Chapter L: L. Weedon

Defending the Fort

A SOLDIER in the uniform of a French grenadier was clambering up the side of a steep ravine. His face and hands were covered with scratches, and he was hot and breathless, but still he pressed eagerly after his guide, a young goatherd, only pausing for a second to ask, "Does the fort lie over yonder?"

"But half a league further," answered the boy, tossing back his shaggy hair, and on they plunged through the underwood, by a path that nobody but one born and bred among those mountains could have found.

They had come six miles across country at a desperate pace, but fatigue was nothing to the grenadier, La Tour d'Auvergne, a name already known for valour throughout the length and breadth of France. He had a mission to accomplish, and his duty came before all else.

"Yonder is the fort; you have but to follow the path up the pass," said his guide at last.

La Tour's eyes brightened, he put some money into the lad's hand, and the latter disappeared among the bushes. Inspired by fresh courage the weary grenadier pounded up the narrow rocky way, but he was surprised, as he approached the building, that no sentinel challenged him. What was the garrison doing that it took no precautions against a sudden attack? La Tour had an inward feeling that all was not right: his heart misgave him as he rushed up to the door.

Why he had come was that he had received news that a regiment of Austrians was pushing forward to get possession of the fort. If they succeeded, it would be a serious matter for the French army, and La Tour had set out instantly to warn the garrison. The fort was ten miles distant by road, but he had found a young goatherd to take him a short way across the mountains.

The door yielded as the grenadier flung his weight against it: he gave a shout as he burst into the court, but no one answered it. "The cowards!" he exclaimed in indignation, "they have deserted the place! The mean-spirited rascals! Would that I had the hanging of them!"

It was but too true: the garrison had evidently been warned of the approach of the enemy, and had fled after the main body of the French army. They had gone off in a great hurry, for muskets lay scattered about on the ground. "Villains!" muttered La Tour, and, having completed his survey of the place, he began to prepare for the Austrians. The dauntless soldier knew that if he could delay the enemy's movements for even twenty-four hours, it would be of enormous value to his countrymen. The fort was in a fine position, at the head of a steep pass, and La Tour meant to hold it as long as there was life in his lean, strong body.

There were some thirty muskets, and these he loaded; he then barricaded the heavy door as well as he could, ate a hearty meal—plenty of provisions were left fortunately—and sat down to await the enemy.

The night came on, and presently the grenadier caught the sound of footsteps tramping up the narrow pass. Instantly he fired a couple of shots into the darkness and heard the footsteps retreating. Although desperately weary, the defender of the fort did not dare to close his eyes, and he was glad enough when morning dawned.

"We shall see what will happen now," said La Tour to himself.

As soon as it was light, a soldier with a flag of truce came up the path: the Austrian Government had sent to summon the garrison to surrender.

La Tour naturally did not let the messenger inside. "You can go back and inform your Commandant," he called out, "that we are here to defend the pass for France, and that as long as there is a man left, this fort will not yield."

The envoy retired, and the bold grenadier made ready for action. Presently he found that the Austrians were hauling a small cannon up the pass, and as soon as the gunners came in sight he let fly at them, taking care to keep well under cover himself. Five men went down, one after the other, and the rest beat a retreat.

"Ah, ha! 'tis not as easy as you fancied, my fine fellows," said La Tour, re-loading his guns.

He guessed pretty well that the enemy's next move would be to make a sudden dash and try and take the fort by storm, and he guessed rightly. But the pass was so narrow that the men could only come on two abreast, and La Tour, an expert at quick firing, picked them off until fifteen were lying dead or wounded on the ground. Scared, the rest fled down the pass once more, leaving the "garrison" a victor. The Commandant was furious, and later a third assault was made, but with the same result as before. By sunset more than forty of his men were killed. The rest were getting discouraged too: for it was like walking into the jaws of certain death to march up that narrow path.

Once again the white flag was seen before the main entrance of the fort, and the garrison was called upon to surrender. By this time La Tour was almost worn out: he knew that he could not possibly hold out much longer, so he proceeded to make the best terms he could.

"The garrison is to be allowed to march out with their arms, and retire unmolested to the French army," was his stipulation.

After a good deal of parleying, the Commandant agreed to this, and La Tour promised to give up the fort at break of day. Then he dropped down, half dead with fatigue, and went to sleep; he had done all he could, and had gained a certain amount of time. Probably if the real garrison had been there, they might not have been able to accomplish much more.

The grenadier was so weary that the sun was already high when he woke, and a furious battering at the great door reminded him of his compact. The Austrians were outside clamouring for the fort to be delivered up to them.

"You are in too great a hurry, my friends," muttered La Tour, grabbing an armful of muskets, "come, a little patience"—as the blows re-doubled—"the garrison is not ready yet," and he went on calmly gathering the guns together. Then he picked up a couple of straps and fastened them together.

Outside, on the little plateau at the head of the pass which the Austrians had vainly attempted to gain, the troops were now drawn up in line. They left a space for the garrison to march through, and waited impatiently for them to appear.

"What on earth are the fellows about?" growled the Colonel, who was in command, "do they mean to keep us here all day? Here, go and tell the Captain that if the fort be not instantly given into my hands, I shall hold the agreement at an end."

At that moment the heavy door was pushed slowly open, and, to the astonishment of the Austrians, a solitary man appeared, a grenadier. He staggered along with thirty muskets strapped on his back, and, as the Colonel stepped forward, La Tour d'Auvergne saluted.

"But where is the garrison?" cried the Colonel quickly.

"It means that you behold here the garrison, Colonel."

"What!" thundered the Austrian, "do you expect me to believe that we have been held at bay all these hours by one man? Where are your comrades?"

La Tour explained, and, for a moment, the officer stood dumb-founded: then he raised his hand to his cap, saying, "Grenadier, you are a hero! Your emperor is indeed fortunate to possess so valiant a soldier," and a ringing shout of approval went up from the troops as La Tour, again saluting, went slowly onwards, with his load of weapons. He had killed a number of their companions, but they knew how to respect a brave soldier.

La Tour was one of the most modest of men, and would never accept the honours and dignities offered him as a reward for his many deeds of valour. One title, however, was given to him, by which he was known both in his own country and in others, that of "The First Grenadier of France."

So one reads of him in the pages of history, and at Carhaix, in Brittany, his birthplace, a memorial ceremony was kept up for about fifteen years after his death in 1800.

The roll-call of the Grenadiers began each day with the famous name of La Tour d'Auvergne. There was an impressive silence that lasted a few moments, and then the colour sergeant, stepping forward, saluted gravely, and made answer: "Dead on the field of honour!"

Sheila Braine.

A Border Raid

LONG John o' the Limp sat with his back against the mounting-block, polishing a pair of steel gauntlets.

The sun, not a great way as yet above the low peat hills that edged the little valley to eastwards, flung the shadow of the grey peel-tower far along the grass, and Long John o' the Limp shifted his legs to bring them into the sunshine.

"Hey! but I must be growing old, for I get as fond of warmth nowadays as a cat of the fire," grunted the moss-trooper, his keen eye following the course of the stream that gurgled among its rushes as it flowed from the Scottish border, "and yet—if those reiving loons came riding here I doubt not they would find some bite still left in these withered jaws!"

"Good-morrow, Long John," said a sweet girl voice behind him, and there in the doorway of the Tower stood little Mistress Alison Langley, hawk upon fist, and her riding skirt gathered up in the other hand.

"Grammercy, child, and where be ye going?" said the moss-trooper, getting slowly to his feet, for he was sadly lame from the slash of a Jedburgh axe in an old border raid.

"Jocelyn flies his new falcon on the Red Moss, and I go with him," said the pretty little maid, her golden hair all a-curl about her cheeks, and looking mighty charming in the ancient doorway.

Before Long John could open his mouth, Jocelyn came down the narrow stone stairs which wound in the thickness of the wall, and burst out into the sunshine—a brown-faced boy in a green doublet, a heron's feather in his flat cap, and a pair of silver spurs on his heels.

"Have a care, Master Jocelyn," said Long John, "the Red Moss is not the safest place for your father's son, and if Wat Armstrong should spy you, there will be wiping off of old scores."

"Black Wat has not dared to show his nose on English ground since my father burned his tower and harried his lands three years ago," said Jocelyn proudly; "and why should he be on the Red Moss to-day?"

"Laddie," said the old man, smiling, the while he shook his grey head, "the Langleys were ever venturesome; but go your own road, only, mind ye, the Flower o' Langley goes wi' ye, and if she come to harm whilst your father is away I would not face his wrath for all the gold in Northumberland!"

"My sister will never meet hurt or harm while I am beside her," cried Jocelyn, touching his sword significantly; "but I promise you we will ride no farther than the White Stone, and here comes Halbert with the horses."

Through the ford, and up the valley they went, scaring the feeding cattle, scattering the snowy tufts of the cotton grass, over the springy heather that purpled the hillside, and so to the moss, three miles away.

There, with eyes dancing and cheeks aglow, they reined in beside a clump of gean, or wild cherry, and scanned the sedgy marsh that bordered the lonely moorland.

"Yonder is our quarry, Ally—see, a grey heron rising from the reeds!" and the boy unhooded the gerfalcon in haste. "Hooha—ha—ha!" he cried, tossing the bird free, and away it raked, with the musical jingle of bells, and graceful trail of jesses.

The heron changed its seemingly slow flight and mounted rapidly, up, up; but the falcon, winging in circles, rose high above the quarry, and poised for the stoop with quiver of sails and train wide spread. Then, dropping with the rapidity of light, set his pounces into the heron.

With a mighty whir of wings, and showering of feathers, the two birds came to earth, and Jocelyn gave a loud "whoop," which, in the language of falconry, meant a kill.

"Come along, Ally," he shouted, setting his pony over the trickle of a tiny burn, "you shall have a fine bunch of tail coverts." But the words had scarce left Jocelyn's lips when Alison saw him pull the grey jennet well nigh on to his croup and toss his arm up for a danger signal.

There were armed men upon the moss and the glint of the sun upon steel caps.

Alison had already leaped her pony across the burn, where the treacherous quagmire was soft and spongy, and she gave a cry of alarm as the frightened creature sank over his fetlocks and floundered wildly.

"Have no fear, little lady," said a deep voice beside her, and a strange man rose out of the hazel copse and grasped her rein.

A plunge and a squeal of terror from the pony, and then the stranger had plucked the pair from all danger, and set them safely in the bed of the burn.

"By my faith, pretty lassie, ye hae a fine spirit and a soft cheek," said the bearded man, patting the one as he praised the other; "but your confounded moss is a fearsome spot, and I came none too soon—nay, look not sae scared—Wat Armstrong will do ye nae hurt, and maybe ye'll tell me if we ride in the way for Langley Tower?"

Jocelyn came spurring back.

"If you follow us we will show you the path you seek," he said, his face scarlet, and his eyes meeting Alison's. "You have saved my sister from peril, and one courtesy deserves another," and thus speaking, he led her pony up to the bank top, as the reiver's band came straggling out of the hazel copse, forty moss-troopers with spears and axes.

"Now for our lives, Ally," he cried, striking her pony with the flat of his sword, and away tore brother and sister up the grassy valley before the reiver had inkling of their design.

"By the rood!" shouted Black Wat, smiting his thigh, "they hae baith of them the fair hair of the cursed Langleys—ride men, ride, else our trouble is a' for naught—we shall cut them off at the brae heid!"

From forty throats went up a yell that sent the curlews wheeling over the moss, and the earth trembled with the thunder of iron hoofs, but the ponies were fresh, and pacing like the wind, and already they had good start of their pursuers.

"Beware the heather roots, Ally," cried Jocelyn between his set teeth, "one stumble, and they will burn our Tower; if aught happen me, ride on and warn Long John!"

She nodded, and no other word was spoken, as they tore side by side past the rowan trees that showed their red berries, and the clumps of silver birch.

* * * * *

"Hey, but the times are soft as tow on a distaff," said Long John o' the Limp, out upon the parapet that girdled the top of the peel; "I have seen the day when three bands have been in sight i' the same morning coming to our undoing, and the burn running red before noon; ay, and I mind me when Surrey marched up to fight the Scots, wi' glaives and spears bristling like reeds in a mere; but now, men have other ways, and look where these old eyes may—"

The old eyes roving round the horizon of Pet Hill and Autumn Wood suddenly dilated, and Long John o' the Limp grasped the parapet with a giant's grip.

"Horsemen, and riding on the spur!" he cried, "and hey, what is this?—the children flying through the stream—bravely ridden, Flower o' Langley—ho, there! Jock, Halbert, Tam Foster, all o' ye—a raid, a raid—drive in the kye and stir yersels, the reiving loons are upon us!"

Long John descended the stairs at infinite risk of his neck, and reached the ground floor as Jocelyn rode in at the doorway and sprang out of the saddle.

"Armstrong and a couple of score at his back," panted Jocelyn, and, outside at a bound, he stayed Alison, who was on the point of dismounting.

"Nay, Ally," he cried, "you must rouse the countryside and send us help; away up the loan, and you'll be over the brae top before they see you—warn them at the Long House, and they will fire Lattfell beacon, then on to the Charltons and bid them send to the Musgraves—go, go, I hear their gallop now!"

"Ay, go, lassie," said the old moss-trooper, "we'll need all the help we may; let the sick cow bide, Jock, they're welcome to her; and now, within boys, we've saved all we can, and yonder comes Black Wat hissel."

Jocelyn watched the whisk of the blue riding skirt disappear beyond the orchard trees, and ran into the Tower, the iron grille swinging to with a clang as Halbert secured it.

Five minutes before all had been peace, and the sun shining on the green of the grass; now, they stood in the peculiar coolness of the stone walls, watching the ragged reivers splash through the ford, and pull up in a bunch in front of the doorway.

The Tower, strongly built of grey stone, was dimly lit by arrow slits, and in the lower story the frightened cattle lowed.

About it clustered the outbuildings, byres and stabling; but on occasions like the present, all the livestock were driven within, and grille and door stoutly barred.

The door stood half open now, as Black Wat Armstrong reined in before the square entrance, laughing aloud.

He was clad in breast and back piece, and had riding boots reaching above his knee, and in addition to the long sword at his hip, he carried a Jedburgh axe hanging by a thong from his saddle.

"Come forth, Ned Langley," he said, in a great voice, "Wat Armstrong of Bannockbrae has somewhat to say to ye!"

"Get ye gone, Black Wat," replied Long John, derisively, from the interior; "Captain Langley is away, and we like not Scots thieves around the peel, being very particular of our acquaintance."

"Say ye so, Long John o' the Limp, for I ken your croak weel; ye shall not be ower burdened wi' my company, man, for we'll e'en hang ye in ten minutes," and the borderer laughed at his own rough jest. "In with the door, lads, and the loons shall hae shorter shrift than they gied to our ain puir folk!"

A dozen moss-troopers dismounted and ran towards the grille, and the little garrison clanged the inner door to, but not before Halbert's arbalist twanged, and a bolt flew into the midst of the attacking party, stretching one of them lifeless, his steel cap ringing against the horse-block as he fell.

"Up wi' ye, boys!" cried Long John, "we've plums for their pudding in plenty above there, and they who come to meat at Langley peel, unbidden, must bring lang spoons."

Jocelyn led the way, scampering like a rabbit up the steep, well-worn stairs; and bursting out on to the parapet, his first thought was of his sister.

Far away southward he saw a tiny moving object which vanished round the shoulder of the hill, and he knew she was safe, and that help would not be long in coming; then he crept to the parapet and looked over.

A shower of ringing blows from a heavy sledgehammer was falling upon the grille.

"Lads," said Long John, crawling out upon the roof, with a grim smile, "they knock over loud to our fancy, being unmannerly Scots, but they shall taste a 'Langley loaf,'" and he picked up a great fragment of rock that lay upon a pile that had evidently been brought there for precisely such a purpose.

"Back!" shouted Armstrong, sitting on his horse, and spying five figures appear on a sudden, each outlined against the blue sky above him; but the warning came too late, and the huge stones fell among the surge of men that sprang away from the door.

"That's Hal o' the Cleuch, wi' his neck broken," cried Long John, looking down, "'twas he gave me the lick on the shinbone when we rode back from Bannockbrae, and I'll now die happier for to-day's work!"

"I'll no take away from my father's joy, though 'twas my stone killed him," whispered Halbert to Tam Foster. "Ha, the rogues have fired the byre!"

A tremendous shout rose from the reivers, as a tongue of flame leaped upwards from the outlying buildings; and the soft wind wreathed the peel itself in smoke.

"We'll no want for a beacon now to raise the countryside, Wat Armstrong!" called Long John o' the Limp. "If ye've a mind to come in, take an old man's advice and delay not; we're five here and you two score—fie on ye! Wat, we'd hae brent your rat hole sooner than this!"

Black Wat's eyes sparkled savagely.

"Sim Salkeld," said he, to a red-haired reiver, "yonder window will serve us while the smoke hides it; set a ladder cautiously and I'll up and in."

The window lit the living room in the second story, and was good five-and-twenty feet from the ground: under cover of the burning byre they lashed two ladders together, and followed their leader, while the rest engaged the attention of the little garrison by a bold attack on the main door.

A powerful, bearded man was Wat Armstrong, and his grasp was on the iron bars of the window when a shrill cry made him look upward.

"Help! Long John," screamed Jocelyn, peering over the parapet as the wind suddenly curled the smoke away and revealed the danger, and Black Wat closed his eyes involuntarily as a jagged rock came hurtling through the air.

It struck the second reiver standing on the rungs below him, and with a terrible yell the man fell backwards, dragging the ladder away to fall crashing into the blaze.

"Hold, boys," said Long John, checking the avalanche of missiles that was about to descend on the wretched man clinging to the iron bars, "this comes o' a man climbing above his station; how are ye feelin' now, Black Wat Armstrong?"

The two enemies glared into each other's eyes, and the reiver's reply was drowned in a cry of triumph from the Tower, and the clamour of dismay that rose from the moss-troopers below.

A man clad in half armour, with a steel basinet on his head, must needs pause before he drops twenty-five feet on to the hewn rock, but already his men were racing to the ricks and returning with huge armfuls of hay to break his fall.

"Father," cried Halbert, poising a slab of freestone that he had torn from the roof, "he'll be away in a trice!"

"Fool, Halbert," said the old man, "cock your eye to the loan-head, and tell me what you see!" and Long John o' the Limp sent a screech of laughter into the clear air.

They looked, and saw, and the reivers saw it at the same moment; for, galloping as hard as horse could go, came Captain Langley, with full fifty stout men of Northumberland behind him, and, at his side, brave little Alison on her sorrel pony.

A thunder of hoofs, a whoop, and a flashing of steel, and then a wild ride round the smoking byre, and through the ford, and the invaders fleeing with hotspur for the "Bateable Land," leaving their leader still grasping the iron bars and glowering at the spear points beneath him.

Captain Langley pulled up and laughed aloud. "Let fall your axe, Wat Armstrong, and we'll let you down," he called. "I have a word to sav to you; bring ladders here."

The baffled reiver descended slowly with his bloodshot eyes on his captor's, expecting nothing less than death, but Langley motioned back the spears, and rode forward a pace to meet his old enemy.

"You saved my lassie, Armstrong, and you spake her fair: go your ways, man; you'll leave horses and harness enough to pay for yonder burnt byre," said he.

The reiver looked hard at him, and there was silence for a moment.

"Ye brent my Tower o' Bannockbrae," he said, and then paused, as though bewildered.

"Ye slew my brother before that," replied the Captain sternly, as Alison drew beside him.

"Gie me your hand, Langley, for ye're a guid mon, an' a forgiving," said the grizzled raider, drawing off his gauntlet; "but ne'er shall it be said that a Scot fell short o' an English borderer in generosity, an' ye hae my word that Langley Peel gaes free o' Wat Armstrong henceforward!"

The two strong men gripped hands, and a right blithe shout went up from the onlookers.

"Take your horse, friend," said the captain, "'tis far to fare afoot," and when the reiver turned at the head of valley and waved his arm, Long John o' the Limp on the Tower top led the ringing cheer that sped him on his way; and the sun came out, and the grass grew green again, and all was peace on the lonely border.