Decatur Democrat, Volume 47, Number 21, Decatur, Adams County, 30 July 1903 — Page 7

jWHEN KNIGHTHOOD? i WAS IN FLOWER I Or, The Love Story of Charles Brandon and Mary Tudor, the King’s Sister and V r£ Happening In the Retgn of His August Majesty King Henry the Eighth >s• Rewritten and Rendered Into Modern English From Sir Edwin Cn.»koden‘s Memoir $i r r S By EDWIN CASKODEN [CHARLES MAJOR] & i‘4 Copyright, IMS and 1901, by the, Bwen-MerriU Company 4*4

to the elopement, It was deternjined that Brandon should leave London the following day for Bristol and make all arrangements along the line. He would carry with him two bundles, his own and Mary’s clothing, and leave them to be taken up when they should go a-shipboard. Eight horses would be procured, four to be left as a relay at an inn between Berkeley castle and Bristol and four to be kept at the rendezvous some two leagues the other aide of Berkeley for the use of Brandon. Mary and the two men from Bristol who were to act as an escort on the eventful night. There was one disagreeable little feature that we could not provide against nor entirely eliminate. It was the fact that Jane and I should be suspected as accomplices before the fact of Mary’s elopement, and. as you know, to assist in the abduction of a princess is treason, for which there is but one remedy. I thought I had a plan to keep ourselves safe if I could only stifle for the once Jane’s troublesome and vigorous tendency to preach the truth to all people upon all subjects and at all times and places. She promised to tell the story I should drill into her, but I knew the truth would seep out in a thousand ways. She could no more hold it than a sieve can hold water. We were playing for great stakes, which, if I do say it. none but the bravest hearts, bold and daring as the truest knights of chivalry, would think of trying for—nothing less than the running away with the first princess of the first blood royal of the world. Think of it! It appalls me even now. Discovery meant death to one of us surely, Brandon; possibly to two others, Jane and me, certainly if Jane’s truthfulness should become unmanageable, as it was apt to do. After we had settled everything we could think of the girls took their leave, Mary slyly kissing Brandon at the door. I tried to induce Jane to follow her lady’s example, but she was as cool and distant as the new moon. The next day Brandon paid his respects to the king and queen, made his adieus to his friends and rode off alone to Bristol. You may be sure the king showed no signs of undue grief at his departure.

CHAPTER XVI. A HAWKING PARTY. "a ' FEW days after Brandon's departure, Mary, with the ggsr king’s consent, organized a small party to go over to Windsor foi a few weeks during the warm weather. There were ten or twelve of us. including two chaperons, the old Earl of Hertford and the dowager Duchess of Kent. Henry might as well have sent -

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I No. "7—Building lots on Chestnut street, Linn I street. Penn street, Madison street and Decatur street at from *135 to *2llO each. On 8 eond street, Monroe «nd Marshall streets at from *450 to SBSO each. No A one-acre tract in northwest Decatur. good dwelling, stable, cribs, poultry house, etc. SISOO. No. 198—A seven acre tract, loins the northwest corporation line [of Decatur. Good location, on pike road. Price *7OO. No 20.1—A 354 acre tract in south Decatur on stoned stieet. Plenty of good fruit and good buildings, price *2,150. No. 194—A twenty-acre tract in good location, in Union township, four and one-half miles from Decatur, nearly all black land, ordinary house. S9OO. No. 173—A 15*4 acre tract In west Root township. one half mile from school, threefourths black land, no buildings. *776, No. 169—Thirtv-acre tract two and a half miles northwest of Decatur, sand loam and elay. 5 acres good young timber, five-room good house, *ISOO. No. 216—A fio acre tract tour and one half miles northwest of Berne, a quarter of a miie from stone road and school. Nearly all black land, ordinary buildings, *3.400. ‘No. 201—A 32 acre farm, three miles northeast of Decatur. Improvements all new. fair grade of soil. Rural mail route. $.’400 No. 105—Sixty-acre tract, southeast of Berne, good quality of soil, fair buildings, some Umber. *3050. No. 109—An 80-acre tract, two and one-half [rues northwest of Decatur, clay and sand iosm, fair buildings, fruit and timber *4500. No. 137—Eeighty acres, two miles southwest of nrrue. lair improvements, clay and black loam, SI6OO. . N?'„'?b7s n 80 acre tract southwest of Pleasant Mills, black loam, poor buildings, 83600. acre tract near the gravel pike, jotnin five mile, northwest o f Decatur, good improvements, one half black land. *9.000. ' o.?/?~, For , sale > a 108 acre tract of beech and ogar land two and a half miles east of DehmK’ house and barn. *SOO worth of timber. Price *5,600, ®cre tract of first class black u,iP nz ' an( l 3 miles southwest of Pleasant Ings *> n^x' n,le rom stone road, small buildWi acr e tract four miles northeast erne on free mail route, a quarter ot a

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o 4 _ c-rons—it would have taken an army to guard Mary alone—and to tell you the truth our old chaperons needed watching more than any of us. It was scandalous. Each of them had a touch of gout, and when they made wry faces it was a standing inquiry among us whether they were leering at each other or felt a twinge—whether it was their feet or their hearts that troubled them. Mary led them a pretty life at all times, even at home in the palace, and I know they would rather have gone off with a pack of imps than with us. The inducement was that it gave them better opportunities to be together, an arrangement connived at by the queen, I think, and they were satisfied. The earl had a wife, but he fancied the old dowager and she fancied him, and probably the wife fancied somebody else, so they were all happy. It greatly amused the young people, you may be sure, and Mary said, probably without telling the exact truth, that every night she prayed God to pity and for- | give their ugliness. One day the princess said she was becoming alarmed. Their ugliness was so intense she feared it might be contagious and spread. Then, with a most comical seriousness, she added: “Mon Dieu, Sir Edwin, what if I should catch it? Master Charles would not take me.” “No danger of that, my lady. He is too devoted to see anything but beauty in you, no matter how much you might change.” “Do you really think so? He says so little about it that sometimes I almost doubt.” Therein she spoke the secret of Brandon’s success with her, at least in the beginning, for there is wonderful potency in the stimulus of a healthy little doubt. We had a delightful canter over to Windsor, I riding with Mary most of the way. I was not averse to this arrangement, as I not only relished Mary’s mirth and joyousness, which were at their height, but hoped I might give my little Lady Jane a twinge or two of jealousy, perchance to fertilize her sentiments toward me. Mary talked and laughed and sang, for her soul was a fountain of glad ness that bubbled up the instant pressure was removed. She spoke of little but our last trip over this same road, and, as we passed objects on the way, told me of what Brandon had said at this place and that. She laughed and dimpled exquisitely in relating how she had deliberately made opportunities for him to flatter her until at last he smiled in her face and told her she was tho n>r.st ben uHful, creature liv-

mile from the stone road, fair buildings. S black land, 82,300. No. 221—An 10 acre tract two miles south ot Decatur on stone road, good buildings and black land. $6,400. No 219—An 80 acre tract, one 'half mile west of Salem. Blue Creek township, old buildings, productive land, some black soil 84.1t0, v n ins—A 102-acre tract one and a half miles east of Decatur.no buildings. 18 acres of good timber. 15 acres of sand and gravel, black and sand loam. 85000. No 174—Eighty-acre tract in east Wabash township, about .50 acres black loam new. broom house, ten acres of timber. 84300. No 180—An 184-acre tract, in east St. Mary’s township, sand and light elay loam, some timber, brick house, frame cribs and barn. Price 814,500. No 139- 115-acre tract southwest of Berne, good improvement., grazltur farm, light, clay soil, principally. Price 84000. No 178-A 120-acre tract, two miles southeast of Decatur, sand and clay loam. 20 acres young timber, some saw timber, small frame bulldiEgs. SOOOO. No 177—A 142-acre tract one and a half miles east of Decatur, principally sand and clay Foam? some bla k land, no buildings, two young orchards. 35 acres, young timber, *7OOO. No IR3— Eighty acres, near stone road in Wahash tow-nsbip, oil land, some timber, fair buildings, some black land, balance clay loam, $3200. No IS7—An 80 acre tract, two miles east of N Decatur. light clay and sand loam, no timber, small frame buildings. S4OOO. No -’2O-For sale or trade for Decatur property. three we.l located and desirable city lots in Anderson, Indiana,Boso. No -207—For sale or trade, a53 acre tract of land in Cumberland county, Tennesee, 1b50.00. Ki/x ii" For sale or trade, an acre tract in N Lake county, Michigan, frame buildings, some timber, $1,350. xt i vnr qhlp or trade, a general merengn*2 500, wr For sale or trade for a farm—A large mill steam power, price 86000 for mill and grounds.

ing, but that, after all, “beauty was as beauty did.” “That made mo angry,” said she. “I pouted for awhile and two or three times was on the point of dismissing him, but thought better of it and asked him plainly wherein 1 did so much amiss. Then what do you think the impudent fellow said?” “I cannot guess.” “He said, L<)h. there is so much it would take a lifetime to tell it.’ “This made me furious, but I could not answer, and a moment later he said, ‘Nevertheless I should be only too glad to undertake the task.’ “The thought never occurred to either of us then that lie would be taken at his word. Bold? I should think he was! I never saw anything like it! I have not told you a tenth part of what he said to me that day. He said anything he wished, and it seemed that I could neither stop him nor retaliate. Half the time I was angry and half the time amused, but by the time we reached Windsor there never was a girl more hopelessly and desperately in love than Mary Tudor.” And she laughed as if it were a huge joke on Mary. She continued: “That day settled matters with me for all time. I don’t know how he did it. Yes, I do.” And she launched forth into an account of Brandon's perfections, which i found somewhat dull, and so would you. We remained a day or two at Windsor and then, over the objections of our jhaperons, moved on to Berkeley castle, where Margaret of Scotland was spending the summer. We had another beautiful ride up the dear old Thames to Berkeley, but Mary had grown serious and saw none if it. On the afternoon of the appointed lay the princess suggested a hawking party, and we set out in the direction jf the rendezvous. Our party consist?d of myself, three other gentlemen uid three ladies besides Mary. Jane lid not go. I was afraid to trust her. She wept and with difficulty forced tierself to say something about a headache, but the rest of the inmates of the castle of course had no thought that possibly they were taking their !ast look udou, Marv Tudor. Think who this girl was we were ■tinning away with! What reckless tools we were not to have seen the utter hopelessness, certain failure and leadly peril of our act; treason black is Plutonian midnight. But Providence seems to have an especial care for fools, while wise men are left to care for themselves, and it does look as if safety lies in folly. We rode on and on, and although I took two occasions in the presence of itliers to urge Mary to return, owing to the approach of night and threatened rain, she took her own head, as everybody knew’ she always would, ind continued the hunt. Just before dark, as we neared the rendezvous, Mary and I managed to ride ahead of the pa rty quite a distance. At last we saw a heron rise, ind the princess uncapped her hawk. “This is my chance,” she said. “I will run away from you now and lose myself. Keep them off my track for five minutes, and I shall be safe. Goodby, Edwin. You and Jane are the only persons I regret to leave. I love you as my brother and sister. When we ire settled in New Spain, we will have you both come to us. Now. Edwin, I shall tell vou something: Don’t let Jane out you off any longer. She loves you. She told me so. There! Goodby, my friend. Kiss her a thousand times for me.” And she flew her bird and galloped after it at headlong speed.

'tiie ptfiUceSS v»«xs vut ‘v£ ind I waited for the others to overtake

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She flew her bird and galloped after it. me. When they came up, I was greeted in chorus. “Where is the princess?” I said she had gone off with her hawk and had left me to bring them after her. I held them talking while I could, and when we started to follow took up the wrong scent. A short ride made this apparent, when I came in for my full share of abuse and ridicule, for I had led them against their judgment. I was credited with being a blockhead, when, in fact, they were the dupes. We rode hurriedly back to the point of Mary’s departure and wound our horns lustily, but my object had been accomplished, and I knew that within twenty minutes from the time I last saw her she would be with Brandon on the road to Bristol, gaining on any pursuit we could make at the rate of three miles for two. We scoured the forest far and near, but of course found no trace. After a time rain set in and one of the gentlemen escorted the ladies home, while three of us remained to prowl about the woods and roads all night in a soaking drizzle. The task was tiresome enough for me, as it lacked motive, and when we rode into Berkeley castle next day a sorrier set of bedraggled, rain stained, mud covered knights you never saw. You may know the castle with excitement There were all sorts of conjec-

tures. but soon we unanimously concluded it had been the work of highwaymen. of whom the country wns full and by whom the princess had certainly been abducted. The chaperons forgot their gout and each other, and Jane, who was the most affected of all, had a genuine excuse for giving vent to her grief and went to bed—by far the safest place for her. What was to be done? First, we sent a message to the king, who would probably have us all flayed alive, a fear which the chaperons shared to the fullest extent. Next, an armed party rode back to look again for Mary and, if possible, rescue her. The fact that I had been out the entire night before, together with the small repute in which I was held for deeds of arms, excused me from taking part in this bootless errand, so again I profited by the small esteem in which I was held. I say I profited, for I stayed at the castle with Jane, hoping to find my opportunity in the absence of everybody else. All the ladies but Jane had ridden out, and the knights who had been witli me scouring the forest were sleeping, since they had not my Incentive to remain awake. They had no message to deliver, no duty to perform for an absent friend. A thousand! Only think of it! I wished it had been a million, and so faithful was I to my trust that I swore in my soul I would deliver them, every one. And Jane loved me! No. more walking on the hard, prosaic earth now. From this time forth I would fly; that was rue omy sensiDie metnoJ or locomotion. Mary had said, “She told me so.” Could it really be true? You will at once see what an advantage this bit of information was to me. I hoped that Jane would wish to see me to talk over Mary’s escape; so I sent word to her that I was waiting, and she quickly enough recovered her health and came down. I suggested that we walk out to a secluded little summer house by the river, and Jane was willing. Ah, my opportunity was here at last! Jane’s whole attitude toward me was changed, and she seemed to cling to me in a shy, unconscious manner, that was sweet beyond the naming, as the one solace for all her grief. After I had answered all her questions and bad told her over and over again every detail of Mary’s flight and had assured her that the princess was at that hour breasting the waves with Brandon on their highroad to paradise, I thought it time to start myself in the same direction and to say a word in my own behalf. So I spoke very freely and told Jane what I felt and what I wanted. “Oh, Sir Edwin,” she responded, “let us not think of anything but my mistress. Think of the trouble she is in.” “No, no. Jane. Lady Mary is out of her trouble by now and is as happy as a lark, you may be sure. Has she not won everything her heart longed for? Then let us make our own paradise, since we have helped them make theirs. You have it, Jane, just within your lips. Speak the word, and it will change everything, if you love me, and I know you do.” Jane’s head was bowed, and she remained silent. Then I told her of Lady Mary's message and begged, if she would not speak in words what I so longed to hear, she would at least tell it by allowing me to deliver only one little thousandth part of the message Mary had sent, but she drew away and said she would return to the castle if I continued to behave in that manner. I begged hard and tried to argue the point, h”t r l.oe^SPMß.fa Ipso itg in such a situation, and all I said availed nothing. Jane was obdurate and was for going back at once. Her persistence was beginning to look like obstinacy, and I soon grew so angry that I asked no permission, but delivered Mary’s message, or a good part of it at least, whether she would or no, and then sat back and asked her what she was going to do about it. Poor little Jane thought she was undone for life. She sat there half pouting, half weeping, and said she could do nothing about it; that she was alone now, and if I, her only friend, would treat her that way she did not know where tc look. “Where to look?” I demanded. “Look here, Jane; here. You might as well understand first as last that I will not be trifled with longer, and that I intend to continue treating you that way as long as we both live. I have determined not to permit you to behave as i you have for so long, for I know you love me. You have half told me so a dozen times, and even your half words are whole truths. There is not a fraction of a lie in you. Besides, Mary told me that you told her so.” “She did not tell you that?” “Yes, upon my knightly honor.” Os course there was but one answer to this—tears. I then brought the battle to close quarters at once, and, with my arm uninterrupted at my lady’s waist, asked: "Did you not tell her so? I know you will speak nothing but the truth. Did you not tell her? Answer me, Jane.” The fair bead nodded as she w-hlenwrod between the hands that covered her face: “Yes. I—l—d-did,” and I—well, I delivered the rest of Mary's message, and that, too, without a protest from Jane. Truthfulness is a pretty good thing, after all. So Jane was conquered at last, ami I heaved a Sigh as the battle ended, for it had been a long, hard struggle. I asked Jane when we should be married, but she said she could not think of that now—not until she knew that Mary was safe, but she would promise | to be my wife some time. We went back to the castle, and as we parted Jane said timidly: “I am glad I told you, Edwin. Glad it is nrar.’J _

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She had evidently dreaded it, but—l was glad too. Very glad. Then I went to bed. CHAPTER XVII. THE ELOPEMENT. W*’—“’ HATEVER the king might think, I knew Lord Wolsey - would quickly enough guess the truth when he heard that the princess was missing, and would have a party in pursuit. The runaways, however, would have at least twenty-four hours the start, and a ship leaves no tracks. When Mary left me, she was perhaps two-thirds of a league from the rendezvous, and night was rapidly falling. As her road lay through a dense forest all the way she would have a dark, lonely ride of a few minutes, and I was somewhat uneasy for that part of the journey. It had been agreed that if everything was all right at the rendezvous Mary should turn loose her horse, which had always been stabled at Berkeley castle and would quickly trot home. To further emphasize her safety a thread would be tied in his forelock. The horse took his time in returning and did not arrive until the second morning after the flight, but when he came I found the thread and, unobserved, removed it. I quickly took it to Jane, who has it yet and cherishes it for the mute message of comfort it brought her. In case the horse should not return I was to find a token in a hollow tree near the place of meeting, but the thread in the forelock told us our friends had found each other. When we left the castle, Mary wore under her riding habit a suit of man’s attire, and as we rode along she would shrug her shoulders and laugh as if it were a huge joke and by the most comical little pantomime call my attention to her unusual bulk. So when she found Brandon the only change necessary to make a man of her was to throw off the riding habit and pull on the jack boots and slouch hat, both of which Brandon had with Mm. They wasted no time, you may be sure, and were soon under way. In a few minutes they picked up the two Bristol men who were to accompany them, and when night had fairly fallen left the bypaths and took to the main road leading from London to Bath and Bristol. The road a fair one—that is, it was well defined and there was no danger of losing it; in fact, there was more danger of losing one’s self in its fathomless mudholes and quagmires. Brandon had recently passed over it twice and had made mental note of the worst places, so he hoped to avoid them. Soon the rain began to fall in a soakwent out, and even the shadows of the night were lost among themselves in blinding darkness. It was one of those black nights fit for witch traveling, and no doubt every witch in England was out brewing mischief. The horse’s hoofs sucked and splashed in the mud with a sound that Mary thought might be heard at Land’s End, and the hoot of an owl, now and then disturbed by a witch, would strike upon her ear with a volume of sound infinitely disproportionate to the size of any owl she bad ever seen or dreamed of before. Brandon wore our cushion, the great cloak, and had provided a like one or suitable proportions for the princess. This came in good play, as her fine gentleman’s attire would be but poor stuff to turn the water. The wind, which had arisen with just enough force to set up a dismal wail, gave the rain a horizontal slant and drove it in at every opening. The flaps of the comfortable great cloak blew back from Mary’s knees, and she felt many a chilling drop through her fine new silk trunks that made her wish for buckram in their place. Soon the water began to trickle down her legs and find lodgment in the jack boots, and as the rain and wind came in tremulous little whirs she felt wretched enough—she who bad always been so well sheltered from every blast. Now and then mud and water would fly up into her facestriking usually in the eyes or mouth—and then again her horse would stumble and almost throw her over his head as he sank, knee deep, into some unexpected hole. All of this, with the thousand and one noises that broke the still worse silence of the inky night, soon began to work upon her nerves and make her fearful. The road was full of dangers aside from stumbling hbrses and broken necks, for many were the stories of. murder and robbery committed along the route they were traveling. It Is true they had two stout men, and all were armed, yet they might easily come upon a party too strong for them, and no one could tell what might happen, thought the princess. There was that pitchy darkness through which she could hardly see her horse’s head—a thing of itself that seemed to have infinite powers for &ischief and which ommint of argument ever induced

any normally constituted woman to believe was the mere negative absence of light and not a terrible entity potent for all sorts of mischief. Then that walling howl that rose and fell betimes. No wind ever made such a noise she felt sure. There were those shining white gleams which came from the little pools of water on the road, looking like dead men’s faces upturned and pale. Perhaps they were water and perhaps they were not. Mary had all confidence in Brandon but that verv fact operated against her. Having that confidence and trust in him. she felt no need to waste her own energy in being brave. So she relaxed completely and had the feminine satisfaction of allowing herself to be thoroughly frightened. Is it any wonder Mary’s gallant but womanly spirit sank low in the face of all those horrors? She held out bravely, however, and an occasional clasp from Brandon’s hand under cover of the darkness comforted her. When al! those terrors would nut suggest even a thought of turning back, you may judge of the character of this girl and her motive. They traveled on, galloping when they could, trotting when they could not gallop, and walking when they must, and about midnight arrived at the inn where the relay of horses was awaiting them. The inn was a rambling old thatched roof structure, half mud, half wood and all filth. There are many inns in England that are tidy enough, but this one was a little off the main road —selected for that reason—and the uncleanness was not the least of Mary’s trials that hard night. She had not tasted food since noon and felt the keen hunger natural to youth and health such as hers after twelve hours of fasting and eight hours of riding. Her appetite soon overcame her repugnance, and she ate with a zest that was new to her the humblest fare that had ever passed her lips. One often misses the zest of life’s joys by having too much of them. One must want a thing before it can be appreciated. A hard ride of five hours brought our travelers to Bath, which place they rode around just as the sun began to gild the tile roofs and steeples, and another hour brought them to Bristol. The ship was to sail at sunrise, but as the wind had died out with the

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She ate with a zest the humble fare. night there was no danger of Its sailing without them. Soon the gates opened, and the party rode to the Bow and String, where Brandon had left their chests. The men were then paid off; quick sale was made of the horses; breakfast was served, and they started for the wharf, with their chests following in the hands of four porters. A boat soon took them aboard the Royal Hind, and now it looked as if their daring scheme, so full of improbability as to seem impossible, had really come to a successful issue. From the beginning, I think, it had never occurred to Mary to doubt the result. There had never been with her even a suirsrestion of nossible failure, unless it was that evening in our room, when, prompted by her startled modesty, she had said she could not bear for us to see her in the trunk hose. Now that fruition seemed about to crown her hopes she was happy to her heart's core, and when once to herself wept for sheer joy. It is little wonder she was happy. She was leaving behind no one whom she loved excepting Jane and perhaps me. No father nor mother; only a sister whom she barely knew and a brother whose treatment of her had turned her heart against him. She was also fleeing with the one man in all the world for her and from a marriage that was literally worse than death. * [TO BE CONTINUED.]