The autumn sun shone brightly down into the ravine that led up to the
mouth of Gil Carr's store, and the steep sides were glorious with the
bright berries that glistened amongst the changing leaves. Where the
briony, with its bronze green foliage, flung down its wreaths, there was
cluster after cluster of orange scarlet fruit. The brambles hung down
thorny strands black with rich ripeness that there was no hand to
gather; and wherever a prickly holly, all glistening glossy green, had
rooted in some crevice of the sand-rock, it was covered with yellow
berries awaiting more kisses from the ardent sun before blushing scarlet
for the Christmas-tide.
The ferns were beginning to be dappled on their dark green fronds with
gorgeous dashes of orange and chrome, mingled with crimson, red as
blood, and the dyes of the finger-leaved maple were nearly as bright.
Where the white tails of the rabbits could be seen disappearing as their
owners heard a tramp of many feet, the dense small-leaved sloe-bushes,
with their cruel thorns, showed many a row of tiny plums of the richest
violet, dusted with a delicate pearly bloom. The late blossoms of the
yellow rag-wort clustered amidst the purple heath, and glossy ivy hung
in strands swinging in the hot sunshine with the tender tips just
brushing the seeded grass self-turned into useless hay.
Hot, still, and breathless lay the ravine, with all its natural riches,
ripe with the fullness of the season, and now resting, waiting the
coming of the cold wintry winds, that, sweeping up from the sea, should
heat and tear and bear away the brightness of the autumn and turn all to
desolation and death.
Suddenly a velvety blackbird, with its orange bill and yellow-circled
eyes, uttered its alarm-note and flew along like a streak of night away
up and along the side of the ravine to the over-hanging woods. A chat
that had been busy twittering its song over a golden clump of furze
stopped half-way and dived amongst the purple heath, while a glistening
lizard, that had half taken the alarm from the scattering rabbits, ran
beneath the leaves.
The steps in the distance grew plainer on the ear, and a greeny olive
snake raised its head where it lay in a twirl upon a shelf of short,
fine, sun-browned turf, darted its tongue out over its hard shiny jaws,
and glided under the root of a tree, seeming to give warning of danger
by its low hiss to an adder higher up the stony way, for the little
viper condescended to raise its head where it lay like a scaly letter S
upon the mossy stump of a hazel bush, round whose green, mouldering,
gnarled stem were clustered, like chalices, so many thickly-veined fungi
that looked as if roughly cast in orange-tinted deadened gold.
The danger seemed to be far off, for the viper lay down its spade-shaped
head once more, yawned, and seemed disposing itself for another sunny
sleep, but had hardly arranged its tail to its satisfaction
when--_rustle--tap_--something fell from above, and struck it sharply on
the back.
It was only a hazel nut that could hang no longer in its husk, but
ripened into a soft warm brown, it had dried and dried till a leaf or
two above it had ceased to give its shade, and then it had fallen like a
warning upon the viper's back.
A moment before and the little reptile was sluggishness itself; this
blow, light as it was, seemed to galvanise it into life, for a quick
spasm darted through it, there was a sharp wave, and the raised head was
ready to strike, while the eyes, that had a moment before resembled dim
oxidised silver, now glittered like tiny jewels, as the whole creature
seemed to become the picture of malicious rage, and sought where to
drive deep its poison-fangs.
There was somehow a kind of resemblance between the little serpent and
Anne Beckley, though there was no one by to see, as, failing an object
at which to strike, the reptile seemed to consider that discretion was
the better part of valour; and, slowly lowering its crest, it threw its
body into a series of horizontal waves, and gradually disappeared
beneath some tawny--golden bracken on the slope.
The steps came nearer, and suddenly there was a movement on the edge of
the cliff, high above the store, where a bronzed man took his place,
evidently on the look-out.
Directly after another was seen scaling the side of the ravine to post
himself on the slope over the entrance, while again another suddenly
appeared amidst the furze on the green shoulder which overlooked the
sloping downs.
Gil Carr's men did not often visit the place by day, hence the
precautions against being watched by some intruder.
High up above the cavern, the gaunt figure of Wat Kilby suddenly showed
against the sky. Then he shrank down into a little depression half
overgrown with trees, and soon after a thin, pale blueish vapour arose,
and kept rising, as, pipe in mouth, the old sailor seated himself upon a
block of stone to watch.
Meanwhile, up the bottom of the ravine, close down by where the clear
stream wandered in its deep fern-hung mossy shades, a little party of
some twenty men wound their way.
Every man seemed well-armed, and, with the exception of their leader,
all appeared to be carrying a burden, either a small keg or a little
chest, or a heavy packet, which they bore through the clustering bushes,
which seemed to interlace their arms and try to stay them as they forced
their way amongst the rocks.
After climbing pretty close to the end, at a word from Gil the loads
were set down, arms laid aside, and by means of half a dozen pike-staves
the great stone was rolled away.
The men then waited while Gil went in and lit a lanthorn, returning soon
after to make a sign, when one by one they all lifted and bore in their
loads, following their leader for some distance to where the dim light
showed an inner cavern, whose sides and roof had evidently been roughly
chiselled out by the hands of man.
Here the fresh additions to the stores of the place were neatly
deposited, and the sailors sat down, while Gil busied himself in
examining a bale or two that seemed to have been gnawed by rats.
"I wonder where the skipper shoved that spying fellow Churr--him as we
searched for?" said one of the men in a low voice to his nearest
comrade.
"Further in, somewhere," was the reply; "I thought I could smell him
just now."
"That be rats," said the other; "I know them well enough. But does the
place go in far?"
"I believe you, my lad. I once went in ever so far with old Wat and the
skipper carrying lanterns."
"Did you?" said the other, eagerly; "and what be it like?"
"Like this here. All the same--hole after hole, with rough stone
pillars to support it all, just as it must have been dug out."
"Bah! chap, this was never cut out," said the other. "It came natural
like."
"Never cut out? Come natural like? Look here, my lad," said the
sailor, rising and pointing to marks upon the wall that seemed to have
been made with some rough tool.
"Yes, but anybody might have done that," said the younger man.
"You can think what you like," said the other. "I'm telling you what
the skipper told old Wat, and you never knew him tell a lie. He said to
old Wat, `My father found the way rabbiting when a boy, and forgot all
about it till he felt the want of a place to store things in unknown to
other folk, and then he recollected this.' He said it was made by folks
as lived underground hundreds of thousands of years ago."
"Oh?" said the other.
"Yes; and they dug first one and then another, as they wanted them, and
grew bigger in numbers, and that it went right in farther than they'd
ever been on account of the bad air."
"Same as down among the bilge in the ship's hold?"
"That's so. The skipper's father was most stifled by it once when he
tried to go right in."
"But do they go right in?" The elder sailor struck the top of an empty
barrel a sharp rap with the hilt of his sword, and the other's question
was answered, for the sound went echoing into the distance till it died
away.
"It be a queer sort of place," said the other, with a half shudder.
"Hang me if I'd like to be boxed up here along with Abel Churr, if the
skipper's stowed him there."
"Plenty of room and good water," said the other, pointing down to where
the source of the stream outside ran trickling through the interstices
of the stone, and formed tiny pools of limpid clearness.
"Ugh! the place smells damp and cold, and I should expect to come out,
if I was shut up here, all over blue mould."
"Like a bit of ship's cheese, eh? Come along: here's the skipper."
"Now, my lads!" cried Gill, just then, "work with a will, plenty to do."
He led the way, and the men followed him with a sense of relief out into
the bright sunshine, where the ferns fringed the rough arch over the
entrance to the hole.
They glanced at the heaps of stores and the various shipping chandlery,
spare sails and cordage, but all was so familiar that nothing excited
their interest.
Just as they reached the outside there was a whistle from below, and Gil
uttered an impatient ejaculation. But hurrying a little distance down,
he peered over a mass of rock, to see one of his men, who had been on
sentry, leading a dark figure with bandaged eyes.
"Father Brisdone!" said Gil. "Bring him along, my lad."
Going forward, he quickly undid the handkerchief and threw it aside.
"I forgot to tell them, father," he said, holding out his hand; "there
was no need with you."
"I do not wish to pry into any of your secrets, my son, that you do not
care to trust me with," said Father Brisdone, smiling as he took the
young man's hand.
"Trust you, father? Why, I'd trust you with anything. But you look
weary and hot with your journey. Sit down on yon stone: this is
nature's parlour. Here is something to eat. Lockyer, a bottle of that
wine from the case inside on the left. The cup too."
Leading the father to a nook by the side of the entry, he placed
refreshments before him, and then said--
"Now you shall see us lock up the house, for it may be a year before we
return."
"Why should you show me?" said Father Brisdone, smiling.
"Why should I not show the man whom I have always looked upon as a
trusty friend?" retorted Gil. "Now, my lads," he said, and, leaving the
father's side, he soon had his men busy with spade and shovel. First of
all the old stone was reared into its place. Then smaller blocks were
thrust in here and there, so as to completely wedge it in. Then shovels
of stones were thrown into fissures, and sods of earth, mingled with
grass and heather, were carefully arranged; after which broad-fronded
ferns, roots of rag-wort, grasses, and bramble roots were planted, dead
leaves sprinkled here and there, and touch after touch given till
nothing seemed left to be done but to pour water over the new earth to
bind it together, and make the plants take root.
"There," said Gil to the father, as he stopped by him, hot and panting;
"unless some spy has watched our work, that is safe enough, for in a
week's time those things will be growing again."
"Yes, that will be secure enough," said the father, rising. "Thanks, my
son, I was indeed faint for want of food. And now, what next?"
"Next, father, you will accompany my man there on board. The little
ship lies ready in the river; he will take you down in the skiff. If
all's well we shall be with you soon after midnight, and then heaven
send us favouring gales, for we shall drop down the river on the tide,
and put to sea at once."
"But no bloodshed, my son. For heaven's sake do not let the hand that
leads your promised wife on board be red with the blood of a
fellow-man."
"Father," said Gil, sternly, "I am no cut-throat; I am no lover of the
sword. I go to-night to fetch my wife, and I go with peace and love
towards all; but if that man or his followers stand in my path to
prevent us, they must take what follows, for I cannot trifle now."
Father Brisdone sighed.
"You know the consequences; if I do not get her away to-night, they are
to be wed at eight o' the clock, and to stay that, there must be a
deadly fray. Trust me, father; and, if I can help it, no blood shall be
shed."
"I trust you, my son. Go, and my blessing be with you. I shall make
the little cabin a chapel, where I shall pass the time in prayer for
your success."
"And then, father, a chapel where you make her mine by ties that none
can break."
"Amen, my son, amen!" said Father Brisdone; and they parted, the father
to follow his guide down the valley, and Gil to lead his men through one
of the forest tracks in the direction of Roehurst Pool, Wat and the
other watchers closing in behind.
The advance was made with caution to within a mile of the foundry,
where, beneath a spreading oak, Gil called a halt, and cast his eyes
over his party of twenty sturdy, well-armed men, every one of whom could
handle his weapon well.
"That will do, my lads," he said in his quick, imperious way. "Now lie
down, and eat and rest. Silence, every man; not a word above a whisper.
Goodsell, Kingley, two hundred paces each of you along the track. A
good look--out, and a quick whistle, if so much as a berry-hunting child
approach."
His orders were carried out, and then with the soft autumn evening
rapidly drawing nigh, Gil also went out through the forest to watch and
listen for the approach of footsteps that might end in the discovery of
his men.
Volume 3, Chapter III.