Chapter Five.
How Mark Eden found the Raven’s Nest.
“Ah, there he goes,” said Mark, beneath his breath, as he stood motionless, and watched a large raven flapping along, high overhead, in the direction he was taking. “Perhaps that’s the cock bird. Looks big. The nest may be where old Master Rayburn says, or up this way, and the bird’s going for food.”
He waited till the raven disappeared, and then went on down-stream, taking to a path higher up, which led him by a pretty cottage, standing in a niche at a bend of the river, so that the place had a good view up and down-stream, and with its pleasant garden, looked the sort of home which might well make its owner content.
But Mark Eden’s mind was too full of ravens’ nests, to leave room for any contemplation of the old scholar’s cottage; and he hurried on by the path, which cut off two or three bends of the river, taking him right away for quite a couple of miles, and bringing him to the water’s-edge again, just in front of a mighty cliff, which towered up out of a dense grove of beeches on the other side of the river.
The place was solitary and still in the extreme; and going close down to the water’s-edge, Mark Eden seated himself upon a mossy stone, between two great hawthorns, which hid him from anything coming up or down-stream, while brambles, ferns, and clustering hemlock-plants, hid his back and front.
It was a pleasant resting-place, to sit and watch the rapidly running river, which was very shallow here; and from his hiding-place, he could see the shadows of the ripples, and the stony bottom, and also those cast by trout, as they glided here and there, waiting for the unfortunate flies and caterpillars which had fallen from overhanging boughs, to be washed down the stream.
But Mark had but a glance for the fish: his attention was taken up by the mass of precipitous stone before him, so steep, that it was only here and there, in cracks or on ledges, that herb or stunted bush could find a place to root; and as he scanned the precipice, from its foot among the beeches, to its brow, five hundred feet above where he sat, he wondered whether the ravens nested there.
No more likely place could be found for the great birds to rear their young; the cliff looked inaccessible, and days would pass, sometimes weeks, and not a soul come near.
“Old Master Rayburn must be right,” thought the lad. “What eyes he has for everything of this kind. There are no rooks in the beeches; there isn’t a jackdaw about; and I haven’t seen a rock-dove; all proof that the ravens are here, for the others would not dare to nest near them. Only be to hatch young ones for food. But I don’t see my gentleman nor his lady.”
A hoarse, distant bark was heard, just as the lad’s neck began to ache with staring up in vain, in the search for the nest, and he sat perfectly motionless, crouched amongst the hemlock and heracleum, to be rewarded by seeing a shadow thrown on the white limestone far on high, and directly after one of the great glossy black birds alight, right on the edge of the cliff, from whence it hopped into the air, and seemed to let itself fall some forty feet, down behind a stunted patch of broom, which had rooted in a cleft. There it disappeared for a few moments, to reappear, diving down toward the stream, but only to circle upward again, rise higher and higher, and finally disappear over the cliff, half a quarter of a mile away.
“Found it!” panted Mark; “a nest with young ones. Chance if there are any eggs for Master Rayburn.”
He leaned back to examine the place.
“Can’t get up there,” he muttered at last; “but it would be easy to get down from the top. I could do it, but—”
He took off his cap, and gave his brown hair a vicious scratch, for there were other obstacles in the way.
It would be easy to wade across the river; easy to make his way along the other side to where the cliff sloped, five hundred yards lower down the stream. From there he could reach the high down, which was broken off short to form the cliff, and walk along the edge till he was exactly over the nest, and then descend. Those were not obstacles, but trifles. The great difficulty was moral. That great mass of limestone was on the Darley estate, and for a few minutes, the lad felt as if he must give it up.
But obstacles only spurred him on to action, and he cried to himself, petulantly:
“Is it theirs? Who are they, to claim an open wild place like that? They’ll be saying next that all Darbyshire belongs to them. It’s as much ours as theirs, and, if we had our rights, it would be ours. I shall go, in spite of all the Darleys in the county. Who are they? Piece of rock and moor like that, and they claim it. Let them. I shall not stop away for them.”
The boy flushed, and ignoring the fact that he was about to commit a trespass, he slipped off shoes and hose, waded straight across the shallow river, and sat down on the other side to dry his feet, and put on hose and shoes again.
And all the time he felt a strong desire to glance up and down the river, to see if he had been observed by any one; but in his pride of heart he would not, for fear that he would be seen watching, and some one connected with his family’s enemies take it for a sign of fear.
This done, he rose, gave his feet a stamp, glanced up at the face of the cliff, to see one of the parent ravens fly off, uttering an angry croak; and then he began to bear off to the right, so as to ascend the low part of the cliff, reaching the top quite five hundred yards away, and turning at once to continue his ascent by walking along the edge, which rose steeply, till it reached the point above the raven’s nest, and then sloped down into a hollow, to rise once more into the wooded eminence which was crowned by Cliff Castle, the Darleys’ home.
“They’ve a deal better place than we,” said Mark to himself, as he strode on, in full defiance of the possibility of being seen, though it was hardly likely, a great patch of mighty beech-trees, mingled with firs, lying between the top of the big cliff and the Darleys’ dwelling. “More trees, and facing toward the west and south, with the river below them, while our home is treeless and bare, and looks to the north and east, and is often covered with snow when their side’s sunny and bright. My word! warm work, climbing up here, and the grass is as slippery as if it had been polished. Mustn’t go over. Father wouldn’t like it if I were to be killed; but I shouldn’t be, for I should come down in the tree-tops, and then fall from bough to bough into the river, and it’s deep just under the raven’s nest.”
Thinking this, he went on, up and up, cautiously, clear of head as one who had from childhood played about the cliffs, and reaching the summit breathless, to stand on the extreme verge, watching one of the ravens, which came sailing up, saw him at a distance, rose above his head, and then began to circle round, uttering hoarse cries.
“Ah, thief!” cried the lad; “I see what you have in your beak. A chicken; but your tricks are at an end. No more feeding young ravens here.”
“Better get to the nest, first, though,” said the boy laughingly; and he leaned forward, quite out of the perpendicular, to look down below the bush which sheltered the nest. “Easy enough: I can do it. If Ralph Darley had been half a fellow, he would have taken it himself. Better take off my sword, though. No; mustn’t leave that in the enemy’s country. I’ll take it down with me. Be nice to come up again, and find that one of those ragged Jacks had got hold of it! I wonder whether Sir Morton engaged them the other day. Very likely. He’s bad enough to do such an ungentlemanly thing. What did that fellow call himself. Pearl nose? Ought to have been Ruby nose. No, no; I remember now; it was Pearl Rose. My word, how high and mighty he was! Quite threatening. He’d go straight to Sir Morton Darley, if father did not enlist him and his men in our service. That upset father, just as he was thinking whether he should have them. He never could bear being threatened. How soon he sent them about their business, and threatened to summon the miners as well as our men. It will be awkward, though, if Sir Morton has engaged them, and strengthened his followers like that. May mean an attack. I wonder whether he did take their offer. If he has, father will wish he had agreed to the fellow’s terms. I don’t know, though. As he said to me, they would have been falling out with the mine men, and they seemed a ragged, drunken-looking set. Glad he sent them about their business.”
All this, suggested by the possibility of losing his sword, just when he was upon an enemy’s land; but he had not stopped on the top to think, for after lying down upon his breast, to gaze down and select the best place for his descent, he turned as he mused, lowered his legs, and began to descend, finding that after all his sword was not much in his way.
It was no new thing to Mark Eden to climb about the limestone cliffs, which formed one side of the Gleame, sometimes sloping down gradually, at others perpendicular, and in some cases partly overhanging, though in the latter case, it meant only for a few winters before, after being well saturated, the frost split them, piece by piece, till they went thundering down among the trees, generally to bound right into the river bed.
But, sloping or perpendicular, the formation was nearly always the same, stratum after stratum of from one to three feet in thickness, lying one upon the other, and riven into blocks which looked as if they had been laid by giant masons, to form a monstrous wall. Consequently, between the strata and their upright dividing cracks, there were plenty of places where a bold climber could find foot and hand-hold, without counting upon roots of trees, wiry shrubs, and tough herbs, to hold on by when other objects failed.
So easily enough, down went Mark, humming his tune again, and changing the humming to singing about the three ravens sitting on a tree, though in this instance, excepting the young in the nest below, there were only two, and instead of sitting, they were sailing round and round, croaking and barking angrily, the cock bird, if it was not the hen, making a pretence every now and then, to dart down and strike at the would-be marauder, who was descending to their home.
But Mark lowered himself steadily enough, laughing at the angry birds, and listening for the first cries of their young, as he wondered how big they would be.
He soon found that appearances were deceitful, upon a great height like that, for instead of the bush which hid the nest, being forty feet from the cliff brow, it was a good sixty, and the climbing was not so good as he had anticipated. The limestone crumbled away here and there; tufts of tough grass came out by the roots, and the stunted stems of bushes were not plentiful enough for hand-hold. But whenever the lad found the place too difficult, he edged off to right or left, and found an easier spot from which he lowered himself, and edged his way back along the joining of the next row of blocks.
To any one gazing from the opposite side, his appearance, flattened against the cliff, would have seemed appalling, but to Mark Eden it was a mere nothing; he was descending the old cliff, and trying to find the easiest way, that was all. No nervous qualms troubled him, and the thought of falling never once came into his head.
Lower and lower, with the sun beating upon his back, and the ravens croaking more and more loudly, and getting more threatening.
“Just wait till I get down to the bush, my fine fellows,” he said aloud. “Then you may come on if you like, and I should like to see you do it; only look out, for it means spitting yourselves. Glad I brought my sword.”
He was now only about ten feet above the bush; and as he held on for a few moments and looked down, he saw that there was a good-sized ledge in front of a cranny, in which the nest must be, and upon this ledge, bones, bits of wool, feathers, and remains of rabbits’ fur, were scattered, showing how hard the old birds had worked to feed their young.
He saw, too, something else which completely upset one of his plans, which was, to continue his descent right to the bottom of the cliff, after securing the young ravens; for the strata retired for some distance below the bush, and he grasped at once the fact, that he must return by the way he descended.
“Wish I had a bag with me,” he thought, as he heard a peculiar squeaking arise from beneath his feet. “Never mind: I’ll tie their legs together with my handkerchief, or thrust them into toy breast.”
Croak—croak—craw—awk! came from one of the ravens, as it swept by him with a rush.
“Wait a minute, my fine fellow, or madam,” said the boy. “Hard for you, perhaps; but how many chickens and ducklings have you stolen? how many unfortunate lambs have you blinded this spring? Can’t have ravens here. Hah! that’s it.”
For upon forcing his hands well into a fault in the rock, he had lowered his feet and found good foot-hold on the ledge, lowered himself a little more, and saw that he could easily sit down, hold on by his left hand, the stout bush being ready, and draw out a pair of well-grown nestlings as soon as he liked.
“I’m afraid, Master Rayburn, that if there are eggs I should get them broken if I put them in my pocket,” he said aloud; “and if they do break, phew! It would be horrible. Ah, put them in my cap. Let’s see.”
He thrust his right hand into the niche, and snatched it back, for the young ravens were big enough to use their beaks fiercely, and set up a loud, hoarse series of cries, as soon as they found that an enemy was at the gate.
“You vicious little wretches!” he cried. “My word, they can bite. Ah, would you!”
This was to one of the ravens, which rendered frantic by the cries of the young, swooped at him, and struck him with a wing in passing.
“Declaration of war, eh!” he said. “Well, it’s your doing, you murderous creatures, you lamb-slayers. I did not know you could be so fierce.”
The raven had sailed off to a distance now, croaking loudly, and joined its mate; and as at the next movement of Mark, seated on his perilous perch, the young ravens screeched hoarsely again, it was evident that there was to be a fresh attack, this time united.
But the lad reached down his right arm, got hold of the hilt of his thin rapier, and pressing closely to the niche, drew the weapon from its sheath.
“Now then!” he cried, as the blade flashed in the sunshine, “I’m ready for you. A new way of killing ravens. Come on.”
He had not long to wait, for finding the entrance to their nesting-place partly darkened, the young birds set up a loud series of cries, maddening the old ones, and with a rush, down came one of them, so fiercely that the lad’s arm received a heavy stroke from a powerful wing, the sword, passing through the feathers, between the bird’s wing and body.
“That’s one to you,” said the lad, drawing his breath with a sharp hiss. “My word, you can hit hard! It’s your life or mine, my fine fellow, so look out.”
Almost before he had breathed these words, amidst the outcry made by the young, the second raven stooped at him, just as a falcon would at a heron, and it came so unexpectedly, that once more the point of the sword was ill directed, and a severe buffet of the bird’s wing nearly sent him down.
“This is getting too serious,” he said, pressing his teeth together, as he for the first time fully realised what enormous power a bird has in its breast muscles.
They gave him no time for thinking, the first bird which had attacked, after taking a swift curve round and upward, coming down again with a fierce rush. But it was its last. Mark’s sword was too well pointed this time; there was a whirr, a heavy thud which made the hilt jar against the lad’s thigh, and the brave fierce bird had spitted itself so thoroughly, that it struggled and beat its wings heavily as it lay on the lad’s lap, till he thrust out his arm to keep off the rain of blows, and the bird fluttered itself off the rapier, and fell with the force of a stone, down, down, out of sight.
A hoarse croak set the lad on guard again, and none too soon, for once more he received a heavy blow from the companion raven’s wing, as it passed him with a whirr, striking the bush as well. Then recovering itself from the stoop which carried it low down, it sailed up again, to prepare for another attack.
“A bad miss,” muttered the lad. “There was so little time to aim. Now then, come on again.”
The raven was far enough away, but as if it heard the challenge, it swept round, and came on now from the other direction, an awkward one for Mark; but he managed to hoist himself round a little, and presented his point steadily at the advancing bird, as it came on, looking small at first, then rapidly appearing bigger and bigger, till, with a furious whish through the air, it was upon him.
“Hah!” ejaculated the lad, as his right arm was swung round by the violence of the raven’s stoop, and the unfortunate bird had shared its mate’s fate, for with the rush it had not only pierced itself through and through, but swept itself off the blade, wrenching the holder’s shoulder, and falling, fluttering feebly, downward, till it too passed from sight.
“Well done, brave birds!” panted the lad. “Seems too bad: but it has saved no end of lambs. Who’d have thought that they would fight like that? Why, they could have beaten me off. Lucky I brought my sword. Phew! it has made me hot,” he muttered, as he wiped the blade carefully; and after a little wriggling to find the hole in the scabbard, thrust the weapon home. “They will not come at me again; so now for our young friends.”
He began to feel the nest again, making the young birds squeal hoarsely, and peck at him viciously as well; but after the parents’ attack, this seemed trifling, and, to his great satisfaction, he found that there was an egg as well.
“Must get that down safe,” he said. “Old Master Rayburn will be so—”
He did not finish his sentence, for at that moment a hoarse voice shouted: “Hallo, below! What you doing there?” And looking up, to his horror he saw three heads against the sky, as their owners lay on the cliff and looked down at him; one of the faces being that of Ralph Darley, the others, those of two of the enemy’s men.
Chapter Six.
Nick Garth makes a Find.
“Hi! Nick! Nick, I say, hallo!” Ralph Darley ran as he shouted at a couple of his father’s men, who were descending the slope on the eastern side of the castle, each shouldering a short sharp pick, of the kind in common use for hewing stone.
At first, though they must have heard, they paid no attention whatever; but at the third angry summons, they both stopped short, looked slowly round, and seeing their young master running, they stood still, and waited for him to come up, which he did, panting and angry.
“You, Nick Garth,” he cried; “you must have heard me call.”
“Yerse,” said the man addressed, a strong-built fellow, with a perfectly smooth face, and an unpleasant-looking pair of eyes, so arranged that they did not work properly; in fact, he could only use one at a time. If he brought one to bear upon an object, that eye dragged its fellow round so that the pupil dived under the man’s thick nose; and if he made an effort to see with the eclipsed one, it served its fellow in the same way.
“You must have heard too, Ram Jennings.”
“Yoss, I heared,” said the other man, a dark, rather villainous-looking fellow, whose face could not be called troubled with yellow specks, but streaked here and there with a little whitish red, the rest being one enormous freckle, which covered brow, cheeks, and chin.
“Then why didn’t you answer?”
“Both on us stopped,” said the first man addressed.
“Ay, that’s so,” said the other.
“Why didn’t you come back, then?”
“’Cause we see you running. Didn’t we, mate?”
“Ay, that’s so.”
“It’s your duty to come to me when your called,” said Ralph hotly. “The man to the master, not the master to the man.”
“Allus do,” said Nick, looking insolently at the lad first with one eye, and then with the other.
“Don’t be impertinent, sir. Now then, where are you two going?”
“Over yonder,” said the first man surlily.
“Ay, over yonder,” said the other.
“What for?”
“Fads.”
“What?”
“Fads. Young missus wants some o’ they softy stones cut to build up in the yard, round a bit o’ drain pipe, to make a puddle to keep fishes in.”
“Oh!” said the lad, cooling down. “Go and do it then; I’ll wait till the afternoon.”
The men grinned, shouldered their picks, and went off, while the lad took a few paces in another direction; but turned sharply, and called the men again, with the same result—that is, they stood still and waited for him to join them.
“They’re a pair of thick-headed fools, that’s what they are,” muttered the lad. “I could teach a dog to be more dutiful. Here, Nick—Ram—did you see those soldiers who came the other day?”
“Nay, only one o’ their cloak things as they left behind.”
“Left a cloak behind?”
“Ay,” said the second man. “I fun’ it.”
“What did you do with it?”
“Burnt it. Warn’t good for nothing else.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“Summun said they went to Black Tor, and old Eden set ’em to work in the mine, and keeps ’em there,” said Nick, moving his head from side to side, so as to bring his eyes alternately to bear upon his young master.
“Oh!” said Ralph softly to himself. Then aloud: “That will do.”
The men grinned again, and went off, while Ralph walked slowly away to where he could throw himself down at the side of the cliff in the sunshine, swing his legs over the edge, where it was nice and dangerous if he slipped, and finally leaned back to rest on one elbow, and gaze in the direction of the high cliff beyond the depression, where the men were gone to chip out pieces of the soft spongy-looking tufa, which lay in beds on the slope.
“That’s bad news,” thought the lad. “I wonder what father will say. It will be horrible. They will be so strong there, that one doesn’t know what will happen, only that we shall have to fight. Well, then,” he cried hotly, “we’ll fight. Let them come. The Darleys have never been beaten yet.”
For the next half-hour, he lay thinking about swords, and pikes, and armour, and big stones to cast down off the towers upon assailants, and then his attention was taken by one of the great black ravens, flapping its way along over the dale, and he watched it till it seemed to him to slide down toward the cliff, a quarter of a mile away.
By-and-by he saw another great bird, and thought it the same, but directly after, the first one reappeared, and he saw the pair cross in the air.
“They’ve got a nest, and it must be on the High Cliff. Wonder whether I could hit one of the great thieves with a crossbow-bolt. Be practice,” he thought; “I may have to shoot at two-legged thieves.”
Then the absurdity of his words came to him, and he laughed aloud.
“Well, ravens have only two legs. Rather horrible, though, to shoot at a man. Well, I don’t want to, but if they come and attack us, I’ll shoot, that I will. What are those great birds flying to and fro for? and, yes, now they’re going round and round. I know: a young lamb must have gone over the cliff, and be bleating on one of the ledges because it cannot get up. Poor little wretch! They’ll pick its eyes out. I’ll go and see. Better get a crossbow first. Might get a shot at one of the ravens.—Bother! it’s such a way to go and fetch it; and if I did, I’ll be bound to say it would want a new string, and it would take ever so long to get ready. Bother! it’s hot, and I shan’t go. Perhaps there isn’t a lamb there, after all. Fancy.”
He rested his head upon his hand, and watched the far-off ravens, becoming more and more convinced that a lamb had gone over.
“Then why don’t they go at it?” he muttered. “Perhaps it’s a sheep, and they’re afraid to attack. Must be something there, or they wouldn’t keep on flying to and fro like that. Well; bother! I don’t care. Sheep and lambs ought to know better.”
He tried to take his thoughts back to the castle and its defensive powers, if the Edens, strengthened by the gang of mercenaries, should attack them, but it was too hard work to think of the imaginary, when the real was before him in the shape of a pair of great black ravens, flying round and round, and showing plainly against the great grey crags, threatening from moment to moment to attack something down below.
“Here, I must go and see what there is to make them fly about like that,” said the lad to himself, at last, his curiosity getting the better of his laziness; and, springing up, he began to descend the slope, making a circuit, so as to reach the high cliff, away from the precipice, and ascend where he could do so, unseen by the birds.
But before he was half-way down, he caught sight of the two men coming in his direction rapidly; and as soon as they caught sight of him, they began to gesticulate, beckoning, waving their caps, and generally indicating that he was to hurry to their side.
“Oh, you idle beauties!” muttered Ralph. “I should like to give you a lesson. Spoiled by father’s indulgence, you do just as you like. I’m to run to you, am I? Come here, you lazy dogs!”
He waved his hand to them in turn, but instead of coming on, they stopped short, and pointed back toward the highest part of the cliff.
“Come here!” roared Ralph, though he knew that they were quite out of hearing. “You won’t come, won’t you? Oh, don’t I wish I was behind you with my riding-boots on! I’d give you such a kicking, or use the spurs. Come here!” he roared. “I want to send one of them for a crossbow. Well, I don’t like doing it, my fine fellows, but if you won’t move, I must. One of you will have to go, though, and walk all the farther. That’s it. I’m right,” he continued to himself, as he saw the men keep on pointing upwards. “Why, what’s the matter with them? Dancing about like that, and slapping their legs. Stop a moment: went up the side gap to chip out stones for Minnie. Why—yes—no—oh! hang the ravens! they’ve hit upon a vein of rich lead, and we shall be as rich as the Edens.”
Ralph set off at a trot down the slope, and this seemed to have an effect upon the two men, who now began to run, with the result that they were bound to meet at the bottom of the hollow between the two eminences.
“Come on, Master Ralph!” roared Nick Garth, as they came within hearing.
“What is it? Found lead?”
“Lead, sir, no, better than that. There’s a raven’s nest over the other side yonder.”
“Bah! What of that?” cried the lad breathlessly. “Here, Ram, go back to the castle, and get me a good crossbow and some bolts.”
“Going to shoot ’em, master?” cried Nick excitedly. “Well done, you!”
“If I can hit them,” said the lad. “What have they found there—a lamb?”
“Lamb?” cried Nick. “Hor, hor, hoh! You are a rum one, sir. Lamb, eh? I call un a wolf cub.”
“Wolf cub? Oh!” cried Ralph excitedly; and the disappointment about the lead was forgotten, the crossbow too.
“Come on, sir, this way. Right atop, and you’ll be able to look down on un just above the big birds’ nest. He was after the young birds.”
“Then that accounts for the ravens flying about so.”
“Yes, sir, that’s it. We was getting close to the stone quarry, when Ram, he says: ‘What’s them there birds scrawking about like that there for?’ he says.”
“Summut arter the young uns,” I says: “and we went to where we could look, and there was a young wolf cub, getting slowly down. Let’s fetch the young squire,” I says; “and we come after you, for I thought you’d like to have the killing on him.”
“Yes, of course, Nick; but I have no bow. I can’t reach him with my sword, can I?”
“Tchah! you’d want a lot o’ pikes tied together, and then you wouldn’t do it. I’ll show you. There’s plenty of big bits o’ stone up yonder, and you can drop ’em on his head, and send him down into the water.”
“Yes,” cried Ralph breathlessly, as he climbed the steep ascent; “but I should like to catch him alive, and keep him in a cage.”
“Would you, sir? Well, that wouldn’t be amiss. Sir Morton would like to see him, and you could tease him. Down in one o’ the dungeons would be the place, till you got tired on him, and you could kill him then.”
“Yes, but to think of his being on the cliff here!”
“Ay, it do seem a game,” said the man, chuckling, and showing some ugly yellow teeth.
As they reached about half-way up, they caught sight of one of the ravens, shooting high above the top of the cliff, and instead of darting away at their approach, it only made a circle round, and then descended like an arrow.
“Tackling on him,” cried Ram Jennings.
“Ay, and there goes the other,” cried Nick. “Come on, master, or they’ll finish him off before you can get there. Real wild, they birds is, because he’s meddling with their booblins. ’Bout half-fledged, that’s what they be.”
“Make haste, then,” cried Ralph; and as they hurried on as fast as the steep ascent would allow, they saw the ravens rise and stoop, again and again. Then only one reappeared, and a few moments later, neither.
“We shall be too late,” cried Ralph excitedly. “They must have killed him, and are now tearing his eyes out.”
“And sarve him right,” cried Nick savagely. “What does he do on our cliff, a-maddling wi’ our birds?”
“But it would be such a pity not to take him alive, Nick,” panted Ralph breathlessly.
“How were you going to catch him alive?” growled the man. “Wouldn’t catch us going down to fight un, and you wouldn’t like to crawl down there.”
“Get a rope with a loop, noose him, and drag him up,” cried Ralph.
“Eh? Hear him, Ram? Who’d ha’ thought of that? Comes o’ larning, that does, and going away to school. You’d never ha’ thought on it, lad.”
“Nay, I shouldn’t ha’ thought o’ that,” said Ram heavily; “but I’ve been thinking o’ somethin’ else.”
“What?” said Ralph, as they were mounting the last fifty feet of the steep slope.
“As like enough he’s nipped they two birds, and we’d best look out, or he’ll come sudden-like over the edge there, and run for it.”
“Forward, then, quick!” cried Ralph; and pressing on, he threw himself on his breast, and crawled the last few feet, so as to thrust his head over the edge and gaze down, to see the so-called wolf’s cub sheathe his sword, and prepare to get the young ravens out of their nesting recess in the face of the cliff.
Chapter Seven.
The Young Enemies.
Eden recovered his presence of mind on the instant, and looking coolly up at Nick Garth, who had shouted at him so insolently, he replied haughtily: “What is it to you, sir? Be off!”
Then, entirely ignoring Ralph, who was looking down, breathless with rage and exertion, he carefully withdrew the egg from the nest, in spite of the pecking of the young ravens, and transferred it to the lining of his cap.
After this he took off his kerchief, and began to twist it up tightly to make an apology for a line with which to tie together the young ravens’ legs.
The two men on either side of Ralph looked at him, as if wondering what he would say.
“Now, then, it’s of no use to peck: out you come, my fine fellows. Quiet, or I’ll wring your necks.”
As Mark spoke, his right hand was in the nest, feeling about so as to get four legs together in his grasp, but this took some little time, and a great deal of fluttering and squealing accompanied the act. But as he worked, Mark thought hard, and of something else beside ravens. How was he to get out of this unpleasant fix, being as he was quite at his enemy’s mercy? But all the same, with assumed nonchalance, he drew out the fluttering ravens, loosened his hold of the shrub with his left hand, and trusted to his powers of retaining his balance, in spite of the birds’ struggles, while in the coolest way possible he transferred the legs from his right hand to his left, and proceeded to tie them tightly.
“There you are,” he said. “I think that’s safe.”
Then, to Ralph’s astonishment, the lad began to hum over his song again about the ravens as, completely ignoring those above, he took hold of the bush again, and leaned forward to gaze down into the dizzy depths as if in search of an easy path, but really to try and make out, in his despair, what would be his chance of escape if he suddenly rose to his feet and boldly jumped outward. Would he clear all the trees and come down into the river? And if the last, would it be deep enough to save him from injury at the bottom?
Where he had crossed was only ankle deep, but there was a broad, still patch, close up under the cliff, for he had noticed it as he came; but whether he could reach it in a bold leap, and whether it would be deep enough to save him from harm, he could not tell; but he was afraid that if he missed it he would be broken upon the pieces of rock which had fallen from above.
That way of escape was too desperate, and the more repellent from the fact that the beech-trees below prevented him from seeing what awaited him.
He busied himself in pretending to examine the knot he had made about the birds’ legs, and then, raising his sword-belt, he passed one young raven inside, leaving the other out, so that they hung from his back, not in a very comfortable position for them, but where they would not be hurt. All the time though the lad was scanning the rocky face, first to right then to left, to seek for a way by which he could climb down, escape upwards being impossible; and he had quickly come to the conclusion that if unmolested he could manage, by taking his time, to get down in safety.
He had just decided this when Ralph, who had remained perfectly silent, exclaimed abruptly, “Now then, come up.”
Mark took not the slightest notice, and the order was repeated.
“Hear what the young master says?” growled Nick. “Come up!”
“Are you speaking to me, fellow?” cried Mark angrily. “Be off, I tell you, before I come up and chastise you.”
“Going to stand this, Master Ralph?” growled the man. “Shall I heave a bit o’ stone down upon him, and knock him off?”
For answer, Ralph drew back out of sight, and the two men followed at a sign, leaving Mark alone, seated upon his perilous perch; but directly after Ralph’s head reappeared, and Nick’s close beside it, when Mark realised—rightly—that the other man had been sent on some mission—what, he could not tell, but in all probability to fetch more help, so as to be sure of taking him.
“Now,” said Ralph sternly, “are you coming up to surrender?”
“What!” said Mark sharply; “why am I to surrender to you?”
“For trespass and robbery. This is my father’s land, and those are our birds.”
Mark laughed scornfully to hide his annoyance, for conscience pricked hard.
“Your land, indeed!” he cried. “Wild moorland, open to anybody; and as to the birds, are all the crows yours too?”
Ralph did not condescend to reply, but lay there looking down at the young representative of his father’s rival.
“I wish you good day, Master Owner of the land, and lord of the birds of the air,” said Mark mockingly. “If you had asked me civilly, I might perhaps have given you a young raven. As it is, I shall not.”
“What are you going to do?” said Ralph sharply. “Wait and see,” was the mocking reply. “Shan’t I heave this stone down on his head, Master Ralph?” said Nick in a low tone; but the words came plainly to Mark’s ear, and sent a cold chill of horror thrilling through his nerves; but he felt better the next moment, and then anger took the place of dread, for Ralph said sharply, “Put the stone down, sirrah! You know I want to take the wolf’s cub alive.”
“Wolf’s cub!” said Mark to himself. “Never mind; I may meet him some day when it is not three to one, and then he shall find that the wolf’s cub can bite.”
Then, conscious that his every movement was watched, he cautiously rose to his feet, made an effort to ignore the presence of lookers-on, and began to climb sideways along the ledge, by the route he had come. Still he had no intention of going up, knowing full well that he would only be giving himself up to insult, and perhaps serious injury, taken at a disadvantage, as he felt that he must be; but calmly, and in the most sure-footed way, sidled along, with the ledge getting more and more narrow, but the hand-hold better.
In this way he passed the spot where he had lowered himself down, and reached a slight angle, by which he expected, from long experience in cliff-climbing, to be able to descend to the next.
He was quite right, and it proved to be easier than he had expected; but a looker-on would have shuddered to see the way in which the lad clung to the rough stones, where the slightest slip would have sent him down headlong for at least three hundred feet before he touched anywhere, and then bounded off again, a mere mass of shapeless flesh.
Mark knew of his danger, but it did not trouble him, for his brain was too much occupied by the presence of young Darley; and as he descended he felt a slight flush of pride in doing what he was certain his young enemy dare not attempt.
In a moment or two he was standing safely—that is, so long as he held on tightly with his fingers in the crack above—upon the next ledge, a few inches wide, and his intention had been to go on in the same direction, so as to be farther from his watchers; but he was not long in finding that this was impossible, and he had to go back till he was well beneath Ralph Darley, and saw that he must go farther still before he attempted to descend to the next rest for his feet.
“It will take a long time to get down like this,” he thought; “and perhaps he’ll send below to meet me at the bottom. Perhaps that is what he has already done. But never mind; I shall have done as I liked, and not obeyed his insolent orders. Let him see, too, that I’m quite at home on the rocks, and can do as I like. Wonder whether I shall get Master Rayburn’s egg down safely! Not if they throw a stone down upon my head.—Now for it.”
He had reached another comparatively easy place for descending from the course of blocks on which he stood, when he suddenly found himself embarrassed, not by the egg, but by the young birds, which nearly upset his equilibrium by beginning all at once to struggle and flap vigorously with their half-fledged wings.
The lad’s first impulse, as he clung to the ledge, was to tear the birds from his belt and throw them down; but his spirit revolted from the cruelty of the proceeding, and his vanity helped to keep the trophies of his daring where they were.
“It would look as if I was afraid,” he said to himself; and lowering one foot, he felt for a safe projection, found one, and his other foot joined the first. A few seconds later his hands were holding the ledge on which he had just been standing, but his chin was level with them, and his feet were feeling for the next ledge below, but feeling in vain.
He was disappointed, for experience had taught him that this course of stones would be about the same thickness as the others, and yet he could find no crack, not even one big enough to insert his toes.
But he was quite right; the range of stones in that stratum was just about the same thickness as the others, but the crack between them and the next in the series, the merest line, over which his feet slipped again and again, giving him the impression that they were passing over solid stone; and the birds chose this awkward moment to renew their struggling and screaming.
“You miserable little wretches,” he muttered; “be quiet! Well, it might be worse. I should have been in a sad pickle if the old birds had chosen this moment to attack me.”
He hung in the same position, with his chin resting on the ledge, as well as his hands, till the birds were quiet again, and then wondering whether Ralph Darley was still watching, he slowly let his muscles relax, and his body subside, till he hung at full stretch, seeking steadily the while for foot-hold, but finding none, and forced now to look down between his chest and the rock, to see how far the next ledge might be.
To his disgust, it was quite two feet lower, and it was forced upon him that unless he could climb back to the ledge upon which his hands were clasped, he must let himself drop to the resting-place below.
It was no time for hesitation, and condensing his energies upon what he knew to be a difficult task, he drew himself up by strong muscular contraction till his chin once more rested between his hands, and then grasped the bitter fact that to get up and stand upon the ledge was impossible; it was too narrow, and he could find no foot-hold to help.
Accepting the position, he let himself sink again to the full length of his arms, hung motionless for a few moments, and then, keeping himself perfectly rigid, allowed his fingers to glide over the stone, and dropped the two feet to the ledge below, perfectly upright and firm. In all probability he would have found hand-hold the next moment, but, scared anew by the rush through the air, the young ravens began to flap their wings violently, and that was sufficient to disturb the lad’s equilibrium. He made a desperate effort to recover it, but one foot gave way, and he fell, scraping the edge.
Another desperate effort, and he clung to the ledge for a brief moment or two, and then a yell arose from above, as he went down a few feet and felt what seemed a violent blow against his side. The next instant his hands had closed upon the tough stem of a stunted yew, and he was hanging there, hitched in the little branches, saved from falling farther, but unable to move from the fear of tearing the shrub from its root-hold in a crack of the cliff, where there was not a trace of anything else to which he could cling.
Chapter Eight.
How Ralph secured the Wolf’s Cub.
The perspiration broke out in great drops upon Mark Eden’s face; and for some minutes he hung there, expecting moment by moment that each was his last, for he knew that he could do nothing, and that he must not stir hand or foot.
And now he began to realise how mad his attempt had been. Better far that he had resigned himself to circumstances, and climbed back to the top. But even then he felt he could not have done this. It would have been like humbling himself to an enemy of his house, and a flush of pride came into his pallid cheeks as he felt that he had boldly played his part. Then a sense of misery and despair crept over him as he thought of home, of his father and sister, and their sorrow when they knew of his fate.
All that passed off, and a flush of anger and indignation made his temples throb, for he distinctly heard Nick Garth say,—
“Why not? Heave it down yourself, then, and put him out of his misery.”
What else was said he could not make out; voices were in hurried converse evidently a short distance back from the edge of the cliff, and then Mark recognised Ralph’s tones, as he said huskily,—
“Can you hold on?”
A bitter defiant taunt came to Mark’s lips, and he cried,—
“Your doing, coward! Are you satisfied with your work?”
There was no answer, but the hurried murmur came over the edge of the cliff again, followed by what sounded like angry commands, and then all was silent for a few moments.
“Don’t move,” cried Ralph then. “I’ve sent for help. They’ve gone for ropes. One will be here directly. I sent for it before. Can you hold on?”
Mark made no reply, for no words would come. Hope had sprung up at the possibility of escape, for life seemed then to be very sweet, but there was a bitterness to dull the bright thought, for the lad felt that it was the hated enemy of his house who was trying to help.
Then a dull feeling of apathy, as if he had been half stunned, came over him as he hung there in a terribly cramped position, with his face pressed against the wall.
And now, as if his hearing had become sharpened, the murmur of the rushing river came up quite loudly, and the wind seemed to be gathering force, while all this was, as it were, preparatory to his falling headlong down. Then he must have lost his senses for some little time, for the next thing he heard was a voice crying out, in tones full of despair,—
“Too short, too short, Ram!”
“Ay, so it be. Good ten foot.”
“Could I help him if you lowered me down?”
“Lower you down? Are you mad? I couldn’t hold you; and you’d break your neck.”
Mark heard every word now, for his senses had suddenly recovered their tone and something more.
Then what seemed to be another long space of time elapsed, and Ralph shouted to him,—
“This rope is too short, but there’ll be another here soon.”
Mark could make no reply, and he hung there, listening to the murmur of voices once more. Then the rush of the river sounded like the distant boom of thunder. There was a loud cizz, cizz, going on somewhere on the cliff face from a cricket, and the birds were singing more loudly than he ever remembered to have heard them before.
Once more his senses must have left him and come back, for he heard the voice above louder than ever, followed by Ralph shouting,—
“Can you tie the rope round you?”
Mark could not answer for some little time; then his lips parted, and he gasped out the one word,—
“No.”
A sharp rustling followed, as of a rope being rapidly drawn up. Then it was lowered again; and as Mark strained his eyes round into the left corners to get a glimpse, he saw a loop swinging to and fro, and it struck him again and again; but those who lowered it, in the hope of noosing the lad and drawing him up, soon found that the bush and the sufferer’s position precluded this.
“Can you push your arms through the loop, and hang on?” cried Ralph now.
“No,” was the discouraging reply, for Mark fully realised the fact that if he loosened his desperate hold for a moment he must fall.
“Haul up!” shouted Ralph. “Quick!”
The rope rattled and scraped again; and then, as Mark hung there, half-insensible, he heard what sounded like quarrelling.
“You shan’t go, Master Ralph. Who’s to meet Sir Morton if you get a fall trying to save a thing like that?”
Even in his half-insensible state Mark felt a quiver run through him; and then he lay listening again, as if to hear what was taking place about some one else.
“Silence!” came to his ear. “How dare you, sir! Now, all of you lower me down.”
There was a rustling and scraping directly after, which seemed to last a long time, before something brushed against the listener, and he quivered, for he felt that he was going. Then there was a panting noise, which came up, as it were, out of the darkness, and he was clutched tightly, hot breath came upon his cheek, and a hoarse voice yelled in his ear,—
“Got him! Haul up steadily!” and directly after, the voice became a whisper, which said,—
“Pray God the rope may not break.”
Mark was conscious now of being scraped against the rock, and brushed by twigs, for what seemed to be a very long time, before he was roughly seized by more hands, and dragged heavily over the cliff edge, to be dropped upon the short grass, as a voice he had heard before cried harshly,—
“You’ve done it now, Master Ralph, and got your wolf cub after all.”
“Yes,” panted Ralph hoarsely, as Mark felt as if a cloud had suddenly rolled away from his sight, and he saw clearly that half-a-dozen men were surrounding him, and Ralph Darley, his greatest enemy, was kneeling at his side, saying softly,—
“Yes, I’ve got the wolf cub after all;” and then the two lads’ eyes met, and gazed deeply into each other’s in a curious stare.
That stare had the same effect on both lads—that of making them feel uncomfortable.
Mark Eden, as he recovered from the shock of being so near a terrible ending to his young life, felt that, surrounded as he was by enemies, he ought to spring to his feet, draw his sword, and defend himself to the last; while Ralph Darley knew that, according to all old family traditions, he ought to order his men to seize a hand and foot each, give his young enemy two or three swings, and launch him headlong off the mighty cliff, and then stand and laugh at the capers he would cut in his fall.
For people had been very savage in their revenges out in that wild part of England, shut away from the civilisation of the time by moor and mountain. Ralph knew, too, that though they were better then than in the early days of the Wars of the Roses, they were still brutal enough, and that he would gain the applause and respect of his men by giving them the order. But Mark Eden had not drawn his sword to begin cutting and thrusting; and instead of leaving the lad to hang till he fell, he, Ralph Darley, had, in opposition to his father’s men, risked his own life to save that of his enemy—going down over a hundred feet, swinging at the end of a couple of ropes badly tied together.
“Seems very stupid,” the two lads thought.
“What does he mean by coming here, and getting into such a horrible position—an idiot!” said Ralph to himself.
“How dare he, an insolent Darley, come down by a rope and save my life!” said Mark to himself.
Then there was an awkward pause, with the two lads scowling, and avoiding each other’s gaze, and the men nudging one another, and winking knowingly. Nick Garth whispering behind his hand to Ram Jennings, that the young cocks would set up their hackles directly, whip out their spurs, and there would be a fight; and, in expectation of this, the men, six in number, now spread themselves into an arc, whose chord was the edge of the cliff, thus enclosing the pair so as to check any design on the part of the enemy to make a rush and escape.
Mark, who did not feel so breathless and numb now, sat up on the grass, and resumed his old role of ignoring his enemies, putting his hands behind him, to feel for the ravens hung from his sword-belt, taking them out from their awkward position, to find that they were limp and literally crushed. The reason for this was that when Ralph, as he swung, seized him, he had to do this from behind, clasping him round the chest, just under the arms, and then, as the rope was hauled, flinging his legs about him to help to hold, with the consequence that they formed a sort of sandwich, he and Mark being the slices of bread, and the young ravens the meat.
“Hah!” said Mark softly, as if to himself; “you two will never dig out any young lambs’ eyes. Feed the fishes instead;” and, rising to his feet, he untied his kerchief from about the dead birds’ legs, and gave each a swing, sending it on its first and last flight, out from the cliff edge, away into the gulf.
“Now’s your time, Master Ralph,” whispered Nick, “Whip out your sword, and show him how you can fight.”
Ralph turned upon the man with an angry glance, and Nick shrank back into his old position with a sheepish grin, which, in conjunction with his cross eyes, did not improve his personal appearance.
Without so much as glancing at his enemies, Mark now took off his cap and smiled, for the egg he had so carefully placed in the lining was intact.
“Well done!” he said aloud. “That’s for Master Rayburn at the cottage. Here, one of you fellows, take that to him, and say I sent it. I dare say he’ll give you a coin for your trouble.”
Ram Jennings made an awkward shoot forward, and seized the egg.
“Don’t break it, clumsy,” cried Mark; and then with a quick motion, he threw his cap on the grass, took a step or two back toward the edge of the cliff, and, quick as lightning, drew his sword.
“There,” he cried, with a scornful look at Ralph; “seven of you to one. Come on.”
A low growl from the men greeted this display, but Ralph did not stir, and Mark stood for a moment or two en garde. Then with a bitter laugh he continued: “I suppose I must surrender. You don’t draw. Take my sword. My arm’s wrenched, and I can’t use it.”
As he spoke he threw his sword at Ralph’s feet; his enemy picked it up by the slight blade, and the men closed in.
This movement sent a flash of anger from their young master’s eyes.
“Back,” he cried hoarsely. Then taking a step or two toward Mark, and still holding the sword by the blade, he presented the hilt to his enemy. “Take your sword, sir,” he said haughtily. “The Darleys are gentlemen, not cowards, to take advantage of one who is down. That is the nearest way back to Black Tor,” he continued, pointing.
For a few moments Mark stood gazing at his enemy, with his face flushing to his temples; then turning haggard and pale, as a flood of mingled sensations rushed through him; shame, mortification, pride, anger against self, seemed to choke all utterance, and he could not even stir. He felt that he wanted to be brave and manly, and apologise for his words—to thank the gallant lad before him for saving his life—to make him see that he was a gentleman—to strike him and make him fight—to do something brave—despicable—to do he did not know what—before he accepted this permission to go, but he could for the moment do nothing—say nothing.
At last, with a hoarse gasp, he literally snatched at the sword, and glared at his enemy with a menacing look, as if he were about to thrust at him; and Ralph’s hand darted to his own hilt, but with an angry gesture, he let it fall, and stood firm.
Then a cry, mingled of rage and shame, escaped from Mark; and he thrust his sword back into its sheath, and pushing Nick aside, as the man stood in his way, he hurried down the hill.
“Yah–h–ah!” growled Nick savagely, “you aren’t going to let him off like that, master?”
Mark heard the words, and turned round.
“How dare you speak to me like that!” cried Ralph, glad of some one on whom to vent the anger he felt.
“Because Sir Morton, if he’d been here, would have had that young Eden tied neck and heels, and pitched into one of the cells. Because you’re a coward, sir. There!”
“Ah–h–ah!” growled the other men in chorus, as they glared at the lad.
“Then take a coward’s blow,” cried Ralph; and he struck the man with all his might across the face, using the back of his hand.
There was another growl from the men, but no one spoke, and Mark Eden turned again, and strode down the hill, while the men untied and coiled up the ropes, and slowly followed their young master down the slope, and then up once more toward the Castle, Nick Garth shaking his head a good deal, and looking puzzled, and a great deal interested in the blood which he kept smudging off, first with one hand, and then with the other, from his face.
“Here,” he cried at last, as Ralph disappeared through the gateway, “what’s best to stop this here? I can’t go with it all tied up.”
“Bucket o’ water from the well,” said Ram Jennings, grinning. “Say, Nick, he aren’t such a coward, arter all.”
“No,” growled Nick, after a double wipe; “and, for such a little ’un, he can hit hard.”