After waiting for about an hour in the schooner, I was sent ashore with
a bottle-basket, with very precise instructions in what I was to do. I
was to follow the road towards Haarlem, till I came to the inn near the
turning of the Egmont highway. There I was to leave my bottle-basket,
asking (or, rather, handing over a written request) for it to be filled
with bottles of the very best gin. After paying for this, I was to
direct it to be sent aboard the schooner by the ostler (who was waiting
at the door with a horse) the last of those ordered by the captain. I
was then to walk the horse along the Egmont road, till I saw or heard
an open carriage coming behind. Then I was to trot, keeping ahead of the
carriage, but not far from it, till I was past the third tavern. After
that, if I was not recalled by those in the carriage, I was free to
quicken up my pace. I was then to ride straight ahead, till I got to
Egmont, a twenty mile ride to the north. There I was to deliver up my
horse at the Zwolle-Haus inn, before enquiring for M. Stendhal, the
East India merchant. To him I was to give a letter, which for safety was
rolled into a blank cartridge in my little pistol cartridge box. After
that, I was to stay at M. Stendhal's house, keeping out of harm's way,
till I received further orders from my masters.
You may be sure that I thought myself a fine figure of gallantry as I
stepped out with my bottle-basket. I was a King's secret agent. I had
a King's letter hidden about my person. I was armed with fine weapons,
which I longed to be using. I had been under fire for my King's sake.
I was also still tingling with my King's praise. It was a warm, sunny
April day; that was another thing to fill me with gladness. Soon I
should be mounted on a nag, riding out in a strange land, on a secret
mission, with a pocket full of special service money. Whatever I had
felt in the few days of the sea-passage was all forgotten now. I did
not even worry about not knowing the language. It would keep me from
loitering to chatter. My schoolboy French would probably be enough for
all purposes if I vent astray. I was “to avoid chance acquaintances,
particularly if they spoke English.” That was my last order. Repeating
it to myself I walked on briskly.
I had not gone more than three hundred yards upon my way, when a lady,
very richly dressed, cantered slowly past me on a fine bay mare. She was
followed by a gentleman in scarlet, riding on a little black Arab. They
had not gone a hundred yards past me when the Arab picked up a stone.
The man dismounted to pick it out, while the lady rode back to hold the
horse, which was a ticklish job, since he was as fresh as a colt. He
went squirming about like an eel. The man had no hook to pick the stone
with; nor could he get it out by his fingers. I could hear him growling
under his breath in some strange language, while the horse sidled about
as wicked as he could be.
As I approached, the horse grew so troublesome that the man decided to
take him back to the town, to have the stone pulled there. He was just
starting to lead him back when I came up with them. He asked me some
question in a tongue which I did not know. He probably asked me if I had
a hook. I shook my head. The lady said something to him in French, which
made him laugh. Then he began to lead back the horse towards the town.
The lady, after waving her hand to him, started to ride slowly forward
in front of me. Like most ladies at that time she wore a little black
velvet domino mask over her eyes. All people could ride in those days;
but I remember it occurred to me that this lady rode beautifully. So
many women look like meal-sacks in the saddle. This one rode as though
she were a part of the horse.
She kept about twenty yards ahead of me till I sighted the inn, where an
ostler was walking the little nag which I was to ride. She halted at the
inn-door, looking back towards the town for her companion. Then, without
calling to anybody, she dismounted, flinging her mare's reins over a
hook in the wall. She went into the inn boldly, drawing her whip through
her left hand. When I entered the inn-door a moment later, she was
talking in Dutch to the landlord, who was bowing to her as though she
were a great lady.
I handed over my bottle-basket, with the letter, to a woman who served
the customers at the drinking bar. Then, as I was going out to take my
horse, the lady spoke to me in broken English.
“Walk my horse, so he not take cold,” she said. It was in the twilight
of the passage from the door, so that I could not see her very clearly,
but the voice was certainly like the voice of the woman who had fired
at me in the courtyard. Or was I right? That voice was on my nerves. It
seemed to be the voice of all the strangers in the town. I looked up at
her quickly. She was masked; yet the grey eyes seemed to gleam beyond
the velvet, much as that woman's eyes had gleamed. Her mouth; her chin;
the general poise of her body, all convinced me. She was the woman who
had carried away the book from Longshore Jack. I was quite sure of it.
I pretended not to understand her. I dropped my eyes, without stopping;
she flicked me lightly with her whip to draw my attention.
“Walk my horse,” she said again, with a little petulance in her voice. I
saw no way out of it. If I refused, she would guess (if she did not
know already) that I was not there only for bottles of gin. “Oui,
mademoiselle,” I said. “Oui. Merci.” So out I went to where the mare
stood. She followed me to the door to see me take the mare. There was no
escape; she was going to delay me at the door till the man returned. I
patted the lovely creature's neck. I was very well used to horses, for
in the Broad Country a man must ride almost as much as he must row. But
I was not so taken up with this mare that I did not take good stock of
the lady, who, for her part, watched me pretty narrowly, as though she
meant never to forget me. I began to walk the beast in the road in
front of the inn, wondering how in the world I was to get out of the
difficulty before the Duke's carriage arrived. There was the woman
watching me, with a satirical smile. She was evidently enjoying the
sight of my crestfallen face.
Now in my misery a wild thought occurred to me. I began to time my
walking of the mare so that I was walking towards Sandfoort, while the
other horse-boy was walking with my nag towards Egmont on the other side
of the inn. I had read that in desperate cases the desperate remedy is
the only measure to be tried. While I was walking away from the inn I
drew the dagger, the spoils of war. I drew it very gently as though I
were merely buttoning my waistcoat. Then with one swift cut I drew it
nine-tenths through the girth. I did nothing more for that turn, though
I only bided my time. After a turn or two more, the other horse-boy was
called up to the inn by the lady to receive a drink of beer. No doubt
she was going to question him (as he drank) about the reason for his
being there. He walked up leisurely, full of smiles at the beer, leaving
his nag fast to a hook in the wall some dozen yards from the door.
This was a better chance than I had hoped for; so drawing my dagger,
I resolved to put things to the test. I ripped the reins off the mare
close to the bit. Then with a loud shout followed by a whack in the
flank, I frightened that lovely mare right into them, almost into the
inn-door. Before they knew what had happened I was at my own horse's
head swiftly casting off the reins from the hook. Before they had turned
to pursue me, I was in the saddle, going at a quick trot towards Egmont,
while the mare was charging down the road behind me, with her saddle
under her belly, giving her the fright of her life.
An awful thought came to me. “Supposing the lady is not the English spy,
what an awful thing I have done. Even if she be, what right have I to
cut her horse's harness? They may put me in prison for it. Besides, what
an ass I have been. If she is what I think, she will know now that I
am her enemy, engaged on very special service.” Looking back at the
inn-door, I saw a party of people gesticulating in the road. A man was
shouting to me. Others seemed to be laughing. Then, to my great joy,
round the turn of the road came an open carriage with two horses, going
at a good pace. There came my masters. All was well. I chuckled to
myself as I thought of the lady's face, when these two passed her,
leaving her without means of following them. When we were well out of
sight of the inn, I rode back to the carriage to report, wondering how
they would receive my news. They received it with displeasure, saying
that I had disobeyed my orders, not only in acting as I had done; but in
coming back to tell them. They bade me ride on at once to Egmont, before
I was arrested for cutting the lady's harness. As for their own plans,
whatever they were, my action altered them. I do not know what they did.
I know that I turned away with a flea in my ear from the Duke's reproof.
I remember not very much of my ride to Egmont, except that I seemed to
ride most of the time among sand-dunes. I glanced back anxiously to see
if I was being pursued; but no one followed. I rode on at the steady
lope, losing sight of the carriage, passing by dune after dune, rising
windmill after windmill, to drop them behind me as I rode. In that low
country, I had the gleam of the sea to my left hand, with the sails of
ships passing by me. The wind freshened as I rode, till at last my left
cheek felt the continual stinging of the sand grains, whirled up by the
wind from the bents. Where the sea-beach broadened, I rode on the sands.
The miles dropped past quickly enough, though I rode only at the lope,
not daring to hurry my horse. I kept this my pace even when going
through villages, where the people in their strange Dutch clothes
hurried out to stare at me as I bucketed by. I passed by acre after acre
of bulb-fields, mostly tulip-fields, now beginning to be full of colour.
Once, for ten minutes, I rode by a broad canal, where a barge with a
scarlet transom drove along under sail, spreading the ripples, keeping
alongside me. The helmsman, who was smoking a pipe as he eyed the luff
of his sail, waved his hand to me, as I loped along beside him. You
would not believe it; but he was one of the Oulton fishermen, a man
whom I had known for years. I had seen that tan-sailed barge many, many
times, rushing up the Waveney from Somer Leyton, with that same quiet
figure at her helm. I would have loved to have called out “Oh, Hendry.
How are you? Fancy seeing you here.” But I dared not betray myself; nor
did Hendry recognize me. After the road swung away from the canal, I
watched that barge as long as she remained in sight, thinking that while
she was there I had a little bit of Oulton by me.
At last, far away I saw the church of Egmont, rising out of a flat
land (not unlike the Broad land) on which sails were passing in a misty
distance. I rose in my stirrups with a holloa; for now, I thought, I was
near my journey's end. I clapped my horse's neck, promising him an apple
for his supper. Then, glancing back, I looked out over the land. The
Oulton barge was far away now, a patch of dark sail drawing itself
slowly across the sky. Out to sea a great ship seemed to stand still
upon the skyline. But directly behind me, perhaps a mile away, perhaps
two miles, clearly visible on the white straight ribbon of road, a clump
of gallopers advanced, quartering across the road towards me. There may
have been twenty of them all told; some of them seemed to ride in ranks
like soldiers. I made no doubt when I caught sight of them that they
were coming after me, about that matter of the lady's harness. My first
impulse was to pull up, so that Old Blunderbore, as I had christened my
horse, might get his breath. But I decided not to stop, as I knew how
dangerous a thing it is to stop a horse in his pace after he has settled
down to it, had still three miles to go to shelter. If I could
manage the three miles all would be well. But could manage them? Old
Blunderbore had taken the eighteen miles we had come together very
easily. Now I was thankful that I had not pressed him in the early part
of the ride. But Egmont seemed a long, long way from me. I dared not
begin to gallop so far from shelter. I went loping on as before, with my
heart in my mouth, feeling like one pursued in a nightmare.
As I looked around, to see these gallopers coming on, while I was still
lollopping forward, I felt that I was tied by the legs, unable to move.
Each instant made it more difficult for me to keep from shaking up my
horse. Continual promptings flashed into my mind, urging me to bolt down
somewhere among the dunes. These plans I set aside as worthless; for a
boy would soon have been caught among those desolate sandhills. There
was no real hiding among them. You could see any person among them from
a mile away. I kept on ahead, longing for that wonderful minute when I
could hurry my horse, in the wild rush to Egmont town, the final wild
rush, on the nag's last strength, with my pursuers, now going their
fastest, trailing away behind, as their beasts foundered. The air came
singing past. I heard behind me the patter of the turf sent flying by
Old Blunderbore's hoofs. The excitement of the ride took vigorous hold
on me. I felt on glancing back that I should do it, that I should carry
my message, that the Dutchman should see my mettle, before they stopped
me. They were coming up fast on horses still pretty fresh. I would show
them, I said to myself, what a boy can do on a spent horse.
Old Blunderbore lollopped on. I clapped him on the neck. “Come up, boy!
Up!” I cried. “Egmont--Egmont! Come on, Old Blunderbore!” The good old
fellow shook his head up with a whinny. He could see Egmont. He could
smell the good corn perhaps. I banged him with my cap on the shoulder.
“Up, boy!” I cried. I felt that even if I died, even if I was shot
there, as I sailed along with my King's orders, I should have tasted
life in that wild gallop.
A countryman carrying a sack put down his load to stare at me, for
now, with only a mile to go, I was going a brave gait, as fast as Old
Blunderbore could manage. I saw the man put up his hands in pretended
terror. The next instant he was far behind, wondering no doubt why the
charging squadron beyond were galloping after a boy. Now we were rushing
at our full speed, with half a mile, a quarter of a mile, two hundred
yards to the town gates. Carts drew to one side, hearing the clatter. I
shouted to drive away the children. Poultry scattered as though the king
of the foxes was abroad. After me came the thundering clatter of the
pursuit. I could hear distant shouts. The nearest man there was a
quarter of a mile away. A man started out to catch my rein, thinking
that my horse had run away with me. I banged him in the face with my cap
as I swung past him. In another second, as it seemed, I was pulled up
inside the gates.
As far as I remember,--but it is all rather blurred now,--the place
where I pulled up was a sort of public square. I swung myself off Old
Blunderbore just outside a tavern. An ostler ran up to me at once to
hold him. So I gave him a silver piece what it was worth I did not know,
saying firmly “Zwolle-Haus. Go on. Zwolle-Haus.”
The ostler smiled as he repeated Zwolle-Haus, pointing to the tavern
itself, which, by good luck, was the very house.
“M. Stendhal,” I said. “Where is M. Stendhal? Mynheer Stendhal? Mynheer
Stendhal Haus?”
The ostler repeated, “Stendhal? Stendhal? Ah, ja. Stendhal. Da.” He
pointed down a narrow street which led, as I could see, to a canal
wharf.
I thanked him in English, giving him another silver piece. Then off I
went, tottering on my toes with the strangeness of walking after so long
a ride. I was not out of the wood yet, by a long way. At every second,
as I hurried on, I expected to hear cries of my pursuers, as they
charged down the narrow street after me. I tried to run, but my legs
felt so funny, it was like running in a dream. I just felt that I was
walking on pillows, instead of legs. Luckily that little narrow street
was only fifty yards long. It was with a great gasp of relief that I
got to the end of it. When I could turn to my right out of sight of the
square I felt that I was saved. I had been but a minute ahead of the
pursuers outside on the open. Directly after my entrance, some cart or
waggon went out of the town, filling the narrow gateway full, so that my
enemies were forced to pull up. This gave me a fair start, without which
I could hardly have won clear. If it had not been for that lucky waggon,
who knows what would have happened?
As it was, I tottered along with drawn pistol to the door of a great
house (luckily for me the only house), which fronted the canal. I must
have seemed a queer object, coming in from my ride like that, in a
peaceful Dutch town. If I had chanced upon a magistrate I suppose I
should have been locked up; but luck was with me on that day. I chanced
only on Mynheer Stendhal as he sat smoking among his tulips in the front
of his mansion. He jumped up with a “God bless me!” when he saw me.
“Mynheer Stendhal?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said in good English. “What is it, boy?”
“Take me in quick,” I said. “They're after me.”