A RECONNAISSANCE.
Gustavus, in view of the proposals for the neutrality of the Elector,
had granted a fortnight's cessation from hostilities. The Elector made
use of it to strengthen his positions, and an intercepted letter showed
Gustavus that, whatever Richelieu might think, the Elector had no
intention of being neutral. Gustavus, once undeceived, marched with all
the army he could muster against Tilly, and drove him out of Franconia.
Tilly, advised by Maximilian, came to a stand on the banks of the Lech,
which forms one of the frontiers of Bavaria. The firm intention of Tilly
was to hold back Gustavus from the virgin territories of Maximilian.
The army of Count Tilly was drawn up in a position chosen by himself,
astride the main road from Donauwerth to Neuburg, Ingolstadt, and
Ratisbon, a position naturally defended on three sides by water,
strongly fortified and armed. No bridges lent the Swedish army access.
They had been destroyed. Along Tilly's front in an almost straight line
was the river Lech in a state of turbulence and flood.
Gustavus stigmatised it as a brook, but even brooks have played a great
part in the history of battles; and, sanguine leader that he was, it is
doubtful if he expected to cross it by a wild rush through its
treacherous waters.
Disposed in earthworks at suitable intervals behind the river were
numerous pieces of ordnance ready to dispute the passage of the Swedes.
And into the rear of the defences Maximilian himself had led up those
regiments that constituted the household troops of his command, as
opposed to those that formed part of the Imperial army under Count
Tilly.
The conjoined host was a formidable one, well armed, provisioned,
rested, numbering not much less than the forty thousand of the Swede.
A week before Nigel had ridden into Tilly's camp, much to the old
general's surprise.
"I had thought Wallenstein would have clapped hands upon you to command
a brigade!"
"I am not rich enough!" said Nigel. "Besides, who knows whether he will
be needed."
"H'm!" was the old general's comment. "If old Tilly gets knocked on the
head he will be needed, and soon. But what am I to do with you? Had you
brought me three or four regiments now! Said there was a lack of
officers, did they? Fools! Of captains and lieutenants? Yes! They have a
habit of getting killed! Of colonels even I lack one or two, but of
generals! I warrant Gustavus has not half as many. 'Tis the way of
Imperial armies!"
"'Tis no matter what I am called!" said Nigel. "Give me a regiment. I am
content to be called 'Colonel.' Give me a chance of having at them,
sword, musket, gun, anyhow."
"You shall stand just as good a chance of getting killed as I do,"
grunted the Count.
Nigel was satisfied. The old general's thirst for danger was well known,
and he had not forgotten Breitenfeld. Presently Count Tilly assigned
him his command. It was a small brigade, comprising three regiments of
musketeers and two batteries of ten pieces each. One of the regiments
had just lost its colonel, the colonels of the other two were but young
in experience, and had but recently been promoted.
The artillery was commanded by a major, who, Tilly said, might be relied
upon to handle his pieces and his men in a soldier-like fashion, but had
no head for tactics. This Nigel was to supply. Nigel's lines were well
up the Lech towards the little town of Rain, and the northern angle of
the triangle that formed the whole position of the camp.
For some days at least Nigel did nothing but drill and exercise his
little force, make himself acquainted with his officers, and make
reconnaissances along the road by which Gustavus must come.
The next best thing to a solitary hill-top for descrying an advancing
host is a church spire, and one such, in a village some ten Scots miles
from Rain, and a mile or two off the road to Donauwerth, Nigel had
marked for a look-out tower.
Before the late sunrise of a wintry morning, wrapped in his ample
horseman's cloak, he had crossed the Lech by the only and that a pontoon
bridge and galloped for the village.
There was but a faint glimmer of dawn visible over the flat country as
he approached the place, and little more as he slid from his horse,
tethered it in a farmer's half-filled barn, and strode forward to the
village church.
Cautiously he stole in at the door and up the winding stone stair to the
belfry tower, and then up a rickety ladder into the spire itself as far
as he could get. There was an open trap-door at the top, and inside was
darkness.
He pulled himself up, and, feeling with his hands that a gangway of
planks was laid against the outer framework of the spire, he crawled
along it, hoping to find a convenient chink, or a small window hatch, to
serve his purpose. The cold damp wind of the morning rather than the
light apprised him that such a peep-hole was near him, and he felt about
and about for the fastenings.
It was just when his hands had in fact touched the rusty hasp that the
feeling came over him that he was not alone. The place was dark but not
noiseless, for the wind whistled eerily and partially lifted loose laths
of wood by one end, only to let them fall again as if in mockery of the
work of men's hands. But over and above these noises was something more.
It was as if other hands at some other point of the circumference were
seeking slowly and noiselessly to undo a stubborn latch or rusty bolt.
This muffled noise had made itself heard once or twice, and Nigel
crouched warily on guard. Then, framed in a pause, came a clink of
metal, of a sword against a spur, then silence.
Through a hundred little chinks the dawn began to steal and make of the
darkness merely a misty gloom. Nigel had risen to his feet, and there
across the unfloored space loomed the figure of another man, in cloak
and headpiece like himself, standing stark against the roof.
With a grim quick motion Nigel ripped open his hatch, and with an
answering jerk the stranger opened his. The wind rushed across with a
roar and a whistle, and the dawn poured in till it made a twilight.
"Eh! sir! It's braw and snell the morn!" said the stranger, making a
polite salute with his sword.
"Aye is it!" said Nigel, surprised beyond measure by the sound of the
Scots tongue, but returning the compliment in kind.
"Mebbe ye wouldna refuse a wee tassie o' usquebaugh!" the stranger went
on affably.
"When I know, sir, whether you come here as friend or enemy," said
Nigel, looking across at the weather-tanned but open face something
suspiciously.
"Man! ye should never refuse a cup offered in kindness, be it by friend
or enemy. But to lat ye ken, I'm just ane o' yon Gustavus' officers, and
I came here to spy out Count Tilly's dispositions. Give me twa glimpses
and a keek oot o' this spy-hole and I'm your very humble servant." And
without more ado he bowed, turned round, and scanned the camp at Rain,
which he could see quite well through a glass.
And under his breath he counted and added--
"Thirty thousand, or mebbe thirty-twa! And a wheen o' cannon! And a
river in front and the highroad behind. It's ower safe! I wouldna give a
fig to be in yon." There was a note of good-natured contempt in his
voice. "Eh! sir!"
"And why, sir?" asked Nigel, amused by the coolness of this gentleman,
for gentleman he seemed for all his plainness of speech, which, it
struck Nigel, might have been assumed.
"I have no liking to fight through the bars of a hencoop with the back
out. Give me a gentle hillside and a wide plain, where there's no
rinnin' awa' till all's daen, where there's room to get each at other. I
dinna favour your fortified camps!"
"As for me," said Nigel, "I have had experience of both kinds of
fighting, but on this occasion it is for me to await you on the other
side of the river. I am with Count Tilly!"
"I gave you credit, sir, for more sense, seeing you'd a Scots tongue in
your heid!" was the commentary.
"But it's richt ye should tak' your fill o' what ye can see! I'm for
doon the stair," he added.
Nigel made a movement to intercept him. He waved his glove in friendly
deprecation.
"Hoots aye! I'll wait for you at the foot! Ye'll be perverse enough to
be wishing to carry me back to breakfast in Tilly's camp. And I've made
up my mind to tak' ye back with me to sup our brose! I'll wait! Never
fear!"
With which he went quietly and unhurried down the stair--and Nigel took
a long look from his hatch. Very dimly he descried something in movement
along the road from Donauwerth, and on the wings of the morning air came
the sound of a solitary trumpet. Gustavus was advancing, and it behoved
Nigel to get back to the camp. He descended the stair, and found the
enemy standing, stamping his feet in the roadway.
"Now, sir! where's your horse? Mine's here. I've no wish to carry you,
or you me, and there's no need to hack the puir beasties, so if it's all
the same to you we'll fight on foot!"
"It's all the same to me," said Nigel, throwing off his cloak. "My horse
is in the barn yonder."
"Good!" said the other. "Swords is it? And the first man to be disabled
is the other's prisoner! Are these the conditions of the combat?"
Nigel saluted. "My name and condition is,--Nigel Charteris of
Pencaitland--Major-General--commanding a brigade under Count Tilly."
"And mine is Sir John Hepburn, Captain-General of the Scots Brigade,
serving with Gustavus Adolphus. It is a rare pity we should meet so. I
kent your father lang syne. Even now I am willing to go my ways and
allow you to do the same."
A swirl of remembrance gushed into Nigel's brain at the words, "Sir John
Hepburn!"
"It is just that you are Sir John Hepburn that I dare not!" said Nigel.
"Were you a lesser man!"
Sir John Hepburn stood on guard, a man of forty, broad-shouldered,
well-knit, wary.
"Have at you, Sir John!" said Nigel, and the battle began.
They were both good swordsmen, but the fact that each had made up his
mind to disarm the other without doing him much bodily hurt, engendered
such an excess of caution as made it an affair of more length than
bloodshed. Both men were winded before either had scored a scratch.
By mutual consent they dropped their points and took breath, but spoke
never a word. Both had wrists of the hardest sinew, and both had learned
most of the tricks of fence that Spain, Italy, and France could teach.
It was curious how each divined a change in the attack, and attuned his
defence to meet it.
The one fact that emerged from the continual parry and thrust was that
Nigel was the better able to recover his wind, and slightly the more
agile, and so, given an equal fortune, would wear his opponent down.
"Faith! Nigel Charteris! ye're a wise chiel at the swords!" blurted Sir
John at the end of the fourth bout.
Once more they crossed, and the sparks flew from their weapons, and this
time indeed neither man came off scathless, though the wounds were too
slight to hinder either, and then came Nigel's opportunity: for in
making a new attack Sir John did not recover himself quickly enough to
prevent fleet-footed Nigel slipping beneath his guard, and by a turn of
the wrist making it necessary for Sir John to have his own broken, or to
let go his sword. Nigel had him at his mercy.
"Do you yield yourself a prisoner, Sir John?"
"Aye! do I! But for no long time!" He picked up his sword, and wiped it
with a lace handkerchief and thrust it into its scabbard.
Nigel looked round. Coming at a sharp trot was a small troop of horsemen
from the direction of Donauwerth.
"I doubt ye'd best cry quits and tak' your horse. They won't follow you
if you're by yourself, but if you're hampered with a prisoner, I canna
vouch for them." There was a kindly gleam in his eyes as he said it.
Nigel took the hint, and holding out his hand said, "Farewell, Sir John!
And thanks for your courtesy."
"Farewell, Mr Charteris, and if at any time you should see fit to change
camps, or need a friend in other ways, call upon Jock Hepburn!"
And while Nigel sought his horse, the other turned to his, and meeting
the horsemen rode off with them.