The Northern Iron Part 7

Micah Ward, without seeming to hear his brother's speech, stalked bare-headed from the room and led the way to the meeting-house.

The yeomen were marching up the hill from the main road. They sang a song with a ribald chorus, such as men sing in a tavern when they have drunk deep. Lord Dunseveric and Maurice had already reached the door of the meeting-house, and sat silent on their horses.

"Mr. Ward," said Lord Dunseveric, "will you give me the keys and save me from the necessity of breaking open the door? I see Neal with you. I suppose he has told you what we have come to do?"

"I shall never render the keys to you," said Micah Ward. "Do the work of scorn and oppression that you intend, but do not ask me to aid you."

The yeomen, still singing, straggled up while Lord Dunseveric and Micah Ward spoke. Suddenly their song ceased, and they listened in a silence of sheer amazement while Donald Ward addressed their captain.

"Say"--his voice was cold, clear, and contemptuous--"do you call yourself a captain? And is this your notion of discipline? I guess, young fellow, if we'd had you with General Greene in Carolina we'd have combed you out and flogged the drunken ragam.u.f.fins you're supposed to be commanding. But I reckon you're just the meanest kind of Britisher there is, that kind that swaggers and runs away."

"Seize that man," said Captain Twinely. "Tie him up. Flog him. Cut the life out of him."

Lord Dunseveric touched his horse with the spur and rode forward.

"Captain Twinely, I told you I should have no flogging here. I mean to be obeyed. And you, sir, you are a stranger here. Who are you?"

"This," said Micah Ward, laying his hand on his brother's arm, "is my brother."

"Captain Twinely, dismount two of your men. Let them conduct Mr. Ward and his brother back to the manse and mount guard at the door. Maurice, tie your horse to the tree yonder, and go with them. See that no incivility is used. When they are safe in the manse you can return here."

Neal walked to the rear of the troop, and stood at the side of the road near the wall, while his father and uncle were marched away under charge of two troopers and Maurice St. Clair.

"Sergeant," said Captain Twinely, "take four men and force this door."

Neal heard his name called in a low voice by some one near him.

"Neal, Neal, Neal Ward."

It was Una's voice. His father and uncle had pa.s.sed down the road. The yeomen were eagerly watching their comrades' attempts to force the door.

Neal stepped over the low stone wall. He felt a hand grasp his and heard Una speak again.

"Neal, stay with us. I'm frightened."

A low musical laugh followed, and then the voice of the Comtesse--

"You are a most ungallant cavalier, Mr. Neal. You left us alone in one ditch this evening already. You really must not leave us in another."

The effort to force the door of the meeting-house was unsuccessful.

"Put a musket to the key-hole," said Captain Twinely, "and blow off the lock."

There was an explosion. The woodwork was splintered and shattered. A single push opened the door.

"Now," said Captain Twinely, "come in and search."

The little meeting-house was scantily furnished. A high, octangular wooden pulpit with a precentor's pew in front of it stood at the far end. The place was bare of hanging or cupboard which could have been used as a hiding-place. The men tramped about, upsetting the benches and cursing as they tripped upon them.

"It's as dark as h.e.l.l," said Captain Twinely. "Send a man down to the minister's house and let him fetch up a bundle of bogwood to serve us for torches. I must have light."

One of the men departed on the errand. The sergeant, mounted on the pulpit, rapped on the desk in front of him to secure silence, and said in a high-pitched, drawling voice--

"Beloved! Brands s.n.a.t.c.hed from the burning! Sanctified vessels! Let us, in this hour of trial and tribulation, when the unG.o.dly triumph and prosper in their way, let us sing the Ould Hunderd to the comfort of our souls."

At the sound of his voice the troopers who remained outside crowded into the building, leaving two or three of their number to take care of the horses. Well satisfied with his congregation, the sergeant sang to the tune sanctified by two centuries of Puritan worship:--

"There was a Presbyterian cat Who loved her neighbour's cream to sup; She sanctified her theft with prayer Before she dared to lap it up."

A burst of applause greeted the performance of this ribald parody. There were calls for more such psalmody. "Give us another verse, Sergeant."

"Tune up again, d.i.c.k." "Goon, goon." Lord Dunseveric, who had remained outside, dismounted and stalked through the door. He had caught the tune, though not the words of the sergeant's song. He guessed at some ribald irreverence within. His face was white with anger.

"Silence," he cried.

The sergeant, half drunk, looked at him with an insolent grin.

"Your lordship will like the second verse better--

"There was a Presbyterian wife--"

Lord Dunseveric forced his way through the soldiers who stood between him and the singer, and approached the pulpit with clenched fists and lips pressed close together.

"Who found her husband growing old; She sanctified-----"

sang the sergeant, leering at Lord Dunseveric, but before he got any further a woman's shriek rang through the building. The sergeant stopped abruptly. The men crowded through the door, eager for some new excitement. Lord Dunseveric and Captain Twinely followed as quickly as they could. There was another shriek, a sound of blows and cursing.

Then men's voices rose above the tumult. "Down with the d.a.m.ned croppy."

"Throttle him." "Knife him." "Hold him now you've got him." "Take a belt for his arms." "Ah, here's Tarn with the torches." "Strike a light, one of you." "There's two of them, two wenches, by G.o.d, and young ones."

"Fetch them into the meeting-house and make them dance." "Ay, by G.o.d, we'll tie their petticoats round their necks and then make them dance."

There was a rush of men to the door of the meeting-house. Lord Dunseveric and Captain Twinely were borne back before they could see what was going on. Some one struck a light and illuminated a branch of bogwood which he held above his head as a torch.

"Drag in the prisoner," yelled a voice. "We'll give him a place in the front and let him see his wenches dance."

Lord Dunseveric, unable to make his voice heard above the tumult, saw Neal Ward, his arms bound to his sides by a belt strapped round him, dragged into the meeting-house. His face was cut and bleeding slightly.

His coat was rent from collar to skirt.

"Make way, make way, for the ladies."

A trooper entered with two women. He had an arm clasped round each.

Lord Dunseveric recognised with amazement and horror his daughter and sister-in-law. Una made no resistance. She was terrified into a state of helplessness. The Comtesse struggled desperately, tearing with her hands at the trooper's face. Captain Twinely recognised the ladies almost immediately, and strove to reach them. Before he could make his way Lord Dun-severic's voice rang out above the tumult.

"Maurice, are you there? Come in here at once."

There was something in his voice, a tone of authority, a note of grim determination, which cowed the rabble of men for an instant. Maurice St.

Clair pushed his way through the door in silence.

"Maurice," said Lord Dunseveric, this time in quiet, even tones, "take that scoundrel by the throat, and if he offers any resistance choke him."

The man loosed his hold of the two women, and his hand flew to his sword hilt, but before he could draw it, Maurice bounded upon him and flung him to the ground. Once, twice, thrice, as the trooper strove to raise himself, his head was dashed down on the hard earthen floor of the meeting-house.