The Black Box 18

The Black Box 18

There was no mark of violence on him, save that his vest had been ripped

open, and the key (that proof which was to win the price of blood!) torn

from its ribbon. He had been dead some time--the brave, albeit weakened

heart had given way at last beneath the strain of threatening danger,

and Tubal Ammon, coming to give death, had found it there before him.

 

So much I noted, swiftly, clearly, as I stood there in that moonlit room

of death; then, with the sense of having added years, in moments, to my

life, I drew my sword, and holding it above the poor, bowed head, took

one deliberate vow of vengeance.

 

Even as I did so, heavy hurrying footsteps sounded on the stairs, and

glancing round, I saw a bunch of wondering, awestruck faces staring at

me from the doorway. My crashing entrance had aroused the house, and

here, half-dressed and ghost-like, were the servants.

 

The very sight of such a gaping, helpless throng stirred wild,

unreasoning anger in a brain which hitherto had felt like lead. I must

have turned upon them with a threatening fierceness, for they one and

all fell backward with a fearful look.

 

"What now! What do you here?" I said.

 

"Oh, by the love o’ Heaven, sir, what be wrong?" asked Tom, the groom,

who held a flaring candle high above his head.

 

I paused a moment, then pointed to the chair, and answered:

 

"Your master sits there, dead!"

 

No cry or movement followed, but the glances cast upon me and my naked

sword spoke plainly of the awful thought which filled each

horror-stricken mind. Yes, for one throbbing instant it was clear to me

that I was counted my father’s slayer.

 

"Dead!" gasped Tom at last. "How, sir? Not--not killed?"

 

The hand which held the candle shook.

 

"No, not killed;" I answered slowly, for even in that blank, bewildering

moment it flashed upon me that the truth could not be told to anyone

without great danger. "No, not killed; he died as he had always wished

to die--swiftly. Come now," I added, in a voice that sounded strange

and far-off to my ears, "help me to bear him to his chamber."

 

No more was spoken.

 

 

The dawn of that the blackest day in all my life broke with a mocking

splendour. The sun rose gloriously upon a green glad earth; the joyous

song of birds, the scent of many flowers, the gentle whisper of the soft

June breeze, the murmur of the sea--all these, the joyous signs of one

more resurrection from the things of darkness, were there in plenty; but

as I stood and looked down on my father’s white, set face, I took no

heed of them; they were less than nothing. The present was as a thing I

had no part in; the past alone seemed real. A thousand memories of

bygone years came flooding over me. It was as though I lived through

all my life again, within that silent room of death.

 

Yet, notwithstanding this, my heart was still like stone; nor grief nor

tears were mine. Instead, I vowed fresh vengeance. There should be no

rest for me till both Ferguson and Tubal Ammon had been made to answer

for their wickedness; until, that is, they had been hunted down and

killed. The sword which had been girded on me by the hands now cold and

stiff should also know no rest until it had avenged its giver’s death.

Henceforward that should be its work and mine.

 

So much I swore, and felt the better for it, yet not without some vision

of the perils and the pitfalls which must certainly beset me ere my vow

could be fulfilled.

 

And first among these stumbling-blocks there came the thought that none

could help me. The truth about my father’s death was one with which I

could not trust a living soul; the threatening danger which had hovered

over him, and killed him, now just as surely hovered over me; the secret

which he had confided to my keeping scarce a day before was still a

secret, though now known to three instead of four. Henceforth, in fact,

’twould be a deadly, silent warfare betwixt one and two, and well I knew

that God’s earth did not hold a blacker pair of villains than the

chaplain and his creature Tubal Ammon. But that did not dismay me; nay,

rather was I heartened by the thought that now, at least, I had a real

work (however desperate) in life. For the rest of it, come rack, come

rope, I would not flinch or turn aside. My course was clearly marked,

and I was minded to run it with a will. My father’s blood flowed in my

veins, and though a cruel fate had snatched him from my side, he still

was mine, and this that I was bent upon seemed but a poor plain duty due

to one who had done everything for me. At any rate, ’twas all I could

do now for him, and I would gladly give my life for its accomplishment.

 

It was such feelings and such fierce resolves as these which kept me up

and made me adamant (I know it now--for afterwards, long afterwards, the

crash came), and, looking back through many years, I see no reason to

regret it; for it was this alone which made it possible for me to go

about my many pressing duties firm-jawed, silent, and clear-headed. And

this, I knew, was as my father would have had it, for he had ever little

tolerance or sympathy for those who wailed and whimpered in the face of

sorrow.

 

I will not dwell upon the many happenings of that dolorous day, for,

indeed, they have no business in these pages, and so may be told swiftly

in fewest words.

 

First, then, summoned hastily, came the family physician, an old

grey-headed, owl-eyed man, who, as I always felt, knew far more about me

than he ought to. He asked divers questions, got, I fear, short

answers; then shook his head, and murmured:

 

"Ah! ’tis as I feared; ’tis as I always said; the heart hath failed."

 

He said this with a solemn sadness, but yet, as it seemed to me, with

some small pride in that his prophecy had been fulfilled.

 

Next, eagerly (for ill news flies apace, and many messengers had been

dispatched) came kith and kin, flocking like crows into the old

ancestral tree, and, for the most part, trying hard (but vainly) to hide

an eager curiosity by means of sighs and tears. In truth, their

plaintive caws were little to my liking; and verily they must have

thought me something of a hardened monster as I moved about among them,

dry-eyed, immovable, and, as it seemed, bent only on cold business.

 

Thus the day passed swiftly, crowded as it was with thronging duties

(for, in spite of everyone and everything, I had decided that my father

should be buried on the morrow), and evening came before I found a

chance of going out. But when the sun had set, I left the dismal cawing

of the family crows, and, slipping forth, went down by unfrequented ways

into the town. Moreover, I went fully armed, for who could tell what

ugly violence or treachery might be abroad?

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER XI*

 

*I Live and Learn*

 

 

The little town was all agog with men both young and old (farm hands for

the most part), who had come in to join a cause which ignorance

persuaded them would turn the kingdom upside down and make them so much

richer by the doing of it. Most of them were armed; some wore green

boughs stuck in their hats, while others waved them wildly; and everyone

was shouting out these words, which already I was sick of hearing:

 

"A Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant religion!"

 

Faith, ’twas as if the countryside had gone clean mad. "If this be how

they go about the changing of a king," thought I, "then Heaven have

mercy on them!"

 

There were many in this bawling throng who knew me, and not a few showed

signs of speaking to me of my loss; but I would have none of it, and so

passed by with nods or scanty greetings.

 

The Duke, I learned, had taken up his quarters at the "George", and

thither, though scarce knowing why, I went; and what a sight and babel

greeted me on drawing near the inn-yard! That of the previous night had

been as nothing to it.

 

The yard, and half the narrow street besides, were packed with men whose

one desire in life appeared to be to get inside the inn itself as

speedily as possible; and, to that end, they elbowed, pushed, and

wellnigh fought each other. They shouted, waved green boughs, sang

hymns and psalms; while ever and anon an oath or curse rang strangely

out as some poor wretch was crushed beyond endurance.

 

I watched them from a distance for a while in wondering silence, then

going up I touched a burly, pushing yokel on the arm, and asked what was

the meaning of so great a pother.

 

"Whoy, dost not know?" says he, regarding me with pity. "They be

a-takin’ down the na-ams i’soide thur, and we be all a-goin’ to sign

on."

 

"For Monmouth, eh?" said I.

 

"Aye, sure," says he. "Who else?"

 

"Have many joined?"

 

"Aye, hun’reds--thoosands! And you’m be just the sort o’ man they be

a-wantin’, zurr," he added, looking me up and down admiringly. "Coom

on! Coom! We be a-moovin’ now. Kape tha’ close behoind me, zurr."

 

And spreading out his arms he booed and barked as though the crowd

before him were a flock of sheep intended for the slaughter--as, alas!

full many of them were.

 

But although his words had made me quite as keen as he to get inside the

"George", methought I knew an easier, swifter way of doing it than his,

which, as it seemed to me, must surely take some hours.

 

So I forsook the crowd, which was far too busy to take heed of me, and

slipping round into that quiet street from which I had escaped the night

before, went up a narrow passage to the private side door of the inn.

’Twas fast, as had I imagined it would be, but when I knocked the bolts

were hastily withdrawn, the door was opened cautiously, and there before

me stood one of the thieving rascals who had tried to rob me of my