Part 9

When {081}the case had been fairly represented to me, I saw at once that it was one in which something should be done, and I accordingly promised that if the three young persons would bathe together at a certain spot on the following morning, I would present myself before them and hear their story.

The time came, and I can assure you, Brother Thames, that in order to inspire confidence in the breasts of the maidens, I made my appearance as venerable as I could previous to my appearance before their astonished eyes.

The {082}sweet creatures stood in the water clinging fondly to each other, as they implored my assistance; and whilst I listened to their artless tale of woe, I leaned my head upon my hand, and pondered deeply over the best course to be taken in order to afford them that assistance which I at once determined to render.

I was not long in making up my mind, and in resolving that the demons should not be allowed to have things all their own way. However, as you know very well, the laws of magic must not be broken, and it would never have done for me to have rudely and suddenly exercised my superior power in order to set matters right in the castle of Bandelboots. All I could fairly do was to put mortals in the way of helping themselves, at the same time interfering, if need should arise, with just as much exercise of power as might be necessary. So, having spoken words of comfort to the three girls, I told them to go home and try and bear their misfortunes for three days more, and at the end of that time, if matters were no better, they might again pay me a visit.

There was, as you may suppose, no improvement in their condition during the appointed time. In fact, their supposed brother was, if possible, rather worse than ever. He cut off a great bit of Bertha’s back hair, stole up behind Elladine and boxed her ears violently, and finished up by giving Dora’s pet canary to the cat, which he afterwards hung, as he said, for the murder. It was no matter of surprise to me, then, when the three maidens again presented themselves before me, weeping bitterly over their many misfortunes and sorrows.

I no longer hesitated as to the course which I should pursue, {083}but immediately changed the sisters into three magnificent swans, desiring them to frequent as much as possible the lake on which their father’s castle stood. This course, as you will readily perceive, had a double effect of a most useful character. For one thing, it of course showed the inhabitants of the castle that something was wrong, and aroused both the Baron and Baroness to exertions for the recovery of their lost daughters which would very likely result in their finding out from the powers of magic something, as the lawyers say, “very much to their advantage.” But above and beyond this was the circumstance that, as swans are gifted with the miraculous power of seeing through magical disguises, the young ladies would be perfectly certain to encounter and recognise their real brother in some of his flittings over the lake, and thus would eventually be brought about the consummation so devoutly to be desired.

You may well believe that the disappearance of the three girls plunged the castle into the direst confusion. No one could imagine where they had gone to, and all kinds of surmises were afloat. The Baron smoked twice as many pipes as usual; the Baroness flew into a more violent passion than had been the case for a month before; poor old nurse Grutchen wept bitterly; Martha Scweinvolt seemed to have more vinegar than ever in her countenance; and the false heir ran about teasing and worrying everybody twice as much as usual, and was apparently in the highest possible spirits at the loss of his sisters. Every hole and corner of the castle was searched, the river was dragged, the crier was sent through the straggling hamlets of the neighbourhood, special {084}messengers were despatched in every direction, but it is needless to say that no success attended any of these proceedings.

And the stately swans swam all the time around the ancient walls of their ancestral home, and floated upon the waters of the lake they knew so well, thankful for the peace and rest which they at last enjoyed, and caressing each other with the tender love of creatures who knew that upon their mutual love and sympathy depended the whole comfort and happiness of their lives. Nor indeed were they long left in ignorance of the truth as to their unhappy brother. Scarcely had they been two days upon the old lake, before the transformed child came flying up from the river to take his mournful look at the home from which he had been so cruelly ravished. As he flew low over the waters he passed close to the three lovely swans, and they, casting their eyes upon him as they sat mournfully watching, recognised their brother at once through the hideous disguise {085}he wore, and called him to them with loud cries of joy.

The bat-boy paused in his flight, hovered for a moment near to the noble birds, and then, as he heard them speak, the whole of his sad story came back to him, the memories of his first few months upon earth as a mortal child were stirred in his bosom, and he knew clearly and fully his true nature and origin, and the cruel wrongs he had endured at the hands of the treacherous waiting-maid and her wicked ally the river-demon. As soon as he had fully realised the truth, the boy tenderly embraced his swan-sisters, and the four wept together over the sorrows of their family. Being well aware, however, that weeping would be of very little service unless followed by active measures, they discontinued that amusing pastime after a while, and consulted together as to the best course to be pursued.

Although comparatively happy in their new shape, the sisters readily confessed that they should infinitely prefer to resume their human bodies, provided that they could be assured of being able to live quietly and comfortably, and of being no longer troubled with the malice of the devilet heir. The youthful Hubert had of course no affection whatever for the form to which he had been condemned, and therefore the object of the four was clear enough, namely, to return to their natural shapes as soon as possible under more favourable conditions than those in which they had left them. The question was as to the wisest and best means of securing this desirable object, and here the magic knowledge generally possessed by swans came to their assistance.

They {086}knew full well that their brother could never become his former self until the devilet who now possessed his shape and claimed rights which were his should be compelled to abandon both. They knew, moreover, that to bring this about would be a work requiring caution, since the river-demon was powerful and cunning enough to counteract all their efforts unless they could contrive to outwit him. It was, however, revealed to the sisters that there was one way in which this might be done, and by which the retransformation of their brother might be effected, and the false heir be obliged to return to him that sent him.

There lived far up in the great mountains, which could be seen in the distance from the castle windows, a being endowed with wondrous powers. He was commonly known by the name of the Harper, and a strange fellow he certainly was. No one quite knew whether he was merely mortal or something more. All that was certain was, that he lived the life of a hermit, was by no means particular in his dress or remarkably clean in his appearance, and wore a flat hat with ivy and oak leaves woven together on the crown. His harp was of the rudest and simplest character, but it had such extraordinary virtue that if he played it, accompanying himself while he sang or chanted to its tune, everybody and everything seemed obliged to yield to its magic powers. The sisters of Bandelboots knew full well that if this individual’s aid could be secured things would be pretty sure to go right, and therefore made up their minds to seek it without delay.

That night nothing could be done; the swans brooded quietly on the lake, and their brother flitted mournfully round {087}the castle, uttering his melancholy cries, and hovering close to the windows of the home that should have been his. But early next morning the three swans rose from the water and took their flight towards the great mountains. Upwards and upwards they flew, pausing not for one moment’s rest, until they had crossed the river, passed over the large forest beyond, and reached the steep rocks and crags amid which the Harper had his home. There was snow on the heights, and the poor birds felt the chill strike through their warm plumage to their tender breasts as they flew higher and higher. Suddenly they came to a small grove of trees which grew on a platform of flat land, which was curiously placed just beneath one of the highest crags. At the extremity of this was a cave hollowed out in the rock, and in this cave dwelt the worthy Harper, only coming forth to the world below when specially summoned for some purpose beneficial to weak and suffering humanity.

Alighting at the mouth of the cave, the three sisters began to sing their sweetest song, which not unnaturally brought the owner of the cave out to see what was the matter. This his knowledge of magic soon enabled him to ascertain, and it is hardly necessary that I should give you the details of the interview. Suffice it to say that when they parted the worthy old gentleman nodded his head and winked his eyes knowingly at the young ladies, as much as to assure them that it would be “all right,” and that the three swans flew back to the lake exceedingly well satisfied with the result of their expedition.

Meanwhile, Martha Scweinvolt had very nearly brought {088}her plans to maturity. The peasantry had become thoroughly discontented, and were prepared to take action against the family whom they had been taught to regard as their oppressors. Martha’s desire was that they should surprise the castle by a sudden assault, she on her part undertaking that one of the gates should be unfastened when they arrived, and only stipulating that, if success attended their attempt, the Baroness should be delivered up to her mercy. The chief difficulty was in the means of transit, for the castle, being upon an island, could not easily be attacked except the latter were first reached by its assailants.

At one side the island was very near the mainland, from which a strip of land jutted out into the lake, and a large wooden bridge connected the two. This was the ordinary means of approach; and as a strong gate was placed at the island end of the bridge, over which a sentinel always watched, it was not very easy for any considerable body of men to cross over without their coming being made known to the inhabitants of the castle. Martha, however, was equal to the occasion. She managed to make friends with the sentinel on the night for which the attack was planned, and having induced him to abandon his post for a time, gave him a cup of tea so well drugged that he was quite unable to return there. The effect upon this man, I may here mention, was a melancholy one. From thenceforth he eschewed tea for ever, and took to drinking ale and spirits for the rest of his life, which should be a warning to all persons to take care what they put into their tea, and by whom they allow themselves to be tempted to partake of that usually refreshing beverage.

Having {089}thus obtained possession of the key, Martha stole out and unlocked the bridge-gate, and returned to the castle delighted with her success. Once on the little island, the invaders of the castle would have little difficulty. The drawbridge was left down, the doors generally left open, and such was the security of the Baron in those peaceful days, that no precautions, further than guarding the bridge-gate, were ever taken against surprise. Besides the servants, there were not above five-and-twenty men-at-arms in the castle; and as several hundred peasants were likely to attack, there could be little doubt of the result, provided always that the surprise was as complete as Martha intended.

The night was clear and moonlight when the attacking party drew near. They were a strange-looking body of men, rudely and poorly clad, and armed with weapons of a varied and curious character. Some had clubs, some stakes sharpened at the points, some knives, daggers, and oddly fashioned swords, whilst not a few had only spades or prongs, and some appeared unprovided with any weapons save those which nature had given them. They crossed the bridge without opposition, found to their delight that the gate was open, passed quietly through it, and got safely upon the island. They advanced to the drawbridge, crossed it, and had nothing to do but to enter the doors beyond, and find themselves inside the castle.

The family had passed a somewhat unpleasant day. The Baron had taken deeply to heart the loss of his daughters, of whom he had become more than usually fond since his supposed son had shown himself of such a disagreeable character. The latter had been that day more {090}mischievous and troublesome than ever: as the Baroness had a headache, he had amused himself with making as much noise as he possibly could, and had, moreover, indulged his passion for practical jokes by putting live toads into the maid-servants’ beds, and turning the ink-bottle into the Baron’s after-dinner decanter of port wine. The household not having been rendered more comfortable or harmonious by these innocent pastimes of the pretended Hubert, were about to retire to rest, when the sudden arrival of the insurgent peasants gave them something else to think of.

As soon as they were well inside the doors, the attacking party kept silence no longer, but, with loud shouts, began their work of plunder. The defenders of the castle were really so completely surprised, that resistance was almost impossible. The trembling servants hid themselves wherever they could--the groom of the chamber shutting himself up securely in the housemaid’s closet, the housekeeper flying instantly to the butler’s pantry, and the latter functionary betaking himself immediately to the beer-cellar, from which he was with difficulty dragged when the affair was over, but was never the same man afterwards. The men-at-arms, I am sorry to say, did but little better. Utterly bewildered at the whole business, they made no attempt at resistance until it was too late, and within a very short time the castle was in the hands of the invaders.

As soon as the Baron heard the first outcry he rang the bell loudly, and, as nobody answered, presently repeated the performance, with a precisely similar result. He had been just about to retire to rest, but finding that the {091}uproar increased, and that something serious had certainly happened, he desisted from the act of pulling off his boots, seized his sword, and rushed down into the large state-room, where he was presently joined by some eight or ten of the men-at-arms and two or three of the household servants. As soon as he found that the castle had been attacked, and was actually in possession of an enemy, the Baron gnashed his teeth with rage at having been thus caught unprepared; but, being a man of courage, despite his natural laziness, determined to sell his life dearly at the least. He and his few retainers had just time to barricade the door at one end of the room, and place the large library-table and some other articles of furniture in such a position as to give them a better chance of self-defence if attacked by numbers, when the doors at the other end of the room were thrown violently open, and a crowd of peasants rushed in, yelling and bawling in loud and discordant tones as they advanced towards the master of the castle. It was at this moment that the old blood of the Bandelboots showed itself to advantage. The Baron displayed no signs of fear, but, drawing himself up to his full height (which, being barely four feet six inches, was of itself not imposing), and violently stamping his foot upon the floor, he thus addressed the intruders:--

“How now, varlets! Whence and for what object come ye here? How do ye dare, ye scum of the earth, to enter your Baron’s castle and beard a Bandelboots in his lair?”

Then stepped there forth a tattered, ragged, famished-looking man, well known in those parts by the name of Crazy Timothy; his eyes were wild and staring, his dress {092}torn, and his whole appearance seemed amply to justify his nickname.

“We want our rights!” he cried in a loud voice. “What is a Bandelboots to us more than anybody else? We are starving, whilst you and your vile Baroness revel in plenty. Give us our rights--these are the days when the poor are as good as the rich! No more starvation for the poor peasant! Give us our rights!”

And thereupon the whole crew took up the chorus. “Our rights! our rights!--give us our rights!” and made as though they would advance upon the old Baron. The latter quailed not for a moment, but, curling his lips scornfully, thus made reply:--

“Rights? But what are they? Is it your rights to enter a peaceful dwelling and rob its owner? If these are your rights, why are they yours more than the rights of all the rest of the world? What better title have you to your homes than I to mine? And if you may enter and rob my castle, what protection has any one of you for his own cottage, which some one may say it is his right to enter and destroy? Poor churls! ye are deceived, and will but bring ruin upon yourselves. Retire before it is too late, and ye shall yet be pardoned!” Whatever might have been the Baron’s intention in uttering {093}these words, I am sorry to say that they had no conciliatory effect upon those to whom they were addressed. Shouting aloud and brandishing their weapons, they were about to advance upon the venerable nobleman, when, from a side door, some new personages suddenly appeared upon the scene. Pushed along in a chair upon wheels, to which she was securely bound, came the Baroness, in the custody of several peasants, who were under the more immediate guidance and control of Martha Scweinvolt. The latter, with a face beaming with delight, followed triumphantly behind, whilst the false heir, weeping and howling piteously, trotted by the side of the chair, driven forward by the peasants who ushered the Baroness into the room.

The poor Baroness presented a spectacle sad indeed to behold. She was in a towering rage, but at the same time perfectly helpless, and foamed at the mouth with fury as she strove in vain to get loose from the cords with which she was tied.

When these new arrivals had advanced into the room between the Baron and the peasants, there was a momentary pause, during which Martha stepped in front of the chair upon which the poor Baroness was fastened, and, pointing at her with outstretched arm and scornful gesture, addressed the peasants in these words:--