AMOUNT OF BLOODSHED, AND OTHER NECESSARY HORRORS.
Lewis, having overheard the conversation detailed in the preceding
chapter, perceived himself to be placed in a position alike dangerous
and difficult. In the spokesman and leader of the party he had
recognised (as the reader has probably also done) his old antagonist,
Hardy the poacher. The matter then stood thus: four ruffians (one of
whom, burning with the desire of revenge for wrongs real and supposed,
possessed strength and resolution equal to his animosity) were already
in possession of the lower part of the house, their avowed objects being
robbery, murder, and abduction; the butler, faithless to his trust, was
clearly an accomplice; Hardy, fighting as it were with a halter round
his neck, was not likely to stick at trifles, and Lewis foresaw that the
conflict, once begun, would be for life or death, and on its successful
issue depended Annie’s rescue from a fate worse than death. His only
ally was the footman; and whether this lad’s courage would desert him
when he discovered the odds against which he had to contend was a point
more than doubtful. However, there was no time to deliberate; Lewis felt
that he must act, and summoning all the energies of his nature to meet
so fearful an emergency, he prepared to sell his life as dearly as
possible. On attempting to unlock his pistol case the key turned with
difficulty, and it was not without some trouble and delay that he was
enabled to open it. As he did so, it occurred to him that his pistols,
which he kept loaded, might have been tampered with. It was fortunate
that he thought of ascertaining this, for on inserting the ramrod
he found the bullets had been withdrawn from both barrels. Carefully
reloading them, he placed the pistols in a breast-pocket ready for use,
and taking down from a nail on which it hung a cavalry sabre which had
belonged to Captain Arundel, he unsheathed it, and grasping it firmly
with his right hand, he turned to leave the room, with the design of
arousing the footman. As he did so a faint tap was heard, and on opening
the door the figure of Annie Grant, pale and trembling, wrapped in
a dressing-gown and shawl, appeared before him, while her French
_soubrette_, in an agony of fear, was leaning against the wall listening
(with eyes that appeared ready to start out of her head with fright)
for every sound below. As Lewis advanced Annie perceived the sabre, and
pointing towards it, she exclaimed in an agitated whisper--
“Oh! you have heard them, then! what will become of us?”
Lewis took her trembling hand in his.
“Calm yourself,” he said in the same low tone; “I will defend you, and
if needs be, die for you.”
His words, spoken slowly and earnestly, appeared to act like a charm
upon her. She became at once composed, and looking up in his face with
an expression of childlike trust, inquired--
“And what shall I do?”
“Go back to your apartment and pray for my success; God is merciful, and
will not turn a deaf ear to such angel pleadings,” was the solemn reply.
Annie again gazed earnestly at him, and reading in the stern resolution
of his features the imminence of their danger, was turning away with a
sickening feeling of despair at her heart, when Lewis again addressed
her.
“I am going to awaken the man-servant,” he said; “the butler is an
accomplice of these scoundrels, and has admitted them. They cannot,
however, molest you without ascending the stairs, and as they do that I
shall encounter them; the result is in the hands of God.”
He was about to leave her, but there was a speechless misery in her face
as she gazed upon him which he could not resist. In an instant he was by
her side.
“Dear Annie,” he said, and his deep tones faltered from the intensity
of his emotion--_it was the first time he had ever called her by her
Christian name_--“Dear Annie, do not look at me thus sorrowfully; it is
true we are in peril, but I have ere now braved greater danger than this
successfully, and--should I fall, life has few charms for me--to die for
you----!”
At this moment the sound of a man’s voice in anger was heard from the
lower part of the house, and starting forward with a scarcely suppressed
cry of terror, the French girl seized Lewis’s arm, while, pointing in
the direction of the footman’s room, she exclaimed--
“_Allez, allez, cherchez vite du secours, nous allons être assassinés
tous_.”
Lewis placed his finger on his lips in token of silence, and listened a
moment as the voices below were again audible and then died away.
“They are quarrelling over their booty,” he said, “and are too well
occupied to think of us at present.”
He then led Annie to the door of her room, urged her to fasten it on the
inside, and pressing her hand warmly, left her. After one or two
futile attempts he discovered the man-servant’s apartment; the door
was unfastened, and he pushed it open, when the loud, regular breathing
which met his ear proved that the person of whom he was in search was
as yet undisturbed. Approaching the bed, Lewis paused for a moment, and
shading the light with his hand, gazed upon the face of the sleeper. He
was scarcely beyond the age of boyhood, and his features presented more
delicacy of form than is usually to be met with in the class to which
he belonged. He was sleeping as quietly as a child; while Lewis watched
him, he murmured some inarticulate sounds, and a smile played about his
mouth. As Lewis stooped to wake him, he could not but mentally contrast
the calm sleep from which he was arousing him with the probable scene of
violence and danger in which he would so soon be engaged. It was no
time for such reflections, however, and laying his hand on the lad’s
shoulder, he said--
“Robert, you are wanted, rouse up!”
Startled by the apparition of a tall figure bending over him, the young
man sprang up, exclaiming--
“What’s the matter? who is it?” then recognising Lewis, he continued,
“Mr. Arundel! is anybody ill, sir?”
“Hush!” was the reply; “get up and put on your clothes as quickly as
possible; there are thieves in the house. I will wait at the top of the
stairs till you join me; but make no noise, or you may bring them upon
us before we are prepared for them.”
So saying, he quitted the room. In less time than he had imagined it
possible, the young servant joined him.
“Have you roused Mr. Simmonds?” was his first query.
“The butler has proved unworthy of the trust reposed in him,” returned
Lewis; “he has admitted these men into the house, and they are now in
his pantry, preparing to carry off the plate.”
As he spoke his companion’s colour rose, and with flashing eyes he
exclaimed, “Let us go down and prevent them; there’s plate worth £500
under his care.”
Lewis held the lamp so that it shed its light upon the young man’s face
and figure. He was a tall, well-grown youth, and his broad shoulders and
muscular arms gave promise of strength; his eye was keen and bright,
and an expression of honest indignation imparted firmness to his mouth.
Lewis felt that he might be relied on, and determined to trust him
accordingly.
“They have worse designs than merely stealing the plate,” he said; “they
intend to carry off Miss Grant, and murder me. Chance enabled me to
overhear their plan; I mean, therefore, to wait at the top of the stairs
and use _any_ means to prevent their ascending them: will you stand by
me?”
“Ay, that I will; a man can but die once,” was the spirited reply.
Lewis grasped his hand and shook it warmly.
“You are a brave fellow,” he said, “and if we succeed in beating off
these scoundrels, it shall not be my fault if your fortune is not made.
There is a carabine hanging in the General’s bedroom, is there not?”
Receiving an answer in the affirmative, Lewis continued, “Fetch it,
then, and the sword with it, if you think you can use it.”
As Robert departed on this mission, Lewis, surprised at the delay on the
part of Hardy and his associates, glided lightly down the staircase to
reconnoitre their proceedings. The lower part of the house was of course
in total darkness; but as he approached the butler’s pantry a bright
stream of light issued from a crack in the door, while the tramp of
nailed shoes on the stone flooring inside, together with an occasional
muttered word or oath from one of the party, proved that they were
busily engaged in some toilsome occupation, which Lewis rightly
conjectured to be conveying the plate to a cart outside. Returning as
cautiously as he had advanced, Lewis rejoined his companion, whom he
found waiting for him at the top of the stairs, carabine in hand. Having
ascertained that the charge had been removed from this also, he reloaded
it with some of the slugs intended for his pistols, and placing the lamp
so that it cast its light down the staircase, leaving the spot where
they stood in shade, he handed one pistol to Robert, reserving the other
for his own use in any emergency which might occur; and thus prepared
they awaited the approach of the robbers. Their patience was not in
this instance destined to be severely taxed, for scarcely had they taken
their stations when the creaking of a door cautiously opened, and the
tread of muffled footsteps announced that the crisis was at hand; and in
another moment Hardy and his associates were seen stealthily advancing
towards the foot of the stairs. As they perceived the light of Lewis’s
lamp they paused, and a whispered consultation took place. At this
moment the rays fell strongly upon the upper part of the poacher’s
figure, and Lewis, levelling his carabine, could have shot him through
the heart. It was a strong temptation. Hardy once dead, Lewis had little
fear of being able to overcome or intimidate the others. He knew that it
was life for life, and that by all laws, human and divine, the act
would be a justifiable one; but he could not bring himself to slay
a fellow-creature in cold blood. Besides, although since his unmanly
attack on Annie, Lewis had felt in the highest degree irritated against
the poacher, he compassionated him for the loss of his daughter, and
could not entirely divest himself of a species of admiration for his
strength and daring: so, though he still held the carabine directed
towards the group, he did not pull the trigger; and thus, by a strange
turn of fate, Lewis spared Hardy’s life, as Hardy had on a former
occasion spared his, when the motion of a finger would have sent him to
his long account. At this moment the butler joined the party, and Lewis
caught the words, “They have fire-arms!”
“Never fear,” was the reply in the tones of Simmonds’ voice, “they may
bark, but they won’t bite; I’ve taken care of that.”
“Come on, then,” exclaimed Hardy impetuously; “let us rush at them
together and overpower them;” and grasping a bludgeon with one hand,
while in the other he held a cocked pistol, he dashed upstairs followed
by his accomplices. Lewis waited till they had passed a turn in the
staircase, and then aiming low, in order if possible to stop their
advance without destroying life, he fired. Simmonds, who was one of the
foremost, immediately fell, and losing his balance, rolled down several
steps; one of the others paused in his career, and from his limping gait
was evidently wounded; but Hardy and two more continued their course
uninjured. The smoke of the discharge for a moment concealed Lewis’s
figure; as it cleared away, Hardy levelled his pistol at him and fired.
The bullet whistled by Lewis’s ear, and passing within an inch of his
right temple, lodged in the wall behind him; while, following up his
ineffectual shot, the robber rushed upon him. Lewis, however, had too
keen a recollection of his antagonist’s matchless strength to risk the
chance of allowing him to close with him, and springing back, he struck
him, quick as lightning, two blows with the sabre--the first on his arm,
which he raised to protect his head, the second and most severe one on
the shoulder near the neck: this last blow staggered him, and reeling
dizzily, he grasped the banister for support, the blood trickling from
the wound in his shoulder. In the meantime the two others, one of them
having felled the young footman to the ground by a back-handed stroke
with a bludgeon, attacked Lewis simultaneously. Having parried one or
two blows with his sabre, Lewis made a desperate cut at the head of
the man with the bludgeon. The fellow raised his staff to ward off the
stroke, and the blow fell upon the oak sapling, which it severed like a
reed; but unfortunately the shock was too great, and the sword snapped
near the hilt. Seeing that he was thus left defenceless, and
might probably be overpowered, as both his assailants were strong,
square-built fellows, Lewis had no resource but to draw his pistol; and,
as before, endeavouring to aim so as to disable without destroying life,
he fired, and the man nearest to him fell. His comrade immediately threw
himself upon the young tutor, and a fierce struggle ensued. In point of
strength the combatants were very equally matched; but, fortunately
for the result, Lewis was the most active, and by a sudden wrench
disengaging himself from his antagonist’s grasp, he struck him a
tremendous blow with his clenched fist on the side of the head, which
sent him down with the force of a battering-ram. As he did so a giant
arm was thrown round his waist, a knife gleamed at his throat, and in
a hoarse, broken voice, the savage ferocity of which had something
appalling in its tones, Hardy exclaimed--
“I’ve owed you something a long time, young feller; and now I’ve got a
chance, I’m going to pay you.”
Both his hands being occupied, he, with the fury of some beast of prey,
seized Lewis’s hair with his teeth, and endeavoured to draw his head
back in order to cut his throat; but, by dint of struggling, Lewis had
contrived to get his right arm free, and grasping the wrist of the hand
which held the weapon, he was enabled, as long as his strength might
hold out, to prevent the ruffian from executing his murderous purpose.
Hardy made one or two efforts to shake off the grasp which thus fettered
him, but his muscular power was so much impaired by the sabre cut on the
arm that he was unable to accomplish his design. Accordingly, trusting
to his great strength, and thinking that Lewis would become exhausted by
his attempts to free himself, Hardy determined to wait rather than run
the risk of affording his victim a chance of escape by removing the arm
which encircled him. While affairs were in this position, Robert,
having recovered the stunning effects of the blow which had felled him,
regained his feet, and was advancing to Lewis’s assistance when the
robber who had been slightly wounded in the leg as he was ascending
the stairs, and had since remained a passive spectator of the struggle,
interposed, and rousing, through the medium of a kick in the ribs, the
fellow whom Lewis had knocked down, closed with the young servant, and
attempted to wrench the pistol (which went off in the scuffle without
injuring any one) from his grasp, while his accomplice, gathering
himself slowly from the floor, prepared to assist him. In the meantime
the struggle between Lewis and Hardy appeared likely to terminate in
favour of the young tutor, for the exertions made by the poacher to
retain his captive caused the blood to flow rapidly from his wounds, and
a sensation of faintness stole over him which threatened momentarily
to incapacitate him. As he became aware of this fact his fury and
disappointment knew no bounds; and collecting his powers for one final
effort, he released Lewis’s waist, and transferring his grasp to his
coat collar, suddenly flung his whole weight upon him and bore him
heavily to the ground; then raising himself and planting his knee on
Lewis’s chest, he stretched out his hand to pick up the knife which
he had dropped in this last attack. Had he made the attempt one minute
sooner, it would have been successful, and Lewis would indeed have laid
down his life for her he loved; but his time was not yet come. As the
poacher leant over to reach the knife, a dizzy faintness overpowered
him, his brain reeled; a slight effort on Lewis’s part was sufficient
to dislodge him, and uttering a hollow groan, he rolled over on his back
and lay motionless, his deep, laboured breathing alone testifying
that he was still alive. Hastily springing from the ground, Lewis,
on regaining his feet, turned to assist his companion, who was still
manfully battling with his two assailants: as he did so the sound of
feet became audible, and the gardener and three of the other outdoor
servants, aroused by the report of fire-arms, rushed in, having effected
their entrance by the open window of the pantry. Their arrival ended
the affair. The burglar who was uninjured, finding the door of Lewis’s
bedroom open, took refuge there, leaped from the window, alighted on
some shrubs, which broke his fall, and the darkness favouring him,
effected his escape. The other four, who were all wounded more or less
seriously, were secured.
A surgeon was immediately sent for: he examined Hardy (who remained in
a state of unconsciousness) first. He pronounced the cut in the arm
of little consequence, but the wound in the neck had divided several
important vessels, and he considered it highly dangerous. The burglar
at whom Lewis had discharged his pistol was severely wounded in the hip,
but the surgeon did not apprehend any serious consequences. Simmonds,
the butler, proved to have been hit in the knee by a slug from the
carabine, an injury which would probably lame him for life. The
remaining member of the gang had come off more easily, a shot having
passed through the fleshy part of the leg; Robert, the servant,
displayed a broken head; and Lewis, besides being severely bruised, had
in the last struggle with Hardy received a wound in the left wrist from
the point of the ruffian’s knife. As soon as, by the application
of proper restoratives, Hardy became sufficiently recovered to bear
removal, a carriage was sent for, and the captured burglars were
conveyed to the nearest town; the two most severely injured were taken
to the hospital, and the other pair securely lodged in the county gaol.
On Annie’s expressions of gratitude to her preservers, or on the
feelings with which Lewis heard her lips pronounce his praises, we will
not dwell, neither will we expatiate on the view Miss Livingstone (who
appeared in a tremendous nightcap of cast-iron white-washed, and a
dressing-gown of Portland stone) was pleased to take of the affair, in
which she recognised a vindication of the reality of the individual who
was always under the beds _and_ behind the curtains, who for the future
she declared to have been Hardy, professing herself able to swear to the
expression of his boots in any court of justice throughout the United
Kingdom.