THE BLACK ARROW
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
CHAPTER V--"BLOODY AS THE HUNTER"
The lads lay quiet till the last footstep had melted on the wind.
Then they arose, and with many an ache, for they were weary with
constraint, clambered through the ruins, and recrossed the ditch
upon the rafter. Matcham had picked up the windac and went first,
Dick following stiffly, with his cross-bow on his arm.
"And now," said Matcham, "forth to Holywood."
"To Holywood!" cried Dick, "when good fellows stand shot? Not I!
I would see you hanged first, Jack!"
"Ye would leave me, would ye?" Matcham asked.
"Ay, by my sooth!" returned Dick. "An I be not in time to warn
these lads, I will go die with them. What! would ye have me leave
my own men that I have lived among. I trow not! Give me my
But there was nothing further from Matcham's mind.
"Dick," he said, "ye sware before the saints that ye would see me
safe to Holywood. Would ye be forsworn? Would you desert me--a
"Nay, I sware for the best," returned Dick. "I meant it too; but
now! But look ye, Jack, turn again with me. Let me but warn these
men, and, if needs must, stand shot with them; then shall all be
clear, and I will on again to Holywood and purge mine oath."
"Ye but deride me," answered Matcham. "These men ye go to succour
are the I same that hunt me to my ruin."
Dick scratched his head.
"I cannot help it, Jack," he said. "Here is no remedy. What would
ye? Ye run no great peril, man; and these are in the way of death.
Death!" he added. "Think of it! What a murrain do ye keep me here
for? Give me the windac. Saint George! shall they all die?"
"Richard Shelton," said Matcham, looking him squarely in the face,
"would ye, then, join party with Sir Daniel? Have ye not ears?
Heard ye not this Ellis, what he said? or have ye no heart for your
own kindly blood and the father that men slew? 'Harry Shelton,' he
said; and Sir Harry Shelton was your father, as the sun shines in
"What would ye?" Dick cried again. "Would ye have me credit
"Nay, I have heard it before now," returned Matcham. "The fame
goeth currently, it was Sir Daniel slew him. He slew him under
oath; in his own house he shed the innocent blood. Heaven wearies
for the avenging on't; and you--the man's son--ye go about to
comfort and defend the murderer!"
"Jack," cried the lad "I know not. It may be; what know I? But,
see here: This man hath bred me up and fostered me, and his men I
have hunted with and played among; and to leave them in the hour of
peril--O, man, if I did that, I were stark dead to honour! Nay,
Jack, ye would not ask it; ye would not wish me to be base."
"But your father, Dick?" said Matcham, somewhat wavering. "Your
father? and your oath to me? Ye took the saints to witness."
"My father?" cried Shelton. "Nay, he would have me go! If Sir
Daniel slew him, when the hour comes this hand shall slay Sir
Daniel; but neither him nor his will I desert in peril. And for
mine oath, good Jack, ye shall absolve me of it here. For the
lives' sake of many men that hurt you not, and for mine honour, ye
shall set me free."
"I, Dick? Never!" returned Matcham. "An ye leave me, y' are
forsworn, and so I shall declare it."
"My blood heats," said Dick. "Give me the windac! Give it me!"
"I'll not," said Matcham. "I'll save you in your teeth."
"Not?" cried Dick. "I'll make you!"
"Try it," said the other.
They stood, looking in each other's eyes, each ready for a spring.
Then Dick leaped; and though Matcham turned instantly and fled, in
two bounds he was over-taken, the windac was twisted from his
grasp, he was thrown roughly to the ground, and Dick stood across
him, flushed and menacing, with doubled fist. Matcham lay where he
had fallen, with his face in the grass, not thinking of resistance.
Dick bent his bow.
"I'll teach you!" he cried, fiercely. "Oath or no oath, ye may go
hang for me!"
And he turned and began to run. Matcham was on his feet at once,
and began running after him.
"What d'ye want?" cried Dick, stopping. "What make ye after me?
"Will follow an I please," said Matcham. "This wood is free to
back, by 'r Lady!" returned Dick, raising his bow.
"Ah, y' are a brave boy!" retorted Matcham. "Shoot!"
Dick lowered his weapon in some confusion.
"See here," he said. "Y' have done me ill enough. Go, then. Go
your way in fair wise; or, whether I will or not, I must even drive
you to it."
"Well," said Matcham, doggedly, "y' are the stronger. Do your
worst. I shall not leave to follow thee, Dick, unless thou makest
me," he added.
Dick was almost beside himself. It went against his heart to beat
a creature so defenceless; and, for the life of him, he knew no
other way to rid himself of this unwelcome and, as he began to
think, perhaps untrue companion.
"Y' are mad, I think," he cried. "Fool-fellow, I am hasting to
your foes; as fast as foot can carry me, go I thither."
"I care not, Dick," replied the lad. "If y' are bound to die,
Dick, I'll die too. I would liever go with you to prison than to
go free without you."
"Well," returned the other, "I may stand no longer prating. Follow
me, if ye must; but if ye play me false, it shall but little
advance you, mark ye that. Shalt have a quarrel in thine inwards,
So saying, Dick took once more to his heels, keeping in the margin
of the thicket and looking briskly about him as he went. At a good
pace he rattled out of the dell, and came again into the more open
quarters of the wood. To the left a little eminence appeared,
spotted with golden gorse, and crowned with a black tuft of firs.
"I shall see from there," he thought, and struck for it across a
He had gone but a few yards, when Matcham touched him on the arm,
and pointed. To the eastward of the summit there was a dip, and,
as it were, a valley passing to the other side; the heath was not
yet out; all the ground was rusty, like an unscoured buckler, and
dotted sparingly with yews; and there, one following another, Dick
saw half a score green jerkins mounting the ascent, and marching at
their head, conspicuous by his boar-spear, Ellis Duckworth in
person. One after another gained the top, showed for a moment
against the sky, and then dipped upon the further side, until the
last was gone.
Dick looked at Matcham with a kindlier eye.
"So y' are to be true to me, Jack?" he asked. "I thought ye were
of the other party."
Matcham began to sob.
"What cheer!" cried Dick. "Now the saints behold us! would ye
snivel for a word?"
"Ye hurt me," sobbed Matcham. "Ye hurt me when ye threw me down.
Y' are a coward to abuse your strength."
"Nay, that is fool's talk," said Dick, roughly. "Y' had no title
to my windac, Master John. I would 'a' done right to have well
basted you. If ye go with me, ye must obey me; and so, come."
Matcham had half a thought to stay behind; but, seeing that Dick
continued to scour full-tilt towards the eminence and not so much
as looked across his shoulder, he soon thought better of that, and
began to run in turn. But the ground was very difficult and steep;
Dick had already a long start, and had, at any rate, the lighter
heels, and he had long since come to the summit, crawled forward
through the firs, and ensconced himself in a thick tuft of gorse,
before Matcham, panting like a deer, rejoined him, and lay down in
silence by his side.
Below, in the bottom of a considerable valley, the short cut from
Tunstall hamlet wound downwards to the ferry. It was well beaten,
and the eye followed it easily from point to point. Here it was
bordered by open glades; there the forest closed upon it; every
hundred yards it ran beside an ambush. Far down the path, the sun
shone on seven steel salets, and from time to time, as the trees
opened, Selden and his men could be seen riding briskly, still bent
upon Sir Daniel's mission. The wind had somewhat fallen, but still
tussled merrily with the trees, and, perhaps, had Appleyard been
there, he would have drawn a warning from the troubled conduct of
"Now, mark," Dick whispered. "They be already well advanced into
the wood; their safety lieth rather in continuing forward. But see
ye where this wide glade runneth down before us, and in the midst
of it, these two score trees make like an island? There were their
safety. An they but come sound as far as that, I will make shift
to warn them. But my heart misgiveth me; they are but seven
against so many, and they but carry cross-bows. The long-bow,
Jack, will have the uppermost ever."
Meanwhile, Selden and his men still wound up the path, ignorant of
their danger, and momently drew nearer hand. Once, indeed, they
paused, drew into a group, and seemed to point and listen. But it
was something from far away across the plain that had arrested
their attention--a hollow growl of cannon that came, from time to
time, upon the wind, and told of the great battle. It was worth a
thought, to be sure; for if the voice of the big guns were thus
become audible in Tunstall Forest, the fight must have rolled ever
eastward, and the day, by consequence, gone sore against Sir Daniel
and the lords of the dark rose.
But presently the little troop began again to move forward, and
came next to a very open, heathy portion of the way, where but a
single tongue of forest ran down to join the road. They were but
just abreast of this, when an arrow shone flying. One of the men
threw up his arms, his horse reared, and both fell and struggled
together in a mass. Even from where the boys lay they could hear
the rumour of the men's voices crying out; they could see the
startled horses prancing, and, presently, as the troop began to
recover from their first surprise, one fellow beginning to
dismount. A second arrow from somewhat farther off glanced in a
wide arch; a second rider bit the dust. The man who was
dismounting lost hold upon the rein, and his horse fled galloping,
and dragged him by the foot along the road, bumping from stone to
stone, and battered by the fleeing hoofs. The four who still kept
the saddle instantly broke and scattered; one wheeled and rode,
shrieking, towards the ferry; the other three, with loose rein and
flying raiment, came galloping up the road from Tunstall. From
every clump they passed an arrow sped. Soon a horse fell, but the
rider found his feet and continued to pursue his comrades till a
second shot despatched him. Another man fell; then another horse;
out of the whole troop there was but one fellow left, and he on
foot; only, in different directions, the noise of the galloping of
three riderless horses was dying fast into the distance.
All this time not one of the assailants had for a moment shown
himself. Here and there along the path, horse or man rolled,
undespatched, in his agony; but no merciful enemy broke cover to
put them from their pain.
The solitary survivor stood bewildered in the road beside his
fallen charger. He had come the length of that broad glade, with
the island of timber, pointed out by Dick. He was not, perhaps,
five hundred yards from where the boys lay hidden; and they could
see him plainly, looking to and fro in deadly expectation. But
nothing came; and the man began to pluck up his courage, and
suddenly unslung and bent his bow. At the same time, by something
in his action, Dick recognised Selden.
At this offer of resistance, from all about him in the covert of
the woods there went up the sound of laughter. A score of men, at
least, for this was the very thickest of the ambush, joined in this
cruel and untimely mirth. Then an arrow glanced over Selden's
shoulder; and he leaped and ran a little back. Another dart struck
quivering at his heel. He made for the cover. A third shaft
leaped out right in his face, and fell short in front of him. And
then the laughter was repeated loudly, rising and reechoing from
It was plain that his assailants were but baiting him, as men, in
those days, baited the poor bull, or as the cat still trifles with
the mouse. The skirmish was well over; farther down the road, a
fellow in green was already calmly gathering the arrows; and now,
in the evil pleasure of their hearts, they gave themselves the
spectacle of their poor fellow-sinner in his torture.
Selden began to understand; he uttered a roar of anger, shouldered
his cross-bow, and sent a quarrel at a venture into the wood.
Chance favoured him, for a slight cry responded. Then, throwing
down his weapon, Selden began to run before him up the glade, and
almost in a straight line for Dick and Matcham.
The companions of the Black Arrow now began to shoot in earnest.
But they were properly served; their chance had past; most of them
had now to shoot against the sun; and Selden, as he ran, bounded
from side to side to baffle and deceive their aim. Best of all, by
turning up the glade he had defeated their preparations; there were
no marksmen posted higher up than the one whom he had just killed
or wounded; and the confusion of the foresters' counsels soon
became apparent. A whistle sounded thrice, and then again twice.
It was repeated from another quarter. The woods on either side
became full of the sound of people bursting through the underwood;
and a bewildered deer ran out into the open, stood for a second on
three feet, with nose in air, and then plunged again into the
Selden still ran, bounding; ever and again an arrow followed him,
but still would miss. It began to appear as if he might escape.
Dick had his bow armed, ready to support him; even Matcham,
forgetful of his interest, took sides at heart for the poor
fugitive; and both lads glowed and trembled in the ardour of their
He was within fifty yards of them, when an arrow struck him and he
fell. He was up again, indeed, upon the instant; but now he ran
staggering, and, like a blind man, turned aside from his direction.
Dick leaped to his feet and waved to him.
"Here!" he cried. "This way! here is help! Nay, run, fellow--
But just then a second arrow struck Selden in the shoulder, between
the plates of his brigandine, and, piercing through his jack,
brought him, like a stone, to earth.
"O, the poor heart!" cried Matcham, with clasped hands.
And Dick stood petrified upon the hill, a mark for archery.
Ten to one he had speedily been shot--for the foresters were
furious with themselves, and taken unawares by Dick's appearance in
the rear of their position--but instantly, out of a quarter of the
wood surprisingly near to the two lads, a stentorian voice arose,
the voice of Ellis Duckworth.
"Hold!" it roared. "Shoot not! Take him alive! It is young
And immediately after a shrill whistle sounded several times, and
was again taken up and repeated farther off. The whistle, it
appeared, was John Amend-All's battle trumpet, by which he
published his directions.
"Ah, foul fortune!" cried Dick. "We are undone. Swiftly, Jack,
And the pair turned and ran back through the open pine clump that
covered the summit of the hill.