I OVERHEAR THE PLAN OF BRITAIN'S INVASION
I began these chronicles with a homily upon the pregnancy of chance
that gives the simplest of our acts ofttimes far-reaching and appalling
consequences. It is clear that I had never become the Spoiled Horn
and vexed my parents' lives had not a widow woman burned her batch of
scones, and though perhaps the pair of shoes in the chest bequeathed
to me by my Uncle Andrew were without the magic influence he and I
gave credit for, it is probable that I had made a different flight from
Scotland had they not led me in the way of Daniel Risk.
And even now their influence was not ended. During the months I had
spent at soldiering the red shoes reposed among my baggage; even when
I had changed from the uniform of the Regiment d'Auvergne upon the
frontier of Holland, and made myself again a common citizen of Europe, I
had some freit (as we say of a superstition) against resuming the shoes
that had led me previously into divers perils. But the day we left
Helvoet in the Hollands Deep hoy, I was so hurried in my departure that
the red shoes were the only ones I could lay hands on. As luck would
have it, when I entered Dunkerque for the last time in my history some
days after, I was wearing the same leather as on the first day of my
arrival there, and the fact led, by a singularity of circumstances, to
my final severance from many of those: companions--some of them pleasant
and unforgetable--I had made acquaintance with in France.
It was thus that the thing happened.
When we entered Dunkerque, the priest, Kilbride, and I went to an inn
upon the sea front. Having breakfasted I was deputed to go forth and
call upon Thurot, explain our circumstances, take his counsel, and
return to the hoy where my two friends would return to wait for me. He
was out when I reached his lodging, but his Swiss--a different one from
what he had before when I was there--informed me that his master was
expected back at any moment, and invited me to step in and wait for him.
I availed myself of the opportunity.
Our voyage along the coast had been delayed by contrary winds, so that
now it was the Sabbath; the town was by-ordinary still (though indeed
Sabbath nor Saturday made much difference, as a rule, on the gaiety of
Dunkerque), and wearied by the sea travel that had just concluded I fell
fast asleep in Captain Thurot's chair.
I was wakened by a loud knocking at the outer door, not the first, as
it may be remembered, that called me forth from dreams to new twists of
fortune, and I started to my feet to meet my host.
What was my chagrin to hear the Prince's voice in converse with him on
the stair!
“Here is a pretty pickle!” I told myself. “M. Albany is the last man
on earth I would choose to meet at this moment,” and without another
reflection I darted into the adjoining room and shut the door. It was
Thurot's bed-chamber, with a window that looked out upon the court
where fowls were cackling. I was no sooner in than I somewhat rued my
precipitation, for the manlier course indubitably had been to bide where
I was. But now there was no retreating, so I sat with what patience I
could command to wait my discovery by the tenant of the place after
his royal visitor was gone.
It was the Sabbath day as I have said, and the chimes of St. Eloi were
going briskly upon some papist canticle, but not so loud that I could
not hear, in spite of myself, all that went on in the next room.
At first I paid no heed, for the situation was unworthy enough of itself
without any attempt on my part to be an eavesdropper. But by-and-bye,
through the banging of the bells of St. Eloi, I heard M. Albany (still
to give the man his by-name) mention the name Ecosse.
Scotland! The name of her went through me like a pang!
They spoke in French of course; I think I could have understood them
had it been Chinese. For they discussed some details of the intended
invasion that still hung fire, and from the first of M. Albany's
sentences I learned that the descent was determined upon Scotland. 'Twas
that which angered me and made me listen for the rest with every sense
of the spy and deterred by never a scruple. At first I had fancied
Thurot would learn from his servant I was in the house, and leave me
alone till his royal guest's departure from an intuition that I desired
no meeting, but it was obvious now that no such consideration would have
induced him to let me hear the vast secret they discussed.
“Twenty thousand men are between Brest and Vannes,” said M. Albany. “We
shall have them in frigates in a fortnight from to-day, and then, _mon
Capitaine_, affairs shall move briskly.”
“And still,” said Thurot, who had some odd tone of dissatisfaction in
his voice, “I had preferred it had been the South of England. Dumont has
given us every anchorage and sounding on the coast between Beachy Head
and Arundel, and from there we could all the sooner have thrust at the
heart of England. This Scotland--”
“Bah! Captain Thurot,” cried his Royal Highness impatiently, “you talk
like a fool. At the heart, indeed! With all habitable England like a fat
about it, rich with forts and troops and no more friendship for us than
for the Mameluke! No, no, Thurot, I cry Scotland; all the chances are
among the rocks, and I am glad it has been so decided on.”
“And still, with infinite deference, your Royal Highness, this same
West of Scotland never brought but the most abominable luck to you and
yours,” continued Thurot. “Now, Arundel Bay----”
“Oh! to the devil with Arundel Bay!” cried M. Albany; “'tis settled
otherwise, and you must take it as you find it. Conflans and his men
shall land upon the West--_mon Dieu!_ I trust they may escape its fangs;
and measures will be there taken with more precaution and I hope with
more success than in Seventeen Forty-five. Thence they will march to
England, sweeping the whole country before them, and not leaving behind
them a man or boy who can carry a musket. Thus they must raise the army
to fifty or sixty thousand men, strike a terror into England, and carry
all with a high hand. I swear 'tis a fatted hog this England: with
fewer than ten thousand Highlanders I have made her thrill at the very
vitals.”
Thurot hummed. Plainly there was much in the project that failed to meet
his favour.
“And Conflans?” said he.
His Royal Highness laughed.
“Ha! Captain,” said he, “I know, I know. 'Twould suit you better if a
certain Tony Thurot had command.”
“At least,” said Thurot, “I am in my prime, while the Marshal is beyond
his grand climacteric.”
“And still, by your leave, with the reputation of being yet the best--
well, let us say among the best--of the sea officers of France. Come,
come, Captain, there must be no half-hearts in this venture; would to
Heaven I were permitted to enjoy a share in it! And on you, my friend,
depends a good half of the emprise and the _gloire_.”
“_Gloire!_” cried Thurot. “With every deference to your Royal Highness
I must consider myself abominably ill-used in this matter. That I should
be sent off to Norway and hound-in wretched Swedes with a personage like
Flaubert! Oh, I protest, 'tis beyond all reason! Is it for that I have
been superseded by a man like Conflans that totters on the edge of the
grave?”
“I hope 'tis England's grave,” retorted M. Albany with unfailing good
humour, and I heard the gluck of wine as he helped himself to another
glass. “I repeat _gloire_, with every apology to the experience of M. le
Corsair. 'Tis your duty to advance with your French and your Swedes upon
the North of England, and make the diversion in these parts that shall
inconvenience the English army front or rear.”
“Oh, curse your diversions!” cried Thurot. “If I have a talent at all
'tis for the main attack. And this Conflans----”
The remainder of the discussion, so far as I remained to hear it, gave
no enlargement upon the plan thus laid bare. But in any case my whole
desire now was to escape from the house without discovery, for I had
news that made my return to Britain imperative.
I opened the window quietly and slipped out. The drop to the court was
less than my own height. Into the street I turned with the sober step
of leisure, yet my feet tingled to run hard and my heart was stormy. The
bells of St. Eloi went on ringing; the streets were growing busy
with holiday-makers and the soldiers who were destined to over-run my
country. I took there and then the most dreadful hatred of them, and
scowled so black that some of the soldiers cried after me with a jeer.
The priest and Kilbride I found were not at the inn where I had left
them, having gone back to the vessel, so I hurried down to the quay
after them. The hoy had been moved since morning, and in the throng of
other vessels that were in the harbour at the time I lost well-nigh an
hour in seeking her. Whether that was well for me or ill would be folly
now to guess, but when I had no more than set a foot upon the gunwale
of a small boat that was to take me out to her I was clapped upon the
shoulder.
I turned, to see Thurot and two officers of marine!
“Pardon, M. Greig, a moment,” said Thurot, with not the kindest of
tones. “Surely you would not hurry out of Dunkerque without a _congé_
for old friends?”
I stammered some sentences that were meant to reassure him. He
interrupted me, and--not with any roughness, but with a pressure there
was no mistaking and I was not fool enough to resist--led me from the
side of the quay.
“_Ma foi!_” said he, “'Tis the most ridiculous thing! I had nearly
missed you and could never have forgiven myself. My Swiss has just
informed me that you were in the house an hour ago while I was there
myself. I fear we must have bored you, M. Albany and I, with our dull
affairs. At least there was no other excuse for your unceremonious
departure through my back window.”
I was never well-equipped to conceal my feelings, and it was plain in my
face that I knew all.
He sighed.
“Well, lad,” said he, rather sorrowfully, “I'd give a good many _louis
d'or_ that you had come visiting at another hour of the day, and
now there's but one thing left me. My Swiss did not know you, but
he has--praise _le bon Dieu!_--a pair of eyes in his head, and
he remembered that my visitor wore red shoes. Red shoes and a
Scotsman!--the conjunction was unmistakable, and here we are, M. Greig.
There are a score of men looking all over Dunkerque at this moment for
these same shoes.”
“Confound the red shoes!” I cried, unable to conceal my vexation that
they should once more have brought me into trouble.
“By no means, M. Greig,” said Thurot. “But for them we should never
have identified our visitor, and a somewhat startling tale was over the
Channel a little earlier than we intended. And now all that I may do for
old friendship to yourself and the original wearer of the shoes is to
give you a free trip to England in my own vessel. 'Tis not the _Roi
Rouge_ this time--worse luck!--but a frigate, and we can be happy enough
if you are not a fool.”