The Black Box: A Tale of Monmouth's RebellionCooke, W. Bourne
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The Black Box: A Tale of Monmouth's Rebellion
Cooke, W. Bourne
Monmouth's Rebellion, 1685 -- Juvenile fiction; Monmouth, James Scott, Duke of, 1649-1685 -- Juvenile fiction
Darting off in the direction of the noise, I soon perceived the cause of
it. Someone had gone by sheer force through a lofty hedge of privet,
which served as a boundary to the orchard. Where one had thus escaped,
another might be counted on to follow; taking a run, I hurled myself
fiercely at the hedge, and after much struggling (for it was wondrous
thick and strong) tumbled head foremost, out upon the other side.
Here a narrow foothold ended in a high, steep bank, and such was my
eagerness that I had much ado to keep from rolling to the bottom; but by
clutching at the grass I saved myself, and rising, looked about me.
Below me lay a well-grown spinney, and from thence, though no one was in
sight, came the sound of swiftly-running feet.
Next moment I was down the bank and speeding round the outskirts of the
wood, with flying footsteps right ahead of me. I was reckoned very
fleet in those days, but he whom I now pursued flew like the wind; and
what with that, and the many bends and juttings of the wood, he beat me:
run as I would I could not get a sight of him.
In this mad fashion we must have circled round the wood at least three
times, and I was just wondering what the end of such a giddy chase would
be, when suddenly the running footsteps of my quarry ceased behind a
clump of bushes thirty yards or so ahead. Breathless, I stopped to
listen. The hurried pad of feet was followed by a curious scraping
noise--then all was still again.
Drawing my sword I crept up to the bushes and took a cautious peep
beyond them. But there was no one visible, and, indeed, I had not
thought there would be. Still, I was greatly puzzled, for it seemed
certain that the fellow could neither have run on nor through the wood
without my hearing him. Where, then, was he?
Asking myself that question, I fell to searching carefully with hand and
sword among the bushes. But they proved innocent of harbourage; no one
was there. In doing this I came beneath a thick-leaved oak tree, and
chancing to glance up, was startled by the vision of a pair of shoeless,
grey-hosed feet, which dangled from a lofty branch; no more of their
owner was visible to me, the rest of him being hidden by the foliage.
So astonished was I by this sight, that at first I could do naught save
stare in blank amazement. Then an idea came to me. Walking off as
though I had not noticed anything, I covered twenty yards or more, then
turned suddenly and faced the tree. Barely had I done this ere a pistol
shot rang out, and, as the bullet whistled past my head, I saw the evil,
crinkled mask of Tubal Ammon peering at me from the oak leaves.
*CHAPTER III*
*Up a Tree*
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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