The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First by George Manville Fenn (best romance books of all time .txt) 📖

the entrance to a natural chamber, with high Gothic roof and walls glittering with crystals, which reflected the light of half—a—dozen candles stuck here and there.

Mark saw all this at a glance, as he grasped the fact that the inmates had broken into two parties, and were contending so fiercely that for a few moments they did not see the doorway crowded with angry countenances, and were only brought to a knowledge of their peril by the rush that was made by all but two of Sir Edward’s men, who stayed back to guard the entry and cut off the escape of any who tried to get away.

The encounter was short and fierce, Sir Edward’s men dashing forward like a wedge, striking with all their might; and at the end of a couple of minutes’ savage encounter, the mercenaries fighting like rats at bay, there was a terrible silence, broken only by muttered curses and groans, while eight men stood erect, half of whom had cast away their swords and fought with their miners’ picks.

The scene was ghastly, as shown by two only of the candles, the rest having been knocked down in the struggle.

“Hurt, Mark?” cried Sir Edward from the far end, where he stood sword in hand, supporting himself by the wall, and with his foot resting upon the burly body of Captain Purlrose.

“Not much, father,” panted the lad. “Bit of a cut.”

“How many escaped? I saw three make for the door.”

“None, master,” growled Nick Garth, who was upon the floor at the right. “There they lay: those brave lads brought ’em down.”

“Shout for the lanterns, Mark, boy,” cried Sir Edward; and Mark reeled as he stepped over the bodies lying in the way.

His call was responded to directly by Dan Rugg and his son, both standing aghast for a few moments before energetically setting to work to help their friends, who, saving the two who had guarded the entrance, were wounded to a man, while of Captain Purlrose’s party, four and their leader were dead, the others lying disabled to wait their turn of help from their captors, who, now that the rage of battle was at an end, were ready to show mercy to their wounded foes.

Sir Edward was so badly hurt that after a brave struggle he had to give up, and leave the ordering of the work now necessary to his son, who began by having his father borne to the chamber where Minnie crouched, trembling with horror, by her half-insensible father’s side; but upon being reassured by the information that her captivity was at an end, she revived, and devoted herself to helping the wounded with all a true woman’s zeal.

Mark’s next task was to go with Dan Rugg and Dummy to the entrance, wondering the while at the extent of the place and the hoard of all necessaries which the fellows had collected in the cavern.

Upon reaching the wall beyond which the guard were stationed, still in perfect ignorance of what had taken place within, a few shouts set the men to work, the defence was rapidly demolished, and the wounded were borne out into the light—a ghastly procession, though not a man murmured; and as soon as they were laid upon the heather, began to chat eagerly together about the success of the underground expedition.

As for the wounded prisoners, they were kept under guard in the chamber—where the wall had just been destroyed.

The two great enemies were borne out last; and as Mark followed with the trembling girl upon his arm, he looking proud and satisfied, in spite of a stained bandage upon his forehead, and she with her face unnaturally white and her eyes closed, unable to bear the light after so long an imprisonment in the depths of the cavern, Nick Garth raised himself upon his elbow and uttered a shout which rose into a rousing cheer.

“God bless you, Mistress Minnie!” cried the man hoarsely, “and you too, youngster. You’re a brave lad, and I’ll never call you an enemy again.”

“Humph! No,” said Dan Rugg, who was close to him. “I s’pose all that’s dead as mutton now. Look here, Nick Garth, I never see a man who could fight as well as you, and if you’d got a decent paw I’d say shake hands.”

“Say it, mate,” said Nick, and he painfully lifted a wounded arm, to place his bandaged hand in that of the old miner who had hated him all his life.

A man had been started off as soon as the news was known to fetch more help from the Black Tor; and, as tidings fly swiftly, assistance soon came from every farm and cottage for miles, the women flocking up to Ergles, and eagerly helping to bear the sufferers to their homes.

Sir Edward and Sir Morton went last, each borne upon a litter, Minnie being provided with a pony, led by one of her father’s men, who kept on shaking his head and saying that he couldn’t understand it, for it seemed so strange that his master and young mistress and their leaders should be going up to the Black Tor.

He said this to Nick Garth, who was lying with closed eyes upon a roughly-made litter of poles.

“Well,” said Nick roughly, “who can? It’s ’cause they say the world turns round, and sometimes we’re standing on our heads and sometimes on our feet; we’re on our heads now, and it’s o’ no use to kick when your legs are in the air.”

There was one more task to see to, though, before Mark left the place, with its plunder in charge of Dan Rugg and a guard, so that the robbers’ stores could be restored to their rightful owners.

Over this matter Mark had a whispered consultation with the two wounded knights, and then went off to Rugg.

“Well, yes, Master Mark,” said that worthy; “I was thinking o’ something o’ that sort. Right in that little chamber place. A good thick wall, and well made, with plenty o’ lime. It wouldn’t seem Christian-like to throw ’em out on the hill among the stones; and you see there’s so many ravens and crows.”

Dummy Rugg kept as close to Mark as he could in these busy times, and tried several times to speak to him, but without success. At last, though, the opportunity came.

“Oh, Master Mark,” he said, in a tone full of reproach; “you ought to have spoke out.”

“When? What about?”

“When I was sent back to take care of those nasty old lanterns. But it serves you right. If I’d been there at the fight you wouldn’t have been hurt like that.”

“And perhaps you’d have been killed. Get out, you ungrateful dog!”

“Dog, am I? Well, it’s enough to make me bite.”

“Bite away, then, Dummy. I can’t lift my arm to hit you now.”

“Then I’ll wait till you get well again. But it was mean. I never seem to get a chance.”

“Well, you are a grumbler, Dummy. Here, you’ve done what none of us could do—shown us how to end all this trouble, and pleased everybody, and yet you’re not happy.”

“Happy?” said the boy; “who’s to be happy after what I’ve done? Why, I shan’t never dare to come past Ergles now in the dark.”

“Why?”

“’Cause old Purlrose and his men’ll come popping out to haunt me for getting ’em killed. I shall never like to come by there again.”

“They won’t come out this way, Dum,” said Mark, trying to look very serious; “they’ll come the other way, and get into the mine to lie in wait for you in the dark parts, and heave blocks of stones at you.”

“Think they will, Master Mark?” gasped the boy, and his eyes and mouth opened wide.

“Sure to.”

“Get out: you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m more disposed to cry; to think of such a stout, brave lad as you should believe such nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” cried Dummy. “What, don’t you be—believe in ghosts and bor—bogies, Master Mark?”

“Do I look as if I did?” cried Mark contemptuously. “You wait till I get well, and if you tell me then that you believe in such silly old women’s tales, I’ll kick you.”

Dummy grinned.

“You wouldn’t,” he said. “But I say, Master Mark, think old Purlrose will haunt me?”

“Bah!” ejaculated Mark. “There, come along; I want to get home and let Master Rayburn do something to my bit of a wound. It hurts so I can hardly walk.”

“Here, let me carry you, Master Mark. Pig-a-back. I can.”

“No, no, Dummy, old lad; but you come to the castle to-morrow, and say you are to walk up and see me. I shall have to be put to bed, I expect, in the same room with young Ralph Darley.”

“Then I shan’t come,” said the boy, scowling.

“Why?”

“’Cause I don’t like him, and I don’t like to see his father and their girl took there as if they were friends.”

“They are now, Dum, and there isn’t going to be any more fighting in the vale.”

It was a strange scene when the slow procession wound its way up the zigzag, at the top of which Mary Eden and Master Rayburn were waiting with the women and the tiny wounded garrison to receive the fresh party of injured folk.

Mary ran to her wounded father to embrace him, and then to Minnie Darley, to whom she held out her hands, and the people cheered as the two girls kissed.

Mary was about to lead the trembling girl in, but she shook her head and went to her father’s side; and then Mary looked round for her brother, and ran to him, as he came up leaning upon Dummy’s arm.

“Oh, Mark, darling! hurt?” she cried, flinging her arms about his neck.

“Just a bit,” he said, with a sickly smile. “You do as Minnie Darley did. Never mind me; go and stay with father. He’s more hurt than he’ll own to. Ah, Master Rayburn! brought you some more work, but we’ve burnt out the wasps.”

“My brave boy!” cried the old man, wringing his hands. “There, I’ll come to you as soon as I can. I must go to those who are worse.”

“Yes, yes,” said Mark; “I’ve got my doctor here. But tell me—young Ralph?”

“Recovered his senses, and asked about his father and sister.”

“Come along, Dummy,” said Mark faintly; “let’s go and tell him we’ve brought them safe; and then you shall wash and bind up my cut.”

He uttered a faint “Ah!” and would have fallen but for the boy’s ready arm; and the next minute he was being borne up the steps, pig-a-back after all, though he had scouted the offer before. He had fainted dead away.