ALL FOR HIM.
In the middle of the little lawn Danforth stopped. A portion of the
dismounted guard, on seeing their leader and Captain Jermain come from
the Manor House door followed by their companions and the prisoners,
gathered about him. The eight or ten who remained on horseback drew as
close to the centre of investigation as was practicable. It was a
spirited picture--the frowning gray house, all thrown open; the
sunshiny grass-plot, covered with horses and men; the group of
prisoners, at whom, from time to time, Danforth looked maliciously
while Captain Jermain poured his angry tale in his ear.
"That will do, Captain!" the Colonel presently interrupted; "I think I
understand the course of matters sufficiently to get to the bottom of
them." He leaned against a tree. "Hark ye, Mr. Boyd," and he surveyed
Gilbert amid his guards. "That you are responsible for both these acts
I clearly see. You are an old traitor, an old traitor, sir! You merit
the fullest punishment that you have too long escaped. But I am just,
sir, I am perfectly just--I do not wish to visit more than he deserves
upon even the worst Jacobite rascal that draws breath. Tell me,
therefore, instantly, the whole of your share, first, in this shameful
treachery to Captain Jermain, and, second, everything concerning this
equally treasonable Armitage business."
With as calm deliberateness as if he had been announcing the fact
to Lord George Murray or Lochiel, Gilbert responded: "The Highland
prisoner, brought by Captain Jermain, I ordered set at liberty this
morning by his sentry. At this hour they are both beyond your
pursuit."
A general cry of wrath put a period to Boyd's response. Danforth
smiled--smiled in his most sinister fashion. He muttered something to
Jermain. Andrew did not take his eyes from his father's set face.
"Very well, Mr. Boyd," resumed Colonel Danforth; "so much for that!
Now for the next. Have you entertained this Lord Armitage under your
roof?"
"That question I decline to answer, Colonel Danforth," said Gilbert.
"Which is a silly way of saying 'yes.' How long since, Mr. Boyd?"
No reply. Other interests than his own were blended in a response to
this. Unforced, Gilbert would not yield an inch here.
"How long since, I say, Mr. Boyd? So reluctant? Very good. Bring that
lad here!"
Gilbert could not suppress a tremor and a stifled protest as he heard
this sudden order and saw Andrew pushed forward. But a hand struck the
Master of Windlestrae sharply across his mouth, he was seized on
either side, made to stand turned about, with his back to his son and
this English inquisitor, and so held fast.
"You heard what I last asked your father, boy? Now I'll try you--and
mind you speak the truth. Has this Armitage been in Windlestrae Manor
within one week?"
White and defiant, Andrew looked Danforth in the face; and, remembering
Gilbert's behavior, was also mute. He glanced, too, at a sapphire ring
upon his finger.
Cunning Danforth! He well guessed how speediest to reach his end. He
made a sign. Boyd heard a certain confusion, but was held as if in a
vice. In a twinkling Andrew's clothes were, not so much pulled, as
torn from his back. Three burly dragoons forced the lad into a
partially stooping position. A fourth raised a leathern whip with four
or five lashes.
"Speak, insolent young dog!" cried Danforth; "answer my question!"
"I will not!" retorted Andrew, suddenly struggling.
"Give it to him, Foote!" shouted the Colonel.
A whish in the air--the blows of the thongs, and a boyish shriek!
"Again!" spoke Danforth; and again the hideous instrument descended,
cutting into the bared white flesh and wringing confession of the
agony it inflicted--no other confession.
But before the whip could again do its fearful office Boyd wrenched
himself loose. He ran to his son's side with a cry of passion and
horror and sacrifice. He threw his arms about Andrew, fettered as he
was, fairly dashing the monsters off by his impetuous interposition.
"Stop, stop, for the love of God!" he exclaimed. "Colonel
Danforth--Captain Jermain--spare the innocent! On me, on me, do what
you will! I _have_ sheltered Lord Geoffry Armitage. He was the sentry
who fled with the prisoner this morning. They are safe! Do your worst,
but only to me; I am responsible for everything--everything! God send
all such hunted men deliverance; and God send confusion on you and
your king!"
A shout from the dragoons, a confused clamor from the helpless
servants, and half a dozen quick sentences from the two officers
followed.
Under such a revelation, Captain Jermain was with difficulty kept from
a second personal assault on his late host. Without blenching, Gilbert
stood firm until all the ebullition should subside. "Courage, my brave
lad!" he said to Andrew; "we could only bring worse trouble on others
by longer silence. We are in the hands of the Lord of Hosts--if the
worst be death, He shall sustain us in that, too!"
Danforth turned upon Boyd, with a smile which was more ominous than a
whole torrent of threats.
"Thank you, Mr. Boyd. I see you have prudence in emergencies as well
as adroitness. I am satisfied with your admissions for this moment.
The details I shall take opportunity of hearing in the guard-house at
Neith. Ah, Barkalow, you have finished your search through the house?
Did you get into that secret chamber with Captain Jermain's man? Very
good. Holloa, there! Into the saddle, everybody! Captain Jermain,
please order your men to mount! Croft, see that Boyd and his son have
horses--it will save time. Release the servants! By Jove! we have made
quick work this morning. Back to Neith, instantly!"
In five minutes Andrew and Gilbert found themselves the centre of a
cordon moving slowly over the Manor lawn. Protest from the servants
was useless; the weeping of the faithful women was rudely silenced. In
front rode Colonel Danforth and his younger colleague, who was still
tracing out, angrily, the night's work, with Roxley and Dawkin, and an
occasional comment from gruff Lieutenant Barkalow. But just as they
gained a slight eminence, close beside the rude gate-way of the Manor
that opened into the Neith Road, the Colonel reined his horse and said
to the Master:
"Boyd, what shall be done to you for this traitorous business I know
not; nor shall I know until I draw out of you at Neith an accounting,
down to the least detail. And I will draw it--expect that! But, for
your insolence and stubbornness thus far, I can show you your reward,
already."
He pointed back to the Manor House through the oaks. Four belated
dragoons dashed up at the same moment. What had detained them
explained itself at once. Faint cries from the terrified group
left masterless about the open door; a column of smoke suddenly
rising against the sky--the defenceless old house was fired! Two of
Danforth's cruel emissaries had slipped around to the rear and set
brands to the thatch of an odd wing. In a moment the flames leaped
high in air, roaring and crackling, before the eyes of its owner and
his heir.
Boyd groaned. But he said no word. He watched the destroyer blaze from
casement to casement, seethe against the old stone walls and surge
upward in rolling masses of smoke, consuming all that was perishable
before it. He had to stand there and hear his live-stock career in a
panic down distant lanes as the great barn caught in turn and swelled
the conflagration. Andrew covered his face. He could not bear the
spectacle.
Once, however, he looked across at his father, and observed him still
determined not to give his tormentors the satisfaction of a word of
protest or despair over what was leaving him a ruined man; but the
strong old face was working convulsively, and the overarched eyes were
filled with tears.
Long afterward, Andrew used to say that it was the only time that he
remembered seeing his father shed them.
"On!" commanded Danforth, abruptly, "the show is over!"
The father and son were separated; neither could they converse. They
rode along, now too miserable over the past to be concerned for the
future. The laughing and talking of the dragoons they heeded no
longer. Once Boyd was heard to say, in a suffocated voice, "The Lord
gave and the Lord hath taken away!" He knew what that meant now.
After about an hour's slow progress, they entered a little defile
between two low hills covered with pine-trees. As the middle of it was
attained, Colonel Danforth, from the van of the column, raised his
eyes to a covert, and then exclaimed, "Captain Jermain! Mr. Barkalow!
Look up there--beside the white bowlder. Isn't that a man skulking?"
Before the other two could answer, a shot rang out on the breeze.
A dragoon cried out in anguish and fell from his horse, dead.
Another shot followed--another. The figures of several men were now
discernible above, leaping between the trees.
"A surprise! a surprise! At them, every man of you! 'Tis a rescue!"
called out Danforth and the other officers.
But the volley that hailed on them with this order was so full and
galling that it struck the troop with panic. Men were calling out in
pain, or falling, right and left. A wild slogan echoed above and
around from the dense shrubbery. The horses plunged, their riders
rolling in the dust under their hoofs. Encumbered with their steeds,
the soldiers were utterly unprepared for such an ambush. Each second
came the bullets from the ensconced sharp-shooters.
"Villains! cowards!" shouted Colonel Danforth; "will you fly from a
pack of Highland wolves?" But as he lashed his horse up the bluff,
what seemed to be the first of a horde of gigantic, half-crazed
desperadoes rushed from the thicket upon the troopers, yelling again
an undistinguishable cry, and brandishing naked weapons.
This was too much even for Danforth. Over the bodies of a dozen dead
or dying men of his escort, and a struggling horse or two, he fled
amain, with all his cohort, regardless of aid to comrades or securing
the two prisoners. But as the dragoon conducting Andrew pushed away
the boy, he fired his pistol full at him. Gilbert struck his arm
aside. He diverted the bullet from his son's brain to his own
shoulder. And then, in a flash, the defile was abandoned to these
uncouth and unknown friends, so disguised that they could not be
distinguished one from the other.
Amid a rush and sundry very disconnected reassurances, Gilbert and
Andrew found themselves surrounded by their panting but victorious
deliverers, and urged furiously up the almost inaccessible mountain-path.
"Ask no questions now! You shall hear all soon," said one of their
flying escort; "you must first be safe." Gilbert was soon discovered
to be in no condition to ask questions, or, indeed, more than endure
so rough a journey. The wound, which in the excitement of their rescue
he had thought little of, was bleeding profusely, and he turned
presently very faint from pain and weakness. In astonishment at his
fortitude, so far, the riders halted behind a pile of crags, and the
hurt was looked to hastily by two young men. The bullet had entered
the breast, glancing from the shoulder, and its dislodgement must be a
work of better opportunity. They supported Gilbert on his horse for
the rest of the way, he enduring the increasing torment and weakness
manfully. But Andrew was not a little alarmed to see how much his
father suffered and how haggard grew his face. They had, however,
chance for but a few words now; Gilbert's resolution keeping up the
speed of the party at a high rate, and mounted or unmounted members of
it hurrying along with an astonishingly equal rapidity.
After half an hour's ride they galloped through a ravine where it was
a miracle to find a track, so savage and sombre were the surroundings.
Next, a deep glen began opening below them. From those beside them
neither father nor son could yet gain a syllable of explanation as to
how they had come to them in their extreme need nor whither they sped;
indeed, all of them spoke a particularly guttural Gaelic. But with the
certainty that he and his father were delivered, there came a new hope
into Andrew's heart.
Nor was that hope checked. For, presently, flushed and breathless
from their downward career, he and Gilbert suddenly passed through a
vast cleft, some rods wide, between two cliffs at the foot of the last
mountain-spur. A rude camp lay before them. Men and women, and even
children, were moving about in it, and spoil of all sorts seemed to be
piled up under the shelter of booths and trees.
"Huzzah!" rang a welcome to their guards.
"Huzzah!" replied the latter's shout, the horsemen throwing themselves
to the turf; some of the band talking boisterously in Gaelic, others
assisting the two Boyds to dismount and paying solicitous heed to
Gilbert's suffering state.
Andrew set his feet on the earth. And then out from a hut hurried a
dozen men, whose bearing at once asserted high rank and broken
fortunes. But the foremost figure outsped them and ran forward, and
caught Andrew in an embrace, amid an acclaim, "God save the Prince!"
and all about Andrew and his father men and women were kneeling upon
the green sod.
"Oh, my lord, my lord!" cried Andrew, looking up into Sir Geoffry's
face; "are you here? God be praised!"
"Yes, Andrew," replied the knight, with one hand upon the boy's
shoulder, but extending the other to Gilbert, who knelt, despite his
exhaustion, before his late guest, in a sudden awe and amazement
that even the morning's terrible experiences could not check. "Yes,
Andrew, I am here, dearest lad--I, your friend; and, some day, please
Heaven!--your King!"