Story 3--Chapter IV.
Anthony’s Home.
Martin Lee was right; for, half-choked with rage, his neighbour, Anthony Bray, had hurried out into the open, glad to get away from a scene of happiness that tortured and cut him to the heart. What was this sailor—this mate of a ship—that he should be preferred? Kate Lee had never looked on him like that, in spite of all his pleading; her face had never worn those kind smiles, nor been suffused with those rosy blushes at his approach; and it was cruel work for him to have all his hopes dashed to the ground in an instant; now hopeful—the next moment, by the entry of one stranger, plunged into misery and despair.
He hurried away to get his horse, and ride homeward; but after reaching the shed, he felt that it would look strange and unneighbourly to hurry away; so he determined to walk on a little until he grew calmer, then to return and stay till his customary hour, and go, as if nothing unusual were the matter.
“Fine evening, sir,” said a shepherd, returning with his charge.
But Bray heard him not, for the passion he sought to calm down grew hotter as he proceeded; and when at length he turned to retrace his steps, he knew that it would be madness on his part to go back to the house, unless he wished to provoke a quarrel.
The moon was high as he made his way back to where all was peace; the sunset rays still gilding the snowy tops of the mountains right and left; and, save for the occasional tinkle of a sheep-bell, or low of some beast, all was still.
Turning, by preference, from the moonlit turf, he threaded his way slowly amidst the tree-ferns and undergrowth by the pasture-side, till he once more approached the house in time to see Mrs Lee leave Katie and Edward together, when he stood, with burning cheek and knit brow, watching them, and torturing himself for a full hour, when they slowly strolled towards where he stood; and then, with a net-work of rays over them, he gazed upon a picture which seemed to madden him, till, from being cast down, Katie’s face was lifted, so that the moonbeams bathed it for a moment ere Edward Murray’s was bent down, slowly, tenderly, to press a long, loving kiss upon lips that did not shrink from the caress.
He could bear no more; but flinching backwards, as if, like some wild animal, he were preparing himself for a spring, he placed more and more distance between them; and then, forgetting his horse, he turned and fled furiously down the Gap to the little bay, where lay a small schooner. But Bray scarcely heeded the strange visitor, but turning the bend, made his way along the sands for about a mile, where another valley opened, along which he tore, panting and fierce, mile after mile, heedless of the intricacies of the path, till he reached his own dwelling. He took, mechanically, his accustomed round to see that all was safe; listened to the remarks of his men in a dumb, listless fashion; and then, throwing himself into a chair, sat, hour after hour, thinking: now, determining to be revenged—now to act with manly forbearance and fortitude, trying to crush down the misery in his heart—but all in vain, he could only recall, again and again, that moonlit scene; and as the memory of the embrace came upon him, he writhed in his chair, the veins upon his forehead growing knotted and hard, and his face black with passion.
His men had long before retired to their quarters; so that when, late in the night, there was an unusual disturbance amongst the dogs, it should have fallen to his lot to quiet them had he heard them baying; but he heard nothing, saw nothing, till a broad palm was laid upon his mouth, and his chair was dragged fiercely round, so that he was face to face with half a score of fierce, ruffianly-looking fellows, one of whom struck him back as he tried to rise to his feet.
“Keep where you are!” cried the ruffian, with an oath; “and tell us where you keep your powder and things?”
Bray, half-stunned and confused, did not reply to the demand.
“Speak, will you?” cried the fellow, blaspheming furiously as he seized the young man by the throat.
“I have hardly any,” gasped Bray, who was half-suffocated; and then, trembling for his life, he pointed out the few guns and rifles belonging to himself and men, noticing, as he did so, that some of his assailants were well armed, and some provided merely with a knife or axe.
They seized the weapons with almost a savage joy, and took possession of every scrap of lead and powder they could find, using the most horrible threats against Bray and his trembling men, whom they had bound, and dragged into the central room of the hut, if they dared to keep back any portion of their store. Then, after ransacking the place, they took every little thing that possessed value in their eyes, before consulting as to what should be done with their prisoners.
Bray’s heart sank, as he listened to their conference, and he could not for a moment doubt their readiness to perform any deed of blood. He felt that his last hour must be come, for all chance of escape seemed cut off; and, sinking into a sullen, despairing state, he was listening to the muttered appeals of his men, when a thought flashed across him which sent a gleam of ferocious joy into his eyes. The ruffians had come up this valley first, evidently from the schooner he had seen in the bay; their next foray would be up Golden Gap, when the Moa’s Nest must fall into their hands, and he would be revenged for the treatment he had received.
And Katie? He shuddered as his heart asked him that question, and he battled with himself, trying to harden, to steel his feelings against pity. He would be murdered, no doubt; and in his present state of mind he hardly wished to live—but Katie? Heavens! what a fate! He must warn them—put them on their defence. He could have slain Edward Murray—crushed his heel down upon his open English face; but Katie?—the woman? Was he a savage, that he had harboured such thoughts?
He bit his lips fiercely, and his eyes wandered eagerly round the rough-walled room in search of some means of escape; but there were none. And now, one by one, he saw his four men dragged out, the first two to go quietly, but the next moment uttering hoarse cries, shrieks for pity, for help, as if in despair at the fate awaiting them. Then, as a party of the ruffians seized the remaining two, they had taken the alarm, and begun to plead for mercy, promising anything—to show the convicts where there were richer stations—to join them—anything, if their lives were spared; for the strange silence that now prevailed outside the house, told that something dread had been enacted.
“Say a word for as, master; try and get us off! We’ve been good men to you, master—Not yet! give us a minute!” cried one poor wretch; and he struggled so fiercely, that the two men who were holding Bray hurriedly crossed the room, to kick, and help drag the unfortunate man towards the door.
It was for life; it was a moment not to be lost, and, with one bound, Bray reached the door leading into another room; dashed at it, so that it fell from its slight hinges; and then, as the report of a gun rang out, he leaped through the casement, shivering glass and leadwork to atoms, and falling heavily on the other side; but he was up in an instant, gave one glance round to see two of his men swinging in the moonlight from one of the trees, and then, followed by another shot, he rushed into the wood in front, and threaded his way rapidly through the trees, closely followed by his pursuers.
He knew that his only chance of safety was in concealment; for if he trusted to the open, they would run him down, or shoot him like a dog; or he might have made his way round by the shore, and then up Golden Gap, to warn them of the coming danger at the Moa’s Nest. He could only hide himself till the danger was over, and then— He shuddered; for once more he thought of Katie, as he hurried panting along, tripping over roots and creepers, climbing blocks of stone, till the shouts behind ceased, and he paused to take breath, resting upon a fragment of rock, and drawing heavily his laboured breath as the perspiration streamed down his face.
What could he do? How could he warn them? He felt that he must try, even if he did not succeed; though his heart told him that he would be too late, while the moon would show him as an easy mark for his pursuers. He must go, he felt, even if he laid down his life; and he turned to retrace his steps towards the track down the valley, when he stopped short.
Why could he not climb the mountain, and descend into the valley on the other side? It would be a long and arduous task; but then it would be free from enemies. He had never heard of such a feat being done; for it was the custom always to follow the track to the shore, skirt the end of the spur, and then ascend the Gap; but why could not this be possible? He would try, if he died in the attempt; and then, with panting breath, he began slowly to climb the face of the thickly-wooded mountain, finding it grow more steep and difficult as he passed every twenty yards, but fighting his way on—now finding a level spot, now a descent into a little stream-sheltering rift, which glistened in the moonbeams; but ever rising higher, till, having reached a crag by means of a long pendulous vine, he paused to breathe and listen; for a wild shriek, as from some dying despairing soul, had risen to his ear. He shuddered as it was repeated; and then shrank back into the black shade cast by a mass of lava which overhung his head, and listened again; but all was still.
He could not see his homestead from where he rested; for the view was shut out by the trees below him; but he started, for a vivid flash suddenly shot up, and then sank; but only to burst out again. And he ground his teeth, as he knew that they had fired the place, most probably just before leaving it; and in his mind’s eye he could see the wretches filing off, booty-laden, to make their way down the valley to the little bay at the end of the Gap.
There was no time to lose. His was not a fourth of the distance to travel; but the road was fearful, and a cold chilling feeling of despair fell upon him as, in making a spring upwards, he trod upon some loose stones, lost his footing, and fell heavily, rolling down some twenty feet into a rift, where, as he slowly gathered himself together and began to climb once more, the sobs of anguish forced themselves from his breast, and tears of weak misery coursed down his cheeks.
And now, grown more cautious—and knowing that, would he reach the summit, it could only be by husbanding his strength—he climbed on and on, every minute finding the way more arduous, and tangled with the majestic luxuriant growth of the country. Far up to the left he could see the moonbeams glittering on the snowy peaks, while to his right again towered a high mass. Could he but keep to the path that should lead him to the rift between, he might be in time—might warn them; but despair whispered “No” the next moment, as difficulty after difficulty met him at every step.
Rock, loose stone, thorny undergrowth, which tore his clothes and flesh; huge ferns, whose old frond stumps tripped him up again and again; creepers with snake-like branches: all had to be encountered; but the moon gave him a friendly light, and he was enabled to win his way, now faster, now slower, till, leaning again to rest upon a moonlit crag, whence he could look down upon his burning home, he started and shrank back into the darkness; for a faint noise below struck his ear, was repeated again and again, and he knew that he was followed.
His breath came thickly, as he felt how unavailing had been his efforts: but a moment before he had thought that he should win his way to the top, even if he should only be in time to witness a similar destruction to that going on at his feet; but now he felt that he was to be shot down, perhaps dashed into some rift, and stones hurled upon him; and maddened with despair, he sought for a weapon of defence.
Crash! there was the sound of a piece of rock loosened; and then again the rustling sound, plainly borne on the night air, as some one forced his way higher and higher.
What should he do? Wait and close with his adversary unarmed, trying to take him at some disadvantage, or should he toil on and try to outstrip him? The last he felt would be folly; for sooner or later, while passing over some moonlit spot, he would only become a plainer mark for his foe. He would stay and meet him there, beat him back with one of the masses of lava at his feet, if he were seen, or else let him pass on, and then seek out some other way.
The rustling came higher and higher, completely in his track—not loudly, but gently, as if the one who followed were light and active; but there was a sadden flash as from the barrel of a gun; and kneeling down at the edge of a crag, below which the pursuer must come, Bray waited with a couple of large masses ready at his hand, prepared to hurl them down when the opportunity should offer; for after deciding to proceed, he had given up the attempt as vain, and crouched there waiting for his foe.
He knelt in the shade; but the moonbeams lit up all around, and gave a distinctness to every object that was almost equal to that of day.
Nearer and nearer came the sounds; the great fronds were being parted here and there; a long fine stem that had lent him its aid shook and rattled as it was clasped from beneath. In another instant his foe would be within reach; and he raised one of the heavy fragments, poised it, and, as he saw a figure dart beneath, he hurled it down; but only for it to go crashing below, wakening the echoes in the rifts and chasms. The next instant he was dashed back, and a strong hand was upon his throat, a knee upon his chest, and a weapon raised to slay him; when, with a wild cry of despair, Bray forced his feet energetically against the rock, and thrust himself away, so that he held his foe half suspended over the edge of the yawning precipice.