CHAPTER XII
NIGHT IN THE FOREST
At first Felix rode quickly, but his horse stumbling, though accustomedto the woods, warned him to be more careful. The passage of so manyhorsemen in the last few days had cut up and destroyed the track, whichwas nothing but a green path, and the covered waggons had of courseassisted in rendering it rough and broken. He therefore rode slowly, andgiving his horse his head, he picked his way of his own accord at theside of the road, often brushing against the underwood.
Still, indeed, absorbed by the feelings which had almost mastered him inthe arbour, and thinking of Aurora, he forgot where he was, till thedismal howling of wood-dogs deep in the forest woke him. It was almostpitch dark under the tall beeches, the highest of the trees preventingthe beams of the moon from illuminating the path till later in thenight. Like a curtain the thick foliage above shut out the sky, so thatno star was visible. When the wood-dogs ceased there was no sound beyondthe light fall of the horse's hoofs as he walked upon the grass.Darkness and silence prevailed; he could see nothing. He spoke to hishorse and patted his neck; he stepped a little faster and lifted hishead, which he had held low as if making his way by scent.
The gloom weighed upon him, unhappy as he was. Often as he hadvoluntarily sought the loneliness of the woods, now in this state ofmind, it oppressed him; he remembered that beyond the beeches the groundwas open and cleared by a forest fire, and began to be anxious to reachit. It seemed an hour, but it really was only a few minutes, when thebeeches became thinner and wider apart, the foliage above ceased, andthe stars shone. Before him was the open space he had desired, slopingto the right hand, the tall grass grey-green in the moonlight, and nearat hand sparkling with dew.
Amongst it stood the crooked and charred stems of furze with which ithad been covered before the fire passed. A white owl floated rather thanflew by, following the edge of the forest; from far down the slope camethe chattering notes of a brook-sparrow, showing that there was water inthe hollow. Some large animal moved into the white mist that hung thereand immediately concealed it, like a cloud upon the ground. He was notcertain in the dim light, and with so momentary and distant a view, butsupposed from its size that it must have been a white or dun wood-cow.
Ahead, across the open, rose the dark top of the fir trees through whichthe route ran. Instead of the relief which he had anticipated as he rodetowards them, the space clear of trees around seemed to expose him tothe full view of all that might be lurking in the forest. As heapproached the firs and saw how dark it was beneath them, the shadowydepths suggested uncertain shapes hiding therein, and his memoryimmediately reverted to the book of magic he had read at the castle.
There could not be such things, and yet no one in his heart doubtedtheir existence; deny it as they might with their tongues as they sat atthe supper-table and handed round the ale, out of doors in the night,the haste to pass the haunted spot, the bated breath, and the fearfulglances cast around, told another tale. He endeavoured to callphilosophy to his aid; he remembered, too, how many nights he had spentin the deepest forest without seeing anything, and without even thinkingof such matters. He reproved himself for his folly, and asked himself ifever he could hope to be a successful leader of men who started at ashadow. In vain: the tone of his mind had been weakened by the strain ithad undergone.
Instead of strengthening him, the teachings of philosophy now seemedcold and feeble, and it occurred to him that possibly the belief of thecommon people (fully shared by their religious instructors) was just asmuch entitled to credence as these mere suppositions and theories. Thedetails of the volume recurred to his mind; the accurate description ofthe demons of the forest and the hill, and especially the horriblevampires enfolding the victim with outstretched wings. In spite ofhimself, incredulous, yet excited, he pressed his horse to greaterspeed, though the track was narrow and very much broken under the firs.He obeyed, and trotted, but reluctantly, and needed continual urging.
The yellow spark of a glowworm shining by a bush made him set his teeth;trifling and well known as it was, the light suddenly seen thrilled himwith the terror of the unexpected. Strange rushings sounded among thefern, as if the wings of a demon brushed it as he travelled. Felix knewthat they were caused by rabbits hastening off, or a boar bounding away,yet they increased the feverish excitement with which he was burdened.Though dark beneath the firs, it was not like the darkness of thebeeches; these trees did not form a perfect canopy overhead everywhere.In places he could see where a streak of moonlight came aslant throughan opening and reached the ground. One such streak fell upon the trackahead; the trees there had decayed and fallen, and a broad band of lightlit up the way.
As he approached it and had almost entered, suddenly something shottowards him in the air; a flash, as it were, as if some object hadcrossed the streak, and was rendered visible for the tenth of a second,like a mote in the sunbeams. At the same instant of time, the horse,which he had pressed to go faster, put his foot into a rut or hole, andstumbled, and Felix was flung so far forward that he only saved himselffrom being thrown by clinging to his neck. A slight whizzing soundpassed over his head, followed immediately by a sharp tap against a treein his rear.
The thing happened in the twinkling of an eye, but he recognised thesound; it was the whiz of a crossbow bolt, which had missed his head,and buried its point in a fir. The stumble saved him; the bolt wouldhave struck his head or chest had not the horse gone nearly on his knee.The robber had so planned his ambush that his prey should be well seen,distinct in the moonlight, so that his aim might be sure. Recoveringhimself, the horse, without needing the spur, as if he recognised thedanger to his rider, started forward at full speed, and raced,regardless of ruts, along the track. Felix, who had hardly got into hisseat again, could for awhile but barely restrain it, so wildly he fled.He must have been carried within a few yards of the bandit, but sawnothing, neither did a second bolt follow him; the crossbow takes timeto bend, and if the robber had companions they were differently armed.
He was a furlong or more from the spot before he quite realized thedanger he had escaped. His bow was unstrung in his hand, his arrows wereall in the quiver; thus, had the bolt struck him, even if the wound hadnot been mortal (as it most likely would have been) he could have madeno resistance. How foolish to disregard the warnings of the grooms atthe castle! It was now too late; all he could do was to ride. Dreadingevery moment to be thrown, he pushed on as fast as the horse would go.There was no pursuit, and after a mile or so, as he left the firs andentered the ash woods, he slackened somewhat. It was, indeed, necessary,for here the hoofs of preceding horsemen had poached the turf (alwaysdamp under ash) into mud. It was less dark, for the boughs of the ashesdid not meet above.
As he passed, wood-pigeons rose with loud clatterings from theirroosting-places, and once or twice he saw in the gloom the fieryphosphoric eye-balls of the grey wood-cats. How gladly he recognisedpresently the change from trees to bushes, when he rode out from thethick ashes among the low hawthorns, and knew that he was within a mileor so of the South Barrier at home! Already he heard the song of thenightingale, the long note which at night penetrates so far; thenightingale, which loves the hawthorn and the neighbourhood of man.Imperceptibly he increased the speed again; the horse, too, knew that hewas nearing home, and responded willingly.
The track was much broader and fairly good, but he knew that at one spotwhere it was marshy it must be cut up. There he went at the side, almostbrushing a projecting maple bush. Something struck the horse, he fanciedthe rebound of a bough; he jumped, literally jumped, like a buck, andtore along the road. With one foot out of the stirrup, it was with theutmost difficulty he stuck to his seat; he was not riding, but holdingon for a moment or two. Presently recovering from the jolt, heendeavoured to check him, but the bit was of no avail; the animal wasbeside himself with terror, and raced headlong till they reached thebarrier. It was, of course, closed, and the warder was asleep; so that,until he dismounted, and kicked and shouted, no one
challenged him.
Then the warder, spear in hand, appeared with his lantern, butrecognising the voice, ran to the gate. Within the gate a few yardsthere were the embers of a fire, and round it a bivouac of footmen whohad been to the feast, and had returned thus far before nightfall.Hearing the noise, some of them arose, and came round him, when oneimmediately exclaimed and asked if he was wounded. Felix replied that hewas not, but looking at his foot where the man pointed, saw that it wascovered with blood. But, upon close examination, there was no cut orincision; he was not hurt. The warder now called to them, and showed along deep scratch on the near flank of the horse, from which the bloodwas dripping.
It was such a scratch as might have been made with an iron nail, and,without hesitation, they all put it down to a Bushman's spud. Withoutdoubt, the Bushman, hearing Felix approach, had hidden in the maplebush, and, as he passed, struck with his nail-like dagger; but,miscalculating the speed at which the horse was going, instead ofpiercing the thigh of the rider, the blow fell on the horse, and thesharp point was dragged along the side. The horse trembled as theytouched him.
"Sir," said one of the retainers, their headman, "if you will pardon me,you had best string your bow and send a shaft through his heart, for hewill die in misery before morning."
The Bushman's spud, the one he uses for assassination or to despatch hisprey, is poisoned. It is a lingering poison, and takes several hours toproduce its effect; but no remedy is known, and many who have escapedfrom the cowardly blow have crawled to the path only to expire intorture. There was no denying that what the retainer proposed was theonly thing that could be done. The warder had meantime brought a bucketof water, of which the poor creature drank eagerly. Felix could not doit; he could not slay the creature which had carried him so long, andwhich twice that night had saved him, and was now to die, as it were, inhis place. He could not consent to it; he led the horse towards home,but he was weak or weary, and could not be got beyond the Pen.
There the group assembled around him. Felix ordered the scratch to becleansed, while he ran over in his mind every possible remedy. He gavestrict orders that he should not be despatched, and then hastened to thehouse. He undid with trembling hands the thongs that bound his chest,and took out his manuscripts, hoping against hope that among the manynotes he had made there might be something. But there was nothing, or inhis excitement he overlooked it. Remembering that Oliver was a greatauthority upon horses, he went into his room and tried to wake him.Oliver, weary with his ride, and not as yet having slept off the effectsof the feast, could not be roused.
Felix left him and hurried back to the Pen. Weary as he was, he watchedby the horse till the larks began to sing and the dawn was at hand. Asyet he had not shown any severe symptoms except twitching of the limbs,and a constant thirst, which water could not quench. But suddenly hefell, and the old retainer warned them all to stand away, for he wouldbite anything that was near. His words were instantly fulfilled; herolled, and kicked, and bit at everything within reach. Seeing thisagony, Felix could no longer delay. He strung his bow, but he could notfit the arrow to the string, he missed the notch, so much did his handsshake. He motioned to the retainers who had gathered around, and one ofthem thrust his spear into the horse behind his shoulder.
When Felix at last returned to his chamber he could not but reflect, asthe sun rose and the beams entered, that every omen had been againsthim; the adder under foot, the bandit's bolt, the Bushman's poisonedpoint. He slept till noon, and, upon going out, unrefreshed and stillweary, he found that they had already buried the horse, and ordered amound to be raised above his grave. The day passed slowly; he wanderedabout the castle and the enclosed grounds, seeking comfort and findingnone. His mind vacillated; he recalled all that Aurora had said,persuading him not to do anything in haste or despair. Yet he could notcontinue in his present condition. Another day went by, and stillundecided and doubting, he remained at home.
Oliver began to jest at him; had he abandoned the expedition? Olivercould not understand indecision; perhaps he did not see so many sides tothe question, his mind was always quickly made up. Action was his forte,not thought. The night came, and still Felix lingered, hesitating.
After London; Or, Wild England Page 18