by Walter Scott
CHAPTER XXIII
The Gordon then his bugle blew, And said, awa, awa; The House of Rhodes is all on flame, I hauld it time to ga'. --OLD BALLAD.
When Julian awaked the next morning, all was still and vacant in theapartment. The rising sun, which shone through the half-closed shutters,showed some relics of the last night's banquet, which his confused andthrobbing head assured him had been carried into a debauch.
Without being much of a boon companion, Julian, like other young men ofthe time, was not in the habit of shunning wine, which was then used inconsiderable quantities; and he could not help being surprised, that thefew cups he had drunk over night had produced on his frame the effectsof excess. He rose up, adjusted his dress, and sought in the apartmentfor water to perform his morning ablutions, but without success. Winethere was on the table; and beside it one stool stood, and another lay,as if thrown down in the heedless riot of the evening. "Surely," hethought to himself, "the wine must have been very powerful, whichrendered me insensible to the noise my companions must have made erethey finished their carouse."
With momentary suspicion he examined his weapons, and the packet whichhe had received from the Countess, and kept in a secret pocket of hisupper coat, bound close about his person. All was safe; and the veryoperation reminded him of the duties which lay before him. He left theapartment where they had supped, and went into another, wretched enough,where, in a truckle-bed, were stretched two bodies, covered with a rug,the heads belonging to which were amicably deposited upon the same trussof hay. The one was the black shock-head of the groom; the other,graced with a long thrum nightcap, showed a grizzled pate, and a gravecaricatured countenance, which the hook-nose and lantern-jaws proclaimedto belong to the Gallic minister of good cheer, whose praises he hadheard sung forth on the preceding evening. These worthies seemed to haveslumbered in the arms of Bacchus as well as of Morpheus, for there werebroken flasks on the floor; and their deep snoring alone showed thatthey were alive.
Bent upon resuming his journey, as duty and expedience alike dictated,Julian next descended the trap-stair, and essayed a door at the bottomof the steps. It was fastened within. He called--no answer was returned.It must be, he thought, the apartment of the revellers, now probablysleeping as soundly as their dependants still slumbered, and as hehimself had done a few minutes before. Should he awake them?--To whatpurpose? They were men with whom accident had involved him againsthis own will; and situated as he was, he thought it wise to take theearliest opportunity of breaking off from society which was suspicious,and might be perilous. Ruminating thus, he essayed another door, whichadmitted him to a bedroom, where lay another harmonious slumberer. Themean utensils, pewter measures, empty cans and casks, with which thisroom was lumbered, proclaimed it that of the host, who slept surroundedby his professional implements of hospitality and stock-in-trade.
This discovery relieved Peveril from some delicate embarrassment whichhe had formerly entertained. He put upon the table a piece of money,sufficient, as he judged, to pay his share of the preceding night'sreckoning; not caring to be indebted for his entertainment to thestrangers, whom he was leaving without the formality of an adieu.
His conscience cleared of this gentleman-like scruple, Peveril proceededwith a light heart, though somewhat a dizzy head, to the stable, whichhe easily recognised among a few other paltry outhouses. His horse,refreshed with rest, and perhaps not unmindful of his services theevening before, neighed as his master entered the stable; and Peverilaccepted the sound as an omen of a prosperous journey. He paid theaugury with a sieveful of corn; and, while his palfrey profited byhis attention, walked into the fresh air to cool his heated blood, andconsider what course he should pursue in order to reach the Castle ofMartindale before sunset. His acquaintance with the country in generalgave him confidence that he could not have greatly deviated from thenearest road; and with his horse in good condition, he conceived hemight easily reach Martindale before nightfall.
Having adjusted his route in his mind, he returned into the stable toprepare his steed for the journey, and soon led him into the ruinouscourtyard of the inn, bridled, saddled, and ready to be mounted. But asPeveril's hand was upon the mane, and his left foot in the stirrup, ahand touched his cloak, and the voice of Ganlesse said, "What, MasterPeveril, is this your foreign breeding? or have you learned in France totake French leave of your friends?"
Julian started like a guilty thing, although a moment's reflectionassured him that he was neither wrong nor in danger. "I cared not todisturb you," he said, "although I did come as far as the door of yourchamber. I supposed your friend and you might require, after our lastnight's revel, rather sleep than ceremony. I left my own bed, though arough one, with more reluctance than usual; and as my occasions obligeme to be an early traveller, I thought it best to depart withoutleave-taking. I have left a token for mine host on the table of hisapartment."
"It was unnecessary," said Ganlesse; "the rascal is alreadyoverpaid.--But are you not rather premature in your purpose ofdeparting? My mind tells me that Master Julian Peveril had betterproceed with me to London, than turn aside for any purpose whatever. Youmay see already that I am no ordinary person, but a master-spirit of thetime. For the cuckoo I travel with, and whom I indulge in his prodigalfollies, he also has his uses. But you are a different cast; and I notonly would serve you, but even wish you, to be my own."
Julian gazed on this singular person when he spoke. We have alreadysaid his figure was mean and slight, with very ordinary and unmarkedfeatures, unless we were to distinguish the lightnings of a keen greyeye, which corresponded in its careless and prideful glance, with thehaughty superiority which the stranger assumed in his conversation.It was not till after a momentary pause that Julian replied, "Can youwonder, sir, that in my circumstances--if they are indeed known to youso well as they seem--I should decline unnecessary confidence on theaffairs of moment which have called me hither, or refuse the company ofa stranger, who assigns no reason for desiring mine?"
"Be it as you list, young man," answered Ganlesse; "only rememberhereafter, you had a fair offer--it is not every one to whom I wouldhave made it. If we should meet hereafter, on other, and on worse terms,impute it to yourself and not to me."
"I understand not your threat," answered Peveril, "If a threat be indeedimplied. I have done no evil--I feel no apprehension--and I cannot, incommon sense, conceive why I should suffer for refusing my confidenceto a stranger, who seems to require that I should submit me blindfold tohis guidance."
"Farewell, then, Sir Julian of the Peak,--that may soon be," said thestranger, removing the hand which he had as yet left carelessly on thehorse's bridle.
"How mean you by that phrase?" said Julian; "and why apply such a titleto me?"
The stranger smiled, and only answered, "Here our conference ends. Theway is before you. You will find it longer and rougher than that bywhich I would have guided you."
So saying, Ganlesse turned his back and walked toward the house. On thethreshold he turned about once more, and seeing that Peveril had not yetmoved from the spot, he again smiled and beckoned to him; but Julian,recalled by that sign to recollection, spurred his horse and set forwardon his journey.
It was not long ere his local acquaintance with the country enabledhim to regain the road to Martindale, from which he had diverged onthe preceding evening for about two miles. But the roads, or rather thepaths, of this wild country, so much satirised by their native poet,Cotton, were so complicated in some places, so difficult to be traced inothers, and so unfit for hasty travelling in almost all, that in spiteof Julian's utmost exertions, and though he made no longer delay uponthe journey than was necessary to bait his horse at a small hamletthrough which he passed at noon, it was nightfall ere he reached aneminence, from which, an hour sooner, the battlements of MartindaleCastle would have been visible; and where, when they were hid in night,their situation was
indicated by a light constantly maintained in alofty tower, called the Warder's Turret; and which domestic beacon hadacquired, through all the neighbourhood, the name of Peveril's Polestar.
This was regularly kindled at curfew toll, and supplied with as muchwood and charcoal as maintained the light till sunrise; and at no periodwas the ceremonial omitted, saving during the space intervening betweenthe death of a Lord of the Castle and his interment. When this lastevent had taken place, the nightly beacon was rekindled with someceremony, and continued till fate called the successor to sleep withhis fathers. It is not known from which circumstance the practiceof maintaining this light originally sprung. Tradition spoke of itdoubtfully. Some thought it was the signal of general hospitality,which, in ancient times, guided the wandering knight, or the wearypilgrim, to rest and refreshment. Others spoke of it as a "love-lightedwatchfire," by which the provident anxiety of a former lady ofMartindale guided her husband homeward through the terrors of a midnightstorm. The less favourable construction of unfriendly neighbours ofthe dissenting persuasion, ascribed the origin and continuance of thispractice to the assuming pride of the family of Peveril, who therebychose to intimate their ancient _suzerainte_ over the whole country, inthe manner of the admiral who carries the lantern in the poop, for theguidance of the fleet. And in the former times, our old friend, MasterSolsgrace, dealt from the pulpit many a hard hit against Sir Geoffrey,as he that had raised his horn, and set up his candlestick on high.Certain it is, that all the Peverils, from father to son, had beenespecially attentive to the maintenance of this custom, as somethingintimately connected with the dignity of their family; and in the handsof Sir Geoffrey, the observance was not likely to be omitted.
Accordingly, the polar-star of Peveril had continued to beam moreor less brightly during all the vicissitudes of the Civil War; andglimmered, however faintly, during the subsequent period of SirGeoffrey's depression. But he was often heard to say, and sometimes toswear, that while there was a perch of woodland left to the estate, theold beacon-grate should not lack replenishing. All this his son Julianwell knew; and therefore it was with no ordinary feelings of surpriseand anxiety, that, looking in the direction of the Castle, he perceivedthat the light was not visible. He halted--rubbed his eyes--shiftedhis position--and endeavoured, in vain, to persuade himself that he hadmistaken the point from which the polar-star of his house was visible,or that some newly intervening obstacle, the growth of a plantation,perhaps, or the erection of some building, intercepted the light of thebeacon. But a moment's reflection assured him, that from the highand free situation which Martindale Castle bore in reference to thesurrounding country, this could not have taken place; and the inferencenecessarily forced itself upon his mind, that Sir Geoffrey, his father,was either deceased, or that the family must have been disturbed by somestrange calamity, under the pressure of which, their wonted custom andsolemn usage had been neglected.
Under the influence of undefinable apprehension, young Peveril nowstruck the spurs into his jaded steed, and forcing him down the brokenand steep path, at a pace which set safety at defiance, he arrived atthe village of Martindale-Moultrassie, eagerly desirous to ascertain thecause of this ominous eclipse. The street, through which his tired horsepaced slow and reluctantly, was now deserted and empty; and scarcely acandle twinkled from a casement, except from the latticed window of thelittle inn, called the Peveril Arms, from which a broad light shone, andseveral voices were heard in rude festivity.
Before the door of this inn, the jaded palfrey, guided by the instinctor experience which makes a hackney well acquainted with the outside ofa house of entertainment, made so sudden and determined a pause, that,notwithstanding his haste, the rider thought it best to dismount,expecting to be readily supplied with a fresh horse by Roger Raine, thelandlord, the ancient dependant of his family. He also wished to relivehis anxiety, by inquiring concerning the state of things at the Castle,when he was surprised to hear, bursting from the taproom of the loyalold host, a well-known song of the Commonwealth time, which somepuritanical wag had written in reprehension of the Cavaliers, and theirdissolute courses, and in which his father came in for a lash of thesatirist.
"Ye thought in the world there was no power to tame ye, So you tippled and drabb'd till the saints overcame ye; 'Forsooth,' and 'Ne'er stir,' sir, have vanquish'd 'G-- d--n me,' Which nobody can deny.
There was bluff old Sir Geoffrey loved brandy and mum well, And to see a beer-glass turned over the thumb well; But he fled like the wind, before Fairfax and Cromwell, Which nobody can deny."
Some strange revolution, Julian was aware, must have taken place, bothin the village and in the Castle, ere these sounds of unseemly insultcould have been poured forth in the very inn which was decorated withthe armorial bearings of his family; and not knowing how far it might beadvisable to intrude on these unfriendly revellers, without the powerof repelling or chastising their insolence, he led his horse to aback-door, which as he recollected, communicated with the landlord'sapartment, having determined to make private inquiry of him concerningthe state of matters at the Castle. He knocked repeatedly, and as oftencalled on Roger Raine with an earnest but stifled voice. At length afemale voice replied by the usual inquiry, "Who is there?"
"It is I, Dame Raine--I, Julian Peveril--tell your husband to come to mepresently."
"Alack, and a well-a-day, Master Julian, if it be really you--you areto know my poor goodman has gone where he can come to no one; but,doubtless, we shall all go to him, as Matthew Chamberlain says."
"He is dead, then?" said Julian. "I am extremely sorry----"
"Dead six months and more, Master Julian; and let me tell you, it is along time for a lone woman, as Matt Chamberlain says."
"Well, do you or your chamberlain undo the door. I want a fresh horse;and I want to know how things are at the Castle."
"The Castle--lack-a-day!--Chamberlain--Matthew Chamberlain--I say,Matt!"
Matt Chamberlain apparently was at no great distance, for he presentlyanswered her call; and Peveril, as he stood close to the door, couldhear them whispering to each other, and distinguish in a great measurewhat they said. And here it may be noticed, that Dame Raine, accustomedto submit to the authority of old Roger, who vindicated as well thehusband's domestic prerogative, as that of the monarch in the state,had, when left a buxom widow, been so far incommoded by the exerciseof her newly acquired independence, that she had recourse, upon alloccasions, to the advice of Matt Chamberlain; and as Matt began nolonger to go slipshod, and in a red nightcap, but wore Spanish shoes,and a high-crowned beaver (at least of a Sunday), and moreover wascalled Master Matthew by his fellow-servants, the neighbours in thevillage argued a speedy change of the name of the sign-post; nay,perhaps, of the very sign itself, for Matthew was a bit of a Puritan,and no friend to Peveril of the Peak.
"Now counsel me, an you be a man, Matt Chamberlain," said Widow Raine;"for never stir, if here be not Master Julian's own self, and he wants ahorse, and what not, and all as if things were as they wont to be."
"Why, dame, an ye will walk by my counsel," said the Chamberlain, "e'enshake him off--let him be jogging while his boots are green. This is noworld for folks to scald their fingers in other folks' broth."
"And that is well spoken, truly," answered Dame Raine; "but then lookyou, Matt, we have eaten their bread, and, as my poor goodman used tosay----"
"Nay, nay, dame, they that walk by the counsel of the dead, shall havenone of the living; and so you may do as you list; but if you willwalk by mine, drop latch, and draw bolt, and bid him seek quartersfarther--that is my counsel."
"I desire nothing of you, sirrah," said Peveril, "save but to know howSir Geoffrey and his lady do?"
"Lack-a-day!--lack-a-day!" in a tone of sympathy, was the only answerhe received from the landlady; and the conversation betwixt her and herchamberlain was resumed, but in a tone too low to be overheard.
At length Matt Cham
berlain spoke aloud, and with a tone of authority:"We undo no doors at this time of night, for it is against the Justices'orders, and might cost us our licence; and for the Castle, the road upto it lies before you, and I think you know it as well as we do."
"And I know you," said Peveril, remounting his wearied horse, "foran ungrateful churl, whom, on the first opportunity, I will assuredlycudgel to a mummy."
To this menace Matthew made no reply, and Peveril presently heard himleave the apartment, after a few earnest words betwixt him and hismistress.
Impatient at this delay, and at the evil omen implied in these people'sconversation and deportment, Peveril, after some vain spurring of hishorse, which positively refused to move a step farther, dismounted oncemore, and was about to pursue his journey on foot, notwithstanding theextreme disadvantage under which the high riding-boots of the periodlaid those who attempted to walk with such encumbrances, when he wasstopped by a gentle call from the window.
Her counsellor was no sooner gone, than the good-nature and habitualveneration of the dame for the house of Peveril, and perhaps some fearfor her counsellor's bones, induced her to open the casement, and cry,but in a low and timid tone, "Hist! hist! Master Julian--be you gone?"
"Not yet, dame," said Julian; "though it seems my stay is unwelcome."
"Nay, but good young master, it is because men counsel so differently;for here was my poor old Roger Raine would have thought the chimneycorner too cold for you; and here is Matt Chamberlain thinks the coldcourtyard is warm enough."
"Never mind that, dame," said Julian; "do but only tell me what hashappened at Martindale Castle? I see the beacon is extinguished."
"Is it in troth?--ay, like enough--then good Sir Geoffrey has gone toheaven with my old Roger Raine!"
"Sacred Heaven!" exclaimed Peveril; "when was my father taken ill?"
"Never as I knows of," said the dame; "but, about three hours since,arrived a party at the Castle, with buff-coats and bandoleers, and oneof the Parliament's folks, like in Oliver's time. My old Roger Rainewould have shut the gates of the inn against them, but he is in thechurchyard, and Matt says it is against law; and so they came in andrefreshed men and horses, and sent for Master Bridgenorth, that is atMoultrassie Hall even now; and so they went up to the Castle, and therewas a fray, it is like, as the old Knight was no man to take napping, aspoor Roger Raine used to say. Always the officers had the best on't; andreason there is, since they had the law of their side, as our Matthewsays. But since the pole-star of the Castle is out, as your honour says,why, doubtless, the old gentleman is dead."
"Gracious Heaven!--Dear dame, for love or gold, let me have a horse tomake for the Castle!"
"The Castle?" said the dame; "the Roundheads, as my poor Roger calledthem, will kill you as they have killed your father! Better creep intothe woodhouse, and I will send Bett with a blanket and some supper--Orstay--my old Dobbin stands in the little stable beside the hencoop--e'entake him, and make the best of your way out of the country, for there isno safety here for you. Hear what songs some of them are singing atthe tap!--so take Dobbin, and do not forget to leave your own horseinstead."
Peveril waited to hear no farther, only, that just as he turned to gooff to the stable, the compassionate female was heard to exclaim--"OLord! what will Matthew Chamberlain say!" but instantly added, "Let himsay what he will, I may dispose of what's my own."
With the haste of a double-fee'd hostler did Julian exchange theequipments of his jaded brute with poor Dobbin, who stood quietlytugging at his rackful of hay, without dreaming of the business whichwas that night destined for him. Notwithstanding the darkness of theplace, Julian succeeded marvellous quickly in preparing for his journey;and leaving his own horse to find its way to Dobbin's rack by instinct,he leaped upon his new acquisition, and spurred him sharply against thehill, which rises steeply from the village to the Castle. Dobbin, littleaccustomed to such exertions, snorted, panted, and trotted as briskly ashe could, until at length he brought his rider before the entrance-gateof his father's ancient seat.
The moon was now rising, but the portal was hidden from its beams, beingsituated, as we have mentioned elsewhere, in a deep recess betwixt twolarge flanking towers. Peveril dismounted, turned his horse loose, andadvanced to the gate, which, contrary to his expectation, he found open.He entered the large courtyard; and could then perceive that lights yettwinkled in the lower part of the building, although he had not beforeobserved them, owing to the height of the outward walls. The main door,or great hall-gate, as it was called, was, since the partially decayedstate of the family, seldom opened, save on occasions of particularceremony. A smaller postern door served the purpose of ordinaryentrance; and to that Julian now repaired. This also was open--acircumstance which would of itself have alarmed him, had he not alreadyhad so many causes for apprehension. His heart sunk within him as heturned to the left, through a small outward hall, towards the greatparlour, which the family usually occupied as a sitting apartment; andhis alarm became still greater, when, on a nearer approach, he heardproceeding from thence the murmur of several voices. He threw the doorof the apartment wide; and the sight which was thus displayed, warrantedall the evil bodings which he had entertained.
In front of him stood the old Knight, whose arms were strongly secured,over the elbows, by a leathern belt drawn tight round them, and madefast behind; two ruffianly-looking men, apparently his guards, had holdof his doublet. The scabbard-less sword which lay on the floor, and theempty sheath which hung by Sir Geoffrey's side, showed the stout oldCavalier had not been reduced to this state of bondage without anattempt at resistance. Two or three persons, having their backs turnedtowards Julian, sat round a table, and appeared engaged in writing--thevoices which he had heard were theirs, as they murmured to each other.Lady Peveril--the emblem of death, so pallid was her countenance--stoodat the distance of a yard or two from her husband, upon whom her eyeswere fixed with an intenseness of gaze, like that of one who looksher last on the object which she loves the best. She was the first toperceive Julian; and she exclaimed, "Merciful Heaven!--my son!--themisery of our house is complete!"
"My son!" echoed Sir Geoffrey, starting from the sullen state ofdejection, and swearing a deep oath--"thou art come in the right time,Julian. Strike me one good blow--cleave me that traitorous thief fromthe crown to the brisket! and that done, I care not what comes next."
The sight of his father's situation made the son forget the inequalityof the contest which he was about to provoke.
"Villains," he said, "unhand him!" and rushing on the guards with hisdrawn sword, compelled them to let go Sir Geoffrey, and stand on theirown defence.
Sir Geoffrey, thus far liberated, shouted to his lady. "Undo the belt,dame, and we will have three good blows for it yet--they must fight wellthat beat both father and son."
But one of those men who had started up from the writing-table when thefray commenced, prevented Lady Peveril from rendering her husband thisassistance; while another easily mastered the hampered Knight, thoughnot without receiving several severe kicks from his heavy boots--hiscondition permitting him no other mode of defence. A third, who saw thatJulian, young, active, and animated with the fury of a son who fightsfor his parents, was compelling the two guards to give ground, seizedon his collar, and attempted to master his sword. Suddenly dropping thatweapon, and snatching one of his pistols, Julian fired it at the headof the person by whom he was thus assailed. He did not drop, but,staggering back as if he had received a severe blow, showed Peveril, ashe sunk into a chair, the features of old Bridgenorth, blackened withthe explosion, which had even set fire to a part of his grey hair. A cryof astonishment escaped from Julian; and in the alarm and horror of themoment, he was easily secured and disarmed by those with whom he hadbeen at first engaged.
"Heed it not, Julian," said Sir Geoffrey; "heed it not, my braveboy--that shot has balanced all accounts!--but how--what the devil--helives!--Was your pistol loaded with chaff? or has the foul fiend givenhim proof agains
t lead?"
There was some reason for Sir Geoffrey's surprise, since, as he spoke,Major Bridgenorth collected himself--sat up in the chair as onewho recovers from a stunning blow--then rose, and wiping with hishandkerchief the marks of the explosion from his face, he approachedJulian, and said, in the same cold unaltered tone in which he usuallyexpressed himself, "Young man, you have reason to bless God, who hasthis day saved you from the commission of a great crime."
"Bless the devil, ye crop-eared knave!" exclaimed Sir Geoffrey; "fornothing less than the father of all fanatics saved your brains frombeing blown about like the rinsings of Beelzebub's porridge pot!"
"Sir Geoffrey," said Major Bridgenorth, "I have already told you, thatwith you I will hold no argument; for to you I am not accountable forany of my actions."
"Master Bridgenorth," said the lady, making a strong effort to speak,and to speak with calmness, "whatever revenge your Christian state ofconscience may permit you to take on my husband--I--I, who have someright to experience compassion at your hand, for most sincerely did Icompassionate you when the hand of Heaven was heavy on you--I imploreyou not to involve my son in our common ruin!--Let the destruction ofthe father and mother, with the ruin of our ancient house, satisfy yourresentment for any wrong which you have ever received at my husband'shand."
"Hold your peace, housewife," said the Knight, "you speak like a fool,and meddle with what concerns you not.--Wrong at _my_ hand? The cowardlyknave has ever had but even too much right. Had I cudgelled the cursoundly when he first bayed at me, the cowardly mongrel had been nowcrouching at my feet, instead of flying at my throat. But if I getthrough this action, as I have got through worse weather, I will pay offold scores, as far as tough crab-tree and cold iron will bear me out."
"Sir Geoffrey," replied Bridgenorth, "if the birth you boast of hasmade you blind to better principles, it might have at least taught youcivility. What do you complain of? I am a magistrate; and I execute awarrant, addressed to me by the first authority in that state. I am acreditor also of yours; and law arms me with powers to recover my ownproperty from the hands of an improvident debtor."
"You a magistrate!" said the Knight; "much such a magistrate as Nollwas a monarch. Your heart is up, I warrant, because you have the King'spardon; and are replaced on the bench, forsooth, to persecute the poorPapist. There was never turmoil in the state, but knaves had theirvantage by it--never pot boiled, but the scum was cast uppermost."
"For God's sake, my dearest husband," said Lady Peveril, "cease thiswild talk! It can but incense Master Bridgenorth, who might otherwiseconsider, that in common charity----"
"Incense him!" said Sir Geoffrey, impatiently interrupting her;"God's-death, madam, you will drive me mad! Have you lived so long inthis world, and yet expect consideration and charity from an old starvedwolf like that? And if he had it, do you think that I, or you, madam,as my wife, are subjects for his charity?--Julian, my poor fellow, Iam sorry thou hast come so unluckily, since thy petronel was not betterloaded--but thy credit is lost for ever as a marksman."
This angry colloquy passed so rapidly on all sides, that Julian,scarce recovered from the extremity of astonishment with which he wasoverwhelmed at finding himself suddenly plunged into a situation of suchextremity, had no time to consider in what way he could most effectuallyact for the succour of his parents. To speak to Bridgenorth fair seemedthe more prudent course; but to this his pride could hardly stoop; yethe forced himself to say, with as much calmness as he could assume,
"Master Bridgenorth, since you act as a magistrate, I desire to betreated according to the laws of England; and demand to know of what weare accused, and by whose authority we are arrested?"
"Here is another howlet for ye!" exclaimed the impetuous old Knight;"his mother speaks to a Puritan of charity; and thou must talk of law toa round-headed rebel, with a wannion to you! What warrant hath he, thinkye, beyond the Parliament's or the devil's?"
"Who speaks of the Parliament?" said a person entering, whom Peverilrecognised as the official person whom he had before seen at thehorse-dealer's, and who now bustled in with all the conscious dignityof plenary authority,--"Who talks of the Parliament?" he exclaimed."I promise you, enough has been found in this house to convict twentyplotters--Here be arms, and that good store. Bring them in, Captain."
"The very same," exclaimed the Captain, approaching, "which I mention inmy printed Narrative of Information, lodged before the Honourable Houseof Commons; they were commissioned from old Vander Huys of Rotterdam, byorders of Don John of Austria, for the service of the Jesuits."
"Now, by this light," said Sir Geoffrey, "they are the pikes,musketoons, and pistols, that have been hidden in the garret ever sinceNaseby fight!"
"And here," said the Captain's yoke-fellow, Everett, "are properpriest's trappings--antiphoners, and missals, and copes, I warrantyou--ay, and proper pictures, too, for Papists to mutter and bow over."
"Now plague on thy snuffling whine," said Sir Geoffrey; "here is arascal will swear my grandmother's old farthingale to be priest'svestments, and the story book of Owlenspiegel a Popish missal!"
"But how's this, Master Bridgenorth?" said Topham, addressing themagistrate; "your honour has been as busy as we have; and you havecaught another knave while we recovered these toys."
"I think, sir," said Julian, "if you look into your warrant, which, if Imistake not, names the persons whom you are directed to arrest, you willfind you have not title to apprehend me."
"Sir," said the officer, puffing with importance, "I do not know who youare; but I would you were the best man in England, that I might teachyou the respect due to the warrant of the House. Sir, there steps notthe man within the British seas, but I will arrest him on authority ofthis bit of parchment; and I do arrest you accordingly.--What do youaccuse him of, gentlemen?"
Dangerfield swaggered forward, and peeping under Julian's hat, "Stop myvital breath," he exclaimed, "but I have seen you before, my friend, anI could but think where; but my memory is not worth a bean, since I havebeen obliged to use it so much of late, in the behalf of the poor state.But I do know the fellow; and I have seen him amongst the Papists--,I'll take that on my assured damnation."
"Why, Captain Dangerfield," said the Captain's smoother, but moredangerous associate,--"verily, it is the same youth whom we saw at thehorse-merchant's yesterday; and we had matter against him then, onlyMaster Topham did not desire us to bring it out."
"Ye may bring out what ye will against him now," said Topham, "for hehath blasphemed the warrant of the House. I think ye said ye saw himsomewhere."
"Ay, verily," said Everett, "I have seen him amongst the seminary pupilsat Saint Omer's--he was who but he with the regents there."
"Nay, Master Everett, collect yourself," said Topham; "for as I think,you said you saw him at a consult of the Jesuits in London."
"It was I said so, Master Topham," said the undaunted Dangerfield; "andmine is the tongue that will swear it."
"Good Master Topham," said Bridgenorth, "you may suspend farther inquiryat present, as it doth but fatigue and perplex the memory of the King'switnesses."
"You are wrong, Master Bridgenorth--clearly wrong. It doth but keep themin wind--only breathes them like greyhounds before a coursing match."
"Be it so," said Bridgenorth, with his usual indifference of manner;"but at present this youth must stand committed upon a warrant, whichI will presently sign, of having assaulted me while in discharge of myduty as a magistrate, for the rescue of a person legally attached. Didyou not hear the report of a pistol?"
"I will swear to it," said Everett.
"And I," said Dangerfield. "While we were making search in the cellar,I heard something very like a pistol-shot; but I conceived it to be thedrawing of a long-corked bottle of sack, to see whether there were anyPopish relics in the inside on't."
"A pistol-shot!" exclaimed Topham; "here might have been a secondSir Edmondsbury Godfrey's matter.--Oh, thou real spawn of the red olddragon! for he too would hav
e resisted the House's warrant, had wenot taken him something at unawares.--Master Bridgenorth, you are ajudicious magistrate, and a worthy servant of the state--I would we hadmany such sound Protestant justices. Shall I have this young fellowaway with his parents--what think you?--or will you keep him forre-examination?"
"Master Bridgenorth," said Lady Peveril, in spite of her husband'sefforts to interrupt her, "for God's sake, if ever you knew what it wasto love one of the many children you have lost, or her who is now leftto you, do not pursue your vengeance to the blood of my poor boy! I willforgive you all the rest--all the distress you have wrought--all the yetgreater misery with which you threaten us; but do not be extreme withone who never can have offended you! Believe, that if your ears areshut against the cry of a despairing mother, those which are open to thecomplaint of all who sorrow, will hear my petition and your answer!"
The agony of mind and of voice with which Lady Peveril uttered thesewords, seemed to thrill through all present, though most of them werebut too much inured to such scenes. Every one was silent, when, ceasingto speak, she fixed on Bridgenorth her eyes, glistening with tears, withthe eager anxiety of one whose life or death seemed to depend upon theanswer to be returned. Even Bridgenorth's inflexibility seemed to beshaken; and his voice was tremulous, as he answered, "Madam, I would toGod I had the present means of relieving your great distress, otherwisethan by recommending to you a reliance upon Providence; and that youtake heed to your spirit, that it murmur not under this crook in yourlot. For me, I am but as a rod in the hand of the strong man, whichsmites not of itself, but because it is wielded by the arm of him whoholds the same."
"Even as I and my black rod are guided by the Commons of England," saidMaster Topham, who seemed marvellously pleased with the illustration.
Julian now thought it time to say something in his own behalf; and heendeavoured to temper it with as much composure as it was possible forhim to assume. "Master Bridgenorth," he said, "I neither dispute yourauthority, nor this gentleman's warrant----"
"You do not?" said Topham. "Oh, ho, master youngster, I thought weshould bring you to your senses presently!"
"Then, if you so will it, Master Topham," said Bridgenorth, "thus itshall be. You shall set out with early day, taking you, towards London,the persons of Sir Geoffrey and Lady Peveril; and that they maytravel according to their quality, you will allow them their coach,sufficiently guarded."
"I will travel with them myself," said Topham; "for these roughDerbyshire roads are no easy riding; and my very eyes are weary withlooking on these bleak hills. In the coach I can sleep as sound as if Iwere in the House, and Master Bodderbrains on his legs."
"It will become you so to take your ease, Master Topham," answeredBridgenorth. "For this youth, I will take him under my charge, and bringhim up myself."
"I may not be answerable for that, worthy Master Bridgenorth," saidTopham, "since he comes within the warrant of the House."
"Nay, but," said Bridgenorth, "he is only under custody for an assault,with the purpose of a rescue; and I counsel you against meddling withhim, unless you have stronger guard. Sir Geoffrey is now old and broken,but this young fellow is in the flower of his youth, and hath at hisbeck all the debauched young Cavaliers of the neighbourhood--You willscarce cross the country without a rescue."
Topham eyed Julian wistfully, as a spider may be supposed to look upona stray wasp which has got into his web, and which he longs to secure,though he fears the consequences of attempting him.
Julian himself replied, "I know not if this separation be well or illmeant on your part, Master Bridgenorth; but on mine, I am only desirousto share the fate of my parents; and therefore I will give my word ofhonour to attempt neither rescue nor escape, on condition you do notseparate me from them."
"Do not say so, Julian," said his mother; "abide with MasterBridgenorth--my mind tells me he cannot mean so ill by us as his roughconduct would now lead us to infer."
"And I," said Sir Geoffrey, "know, that between the doors of my father'shouse and the gates of hell, there steps not such a villain on theground! And if I wish my hands ever to be unbound again, it is becauseI hope for one downright blow at a grey head, that has hatched moretreason than the whole Long Parliament."
"Away with thee," said the zealous officer; "is Parliament a word forso foul a mouth as thine?--Gentlemen," he added, turning to Everett andDangerfield, "you will bear witness to this."
"To his having reviled the House of Commons--by G--d, that I will!" saidDangerfield; "I will take it on my damnation."
"And verily," said Everett, "as he spoke of Parliament generally, hehath contemned the House of Lords also."
"Why, ye poor insignificant wretches," said Sir Geoffrey, "whose verylife is a lie--and whose bread is perjury--would you pervert my innocentwords almost as soon as they have quitted my lips? I tell you thecountry is well weary of you; and should Englishmen come to theirsenses, the jail, the pillory, the whipping-post, and the gibbet, willbe too good preferment for such base blood-suckers.--And now, MasterBridgenorth, you and they may do your worst; for I will not open mymouth to utter a single word while I am in the company of such knaves."
"Perhaps, Sir Geoffrey," answered Bridgenorth, "you would betterhave consulted your own safety in adopting that resolution a littlesooner--the tongue is a little member, but it causes much strife.--You,Master Julian, will please to follow me, and without remonstrance orresistance; for you must be aware that I have the means of compelling."
Julian was, indeed, but too sensible, that he had no other course butthat of submission to superior force; but ere he left the apartment,he kneeled down to receive his father's blessing, which the old manbestowed not without a tear in his eye, and in the emphatic words, "Godbless thee, my boy; and keep thee good and true to Church and King,whatever wind shall bring foul weather!"
His mother was only able to pass her hand over his head, and to implorehim, in a low tone of voice, not to be rash or violent in any attemptto render them assistance. "We are innocent," she said, "my son--we areinnocent--and we are in God's hands. Be the thought our best comfort andprotection."
Bridgenorth now signed to Julian to follow him, which he did,accompanied, or rather conducted, by the two guards who had firstdisarmed him. When they had passed from the apartment, and were at thedoor of the outward hall, Bridgenorth asked Julian whether he shouldconsider him as under parole; in which case, he said, he would dispensewith all other security but his own promise.
Peveril, who could not help hoping somewhat from the favourable andunresentful manner in which he was treated by one whose life he had sorecently attempted, replied, without hesitation, that he would give hisparole for twenty-four hours, neither to attempt to escape by force norby flight.
"It is wisely said," replied Bridgenorth; "for though you might causebloodshed, be assured that your utmost efforts could do no service toyour parents.--Horses there--horses to the courtyard!"
The trampling of horses was soon heard; and in obedience toBridgenorth's signal, and in compliance with his promise, Julian mountedone which was presented to him, and prepared to leave the house of hisfathers, in which his parents were now prisoners, and to go, he knew notwhither, under the custody of one known to be the ancient enemy of hisfamily. He was rather surprised at observing, that Bridgenorth and hewere about to travel without any other attendants.
When they were mounted, and as they rode slowly towards the outer gateof the courtyard, Bridgenorth said to him, "it is not every one whowould thus unreservedly commit his safety by travelling at night, andunaided, with the hot-brained youth who so lately attempted his life."
"Master Bridgenorth," said Julian, "I might tell you truly, that I knewyou not at the time when I directed my weapon against you; but I mustalso add, that the cause in which I used it, might have rendered me,even had I known you, a slight respecter of your person. At present,I do know you; and have neither malice against your person, nor theliberty of a parent to fight for. Besides, you have m
y word; and whenwas a Peveril known to break it?"
"Ay," replied his companion, "a Peveril--a Peveril of the Peak!--a namewhich has long sounded like a war-trumpet in the land; but which hasnow perhaps sounded its last loud note. Look back, young man, on thedarksome turrets of your father's house, which uplift themselves abovethe sons of their people. Think upon your father, a captive--yourselfin some sort a fugitive--your light quenched--your glory abased--yourestate wrecked and impoverished. Think that Providence has subjectedthe destinies of the race of Peveril to one, whom, in their aristocraticpride, they held as a plebeian upstart. Think of this; and when youagain boast of your ancestry, remember, that he who raiseth the lowlycan also abase the high in heart."
Julian did indeed gaze for an instant, with a swelling heart, uponthe dimly seen turrets of his paternal mansion, on which poured themoonlight, mixed with long shadows of the towers and trees. But whilehe sadly acknowledged the truth of Bridgenorth's observation, he feltindignant at his ill-timed triumph. "If fortune had followed worth," hesaid, "the Castle of Martindale, and the name of Peveril, had affordedno room for their enemy's vainglorious boast. But those who havestood high on Fortune's wheel, must abide by the consequence of itsrevolutions. This much I will at least say for my father's house,that it has not stood unhonoured; nor will it fall--if it is tofall--unlamented. Forbear, then, if you are indeed the Christian youcall yourself, to exult in the misfortunes of others, or to confide inyour own prosperity. If the light of our house be now quenched, God canrekindle it in His own good time."
Peveril broke off in extreme surprise; for as he spake the last words,the bright red beams of the family beacon began again to glimmer fromits wonted watch-tower, checkering the pale moonbeam with a ruddierglow. Bridgenorth also gazed on this unexpected illumination withsurprise, and not, as it seemed, without disquietude. "Young man,"he resumed, "it can scarcely be but that Heaven intends to work greatthings by your hand, so singularly has that augury followed on yourwords."
So saying, he put his horse once more in motion; and looking back, fromtime to time, as if to assure himself that the beacon of the Castlewas actually rekindled, he led the way through the well-known pathsand alleys, to his own house of Moultrassie, followed by Peveril, whoalthough sensible that the light might be altogether accidental, couldnot but receive as a good omen an event so intimately connected with thetraditions and usages of his family.
They alighted at the hall-door, which was hastily opened by a female;and while the deep tone of Bridgenorth called on the groom to take theirhorses, the well-known voice of his daughter Alice was heard to exclaimin thanksgiving to God, who had restored her father in safety.