River Legends; Or, Father Thames and Father Rhine
stipulating that, if success attended their attempt, the Baroness should
be delivered up to her mercy. The chief difficulty was in the means
of transit, for the castle, being upon an island, could not easily be
attacked except the latter were first reached by its assailants.
At one side the island was very near the mainland, from which a strip of
land jutted out into the lake, and a large wooden bridge connected the
two. This was the ordinary means of approach; and as a strong gate was
placed at the island end of the bridge, over which a sentinel always
watched, it was not very easy for any considerable body of men to cross
over without their coming being made known to the inhabitants of the
castle. Martha, however, was equal to the occasion. She managed to make
friends with the sentinel on the night for which the attack was planned,
and having induced him to abandon his post for a time, gave him a cup of
tea so well drugged that he was quite unable to return there. The
effect upon this man, I may here mention, was a melancholy one. From
thenceforth he eschewed tea for ever, and took to drinking ale and
spirits for the rest of his life, which should be a warning to all
persons to take care what they put into their tea, and by whom they
allow themselves to be tempted to partake of that usually refreshing
beverage.
Having {089}thus obtained possession of the key, Martha stole out and
unlocked the bridge-gate, and returned to the castle delighted with her
success. Once on the little island, the invaders of the castle would
have little difficulty. The drawbridge was left down, the doors
generally left open, and such was the security of the Baron in
those peaceful days, that no precautions, further than guarding the
bridge-gate, were ever taken against surprise. Besides the servants,
there were not above five-and-twenty men-at-arms in the castle; and as
several hundred peasants were likely to attack, there could be little
doubt of the result, provided always that the surprise was as complete
as Martha intended.
The night was clear and moonlight when the attacking party drew near.
They were a strange-looking body of men, rudely and poorly clad, and
armed with weapons of a varied and curious character. Some had clubs,
some stakes sharpened at the points, some knives, daggers, and oddly
fashioned swords, whilst not a few had only spades or prongs, and some
appeared unprovided with any weapons save those which nature had given
them. They crossed the bridge without opposition, found to their delight
that the gate was open, passed quietly through it, and got safely upon
the island. They advanced to the drawbridge, crossed it, and had nothing
to do but to enter the doors beyond, and find themselves inside the
castle.
The family had passed a somewhat unpleasant day. The Baron had taken
deeply to heart the loss of his daughters, of whom he had become more
than usually fond since his supposed son had shown himself of such
a disagreeable character. The latter had been that day more
{090}mischievous and troublesome than ever: as the Baroness had a
headache, he had amused himself with making as much noise as he possibly
could, and had, moreover, indulged his passion for practical jokes
by putting live toads into the maid-servants’ beds, and turning the
ink-bottle into the Baron’s after-dinner decanter of port wine. The
household not having been rendered more comfortable or harmonious by
these innocent pastimes of the pretended Hubert, were about to retire
to rest, when the sudden arrival of the insurgent peasants gave them
something else to think of.
As soon as they were well inside the doors, the attacking party kept
silence no longer, but, with loud shouts, began their work of plunder.
The defenders of the castle were really so completely surprised, that
resistance was almost impossible. The trembling servants hid themselves
wherever they could--the groom of the chamber shutting himself up
securely in the housemaid’s closet, the housekeeper flying instantly
to the butler’s pantry, and the latter functionary betaking himself
immediately to the beer-cellar, from which he was with difficulty
dragged when the affair was over, but was never the same man afterwards.
The men-at-arms, I am sorry to say, did but little better. Utterly
bewildered at the whole business, they made no attempt at resistance
until it was too late, and within a very short time the castle was in
the hands of the invaders.
As soon as the Baron heard the first outcry he rang the bell loudly,
and, as nobody answered, presently repeated the performance, with a
precisely similar result. He had been just about to retire to rest, but
finding that the {091}uproar increased, and that something serious had
certainly happened, he desisted from the act of pulling off his boots,
seized his sword, and rushed down into the large state-room, where he
was presently joined by some eight or ten of the men-at-arms and two or
three of the household servants. As soon as he found that the castle
had been attacked, and was actually in possession of an enemy, the Baron
gnashed his teeth with rage at having been thus caught unprepared; but,
being a man of courage, despite his natural laziness, determined to sell
his life dearly at the least. He and his few retainers had just time
to barricade the door at one end of the room, and place the large
library-table and some other articles of furniture in such a position
as to give them a better chance of self-defence if attacked by numbers,
when the doors at the other end of the room were thrown violently open,
and a crowd of peasants rushed in, yelling and bawling in loud and
discordant tones as they advanced towards the master of the castle. It
was at this moment that the old blood of the Bandelboots showed itself
to advantage. The Baron displayed no signs of fear, but, drawing himself
up to his full height (which, being barely four feet six inches, was of
itself not imposing), and violently stamping his foot upon the floor, he
thus addressed the intruders:--
“How now, varlets! Whence and for what object come ye here? How do ye
dare, ye scum of the earth, to enter your Baron’s castle and beard a
Bandelboots in his lair?”
Then stepped there forth a tattered, ragged, famished-looking man, well
known in those parts by the name of Crazy Timothy; his eyes were wild
and staring, his dress {092}torn, and his whole appearance seemed amply
to justify his nickname.
“We want our rights!” he cried in a loud voice. “What is a Bandelboots
to us more than anybody else? We are starving, whilst you and your vile
Baroness revel in plenty. Give us our rights--these are the days when
the poor are as good as the rich! No more starvation for the poor
peasant! Give us our rights!”
And thereupon the whole crew took up the chorus. “Our rights! our
rights!--give us our rights!” and made as though they would advance upon
the old Baron. The latter quailed not for a moment, but, curling his
lips scornfully, thus made reply:--
“Rights? But what are they? Is it your rights to enter a peaceful
dwelling and rob its owner? If these are your rights, why are they
_yours_ more than the rights of all the rest of the world? What better
title have you to your homes than I to mine? And if you may enter and
rob my castle, what protection has any one of you for his own cottage,
which some one may say it is _his_ right to enter and destroy? Poor
churls! ye are deceived, and will but bring ruin upon yourselves. Retire
before it is too late, and ye shall yet be pardoned!” Whatever might
have been the Baron’s intention in uttering {093}these words, I am sorry
to say that they had no conciliatory effect upon those to whom they were
addressed. Shouting aloud and brandishing their weapons, they were about
to advance upon the venerable nobleman, when, from a side door, some
new personages suddenly appeared upon the scene. Pushed along in a chair
upon wheels, to which she was securely bound, came the Baroness, in the
custody of several peasants, who were under the more immediate guidance
and control of Martha Scweinvolt. The latter, with a face beaming with
delight, followed triumphantly behind, whilst the false heir, weeping
and howling piteously, trotted by the side of the chair, driven forward
by the peasants who ushered the Baroness into the room.
The poor Baroness presented a spectacle sad indeed to behold. She was in
a towering rage, but at the same time perfectly helpless, and foamed at
the mouth with fury as she strove in vain to get loose from the cords
with which she was tied.
When these new arrivals had advanced into the room between the Baron and
the peasants, there was a momentary pause, during which Martha stepped
in front of the chair upon which the poor Baroness was fastened, and,
pointing at her with outstretched arm and scornful gesture, addressed
the peasants in these words:--
“Here she is, good people; here is the source of all your ills--the
cause of all your woes! The poor fool of a Baron would do no harm but
for this vile woman. See what a passion she is in now! This is her usual
temper; and no wonder she is such a tyrant, and makes her husband the
same!”
At {094}this point the Baroness broke in, having previously-vented her
rage in sobs and incoherent shrieks. “Let me loose! let me loose!”
she cried. “You riff-raff--you vagabonds--you traitors--let me loose
directly! This wretched creature has deceived you all; she is a
worthless, good-for-nothing hussy. Let me loose, or I vow you shall all
be hanged!” And the Baroness shrieked for fury again, her temper being
by no means improved by the false heir, who, despite all his fears for
himself, seeing her securely tied, could not resist the temptation of
giving her a fearful pinch in the fleshy part of the arm, for which a
peasant instantly knocked him down.
Before Martha could speak again, the Baron, who was a good old chap in
the main, roared out aloud: “By my grandfather’s monument!” cried he (an
oath all the more terrible from the edifice in question being well known
to be the largest and ugliest of its kind for miles around); “this is
past all bearing! Knaves! will ye list to the falsehoods of this base
harridan, who has eaten our salt for years, and now wags her evil tongue
against a kind, though perhaps somewhat hasty, mistress? Never has the
Baroness said a word against one of ye. _My_ faults, whatever they be,
are mine own, and for them _I_ will answer. But what has the Baroness
done? Who sends ye alms and food when sickness is amongst ye? Who helps
your wives and children when trouble is in your homes? Who but the
Baroness? And is _this_ your gratitude?”
There was some truth in what the Baron now said, for his wife was by no
means unkind to the poor, nor would they have readily turned against her
but for the wiles {095}of Martha, assisted by the magical powers of the
wehr-wolves. But Martha knew too well to let the Baron continue. She
broke in upon his discourse with her shrill, sharp voice: “Hear the good
man, my friends; he is right to stand up for his wife, no doubt, but he
knows well that he is false to the truth. She is a wretch, a tyrant,
a termagant! Yes, Madam the Baroness,” she continued, coming close in
front of the chair, and approaching her face much nearer to that of the
poor lady than the latter deemed at all pleasant--“yes, your reign is at
an end--do you hear, you old fright? Your back hair shall be pulled out;
though, as it is nearly all false, it will cause you but little pain.
Your nose shall be wrung!--your ears shall be slit!--and you shall serve
_me_--do you hear? Oh, _you’re_ a pretty one to box a person’s ears.
I’ll pay you out _now_ for _that_, I’ll warrant me!” And as she spoke