"Raro antecedentem scelestum
Deseruit pede Poena claudo."
It was midday, and the sun was pouring the full power of his
noontide beams on the wilderness of reeds and flags which
overspread the southern side of the Dismal Swamp, reposing on the
treacherous surface of bog, quagmire, and quicksand.
Signs of life there were none, save when the bittern rose from its
nest, amidst the long reeds or sedgy grass, or the moor fowl flew
over the surface of the inky water, which here and there collected
into pools. The feeble hum of insects filled the air, but all else
was peace and solitude.
Save that there was a sign of life on the farther side of the
Swamp--a solitary figure half concealed by bushes, stood watching
on a promontory of firm land, looking anxiously--from his slight
elevation over the surface of the fen.
He was an aged man, who had seen some ninety summers; his long
beard descended below the girdle which confined his brown tunic at
the waist. It was Haga, the father of Ordgar.
"My eyes are not what they were, and I see no sign as yet. Ah, here
comes little Siward!"
A boy of some twelve years approached him very silently, as if some
serious business was about to be transacted, of such nature as to
subdue boyish loquacity.
"Come hither, Siward, my grandchild, and lend me thine eyes and
ears, for mine are now dulled by age. Dost thou hear aught?"
"I hear the bittern boom, and the woodpecker tap, but that is all."
"Sit down by my side, and watch with me; the time is at hand."
"Will my father be with them?"
"He will, my child."
"And he will come home safely to us, when all is over?"
"That is as God wills, dear child; his life belongs to his country.
Thou mayst pray for him," he added, as he saw tears rise to the
eyes of the boy.
"I do," said the child.
They sat awhile in perfect silence, when at last the boy appeared
to listen intently.
"Grandfather," he said, "I hear the sound of many feet."
"Art quite sure?"
"Yes, and now I see men advancing from the shade of yonder thicket
of beech."
"And I see them too; go and warn Tosti, Sexwulf, Ulf and Frithgift,
and be sure that thou keepest out of the fen thyself."
"Only thou wilt bring father back home with thee?"
"By God's help, my child."
At this moment a numerous and warlike band of Normans emerged from
the woods, in full view, and paused on the edge of the Swamp.
"Now they come forth to their doom. The Lord hath delivered them
into our hands," said Haga.
Foremost amongst them the old man recognised his son Ordgar; his
arms were bound, and a cord attached to the thongs which confined
them, held by a man-at-arms.
We will transport ourselves to the other side of the Swamp.
Hugo sat there on his steed, in the full panoply of warlike pride,
throbbing with the desire of vengeance, and with the hope of
recovering his son--whom he was destined never to see again; for
justice, although her pace may seem tardy, seldom fails to overtake
evildoers, even in this world; and he who, as men thought, had
slain others by fire, was destined to perish by the same avenging
element.
But no shadow of coming events was there to disturb his equanimity;
all seemed to promise the gratification of his fondest wishes, and
he was in the highest spirits.
And now he bade them bring Ordgar forward, and the guide--his feet
free, but his arms bound--stood before him.
"Thou hast said that thou knowest the road through the Swamp?"
"I do."
"Lead on, then, and beware of treachery; for if there be any doubt,
even a doubt, of thy faith, thou diest."
"Fear not; my faith is pledged--it shall be kept."
Pledged, yes: but to whom?
The Normans failed to see the "double entendre" of this reply.
Their claim was but the omnipotence of torture.
The thrall led the way to a spot where the earth bore marks of
footsteps; here it was evident men had recently entered the maze
which stretched before them.
Hugo pressed forward and took the cord himself.
"Now," he said, "Normans, follow me. Lead on, thrall; remember thy
farm at Aescendune, and thy forfeit life."
Onward, infatuated as the Egyptians when they passed between the
suspended walls of the Red Sea, the band followed their leader into
the maze; the path was narrow, the reeds were tall, and soon they
towered above the heads of the rash invaders.
High bulrushes, tall flags; thick, sedgy vegetation beneath; the
ground, firm enough below at first, soon became quaking and felt
strangely elastic under their feet. The marsh was here of great
width, and shortly they had advanced a considerable distance from
firm ground, and were in the midst of the Swamp.
And here the path became more and more difficult. Sometimes only
one could pass at once; nor could they see distinctly where they
were going. The sun, too, which might have guided them as to the
direction of their march, was temporarily clouded.
"Dog," said Hugo to the captive guide, "if thou misleadest us thou
shalt die."
"A man can die but once."
"Thou art a bold villain," said the baron, raising his sword.
"Slay me, and who will guide thee through the marsh?"
"True; do thy duty and fear nought."
"I will do my duty."
All this passed while they were slowly advancing, and the strange
part of it was this, that they did not seem to get to the end of
their toil. Little did they suspect that they were wandering in a
path which knew no end, save the bottom of the quagmire.
And now the marks of the feet, which had hitherto appeared plain
before Hugo as he rode, were seen no more; nor could the baron tell
the precise spot when they faded from sight; they had become
fainter and fainter, and then had vanished.
"Dog, where are the footmarks? thou art wandering from the road."
"We shall soon find them again."
"Are we nearly over the Swamp?"
"Thou wilt see firm land soon."
The baron grasped the cord tightly.
Onward they wandered, and still naught but rushes and flags, sedges
and dried reeds, met their gaze, until a promontory of firm
ground--a rock of deep red sandstone--rose from the mire, above
their heads--distant, it might be, a bow shot.
The baron uttered a sigh of relief, when his horse stumbled; the
poor brute strove to recover his footing, and sank deeper into the
treacherous quicksand. Over went the Baron, over his horse's head.
Ordgar snatched at the cord; it escaped Hugo's grasp; the guide was
amidst the reeds, and in one moment he had made his escape; the
reeds parted, waved again, higher than the head of the fugitive,
and the baron saw him no more; only a mocking laugh arose to
augment the rage of the baffled tyrant.
But that rage was speedily changed to terror, for, as the baron
rose, his feet sank beneath him, and he felt as if some unseen hand
had grasped them in the tenacity of the quicksand, just as a faint
cloud of smoke rolled by overhead.
Meanwhile the men in the rear were pressing on, and the foremost
advanced to help their leader and his struggling steed; but all who
did so were soon in the mire in like fashion, sinking deeper with
each struggle.
Oh, how awful that sucking, clasping feeling beneath the surface of
the earth, that gradual sinking out of sight--a process lasting
perhaps for hours. But hours were not given to Baron Hugo; for at
this moment the awful cry of "Fire!" "Fire!" was heard on all
sides, and a loud mocking shout of laughter from hundreds of unseen
enemies, now safe on the firm ground beyond the Swamp, was the
answer.
A cloud of thick smoke rolled over the reeds, and cries of distress
and anguish arose yet more loudly.
"Death to the incendiary! let him who burnt the monks of St.
Wilfred die by fire himself as is meet!"
The latter cry arose from the borders of the Swamp, hidden from
sight by thick eddying billows of smoke.
A flashing sheet of flame, then another--clouds of thick smoke
rolling above--the crackling of flame, devouring the dry
herbage--stifling heat, yet more unendurable each moment--suffocation
impending as the air became thicker and denser.
Held by the quicksand, and sinking deeper and deeper--only raised
above the ground from the middle of the body; so Hugo awaited his
just fate--and felt it just.
"Oh for an hour to repent! oh for a priest! My sins have found me
out."
A sudden gust of wind opened a passage through the smoke, and
revealed in the lurid light of the flames--Wilfred of Aescendune!
For a moment the baron thought himself dead, and at the judgment
seat; then as he saw his supposed victim standing in safety, afar
off on the high rock, and pointing out the scene, with awe yet
exultation on his youthful face, he grasped, as in a moment, the
whole secret of the forces which had been arrayed against him, and
tasted an agony bitterer than that of death.
"All is lost," he cried.
His courage now gave way; he proffered fabulous rewards to any who
would save him; but none could help; nay, all were in like
distress. His brain reeled--the flames approached--nearer--nearer.
It was an awful scene. The marsh was a raging furnace. The exulting
cries of the English mingled with the groans of their suffering
foes. Pity there was none--the remembrance of the burnt priory had
extinguished that sweet virtue.
Ah! who shall tell of the terrible hatred, the thirst of blood,
which war--begotten of man's fellest passions--had created in the
hearts of the oppressed? Who would not pray for peace on earth,
good will towards men {xv}?