A NIGHT ADVENTURE.
But whatsoe'er his crime, than such a cave
A worse imprisonment he could not have.
* * * * *
But here a roaring torrent bids you stand.
Forcing you climb a rock on the right hand,
Which, hanging penthouse-like, does overlook
The dreadful channel of the rapid brook.
Over this dangerous precipice you crawl,
Lost if you slip, for if you slip you fall.
WONDERS OF THE PEAK, 1725.
Elated by their success, the two noblemen at once left London and
hastened on towards Haddon, and leaving the city behind them with
few regrets, they arrived at Derby late in the afternoon of the day
following the trial.
It was Sir Thomas Stanley's time to be impatient now He was anxious
to behold Margaret again, and leaving the baron behind him to settle
a few matters of business he rode off upon a fresh horse to carry the
good news to the Hall, and to herald the approach of the knight.
John Manners was keeping Dorothy company on the top of the Eagle Tower
when Sir Thomas appeared in sight. A "look out" had been on the watch
for the last three days, waiting to announce the approach of the
expected messenger from London, and each night a beacon fire had been
lighted, that in the darkness he might not pass by. But no messenger
came, and anxiety was beginning to make itself apparent on more faces
than one when the two lovers espied the fast-approaching rider, and
proclaimed the news to the household below.
Margaret soon joined them company. She was burning with impatience to
read the long-expected missive and she eagerly watched the horseman
draw nearer who was bringing her tidings from her betrothed.
"See Meg," exclaimed the overjoyed Dorothy, "thither he comes!" and
she pointed to a cloud of dust in the far distance, in the midst of
which might be seen every now and again the indistinct form of a horse
and its rider.
"Maybe he will pass by," exclaimed Manners.
"Not he!" scornfully replied Margaret, "he will none pass by. None
other than a messenger to Haddon would ride like that. The steed is
hard put to it; surely it is near its journey's end."
"Well, we shall soon see," interposed Doll, "he is making good speed."
It was as Dorothy said. Even while they had been talking, the rider
had considerably lessened the distance which separated him from the
Hall, and, had it not been for the dim twilight which was then slowly
deepening, they would have been enabled to distinguish more than they
had already done.
"He rides well," said Margaret, more to herself than to either of the
others. "Methinks I know that ride."
"'Tis like Crowleigh's," said Manners.
"But Sir Everard is with Father Philip. It cannot be him," returned
Dorothy.
"There is but one man who bestrides a saddle in such a fashion,"
exclaimed Margaret, as she carefully scanned the horseman. "But no! it
cannot be so. I thought it was Sir----"
"Sir Thomas Stanley," exclaimed Dorothy, taking the words out of her
sister's mouth.
"I thought it was he," she confessed; "and see," she added, raising
her voice, "it is Sir Thomas; I thought it was," and she left the
lovers as she had found them, and hastened down, greatly excited,
to meet her own beloved, and not without some feelings of dismay at
seeing him return alone.
Leaving the succeeding scene to be imagined rather than described, we
will hark back to Sir George at Derby.
He accomplished his business more expeditiously than he had
anticipated, and in a very brief space of time started out of
the town, hoping with a hope soon to be dispelled that he might,
perchance, overtake Sir Thomas.
Without a halt he arrived at Matlock at just about the same time as
his companion reached Haddon, and reining up his steed at the village
inn close by the churchyard, he alighted for a short rest and some
refreshment ere he finished what remained of his journey.
He was well known here, and his peremptory commands were obeyed with
the utmost alacrity.
His first enquiry was about Sir Thomas Stanley, and he learned to his
satisfaction that he had passed safely through there a good hour or so
before.
"In good sooth, your lordship is surely going no further to-night,"
exclaimed the host, as Sir George made the preliminary preparation for
resuming his journey.
"Tut, man, why not? Of course I shall."
"Your horse is stabled," responded the landlord; "surely you will not
attempt to ride further to-night."
"My horse stabled," thundered the baron, "I said not so; 'tis fresh
from Derby. Out with it, man, and let me away."
The horse was quickly unstabled, and brought round to the tavern door,
but the innkeeper was loth to let the good knight depart. It was a
thing he would not do for a trifle, and he feared for the safety of
the baron.
"The roads are very bad," he exclaimed, as they stepped into the
little passage together, "and it will be dark ere you reach the Hall,
my lord. Had you not better change your mind?"
The knight declined the request in the most emphatic manner, and
placed his foot upon the stirrup to mount.
"There be many rogues and footpads in the neighbourhood of late, and
especially to-day," pursued the other. "I have had as ill-looking a
crew in my house to-day as I ever clapt eyes upon; I am sure they bode
no good."
Nothing, however, could persuade Sir George to stay, and seeing that
his guest was obdurate, the host continued,
"Stay awhile, Sir George, an' thou wilt, thou shalt at least have a
man of mine to accompany thee. The neighbourhood is full of knaves of
late, and I like it not that thou should'st go alone."
But the offer was lightly refused; and fearing nothing for his own
safety, the old knight spurred his horse forward, and in a few moments
was lost to sight in the fast-settling gloom.
Little time as he and Sir Thomas had lost in leaving London, and quick
as they had been in reaching Derby, there had yet been those who had
been more expeditious than they.
Upon the receipt of the unwelcome news which the ostler had brought to
them, Edmund Wynne's confederates at once departed from the city, and
under the leadership of Sir Ronald Bury hastened on, with few rests,
to the wilds of Derbyshire, to perform the deed, still enshrouded in
mystery, which they had been hired, if necessary, to perform.
Blissfully unconscious of the trap into which he was rushing, and
wholly contemptuous of the idea of being benighted, the lord of Haddon
rode fearlessly on. The way was dark to be sure, but he knew it well,
and what added to his confidence was the fact that he was right in the
very heart of his own possessions.
He had barely ridden a couple of furlongs, though, before his horse
became restive, and in response to a free application of both whip and
spur only pricked up its ears and advanced in a more unsatisfactory
manner than before.
Still suspecting nothing, the baron applied the whip more vigorously.
He perceived, clearly enough, that his charger was frightened at
something or other, and to inspire it with a little of his own courage
he started to whistle a lively tune which he had heard Dorothy play
upon the spinet till he got it well by heart.
The tune was never finished, for barely had he begun it when the
branch of a tree, which was hurled at him from the side of the road,
completely unhorsed him and sent him rolling into the ditch on the
other side.
Before he could rise or place himself in any posture of defence he
was roughly seized, and in spite of his struggles was carried away as
helpless as a child, whilst to aggravate his position his eyes were
tightly blindfolded.
"What does this mean?" he shouted out in desperation; but no one
deigned to answer.
"I am Sir George Vernon," he added stoutly, but if he had thought that
this was information, or that his captors would be inclined to
quake before this declaration of his rank and person, he was sorely
mistaken, and the brief answer they returned soon convinced him on the
point.
"We know it," they laughed; "we are no fools."
"Nathan Grene," he passionately shouted, "you shall rue this day." He
no longer wondered now at the non-appearance of his adversary; he felt
confident that the recreant smith was there, and the thought of being
thus within his power goaded him into a frenzy of passion.
"Thou shalt live to rue this bitterly," he repeated, but before he
could say anything further his mouth was filled with grass, and in
spite of his attempts to speak he could no longer succeed in making
himself heard.
How far he was being carried he knew not, nor yet did he know the way;
and beyond making a few desultory attempts to disengage his nether
limbs from the vice-like grasp in which they were enclosed, the baron
made no further attempts to free himself.
It was quite dark before they stopped, and when his bandages were
taken off he had only sufficient time to discover that they had halted
at the mouth of a cave before his captors seized hold of his
person and unceremoniously pushed him in, sending, after a brief
consultation, one of their number after him to see that he made no
effort to escape.
"Where is Nathan Grene?" inquired the outraged nobleman, as soon as he
found himself at liberty; "I want to see him."
"Happen you do!" replied his keeper, who was none other than the
ostler; "then, maybe, you will find him at London. You were near
enough to him in the stable loft; maybe he is out of the stocks again
now."
"Don't talk with him," commanded an imperious voice from the exterior,
"or he will be taking you unawares."
The order was literally complied with, and to all his queries
thenceforward the baron could gain no reply. At length he gave up the
attempt, and watched in sullen silence his captors kindle a fire just
within the cavern mouth.
He meditated a dash out, but the venture seemed to promise little
hope, and seeing, after a time, that the man had fallen asleep, he
proceeded to explore his prison.
It was a long cave, and there were many fissures and passages
branching out on either side, but he found to his intense disgust that
instead of leading out into the open they all terminated after a few
yards in a solid wall of rock.
Nothing daunted by his successive disappointments, the lord of Haddon
carefully wound his way round the circuitous cavern path. He found it
difficult work, however, to walk in darkness in an unknown way, and he
made little progress until, suddenly remembering that the ostler had
charge of the tinder and flint which his associates had thrown in
after kindling their fire, he stole back as quickly as he could to
fetch it.
He found everything exactly as it was when he left it. The ostler was
still asleep and loudly snoring; the noisy gang beyond were cooking
their evening meal, and without attracting their attention he
succeeded in gaining the coveted articles, and rapidly retreated with
them in his possession.
He waited before obtaining a light, until a sharp bend in the cave
secured his position, and then, stooping down, he struck the flint
and steel together and made a torch of his cravat. He was now able to
hasten forward, and fearful lest his torch should burn away ere he
had effected his escape, he pushed quickly on, and soon reached the
farthest end.
The cave, which had been gradually narrowing as Sir George advanced,
instead of suddenly rising up into the ground above, or ending in a
narrow opening, as the good knight had fervently hoped, terminated
in a deep chasm, and far down below there rushed a tumultuous stream.
Even as he stopped short, startled by the discovery, a stone rolled
over the brink, and after a pause of several seconds' duration the
forlorn explorer was suddenly recalled to a sense of his position by
hearing a faint splash in the deep waters far below.
He turned round regretfully, and commenced to return, fully decided,
unless he quickly discovered a way of escape, to attempt to surprise
his captors by rushing through their midst, trusting to the darkness
of the night to favour his escape.
He had not gone far before he discovered that his absence had been
noticed. The ostler must have awaked; the echoing cavern resounded
with the imprecations of his companions, and their approaching
footsteps warned him that they were coming in search of him. Not a
moment was to be lost, and espying a large shelving rock which jutted
out from a side passage, Sir George Vernon hastily clambered up and
extinguished his light. The mass of rock upon which he had taken
refuge was fairly flat, and he was able to maintain his position upon
it; but he soon discovered that it would not be big enough to screen
him from view were the searchers to look in that direction. It was too
late to think of moving now, for his pursuers were close at hand; he
could even distinguish the reflection of their torches; there was only
one course open for him, and that was to endeavour to squeeze through
the narrow fissure at the end of the ledge on which he lay.
A squeeze and a cut or two, a tug and a stifled groan; another squeeze
more violent by far than the former one, and the portly baron rolled
panting through the jagged briar-covered little crevice, just as the
light of the searchers illuminated the place from which he had only a
moment before released himself.
Some painful moments elapsed ere he stopped rolling, and then it
was not until he found himself entangled in the strong but friendly
embrace of one of the tough blackberry bushes which were growing
in profusion, and still continue to do so, on the hill sides of
Derbyshire. He had, in fact, found out a way of escape just as he had
abandoned all hope of doing so, and carefully extricating himself from
his uncomfortable position, he pursued his way by Masson's shadowy
heights, boiling over with rage against his ruffianly captors, and
made the best of his way to the nearest inn to secure a horse to carry
him home.