The Black Arrow

The Black Arrow

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Arrow, by Robert Louis
Stevenson (#37 in our series by Robert Louis Stevenson)
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Title: The Black Arrow
Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Release Date: March, 1997 [EBook #848] [This file was first posted on
March 16, 1997] [Most recently updated: September 25, 2002]

Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE
BLACK ARROW ***

Transcribed from the 1899 Charles Scribner's Sons edition by David
Price, email [email protected]

THE BLACK ARROW--A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES

Critic on the Hearth

No one but myself knows what I have suffered, nor what my books
have gained, by your unsleeping watchfulness and admirable
pertinacity. And now here is a volume that goes into the world and
lacks your imprimatur: a strange thing in our joint lives; and the reason
of it stranger still! I have watched with interest, with pain, and at length
with amusement, your unavailing attempts to peruse The Black Arrow;
and I think I should lack humour indeed, if I let the occasion slip and
did not place your name in the fly-leaf of the only book of mine that
you have never read--and never will read.
That others may display more constancy is still my hope. The tale was
written years ago for a particular audience and (I may say) in rivalry
with a particular author; I think I should do well to name him, Mr.
Alfred R. Phillips. It was not without its reward at the time. I could not,
indeed, displace Mr. Phillips from his well-won priority; but in the eyes
of readers who thought less than nothing of Treasure Island, The Black
Arrow was supposed to mark a clear advance. Those who read volumes
and those who read story papers belong to different worlds. The verdict
on Treasure Island was reversed in the other court; I wonder, will it be
the same with its successor?
R. L. S.

SARANAC LAKE, April 8, 1888.

PROLOGUE--JOHN AMEND-ALL

On a certain afternoon, in the late springtime, the bell upon Tunstall
Moat House was heard ringing at an unaccustomed hour. Far and near,
in the forest and in the fields along the river, people began to desert
their labours and hurry towards the sound; and in Tunstall hamlet a
group of poor country-folk stood wondering at the summons.
Tunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of old King Henry VI., wore
much the same appearance as it wears to-day. A score or so of houses,
heavily framed with oak, stood scattered in a long green valley
ascending from the river. At the foot, the road crossed a bridge, and
mounting on the other side, disappeared into the fringes of the forest on
its way to the Moat House, and further forth to Holywood Abbey.
Half-way up the village, the church stood among yews. On every side
the slopes were crowned and the view bounded by the green elms and
greening oak-trees of the forest.
Hard by the bridge, there was a stone cross upon a knoll, and here the
group had collected--half a dozen women and one tall fellow in a russet
smock--discussing what the bell betided. An express had gone through
the hamlet half an hour before, and drunk a pot of ale in the saddle, not
daring to dismount for the hurry of his errand; but he had been ignorant
himself of what was forward, and only bore sealed letters from Sir
Daniel Brackley to Sir Oliver Oates, the parson, who kept the Moat
House in the master's absence.
But now there was the noise of a horse; and soon, out of the edge of the
wood and over the echoing bridge, there rode up young Master Richard
Shelton, Sir Daniel's ward. He, at the least, would know, and they
hailed him and begged him to explain. He drew bridle willingly
enough--a