The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First by George Manville Fenn (classic romance novels .TXT) 📕

were listening eagerly; “but I’ve been thinking about Sir Morton yonder, and my young lady.”

“Yes? What about them?” asked Sir Edward.

“You’re going to use blasting-powder?”

“Well, what of that?”

“I was thinking about them inside. We wouldn’t like to hurt them.”

“Of course not; but as I know the place, there is little fear. I went in some distance, some twenty years ago, and the passages run to and fro and keep opening up into chambers. Now, one of these, some distance in, is sure to be turned into a prison for the captives, where they would be beyond the reach of the powder, and I feel certain that they would be too far away to be hurt.”

“Won’t bring the roof down upon ’em, will it?” asked the man.

“I don’t think there is any fear; but it is only where we fail to drive the wretches back that I shall have a charge fired. I must save my men from injury as much as I can.”

“That’s what Sir Morton used to say, young gentleman,” said Nick, as Sir Edward drew back; and for the next half-hour the attacking party, a good twenty strong, advanced steadily, the steepness of the climb soon enforcing slower progress.

For some little time now they had been aware of the fact that the enemy had been making preparations for an attack. Taught by the last, they had worked hard, and built-up a massive wall across the entrance to their stronghold, this defensive work being formed of the rough blocks lying about the little slope, and for the most part they were dragged down, and hoisted into their place.

Upon this, half-a-dozen armed men were standing, watching their approach, and the attacking party made out their swords and pikes, the latter leaning against a rock, with their bright steel heads sloping towards the climbers.

When these latter were within about a hundred yards, Sir Edward halted his party, and ranged them in a curved line, the men at a short distance from each other, so that as they all made for the mouth of the cave they would gradually draw together, and be close when they delivered the attack.

“Pikes only,” said Sir Edward. “Keep your swords for the close hand-to-hand work.”

“Has your father been a soldier, youngster?” whispered Nick Garth hoarsely.

“No; why?”

“Talks like one. He couldn’t do better. He’ll give the word soon, and the sooner the better. I’ve got my wind now. ’Member the master and the young missus, lads.”

There was a growl from his companions, and as Mark glanced at them he felt that it would go hard with any one among the enemy who came within reach of their pikes.

The enemy had, however, now descended from the top of their wall, and only their heads and breasts were visible, as, ten strong now, they stood in a row, with their pikes resting upon the top; ready to thrust at the first who came within reach.

“Now, my lads,” cried Sir Edward; “have you all got your wind?”

“Ay!” ran along the crescent line.

“You with the powder, and the two centre men stand fast till you are wanted.”

This order was obeyed as the next was given, and headed by Sir Edward and his son, the party made steadily for the wall, at first slowly and gradually increasing the pace, till Sir Edward cried, “Charge!” and they broke into a trot, the fastest speed to be attained to upon such a slope.

Then, amidst shouts of hatred and mocking defiance from the marauders, there was the clash of steel, and the heavy rattling noise made by the pike-staves, as, thrusting and stabbing, the attacking party strove to win their way over the wall. Sir Edward led his men bravely, while, in a wild fit of excitement, Mark, young as he was, strove to show the Darley men that he was worthy to be their leader.

A fierce rage filled these men, fresh from the ruined home, and half mad with desire to revenge themselves upon those who had given them their wounds; but all along it was the same; they were at a terrible disadvantage in their approach, their enemies having their undefended bodies as marks for their weapons, while they had only head and shoulders to strike at, the rest of their bodies being safe, behind the strong breastwork.

Then, too, feeling secure in this approach to their stronghold, the marauders stood firm, waiting their opportunities, and then thrusting home, with the result that several of their assailants went down, and at the end of five minutes’ vain attack, Sir Edward ordered the men to draw back a few yards, and with some difficulty he and his son, by rushing before them, and thrusting up their pikes, induced them to obey.

“This is useless, Mark,” he said anxiously. “They are too strong for us. Take the extreme right next time we advance, and I will take the left. Then as soon as they are well engaged in front, you, with two men must try to get in over your end, and drop over amongst them from the side, and I will do the same. Do you dare to do that?”

“I feel as if it is horribly risky,” replied the boy, “but I’ll try.”

“Then you will do it,” said Sir Edward quietly. “Choose your men, and I will do the same.”

Five minutes later, amidst the mocking jeers of the men behind the breastwork, a fresh attack was made, and as Mark reached the front, he ducked down to avoid a thrust from a lance, crept close to the wall and, followed by Nick Garth and Ram Jennings, turned the end of the stones, climbed on, and reached the stone-strewn cliffs behind.

Then, knowing that the two men, in their fierce energy and hate, would be quite close, Mark turned suddenly, drew himself up, sword in hand—his followers letting their pikes slip through their hands, and holding them close up to the heads—and leaped down inside the breastwork, his father simultaneously coming over at the other flank.

There was not much force in either attack, but it proved effectual by its suddenness, throwing the defenders into confusion.

These rallied directly, and pikes were swung round and directed at the flanking parties, but the momentary check gave the men in front the opportunity to rush close up to the breastwork, which now became their protection, the defenders, having fallen back, becoming in turn exposed.

The fight now became furious, for the marauders began to back toward the mouth of the cave, giving way step by step, as the length of their line was gradually contracted by one after another dashing in, till all had passed into the narrow passage, the first men blocking the way with the heads of their pikes, while their fellows stooped and crept beneath, till the last was in safety. It is needless to say that an attempt to follow would have meant instant death.

A cheer now rose from the attacking party, who had achieved the taking of the outwork, and Sir Edward forced his way to his son’s side, to clap him on the shoulder, as he stood just out of reach of the defenders’ bristling pikes, which effectually barred the way.

“We have them now, Mark,” he cried. “Pass the word there for Daniel Rugg.”

But a low growl on the other side of the wall told that there was no need to pass any word. As soon as he saw that there was a chance for the next step, Dan had signed to Dummy, who trotted forward with lantern, fuse, and powder-bag, and father and son climbed into the little fort a few feet away from the opening into the cavern.

“Silence!” roared Sir Edward now—“you within there, lay down your arms, and march out at once.”

A defiant yell came from the holders of the pikes, enraging Nick Garth to such an extent that he picked up a block of stone from the top of the breastwork, raised it above his head, and dashed it into the doorway, Ram Jennings following suit with another.

The stones crashed in among the pikes with plenty of rattling, and a burst of yells followed as the men picked up a couple more.

“Stop, there,” cried Sir Edward sternly. “You can do no good, and I want the wall left sound for our own protection.”

Nick growled savagely, but he obeyed, and the men all stood fast at the cavern’s mouth with presented pikes, ready to attack if any movement was made by the defenders, while Dan Rugg and his son quickly prepared their missile.

“Ready,” shouted Dan from where he stood inside the wall with, his back to the men, and with Dummy looking intensely interested standing ready with the lantern.

“You, in there,” cried Sir Edward now, “will you surrender?”

“No,” cried a hoarse voice from inside. “Go back with your ragged pack of hungry hounds, or we’ll come and burn you out as we did the other idiot.”

“Once more,” cried Sir Edward, who still hesitated to proceed to the sternest measures; “will you give up your prisoners and surrender?”

“Bah! Laugh at him, boys,” cried the same hoarse voice: and another derisive yell arose.

“Out with you, my lads,” cried Sir Edward; and his men sprang over the wall again.

“You too, Mark,” said Sir Edward; and Mark followed, while Dan Rugg came close up with his bag of powder and fuse carefully tied in.

“Lay it as near as you can, so as to be out of reach of the pikes.”

“No good, Sir Edward,” said the man in a husky whisper. “Out with you. I’m going to light the fuse, and go right close, and heave it in over their pikes.”

“But that is too dangerous for you.”

“Not it. I know to a quarter of a minute when it will fire, and I shall hold it till then. That’ll give me time to jump the wall. Quick, sir, please.”

It was no time for hesitation, and feeling that his old servant at the mine could be trusted, Sir Edward climbed the wall, and Dummy, showing his teeth in a satisfied grin, opened the door of the lantern.

The next moment Dan had held the end of the short fuse he had provided to the candle, and a slight spluttering began.

“Over with you,” growled Dan, as his son snapped to the lantern door.

“Take care of yourself, daddy,” said the boy coolly.

“You be off,” growled Dan, and Dummy placed the lantern on the top of the breastwork, and vaulted over amongst the men, who were crouching down behind, to be out of the blast.

All this had taken place unknown to the defenders, who, from the narrowness of the entrance, were shut off from seeing the quaint, sardonic face of the old miner, as he stood holding the bag, with the burning fuse spluttering and sending up its curls of greyish smoke.

The men held their breath, and Mark’s eyes dilated as he watched the brave old fellow holding the bag, in the full knowledge that if he held the powder a moment too long he must be shattered to pieces.

It was a combination of the familiarity which breeds contempt and the confidence born of long experience which made Dan Rugg stand there so coolly for what seemed to be a long time before turning as he watched the burning fuse.

“Heads down there,” he said suddenly; “she’s going off.”

There was a quick movement, but Mark felt as if he was held by a nightmare dream, and he stood there watching, as the old man took a couple of steps forward, and now for the first time in full sight of those who held the fence of cross pikes.

In an instant there was a wild yell, and the pikes went down with their heads to the stones, and disappeared, but it was as Dan Rugg raised the bag above his head, and hurling it right into the cavern passage, he started aside to the shelter of the wall, while now by a step aside Mark also reached shelter. Then there was a roar and a burst of