Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First by George Manville Fenn (best romance books of all time .txt) 📖
- Author: George Manville Fenn
Book online «The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First by George Manville Fenn (best romance books of all time .txt) 📖». Author George Manville Fenn
There was another version of the story, as Ralph well knew, and it was precisely the same, saving for the following exception: that in the beginning it was a Darley who did the deadly wrong to an Eden. But one thing was certain—the two families had carried on their petty warfare in the most determined way. Edens had fallen by the sword; so had Darleys. There was a grim legend, too, of an Eden having been taken prisoner, and starved to death in one of the dungeons of Cliffe Castle, in Queen Mary’s time; and Ralph had often gone down below to look at the place, and the staple ring and chain in the gloomy place, shuddering at the horror of the prisoner’s fate.
For this the Edens had waited their time, and surprised the castle one night, driving the occupants from place to place, till they took refuge in the central tower, from which they could not be dislodged; so the Edens contented themselves by the following reprisal: they set fire to the castle in a dozen places before they retired, the flames raging till there was no more woodwork to destroy, and nothing was left but the strong central tower and the sturdy walls. The place was restored, though, soon after, and the Sir Ralph Darley of Elizabeth’s time made an expedition one night to give tit-for-tat, but only to find out that it was impossible to get across the stoutly-defended natural bridge at Black Tor, and that it was waste of time to keep on shooting arrows, bearing burning rags soaked in pitch, on to the roofs of the towers and in at the loopholes. So he retreated, with a very sore head, caused by a stone thrown from above, dinting in his helmet, and with half his men carrying the other half, wounded or dead.
His successor had tried again and again to master the Edens and seize their possessions. Amongst these was the Black Tor lead-mine, approached by steps in the side of the cliff; its galleries honeycombed the place, running right under the earth, and into natural caverns of the large opposite cliffs of limestone, where the jackdaws built their nests.
Ralph Darley, living as he did that day in the days of King James, pondered on all those old legends as he descended to give his father the information he had acquired; and as he stepped down, he knit his brows and began to think that it was quite time this feud had an end, and that it must be his duty to finish it all off, in spite of the addition to the strength at Black Tor, by waiting his opportunity, and meeting, and in fair fight slaying, young Mark Eden, who was about his own age, seventeen, and just back home from one of the great grammar-schools. This done, he would make a scheme for seizing the Black Tor, putting Sir Edward Eden and his mercenaries to the sword, but sparing the men who were miners, so that they might go on working for the Darleys. By this means he would end the feud, secure peace, and make his father a rich and happy man, having proved himself a thoroughly good and chivalrous son.
Ralph felt very brave, and proud, and happy, when he had reached this point, which was just as he opened the door of his father’s room, which contained a very small library—books being rare and precious in those days—plenty of handsome armour and war-like weapons of offence, and a corner set apart for alchemy and the study of minerals; for, in a desultory way, Sir Morton Darley, bitten by the desire to have a mine of his own to produce him as good an income as that of his enemy neighbour, had been given to searching without success for a good lode of lead.
Sir Morton was reading an old tome as his son entered the room, hot, eager, and excited.
“Well, boy,” he said, looking up dreamily; “what is it?”
“They’ve gone straight to Black Tor, father.”
“The Edens? Have they? I did not know they had been away.”
“No, no, father; that captain fellow and his men.”
“Oh, of course. I had almost forgotten them. Tut, tut, tut! It will be very awkward for us, Ralph, if Sir Edward listens to that scoundrel’s proposals. But there, it cannot be helped. There never was an Eden yet who was a gentlemen, and all we have to do is to be well prepared. The old tower is stronger than ever, and if they come we’ll fight them from the outer gate to the wall, from the wall to the inner wall, and if they drive us from that, there is the tower, where we can set them at defiance.”
“As old Sir Ralph did, father,” cried the boy, flushing with pride.
“Exactly, my boy; and I do not feel much fear of Captain Purlrose and his men.”
“No, father; I suppose he will keep on half-drawing his sword, and thrusting it back with a clang.”
“Exactly, Ralph, boy,” cried Sir Morton, laughing. “Just that one act shows the man’s character to a T. Bluster, and then retreat. But suppose it should come to fighting, my boy. Hadn’t you better go back to school, and stay till the trouble’s over?”
“What!” cried Ralph fiercely.
“You surely don’t want to fight, boy?”
“No, father, I don’t want to fight; but if you are obliged to— Oh, father, you will not send me away?”
Sir Morton looked searchingly at the flushed countenance before him for some moments before speaking.
“If you wish to stay, Ralph, certainly I shall not send you away. I only gave you the opportunity to go if you wished. However, perhaps we shall hear no more of the matter. Eden may not listen to that scoundrel. If he does, we may set to work and furbish up our arms, lay in stores of provisions, and be prepared for our defence.”
“Then I hope he will engage the men, father,” cried Ralph.
“Eh? And pray why, boy?” exclaimed Sir Morton.
“Because, father,” said the lad, speaking in a deeply-moved tone of voice, his eyes flashing and his cheeks flushed. “You have done nothing lately to show how deeply you resent all the old wrongs; and if the Edens hire these men, it will be a good opportunity for fighting our old foes, beating them and taking possession, and ending the feud.”
“Yes,” said Sir Morton, smiling, “a good opportunity, boy; but we might lose the day.”
“We will not lose the day, father,” cried the lad hotly. “Those men who fight for pay are cowards at heart, and they will lead the Edens to their destruction.”
“But suppose that, after all, the Darleys were the ones to blame?”
“Oh, father, we can’t stop to think of that. We do know that they have committed outrage after outrage against our family, and you have always taught me that it was our duty to punish the Edens.”
“Yes, my boy, I have, as my father and my grandfather taught me; but I have often wished the wretched business were at an end. I want to be at peace.”
“And you shall be, father, and soon, too, now,” cried Ralph excitedly. “But you will begin at once?”
“What, making peace?”
“No, father, war,” cried the lad eagerly.
“Yes,” said Sir Morton sternly, “if the Edens do.”
“Oh, father, how calmly you take it all. I should have thought you would be ready to begin at once.”
“Yes, Ralph, because you are young, and have never seen what even the pettiest war means, not even the bright side, with its chivalry and panoply, and gay show. I have seen that, and the other side too.”
“But you would fight, father?” cried the lad, looking astonished.
“Yes,” said Sir Morton, with his face turning hard and stern, “if the need arises, boy, and to the death.”
Eden, fresh from Linkeham, on account of a terrible attack of fever ravaging the school to such an extent that it was considered wise to close it for a time, was enjoying the pleasant change, and wondering how long it would be before the school would reopen, and whether his father, Sir Edward Eden of Black Tor, would send him back.
“I ought to be old enough now to give up a schoolboy’s life,” he said to himself, “and begin thinking of what I shall be as a man.”
He said this to himself as he descended the stone steps which led to the platform at the side of the precipice, where a natural Gothic arch hung over the entrance to the mine, which began with a steep slope running down through the limestone for fifty yards, and then opened out into an extensive cavity, whose roof was a hundred feet overhead, and in whose floor the square hole had been cut to follow the great vein of lead, which spread like the roots of some gigantic tree in various directions. The great hole represented the trunk of the tree, and this had once been solid lead ore, but all had been laboriously cut away, as well as many of the branches, which represented the roots, though plenty were left to excavate, and fresh ones and new cavities were constantly being formed, so that the Eden mine at Black Tor was looked upon as the richest in the county.
Mark Eden stopped to have a chat with some of his father’s men, who were going and coming from the square trunk-hole, and he watched them ascending and descending the greasy ladders fixed against the side, each man bearing a candle, stuck in his leather cap.
“I shan’t want to be a miner,” he said, as he gazed down at the tiny sparks of light below. “Faugh! how dark and dismal it looks. A dirty hole. But father says dirty work brings clean money, and it’s just as well to be rich, I suppose. But what a life! Might just as well be a mole.”
He began to hum over an old English ditty, and his voice echoed strangely from above.
“Let’s see: Mary wants some of that blue spar, and I promised to get a lot. Must go down one of these days with Dummy Rugg: he says he knows of some fine bits. Not to-day, though.”
He hurried out into the bright sunshine again, went up the steps to the castle, which stood perched at the top of a huge mass of rock, surrounded on all sides by the deep gorge, and then crossed the natural bridge to the main cliff, of which the foundation of the castle was the vast slice, split away, most probably by some volcanic disturbance. Masses of lava and scoria uncovered by the miners, from time to time, showed that volcanic action had been rife there at one period; additional suggestion that the said action had not yet died out, being afforded by the springs of beautifully clear warm water, which bubbled out in several places in the district.
As the lad crossed the bridge, thinking nothing of the giddy, profound depths on either side, there being not the slightest protection in the way of rail to the six-foot wide path, he shook back his brown hair, thrust his hands in his pockets, and with the sheath of his sword banging against his legs, started off along the first level place for a run.
A looker-on would have wondered why he did this, and would have gazed ahead to see what there was to induce him to make so wild a rush in a dangerous place. But he would have seen nothing but rugged path, tree-top, and the face of the cliff, and
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