Part 2

"Ay, go, lassie," said the old moss-trooper, "we'll need all the help we may; let the sick cow bide, Jock, they're welcome to her; and now, within boys, we've saved all we can, and yonder comes Black Wat hissel."

Jocelyn watched the whisk of the blue riding skirt disappear beyond the orchard trees, and ran into the Tower, the iron grille swinging to with a clang as Halbert secured it.

Five minutes before all had been peace, and the sun shining on the green of the grass; now, they stood in the peculiar coolness of the stone walls, watching the ragged reivers splash through the ford, and pull up in a bunch in front of the doorway.

The Tower, strongly built of grey stone, was dimly lit by arrow slits, and in the lower story the frightened cattle lowed.

About it clustered the outbuildings, byres and stabling; but on occasions like the present, all the livestock were driven within, and grille and door stoutly barred.

The door stood half open now, as Black Wat Armstrong reined in before the square entrance, laughing aloud.

He was clad in breast and back piece, and had riding boots reaching above his knee, and in addition to the long sword at his hip, he carried a Jedburgh axe hanging by a thong from his saddle.

"Come forth, Ned Langley," he said, in a great voice, "Wat Armstrong of Bannockbrae has somewhat to say to ye!"

"Get ye gone, Black Wat," replied Long John, derisively, from the interior; "Captain Langley is away, and we like not Scots thieves around the peel, being very particular of our acquaintance."

"Say ye so, Long John o' the Limp, for I ken your croak weel; ye shall not be ower burdened wi' my company, man, for we'll e'en hang ye in ten minutes," and the borderer laughed at his own rough jest. "In with the door, lads, and the loons shall hae shorter shrift than they gied to our ain puir folk!"

A dozen moss-troopers dismounted and ran towards the grille, and the little garrison clanged the inner door to, but not before Halbert's arbalist twanged, and a bolt flew into the midst of the attacking party, stretching one of them lifeless, his steel cap ringing against the horse-block as he fell.

"Up wi' ye, boys!" cried Long John, "we've plums for their pudding in plenty above there, and they who come to meat at Langley peel, unbidden, must bring lang spoons."

Jocelyn led the way, scampering like a rabbit up the steep, well-worn stairs; and bursting out on to the parapet, his first thought was of his sister.

Far away southward he saw a tiny moving object which vanished round the shoulder of the hill, and he knew she was safe, and that help would not be long in coming; then he crept to the parapet and looked over.

A shower of ringing blows from a heavy sledgehammer was falling upon the grille.

"Lads," said Long John, crawling out upon the roof, with a grim smile, "they knock over loud to our fancy, being unmannerly Scots, but they shall taste a 'Langley loaf,'" and he picked up a great fragment of rock that lay upon a pile that had evidently been brought there for precisely such a purpose.

"Back!" shouted Armstrong, sitting on his horse, and spying five figures appear on a sudden, each outlined against the blue sky above him; but the warning came too late, and the huge stones fell among the surge of men that sprang away from the door.

"That's Hal o' the Cleuch, wi' his neck broken," cried Long John, looking down, "'twas he gave me the lick on the shinbone when we rode back from Bannockbrae, and I'll now die happier for to-day's work!"

"I'll no take away from my father's joy, though 'twas my stone killed him," whispered Halbert to Tam Foster. "Ha, the rogues have fired the byre!"

A tremendous shout rose from the reivers, as a tongue of flame leaped upwards from the outlying buildings; and the soft wind wreathed the peel itself in smoke.

"We'll no want for a beacon now to raise the countryside, Wat Armstrong!" called Long John o' the Limp. "If ye've a mind to come in, take an old man's advice and delay not; we're five here and you two score—fie on ye! Wat, we'd hae brent your rat hole sooner than this!"

Black Wat's eyes sparkled savagely.

"Sim Salkeld," said he, to a red-haired reiver, "yonder window will serve us while the smoke hides it; set a ladder cautiously and I'll up and in."

The window lit the living room in the second story, and was good five-and-twenty feet from the ground: under cover of the burning byre they lashed two ladders together, and followed their leader, while the rest engaged the attention of the little garrison by a bold attack on the main door.

A powerful, bearded man was Wat Armstrong, and his grasp was on the iron bars of the window when a shrill cry made him look upward.

"Help! Long John," screamed Jocelyn, peering over the parapet as the wind suddenly curled the smoke away and revealed the danger, and Black Wat closed his eyes involuntarily as a jagged rock came hurtling through the air.

It struck the second reiver standing on the rungs below him, and with a terrible yell the man fell backwards, dragging the ladder away to fall crashing into the blaze.

"Hold, boys," said Long John, checking the avalanche of missiles that was about to descend on the wretched man clinging to the iron bars, "this comes o' a man climbing above his station; how are ye feelin' now, Black Wat Armstrong?"

The two enemies glared into each other's eyes, and the reiver's reply was drowned in a cry of triumph from the Tower, and the clamour of dismay that rose from the moss-troopers below.

A man clad in half armour, with a steel basinet on his head, must needs pause before he drops twenty-five feet on to the hewn rock, but already his men were racing to the ricks and returning with huge armfuls of hay to break his fall.

"Father," cried Halbert, poising a slab of freestone that he had torn from the roof, "he'll be away in a trice!"

"Fool, Halbert," said the old man, "cock your eye to the loan-head, and tell me what you see!" and Long John o' the Limp sent a screech of laughter into the clear air.

They looked, and saw, and the reivers saw it at the same moment; for, galloping as hard as horse could go, came Captain Langley, with full fifty stout men of Northumberland behind him, and, at his side, brave little Alison on her sorrel pony.

A thunder of hoofs, a whoop, and a flashing of steel, and then a wild ride round the smoking byre, and through the ford, and the invaders fleeing with hotspur for the "Bateable Land," leaving their leader still grasping the iron bars and glowering at the spear points beneath him.

Captain Langley pulled up and laughed aloud. "Let fall your axe, Wat Armstrong, and we'll let you down," he called. "I have a word to sav to you; bring ladders here."

The baffled reiver descended slowly with his bloodshot eyes on his captor's, expecting nothing less than death, but Langley motioned back the spears, and rode forward a pace to meet his old enemy.

"You saved my lassie, Armstrong, and you spake her fair: go your ways, man; you'll leave horses and harness enough to pay for yonder burnt byre," said he.

The reiver looked hard at him, and there was silence for a moment.

"Ye brent my Tower o' Bannockbrae," he said, and then paused, as though bewildered.

"Ye slew my brother before that," replied the Captain sternly, as Alison drew beside him.

"Gie me your hand, Langley, for ye're a guid mon, an' a forgiving," said the grizzled raider, drawing off his gauntlet; "but ne'er shall it be said that a Scot fell short o' an English borderer in generosity, an' ye hae my word that Langley Peel gaes free o' Wat Armstrong henceforward!"

The two strong men gripped hands, and a right blithe shout went up from the onlookers.

"Take your horse, friend," said the captain, "'tis far to fare afoot," and when the reiver turned at the head of valley and waved his arm, Long John o' the Limp on the Tower top led the ringing cheer that sped him on his way; and the sun came out, and the grass grew green again, and all was peace on the lonely border.

D. H. Parry.

A Pair of Brave Maids

"GILES, my lady bids you drive more warily!"

Lady Saxilby's coachman turned a wrathful face, red with exertion, towards the speaker, Phoebe. But the coach gave a lurch, and the waiting-maid's head disappeared. The road was terrible, and Giles had his work cut out for him. By his side sat my lard's new servant, Roger Clobery; while inside the lumbering vehicle were Lady Saxilby, her two daughters, and the maid, Phoebe. They were travelling down to Iver Hall, the family country seat, and had already been five days on the road.

Joan Saxilby was fourteen, her sister Letty a year younger, and both were pretty, dark-haired lassies. Their father, Lord Saxilby, lay in the Tower, accused of being concerned in a Jacobite plot, and the girls were surprised at their mother leaving town at such a critical time. If the accusation were proved it would certainly go ill with him. There was a son, nineteen, but he had managed to disappear at the time when Lord Saxilby and some others were arrested, and no news of Dick had come for many a day.

The party were descending a hill within a few miles of Iver when Letty, flung bodily on the top of Phoebe, shrieked, "Mother, we are over!"

It was no fault of Giles that the linch-pin should come out of one of the wheels. He could do nothing, and the coach toppled heavily over on its side, dragging down the struggling horses with it. Giles himself was pitched into a bush; Clobery saved himself by an active spring, and hurried to extricate the young ladies and the weeping Phoebe through the window that was uppermost. When Lady Saxilby was got out it was found that she had hurt her shoulder severely, and they were obliged to carry her to the nearest shelter, a tumbledown farmhouse.

Giles went off on one of the horses to try and find a doctor, and Joan, hovering round her mother in great concern, heard her murmur in a tone of bitter distress:

"It may be too late now."

"Mother, dear, can I not do anything?" said Joan, earnestly.

Lady Saxilby looked at her hesitatingly.

"Joan, would you be afraid to go to Iver to-night by yourself?"

It would soon be dusk, but the girl, impressed, answered sturdily:

"No, mother; I will go."

"The pain gets worse," said Lady Saxilby, faintly; "put your ear close to my lips, Joan. You—you must try to save your father; now, listen."

Joan listened, and her face grew grave and eager. She understood now why someone in the secret ought to go to Iver as soon as possible.

"Burn every scrap," concluded her ladyship, and closed her eyes, exhausted.

Phoebe came back at that instant. Joan beckoned Letty out into the garden, and whispered to her for a few minutes. "I must go with you," said Letty, with decision. "Giles mayn't be back yet, and Clobery—" she paused and looked at her sister.

"I don't like him either," said Joan. "Very well, Letty, we will go together."

She felt that she had a good deal on her shoulders; her mother had been too ill to give her any counsel. And she must not fail either, for brave men's lives were at stake.

The reason of Lady Saxilby's hurried journey was this. She had received from her husband, by the hand of Clobery, a scrap of paper with three crosses marked on it. One cross signified, as she knew, "Destroy all papers at Iver," two that it was urgent, three that his life depended upon it. Lady Saxilby told Joan where the secret hiding-place was, and particularly bade her burn a paper with a long list of names on it. It was hard to leave their mother in her present state, but the girls knew they must not linger; so without saying anything to Phoebe, who was a chatterbox, they stole down the lane, hoping to find their way back to the high road and reach Iver before nightfall.

It was a long and lonely tramp, for dusk came on, and they wandered about a common for nearly an hour before they could discover a path. Tired to begin with, they grew desperately weary, and hungry too into the bargain. The tears came into the girls' eyes, but they struggled on, cheering each other as best they could, and at last their courage and perseverance were rewarded, and they crept up to the side entrance of Iver Hall.

It was a huge, rambling old building, standing away by itself, and many a Jacobite meeting had been held in secret beneath its roof. An ancient servitor and his wife had been left in charge while the family was away, and greatly astonished were they when Joan's voice begged for admittance. Old Doggory unbarred the door, holding a light in one hand. Before he could say a word Joan had snatched this light from him, and was making for the staircase, Letty following her closely. The girls had forgotten their fatigue, they only thought of their father's danger.

Yes, the papers were there. Joan, with trembling fingers, drew them from the cunningly-contrived hiding-place. "Quick, Letty, the light," she murmured.

A step was heard behind them; Letty gave a startled cry, while Joan felt her arm clutched. Looking up, she met the triumphant gaze of Roger Clobery, and in a second he had snatched the bundle of papers from her.

"Nicely trapped," said the fellow, mockingly. "I have been waiting for someone to show me the trick of that sliding panel. We guessed the papers we wanted were down at this old owl's nest."

"You spy!" cried Joan, indignantly, turning very white.

"Call me what you will, young mistress," returned Clobery, grinning, "it matters not. We have got what we have been waiting and working for, and there will be a rare clearance of the rebels, I warrant you, when I get back to town."

The hearts of the two girls died within them; they had failed, and at the last minute too, which made it all the more bitter. Their father would be executed, and who could tell how many more with him? The list of names looked a lengthy one. Joan made one despairing effort. Drawing herself up, and trying to look much older than she was, she said, haughtily:

"Perhaps you need money. How much will you take to give me back those papers?"

Clobery laughed insultingly.

"How much, pray, have you to offer? A couple of gold pieces and a pair of earrings? No, these papers go straight to King George's own hands; he will pay for them fast enough."

With a sob Letty dropped on her knees, and Joan followed her example; together they besought the spy for mercy.

He jeered at them, and, catching up the light, cried: "Farewell, my pretty mistresses, I will e'en borrow this as far as the window, where I made my entry. You have helped me much and I am beholden to you."

He left the room, waving the bundle of priceless documents derisively. Joan and Letty rushed after him, not to be left in total darkness. There was more light in the long corridor, and suddenly they caught sight of a tall figure advancing towards them. It was clad in a long brown cloak with a hood drawn over its head, and for a moment the girls, in terror, fancied it might be a ghost. Then Letty gave a loud cry: "Dick, Dick, get the papers from him!"

The spy dashed the light on the floor and took to his heels; but he had someone after him who knew the house better than he did. Clobery was armed, but so was Dick Saxilby, and when they met, just by the open window by which the traitor had entered, it became a fight to the death. The young Jacobite was a good swordsman, and presently his weapon shot under the other's guard, and Clobery fell with a shriek to the ground.

"You have beaten me," he muttered, and rolled over and died.

There was so little light that young Saxilby could not tell who was his fallen enemy, but the two girls quickly put him in possession of the facts of the case.

"He deserved what he got," was Dick's comment; "and now we must get a fresh light from old Doggory and burn the papers. Faith, I could have managed the business before, but I knew not where they were hidden."

When the deed was accomplished, Joan and Letty heaved a sigh of great relief. What a case of touch-and-go it had been! If Dick had not been in hiding in his own home, which boasted of as many as three secret chambers, and so was as safe a place as any, the papers would assuredly have been carried off.

As it happened, the accusation against Lord Saxilby and his fellow prisoners fell to the ground for want of evidence, and after some months they were released. It was a happy family party that met then at Iver; but Joan and Letty never forgot that night when their father's life hung upon a single thread.

Sheila Braine.

On Board a Pirate Ship

"HAS the boy eaten his fill?"

"Ay, enough for six, the young villain."

"Then pass him along here, Patch," and Captain Firebrace turned to look once more across the tranquil ocean at a half-dismantled vessel, which his own was slowly leaving behind it. The sky was so blue, the air so warm, and the sea so calm that it was difficult to believe that only a couple of days before they had been tossed about by a furious hurricane. Yet so it was, and although the "Morning Star" had weathered the storm, it appeared that other vessels had not been equally fortunate.

"A sail on the weather-bow," had shouted the man at the mast-head, a warning which put Captain and crew instantly on the alert, looking to the priming of the guns. It was for no good and peaceful ends that the rakish-looking "Morning Star" sailed the high seas, as more than a dozen unlucky merchantmen had found to their cost.

On this occasion there was no resistance, for the schooner espied by the watcher was drifting about helplessly, and when Firebrace and his men boarded her, the only living soul they found was a boy locked in a cabin, and half dead of hunger. It was clear that the crew and passengers, expecting the ship to go down, had taken to the boats.

Roger Cary, fortified by a good meal, was able to stand up and reply to the Captain's questions. The ship, he declared, was the "Speedy Return," bound for Jamaica; his uncle, Austin Cary, being the Captain. He himself hailed from Devonshire,—Roger, only son of Squire Cary of Paignton, and he had run away from home, being wild to go a sea trip. He could not say who had locked him into the cabin.

"H'm," remarked Captain Firebrace drily, "failing you, I presume this uncle of yours is your father's heir, is he not? Well, you would have starved like a rat in a trap had we not chanced upon your ship. And now, my young cock-o'-the-west, the point is, what are we going to do with you."

"I will gladly work," began Roger eagerly, but he was interrupted by a hoarse voice, and the huge giant, Patch, thrust forward his grim-looking visage.

"Cap'n," he cried, "'tis our opinion, me and my mates, that the boy should go overboard to the sharks without more ado. We want no spies and mealy-mouths here: our necks be none too safe for that."

Roger turned a shade paler, and fixed his eyes imploringly on the Captain's handsome, reckless face.

"Ay, Cap'n, let him walk the plank," roared Long Andrew, the bo'sun.

Captain Firebrace drew a pistol from his belt and played with it carelessly.

"I'd have you know, Patch and the rest, that I am master here, and if any man disputes it, let him step forward." He paused, but no one accepted the invitation. "Well, then, this lad is going to stop here as ship's boy, and he'll earn his victuals that way, or the rope's end will teach him how. As for being a spy, if we are taken, he will swing the same as we shall, take my word for it."

Roger breathed more freely, for he understood that the Captain was on his side. But he was a shrewd lad and he felt certain that he had fallen in with what was politely termed a gentleman adventurer and his company, otherwise a band of pirates, and he wondered greatly whether he would ever see his home again.

A life of hardships, such as he had never dreamed of, now began for the squire's heir. Instead of being waited on, he was at the beck and call of every one, kicked and cuffed by the sailors, badly fed and overworked. His clothes were soon in rags, and his face and hands tanned a deep brown. His worst enemy was Patch who seemed to bear him a special grudge.

The "Morning Star" had a treacherous trick of flying whatever colours seemed best at the time, and it was under cover of the French flag that it seized a merchant ship sailing from Rouen, and plundered it. The French captain and all the sailors were made to "walk the plank," and Patch, dragging Roger maliciously to the side made him watch them leap, one after another, into the swirling waters below. They died like brave men, shouting. "Vive la France!" but Roger, after that sight, had no mind any more for the joys of a pirate's life, of which he had so often dreamed at home.

Time wore on, and still Roger found no way of escaping from his bondage. The "Morning Star" only put into port at out-of-the-way places, and even then, a strict guard was kept and he had no chance of getting away. And how could he hope that their vessel might be seized by some other, since, if taken, he would certainly be hanged with the rest, as the Captain declared?

Captain Firebrace seemed made of different stuff to Patch, Long Andrew, and the others. He was, in fact, a gentleman adventurer, and dominated his lawless crew by virtue of a stern will and reckless courage. Openly he showed the "ship's boy" no favour, Roger felt nevertheless that the Captain was his friend. Once, when nearly all the men were sleeping after a carousal, he called the boy into his cabin, and plied him with questions about his home and the folks of Paignton.

A year passed, and his own mother would hardly have recognised Roger in the ragged, sunburnt lad who swabbed the decks and helped the cook. One small ray of hope lingered in his mind: the Captain had once whispered in his ear. "Keep up a good heart, lad: thou'lt see Paignton yet." But the time seemed far off, for now the "Morning Star" was cruising in Spanish waters, having had news of a galleon laden with treasure. This put the crew in high spirits, but their chief was plainly uneasy.

"There is a storm brewing," he cried, and presently Roger heard him roar out the order, "Furl all sails!"

"We shall get it hot and strong directly," said Long Andrew, as he went aloft. A white sheet of foam enveloped the waves, the wind shrieked in the rigging, and the men could not secure the flapping canvas to the yards. A furious squall struck the ship; there came a loud crash, and the top-mast snapped and fell with its spars into the sea.

Roger crawled up from below, and saw that Captain Firebrace was at the helm. The waves rose to a terrific height, and it seemed to the boy that every minute would see them engulfed.

They were not far from the shore, which bristled with dangerous rocks, and in spite of the Captain's efforts, it was evident that the "Morning Star" was drifting towards them. One of the crew, a Spaniard, Pedro by name, was acquainted with the coast, and a look at his anxious face was enough to show Roger that their danger was great.

They were so near the land now that they could see a white sandy beach, with a high barrier-reef against which the waves were furiously dashing.

"See, there is a passage between those two rocks," yelled Pedro, "yonder lies St. Diego, and if we can get through we may be saved."