriage.
“When I ran up to the coachman and threatened to blow his brains out if he stirred, he began to tremble like an ass, much more so, indeed, than the fair one inside, who, all diamond decked, was fair and beautiful.
“Her attendant fainted as I opened the carriage door, but the other one quickly gave up to me all her trinkets and things of value.
“Having secured these, I directed the coachman to drive on along the forest carriage way, for I knew he could not go very far without falling in with Hannah’s tribe of gipsies.”
“So you secured all her property?”
“We did; but did not offer any violence to the trembling one.”
“What became of her?”
“Her coachman slowly drove onwards as I had directed him, and shortly got right into the midst of Hannah’s camp.”
“Strange to say, among the men there assembled at that moment was Lord Rochfort himself, disguised as a gipsy, and he it was who handed the bridal beauty from the carriage, while old Hannah, with outstretched hands, pointed to the girl, saying,
“Now has my prophecy come true?” (See cut in No. 17).
“But what prophecy was it?” Death-wing asked.
“Hannah told Rochfort that for a certain sum she could, by means of her magic art, cause the carriages of the bride to lose its way, and come voluntarily into her power. It was a trick on her part, but Rochfort believed it to be true, for he knew nothing of what we had done in the matter, and remains in ignorance of it up to the present moment.”
“So that is your adventure, eh?”
“It is, Captain Death-wing; we came back to the Rendezvous much richer than we went forth, and without receiving a single scar.”
“Very well done indeed,” said Death-wing, quaffing off more wine, and becoming very talkative. “Very well done indeed; but the thieves or professional gentlemen of the present day are not worth a pinch of snuff compared to what have been in my lifetime.”
“You have been in France, then, I heard you say?” observed Redgill.
“France! why of course I have; where is there a place I haven’t been to, I should like to know? I belonged to a gang there when I was young.
“It was made up of both English and French; English I mean who were obliged to leave their country for their country’s good, men who preferred exile to death.
“Well, when I was first introduced to the gang, it was in its full glory.
“We had a great many members in different parts, but the most cruel among them all was one we called the ‘Scorcher,’ and from him we were always afterwards called ‘Scorchers.’”
“This man, hardened as I am now, looked to me like a devil, and through all the years I have lived, I cannot forget the cold-blooded villany of the ‘Old Scorcher,’ who used to roast the feet of all those who would not confess where their money and valuables were. Now we are more merciful than that,” said Death-wing, laughing. “We kill ’em outright, and don’t torture; it’s much quicker and better, I think. But let me go on with my story.
“‘Look you, boys,’ said this old rascal one day, at a conference held at a place called Massette,’you scour the plain, and you work well enough sometimes. You can batter a door in, and garotte a fellow in pretty good style. But this is anybody’s work.
“‘You don’t understand the clean trick—the tender licks.
“‘When you have “quieted” a customer, you break open his chests and his cupboards expecting to find the shiners.
“‘But the yellow boys are not always kept in such places.
“‘Some shabby wretches hide their paltry money where the devil himself could not find it.
“‘You get nothing, you only lose your time, and find you have worked merely for the glory of it.
“‘That’s not the way.’
“‘Well, what would you do?’ I asked.
“‘What would I do, boys, if I had my youth again?
“‘This is what I would do,’ replied the old rat, becoming quite animated.
“‘I would do what I did more times than once when I roamed alone. Now, boys, this is the way.
“‘When a wretch will not squeak you must quietly light a wisp of straw between his legs, and if that does not loosen his tongue prick the soles of his feet with a fork, and scorch them.
“‘He must be very hardened to endure that without squeaking.
“‘If you have to do with a young married couple singe the wife in presence of her husband, or the husband in presence of his wife.
“‘It is not always that the singed one speaks first.’
“A less cruel but very important character among us was Baptiste, the surgeon.
“He was amusing, and the Merry Andrew of the gang.
“This Figaro of the treadmill handled the cups and cards as cleverly as he did the lancet and razor.
“This harmless pursuit gained him ready admittance to the farmhouses, where he bled patients for fivepence and a plateful of hashed meat.
“Every branch of industry has its brokers and warehousemen.
“In our gang the brokers were abundant.
“Among them was one Barbe, nicknamed the Cowkeeper, whose occupation was to contrive business or work for us.
“He hired himself as a labourer at farms, where he would only remain long enough to make himself acquainted with the number and character of the inmates, their habits and resources.
“He would then suddenly abscond, and carry to our head-quarters the intelligence he had picked up.
“The warehousemen or storekeepers were the receivers or fences.
“They existed in all the towns and villages within the territories of the gang.
“Some were thieves when opportunity served.
“Others contented themselves with buying stolen property, and robbing the robbers.
“The fences were almost all of them innkeepers or ‘knackers.’
“Sometimes the ‘knackers’ were also innkeepers, a fearful combination for the stomachs of their guests.
“The most notorious among the ‘knackers,’ of the gang, who had earned the right of bearing the title of his calling as a surname, was ‘The Knacker’—Peter Rosseau, the knacker, of the hamlet of Guendreville.
“In the garden of his house, which stood almost alone, was a subterranean passage, the origin of which was unknown.
“It was, however, supposed to be the secret outlet of some abbey, or feudal castle, long since destroyed.
“Near the edge of a dark, thick wood, intersected by capacious winding paths known only to the inhabitants around, this subterranean passage, a hundred feet in length, and thirty feet wide, solidly vaulted, extended unsuspected under a thick covering of earth.
The door, concealed by brambles, opened to the south, opposite the yard gate, so that it could be perceived only with great difficulty.
“Within it was fastened by a heavy iron bar let into the solid wall, and by a very strong lock, invisible on the outside.
“A staircase of sixteen steps led down into this vault.
“At the bottom was a very large chimney, which would contain a dozen persons, planned so as to facilitate the escape of those who might be surprised in the vault.
“This chimney, furnished with enormous pot-hooks, was filled with vast boilers on days devoted to great feasts.
“And its flue, large enough to allow a man to climb through, passed up into the mound of earth above, where it was concealed by thickly clustered thorns and bushes.
“Our gang had turned this subterranean vault to very profitable account.
“Here they concealed the spoils plundered from the unfortunate farmers, and their booty taken on fair days.
“Here the cries of their prisoners were drowned in the shouts of drunken madness.
“The clumsy thief, closely pursued to this spot, disappeared as by enchantment.
“It was the asylum and pandemonium of the gang, the common refuge of the weak, the staff-office of the place, and the general workshop of the “Scorchers,” as we were generally called.
“The ‘little knacker,’ Peter, concealed there, or thereabouts, what might be called the ‘unattached members’ of our gang.
“He had always the barber, surgeon Baptiste, and some tailors in readiness, by whose aid our features and costume could be quickly changed.
“There were storekeepers, also; and a sort of post-office formed part of this establishment, as complete in its organization as any social government could require.
“The two ‘fences’ at Boisseaux and Remolu, kept by the brothers Thèvenot, were ostensibly store-houses for hides and skins.
“Their tariff never varied.
“For a sheep-skin they gave sevenpence.
“For an ox or cow-hide half-a-crown.
“For a shepherd’s dog fifteen pence.
“When they had dealings with any one not belonging to the gang, they made it a rule to pay down half the price agreed upon.
“For the other half the poor dupe had to wait for ever.
“However, by way of compensation, these worthies occasionally treated their customers with some highly flavoured dishes.
“They were ‘knackers,’ and this was a convenient way of disposing of the flesh of cow or horse, cooked in the vast cauldrons in the subterranean passage.
“At numerous other places ‘fences’ were established under the guise of innkeepers and other legitimate callings.
“Launay of Pithiviers amused his leisure hours by rubbing copper money with quicksilver, to make it pass for silver coin.
“One of the most useful fences to the gang was Peter Mongendre, vine-dresser and apple merchant.
“He bought the horses, oxen, cows, and sheep we stole.
“At Chartres was one Doublet, who kept an inn and eating-house.
“He had a relation in the Government offices, through whose aid he procured passports in difficult cases.
“The gang had also its own ‘fences.’
“There was Mother Tiger at Baudreville, whose house, much resorted to by the bandits, was as full of mechanical contrivances as a theatre.
“She possessed a cellar in which as many as fifteen brigands could be concealed if overtaken by the police.
“Mother Renaudin, of Apreux, was a great favourite with the gang.
“Her house was open at all hours, and she always gave the members a kind reception, whether they came with hands empty or full.
“Out of gratitude the brigands nicknamed her Goody Apreux.
“The inn itself had a most miserable, poverty-stricken appearance; but there was a well-furnished cellar, where the brigands regaled themselves jovially and in security.
“Adjoining this was a well-stocked granary, which contained enormous quantities of linen and other articles deposited there by the gang.
“There was also a strong box, employed as a savings’-bank, containing considerable sums in gold and silver, tied up in parcels, with the names of the owners written upon them.
“So far, then, you see,” Death-wing continued, “all our arrangements were of the most perfect nature, and we always felt prepared for any enterprize that might present itself.
“After being some time among this band of French and English I resolved to try my own luck, and make a big haul, and so leave the band.
“I took no one into my confidence but Baptiste, the so-called surgeon.
“‘Baptiste,’ said I, ‘you are a trusty fellow, and I have no doubt you are about as tired of these French and half English fellows as I am.’
“‘True,’ said the surgeon, ‘and if you would take my advice you would leave the band, for, although you have been working hard all the time, and are the cleverest among them all, they give you a smaller share of the plunder than any one else.’
“‘But it is no use of leaving the band,’ said I, ‘until I have got a considerable sum of money, for I want to return to England.’
“‘Well, that is right enough,’ said Baptiste, ‘and if you will be guided by me we will do a little business together, and then leave.’
“‘Agreed,’ said I,’but whom shall we rob? We must have a rich haul, wherever it comes from.’
“‘And so you shall,’ said Baptiste, ‘if you will only be guided by me.’
“I agreed to his proposal.
“‘And now,’ said Baptiste, rubbing his hands in high glee, ‘I’ll tell you who it is I intend to rob; she is immensely wealthy.’
“‘Whom?’
“‘Why the rich young widow, Donna Evelina.’
“‘What! that beautiful young Italian lady?’ I said, in surprise.
“‘Yes,’ he answered.
“‘Oh, I couldn’t think of being so cruel,’ was my reply.
“‘Nonsense,’ said Baptiste.
“‘She is an angel.’
‘Not quite,’ said Baptiste, laughing, ‘she is my wife.’
“‘Your wife,’ said I, in great surprise, ‘she is rich and noble, while you are——’
“‘A robber, you would say.’
“‘Quite so,’ I replied.
“‘That is nothing when you know all,’ said Baptiste. ‘I was always noted for my “winning ways,” as the ladies say, and am not bad-looking when I dress myself and pass off as a noble.’
“‘And what name do you go by?’ I asked, laughing.
“‘Count Ferdinand,’ said Baptiste, quite calmly.
“‘And do you mean to tell me, seriously, that you are married to the lovely and bewitching Donna Evelina?’
“‘I was never more serious in my life.’
“‘And how did it happen?’
“‘I robbed the house of her father once, and was concealed therein for three days, and could not get out again. During that time I saw a great deal of young Evelina from my hiding place, and fell desperately in love with her.’
“‘With her jewels, perhaps,’ I remarked.
“‘Just so,’ he answered, ‘and I resolved by fair means or by foul to become possessed of her.’
“‘Well, and how did you succeed?’ I asked.
“‘Unfortunately she got married a week afterwards, and I almost went distracted.’
“‘What did you do?’
“‘Why, with the money and jewels which I stole I dressed myself up, and often met her husband, Count Felix.
“‘He seemed to take a great liking to me, and, as he was rather old and ugly, I began to think it would not take much to make a fool of him.
“‘He invited me to dine with him, and I accepted, but after dinner business took him away from the festive board for an hour or so.
“‘She sang, and played the guitar divinely, and I got so warm in love that I began to whisper and throw out hints to her that her husband was unfaithful to her, and had at that moment gone forth to meet some strange flame.
“‘My words, however, instead of being listened to with pleasure, excited Evelina’s anger.
“‘I left before the count’s return.
“‘His wife told him all I had said.
“‘He left her with a smile, but with no indications of passion.
“‘She did not know or suspect whither he had gone.
“‘He sought me down by the river, where the gay world resort for an evening walk.
“‘He touched me on the shoulder, and whispered “villain, traducer,” in my ears, and touched the hilt of his sword.
“‘I knew what that meant, and followed him.
“‘We walked a long distance until we came to a small valley surrounded by high hills.
“‘No cottage was there, not a soul saw us.
“‘The moon alone was the light which gazed upon us.
“‘Draw,’ said Count Felix, with a quivering lip, ‘you or I must die!’
“‘I at first refused, and tried to get out of the duel; but he would listen to no excuses.
“‘Fight I must, and fight I did, for with all my faults,’ said Baptiste, ‘I am not a coward!
“‘Out came my trusty blade.
“‘We crossed swords.
“‘How long we fought I know not; but I shall not forget that terrible conflict for a whole lifetime.
“‘We must have been tilting at each other for fully half an hour, until at last, while he was giving a desperate lunge at me, his foot slipped, and I——I run him through the heart.
“‘He died without a groan.
“‘I took up the body and buried it with my own hands, digging a large hole in the ground as best I could with my own sword.
“‘I went home and washed myself, and walked about as if nothing had happened.
“‘For several days nothing was talked of but the sudden disappearance of Count Felix.
“‘I among the rest seemed greatly surprised, and was often asked my opinion about the matter.
“‘I told every one that my idea was that he had been visiting a strange beauty among the mountains, and very likely had fallen a victim to the revenge of some bold young mountaineer.
“‘After a diligent search for more than a month the remains were discovered by the sagacity of a favourite hound which the count had had for many, many years, who had scented it out, and unearthed the body.
“‘Every one now thought that my idea had proved too true.
“‘Even Evelina changed towards me, and believed my story.
“‘With successful robberies and roguery at dice I managed to keep up my appearance, and was not only always well attired, but had plenty of money.
“‘Through great perseverance I managed to make an impression on Donna Evelina, and often sought her hand in marriage.
“‘I was as often refused.
“‘I know not why it was, but from the first moment I came near her after Count Felix’s death, she seemed to take a greater partiality for the count’s favourite hound than before.’
“‘The one that scented out the dead body?’ I asked.
“‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and as often as I came in her presence as often would the beast try to fly at my throat.
“‘Evelina used simply to laugh at this, but she seemed to smile upon me more than ever, and after several months she consented to marry me privately.’
“‘Privately, and why so?’ I asked.
“‘I know not,’ said Baptiste; ‘but she promised to become my wife on one condition.’
“‘And what was that?’ I asked.
“‘Why, that I should never divulge the secret, or ask to live with her, or be for even half an hour alone with her until the end of twelve months.’
“‘Singular request?’ said I.
“‘Yes; but I agreed to it, and have kept my word, for she is immensely rich. But instead of this making me love her more, the conditions she imposed upon me turned my blood, and now I hate her.’
“‘When does the twelve months expire?’ I asked.
“‘This very day.’
“‘Then you will sleep there to-night?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘But has she never found out your connection with this band?’ I asked.
“‘No, nor even suspects it. Whenever I go there I always dress well, and have plenty of money, and so behave that no one would suspect me to be what I am.’
“‘And do you really intend to rob Donna Evelina, to-night?’ I asked.
“‘Yes, and you must help me. She has great wealth, and I know where it is kept.’
“‘Well, I don’t mind,’ said I, ‘since you don’t like the woman, and she has plenty of money. You are her husband, and have a right to some of it.’
“It was agreed on then between us to go to Donna Evelina’s that night.
“Baptiste and I left the band, and dressed ourselves out splendidly.
“He went up to her mansion, and knocked grandly at the door.
“It was opened by a servant in livery.
“I also got into the house, through the contrivance of Baptiste, but without any of the servants seeing me.
“Most of Evelina’s jewels were kept in a chest in the blue bed-chamber.
“I tried to discover it, but the mansion was so large I could not find it for a long time.
“At last I found it, and was about to search for the chest, when I heard footsteps upon the stairs.
“I hid myself in a closet.
“Two footmen led in Baptiste, who was half drunk.
“He was laughing and hiccupping and singing by turns.
“He threw himself upon the bed, and the servants retired.
“I intended to get out of the closet and wake him, but at that instant I heard a deep growl, and remained where I was.
“Through cracks in the closet I saw the chamber door open.
“There stood Donna Evelina, looking beautiful and grand, but deathly pale, and she was attired from head to foot in black velvet robes.
“In the left hand she held a chamber lamp.
“By the right hand she held a fierce-looking hound firmly by the collar.
“The dog’s eyes seemed to be like two balls of fire, as he writhed and tried to get away from her firm hold.
“Still Baptiste snored away loudly.
“With a curl on her lip Donna Evelina said, in a half whisper,
“‘Married, are we, eh? Yes, a mock marriage it was, by one who, for money, played the part of a priest. No more! And this is the nuptial night, eh? Sleeping fool! ha, ha!’
“These few words were spoken in such terrible tones of quiet anger that I began to fear for poor Baptiste.
“‘Thy marriage-bed shall be thy death-bed also,’ said she.
“And she loosed the hound!
“With a bound he darted towards the closet in which I was concealed.
“He growled and sniffed, as if in warning.
“As if by some supernatural instinct, the animal then leaped wildly on the bed.
“A heavy groan was all I heard.
“Baptiste was murdered!
“With one fierce bite the animal had severed his wind-pipe, as clean as if it had been done with a knife!
“The pure white sheets were quickly dyed in blood.
“With a loud laugh of triumph, Donna Evelina left the room, saying,
“‘Count Felix, thou art avenged!’
“I thought of escaping from my place of confinement, but I dared not do so.
“The hound lay before the door, and I could see his white fangs glistening in the light through his gory jaws, as with fiery eyes he kept watch before the closet.
“In less than half an hour every bell in the house began to ring violently.
“The servants began to run to and fro in search of their mistress.
“At last they all rushed into the chamber, lights in hand.
“As they saw the ghastly sight before them they recoiled in horror.
“‘Where is the murderer?’ they shouted.
“The hound gave a fierce growl, and sniffed at the door.
“‘He is here! he is here!’
“‘In the closet he is hiding.’
“‘Hold the hound while we see,’ said many.
“Two powerful men seized the dog, and held him by the throat.
“A third and fourth footman, sword in hand, opened the door.
“I was discovered.
“With a fearful growl, the hound tried to burst away from those who held him, but could not.
“In a second I was seized by several retainers, who with swords pointed at my breast, led me away to prison.
“I was cast into a loathsome dungeon that same night on the charge of murder.
“Heavy irons and manacles weighed me down.
“But I could not sleep.
“The gory ghost of Baptiste was ever crossing before my excited imagination, and a cold sweat oozed out all over me.
“I thought that my last hour was come and that on the morrow I should be hung.
“Judge of my joy, however, when in the middle of the night the governor of the prison entered my cell, and ordered my release.
“He had received a letter from Donna Evelina, who had that same night entered a convent for life, stating the whole truth about what the hound had done.
“I was accordingly released.
“This was a narrow escape for me, and as soon as I got clear of the prison walls, I hired a horse, and left the town.
“I did not have much money to spare, so as I was riding along, I met a merchant.
“I robbed him in a very cool and clever manner, and beside his money, took a pair of pistols and a passport from him.
“I tied him to a tree, and left him alone in his glory.
“My mind was made up to leave France, and accordingly directed my way towards a small town on the sea coast.
“I had not gone far when I was overtaken by two mounted officers, who said it had been discovered that the person just liberated from the castle had turned out to be one of the ‘Scorchers,’ and they were in search of him.
“I muffled myself up so well, and assumed a strange voice so cleverly, that I threw the officers off the scent.
“I told them, however, that the very man they were looking for had attempted to rob me, but that I had proved more than a match for him, and in punishment had tied him to a tree, by the roadside.
“They believed my story, and hastily galloped back in the direction I had indicated.
“Of course I need not say that I rode off rapidly in the other direction.
“I came to the small town I intended, but it was walled in and had gates.
“I knocked at the gates for a long time, and at last they were opened by a stout sturdy porter.
“He demanded my passport.
“I gave him the one I had stolen from the merchant.
“He eyed me very closely, and said that the passport did not agree with my description, and he should detain me as a rough, dangerous-looking character.
“‘Don’t be quite so clever,’ I said, half annoyed.
“He tried to get hold of my bridle-rein, but I knocked the gate-keeper down with one blow, and started off at a hard gallop.
“‘Stop thief! murder! robbers! thieves,’ shouted the prostrate official, in stentorian lungs.
“The cry was quickly taken up by the rabble of the town, and I thought it best to gallop right off and gain the open country again.
“‘Stop thieves! robbers! murderers! stop him!’ shouted the excited mob, in full cry.
“Onward I galloped through the dirty, narrow streets of the straggling town as hard as possible.
“Once or twice my horse slipped, and fell under me.
“I raised him again.
“But from every hand came stones and dirt and rubbish, which was hurled at me on all sides.
“I did not know the right direction of the opposite gate, and so had to guess at it as best I could.
“Far behind me were my pursuers, panting and yelling like so many half-bred hounds, when suddenly my flight was stopped by a high dead wall.
“Escape seemed impossible.
“My pursuers gave a loud shout of triumph as they perceived my progress was arrested, and I had almost given up every hope of escaping, when a sudden thought struck me that the wall might be nothing less than the city wall.
“‘I could regain my liberty through a window of one of the houses down the street, and against the city wall,’ I thought.
“I saw one with the door open.
“I jumped off my horse, and entered the house with a pistol in each hand.
“My pursuers, however, had seen it, and as I entered one of the rooms I heard them thundering at the street door.
“There was no one save an old woman in the room I entered.
“Seeing a fierce-looking man suddenly enter with a brace of pistols cocked she fainted, and fell on the floor.
“I rushed to the window and looked out.
“Judge of my joy, the fields were beyond.
“I threw out some pillows and the bed into the field below.
“Next I locked and barred the door.
“After this I strongly barricaded it with the table, chairs, and whatever else I could.
“My next performance was to get up the spacious old chimney, and there I hid myself, wailing impatiently until night should come.
“As I imagined, all my plans proved successful.
“After banging at the door for a long time they broke it open, and rushed in headlong over each other.
“They were staggered when they found I was not there.
“‘He has escaped from the window,’ said one.
“‘Yes, sure; see the bed and pillows lying on the grass yonder.’
“‘Oh, the cunning knave,’ said a third; ‘he threw those things out to soften his fall.’
“They searched the room, and, in fact, all the house; but I was so well concealed up the winding chimney that although they looked up they could not perceive me.
“The old woman and her friends left the room, and there I sat among the soot thinking what should be done next.
“The bed was brought up again, and the old woman tidied her room, and towards night went out, for, as she said, she was afraid to sleep there alone that night.
“She locked the door upon me, and as soon as I heard her do so I crept down, and lay for an hour in her clean sheets.
“When midnight chimed from the church towers I got up and tore the old woman’s sheets into strips.
“With these strips I made a sort of rope, and let myself down into the fields below.
“Seeing a black-looking forest not far off I ran towards it, and slept for an hour or two.
“My first business in the morning was to make towards a village to get bread, for I was almost famished with hunger.
“But judge of my surprise when I discovered that in the flight and scuffle of escape I had lost every farthing I had in the world.
“The baker looked very hard and cunningly at me, but I offered to sell him one of my pistols if he would only give me some refreshment.
“The baker agreed to the bargain, and gave me plenty of bread and meat for my weapon.
“But, unfortunately for me, the baker himself had been robbed about a month before that, and he looked upon every rough person as a cut-throat or thief.
“When, therefore, he had got my pistol he told one of his apprentice lads to watch my movements while he went and informed the bailiff.
“The bailiff had exerted himself very much to find out who the persons were who had robbed his particular friend, the pot-bellied baker, so that he felt great pleasure at finding that one of them at least had been discovered at last.
“He fussed about a long time, putting on his sword and pistols, but in the meantime I made the best of my way to the forest again, and began to enjoy myself with the food I so much needed.
“I sat behind a tree smoking after my repast, and then had a gentle dose.
“I was suddenly awakened by four stout athletic fellows armed with clubs, and led on by the pompous bailiff.
“They seized me, hand and foot, tied me with cords, and then carried me through the village in triumph, and put me into prison.
“I protested that I was a runaway German, and wished to fight against Prussia in the French service.
“The French were then engaged in a heavy war, and wanted men; but they did not believe my story, and insisted that I must be one of the famous ‘Scorchers’ from my ugly looks.
“They treated me awfully in prison, and kicked and cuffed me until I was black and blue, and sore all over.
“As luck would have it, however, after a month’s confinement, a party of recruits passed through the village.
“Not being able to prove who or what I was, the bailiff felt very much inclined to give me over to the recruiting officer so as to get rid of me.
“Anything to me was preferable to a prison life, and I gladly volunteered to go into the French army to fight against the pot-bellied, money-grubbing Dutch and Germans.
“As I was a well-made young fellow, the soldier jumped at the chance of having such a fine recruit.
“I joined them, and, after a few days of hard marching, we reached Strasbourg, where I was drilled six times a day until, at last, I began to think they would drill the very life out of me.
“I was all along dreaming of and devising some plan to escape to England, but could not.
“At last an accident occurred which took me out of the army.
“My drill serjeant was more of a German than a Frenchman; in truth he was a naturalized German, and he thought the best way to make recruits learn their drill was to thrash them with a big stick.
“I saw him hit several poor devils about the legs and shoulders.
“Thinks I to myself, ‘this won’t do for me.’
“Nor did it.
“One day, however, as I couldn’t escape, I thought I’d do something, so as to be sent to prison for a day or two, so as to have plenty of time to think over new plans for getting away to England.
“I, among a great many more, were placed under this German drill master, and he began to knock the poor devils about most unmercifully.
“My turn came next.
“I did something wrong, and he was about to strike me with his thick club.
“On the instant I raised my musket, and, with one blow, knocked him down as dead as a herring.
“In an instant I ran away out of the barracks, gun and all.
“They pursued me.
“I turned upon them and shot several.
“Like a hare I ran towards the Rhine, and jumping into a small boat, which I found there, pushed off from shore, and before my pursuers could get near enough I was in the middle of the river, and out of reach.
“Down the river I flew with the wind in my favour, and soon reached the mouth of the river.
“There I hailed a ship which was under full canvas.
“It proved to be an English vessel, and they took me on board.
“For several weeks we were knocking about in very bad weather, and I made myself so useful that one and all took a great liking to me.
“But here again misfortune overtook me.
“After buffetting about for more than a month, we were driven on to the west coast of England, and one night, when least expected, the ship struck on a rock, and was driven violently on shore.
“The night being dark, none of us could form any idea where we were going to, or where we were.
“Next morning, however, explained everything.
“The ship was a total wreck.
“Not a soul among the whole crew was alive but myself.
“I was master of the wreck, and all it contained; but yet I could not get on board very well, for the waves were washing right over it.
“While I sat watching the stranded vessel, and thinking what it might contain, I was startled by what I there saw.
“All around me danced a dozen skeleton men, who seized me by my arms and legs, and bore me away to their rendezvous.”
“And who was it?” asked Phillip Redgill.
“The Red Man of the Gibbet. He was the chief of the Skeleton Crew in those days, and that’s how I became one of them.”
Chapter XLII
THE RED MAN OF THE GIBBET TELLS HIS STORY—WHO FOUNDED THE SKELETON CREW, AND HOW—THE RIVALS.
“Who speaks of the Red Man of the Gibbet?” said a sepulchral voice, just as Death-wing had finished his story.
All turned round, and saw entering at the door a most alarming figure.
Whether it was human or otherwise, no one could tell.
Suffice it to say that Redgill sank into his chair again in amazement.
The Skeleton Crew made away for the new-comer, who, advancing to the head of the table, stood and looked fixedly at Death-wing.
The unknown object was clothed in a loose, red cloak.
His face was fleshless, and his grisly hair stood bolt upright, and was grey.
His two eye-sockets emitted a bluish flame, and his hands were long, bony, and fleshless.
“Who speaks of the Red Man of the Gibbet?” he said.
He turned round and looked contemptuously at the Skeleton Crew, as he said,
“You have listened to Death-wing’s story; but he has not told you the origin of the famous Skeleton Crew.
“It dates farther back than to the period of which he has spoken. No one knows it but myself.”
“Then, ghastly object, speak!” said Death-wing. “Tell to me and my followers how it came to pass that thou, the tenant of a lonely gibbet, should walk the earth like mortal.”
The Red Man grinned in a most ghastly manner as he said, “Peace, and listen.”
All were as silent as the grave as the Red Man began:—
“The Skeleton Crew was founded centuries ago.
“Their deadliest enemies have been the Warbecks.
“Their greatest friends have been found in the Redgill family, and since as I know that this night Phillip, the last of the Redgills, has formally joined your band, and will ultimately command it——”
“Command it?” said Death-wing, with a sudden start.
“Yes, command it ere long—it is but proper that all should know who and what were the founders of the Skeleton Crew, and the cause of its origin.”
“Then speak!” said Phillip, looking in amazement at the ghostly, ghastly figure of the Red Man of the Gibbet.
“I will speak, but let each and all listen; aye, to every word.
“Many, many years, aye, centuries ago,” the Red Man began, “there lived an old lord, who had no children nor wife, for they had all died young.
“This noble was named Warbeck, or, as he was called, ‘Lord of the Lakes.’
“Unknown to any one, he adopted two male children, and brought them up as his own, just like, at the present day, old Sir Richard Warbeck adopted Charley and Ned.
“Of this, however, no one knew anything; but the children were not of equal age, nor of the same parents, although they always passed as brothers, and bore the family name of Warbeck.
“The elder one was tall, pale, thoughtful, and studious, with black hair, and a martial aspect. His name was Edward.
“The other, who was three or four years younger, was of a different aspect, and not so tall.
“He was fair-haired and rosy-cheeked, with bright blue eyes, and very passionate.
“All went on happily in the family of Lord Warbeck until the children grew up to be men.
“But from the moment that Lord Warbeck adopted these children, an enemy began to work against the welfare of the boys.
“This enemy, Phillip,” said the Red Man to him, “was your great ancestor, and the next of kin to Lord Warbeck.
“The lads were supposed by every one to be the real sons of Lord Warbeck.
“But Redgill doubted it, although he was unable to prove to the contrary.
“If they had died, therefore, Redgill himself would have come into the possession of the Warbeck estate.
“It was his constant aim and object to kill these two boys, but old Warbeck had them so well guarded, both night and day, that it was impossible to carry out his deep design.
“When they grew up to manhood, this Redgill was about ten years their senior, and went abroad to travel.
“But whither he went, or what he did, nobody knew nor cared to know.
“It was in the month of June, and on the greenest turf beneath an old oak tree there sat three persons.
“Two of the three were the adopted sons, and the third a most lovely maiden, whose parents, when dying, had left her to the care of old Warbeck.
“They were conversing most merrily, when the elder one, who was called Edward, said, playfully,
“‘You have twined a chaplet for my brother, dearest Leoline; have you not a flower for me?’
“The beautiful maid blushed deeply, and culling from her flowers the freshest of the roses, began to weave them into a chaplet for him.
“At this moment a servant came up to them, saying that my lord desired to see Leoline immediately.
“The maiden rose, and hastened to the old lord, her guardian, leaving the two young men alone.
“For a moment they spoke not, but maintained a dead silence.
“Charley braced on his sword, which he had carelessly thrown on the grass; but Ned gathered up the flowers that had been plucked by the fair hands of Leoline.
“This action annoyed Charley.
“He bit his lip, and changed colour.
“At length he said, with a forced laugh,
“‘I must confess, brother, that you carry out your affection for our fair cousin, Leoline, to a degree that even relationship cannot warrant.’
“‘True,’ said Ned, calmly, ‘I love her with an affection surpassing that of blood.’
“‘How?’ said Charley, fiercely, with blood mounting to his temples. ‘Do you dare to think of Leoline as a bride, then?’
“‘Dare?’ said Ned, turning pale, and drawing himself up to his greatest height.
“‘Yes, I have said the word,’ Charley remarked, boldly. ‘You must know that I also love Leoline. I, too, claim her as my bride, and never, while I can wield a sword, will I surrender my claim to any living rival. Even,’ he added, sinking his voice, ‘though that rival be my own brother.’
“Ned answered not.
“His very soul seemed stunned.
“He gazed long and wistfully upon Charley.
“Then turning his face away, left the spot without uttering a word.
“The silence startled Charley.
“Accustomed as he was to give full vent to his own passions and anger, he could not comprehend or solve the forbearance of his brother.
“He knew that Ned’s nature was too brave and noble to give way to fear.
“‘Might it not be contempt?’ he thought.
“As this suspicion crossed his mind, he followed his brother, and placing one hand upon his shoulder, said.
“‘Where are you going? Do you consent to surrender Leoline?’
“‘Does she love you?’ Ned replied.
“His voice quivered with emotion.
“Even the hot-headed Charley felt a pang for his brother’s sudden pain, and he did not answer.
“‘Does she love you?’ said Ned again, calmly, ‘and have her own lips confessed it?’
“‘I believe that she loves me,’ Charley replied; ‘but she is too modest a maiden to confess it.’
“‘Enough,’ said Ned, as he was about to walk away.
“‘Stay,’ said Charley, fiercely. ‘Though she hath not confessed her love, let me tell you this, brother—dare not cross my path in love, if you do, by my soul, and hope of heaven, one of us two must die.’
“‘How little canst thou read the heart of one who truly loves,’ said Ned, with a smile. ‘Think thou I would wed her if she loved thee, brother. Out upon the thought!’
“And Ned walked away, leaving Charley red with rage.
“Pale with thought, Edward, the elder brother, took a lonely walk in a retired part of the castle grounds, and, while musing on what had happened, he encountered Leoline alone, and they began to converse together like brother and sister.
“‘Let us rest here for a moment, dear Leoline,’ he said; ‘I am sick at heart, and have much to say to you.’
“He spoke these words so solemnly, that the fair girl looked up to him in great surprise.
“‘Have I ever offended you?’ she said, tenderly. ‘No, no, you have been too good and kind; forgive me if I have.’
“‘No, Leoline, you have not, you could not offend me. But I have a task, a severe task to perform, and, though it pains me, it must be done. Listen, fair Leoline, listen: once on a time,’ Edward began, ‘there lived among these hills and lakes a certain old lord who had two sons, and an orphan like thyself also dwelt at the cattle with them. The eldest son—but no matter, let us not waste words on him. The younger son, then, dearly loved the orphan girl, not for her immense wealth, but for herself alone, and he prayed that his elder brother would urge his suit, for he much feared a refusal. Leoline, my task is done; tell me, tell me truly, dost thou love my brother?’
“Gazing down upon the fair one’s drooping eyes he saw that she trembled violently, and her cheek was suffused with blushes.
“‘Say,’ continued Edward, mastering his own feelings, ‘say, Leoline. Tell me, are not they my brother’s flowers you now wear in your breast and hair?’
“Leoline blushed, as she said—
“‘Do not deem me ungrateful because I wear not yours also, but——’
“‘Hush!’ said Ned Warbeck. ‘I am but as thy friend; is not my brother more to thee than simply friend? He is young, brave, and handsome; Heaven grant that he may deserve thee if thou givest him so rich a gift as thy affections.’
“Leoline spoke not, but tear-drops trickled down her cheeks.
“‘Wilt thou be his bride then, Leoline? Tell me truly.’
“‘Yes; and, Edward, I will be thy sister!’
“He hastily kissed her marble forehead, and plunged into an adjacent thicket to hide his own feelings.
“When he had recovered his self-possession, he went in search of his brother.
“He found him alone in the wood leaning, with folded arms, against a tree, and gazing on the ground.
“Edward felt for his brother’s dejection.
“‘Cheer thee, Charley, cheer thee,’ said he; ‘I bring thee most excellent tidings. I have seen and spoken to the divine Leoline. Nay, start not, brother, she loves thee! She is thine!’
“‘Generous, brave-hearted brother,’ said Charley, with a sudden flush of pride upon his brow, and he threw himself upon his brother’s neck, and could have wept, as he said,
“‘No, no, brother Edward, this must not be; thou art the elder brother, and hast the best claim to the fair one’s hand. I resign her to you with all my heart; but forgive my angry words this morning.’
“‘Think of the past no more,’ said Edward; ‘the love of Leoline is an excuse for greater offences than thine; and now be kind to her; her nature is soft and keen; I know her well, for I have studied her faintest wish. Thou, Charley, art quick and hasty of ire; but remember a word wounds where love is deep. For my sake, as for hers, think more of her happiness than thy own. Now seek her; she waits to hear from thy own lips the tale that sounded cold upon mine.’
“With these words the two brothers parted, and, once more entering the castle, Edward went into the grand old baronial hall.
“The old lord still slept in his easy chair.
“Edward put his hand upon the old man’s grey hair, and blessed him.
“Then stealing up to his chamber, he braced on his helmet and armour, and, thrice kissing the hilt of his sword, said, with a flushed cheek.
“‘Come, good sword; henceforth be thou my only bride.’
“Then, passing unobserved from the castle he mounted his horse, and galloped away towards London.
“He safely arrived, and offered his services to the king, who was, at that time, engaged in a heavy war with France.
“His behaviour was so noble at court, and so handsome did he appear, that more than one fair maid fell in love with him.
“Temptations were many around him.
“He was courted and feasted on every hand.
“But still he remained true to his purpose, and never forgot his own deep love for Leoline.
“After spending some time at Court among the rich and gay, he started for Dover with a great number of troops.
“They set sail, and safely landed in France, and, ere many weeks, Ned Warbeck’s name resounded through all the camps both of friend and foe for deeds of chivalry.
* * * * *
“But how fared Leoline at the castle?
“One night a minstrel sought shelter from the storm in the halls of Warbeck Castle.
“His visit was welcomed by the aged lord, and he repaid the hospitality he had received by the exercise of his art.
“He sung of the chase, and the gaunt hound started from the hearth.
“He sung of love, and Charles, forgetting his restless dreams, approached to Leoline, and laid himself at her feet.
“Louder, then, and louder rose the strain.
“The minstrel sung of her.
“He plunged into the thickest of the battle.
“The steed neighed.
“The trumpet sounded.
“And, in imagination, you might have heard the ringing of the steel.
“But when he came to signalise the names of the boldest knights, high among the loftiest sounded the name of Edward Warbeck.
“Thrice had he saved the king’s royal banner.
“Two chargers had been slain beneath him.
“He had covered their bodies with the fiercest of the foe.
“The old lord started from his seat, and clasped the minstrel’s hand,
“‘Speak—you have seen him, then—he lives—he is honoured?’ said the old lord, excited.
“‘I myself am but just from war, brave Warbeck, and, noble maiden, I saw the gallant Edward at the right hand of the king.
“‘And he, Lady Leoline, was the only one whom admiration shone upon without the shadow of envy.
“‘Who, then, would remain inglorious in the hall?
“‘Shall not the banners of his sires reproach him as they have, and shall not every voice strike shame into his soul?’
“‘Right,’ cried Charley, suddenly, and flinging himself at the feet of Lord Warbeck.
“‘Thou hearest what my brother has done, and thine aged eyes weep tears of joy. Shall I be the only one to dishonour thy name with a rusted sword? No! grant me, like my brother, to go forth to France with the heroes of the King’s Court.’
“‘Noble youth,’ cried the harper. ‘Therein speaks the voice of a true Warbeck; hear him, my lord, hear the noble youth.’
“‘The voice of heaven cries aloud in his voice,’ said Charles, solemnly.
“‘My son, I cannot chide thine ardour,’ said the old lord, raising him with trembling hands. ‘But Leoline, thy betrothed, what of her, my son?’
“Pale as a statue, with ears that doubted their sense as they drank in the cruel words of her lover, stood the orphan girl.
“She did not speak.
“She scarcely breathed.
“She sank into her seat and gazed, till, at the speech of the old lord, her guardian, both maiden pride and tenderness restored her consciousness, and she said,
“‘I, my lord, shall I bid him stay when his wishes bid him depart?’
“‘He will return to you, noble lady, covered with glory,’ said the minstrel.
“The touching voice of Leoline went to his soul.
“He resumed his seat in silence. Leoline going up to Charles, whispered gently,
“‘Act as though I were not.’
“And she left the hall, to commune with her heart, and to weep alone.
“‘I can wed her before I go,’ said Charles, suddenly, as he sat that night in his chamber conversing with my lord.
“‘Why, that is true! and leave thy bride in the first week——a hard trial.’
“‘Better that, than incur the chance of never calling her mine.’
“‘Assuredly she deserves all from thee, and, indeed, it is no small sacrifice at thy young age, and with thy gallant mien, to renounce her for a time; but a bridegroom without a bride! Nay, man, much as they want warriors, I am forced to tell thee if thou weddest, stay peaceably at home, and forget in the chase the valours of war, from which thou wouldst strip the ambition of love.’
“‘I would I knew what were best,’ said Charles, irresolutely. ‘My brother, ha! shall he for ever outshine me? But poor Leoline, how will she grieve? she who left him for me.’
“‘Was that thy fault?’ said the old lord, gaily. ‘It may many times chance to thee again to be preferred to another. Troth, it is a sin that the conscience may walk lightly under. But sleep on it, Charles, my old eyes grow weary.’
“The next day Charley sought Leoline, and proposed that their wedding should precede his parting, but so embarrassed was he, so divided between two wishes, that Leoline hurt, offended, stung by his coldness, refused the proposal at once. She left him, lest he should see her weep, and then, then she repented of her just pride.
“But Charles, striving to appease his conscience with the belief that hers was now the sole fault, busied himself in preparation for his departure.
“Anxious to outshine his brother, he departed, not as Edward had done, alone and unattended, but levying all the horses, men, and money that the old lord could afford, Charles embarked for France at the head of a glittering troop of horsemen.
“The aged minstrel still remained at the castle, and, affecting sickness, tarried behind, and promised to join Charles in France.
“Meanwhile, he devoted his whole powers of pleasing to console Leoline.
“The force of her simple love was, however, stronger than all his arts.
“In vain he insinuated doubts of Charles’s fidelity; she refused to hear them.
“In vain he poured, with the softest accents, into the witchery of flattery and song; she turned heedlessly away, and was pained at the remembrance of how coldly Charles had treated her before departing for the wars.
“She shut herself up in her chamber, and pined in solitude for her absent lover.
“The old minstrel, who was none other than Redgill in disguise, now resolved to attempt darker arts to obtain power over her.
“But from some cause he suddenly left the castle on some secret mission, of so high import, that it could not be resisted by a passion stronger in his breast than love—the passion of ambition and hate.
“Meanwhile, though, ever and anon, the fame of Edward reached their ears, it came unaccompanied with that of Charles.
“Of him they heard no tidings.
“And thus the love of the tender orphan was kept alive by the perpetual restlessness of fear.
“At length the old lord died, and Leoline was left entirely alone.
“One evening, as she sat with her maidens, the ringing of a horse’s hoofs were heard in the outer court of the castle.
“A horn sounded.
“The heavy gates were unbarred, and a handsome soldier entered the hall.
“He stopped for one moment at the entrance, as if overpowered by his emotions.
“In the next instant he had clasped Leoline to his breast.
“‘Dost thou not recognise me, Leoline?’ he said, tenderly.
“He doffed his helmet, and she saw that majestic brow, which, unlike that of Charles, her lover, had never changed or been clouded in its aspect to her.
“‘The war is suspended for the present,’ said he. ‘I learnt my father’s death, and I have returned home to hang up my banner in the hall, and spend my days in peace.’
“Time and the life of camps had worked their change upon Edward’s face.
“His hair, deepened in its shade, was now worn from the temples, and disclosed a battle-scar which rather heightened the beauty of his countenance.
“He had apparently conquered a love that was so early crossed, but not that fidelity of remembrance which made Leoline dearer to him than all others, and forbade him to replace the image he had graven upon his soul.
“Leoline’s lips trembled with the name of her absent lover, Charles.
“But a certain recollection of his coldness stifled even her anxiety.
“Edward hastened to forestall her question.
“‘My brother is well,’ he said, ‘and is now sojourning at Calais; he lingered there so long that the war terminated without his aid. Doubtless he will soon return; a week, nay, a day might restore him to you, fair Leoline.’
“Leoline was much consoled.
“Yet something seemed untold.
“‘Why was he so eager for the strife, and to serve the king against the French, if Charles had thus tarried at Calais so long?’ she thought.
“She wondered at this, but did not dare to search farther into her heart.
“The generous Edward concealed from her that his brother led a life of the most reckless and indolent dissipation, wasting his wealth in the pleasures of the reckless and gay, and only occupying his ambition with travelling and gambling, and whatever else that was useless and inglorious.
“Edward and Leoline resumed their old friendship, and Leoline believed that it was friendship alone.
“They walked again among the gardens in which their childhood had strayed.
“They looked down on the eternal mirror of the lakes.
“Ah! could it have reflected the same unawakened freshness of their life’s early spring!
“The grave and contemplative mind of Lord Edward had not been so contented with the horrors of war but that it had sought also those calmer sources of emotion which were yet found among the sages of the east.
“He therefore had little in common with the ruder lords around him.
“He summoned them not to his board, nor attended their noisy wassails.
“Often late at night, in yon shattered tower, his lonely lamp shone still o’er the mighty stream, and his only relief to loneliness was the presence and song of Leoline.
“He recounted to her his trials and troubles during the war.
“And she listened to him like a child, still thinking of her absent lover, who, at that moment, had entirely forgotten her.
“Paler and paler she grew day by day.
“And the more afflicted she was, the more the gallant young lord comforted her.
“His amusements were varied.
“He did all he possibly could to dispel the terrible gloom which possessed her; but all to no purpose.
“Her heart was gradually becoming petrified.
“From her lonely window she gazed for hours and hours at night.
“The song of nightingale borne upon the breeze, soothed her troubled soul, and tears flowed down her pallid cheek.
“Yet no murmur came from her.
“She believed that Charles—now Sir Charles—would prove faithful to her as she had been to him.
“Her hopes were doomed to be blasted.
“Months rolled by, and still Charles did not return.
“Indeed, no tidings of any kind had been received from him for a long time.
“He seemed to have forgotten poor Leoline, and she pined alone in deep sorrow.
“It was whispered abroad that, with the money which old Lord Warbeck had left him, Charley intended to buy up the estates of a neighbouring castle.
“This rumour proved to be true, and Edward thought that his brother intended it as the future residence of Leoline—his bride.
“The estates which Charles had purchased was in full view of Warbeck Castle, and the whole country around were astonished at the magnificence with which it had been furnished.
“Everything that money could do was done to render this new residence worthy of those who were to occupy it.
“Six months rolled on, and Charles returned not, nor did any one hear a single word of his doings, or whereabouts.
“At the end of a twelvemonth, and when the new castle was fit for habitation, a startling rumour reached the ears of Edward (now Lord) Warbeck, and the fair orphan, Leoline.
“Charles had returned, and brought back with him a French bride, of amazing beauty, and fabulous wealth!
“Leoline was the first to disbelieve the rumour, but the only one.
“Bright, in the summer noon, flashed the array of horsemen: for up the steep hill wound the gorgeous cavalcade towards the grand residence of Charles Warbeck.
“The bells rung loudly, and the French bride, with her husband, entered their princely abode.
“That same night there was a grand banquet given by Charles Warbeck to his friends; but Edward and Leoline were forgotten.
“The lights shone from every casement, and music swelled loud and ceaselessly within.
“By the side of her husband sat the fair French bride, glittering in jewels.
“Her dark locks, her flashing eye, the false colour of her complexion dazzled the eyes of all his guests.
“In the banquet hall, among the guests, sat Phillip Redgill.
“Not dressed as a minstrel on this occasion; but in the uniform of an English officer.
“For he had played his part so well that even Charles did not suspect him to be one and the same person, for when Redgill left Warbeck Castle so suddenly, he went to Calais, and then under an assumed name, made the acquaintance of Charles Warbeck, and led him on to ruin.
“As he was such a gay fellow, then, and had become so much linked in with young Warbeck, he was looked upon by all almost as one of the family.
“‘By the fates,’ said he, as he whispered to the bride and bridegroom, ‘we shall scare the owls to-night in the grim towers of Warbeck Castle. Thy grave brother, Sir Charles, will have much to do to comfort thy old flame, Leoline, when she learns what a gallant life you are leading here with your fair French bride.’
“‘Poor damsel,’ said the bride, with a light laugh of scorn, ‘poor damsel; doubtless she will now be reconciled to the pale-faced rejected one; for I understand that my Lord Warbeck, your brother, Sir Charles, is a gentleman, handsome, and of gallant mien.’
“‘Peace!’ said Sir Charles, sternly, and quaffing a large goblet of wine.
“The bride bit her lip, and glanced meaningly at Redgill, who returned the glance.
“‘Nought but a beauty such as thine can win my pardon,’ said Sir Charles, turning to his bride, and gazing passionately in her face.
“The bride smiled.
“Well sped the feast, the laugh deepened, the wine circled, when Sir Charles’s eye rested on a guest at the bottom of the board, whose figure was mantled from head to foot, and whose face was covered by a dark veil.
“‘Beshrew me,’ said he, aloud, ‘but this is scarce courteous at our revel; will the stranger vouchsafe to unmask?’
“These words turned all eyes to the figure. It rose and walked slowly, but with grace, to the fair bride, and laid beside her a wreath of flowers.
“‘It is a simple gift, lady,’ said the stranger, in a voice of much sweetness; ‘but it is all I can offer, and the bride of Sir Charles should not be without a gift at my hands. May you both be happy!’
“With these words the stranger left the hall like a shadow.
“‘Bring her back—bring her back,’ said the French bride, hastily.
“‘No, no!’ said Sir Charles, waving his hand impatiently; ‘touch her not, heed her not, at your peril.’
“The bride bent her head over the flowers to conceal her anger, and from amongst them dropped the broken half of a ring.
“Sir Charles recognised it at once.
“It was the half of that ring which he had broken with his betrothed Leoline.
“He required not such a sign to convince him that the figure so full of ineffable grace, that touching voice, that simple action, so tender in its sentiment, that gift, that blessing, came only from the heart-broken and forgiving Leoline.
“But Lord Warbeck, alone in his solitary tower, passed to and fro with agitated steps.
“Deep, undying wrath at his brother’s baseness mingled with one burning, delicious hope.
“He confessed now that he had deceived himself when he thought his passion was no more; was there any longer a bar to his union with Leoline?
“In that delicacy which was breathed into him by his love, he had forborne to seek, or to offer her the insult of, consolation.
“He felt that the shock should be borne alone, and yet he pined, he thirsted, to throw himself at her feet.
“Nursing these contending thoughts, he was aroused by a knock at his door.
“He opened it.
“The passage was thronged by Leoline’s maidens—pale, anxious, weeping.
“Leoline had left the castle, but with one female attendant, none know whither.
“They knew too soon.
“From the hall of Warbeck Castle she had passed over in the dark and inclement night, to the valley in which the convent offered to the weary of spirit and the broken of heart, a refuge.
“At daybreak, the next morning, Lord Edward Warbeck was at the convent gate.
“He saw Leoline.
“What a change one night of suffering had made in that face, which was the fountain of all loveliness to him.
“He clasped her in his arms.
“He urged all that love could urge.
“He besought her to accept that heart, which had never wronged her memory by a thought.
“In vain Warbeck pleaded; in vain he urged all that passion and truth could urge.
“The springs of earthly love were for ever dried up in the orphan’s heart, and her resolution was immovable.
“She tore herself from his arms, and the gate of the convent creaked harshly on his ear.
“A new and stern emotion now wholly possessed him.
“Naturally mild and gentle, when once aroused to anger, he cherished it with the strength of a calm mind.
“Leoline’s tears, her sufferings, her wrongs, her uncomplaining spirit, the change already stamped upon her face, all cried aloud to him for vengeance!
“‘She is an orphan,’ said he, bitterly; ‘she hath none to protect, to redress her, save me alone.
“‘My father’s charge over her forlorn youth descends of right to me.
“‘What matters it whether her forsaker be my brother? He is her foe.
“‘Hath he not crushed her heart?
“‘Hath he not consigned her to sorrow till the grave? And with what insult. No warning, no excuse. With lewd wassailers keeping revel for his new bridals in the hearing—before the sight—of his betrothed. Enough! the time hath come when, to use his own words, “One of us two must fall!”’
“He half drew his glaive as he spoke, and thrusting it back violently into the sheath, strode home to his solitary castle.
“The sound of steeds and of the hunting horn met him at his portal; the bridal train of his brother Sir Charles, all mirth and gladness, were panting for the chase.
“That evening, a knight in complete armour entered the banquet-hall, and defied Sir Charles, on the part of Lord Warbeck, to mortal combat.
“Even Redgill was startled by so unnatural a challenge.
“But Sir Charles, reddening, took up the gage, and the day and spot were fixed.
“Discontented, wroth with himself, a savage gladness seized him.
“He longed to wreak his desperate feelings even on his brother.
“Nor had he ever, in his jealous heart, forgiven that brother his virtues and his renown.
“At the appointed hour the brothers met as foes.
“Lord Edward Warbeck’s visor was up, and all the settled sternness of his soul was stamped upon his brow.
“But Sir Charles, more willing to brave the arm than to face the front of his brother, kept his visor down.
“Redgill stood by him with folded arms.
“It was a study in human passions to his mocking mind.
“Scarce had the first trumpet sounded to this dread conflict, when a new actor entered on the scene.
“The rumour of so unprecedented an event had not failed to reach the convent wherein Leoline had sought refuge.
“And now, two by two, came the sisters of the holy shrine, and the armed men made way as, with trailing garments and veiled faces, they swept along into the very lists.
“At that moment one from among them left her sisters, and, with a slow, majestic pace, paused not till she stood right between the brother foes.
“‘Lord Edward Warbeck,’ she said in a hollow voice, that curdled up his dark spirit as she spoke, ‘is it thus thou wouldst prove thy love, and maintain thy trust over the fatherless orphan that thy sire bequeathed to thy care? Shall I have murder on my soul?’
“At that question she paused, and those who heard it were struck dumb, and shuddered.
“‘The murder of one man by the hand of his own brother! Away, Warbeck!—I command!’
“‘Shall I forget thy wrongs, Leoline?’ said Warbeck.
“‘Wrongs! they are forgiven, they are no more. And thou, Sir Charles—(here her voice faltered)—thou, does thy conscience smite thee not—wouldst thou atone for robbing me of hope by barring against me the future? Wretch that I should be, could I dream of mercy—could I dream of comfort—if thy brother fell by thy sword in my cause? Sir Charles, I have pardoned thee, and blessed thee and thine. Once, perhaps, thou didst love me; remember how I loved thee—cast down thine arms.’
“Sir Charles gazed at the veiled form before him.
“Where had the soft Leoline learned to command?
“He turned to his brother.
“He felt all that he had inflicted upon both; and casting his sword upon the ground, he knelt at the feet of Leoline, and kissed her garment with a devotion that votary never lavished on a holier saint.
“The spell that lay over the warriors around was broken.
“There was one loud cry of congratulation and joy.
“‘And thou, Lord Edward Warbeck!’ said Leoline, turning to the spot where, still motionless and haughty, Warbeck stood.
“‘Have I ever rebelled against thy will?’ said he, softly, and buried the point of his sword in the earth. ‘Yet, Leoline—yet,’ added he, looking at his kneeling brother, ‘yet art thou already better avenged than by this steel!’
“‘Thou art! thou art!’ cried Sir Charles, smiting his breast; and slowly, and scarce noting the crowd that fell back from his path, Lord Edward Warbeck left the lists.
“Leoline said no more.
“Her divine errand was fulfilled; she looked long and wistfully after the stately form of Lord Edward, and then, with a slight sigh, she turned to Sir Charles.
“‘This is the last time we shall meet on earth. Peace be with us all.’
“She then, with the same majestic and collected bearing, passed on towards the sisterhood.
“And as, in the same solemn procession, they glided back towards the convent, there was not a man present, no, not even the hardened Redgill, who would not, like Sir Charles, have bent his knee to Leoline.
“Once more, Sir Charles plunged into the wild revelry of the age.
“His castle was thronged with guests.
“Night after night the lighted halls shone down athwart the tranquil lake.
“The beauty of his French bride, and the wealth of Sir Charles, attracted all the chivalry from far and near.
“Yet gloom seized him in the midst of gladness, and the revel was welcome only as the escape from remorse.
“The voice of scandal, however, soon began to mingle with that of envy at the pomp of Sir Charles.
“The fair bride, it was said, weary of her lord, lavished her smiles on others.
“The young and the fair were always most acceptable at the castle.
“And above all, her guilty love for Redgill scarcely affected disguise.
“Sir Charles alone appeared unconscious of the rumour; and though he had begun to neglect his bride, he relaxed not in his intimacy with Redgill.
“It was noon, and the bride was sitting in her bower alone with her suspected lover.
“Rich perfumes mingled with the fragrance of flowers, and various luxuries, unknown till then in English climes, gave a soft and effeminate character to the room.
“‘I tell thee,’ said the bride, petulantly, ‘that he begins to suspect; that I have seen him watch thee, and mutter as he watched, and play with the hilt of his dagger. Better let us fly ere it is too late, for his vengeance would be terrible were it once roused against us. Ah! why did I ever forsake my own sweet land for these bleak shores! There, love is not considered eternal, and inconstancy a crime worthy death.’
“‘Peace, pretty one,’ said Redgill, carelessly; ‘thou knowest not the laws of our foolish chivalry. Thinkest thou I could fly from a knight’s halls like a thief in the night? Why verily, even the red cross would not cover such dishonour. If thou fearest that thy dull lord suspects, why let us part. The king hath sent to me. Ere evening I might be on my way thither.’
“‘And I left to brave the barbarian’s rage alone? Is this thy courage?’
“‘Nay, prate not so wildly,’ answered Redgill. ‘Surely, when the object of his suspicion is gone, thy woman’s art and thy French wiles can easily allay the jealous fiend. Do I not know thee? Why thou wouldst fool all men—save Redgill.’
“‘And thou, cruel, wouldst thou leave me?’ said the bride, weeping; ‘how shall I live without thee?’
“Redgill laughed slightly.
“‘Can such eyes ever weep without a comforter? But farewell; I must not be found with thee. To-morrow I depart for London; we shall meet again.’
“As soon as the door closed on Redgill, the bride rose, and pacing the room, said—
“‘Selfish, selfish; how could I ever trust him? Yet I dare not brave Sir Charles alone. Surely it was his step that disturbed us in our yesterday’s interview. Nay, I will fly, I can never want a companion.’
“She clapped her hands.
“A young page appeared.
“She threw herself on her seat and wept bitterly.
“The page approached.
“And love was mingled with his compassion.
“‘Why weepest thou, dearest lady?’ said he; ‘is there aught in which Conrade’s services—services—ah! thou hast read his heart—his devotion may avail?’
“Sir Charles had wandered out the whole day alone.
“His vassals had observed that his brow was more gloomy than was its wont, for he usually concealed whatever might prey within.
“Some of the most confidential of his servitors he had conferred with, and the conference had deepened the shadow of his countenance.
“He returned at twilight; his young wife did not honour the repast with her presence.
“She was unwell, and not to be disturbed. The gay Redgill was the life of the board.
“‘Thou carriest a sad brow to-day, Sir Charles,’ said he. ‘Good faith! thou hast caught it from the dull air.’
“‘I have something troubles me,’ answered Sir Charles, forcing a smile, ‘which I would fain impart to thy friendly bosom. The night is clear, and the moon is up, let us go forth alone into the garden.’
“Redgill rose.
“And he forgot not to gird on his sword as he followed the knight.
“Sir Charles led the way to one of the most distant terraces that overhung the lakes.
“‘Redgill,’ said he, pausing, ‘answer me one question on thy honour. Was it thy step that left my lady’s bower yester eve at vesper?’
“Startled by so sudden a query, the wily Redgill faltered in his reply.
“The red blood mounted to Sir Charles’s brow.
“‘Nay, lie not. These eyes have not witnessed, but these ears have heard from others of my dishonour.’
“As Sir Charles spoke, Redgill’s eye resting on the water, perceived a boat rowing fast over the lake.
“The distance forbade him to see more than the outline of two figures within it.
“‘She was right,’ thought he; ‘perhaps that boat already bears her from the danger.’
“Drawing himself up to the full height of his tall stature, Redgill replied, haughtily,
“‘Sir Charles, if thou hast deigned to question thy vassals, obtain from them only an answer.’
“‘Enough,’ cried Sir Charles, losing patience, and striking Redgill with his clenched hand. ‘Draw, traitor, draw!’
* * * * *
“Alone in his lofty tower, Lord Edward Warbeck watched the night deepen over the heavens, and communed mournfully with himself.
“‘To what end,’ thought he, ‘have these strong affections, these capacities of love, this yearning after sympathy, been given me? Unloved and unknown, I walk to my grave, and all the nobler mysteries of my heart are for ever to be untold.’
“Thus musing, he heard not the challenge of the warder on the wall, or the unbarring of the gate below, or the tread of footsteps along the winding stair.
“The door was thrown suddenly open, and Sir Charles stood before him.
“‘Come,’ he said, in a low voice, trembling with passion, ‘come, I will show thee that which shall gladden thy heart. Twofold is Leoline avenged.’
“Lord Edward Warbeck looked in amazement on a brother he had not met since they stood in arms each against the other’s life.
“And he now saw that the arm that Sir Charles extended to him dripped with blood, trickling drop by drop upon the floor.
“‘Come,’ said Sir Charles, ‘follow me! It is my last prayer. Come, for Leoline’s sake, come.’
“At that name, Lord Edward Warbeck hesitated no longer; he girded on his sword, and followed his brother down the stairs, and through the castle gate.’
“The porter scarcely believed his eyes when he saw the two brothers, so long divided, go forth at that hour alone, and seemingly in friendship.
“Lord Warbeck, arrived at that epoch in the feelings when nothing stuns, followed with silent steps the rapid strides of his brother.
“The two castles, as I have told you, were not far from each other.
“In a few minutes Sir Charles paused at an open space in one of the terraces on which the moon shone bright and steady.
“‘Behold!’ he said, in a ghastly voice, ‘behold!’
“And Lord Warbeck saw on the sward the corpse of Redgill bathed with the blood that even still poured fast and warm from his heart.
“‘Hark!’ said Sir Charles. ‘He it was who first made me waver in my vows to Leoline. He persuaded me to wed yon whited falsehood. Hark! He, who had thus wronged my real love, dishonoured me with my faithless bride, and thus—thus—thus’ as, grinding his teeth, he spurned again and again the dead body of Redgill, ‘thus Leoline and myself are avenged!’
“‘And thy wife?’ said Lord Warbeck, pityingly.
“‘Fled—fled with a hireling page! It is well! She was not worth the sword that was once belted on—by Leoline!’
“On the very night of his revenge a long delirious illness seized Sir Charles.
“The generous Lord Warbeck forgave, forgot all, save that he had been once consecrated by Leoline’s love.
“He tended him through his sickness, and, when he recovered, Sir Charles was an altered man.
“He foreswore the comrades he had once courted, the revels he had once led.
“His halls were desolate.
“The only companion Sir Charles sought was Lord Warbeck; and Lord Warbeck bore with him.
“They had no subject in common, for on one subject Lord Warbeck at least felt too deeply ever to trust himself to speak.
“Yet did a strange and secret sympathy re-unite them.
“They had at least a common sorrow.
“Often they were seen wandering together by the solitary banks of the river, or amidst the woods, without apparently interchanging word or sign.
“Lord Warbeck was now companionless.
“In vain the king’s court wooed him to its pleasures.
“In vain the camp proffered him the oblivion of renown.
“Ah! could he tear himself from a spot where morning and night he could see afar, amidst the valley, the roof that sheltered Leoline, and on which every copse, every turf, reminded him of former days?
“His solitary life, his midnight vigils, strange scrolls about his chamber, obtained him by degrees the repute of cultivating the darker arts; and, shunning, he became shunned by all.
“One night, when Lord Warbeck sat lonely in his chamber, dreaming of the past, the bell at the outer gate began to toll.
“He listened.
“Again and again its solemn sounds struck ominously upon his ear.
“He had never before in all his life heard such a dismal, mournful sound.
“The gate-keeper went out to ascertain the cause, but could see no one about.
“He even went up into the bell-tower.
“But just as he got there the bell ceased tolling; but even then shook to and fro.
“He was about to leave when again it tolled.
“The old porter was struck almost dumb with surprise.
“The bell was not touched by anything that he could see, and yet its harsh grating sound thrilled him.
“‘Ghosts!’ he cried, and hurried away to inform his master of the strange occurrence.
“‘What means this noise at such an unseemly hour of the night?’ said Lord Edward, sternly.
“‘I know not my lord,’ was the answer; ‘but all in the castle are in commotion and fear.’
“‘Get you gone, knave,’ said Warbeck, ‘and let’s hear no more of such silly nonsense.’
“The porter went his way, and Lord Edward walked about his room in a state of mental excitement.
“‘What means this tolling of the bells?’ said he, half-aloud.
“‘I can explain,’ said a voice near to him.
“Lord Edward turned suddenly around, and to his horror, he saw standing before him a ghastly skeleton form.
“‘Who art thou?’ said Lord Edward, in a firm tone.
“‘I am Redgill, whom thy brother slew.’
“‘Ha! the spirit of the dead!’ said Lord Edward.
“‘No, not dead; through the agency of potent spirits, I have been restored to life.’
“‘Impossible!’
“‘No; I roam the earth with but one sole object.’
“‘Name it!’
“‘To destroy every one who bears the name of Warbeck.’
“‘Be you spirit or mortal, thou liest!’ said Lord Edward.
“And at the same moment he drew his sword, and made a pass at the grim visitor.
“In an instant, however, the blade was shivered into halves, and the skeleton laughed loudly and grimly.
“‘My life is charmed. Thy steel to me is useless. They hung me on a gibbet, and called me the Red Man from the mass of gore which flowed from the wounds inflicted by thy brother; but, as I have said, my life is renewed through mystic charms and spells, and at certain times of night, during certain seasons of the year, I can go abroad wherever I will.
“‘See,’ said the intruder, ‘I come not alone.’
“He stamped his foot.
“In a moment, Lord Edward was astonished to find that the room was filled with skeleton men.
“‘You see I come not alone,’ said the intruder again; ‘this is my band, the Skeleton Crew; we are the scourge both of the sea and land; fear us, Warbeck, for never, until the last of thy name shall have ceased to live, will I, or my crew, cease to follow, and thwart you in all your designs.’
“‘Unholy fiend,’ Lord Edward exclaimed; ‘if even it be that all of you are endowed with life anew, heaven hath its counter spells for all your charms.’
“‘True,’ said the grisly visitor; ‘heaven had one on earth who, until to-night, preserved you and yours, but that one has departed, hence our hour of triumph has come.’
‘At that same moment Lord Edward’s ears were startled by the distant tolling of the convent bell.
“‘Listen,’ said the grim chief; ‘listen to the funeral knell of her you loved.’
“‘Leoline?’ gasped Lord Edward.
“‘Yes, Leoline is no more.’
“‘I cannot, I will not believe it.’
“‘’Tis true, her spirit has left earth, and with it thy only protector, Lord of Warbeck.’
“These words were scarcely uttered, when the Skeleton Band were in turn struck with awe.
“There, in the midst of them stood the spirit form of Leoline, who, in white robes, as light as air, held her hand aloft, and pronounced a solemn malediction on those who would have injured the gallant knight.
“‘Begone, spirits of evil—vanish to the utmost corners of the earth; but never, while heaven hath a protecting arm, can the Red Man of the Gibbet harm or injure the noble race of Warbeck.’
“Such was the potency of the spirit presence that the Skeletons vanished; yet, since that day, and since that solemn hour, have the Skeleton Crew and the Warbecks been at deadly feud; and never,” said the Red Man, “until the last of the race shall have succumbed to my awful power will I rest in peace in my gibbet chains.”
The Red Man concluded his narrative, and vanished as he had came—how, or where, none knew whither.
For some time Death-wing and the rest remained as if spellbound.
Never until then had any ever heard how the Skeleton Crew was founded; but now that its origin was unmistakably traced to a deadly hate to the family of the Warbecks, Death-wing, Redgill, and the rest rose in great anger, and swore, in the language of the Red Man, never to rest until the last descendants of the bold Warbecks were numbered with the dead.
With sword upraised, and amid great applause of the Crew, Phillip Redgill swore an awful oath to slay Ned Warbeck the first moment they met, whether publicly, privately, in night or day.
Chapter XLIII
THE ATTACK AND COUNTER ATTACK ON THE BLOCK HOUSE—NED WARBECK TO THE RESCUE.
“To action,” said Death-wing; “to action then; let us attack Captain Jack’s store-house, and for ever silence the babbling of ‘the Dozen;’ they are all braggarts.”
With an unanimous voice the Skeleton Crew proposed to sally forth, and armed themselves to the teeth.
Led on by Death-wing and Phillip Redgill, who was now recognized as one of their chiefs, they went forth into the darkness bent upon sacking the stronghold where for many years the Dozen had kept their plunder.
“We will serve Captain Jack out once and for all,” said Death-wing.
“Yes, if he is there,” said Phillip; “but I doubt it. Both he and old Bates are too old birds to be caught with chaff.”
“No matter,” said Death-wing, “we shall be sure to fall foul of some of the gang, and the beautiful Ellen Harmer shall be the wife of the first one who enters their stronghold.”
“Agreed!” shouted all.
With one accord they moved on through the dark streets like phantoms.
In a short time they reached the strong and barricaded store-house of the Dozen.
The sounds of carousing were heard within.
“They do not suspect that anyone is aware of their doings. We can capture the place without trouble of any kind.”
“But the place is surrounded by high and thick palisadings of timber,” said Phillip; “it has two gates, both of them of amazing strength.”
“So much the better,” said Death-wing, “when we have massacred all within we will keep the place as our own. Does any of the King’s officers know of it?”
“I think not,” said Phillip, “for Captain Jack and his men had it built expressly for themselves in such an out-of-the-way place that I doubt much if even Colonel Blood ever heard of it.”
“Excellent news,” said Death-wing; “if Captain Jack and Bates have thoroughly ransacked the Colonel’s house there must be a great deal of treasure inside.”
“No doubt of it.”
“Then let us surround it quietly. When I give the word let one and all of you scale the walls, and spare no living soul save Ellen Harmer. Have the scouts returned?” asked Death-wing. “We must not commence operations until the coast is clear.”
“Here are the two scouts,” said Phillip; “they have just returned.”
“What news do you bring?” asked Death-wing of them.
“Colonel Blood has been thrown off the scent; he and his soldiers endeavoured to follow Captain Jack and old Bates, but they escaped in the darkness.”
“Hang the trick,” said Death-wing, “so we shan’t have the pleasure of killing those two rascals after all.”
“Never mind,” said Phillip, “it will only be a pleasure for us to do it at some distant time.”
“True,” said Death-wing, “but you don’t know them so long or so well as I do. If these two notorious rascals find that their men have been all killed or disbanded, they will form another gang, most likely, and cause us more trouble than they are worth. No matter, let us hear what the scouts say. What direction has Colonel Blood and his soldiers taken?”
“They have returned to barracks.”
“And the Colonel?”
“I saw him standing at the gate of his own house swearing like a madman at his ill-success.”
“So much the better,” said Death-wing, laughing hoarsely, “if he has been disappointed we shall not be. Come, follow me.”
With this command all the crew followed him silently, like so many shadows.
They approached the outer walls of the timber-built dwelling, and crept out of view.
They could hear the sounds of revelry within, and the tipsy chorus of unsuspecting drunkards.
“Now,” said Death-wing.
At the word of command he and his followers scaled the walls with the agility of monkeys.
The next moment they descended into the spacious court-yard.
The huge old building was surrounded by them.
The doors were smashed open.
In a few moments the clanging of arms and the report of pistols were heard on all sides.
But while this was taking place many good citizens were aroused from their slumbers by the noise and tumult, and stood at a respectful distance from the scene of combat, fearful to have anything to do or say in the matter.
For they were horrified to learn that it was none other than the famous Skeleton Crew and Captain Jack’s band who were fighting within.
This all could plainly perceive, for the skeleton forms of Death-wing’s crew were occasionally seen at the windows and on the roof in deadly struggle with the robbers.
But now a change came over the aspect of the whole scene; Wildfire Ned, with Lieutenant Garnet, Bob Bertram, and Tim, had heard of the atrocious robbery of and abduction of Nelly Harmer from the mansion of Colonel Blood.
On the instant they formed a strong patrol of citizens, and having well armed them, all marched through the streets on the look-out for any of Captain Jack’s notorious gang.
They were not aware of what Death-wing and his crew were doing that moment at the “Block-House,” but the distant hum of voices told them that something more than ordinary was transpiring down by the river bank.
“Come on,” said Ned to his patrol; “come on, my merry men. There is something up down by the river; who knows, it may be Captain Jack and his vagabond followers, after all? Come on, don’t let us give up our search for nothing. Follow me!”
“Stop! stop! good masters,” said several affrighted citizens. “Stay where you are; several of the king’s men have been murdered! The Skeleton Crew are out to-night; the demons, led on by Death-wing, are making sad havoc down by the river, and nothing can stop them!”
“The Skeleton Crew!” said Ned. “Hurrah, boys, hurrah! we have met them before, haven’t we, Garnet?”
“Yes, my brave lad; and I am willing to meet the scoundrels again, whether on land or sea. Lead on, Ned; lead on.”
With a loud shout Wildfire Ned and his followers rushed towards the scene of tumult.
The citizens made way for them, as, led on by Ned Warbeck, Garnet and Bob Bertram, the gallant band of young citizens and London Apprentices, ran towards the Block-House.
It was at this moment, and just as Ned Warbeck arrived on the scene of action, that the gate of the Block-House was hastily opened and closed again.
A man rushed forth, all bleeding, and with a sword in hand.
“She is mine! she is mine!” said he.
It was Phillip Redgill bearing away the unconscious form of Ellen Harmer from the Block-House!
“She is mine! she is mine!” he said, with savage oaths. “Make way there on your lives!”
The good, simple citizens, supposing that Phillip Redgill was a well-disposed and gallant person, who, at the risk of his own life among the terrible crew, had rescued an innocent girl, made way for him to the right and left, and even cheered him.
“Hold, villain, hold!” said Ned Warbeck, dashing towards Phillip Redgill.
Redgill stood stock still as if he had suddenly beheld a spectre.
“Ned Warbeck,” he gasped, “again across my path! Make way, fool, or die!”
“Stir but another inch with your precious burden,” said Ned Warbeck, with a determined oath. “Stir but an inch farther this way, and my sword to the hilt shall be buried in your craven carcase!”
With wild-looking eyes and dishevelled hair, almost on end with unnatural fright and alarm, Phillip Redgill was about to drop the insensible girl from his arms, when, with a sudden spring, and a gleaming sword, Ned Warbeck plucked her from his grasp.
A terrible hand to hand conflict now took place between these two hereditary enemies.
It seemed as if all the hatred of their forefathers had gathered in the hearts of these two fierce opponents.
Garnet and Bob Bertram would have rushed to Ned’s assistance; but said Ned Warbeck, in tones of confidence—
“Away, friends, away! leave the affair to me! Do you and your followers storm the Block-House, and let not one of the villains escape. Away, I say! let no one interfere! Make a ring, good citizens, and see fair play; I ask nothing more!”
“Give the poor girl to me, my brave lad,” chorused a score of voices; “you cannot fight with her burden in your arms.”
“Never fear, good people,” said Ned, “whether I live or die, this poor girl shall never leave my embrace while I have power to protect her.”
With the ferocity of two tigers Redgill and young Warbeck commenced the duel, surrounded as they were by a numerous company of breathless spectators.
Again and again they cut and thrust at each other with ferocious violence.
Redgill had the advantage of weight, height, and reach, independent of not holding any burden.
But Ned Warbeck was confident and bold.
Again they approached to dangerous nearness, and each moment seemed as if it would decide the combat.
But Ned Warbeck was fully aware of his opponent’s cunning, and treated his cowardly thrust with a loud laugh of contempt.
Once or twice it seemed as if Redgill really intended to murder Ellen Harmer as she unconsciously clung to the brave youth her protector.
In looking after her safety, therefore, Ned Warbeck often missed excellent opportunities for wounding Redgill seriously. On the other hand, however, Ned Warbeck was falling weak, and he received several slight cuts in the arms and legs.
Redgill, thinking that he had his antagonist safe, and need not fear his repeated thrusts, stepped still closer.
This was what Ned Warbeck had long wanted him to do, but had so disguised his wish that Redgill could not understand the trick.
“I’ll play with you no longer,” said Redgill, with a laugh of triumph. “You have ever been a snake in my path; now, Ned Warbeck, die like a dog!”
With a shout of derision, and with eyes glaring in deadly hate and rage, he rushed upon Ned, and a terrible struggle ensued.
With the stroke of Vulcan, young Warbeck struck down Redgill’s sword point, and at the same moment Phillip Redgill fell to the earth with a loud groan.
Ned Warbeck’s sword had been buried to the hilt in Phillip’s body.
A loud shout applauded this unexpected stroke of good-fortune.
“Brave lad!”
“Hurrah for Wildfire Ned!”
“Good luck to you, young Warbeck!” resounded on all sides.
With an elastic stride, and his sword still dripping with Phillip Redgill’s blood, Ned Warbeck strode through the applauding crowd, still bearing in his arms the form of Ellen Harmer, and took her to a house near by, that restoratives might be administered to her.
But while this was taking place, let us return to Lieutenant Garnet and his men.
Many of them had wildly rushed at the walls and gates, but were unable to force them.
For Death-wing and his party, finding that they themselves were in turn attacked by the citizens, made superhuman exertions to escape from the trap into which they had unconsciously fallen.
Instead, therefore, of Death-wing slaying all he met with in the huge Block-house, he made friends with all Captain Jack’s men that remained unhurt, and they prepared for a terrific resistance to the armed citizen patrol outside, who were making fruitless efforts to break down the heavy, massive wooden stockade which surrounded the immense yard of the Block-House.
They kept up a galling fire upon the citizens with guns, pistols, stones, bricks, and whatever came to hand, from the windows and roof.
Several of the citizens had been killed or wounded long before Ned Warbeck and his friends had arrived on the scene,
When, however, Ned was engaged in the deadly dud with Phillip Redgill, Lieutenant Garnet, like an old and experienced sailor, soon changed the whole aspect of affairs, and cheered on his men.
He took the entire command, re-invigorated their efforts, and completely altered the mode and direction of attack.
He was an able leader, and the consequences of his appearance were soon perceptible in the development of events.
The force immediately beneath the walls, and secure from the shots of the Skeleton Crew, were reinforced, and in so cautious a manner, that the Skeleton Crew were entirely ignorant of their increased strength in that quarter.
Creeping as they did from place to place, now lying prone and silent to the ground, in utter immobility; now rushing, as circumstances prompted, with all rapidity, they put themselves into cover, crossing the intervening space without the loss of a man.
Having thus gathered in force beneath the walls of the Block-House, the greater number, while the rest watched, proceeded to gather up in piles, as they had begun to do before, immense quantities of the dry pine trash and the gummy turpentine wood which the neighbourhood readily afforded.
This they clustered in thick masses around the more accessible points of the wooden walls.
The first intimation which the garrison had of this proceeding was a sudden gust of flame, blazing first about the gate of the area, on one side of the Block-house, then rushing from point to point with amazing rapidity, sweeping and curling widely around the building itself.
The gate, and the palings all around it, studiously made as they had been of strong pine, for its great durability, was as ready an ally of the destructive element as the citizens could have chosen, and licked greedily by the fire, were soon ignited.
Blazing impetuously, it soon aroused the Skeleton Crew to a more acute consciousness of the danger now at hand.
A fierce shout of their assailants, as they beheld the rapid progress of the experiment, warned them to greater exertion, if they hoped to escape the dreadful fate which threatened to engulf them.
To remain where they were was to be consumed in the flames.
To rush forth was to encounter the weapons of an enemy four times their number.
It was a moment of gloomy necessity, that which assembled the chief defenders of the fortress to a sort of war-council. They could only deliberate—to fight was out of the question. Their enemy now was one which they could not oppose.
The citizens showed no front for assault or aim, while the flames, rushing from point to point, and seizing upon numerous places at once, continued to advance, with a degree of celerity which left it impossible, in the dry condition of its timber, that the Block-House could possibly, for any length of time, escape.
Upon the building itself the citizens could not fix the fire at first.
But two ends of it were directly accessible to them, and these were without any entrance, had been pierced with holes for musketry, and were well watched by the vigilant eyes within. The two sides were enclosed by the line of strong palings and posts, and had no need of other guardianship.
But while Lieutenant Garnet, Bob Bertram, and others were using their utmost endeavours to storm the strong Block-house, Master Tim, as usual, was skulking out of danger among the crowd or non-fighters, and seemed more inclined to let others share the dangers while he did the talking.
For Master Tim, as we have seen all through this story, could be very eloquent at times, and speak grandly about war and glory, and all such like topics; but if he could help it, he would not on any account run his own head into danger.
The good citizens, seeing that he wore Ned Warbeck’s livery, expected him to distinguish himself after the manner Wildfire Ned had done, before their own eyes; but, instead of that, Master Tim drank deeply of old ale, and, standing on a door-step, out of danger, began to harangue the idle multitude something in this style:—
“And why, my friends, are we here assembled?” was his sagacious inquiry, looking round as he spoke upon his inattentive audience.
A forced smile on the faces of several, but not a word, attested their several estimates of the speaker.
He proceeded.
“That is the question, my friends—why are we here assembled? I answer, for the good of the people; we are here to protect them if we can, and to perish for and with them, if we must. I cannot forget my duties to my country, and to those in whose behalf I stand before the grim Skeleton Crew and the swords of Captain Jack’s men.
“These teach me, and I would teach it to you, my friends—to fight—to hold out to the last.
“We may not think of parleying with those in the Block-House, my friends, until other hope is gone. Whatever be the peril, till that moment, be it mine to encounter it.
“Whatever be the privation, till that moment I am the man to endure it.
“Be it for me, at least, though I stand alone in this particular, to do for the people whatever wisdom or valour may do, until the moment comes which shall call on us to pardon the villains.
“The question now, my friends, is simply this—has that moment come or not? I pause for a reply.”
“Who talks of parleying with them?” growled a smith, as he cast a glance of ferocity at the speaker. “Who talks of parleying at all to these cursed bloodhounds, that hunt for nothing but our blood? We cannot parley if we would—we must fight, die, do anything but parley with the fiends.”
“So say I—I am ready to fight and die for my country. I say it now, as I have said it a hundred times before, but—”
The speech which Tim had thus begun, the smith again interrupted with a greater bull-dog expression than ever—
“Ay, so you have, and so will say a hundred times more—with as little sense in it one time as another. We are all here to die, if there’s any need for it; but that isn’t the trouble. It’s how we are to die—that’s the question. Are we to stay here and be shot like timber-rats, or to volunteer, as I do now, axe in hand, to go and cut down the palings that immediately join the house? By that we may have a clear dig at the savages inside. I’m for that. If anybody’s willing to go along with me, let him up hands—no talk—we have too much of that already.”
“I’m ready—here!” cried Ned Warbeck, approaching, and laughing good humouredly, and his hands were thrust up at the instant.
“No, Ned Warbeck,” cried the smith, “not you—you must stay and manage here. Your head’s the coolest; and though I’d sooner have your arm alongside of me in the rough time than any other two that I know of, ’twont do to take you from the rest on this risk. Who else is ready? Let him come to the scratch, and no longer talk about it. What do you say, Master Tim? That’s chance enough for you, if you really want to die for your country.”
And as he spoke, he thrust his head forward, while his eyes peered into the very bosom of the little groom, and his axe descended on a door post, near which he stood, with a thundering emphasis that rung through the street.
“I can’t use the axe,” cried Tim, hurriedly; “it’s not my instrument. Sword or pistol for me, my friends. In their exercise I give way to no man, and in their use I ask for no leader; but I am neither wood-chopper nor blacksmith.”
“And this is your way of dying for the good of the people!” said the smith, contemptuously.
“I am willing, even now; I say it again, as I have before said, and as now I solemnly repeat it,” said Tim, pompously; “but I must die for them after my own fashion, and under proper circumstances.
“With sword in hand, crossing the perilous breach, with weapon befitting the use of a noble gentleman, I am ready.
“But I know not any rule that would require of me to perish for my country with the broad axe of a wood-chopper, the cleaver of a butcher, or the sledge of a blacksmith, in my hand,” said Master Tim, in mock dignity.
“Well, I’m no soldier,” retorted the smith; “but I think a man, to be really ready to die for his country, shouldn’t be too nice as to which way he does it.
“Now, the sword and the pistol are of monstrous little use here.
“The muskets of our lads will keep off the Crew inside, while a few of us cut down the stakes; so now, men, as time grows short, let the boys keep a sharp look-out with the ticklers, and I’ll for the timber, let him follow who will. There are boys enough, I take it, to go with.”
Thus saying, the blacksmith pushed forward.
The blacksmith was one of those blunt burly fellows who take with the populace.
It was not difficult for him to procure men where many were ready.
They had listened with much sympathy to the discussion narrated, and as the pomposity and assumption of Tim had made him an object of vulgar ridicule, a desire to rebuke him, not less than a willingness to go with the smith, contributed readily to persuade them to the adventure.
In a few moments the gate of the Block-house was unbarred, and the party sallied through the entrance, the smith at their head.
In the meanwhile, with sleeves rolled up, jacket off, and face that seemed not often to have been entirely free from the begriming blackness of his profession, the smith commenced his tremendous blows upon the contiguous palings, followed with like zeal, if not with equal power, by the men who had volunteered along with him.
Down went the first post beneath his arm, and as, with resolute spirit, he was about to assail another, a huge skeleton warrior stood in the gap which he had made, and with a powerful blow from the mace which he carried, had our blacksmith been less observant, would have soon finished his career.
But the smith was a man of agility as well as strength and spirit, and leaping aside from the stroke, as his eye rose to the corresponding glance from that of his enemy, he gave due warning to his axe-men, who forebore their strokes under his command.
The aperture was yet too small for any combat of the parties; and ignorant of the force against him, surprised also at their appearance, he dispatched one of his men to Lieutenant Garnet, and gave directions, which, had they been complied with, had certainly given them the advantage.
The Skeleton Crew rushed upon them, and for a time defeated the aim of Garnet’s musketry.
Fighting like a lion as he retreated to the gate of the Block-house, the brave smith continued to keep unharmed, making at the same time some little employment in the shape of ugly wounds to dress, in the persons of his rash assailants.
Once more they gave back before him, and again the musketry of Garnet was enabled to tell upon them.
A discharge from the Block-house in the meantime retorted with good effect the attack of the sailor, and taught a lesson of caution to Ned Warbeck, of which he soon availed himself.
Three of his men bit the dust in that single fire. The brave smith again reached the door with a single unwounded follower, himself unhurt.
His comrades threw open the entrance, but an instant too late. A parting shot from the muskets of the Skeleton Crew was made with a fatal effect.
The smith sank down upon the threshold as the bullet passed through his body.
The axe fell from his hand.
He grasped at it convulsively, and lay extended in part upon the sill of the door, when Garnet drew him in safety away.
“You are not hurt, my old fellow?” exclaimed Garnet, his voice trembling with the apprehensions which he felt.
“Hurt enough, lieutenant—bad enough. No more grist ground at that mill. But hold in—don’t be frightened; you can beat ’em yet. Ah!” he groaned, in a mortal agony.
They composed his limbs, and pouring some spirits down his throat, he recovered in a few moments, and convulsively said,
“When I die——”
“Die, indeed!—don’t think of such a thing,” said Garnet, sadly.
“Yes,” said the brave smith, “it has come to that at last. I feel it. I have done my duty like a man, and am content to die.”
After a very brief struggle the gallant fellow breathed his last.
“Avenge him! Avenge him!” Ned Warbeck cried.
“Follow me,” shouted Lieutenant Garnet.
With loud shouts, and amid a storm of shot and other missiles showered down upon them, three separate parties of stormers under the leadership of Ned Warbeck, Garnet, and Bob Bertram, assailed the burning stronghold.
On every side the flames were now burning, and illuminated the darkness of the night.
Past the windows and on the roof could be seen flitting about the forms of Death-wing’s and Captain Jack’s men, who were nearly roasted alive.
Bravely they fought, but they dared not rush forth to encounter the valour of Ned Warbeck’s escaped followers.
Some of the Crew leaped from the roof into the river; others jumped from windows upon the weapons of those below, until at last a fearful explosion occurred.
Several barrels of powder exploded in the cellars, and in a moment afterwards the old Block-house, which for years and years had been the rendezvous of Captain Jack’s men, was a mass of ruins.
While in the river were numerous of the Skeleton Crew and others, who were swimming for their very lives far away from the bright crackling mass of timber.
Chapter XLIV
CAPTAIN JACK AND OLD BATES ARE FUGITIVES—THEY FLY FROM LONDON AND CONCEAL THEMSELVES IN HORNSEY WOOD—THEIR DEPREDATIONS.
With the arrest or dispersion of the principals of their gang the greater part of Captain Jack’s anxieties and difficulties ceased.
The remainder of the vagabonds pursued through the villages and woods soon fell into the hands of justice.
Beggars, sham hawkers, deserters, came in succession to swell the list of prisoners in the London gaols.
Jack and his friend Bates had withdrawn to the country.
There, in almost inaccessible thicket, they constructed a hut of branches and leaves, very skilfully contrived to deceive the eyes of the passers by.
Only at night did they venture out into the neighbouring commons, and the fears their audacity inspired prevented the peasants from betraying their place of concealment.
Ned Warbeck and others undertook to effect this difficult capture.
Four of them, disguised as wood-cutters, with two others to assist them, and who were well acquainted with every nook and corner of the forest, determined to enter at nightfall under the trees of Hornsey Wood, and bivouacked in silence.
At about four o’clock in the morning they surrounded the retreat of the two outlaws.
Ned Warbeck and one of the wood-cutters, with musket in hand, and finger on trigger, gently drew aside the leafy door, when they perceived the terrible couple lying amid bundles of hay and picked bones.
A gun, loaded and cocked, was lying between them.
Captain Jack opened his eyes, awoke less by the noise than by the vague uneasiness that must ever haunt the guilty.
Seizing his gun he cried,
“Help! Bates, help!”
But Ned covered him with his musket, while one of the wood-cutters seized the gun, and two others rushing in, in another moment both the rascals were safely handcuffed.
“Ned Warbeck,” said Captain Jack, “it was not right of you to betray your friends in this manner.”
“Thank you,” Ned laughingly replied, “but I prefer such friends as you at a distance, anywhere except in our own neighbourhood.”
The Captain cast an evil glance at Ned, and followed on to prison.
No sooner did the law show itself stronger than Captain Jack’s roguery than the tongues of the people loosened, and singular revelations were made; the former related that several times during the hot days of summer Jack and his friends used to arrive by dozens, and shutting the gates of farms, they opened the doors leading into the cellars, and helped themselves to the farmers’ cider.
Then stripping themselves of their clothing, converted thus the yard into a ball-room, where they performed the wild antics of the “beggar’s dance,” resembling some of the strange scenes described by travellers of what they had witnessed among certain tribes of African and South Sea Islanders.
In other places they would make themselves quite at home, especially Captain Jack, for no sooner was his tall figure recognised, whether he was alone or accompanied by any of his friends, immediately all the servants, ploughmen, and shepherds assembled round their dangerous guest to attend upon his wants for fear of being shot.
The tales told by these oppressed people revealed more than one hidden crime.
To render his authority secure and to prevent desertion and treachery, Captain Jack had established among his regular followers a sort of bond of union secured by an oath of vengeance.
Every member of his new gang convicted of having betrayed their associates, or of refusing an order issued by Captain Jack, was pitilessly massacred, and the executioners selected from among themselves.
It was in this manner that a poor lad suffered for a crime against the association.
He gave, thoughtlessly, no doubt, some wrong information respecting some farm they were going to attack.
He was seized, and carried to the camp of Captain Jack.
His accuser was no less than old Bates, who had stolen the sails of a windmill for some purpose, and the boy had made known this trick to Captain Jack.
Some time afterwards the boy spoke rather freely of the projects of the gang upon the farm of a very poor man near by.
Thereupon it was resolved he should die.
Captain Jack pronounced sentence upon him, and he was beaten to death with sticks.
The terror inspired by Captain Jack had hitherto deterred the peasants from giving information to the magistrates of the murder of this lad.
His bones lay bleaching on the ground where he had fallen, and no one had ventured to inter them.
The remains of the poor boy were collected as evidence against Jack and old Bates.
Another was murdered in the wood for having taken the part of an innkeeper against his comrades, who wanted to cheat him at the reckoning.
A third was also murdered for a similar offence.
They tied him to an oak-tree and burned him alive, first cutting off his ears, and nailing them to a tree, as a terror to others of the gang.
Several would have met with similar fates, and only escaped by a miracle.
“Come here,” said Ned to Master Tim. “Have you not often said and boasted that you would take Captain Jack as a deserter from the king’s army?”
Poor Tim looked pale, and turned about anxiously for succour, and trembled in every limb.
Several peasants whom Tim had not perceived at first, and several others, formed a circle around him, which gradually grew narrower and narrower, and of which Tim himself formed the centre.
“No, sir, I did not say so,” replied Tim, very modestly.
“You lie,” said Ned, laughing, at the same time striking a heavy blow on the side of Tim’s head with his stick.
The poor groom cast a terrified glance around, and perceived a fellow-servant who had more than once taken his part. But this companion now gave him a very different reception; now, he smote him a blow on the arm with a walking-cane which almost broke the bone.
Then Ned and others rained a shower of blows upon him until he fell to the ground, well punished for all his past boasting.
The energetic and unwearied Ned kept up the pursuit of the gang for one hundred and fifty days, without halting to rest, or scarcely ever putting off his clothes and arms, or quitting his horse’s back.
He made captures almost every day.
The terror that had formerly possessed the neighbourhood had now passed away, and two or three mounted men were quite sufficient to send away any of the fugitives, and more than enough to secure many vagabonds.
It was a truly grand affair the trial of those members of Captain Jack’s band.
The mass of positive evidence was immense, but scarcely equal to the suspicion that attached to the prisoners for other crimes in which it was supposed they had taken a part.
To let light into this chaos, to collect all the scattered proofs, to separate the facts from surmises, to complete imperfect cases by evidence withdrawn from other cases, and to sift the truth out of constantly varying testimony on the part of witnesses, was a most difficult task.
Continual error and confusion arose from the various aliases assumed by the more notorious members of the gang, while the differences in the calendar between old and new style added to the difficulties that beset the ministers of justice.
Nothing of the kind is more curious than the interminable questions put by the patient counsel, repeated in each new trial month after month with untiring perseverance, and which most frequently elicited the same answers.
But at times the monotony was relieved by overwhelming proofs by the evidence of some of the culprits themselves, or of others who seemed to grow tired of the suspense of a trial, and convicted themselves to put an end to it.
It was by a very narrow opening that night first entered, but day by day it grew larger.
Confession followed confession.
One appeared to stimulate the other, and they seemed to pride themselves as to who should outvie the other in recitals of the atrocities they had committed.
Much exaggeration was, it is true, mixed up with these communications, and it was only by close comparison and sifting, that the truth could be elicited regarding the atrocious doings of Captain Jack and his famous Baker’s Dozen.
But there they were in prison, through the instrumentality and industry of Wildfire Ned and Lieutenant Garnet.
What became of most of them we shall quickly see.
XLV. COLONEL BLOOD MEETS WITH DISAPPOINTMENT
But, although Wildfire Ned, as narrated in a previous chapter, made a vow never to rest until he had captured or destroyed all who belonged to Captain Jack’s band and the Skeleton Crew, he did not succeed so well with Death-wing’s followers as he could have wished.
During the night of the terrible commotion and desperate encounter at the Block-House, that part of the town was thrown into a fearful state of commotion.
Excited citizens rushed to and fro in all directions.
Colonel Blood, himself, was one of the first who was informed of the whole transaction.
For the second time that night he pushed off to the royal palace, and asked for the assistance of the military.
Two companies were entrusted to him, and he marched to the scene of conflict as speedily as possible.
When he got there, however, the Block-House was nought but a blazing mass of ruins.
When informed that it contained most, if not all, of the property and valuables which had been stolen from his own house, he fumed and raved like one half demented.
But what else could be done?
He stood gazing at the fiery element feeding on his own property, and gnashed his teeth in rage.
“Who led on the citizens to the attack?” he asked.
“Ned Warbeck, ‘Wildfire Ned,’ as he is called,” the simple citizens replied.
“What, Sir Richard Warbeck’s nephew, as he is called?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“I have heard of him before. He bares no love towards the Skeleton Crew or Captain Jack’s followers, I hear.”
“If you had seen how fiercely the gallant youth fought, you would have been sure there was no love between them,” laughed several shopkeepers triumphantly.
“Who else helped him?”
“Lieutenant Garnet, of the Royal Navy, Colonel, and a strong determined young man from the country; they call him Bob Bertram, Colonel.”
“Were any of the assailants killed?”
“Yes, a brave and gallant youth, who was the first to break through the barricaded gates.”
“Any one else?”
“Yes, Colonel, several other good citizens were killed or much injured in the fray.”
“And where is this Ned Warbeck?” asked Colonel Blood, biting his lip. “I should like to see him; I wish to report the full particulars to the king.”
“He has saved you that trouble most worthy Colonel,” said Tim, who was still in the crowd, “he has gone to the palace himself; as he did most of the fighting, he thought he had a good right to most of the honor and reward.”
“And who are you that speak so boldly?”
“I, sir, am Mr. Edward Warbeck’s groom—a faithful and brave servant, I have ever proved to be; and, although I say it, no man behaved more gallantly in the encounter than I did.”
A general laugh followed this speech, and the crowd around tittered again with merriment.
“And what did you do?” asked the colonel, with a smile.
“Well, in the first place, most worthy sir, I made a most capital speech to the mob in order to stir them up, and excite them to deeds of valour. The best speech it was as ever I made in my life.”
“And what then, my good fellow?”
“Don’t believe him, colonel.”
“He is telling a string of lies.”
“A perfect coward, sir.”
“As timid as a mouse, colonel,” said one and another, as they still laughed outright at Tim’s account of the affair.
“On my word, most noble colonel, all I say is true.”
“Well, go on then, I am listening. What part did you take?”
“Well, sir, when the fight was at its highest, and when the smith, by not following my advice, got killed, I exhorted all to be more prudent, and to hide their heads well behind the palings and wood-work, for I could see that those devils called the Skeleton Crew were dead shots and knocked over every one they aimed at.”
“Well?”
“Oh, it was beautiful to see how they jumped out of the windows, and off the burning roof into the river,” said Master Tim, grinning and chuckling.
“I dare say it was, but I didn’t ask for any description of that. I asked and still ask, what did you do, not see?”
“Well, sir, when my master, Lieutenant Garnet, and Bob Bertram made their fierce attack upon the burning Block-House, and, followed by their gallant fellows, were fighting in the court-yard, in the passages, and other places, I—— Well—I—that is to say, most worthy colonel, because I couldn’t get near enough to engage in the combat myself—I——”
“He stood on a door-step and looked on, colonel,” said a dozen voices at once.
“Yes, sir,” said Tim, meekly bowing, and trembling, as he saw the colonel’s blood mounting; “I stood on the door-step, and acted as commander-in-chief, cheering the lads on.”
“I thought so,” said Colonel Blood, angrily.
At the same time he rewarded Tim for his great valour by giving him a sound smack in the face, which knocked him right among the applauding crowd.
This was more than Master Tim expected.
But, for fear he’d get any more, Tim sneaked away among the crowd like a dog who has lost his tail.
“Who is that I saw just now borne away upon a shutter?” said Colonel Blood.
“That is one of the rascals who were in the Block-House, colonel,” said several.
“Is he dead?”
“Not quite, I think; but if he isn’t he ought to be, for I saw a sword go right through him.”
“How did it happen?”
“The unfortunate young man was making his escape from the Block-House with a female captive whom he claimed as his own, and was making his way off with her, when he was stopped by Wildfire Ned and challenged.”
“Carrying off a female?” said Colonel Blood, in surprise. “Did any of you hear her name?”
“Yes, colonel. I heard her name was Ellen Harmer.”
“Ellen Harmer?”
“The same.”
“You are sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“And did this Ned Warbeck fight a duel with the wounded man?”
“Yes. His name was Phillip Redgill.”
“I have heard of him; as great a rascal as ever lived. And where was the maiden taken to?”
“Nobody knows for certain, colonel. She was insensible when he took her away to a cottage near by, but when the fight was over he came with a coach and galloped away, no one knows whither.”
“I’d give a hundred pounds to find where he has taken her to,” said Blood, with a bitter smile. “I am foiled again, and by a mere boy,” said he to himself; “but I must have her; yes, I will!” he thought. “Take care, Ned Warbeck, take care! you are treading on very dangerous ground when you cross my path. I am not to be trifled with. You may be brave, noble and handsome, but if you endeavour to thwart my plans, I will tread you under my heel like a worm!”
There was nothing now to do upon the spot, so, crestfallen and in a rage, he returned with his soldiers, leaving it to the night-watch to keep order among the excited crowd.
“I will go to the palace,” he said, “and will be the first to inform the king of this strange affair. It will be good excuse for me, for now I can tell the truth for once in my life, and say that in my absence Ellen Harmer was abducted from my mansion. Yes,” he thought, “I will go to the king at once, and be the first to inform him of all that has happened; he will be sure to believe me.”
But Colonel Blood was not the first to see the king, as will quickly be seen; neither was he believed.
XLVI. COLONEL BLOOD AND NED WARBECK
When Wildfire Ned had hurried away with Ellen Harmer from the scene of strife, he was careful that no one should know whither he had taken her.
In order to thwart Colonel Blood, whom he knew would try to ferret her out, he hired a coach, and, with Lieutenant Garnet and himself inside, he trusted the reins to Bob Bertram, who lashed up the animals, and started off at a great pace towards the town residence of Sir Richard Warbeck.
“You have done for Phillip Redgill at last,” said Garnet, in a whisper, for fear of disturbing the sleeping girl.
“Yes, I think so,” Ned replied; “but it was in fair fight.”
“Oh, no doubt of that. I did not see it, but was told by those who did; in fact, I was too much engaged in storming the Block-house to observe anything but the skeleton devils jumping out of window into the river.”
“How the old building did burn, to be sure; such a blaze.”
“Yes; it was a grand sight, and lit up that part of the town most beautifully.”
“A fit end for such an infamous rendezvous.”
“So say I, and a gallant exploit it was, and reflects all honour on those engaged in it.”
“I wonder what the king will say to it when he hears it?”
“Why, reward all who were concerned in it; at least, he ought to do so, if he’s got a spark of generosity in him.”
“What do you intend?” asked Garnet, after a pause.
“I shall leave Ellen in charge of my uncle, and go to the palace at once.”
“But how can you gain admission?”
“Easily enough,” said Ned. “Do you see this ring? I found it near the ale-house.”
“What a splendid one it is. Why, it is a signet ring,” said Garner, “and bears the royal coat of arms.”
“So it does; and inside, as you will perceive, it has the royal cipher, with the inscription, ‘Whoever presents this is admitted.’”
“How could it have been lost?” said Garnet, closely examining it. “There is no doubt it belongs to the king.”
“I know it does.”
“How?”
“Ellen Harmer explained it all to me. Captain Jack and his men entered Colonel Blood’s house, and while there discovered the king, who was bent, during the colonel’s absence, to forcibly abduct her. The king was recognised by Captain Jack, and to regain his freedom without discovery by any one of the colonel’s household he gave the ring to Captain Jack; in the hurry, I suppose, he lost it.”
“It was a lucky discovery for you,” said Garnet.
“Yes; and I intend to make the best possible use of it, as you will see,” said Ned, “and this very night also.”
By this time, and while they thus conversed in whispers, the carriage drove up to Sir Richard Warbeck’s residence.
The door was soon opened, and, to the old knight’s great surprise, Ned explained to him all that had happened.
“What, in another scrape?” said Sir Richard, “and bring a lady home with you?”
“Yes, uncle,” said Ned, laughing; “one who is beautiful, and deserving of the temporary protection she asks of you.”
“Whether beautiful or not an injured female is always welcome to the shelter and protection of my roof, Ned.”
With the greatest gallantry the old knight opened the carriage door, and assisted Ellen Harmer up the stone steps into his princely, hospitable mansion.
“To the palace, Bob,” said Ned, jumping into the carriage again.
“Where?” asked the old knight, in wonder. “Bent on some other mad freak to-night? Stop! stop! Ned; here, stop!”
But before he could be heard Bob Bertram lashed up the horses, and drove rapidly towards the palace.
On their way they overtook a procession of linkmen, who were slowly moving along towards the hospital.
On a shutter they bore the bleeding body of an almost lifeless man.
“Who is that?” asked Ned, as he passed them by.
“A man that young Warbeck fought a duel with.”
“He is not dead, you say?”
“No, not quite.”
“He must have had as many lives as a cat, then,” said Ned. “What does the surgeon say?”
“That, perhaps, by a miracle he may recover.”
“The devil!” said Garnet. “Why, you’ll have to fight him over again.”
“Without the headsman or hangman cheats me,” said Ned, laughing; “but there’s no telling what may happen. Drive on, Bob; be lively, my lad.”
Bob whipped his horses, and soon drove up to the palace yard.
“Halt!” said the hoarse voice of the sentinel, as the carriage approached.
Bob saw the sentinel lower his musket at him, and he pulled up his horses on the instant.
In a moment an officer advanced to the carriage door, and, in rather a sharp, impertinent manner, demanded to know who and what they were, and the business they came upon at such an unreasonable hour.
“Our names you are at liberty to know, sir,” said Ned, “but not our business. We are naval officers in his majesty’s service; our errand is of the greatest importance, and brooks no delay.”
“I don’t know that,” said the officer. “The king has been disturbed in his slumbers twice to-night; therefore, you had better call at the levée in the morning, if you are officers and do not wish to anger him.”
“Leave that to us, good sir. You may rely upon it,” said Ned, “if our business were not of the utmost consequence, we are by far too good subjects to annoy the king.”
“But what sign have you that warrants me in waking the king?”
“This,” said Ned, presenting the ring; “take that to his majesty. When he sees it he will not deny us admission to his presence, whatever the hour may be.”
The officer took the royal ring and examined it.
He forthwith went up to the king’s chamber, and, it must be acknowledged, that Charles, majesty as he was, was full of wrath at being disturbed in his slumbers.
When, however, the officer in attendance presented to him the ring, he looked amazed.
He rubbed his eyes and yawned.
“The devil take the impudent rogue!” said he. “But, as I have given my word of honour, why, admit him at once.”
In a moment afterwards Ned Warbeck and Garnet were striding up the broad staircase towards the king’s bed-chamber.
The king, propped up in bed, was flushed with anger; but when he perceived it was not Captain Jack, to whom he had given the ring, he appeared the more amazed.
The door was closed upon Ned and Garnet, but the half sleepy page, in revenge for being awakened from sleep, listened at the door and heard all he could.
Ned Warbeck, in a few words, explained all that had happened that night, and about his finding the ring.
The king seemed at first very much annoyed, but he laughed off the matter, and said upon his word that the story about his intruding into Ellen Harmer’s chamber in Colonel Blood’s mansion was all a fiction.
“Call to-morrow at the levée,” said he, “and I will see that justice is done both to you and the injured maid; but to-night I am weary. No, not to-morrow; I forgot there is no levée until Thursday, so that you will have ample time to arrange everything to your satisfaction. And in token of how much I appreciate your valour in the affair of to-night with the gang of that rascal, Captain Jack, and the terrible Skeleton Crew, I fully pardon from all transgressions whoever aided you in defeating the villains.”
“Thanks, your majesty. But what document have we to prove it?” said Ned.
“Give me pen, ink, and paper.”
These were found upon a side table.
With a hurried scrawl, the king wrote down a few words, granting a free pardon for all officers in favour of those who had assisted Ned and Garnet.
Moreover, he signed the paper, and sealed it with his own signet ring and gave it to Ned.
But, while this was going on in the royal chamber, Bob Bertram, in the palace-yard, was very near getting in a serious difficulty.
Ned and Garnet had not left him more than five minutes, when Colonel Blood hastily rode up and dismounted from his horse.
He perceived the carriage, and began to question Bob.
“Whose vehicle is that, sirrah?” he asked, looking at it attentively. “It looks like a hired one.”
“It is my master’s, sir,” answered Bob.
“And who is your master?”
“A gentleman, sir.”
“If you answer me in that manner again I’ll knock you off your seat. Who is your master, sirrah?”
“Captain Warbeck, of the royal navy.”
“Ha! and is he with the king?”
“He is.”
“The devil! before me again, eh?” said Blood, angrily, but in an under tone. “What’s his business here at such an unseemly hour?”
“You had better ask him, sir; he won’t be long.”
“Confound the impudence of the rascal. What is your name?”
“Bob Bertram,” was the answer, “and not ashamed to own it,” said Bob, with all the innocence in the world, and never dreaming of the consequences.
“Bertram, Bertram?” said Colonel Blood, thinking. “I have heard that name before.”
“Perhaps so, sir; but what of it?”
Colonel Blood did not answer at the moment, but referred to a small gold-clasped memorandum book he carried in his breast pocket.
“Robert Bertram,” said he, turning over the leaves quickly. “Yes, of course; I thought I could not be mistaken. You came from Darlington? Your father was murdered——”
Poor Bob never thought of this.
He shook in every limb, and very nearly fell from his high seat.
His confusion was evident to Colonel Blood, who laughing said,
“And so you are the servant of Ned Warbeck, eh? If the master is only like the servant, now. Here, guard,” said he, “seize this man; he is a murderer; seize him, I say, in the king’s name.”
“In the king’s name, hold off your hands,” said Ned Warbeck, in a passion, as he and Garnet now advanced into the moonlight.
The soldiers knew not what to do.
“Who are you, sir, that dares interfere in this serious matter? This fellow is a murderer, or, at least, suspected of being such.”
“He is no murderer, sir,” said Ned Warbeck, “and, if he was, I have the king’s pardon. Read,” said he, placing the royal warrant under the astonished colonel’s eyes.
“Your name, sir?” asked Blood, sternly.
“You have no right to demand it,” said Ned, proudly.
“But, suppose I insist upon knowing it, and that of your friend?”
“Insist, sir?”
“Yes, insist.”
“If you wish to meet me on important business in a private manner,” Ned haughtily replied, “there is my card,” said he, giving it to the colonel.
“And, sir, here is mine,” said the colonel, biting his lip in anger.
“I do not need it. I know you too well already, colonel.”
“Ah, indeed.”
“You understand me?”
“I do. We shall meet again.”
“When you like, and where you like,” said Ned, with a light laugh.
“Perhaps we may meet too quickly for your own liking, young sir.”
“That cannot be. I fear you not.”
“You may learn to do so to your cost, Warbeck.”
“It remains with you, then, to name the day and hour. I am always ready to accommodate gentlemen in a small way.”
With these words, Ned and Garnet jumped into the coach, and drove homewards.
“I must clip that youngster’s wings,” said the colonel; “he is inclined to fly too high.”
“Then, colonel, you will have great trouble, I fear,” said one of the royal pages, who, in crossing the palace yard, had heard all that; had been said.
“Who is that?” asked the colonel, hastily.
“Your friend Simon, the page.”
“Ah, Simon, have you been disturbed again?”
“Yes, by those two hot-headed fellows who have just left you.”
“What news? Did you happen to ascertain their business at this late hour?”
“I did.”
“Indeed, what was it?”
“Come this way; we must not be overheard. It concerns you greatly.”
“You speak seriously.”
“I do; come this way. I will tell you all, and put you on your guard with the king.”
Blood and the page entered a doorway, and were lost to sight and hearing.
XLVII. THE COLONEL’S PLANS SUCCEED—THE SPY AND MESSENGER
When Ned Warbeck had left his uncle’s house to go and visit the palace, he was not aware that all his actions had been watched.
Yet they had been.
Colonel Blood was a man of too much influence about the king’s court not to have a number of spies and informers in his employ.
When, therefore, he was returning from the scene at the Block House, disheartened and annoyed, he met with a person who recognised him.
“Who hails me in the public streets at this time of the morning?” asked Blood, in a surly tone.
“A friend,” was the reply.
“Approach, and speak, then,” said the colonel, in a haughty tone.
The stranger stepped forward towards Blood, and in an instant he was recognized by the colonel as one of his spies, an old gentlemanly-looking Jew.
“What news to-night, Barnabas?” asked the colonel.
“Good news!” answered the Jew.
“And what is that, pray?”
“I have been watching the doings of Ned Warbeck, his goings and comings, as you told me to do a month ago.”
“Well, and with what success? Have you discovered anything?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“What?”
“Why, I saw him and a young naval officer not more than half an hour ago, hand as pretty a lady out of a carriage as ever man’s eyes rested upon.”
“Indeed! are you certain?”
“I am; and, more than that, old Sir Richard conducted her into the mansion with much politeness and ceremony.
“You did not, of course, learn her name?”
“I did. I heard Ned Warbeck and his companion conversing together for a moment after she had gone into the house.”
“Where were you then?”
“Hiding in a doorway.”
“And what said they?”
“Ned Warbeck swore that the maid should be restored to her father without a moment’s delay; that she should start that very night to Darlington.”
“Good!” said Blood; “fortune favors me still. I know the rest, and need not ask her name. It was Ellen Harmer.”
“The very same,” answered Barnabas.
“I thought so.”
“But how could you have known that, colonel. I did not see you in the neighbourhood until now?”
“I know it; but, nevertheless, I am perfectly aware of the fair one’s name, she has given me a vast amount of anxiety and trouble of late.”
“Indeed! then I am fortunate in having made the discovery.”
“Yes, Barnabas, you are. But, mark me, that girl must never be restored to her father.”
“I do not understand you,” said the Jew.
“I mean that she must never be allowed to return to her native village of Darlington. She has escaped from my protection, Barnabas, and I must have her back again, or else many unpleasant things might come to light.”
“But how can you prevent it?”
“Easily enough. Have they posted off with the girl already, think you?”
“I know not. I left Sir Richard’s mansion but half-an-hour ago, but Ned Warbeck seemed to be in such a hurry and flurry about the pretty wench that I have no doubt they will not lose any time in transporting her to Darlington again.”
“Fool that you were! Why did you not stop and watch Sir Richard’s mansion? In that case we could have been certain whether the wench had departed or not.”
“If I had done so, colonel, I should not have met you.”
“True; no matter. I can soon arrange the matter to my satisfaction.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“Are you a good horseman, Barnabas?”
“Yes, an excellent rider.”
“And can you disguise yourself well?”
“Yes, colonel, with any one in all England.”
“Do you know, then, where Darlington is?”
“Yes, well.”
“Then, on the instant, disguise yourself as anything you like—say a parson, for that character throws off most suspicion—disguise yourself, I say, and post off to Darlington as fast as horseflesh can carry you.”
“But I have no money.”
“You never have. I never knew a Jew in all my life who would ever confess to have more than sixpence if you wanted to borrow any without interest. Take this,” said Blood, “that will be sufficient for your purpose. If this wench is really on the road, watch her, and see where she goes to. If you do not find her on the road make your way to Darlington, and try to become friendly with her father, the old miller, and let me know from time to time how you get on and all you hear.”
Barnabas left the colonel on the instant, and for a moment Blood appeared to be deeply buried in thought.
“Ned Warbeck is out, eh? And there is no one of the family at home, save old Sir Richard and——Well, he isn’t much to think about, an old man like he is.”
In a short time Colonel Blood hit upon a cool manner of proceeding.
He directed his steps to a well-known gaming-house, where a company of genteel thieves and house-breakers were wont to assemble.
His presence did not excite any surprise, for he was often seen in such company.
In a short time, to use his own words “he gave the wink” to three or four of the better dressed, and left the place as if he had no other object than to lounge away half an hour or so.
Four well-dressed fellows followed him.
“Hello, my lads! are you up to any little game to-night?”
“No, colonel.”
“But are you ‘game’ to join me in a lark?”
“Of course we are. What is it?”
“There is a very pretty girl just gone into Sir Richard Warbeck’s mansion, and I want to get her into my possession as cleverly as possible.”
“Just so. And how do you intend to proceed?”
“Have you got any masks with you?”
“Yes; we have not long returned from a masque ball.”
“All right, then, we will call a carriage, and when we approach Sir Richard’s house, you four get out and hide the carriage round the corner. I will enter the mansion as if on business, and take good care to leave the door ajar. While I am talking to the old knight about his nephew, Ned, and the wild freaks he has been playing about town of late, you four enter, put on your masks, and if this pretty wench is not taken from the old knight’s abode in less than ten minutes, without noise, without causing any alarm or hubbub among the servants, I will have every one of you transported.”
So saying, the carriage they had hired drew up round the corner, and Colonel Blood stepped forward toward the house.
He knocked and rang loudly, and it was some time before the door was opened.
At length it was unlocked and opened by no less a person than Tim, the groom.
Directly he saw Colonel Blood, he would have run away, but the colonel seized him by the throat, and gave the unlucky youth such a shake as made his limbs to curl up like shavings.
“Make any noise, and I’ll choke you, villain,” said the colonel. “Where is your master!”
“Which master?” Tim groaned.
“Old Sir Richard.”
“He is in the parlour, talking to a young lady who is sick.”
“Take in this card, then, and be quick.”
While Tim was gone, Blood opened the door ajar.
His four confederates noiselessly entered, and hid themselves for a moment on the kitchen stairs, until they should have ascertained where Ellen Harmer’s apartment was.
“Colonel Blood!” said old Sir Richard, in much surprise, as he walked into the hall. “May I ask your business with me? it must be of some great consequence, or you would not have called at this unreasonable hour?”
“I would not, Sir Richard—my information is of the utmost importance to you, and brooks no delay.”
“Come this way then, colonel; I will not ask you into my breakfast parlor, for I have a fair young woman there, who has been lying insensible for the last hour or more.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, it is a painful story, as far as I can understand; but come this way, colonel, into the dining room. Tim, go down to the cellar and bring a bottle of wine for the colonel.”
“Yes, Sir Richard,” said Tim, and off he went towards the cellar with great glee, for it must be confessed Master Tim was seldom sent to the wine cellar without helping himself to the very best advantages.
He had not got further than the kitchen stairs, however, when an ominous squeak was heard like that of some unlucky rat who has shoved his head into a steel trap.
“Be ye men or devils! Have mercy on a poor unfortunate youth, who was born to be kicked and cuffed like a dog by every one.”
“Silence!” said Blood’s confederates, “or we will kill you.”
They instantly gagged and bound Master Tim, and for fear he should be in the way or give any trouble, they opened a window and pitched the poor groom into a dust-hole beneath, like a bundle of rags.
Quicker than can be described, the four men stealthily entered the breakfast parlour, closed the door again, and perceived Ellen Harmer lying on a couch, attended by two old nurses.
When the four masked men made their sudden and noiseless appearance in the room, one of the nurses frantically clutched her gin bottle, took a hasty drink, and pretended to swoon.
The other, who was an old maid of fifty, seized the poker, and made a brave stand to defend her virtue from the intruders.
But finding that none so much as even attempted to kiss her, she felt disgusted, disconsolate, and fainted, kicking up her heels high in the air.
In less than three minutes, the four masked men had secured and bore away Ellen Harmer without alarming the household.
Colonel Blood’s quick ears could hear the distant rumbling of heavy wheels, and he felt satisfied that his men had done their work cleverly and completely.
“But what is your business with me, colonel?” asked Sir Richard.
“There has been a dreadful commotion to-night. Phillip Redgill, I hear, is killed.”
“Killed!—how?—by whom?”
“Yes, killed, I understand, in a brawl or a fight, or a duel, or something of that sort, by young Ned Warbeck.”
“Impossible!”
“Nay, ’tis too true, Sir Richard; the information only just reached me, and I thought it was my bounden duty to inform you.”
“Thanks, colonel; but how could this have come to pass? I cannot understand it. I know that Phillip Redgill’s character of late has been bad, very bad indeed, but I never thought it would have come to this. Killed by Ned Warbeck, too—shocking, sir, shocking. I always thought that something of this sort would happen, for they hated each other since boyhood. But in what manner did all this happen, colonel? Let me hear the particulars.”
Colonel Blood was about to tell him all he knew, when a great row took place in the house, which stopped the conversation.
“What is that noise?” asked old Sir Richard.
“I know not,” said Blood, coolly.
“Murder, thieves, robbers, burglars, seducers, villains!” screamed the two nurses locked in the room.
They kicked at the door, and made such a terrible hubbub, that it aroused all the servants in the house, who came clamouring to the spot in hot haste.
“Open the door, open the door!” screamed the two nurses, jumping about inside; “thieves, murderers, seducers—help, help!”
The door was quickly opened, and one of the nurses thought proper to enact a little scene on her own account, and therefore fainted right in Blood’s arms.
The colonel was disgusted with his burden, and let her fall upon the floor again, rather heavily.
“The girl gone?” said Sir Richard.
“Yes, four men came in upon us—oh, oh, oh!—ho-o-o!”
“All in masks—oh, ho-o-o!”
“Wanted to take liberties with us—ho-o-o!”
“But we wouldn’t let ’em.”
“They snatched up my lady.”
“And drank all the wines and spirits.”
“They had all black faces.”
“Masks, I suppose,” said Blood, coolly.
“Yes, sir; masks, dark lanterns, and daggers. Oh, it was a mercy both on us weren’t killed.”
“And which way did they go?”
“Can’t tell, sir.”
“I must see to this at once,” said Blood; “this outrage is too great to be endured.”
“Do,” said Sir Richard; “do, colonel, the girl must not be borne away from my house in this manner.”
“You speak and look as if I had had something to do with the affair, Sir Richard.”
“Whatever I think is my own business, Colonel Blood; but believe me I shall inform the king of all I know and suspect, and shall attend the levée next Thursday for that special purpose.”
Blood blustered out some angry words, and left the mansion, pretending to be in a great rage with “those villainous rascals” who had stolen the girl away.
Yet when he got into the open air again he could not but laugh heartily at the success of his plans.
He went towards the palace, and there it was that he encountered Ned Warbeck, Lieutenant Garnet, and Bob Bertram, of which we have spoken in another place.
But what became of Barnabas the Jew the next chapter will show.
Chapter XLVIII
A ROUGH RECEPTION—THE JEW ON HIS TRAVELS—ANDY, THE MANIAC LOVER, MEETS BARNABAS.
In selecting Barnabas as an especial messenger to Darlington, Colonel Blood showed good judgment, for on more than one occasion the Jew had ridden eighty miles in ten hours.
But Ellen’s friends had also selected a swift messenger, and a much faster one than the Jew could ever prove to be.
The messenger was nothing else than a carrier pigeon.
In those days, when coaches were slow and letters unsafe for robbers, gentlemen always had by them a number of trained pigeons, who carried messages to and from their country seats.
When, therefore, Sir Richard had found out who Ellen Harmer really was, he wrote a note, sent Tim up to the dormer to catch a pigeon, and, having tied the note to its neck, he threw it off, and away it went with lightning speed to its favourite home—Darlington Hall.
Hence the Jew had not gone far on his journey, when the pigeon, with its important message, arrived at Darlington Hall.
It was speedily caught, and the note, as directed, was immediately delivered to Miller Harmer, and read thus:—
“MY DEAR FRIEND HARMER,—I am happy to inform you that, through the agency of my young scapegrace nephew, Ned Warbeck, we have discovered your daughter Ellen, who was abducted some time ago. Come up to town at once, as speedily as possible, for business of great importance demands it.
“Yours in haste, “RICHARD WARBECK.
“P.S.—Do not, on any account, whisper a word of your business to any one, but maintain the strictest silence in the village and on the road. R. W.”
Miller Harmer, the same hour in which the note arrived, mounted the fleetest horse at Darlington Hall, and set out on his journey to London at a giddy gallop.
He passed the disguised Jew upon the road, who asked the way to Darlington.
“Do you know any one in the village of the name of Harmer?” asked the Jew.
“Yes, I do,” answered the miller, with a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Why do you ask?”
“He lost a daughter once?”
“He did.”
“Yes, poor man, it was a great affliction, wasn’t it?”
“No doubt,” said the miller, biting his lips. “Are you journeying to Darlington with any news of her?”
“Yes; that is to say, I thought I’d call and inform her father that she is well, happy and married.”
“Very kind of you, certainly,” said the miller.
“Which is his house?”
“Down by the mill-dam.”
“Do you think he would give me a warm reception?”
“No doubt of it, he couldn’t do otherwise to one who has put himself out of the way to oblige him as you have.”
“Thank you, good day,” said the Jew.
“Good day,” said the miller, with a trembling lip.
And the horsemen parted company.
For many weary miles the Jew travelled on through sleet, and wind, and rain.
The storm was very severe, and the clouds were rolling with heavy thunder.
It was towards eleven o’clock at night when Barnabas came near to the village of Darlington.
He had ridden far, and was weak and weary.
The rain poured down in torrents, and the night was so dark he could scarcely see ten yards before him.
Fearful of losing his way, he determined to call and enquire at a cottage close by.
He knocked at the door loudly with his riding whip, and the door was opened by an aged woman.
“What do you want, kind sir?” she asked.
“My way to Darlington.”
“The right-hand road, sir, is the nearest,”
“Do you know Miller Harmer?.”
“I do.”
“And his daughter?”
“Yes, sir; why?”
“I came to inform him that his daughter Ellen—”
“That’s him! that’s him!” roared some one inside the cottage.
In an instant Andy, the maniac, rushed out to the cabin door, a heavy club in hand. (See cut in No. 20.)
“That’s him! that’s him!” roared Andy, in a frightful passion, at the same time he seized the horse by the reins and dealt the unfortunate Jew three or four such terrible blows as knocked him off his horse into the muddy road.
Barnabas was stunned, and bled freely.
He would have been killed on the spot by the maniac but that several villagers passing by disarmed him, and led the youth, raving, back to the cottage.
When the villagers returned to the spot, Barnabas had mounted his horse again, with great difficulty, and galloped into the village of Darlington, as if ten thousand demons were at his heels.
Chapter XLIX
THE LEVEE—MILLER HARMER ARRIVES IN TOWN—SIR RICHARD, NED WARBECK, AND THE MILLER ARE GRANTED AN AUDIENCE BY THE KING—THE CUNNING PAGE SIMON—THE CRAFTINESS OF COL. BLOOD—NED WARBECK ALL BUT CHALLENGES BLOOD IN THE KING’S PRESENCE.
The day agreed on by the king on which Ned Warbeck should again call came round.
In the meantime, Miller Harmer had safely arrived in town, and to his consternation learned every particular of his daughter from the lips of Ned Warbeck, and his uncle, Sir Richard.
The old man’s grief was great; but Sir Richard cheered him, and gave such wholesome and encouraging advice that he rested and felt satisfied that ere long justice would fall on all who had had any hand in robbing him of his darling and only daughter.
Sir Richard had not attended Court for many years before, but now he donned his best suit, and even insisted that the miller should accompany him to the levée.
After much persuasion he consented, and went with Sir Richard and Ned Warbeck.
They had not mixed among the great nobles long, when the king suddenly exclaimed,
“Sir Richard Warbeck, as I live! his nephew, and a farmer-looking gentleman also. Welcome, good friend, Warbeck! Why, who were they that told us you were not living?”
“I know not, sire,” Sir Richard answered, bowing.
“But they are mistaken considerably, are they not?”
“They are, sire.”
“We are glad to hear it, very glad to hear it, indeed, Sir Richard. And who have you with you?”
“An old friend—an injured man, sire; his name is Harmer, the miller of Darlington.”
“Ah, indeed! And I am glad to see the worthy miller, who is no doubt deep in market prices, and reeking with floury learning, eh?”
“Not very deep, sire,” said the miller, gravely. “I come here as a complainant to the fountain of justice as well as of honour.”
“And I too,” said old Sir Richard.
“I am sorry to hear it; but you had better go to Lord Bute—you know Bute, our new attorney-general, Sir Richard?—a very clever fellow. Go to him, and say we send you.”
“If you will deign to read this, sire,” said the miller, presenting a paper to him.
“Yes, oh, yes—at our leisure.”
“Now, if it pleases you, sire. There are but four lines upon that paper; but if it possesses you with our great grief it may prevent bloodshed.”
“Bloodshed?” said the king, as he opened the note; and then in a low tone, he read,
“Ellen Harmer, my daughter, has been stolen from her father’s roof. Colonel Blood is suspected; will you say if you think him guilty or not?”
“Hem!” said the king, “a grave charge this—very, very grave. It is well not to fill all our gossips with such a matter.”
“It is, sire, and therefore was it that I wrote these lines for the miller,” said Sir Richard, “and took his case in hand.”
“You have done well, quite well. Let me think; I hardly know it I ought to do this that you ask of me, but I promise you that I will do all I can to find the lady. I will myself take steps to do so.”
“You are ever gracious, sire,” said Ned Warbeck, sternly; “but if Colonel Blood shrinks from the pledge required he will have to meet me in arms this day, for I shall else make the atmosphere of honour unfit for him to breathe.”
“No, no—no fighting,” said the king with a toss of the head. “Simon, where are you?”
“Here, sire,” the cunning page replied.
“Search out Colonel Blood, and tell him to meet us in the wainscot chamber in an hour from now. Will that content you?”
“Yes, sire, if you will promise to take steps to avenge my child.”
“Yes, oh, yes, we will.”
“Do you think of walking, sire?” asked the cunning page?
“Walking, villain? What do you mean?”
“You talked of taking steps to find Colonel Blood,” said Simon, the page, with a broad grin.
“Simon, if you stay here another moment I will sacrifice you to my just resentment. Off with you, rascal!” said the king.
Simon made a rapid retreat, and the king, bowing to Sir Richard Warbeck, Miller Harmer, and Ned Warbeck, added—
“We will put Blood to his word in this matter, and shall expect to see you; and also, I must say, we deeply grieve for you.”
There was no resource now for the father of Ellen Harmer and Sir Richard but to make their exit from the chamber.
“This will be one point gained,” said Sir Richard, “if we got Blood to convict or clear himself in the presence of the king; it will be either his exculpation or his ruin.”
“It will—it must!” said Ned Warbeck, warmly, “and I will take good care that he does not shelter himself under any ambiguity of phrase in the matter. Where is the wainscot chamber the king spoke of?”
“I know not; but here come a royal page, I will ask him,” said Sir Richard.
It was Simon who was passing, and to whom Sir Richard said,
“Young man, can you conduct us to the wainscot chamber?”
“Yes, gentlemen,” said Simon, with a roguish smile; “I was seeking you for that purpose. Will you please follow me?”
“We will.”
Simon led the way to rather a small room that was entirely wainscotted all over the walls as well as the ceiling, and after desiring them to be seated he bowed himself out, and scarcely had he done so when another door was opened, and Simon, appearing again, in a sharp, sudden tone of voice, announced—
“The king!”
“What a mercy,” said the king, “that the levée is over at last. But where is Colonel Blood?”
“We have not seen him, sire,” said Sir Richard.
“Oh, then he will be here soon.”
Simon the page opened the door and announced Colonel Blood.
In another moment Colonel Blood entered the room.
He was most magnificently attired in a semi-official kind of costume.
In his hand he carried a hat, looped with a diamond, and ornamented with a plume of feathers that, as he bowed, swept the floor.
Simon the page had had just time enough to let Colonel Blood know who he had to meet in the wainscot chamber, and why he had to meet them, so that the bold colonel was pretty well prepared to face the affair out with all the nonchalance possible.
“Well, Blood,” said the king, “we have sent for you to ask you a favour, for the subject of this interview is not one concerning which we feel justified in impressing a command upon you.”
“I am your humble servant ever, sire,” said Colonel Blood. “Your requests should be commands to those who are true to your person.”
“Well, well. Blood, that is all very well; but here are three gentlemen with grievous complaints.”
“Of me?”
“In some degree.”
Colonel Blood elevated his eyebrows, and tried to look the picture of candid innocence and surprise.
“I say, only in some degree,” said the king; and then, turning to Sir Richard, he added, “May I show him the note, and that will show him at once what you mean?”
“If you please,” said Sir Richard.
“Well, I think it best. Read that, Colonel Blood, and when you have read it, remember it is my request that you answer clearly and categorically to the questions put to you.”
With well-acted surprise Colonel Blood read the note, and then placing his hand upon his heart, he returned it in silence.
Ned Warbeck looked sternly at him as he said—
“Colonel Blood, it is well known to you that it is not without reasons that we point at you the finger of suspicion in this case.”
The colonel bowed lowly.
“Therefore,” added Ned, warmly, “the circumstances of our coming in this way to the king, and requesting him to exercise an authority that may prevent useless bloodshed, is not altogether so very extraordinary a one as it might appear.”
The colonel bowed again.
“I do not wish,” added Miller Harmer, “to enter into any dispute with you. What is past I am willing to forget, if it has fallen short of the crime of abduction, which I feel myself in a position to lay at the door of some one.”
“And I, too,” said Sir Richard; “I, too, have reason to require an explanation from you, colonel, of rather an extraordinary appearance that you made in my house last night, but am quite willing, for the present, to wave that circumstance in favour of the questions that my friend, the miller here, has put to you.”
“Very well, gentlemen,” said the colonel, coolly. “You find me peculiarly situated here; the king, who holds my first duty, can command me to reply to you.”
“Nay,” said the king, “that I do not. I only stand here as, I hope, the friend of all parties; and if anything I can say or do will have the effect of preventing honourable gentlemen and good subjects from embroiling themselves in conflict with each other, of course I am only too happy.”
“Then,” said Ned Warbeck, “do I understand, Colonel Blood, that you will answer what I have to say to you?”
“You do, sir,” said the colonel, with a curling lip.
“On the word of a gentleman?” said Ned.
“On the word of a gentleman,” replied the colonel.
“Which,” added Sir Richard, “it is moral suicide to falsify.”
“Exactly so,” said the colonel, with a smile; “I propose your questions, and here I stand ready to reply to them fully and fairly.”
“Then, sir,” said the miller, “is my daughter in your keeping as a prisoner? I say as a prisoner, because such is the only mode by which she could be prevented from seeking her friends.”
“She is not, sir,” answered Blood.
“Did you or did you not take her from the house of Sir Richard Warbeck last night?”
“I did not, sir.”
“Did you cause her to be taken from thence?” said Sir Richard.
“Certainly not.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“I do not know where she is.”
Colonel Blood in this reply kept his word of honour by a piece of sophistry, rather than by downright candour, for he managed to place a slight emphasis on the word “know,” and told himself that he could not be said to know anything of what he had been only told by Simon, but of which he knew nothing.
There was now a pause of some few moments’ duration, after which the king said—
“Gentlemen, are you satisfied?”
“We are,” said Sir Richard. “I cannot so far malign human nature than to do otherwise than believe that what the colonel has said, on his word of honour, is perfectly true.”
“Stop,” said Ned, fiercely. “Will you say, Colonel Blood, if you are in possession of any knowledge or information of any kind whatever respecting Ellen Harmer?”
“Sir,” said Blood, coldly, “I have no right to say more than in all honour will clear myself of every imputation. More than that will be to battle about the affairs of others, and to me that is odious.”
Thus ended this fruitless interview, which, on the part of Colonel Blood, was naught else than a tissue of lies.
“D——n the rascal!” said Ned to Garnet, as they drove home. “I am certain that the cool, smiling villain knows all about it.”
“Then let us make it our business to entrap him,” said Garnet. “It is very hard after she has been rescued from their clutches once, that she should again be taken away, and from your own uncle’s house, too.”
“Never mind,” said Ned; “I’ll be even with Colonel Blood yet.”
* * * * *
“You played your part admirably, Blood,” said the king, when Sir Richard and the others had left the audience chamber.
“Sire,” said the colonel, smiling, “I am always your majesty’s most faithful subject.”
“And when shall I see this pretty wench, colonel?”
“To-morrow night, your majesty.”
“’Tis well. Have you made all the arrangements?”
“Yes, sire; but she knows not who you are.”
“So much the better. To-morrow night, then; come early, Blood.”
“I will, sire.”
L. THE ROYAL LOVER
The night upon which the king had been promised that the young Ellen, with whom he was so deeply enamoured, would come to his apartments, at length arrived, and set in with squally fierceness.
For the whole day the sun had been obscured by clouds, and although it was not until evening actually arrived that any rain had fallen, yet it had threatened to do so numberless times, and the scud of heavy clouds had been coursing through the air at a terrible rate.
The wind, though, about sunset—when a dashing rain began to fall—had sensibly moderated, and it was only now and then that it whistled about the old towers and chimneys of St. James’s Palace.
The two dissolute and unscrupulous men to whom the king had, rather in defiance of the pledge he gave to Sir Richard Warbeck, given an account of his intended adventure—namely, Blood and the page Simon—were quite ready to play their part in the comedy, which they knew was about to take place.
The ruin of a young girl, who confided in the truth and honesty of one, who, under a false name, affected to love her, was to them a common-place affair.
And without a thought or regret for the evil they were about to do, they joined heart and hand in the infamous plan for the destruction of the fair Ellen.
If we were to say that the king had no terrors upon the subject, we should, perhaps, be, at his age, giving him the discredit of a greater familiarity with vice than he really had.
The career of dissipation which he had fallen into was in consequence of evil councillors surrounding him; and it is certain that, during the day, he had several misgivings with regard to the course he agreed to pursue in this affair.
By appointment, Colonel Blood met the king in his own apartments about one hour before the time appointed for the meeting with young Ellen.
And whatever might have been his own qualms of conscience, they were soon smothered by the reckless manner in which those two dissolute persons, Blood and Simon, spoke of the affair.
In fact, as is ever the case with a young mind that is thrown into vicious company, there was a lack of sufficient courage to assert better principles than were enunciated by that company.
“Well, sire,” said Blood, gaily, “you are a lucky fellow, upon my life.”
“Think you so?”
“Think I so? I am sure of it. Is he not now, Simon?”
“De-ci-ded-ly,” said Simon, “His majesty is always lucky.”
“Well, then, I suppose I am,” said the king.
“You are,” added Blood, “in more ways than one.”
“But are all the hindrances got rid of?”
“All, sire.”
“Good; and we three alone, then, now occupy this suit of apartments?”
“Precisely so, sire; and I have also said should any inquiry be made for you, you are not here.”
“Good again; and the fair one is to be here at the hour of midnight. Is it not so?”
“It is, sire.”
“Very well, then, I act the bridegroom, Blood acts the parson, and Simon here acts the clerk. Who is to be the only witnesses of this marriage?”
“By jove, I should like to change places with you, for from the transient glances I have had of the fair girl, she is positively bewitching.”
The king was about to make some reply, but such a gust of wind, accompanied by a heavy dash of rain, at that moment came against the windows of the room in which they sat, that they all three sprang to their feet, with the full expectation that the casement was about to be blown in upon them at that moment.
“What a night!” said the king. “Surely she will not come. What think you, gentlemen, shall we indeed see the fair one to-night?”
“I say, yes,” replied Blood; “I know she will be brought here for a certainty.”
“And so do I,” said Simon, “for what, after all, will not love adventure? And that she is desperately enamoured of your majesty, there cannot be a doubt upon any of our minds.”
“Not the least,” said Blood; “of course not.”
“Well,” said the king, “there is certainly something in that; but as it is now near the time, I think it but civil that I should be near the door to receive her when she does come.”
“Be it so, sire,” said Blood; “and while you are gone, we will get ready for the parts we may be about to play. By the bye, which room will you take her into, your majesty?”
“The room next to this.”
“Well, perhaps it will be better to do so, sire; and yet the next room that opens to the garden is most private, is it not?”
“Not so; lights can be seen through its windows; but that, to be sure, would not matter much. Hark!”
“It is the old clock.”
The old clock chimed the three-quarters past eleven, and the king, waving his hand to his friends, left the room, and took his way through a magnificent suite of chambers.
* * * * *
A handsome small saloon was already lighted, and into it the king at once made his way.
And, flinging his cap and cloak upon the table, he shook a small silver bell that was at hand.
A female attendant appeared as if by magic.
“Oh, is that you, Lady Gordon?” said the king.
“Yes, sire.”
“Well, there is a young lady here, I believe; she has not long arrived.”
“She has that honour, sire.”
“I hope that she has been treated as belies her rank and honour.”
“Her rank and—and——Did you say virtue?”
The king bit his lips to keep himself from laughing outright.
And then, with feigned anger, he said,
“Lady Gordon, do you think it impossible for a virtuous girl to find her way to this house? Do you dare to assert that because a young lady is brought here in rather a mysterious manner, she is henceforth to have a slur cast upon her name? I am really ashamed of you, Lady Gordon.”
“I humbly crave your pardon, I really did not know——”
“Pshaw! you ought to know!”
“As you please, sire.”
“Tell me at once, has the lady, who was brought here to-night, been treated with respect and consideration or not? Answer me that.”
“I can assure you, sire, upon that point, that she has been treated with the greatest possible respect and attention; and I can further say that I have been informed that she is rather impatient under her imprisonment.”
“Ah, indeed!”
“Even so, sire.”
“Has she made any attempt to escape?”
“I cannot say that, sire; but she has, in terms of indignant remonstrance, demanded her freedom, and proclaimed that she was innocent of all crime.”
“Humph! Did she talk of her father?”
“No, sir; but she spoke of Sir Richard Warbeck.”
“It is very strange that she should refer less to her father than to old Sir Richard, to whom she is no relative.”
“Yes, sire, and if you please, and——”
“Peace, Lady Gordon! I was only communing with myself; you know nothing of all this.”
The lady bowed very low and retired a few paces, when the king rather abruptly said,
“Send Lady Connell to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lady Gordon retired, and the king rose and paced the room.
It was evident he was rather at a loss what to do.
In the course of a few minutes Lady Connell made her appearance, and with rather a stately curtsey, saluted the king.
“Oh, Connell,” he said, “how are you?”
“I am quite well. May I ask if you are the same?”
“Oh, yes, thank you. All right. Sit down. Well, how about this girl, eh? What does she say?”
“The child, you mean?”
“The what?”
“The child that was brought here to-night.”
“Child, eh?—hem! Excuse me, I don’t know anything about a child. I allude to Ellen Harmer. I may as well name her at once, for I hear from Gordon that she has proclaimed who she is.”
“It is to that same girl I allude. I call her, I think justly, a child.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Yes, I think every female a child under thirty years of age.”
“Oh, lord! Well, Connell, we won’t quarrel about that at all events. How is the baby?”
“You jest.”
“No, on my soul no; but I thought you would like to be met with in your own way, but if you prefer the term “child” better, how is the child?”
“She is well enough.”
“Or ill enough—which is it?”
“Ill enough in temper, but well enough in health, I take it,” said Lady Connell, tossing up her head. “You’ll find her in the next room.”
“Many thanks. Go to her and say that a gentleman wishes to speak to her, if she will grant him an audience.”
Lady Connell sailed out of the room, and presently returned to say that Ellen had, upon the ground that she was detained against her will like a prisoner, refused to reply to the message in any terms at all.
“You will go to her, I presume,” said Lady Connell, “and announce yourself?”
“No!”
“No! Why?”
“That is—I don’t know. Ellen Harmer is very virtuous, and is a young lady of surpassing charms. I don’t know what course to adopt. She might know me again. Being the daughter of a true old gentleman, I fear I shall have to leave the house as I came into it.”
“It’s quite a gratification,” said Lady Connell, with a toss of her head again, “it’s quite a gratification to find you are so scrupulous—much more so than you used to be.”
“More scrupulous than I used to be? How do you mean?”
“I mean that you have not shrunk from appealing to the affections of a young lady, despite her rank or birth.”
“Have I not? That’s all you know about it. I have ever respected rank, and real virtue more so. To whom do you allude, if indeed you allude to any one at all?”
“To Margaret, my daughter.”
“To what?”
“To Margaret, the daughter of—”
“Oh! oh! oh!—ha! ha! ha! Good. Oh, that is good!”
“Sire!”
“Excuse my laughing, Lady Connell; but you are talking of the little blue-eyed wench you called your daughter, or your niece, are you not?”
“I mentioned the name, and the descendant of a race of kings!”
“Milesian kings?”
“Yes, Milesian kings; but none the less kings, and I am quite surprised that you should feel any hesitation in regarding the daughter of a mere English miller when you felt none regarding Margaret, a descendant of a long line of kings.”
“My good woman, don’t make me laugh in this way, that’s a dear old soul; now, don’t.”
“Laugh, sire?”
“Yes, to be sure. Come, say no more, we will go and speak to this——”
The king dashed out of the room just as Lady Connell, with a preparatory shake of the head, was about to say something further regarding her daughter.
The three rooms adjoining consisted of reception-room, a refreshment-room, and a bed-chamber; and when the king got to the door of the reception room, he found a servant on duty, who had the key of it.
“You are sure the lady is here?” said the king.
“Yes, sire.”
“Open the door and lock it after me.”
“Yes, sire.”
Without the least change of countenance, the servant opened the door for the king, who at once passed into the reception-room.
The door was shut behind him, and locked; but a glance told him that Ellen was not in that room.
Now there was something of the gentleman about the king, notwithstanding all his libertinism, therefore he thought it would be ungentlemanly to proceed further without Ellen knowing of his presence.
He took an irresolute glance around the room; and while he is debating in his own mind what course to pursue, we may give the reader a slight idea of the appearance of the suite of apartments.
The reception-room the king was in was a very pretty one, and hung with tapestry that was not defaced by any hideous representations of human figures which were ever failures in such material; but had upon it a real flowering pattern that succeeded perfectly well, and had rather a charming effect.
The furniture of this room was of white and gold.
The next room was covered with crimson plush paper.
The furniture was of rosewood, polished up to a great height of brilliancy.
The sleeping chamber was the gem of the whole suite, for it was got up quite regardless of expense in blue and silver, and presented the most enchanting appearance of brightness and elegance.
If the apartments she occupied could have cheered the melancholy of Ellen Harmer, certainly she ought to have been happy enough in them.
The king for one moment knew not what to do.
A certain sense of fear came over him as he noiselessly walked towards the beautiful bed-room.
In a chair beside the glowing fire sat Ellen Harmer, and the soft light of waxen tapers made the maiden to appear even more lovely than she really was.
With an impatient gesture the king advanced towards her and knelt upon one knee.
“Dearest Ellen,” he began, in tones of great earnestness; “dearest Ellen, how I have longed for this interview!”
“I was brought here, sire,” was the maiden’s reply, “by force, and, as a gentleman, as a nobleman, as my king, I demand to know why and wherefore?”
“Dear creature, do not pout so beautifully; do not flash those lovely eyes, I beseech you. It was by my orders you were brought hither.”
“Indeed, sire. And was such an action worthy of a king?”
“Nay, do not discuss that point with me, fair one, for you know that Cupid knows no law. Come, fairest of the fair, listen to my tale of love, I beseech thee. We are here alone; no one can hear us, no one can see us; the doors are locked, we are alone!”
“False man!” said Ellen; “would you thus enveigle me to destroy mine honour? Let me go, I say!”
“You cannot.”
“But I will.”
“Nay, dear Ellen, listen to me. We are alone, I say.”
“Nay; not alone,” said a voice behind some tapestry.
“Ha!” said the king. “What, rats behind the arras!”
“No rat, sire,” said a bold youth, advancing into view.
It was Ned Warbeck.
In his hand he held a sword.
The point was gory, and the brave youth looked flushed and excited.
“What means this,” gasped the king, with a hand upon his own sword.
“Mean, sire!” answered Ned, proudly; “it means that Colonel Blood is a villain! It means that he caused the abduction of this fair maid from my uncle’s house! It means that he has proved himself a hypocrite and a liar! And, finally, it means that I watched for him, and found my way hither over his vile body!”
“What, dead! Blood dead?”
“That I know not, sire, nor care,” said Ned Warbeck, boldly. “He confronted me, sword in hand; I left him gasping on the back stairs.”
“And what would you with me?”
“Nothing, sire, but that this injured maid may be restored to her old father’s arms.”
“Rash youth,” said the king, “know you not that I could with one word call around me a whole regiment of soldiers?”
“I know it,” Ned replied, with an ironical bow; “you could do so, of course, sire, but you are much too wise to attempt it.”
This was uttered with so much emphasis and meaning, that it staggered the king.
And, without saying another word, Ned Warbeck conducted Ellen Harmer from the apartment by the secret back stairway; and before the king could utter a word, the door was locked upon him, and the fair fugitive was safe in the hands of friends.