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
This time my foe was no half-hearted fellow, but a battle-seasoned
soldier, who by his own account--and as I doubted not--had fought in
Cromwell’s Ironsides, and smitten many a skilful swordsman to the death.
As I write these words I see again the stern, set face, the gleaming
eyes that flashed beneath his head-piece, the moonlight glimmering on
his breastplate, the sword that seemed to be alive--so swift and ready
were its movements. His height was little less than mine, and though I
judged his years to be well over fifty, his quickness, both of hand and
foot, was wonderful to see.
At first there was a look of mockery, if not of pity, on his face, but
when he found how well I knew my business this soon changed to one of
crafty eagerness. He thought me worth the killing, and he meant to do
it; while I, on my part, had then a no less firm intention.
Thus round and round we went upon that narrow strip of shore, each
fighting for his life beneath the staring moon; while those who watched
us made no sound except to gasp when a stroke or thrust of more than
common deadliness seemed to foretell the end.
At times our feet were fairly covered by the swirling foam, and once I
was driven, knee-deep, back into the sea by a sudden, mighty rush that
took me unawares, and came near finishing the business. But I saved
myself by springing out of reach, and then, with an answering rush,
drove my opponent back towards the cliffs.
And now it was that youth began to tell. The Roundhead’s breath came
faster than it had done, and there was more of fury in his fighting,
less of tempered skill. Perceiving this, I played a luring game, and,
retreating slowly, encouraged him to press me fiercely, content to guard
myself while he attacked. His blows and thrusts came fast and furious,
and one false movement would have surely meant my death, but I contrived
to parry everything, and soon the tale began to tell upon him sorely.
His breath rushed forth in gasps, and in the end I knew that I should
kill him if the fight continued. But I had slain one man that night and
had no desire to add another to the list if I could help it. Therefore
I sprang back suddenly and cried:
"Hold! Let us end this business while we have the chance. You have
fought well, indeed, but I am the younger man and have no wish to kill
you. Let then each of us depart in peace while he hath both life and
honour to his credit."
"What’s that!" he wellnigh shrieked. "A beardless stripling such as
thou doth offer quarter to a man like me? Behold my answer to your
mockery!"
With that he charged upon me like a maddened bull, and, with a diving
movement, aimed a blow at me which must have brought his very hilt
against my ribs had it gone fairly home.
"How’s that?" he hissed as he delivered it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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