CHAPTER L

CHASED BY BLOODHOUNDS

Having tasted captivity before, I was in a mood much less doleful than my comrade when I found myself confined to a dingy chamber, and cut off from communication with my countrymen, who were marching with their king in hostile array through the realm of Scotland. But ere long I began to find the confinement as irksome as it was to him, and to concentrate all my faculties on a project of escape. In order to execute it, I perceived the necessity of securing the co-operation of our gaoler.

Now it happened that this man, who went by the name of Roger Redhand, was a native of the country to the south of the Tweed; and having, years before, fled from Northumberland, after some defiance of law which exposed him to danger, he had since found safety as an exile in Scotland. Moreover, he was, though born an enemy of their nation, much trusted by the Scots among whom his lot had fallen; and they had, as a sign and testimony of mutual treaty, gone through the ceremony of drinking with him from a cup in which some drops of their blood were mingled with his, and having by this process become, as they thought, his kinsmen in some degree, believed that they had for ever secured his fidelity.

Nevertheless, I did not by any means despair of working on the patriotism of Roger Redhand; and with great caution I ventured on the experiment. At first, however, my efforts were ineffectual. But I did not, therefore, give up the game; and Salle, whose horror of a man serving the enemies of his country was naturally intense, grew angry at my persevering with a scheme which promised no success.

"Beshrew me, friend," said he roughly, "if it angers me not sorely to condescend to parley and bandy words with that renegade. As well try to bleed a stone as to strike one spark of patriotism in his breast."

"Patience, my gallant comrade," replied I. "His love of country is not dead, but asleep; and I am far from despairing of rousing it so far, at least, as to make him the instrument of restoring us to freedom. But make not, meddle not in the matter; or, with your strong prejudices and your fiery temper, you may ruin all, and we may remain in captivity till doomsday."

And I soon after learned that Roger Redhand had seen better days; that he was son of a squire in the North of England; and I found that I was not wholly mistaken in my calculations. Dormant and difficult to arouse the exile's patriotism was, but it was not extinct; and gradually my exertions were rewarded so far that it slightly caught fire, then glowed and kindled into a flame, and ultimately, as I recalled and pictured the scenes of his youth, when Douglas and Randolph ravaged the North of England with savage fury, slaughtering and plundering the inhabitants, it burned so fiercely that I had some difficulty in restraining his impulses. But I felt so strongly the necessity of discretion, that it was I, and not he, who now hesitated. At length, however, we came to terms; and I promised him a considerable reward, and my influence to obtain a pardon for him, on condition of his opening our prison doors, and conducting my comrade and myself in safety to the castle of Roxburgh.

At the time this bargain was struck the year was speeding on apace; and it was early May when, at murk midnight, Roger Redhand, closely muffled as Marchmen are in the habit of muffling themselves when not wishing to be recognised, cautiously unbarred the door of the chamber in which we were lodged, and whispered that the hour for the great venture was come. Without speaking a word, we rose, followed him, as he glided noiselessly down the stone stairs, and then through a postern into a wild park, that in one direction bounded the precincts of the castle. At that moment, overpowered by the darkness, and without a weapon, I confess I felt that our prospects were not inviting, and expressed something like apprehension.

"Fear not," whispered Roger Redhand, almost cheerfully; "the night favours us. I know the way so well that I could traverse it blindfold. Only one danger there is, against which there is no guarding. If our escape is discovered, and the bloodhounds are put on our track, this night may be our last, and, ere to-morrow's sun sets, our carcases may be food for ravens and wolves. But courage!"

"Ay, courage!" said I, my spirit rising. "Lead on; we fellow."

No further words passed. Pursuing a south-easterly direction, Roger Redhand walked rapidly onwards, and we, not without frequently stumbling, contrived, with some exertion, to keep pace with him. Everything seemed to go prosperously; and just as the moon rose we crossed the Tweed, and, pushing resolutely on in the track of our guide, had travelled several miles when, finding we were on the bank of a rivulet, I halted to quench my thirst and recreate my energies with a draught of the pure stream.

"Now, thanks to God and good St. George for our deliverance," said I, as, refreshed, I resumed the journey; "for, at last, methinks we are safe from pursuit."

"I would fain hope so," replied our guide; "but let us not dally with danger, nor forget the proverb which tells us not to halloo till we are out of the wood."

Almost as he spoke, Roger Redhand stopped suddenly, as if in alarm, and looking in the direction of the wind, pointed back, and, shaking his head as if to admonish us to be silent, listened attentively. For a few moments no sound broke the stillness of the night, save the rushing of the rivulet and the screams of the birds and beasts that haunted its banks. At length, however, our guide drew himself up excitedly; and now there was no possibility of mistaking the nature of the danger, or the significance of his last words. Far away as it seemed, but coming down the wind with terrible distinctness, the bay of a bloodhound, deep-mouthed and menacing, broke the silence, and sounded in our ears like a death knell.

Drawing a dagger from his bosom, and baring his strong arm, Roger Redhand deliberately inflicted a wound, and spilt some drops of blood on our track.

"What, in the name of the saints, mean you by that?" asked I.

"Blood destroys the fineness of the scent," answered he. "I have even seen prisoners sacrificed to save their captors, when closely chased by foes. But it does not always succeed. So on, on!" added our guide; "we may yet escape if we have luck."

And forward he pressed, crossing and recrossing the streamlet at places considerably distant from each other, with some idea of throwing the pursuers off the scent, but all, as it seemed, to no purpose. The sagacity of the dog was not to be baffled either by blood on the path or by the running stream. And we felt that, guided by its unerring instinct, our pursuers were close upon our track. Our fate seemed sealed; but even at that moment I scorned to yield to despair.

Nearer and nearer came the deep bay. Indeed, every time we paused to listen it resounded more loudly through the wood, and, in our perplexity, we halted to take counsel of each other.

It was an awful moment, and our agitation was great.

"We are lost!" exclaimed Salle, in accents of mournful despondence; "and without even the satisfaction of being able to strike a blow for life."

"No, not lost," replied I, though feeling that I was hoping against hope. "It is true that great is the sagacity of the bloodhound, but not so great that it cannot be baffled by the wit of man."

"You are right," said our guide, suddenly rousing himself, and raising his head. "It can be done. I have heard the Scots tell how Robert Bruce, their king, acted when pressed as we are, and how he escaped. Have all your wits about you; let us into the water; do as you see me do; and beware, above all things, of touching the banks. Now be quick and cautious. Our lives hang on a single chance; but courage and discretion will yet save us."

By this time we had reached a wooded valley which was intersected by the stream; and, dashing into the water, our guide waded up its course for some hundred yards, while we followed in silence; and then, renewing his caution as to not touching the banks, he sprang upon the twisted branches of an elm, and, swinging himself dexterously from tree to tree, while we, with some difficulty, followed his example, at length leaped to the ground at some distance from the spot where we had entered the stream.

"Now," said he, pursuing his way and waving us on, "if you have done as I have done, and not touched the ground, we are saved."

"We are saved!" cried Salle triumphantly.

"But our escape has been a narrow one," remarked I.

And, indeed, it soon appeared that the stratagem had succeeded; and, at the same time, it became evident that we had not resorted to the stratagem a moment too soon. As, after climbing an acclivity, we reached the summit of the rising ground, the moon, previously somewhat clouded, shone brilliantly; and when, sheltered by trees from the possibility of being observed, we looked down into the valley from which we had emerged, we could distinctly descry our pursuers on horseback keenly urging on the hound, and hear their voices, as, speaking rapidly, and sometimes all at a time, they attempted to account for having lost the scent. But all proved quite unavailing. The dog, completely thrown out, stood utterly at fault, and, in spite of incitement and encouragement, failed in every effort to regain the scent it had lost.

"Forward," whispered our guide. "By the voices of our pursuers, I know that they are dispersing to search the thickets; and since some of them might, by chance, find their way up the steep, it is not well, as I said before, to dally with danger, and it is well by hastening on to avoid the risk of being descried."

And at his instance we pursued our way with the sensations of men saved, at the last instant, from the awful peril of drowning, and keeping to by-paths and solitary places, we left danger behind, and at morn stood tired and jaded, but safe and sound, within the strong castle of which Copeland was governor.

"Welcome, gentlemen," said Copeland, who, on being informed of our escape, came to receive Salle and myself. "I rejoice you have escaped, though I am little like to have much of your company."

"And wherefore?"

"Because, whenever it is known that you are in the land of the living and at liberty, both of you are certain to have instructions to proceed south without delay to embark for Guienne. But who is the muffled man?"

"One to whom we are much indebted," said I.

"And one whose face is not wholly unknown to Sir John Copeland," said our guide, throwing aside his muffler and showing his face.

"Ah, Roger! Roger!" exclaimed Copeland in accents of sad reproof, "it grieves me to think that the day should ever have come when your father's son had to hide his face from living mortal, and that mortal an Englishman and a Copeland."

"Reproach me not with the past," said the other imploringly, "but listen to my prayer, and grant it for the sake of those who sleep where the weary are at rest."

"Yes, sir knight," said I earnestly, "upbraid him not. Let bygones be bygones."

"Nay," exclaimed Copeland, "I am not the person to be hard on a broken man, whose conscience, doubtless, reproaches him often enough. And now, Roger," added he, "I listen to your prayer. What is it you require of me?"

"Your good word and influence to win me a pardon," was the answer.

The Governor of Roxburgh paused, meditated, and then, looking full at the petitioner, smiled grimly, with a peculiar expression on his countenance.

"By holy St. Cuthbert and good St. George, Roger!" said he in a low voice, "I would as lief ask King Edward for Berwick or Calais as for your pardon, as your case now stands; but," added he significantly, "if you take a pardon for the time being, and go to fight for the Prince of Wales in France, I will, for the sake of our kindred blood, equip you for the war, and even recommend you to the prince as strongly as I can in honour do, all things taken into account. Go, then, to Gascony, and fight for a pardon, while others are fighting for honour and victory, and then your day may come. Many broken ships have come to land, and, be that as it may, you were wont to be brave in the face of a foeman; and credit me that a man never asks pardon from a king with such grace as when he has proved his strength and courage against the king's enemies."

"Be it as you have said," replied the outlaw, much affected.

"And, Roger," added Copeland, "in token that I deem you capable of redeeming your good name, I, in presence of these valiant squires, give you my hand as that of a friend and kinsman, who, if you stoutly battle to redeem your fair fame, will aid your efforts to the utmost. So help me God, and St. Cuthbert, and St. George!"

And, as the Northern knight suited the action to the word, Roger Redhand's eye first gleamed with gratification, and then became dim with tears.