DICK MERRIWELL ABROAD
Or
The Ban of the Terrible Ten
by
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the celebrated “Merriwell” stories, which are
the favorite reading of over half a million up-to-date
American boys. Catalogue sent free upon request.
Street & Smith, Publishers
79-89 Seventh Ave., New York City
Copyright, 1904 and 1905
By Street & Smith
Dick Merriwell Abroad
All rights reserved, including that of translation
into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.
CONTENTS
I. THE STORY OF QUEEN MARY.
II. THE MEETING AT THE CASTLE.
III. AT BEN CLEUCH INN.
IV. BUDTHORNE’S STRUGGLE.
V. LIKE A BIRD OF EVIL OMEN.
VI. BUNOL’S PLOT.
VII. DONE BENEATH THE STARS.
VIII. BUNOL MAKES HIS DEMAND.
IX. THE FIGHT IN THE CASTLE.
X. THE HAUNTS OF ROBIN HOOD.
XI. THE SPANIARD AGAIN.
XII. THE STRUGGLE.
XIII. PROFESSOR GUNN’S WILD RIDE.
XIV. AN EXCITING CHASE.
XV. THE HAUNTED MILL.
XVI. SUNSET ON THE GRAND CANAL.
XVII. THE RING OF IRON.
XVIII. WHEN STEEL MEETS STEEL.
XIX. THE BURSTING OF THE DOOR.
XX. THE OATH OF TERESA.
XXI. THE LAST STROKE.
XXII. BEFORE THE PARTHENON.
XXIII. FIGHTING BLOOD OF AMERICA.
XXIV. MARO AND TYRUS.
XXV. TWO ENGLISHMEN.
XXVI. WAS IT A MISTAKE?
XXVII. THE PURSUIT.
XXVIII. DONATUS, THE SULIOTE.
XXIX. IN THE CAVE.
XXX. OUT OF THE TOILS.
DICK MERRIWELL ABROAD.
CHAPTER I.
THE STORY OF QUEEN MARY.
“Well, here we are, boys, in Scotland, the land of feuds, of clans, of
Wallace, Bruce, Scott, Burns, and of limitless thrilling stories and
legends.”
Professor Zenas Gunn was the speaker. With Dick Merriwell and Brad
Buckhart, Merriwell’s friend and former roommate at the Fardale Military
Academy, as his traveling companions, he had landed at Leith the
previous day, having come by steamer from London. The three were now in
Edinburgh, strolling down High Street on their way to visit Holyrood
Castle.
It was nipping cold. There had been a light fall of snow; but the sun
was shining, and the clear air, in strong contrast to the heavy, smoky
atmosphere of London, gave them a feeling of lightness and exhilaration.
Perhaps it is not quite true to say it gave them all such a feeling, for
there was an expression of disappointment on the face of the boy from
Texas, a slight cloud of gloom that nothing seemed to dispel.
The old professor, however, was in high spirits.
“While we’re here, boys,” he said, “we’ll visit as many of the
interesting places as possible. Already we have seen Scott’s monument,
and to-morrow we will make an excursion to Melrose, and visit Melrose
Abbey and Abbotsford. Later on, perhaps, we’ll run over to Loch Lomond
and see Rob Roy’s prison and the cottage where Helen MacGregor, Rob
Roy’s wife, was born. At Stirling we’ll feast our eyes on the Wallace
Monument, which stands on the spot where the great hero defeated
England’s army of invasion. Think what it will mean to stand on the
field of Bannockburn!
“The English army, my boys, numbered one hundred thousand, while the
Scots were less than forty thousand. But Scotland had not forgotten the
terrible death of Wallace, who had been captured, carried to London,
condemned to die, hanged, cut down while yet alive, to have portions of
his body burned, and at last to be decapitated, his head being afterward
placed on a pole on London Bridge. The Scottish army of forty thousand
was led by the successor and avenger of Wallace, Robert Bruce, who
achieved the marvelous object of driving the invaders from the country,
fighting on until nowhere did an English foot crush the heather of
Scotland.
“Ah! boys, these tales of heroism are the things to stir one’s blood,
and make him feel that he might do great, and noble, and heroic things
should the opportunity present itself. But in these prosaic, modern
times men have little chance to become heroes. Now I feel that I, Zenas
Gunn—had I been given the opportunity—might have become a great leader,
a great hero, and my name might have lived in history. I’ve always
regretted the fact that I was born too late to take part in any of the
great struggles for human liberty. I am naturally a fighter. I think
that old rascal, Barnaby Gooch, found out that I possessed the courage
of a lion and the ability to fight like blazes. When we return to
Fardale, boys, he’ll find out something else, I promise you that. Yes,
sir, he’ll find out that he’s not the whole thing at that academy.”
“I hope so,” muttered Brad. “I certain hope he’ll get all that’s coming
to him.”
“Leave it to me,” nodded Zenas. “I’ll attend to that in due time. In the
meantime, boys, we’ll travel and enjoy the things we see while we are
educating ourselves at the same time. Ha! there is Holyrood Palace, once
the home of that loveliest of women, Mary, Queen of Scots. And there is
the chapel in which she was married to Lord Darnley.”
The grim old castle stood before them, its turrets and towers rising
against the bleak mountain background in impressive grandeur. There was
snow on the mountains, and this made the outlines of the castle stand
out sharply and distinctly.
“Stand here a few minutes boys,” invited the old professor. “Before we
enter the castle, which will open to admit visitors at eleven o’clock,
let’s brush up a little on the romantic and pathetic history of Queen
Mary. I’ve always taken the liveliest interest in the story of her
career. You know that first she was married to Francis II. and lived in
France. After Francis died she returned to Scotland where she was
immediately surrounded by a throng of royal suitors. Out of them all she
selected that handsome, egotistical, vain, selfish young reprobate, Lord
Darnley, which was a frightful mistake, for in a short time he began to
treat her with discourtesy and absolute brutality, drinking to excess
and behaving in a manner that made him generally detested at court.”
“But I have read that Queen Mary transferred her affection to an Italian
musician named Rizzio,” said Dick.
“Hum! haw! Haw! hum!” coughed the professor. “A slander invented by the
scheming noblemen about her who wished to rob her of her power in order
to advance their own selfish ends. It is doubtful if they made Darnley
himself believe it, but they told him it would advance him, and he fell
into the trap.”
“But historians say Rizzio was very handsome.”
“Some do, and some say he was very plain and uncomely. It is impossible
to tell which story is true; but beyond doubt he was a splendid singer.
It was his voice that first attracted Mary. One winter’s day, while at
mass, she heard a rich, sonorous voice of great sweetness and power
ringing through the aisles. In answer to her inquiries concerning the
singer, they told her it was Rizzio, private secretary to the ambassador
from Savoy. Mary’s taste in music was of the finest, and she became
greatly interested. There is a famous painting by David Neil, which
shows the queen standing on the palace steps and regarding Rizzio, who
has fallen asleep, mandolin by his side, near at hand. In this picture
he is represented as being very handsome; but artists, like poets, take
license with facts.”
“Is there any question as to the great friendliness that sprang up
between them?” asked Dick.
“Oh, undoubtedly they became friends,” nodded Gunn; “and in this
friendship the scheming noblemen who surrounded the queen saw their
opportunity. They did their best to arouse the jealousy of Darnley,
filling his ears with lies. Darnley was still little more than a boy,
and he easily became a tool in the hands of the schemers, who planned to
murder Rizzio in Mary’s presence, hoping perhaps that the terrible
spectacle and the shock might kill her, which would leave Darnley in
apparent power, but really powerless in the hands of the scoundrels who
controlled him.”
“Fine business for the countrymen of Wallace and Bruce!” growled
Buckhart.
“In those times the nobility seemed very corrupt, in Scotland, as well
as other countries. This band of reprobates carried out their bloody
plot. They hid in Mary’s bedroom, where they awaited their time. Mary
was at supper with three friends in her library. One of the three was
Rizzio. In the midst of it Darnley entered the room, took a seat beside
the queen, put his arm about her and gave her the kiss of Judas. Then
the murderous plotters suddenly appeared in the room, their weapons
drawn. Instantly Rizzio started up, his face growing ghastly, for he
knew his hour had come. He appealed to Mary, who answered that the king
would never permit him to be slain in her presence.
“But Darnley attempted to hold her, and one of the ruffians placed a
loaded pistol at her breast, while the others fell on Rizzio. In despair
the doomed man caught at Mary’s dress, for he was unarmed and could not
make resistance. The assassins slashed at him with their gleaming
weapons, and in the struggle the table with its dishes was overturned.
Its lights were upset and extinguished, but some of the invaders had
brought torches and by the flaring light the bloody work went on. As
Rizzio’s clutch on Mary’s dress relaxed she fainted. He was then dragged
out into a narrow passage, where he was stabbed until his shrieks became
hushed by death. They say the stain of his blood still remains on the
oaken floor, and undoubtedly it will be pointed out to us to-day.”
“It’s a great thing, professor, to visit such spots,” said Dick. “I’ll
never forget this bit of history after seeing and visiting the castle
where it all took place.”
“The finest way in the world to learn history is to visit historic
spots,” nodded the old pedagogue. “I suppose you both remember the rest
of Mary’s story. The dastardly noblemen made her their prisoner,
carrying her to captivity in a grim old castle on Lochleven. She was
removed in the night, placed on a horse and compelled to ride at full
gallop for several hours. When the castle prison was reached her brutal
guards compelled her, under threat of death, to sign an abdication of
the throne in favor of her son, at the same time naming one of the
plotters, the Earl of Murray, regent, until the boy should come of age.
Then she was left there, crushed and heartbroken.”
“But she escaped,” cried Dick.
“Yes, through the assistance of George Douglas, the son of her jailer,
who had become so enamored of the sad and beautiful captive that he
swore to save her, even though it cost him his life. One Sunday night as
the queen sat in her window, gazing out on the placid bosom of the lake,
she saw a boat silently approaching. In the boat was Douglas and his
younger brother, who contrived to get hold of the castle key while the
rest of the Douglas family were at supper. Without delay the daring
youths locked the family in and hastened to set Mary free, rowing her
across the lake and throwing the keys into the water.
“Mary assembled her followers, who hastened to flock to her support; but
in a battle with the army of the regent, the Earl of Murray, she
suffered defeat and again became a fugitive. For some time she remained
hidden in Dundrennan Abbey, undecided what course to pursue. Some of her
friends advised her to flee to France, but she decided to trust to the
supposed friendship of her cousin, Elizabeth, Queen of England, and she
fled across the English frontier. This was a fatal mistake, for
Elizabeth had been her constant foe, fearing her claim to the English
throne, and she was again cast into captivity. In the end she was
falsely convicted of a conspiracy to assassinate Elizabeth, who was
persuaded to sign her death warrant. When she was led to the block her
executioners fell on their knees and asked forgiveness for the duty they
were compelled to perform, which she freely gave, then entreated the
women attending her not to weep, as she was glad to leave the world.
Twenty years later her son was sovereign of both England and Scotland;
and to-day the bodies of Mary and Elizabeth lie side by side beneath the
same cathedral roof.”