Books: In Freedom\'s Cause

G >> G. A. Henty >> In Freedom\'s Cause

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26

He was awakened by a slight noise at the door, and sprang to his
feet instantly, believing that day was at hand and his hour had
come. To his surprise a voice, speaking scarcely above a whisper,
said:

"Hush! my son, make no noise; I am here as a friend." Then the
door closed, and Archie's visitor produced a lighted lantern from
the folds of his garments, and Archie saw that a priest stood before
him.

"I thank you, father," he said gratefully; "you have doubtless come
to shrive me, and I would gladly listen to your ministrations. I
would fain intrust you, too, with a message to my mother if you
will take it for me; and I would fain also that you told the Lady
Marjory that she must not grieve for my death, or feel that she is
in any way dishonoured by it, seeing that she strove to her utmost
to keep her promise, and is in no way to blame that her uncle has
overriden her."

"You can even give her your message yourself, sir knight," the
priest said, "seeing that the wilful girl has herself accompanied
me hither."

Thus saying, he stepped aside, and Archie perceived, standing
behind the priest, a figure who, being in deep shadow, he had not
hitherto seen. She came timidly forward, and Archie, bending on
one knee, took the hand she held out and kissed it.

"Lady," he said, "you have heard my message; blame not yourself,
I beseech you, for my death. Remember that after all you have
lengthened my life and not shortened it, seeing that but for your
interference I must have been slain as I stood, by your followers.
It was kind and good of you thus to come to bid me farewell."

"But I have not come to bid you farewell. Tell him, good Father
Anselm, our purpose here."

"`Tis a mad brain business," the priest said, shrugging his shoulders;
"and, priest though I am, I shall not care to meet MacDougall in
the morning. However, since this wilful girl wills it, what can I
do? I have been her instructor since she was a child; and instead
of being a docile and obedient pupil, she has been a tyrannical
master to me; and I have been so accustomed to do her will in all
things that I cannot say her nay now. I held out as long as I could;
but what can a poor priest do against sobs and tears? So at last
I have given in and consented to risk the MacDougall's anger, to
bring smiles into her face again. I have tried in vain to persuade
her that since it is the chief's doing, your death will bring no
dishonour upon her. I have offered to absolve her from the promise,
and if she has not faith in my power to do so, to write to the
pope himself and ask for his absolution for any breach that there
may be; but I might as well have spoken to the wind. When a young
lady makes up her mind, stone walls are less difficult to move; so
you see here we are. Wound round my waist are a hundred feet of
stout rope, with knots tied three feet apart. We have only now to
ascend the stairs to the platform above and fix the rope, and in
an hour you will be far away among the woods."

Archie's heart bounded with joy with the hope of life and freedom;
but he said quietly, "I thank you, dear lady, with all my heart for
your goodness; but I could not accept life at the cost of bringing
your uncle's anger upon you."

"You need not fear for that," the girl replied. "My uncle is
passionate and headstrong -- unforgiving to his foes or those he
deems so, but affectionate to those he loves. I have always been his
pet; and though, doubtless, his anger will be hot just at first,
it will pass away after a time. Let no scruple trouble you on that
score; and I would rather put up with a hundred beatings than live
with the knowledge that one of Scotland's bravest knights came to
his end by a breach of my promise. Though my uncle and all my people
side with the English, yet do not I; and I think the good father
here, though from prudence he says but little, is a true Scotsman
also. I have heard of your name from childhood as the companion
and friend of Wallace, and as one of the champions of our country;
and though by blood I ought to hate you, my feelings have been very
different. But now stand talking no longer; the castle is sound
asleep, but I tremble lest some mischance should mar our plans."

"That is good sense," Father Anselm said; "and remember, not a
word must be spoken when we have once left this chamber. There is
a sentry at the gate; and although the night is dark, and I deem
not that he can see us, yet must we observe every precaution."

"Holy father," Archie said, "no words of mine can thank you for
the part which you are playing tonight. Believe me, Archie Forbes
will ever feel grateful for your kindness and aid; and should you
ever quit Dunstaffnage you will be welcomed at Aberfilly Castle. As
to you, lady, henceforth Archie Forbes is your knight and servant.
You have given me my life, and henceforth I regard it as yours. Will
you take this ring as my token? Should you ever send it to me, in
whatever peril or difficulty you may be, I will come to your aid
instantly, even should it reach me in a stricken battle. Think not
that I speak the language of idle gallantry. Hitherto my thoughts
have been only on Scotland, and no maiden has ever for an instant
drawn them from her. Henceforth, though I fight for Scotland, yet
will my country have a rival in my heart; and even while I charge
into the ranks of the English, the fair image of Marjory MacDougall
will be in my thoughts."

Father Anselm gave a slight start of surprise as Archie concluded,
and would have spoken had not the girl touched him lightly. She
took the pledge from Archie and said, "I will keep your ring, Sir
Archibald Forbes; and should I ever have occasion for help I will
not forget your promise. As to your other words, I doubt not that
you mean them now; but it is unlikely, though I may dwell in your
thoughts, that you will ever in the flesh see Marjory MacDougall,
between whose house and yours there is, as you know, bitter enmity."

"There! there!" Father Anselm said impatiently; "enough, and more
than enough talk. Go to the door, Sir Archibald, and prepare to
open it directly I have blown out the light. The way up the stairs
lies on your right hand as you go out."

Not another word was spoken. Noiselessly the little party made their
way to the roof; there one end of the rope was quickly knotted round
the battlement. Archie grasped the good priest's hand, and kissed
that of the girl; and then, swinging himself off the battlement,
disappeared at once in the darkness. Not a sound was heard for
some time, then the listening pair above heard a faint splash in
the water. The priest laid his hands on the rope and found that it
swung slack in the air; he hauled it up and twisted it again round
his waist. As he passed the door of the cell he pushed it to and
replaced the bars and bolts, and then with his charge regained the
portion of the castle inhabited by the family.

A few vigorous strokes took Archie across the moat, and an hour
later he was deep in the heart of the forest. Before morning broke
he was far beyond the risk of pursuit; and, taking the bearings of
the surrounding hills, he found himself, after some walking, at the
spot where he had left the royal party. As he had expected, it was
deserted; he, however, set out on the traces of the party, and that
night overtook them at their next encampment.

With the reticence natural to young lovers Archie felt a disinclination
to speak of what had happened, or of the services which Marjory
MacDougall had rendered him. As it was naturally supposed that he
had lost his way in the woods on the previous day, and had not reached
the encampment in the morning, until after they had started, few
questions were asked, and indeed the thoughts of the whole party
were occupied with the approaching separation which the night
before they had agreed was absolutely necessary. The ladies were
worn out with their fatigues and hardships, and the Earl of Athole,
and some of the other elder men, were also unable longer to support
it. Winter was close at hand, and the hardships would increase ten
fold in severity. Therefore it was concluded that the time had come
when they must separate, and that the queen and her companions,
accompanied by those who could still be mounted, should seek shelter
in Bruce's strong castle of Kildrummy. The Earl of Athole and the
king's brother Nigel were in charge of the party.

Bruce with his remaining companions determined to proceed into
Kintyre, the country of Sir Neil Campbell, and thence to cross for
a time to the north of Ireland. Sir Neil accordingly started to
obtain the necessary vessels, and the king and his company followed
slowly. To reach the Firth of Clyde it was necessary to cross Loch
Lomond. This was a difficult undertaking; but after great search
Sir James Douglas discovered a small boat sunk beneath the surface
of the lake. On being pulled out it was found to be old and leaky,
and would hold at best but three. With strips torn from their garments
they stopped the leaks as best they could, and then started across
the lake. There were two hundred to cross, and the passage occupied
a night and a day; those who could not swim being taken over in the
boat, while the swimmers kept alongside and when fatigued rested
their hands on her gunwales. They were now in the Lennox country,
and while Bruce and his friends were hunting, they were delighted
to come across the Earl of Lennox and some of his companions,
who had found refuge there after the battle of Methven. Although
himself an exile and a fugitive the earl was in his own country,
and was therefore able to entertain the king and his companions
hospitably, and the rest and feeling of security were welcome indeed
after the past labours and dangers.

After a time Sir Neil Campbell arrived with the vessels, and,
accompanied by the Earl of Lennox, Bruce and his companions embarked
at a point near Cardross. They sailed down the Clyde and round
the south end of Arran, until, after many adventures and dangers,
they reached the Castle of Dunaverty, on the south point of the Mull
of Kintyre, belonging to Angus, chief of Islay. Here they waited
for some time, but not feeling secure even in this secluded spot
from the vengeance of their English and Scottish foes, they again
set sail and landed at the Isle of Rathlin, almost midway between
Ireland and Scotland. Hitherto Robert Bruce had received but little
of that support which was so freely given to Wallace by the Scotch
people at large; nor is this a matter for surprise. Baliol and
Comyn had in turn betrayed the country to the English, and Bruce
had hitherto been regarded as even more strongly devoted to the
English cause than they had been. Thus the people viewed his attempt
rather as an effort to win a throne for himself than as one to free
Scotland from English domination. They had naturally no confidence
in the nobles who had so often betrayed them, and Bruce especially
had, three or four times already, after taking up arms, made his
peace with England and fought against the Scots. Therefore, at first
the people looked on at the conflict with comparative indifference.
They were ready enough to strike for freedom, as they had proved
when they had rallied round Wallace, but it was necessary before
they did so that they should possess confidence in their leaders.
Such confidence they had certainly no cause whatever to feel in
Bruce. The time was yet to come when they should recognize in him a
leader as bold, as persevering, and as determined as Wallace himself.

The people of Rathlin were rude and ignorant, but simple and
hospitable. The island contained nothing to attract either adventurers
or traders, and it was seldom, therefore, that ships touched there,
consequently there was little fear that the news of the sojourn of
the Scotch king and his companions would reach the mainland, and
indeed the English remained in profound ignorance as to what had
become of the fugitives, and deemed them to be still in hiding
somewhere among the western hills.

Edward had in council issued a proclamation commanding "all the
people of the country to pursue and search for all who had been in
arms and had not surrendered, also all who had been guilty of other
crimes, and to deliver them up dead or alive, and that whosoever
were negligent in the discharge of his duty should forfeit their
castles and be imprisoned."

Pembroke, the guardian, was to punish at his discretion all who
harboured offenders. Those who abetted the slayers of Comyn, or who
knowingly harboured them or their accomplices, were to be "drawn
and hanged," while all who surrendered were to be imprisoned during
the king's pleasure. The edict was carried out to the letter, and
the English soldiery, with the aid of the Scotch of their party,
scoured the whole country, putting to the sword all who were found
in arms or under circumstances of suspicion.

Chapter XIV Colonsay

Archie, having little else to do, spent much of his time in fishing.
As a boy he had learned to be fond of the sport in the stream of
Glen Cairn; but the sea was new to him, and whenever the weather
permitting he used to go out with the natives in their boats. The
Irish coast was but a few miles away, but there was little traffic
between Rathlin and the mainland. The coast there is wild and
forbidding, and extremely dangerous in case of a northerly gale
blowing up suddenly. The natives were a wild and savage race, and
many of those who had fought to the last against the English refused
to submit when their chiefs laid down their arms, and took refuge
in the many caves and hiding places afforded in the wild and broken
country on the north coast.

Thus no profitable trade was to be carried on with the Irish
mainland. The people of Rathlin were themselves primitive in their
ways. Their wants were few and easily satisfied. The wool of their
flocks furnished them with clothing, and they raised sufficient grain
in sheltered spots to supply them with meal, while an abundance of
food could be always obtained from the sea. In fine weather they
took more than sufficient for their needs, and dried the overplus
to serve them when the winter winds kept their boats from putting
out. Once or twice in the year their largest craft, laden with dried
fish, would make across to Ayr, and there disposing of its cargo
would bring back such articles as were needed, and more precious
still, the news of what was passing in the world, of which the
simple islanders knew so little. Even more than fishing, Archie
loved when the wind blew wildly to go down to the shore and watch
the great waves rolling in and dashing themselves into foam on
the rocky coast. This to him was an entirely new pleasure, and he
enjoyed it intensely. Perched on some projecting rock out of reach
of the waves, he would sit for hours watching the grand scene,
sometimes alone, sometimes with one or two of his comrades. The
influx of a hundred visitors had somewhat straitened the islanders,
and the fishermen were forced to put to sea in weather when they
would not ordinarily have launched their boats, for in the winter
they seldom ventured out unless the previous season had been
unusually bad, and the stores of food laid by insufficient for winter
consumption. Archie generally went out with an old man, who with
two grownup sons owned a boat. They were bold and skilful fishermen,
and often put to sea when no other boat cared to go out.

One evening the old man, as usual before going to sea, came into
the hut which Archie and Sir James Douglas inhabited, and told him
that he was going out early the next morning. "Fish are scarce,"
he said, "and it would be a disgrace on us islanders if our guests
were to run short of food."

"I shall be ready, Donald," Archie replied, "and I hope we shall
have good sport."

"I can't see what pleasure you take, Sir Archie," the young Douglas
said, when the fisherman had left, "in being tossed up and down on
the sea in a dirty boat, especially when the wind is high and the
sea rough."

"I like it best then," Archie replied; "when the men are rowing
against the wind, and the waves dash against the boat and the spray
comes over in blinding showers, I feel very much the same sort of
excitement as I do in a battle. It is a strife with the elements
instead of with men, but the feeling in both cases is akin, and
I feel the blood dancing fast through my veins and my lips set
tightly together, just as when I stand shoulder to shoulder with
my retainers, and breast the wave of English horsemen."

"Well, each to his taste, I suppose," Douglas said, laughing; "I
have not seen much of war yet, and I envy you with all my heart the
fights which you have gone through; but I can see no amusement in
getting drenched to the skin by the sea. I think I can understand
your feeling, though, for it is near akin to my own when I sit on
the back of a fiery young horse, who has not yet been broken, and
feel him battle with his will against mine, and bound, and rear,
and curvet in his endeavours to throw me, until at last he is
conquered and obeys the slightest touch of the rein."

"No doubt it is the same feeling," Archie replied; "it is the joy
of strife in another form. For myself, I own I would rather fight
on foot than on horseback; I can trust myself better than I can
trust my steed, can wheel thrice while he is turning once, can defend
both sides equally well; whereas on horseback, not only have I to
defend myself but my horse, which is far more difficult, and if he
is wounded and falls I may be entangled under him and be helpless
at the mercy of an opponent."

"But none acquitted them better on horseback at Methven than you
did, Sir Archie," the young fellow said, admiringly. "Did you not
save the king, and keep at bay his foes till your retainers came
up with their pikes and carried him off from the centre of the
English chivalry?"

"I did my best," Archie said, "as one should always do; but I felt
even then that I would rather have been fighting on foot."

"That is because you have so much skill with your weapon, Sir
Archie," Douglas said. "On horseback with mace or battleaxe it is
mainly a question of sheer strength, and though you are very strong
there are others who are as strong as you. Now, it is allowed that
none of the king's knights and followers are as skilful as you
with the sword, and even the king himself, who is regarded as the
second best knight in Europe, owns that on foot and with a sword
he has no chance against you. That we all saw when you practiced
for the amusement of the queen and her ladies in the mountains of
Lennox. None other could even touch you, while you dented all our
helmets and armour finely with that sword of yours. Had we continued
the sport there would not have been a whole piece of armour among
us save your own harness."

Archie laughed. "I suppose, Douglas, we all like best that in which
we most excel. There are many knights in the English army who would
assuredly overthrow me either in the tilting ring or in the field,
for I had not the training on horseback when quite young which is
needed to make a perfect knight, while I had every advantage in the
learning of sword playing, and I stick to my own trade. The world
is beginning to learn that a man on foot is a match for a horseman
-- Wallace taught Europe that lesson. They are slow to believe it,
for hitherto armed knights have deemed themselves invincible, and
have held in contempt all foot soldiers. Stirling, and Falkirk,
and Loudon Hill have taught them the difference, but it will be a
long time before they fairly own a fact so mortifying to chivalry;
but the time will come, be well assured, when battles will be
fought almost with infantry alone. Upon them the brunt of the day
will fall, and by them will victory be decided, while horsemen
will be used principally for pursuing the foe when he is broken,
for covering the retreat of infantry by desperate charges, or by
charging into the midst of a fray when the infantry are broken."

"All the better for Scotland," James Douglas said, cheerfully.
"We are not a nation of horsemen, and our mountains and hills, our
forests and morasses, are better adapted for infantry than cavalry;
so if ever the change you predict come to pass we shall be gainers
by it."

At daybreak next morning Archie went down to the cove where his
friend the fisherman kept his boat. The old man and his two sons
were already there, but had not launched their craft.

"I like not the look of the weather," the fisherman said when
Archie joined him. "The sky is dull and heavy, the sea is black
and sullen, but there is a sound in the waves as they break against
the rocks which seems to tell of a coming storm. I think, however,
it will be some hours before it breaks, and if we have luck we may
get a haul or two before it comes on."

"I am ready to go or stay," Archie said; "I have no experience in
your weather here, and would not urge you against your own judgment,
whatever it be; but if you put out I am ready to go with you."

"We will try it," the fisherman said, "for food is running short;
but we will not go far from the shore, so that we can pull back if
the weather gets worse."

The boat was soon launched, the nets and oars were already on
board, and they quickly put out from the shore. The boat carried
a small square sail, which was used when running before the wind.
In those days the art of navigation was in its infancy, and the art
of tacking against the wind had scarcely begun to be understood;
indeed, so high were the ships out of water, with their lofty poops
and forecastles, that it was scarce possible to sail them on a
wind, so great was the leeway they made. Thus when contrary winds
came mariners anchored and waited as patiently as they might for
a change, and voyage to a port but two days' sail with a favouring
wind was a matter of weeks when it was foul.

After rowing a mile from land the nets were put out, and for some
time they drifted near these. From time to time the old fisherman
cast an anxious eye at the sky.

"We must get in our nets," he said at last decidedly; "the wind is
rising fast, and is backing from the west round to the south. Be
quick, lads, for ere long the gale will be on us in its strength,
and if `tis from the south we may well be blown out to sea."

Without a moment's delay the fishermen set to work to get in the nets,
Archie lending a hand to assist them. The younger men thoroughly
agreed in their father's opinion of the weather, but they knew too
well the respect due to age to venture upon expressing an opinion
until he had first spoken. The haul was a better one than they had
expected, considering that the net had been down but two hours.

"`Tis not so bad," the fisherman said, "and the catch will be right
welcome -- that is," he added, as he looked toward the land, "if
we get it safely on shore."

The wind was now blowing strongly, but if it did not rise the boat
would assuredly make the land. Archie took the helm, having learned
somewhat of the steering on previous excursions, and the three
fishermen tugged at the oars. It was a cross sea, for although the
wind now blew nearly in their teeth, it had until the last half
hour been from the west, and the waves were rolling in from the
Atlantic. The boat, however, made fair progress, and Archie began
to think that the doubts of the fishermen as to their making the
shore were in no wise justified, when suddenly a gust, far stronger
than those they had hitherto met, struck the boat. "Keep her head
straight!" the fisherman shouted. "Don't let the wind take it one
side or the other. Stick to it, boys; row your hardest; it is on
us now and in earnest, I fear."

The three men bent to their oars, but Archie felt that they were
no longer making headway. The boat was wide and high out of the
water; a good sea boat, but very hard to row against the wind.
Although the men strained at the oars, till Archie expected to see
the tough staves crack under their efforts, the boat did not seem
to move. Indeed it appeared to Archie that in the brief space when
the oars were out of the water the wind drove her further back than
the distance she had gained in the last stroke. He hoped, however,
that the squall was merely temporary, and that when it subsided
there would still be no difficulty in gaining the land. His hope
was not realized. Instead of abating, the wind appeared each moment
to increase in force. Clouds of spray were blown on the top of
the waves, so that at times Archie could not see the shore before
him. For nearly half an hour the fishermen struggled on, but
Archie saw with dismay that the boat was receding from the shore,
and that they had already lost the distance they had gained before
the squall struck them. The old fisherman looked several times over
his shoulder.

"It is of no use," he said at last; "we shall never make Rathlin,
and must even run before the gale. Put up the helm, young sir, and
take her round. Wait a moment till the next wave has passed under
us -- now!" In another minute the boat's head was turned from land,
and she was speeding before the gale.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26