THE ROAD TO BREST
The wound in Ethan Carlyle’s head was not a very severe one; so next
day he was about, looking a trifle pale, and with a bandage about his
brow, but almost as well as ever.
When he came down from his room he found Longsword awaiting him.
“How are ye?” asked the dragoon anxiously.
“Just a little hazy in the head,” answered Ethan, “but that will pass
in a few hours.”
“Could ye stand a bit of news if it were broken to ye gently?”
“I think so.”
“Well, among those who were wounded in the fight last night was Siki.”
“Ah!”
“We have him here. We carried him on the same litter as yourself. He is
willing to talk, so the captain says. They are only waiting for you.”
“Take me to him.”
Longsword promptly led the way into a room off that of Captain
Jones’. They found that officer sitting at a table engaged in some
correspondence; upon a couch was the lean form of the Lascar; his dark
face was drawn with pain and his eyes roved about restlessly. Captain
Jones sprang up as Ethan and the dragoon entered.
“I’m delighted,” he said, grasping the lad’s hand. “You seemed to be
resting so easily during the night, though, that I felt sure you would
be all right by morning.”
“Thank you,” said Ethan. Then nodding toward the Lascar he continued,
“And so we took a prisoner?”
“Yes,” smiled the officer, “and rather an important one, too; he will
tell you many things that will surprise you.”
Siki raised himself upon one elbow and broke in.
“But, what will be the good if you don’t act? You must hurry. The
dispatch will be in England in two days if the wind is good.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ethan.
“I mean that Fochard is even now preparing to cross the channel to
deliver the papers to Danvers.”
The man spoke English now; and upon hearing his words Longsword asked
quickly:
“Why did ye attack us last night?”
“To get the ring. It was not until I was brought here that I saw what
a cunning trick that rascal played upon me. He had the dispatch in his
pocket; he feared that we meant to attack him; so he planned this thing
of the ring on the moment, and so threw me off the right track. While
my men and I were following you, he was, maybe, on the way to Brest.”
“Just as I thought, sure!” exclaimed Longsword. “He used us as decoys
to draw off the hounds when they were closing in on himself.”
“What a ready rascal,” cried Ethan, forced to admiration of the man’s
wit. Then turning to the Lascar he continued:
“You are sure he had the dispatch?”
“I am. He took it from me at Nantes as I was about to leave the country
some time ago.”
“Did he send you to the Earl of Selkirk?”
“He did. He promised me a share if the earl would buy the papers for
the crown.”
“Why did he not deal with the English government himself?”
“The war has made him afraid. He wanted a go-between. But when I
returned I found that he was playing me false. He is to take ship at
Brest and meet Danvers at Plymouth with the dispatch. Fochard is to get
the ten thousand pounds, and Danvers is to get all the credit.”
“It would seem,” said Captain Jones, “that this man has but one object
in view--and that is his own profit. He keeps faith with no one.”
“No,” cried the Lascar, clinching his fist and setting his strong white
teeth, “he plays false with all--with you, with Danvers--with me. But I
will be revenged! If you start in pursuit at once you will overtake him
on the way to Brest or on the sea; and the dispatch will be your own
once more.”
They talked for some little time, then the three went into another room
and consulted.
“I cannot leave Paris at this time,” said the captain, “but as the
man seems to be speaking the truth, now, you two might act upon his
suggestion. A couple of fast horses would take you to Brest in little
time, and you may be able to prevent the man’s escape.”
“But should he reach Brest before us--if he gets to sea--we cannot
follow him.”
Captain Jones drew out a wallet and took from it a number of French
bills of exchange.
“This,” said he, “will secure a vessel. If it is not sufficient say
that I will make up the balance.”
Ethan hesitated, but at length took the bills, and shook the officer by
the hand.
“This is generous of you; and you may depend upon me to do my best,” he
said.
Within an hour himself and Longsword were in the saddle and riding
along the road toward Brest.
“Like as not he took a carriage,” said the dragoon: “these well-fed
gentlemen like Monsieur Fochard don’t care much about riding.”
“Perhaps the story told us by the Lascar is not true,” suggested Ethan,
who still felt most doubtful upon this point.
“Maybe not. But it won’t be long before we satisfy ourselves upon that
point. We’ll not ride many miles before we know who is ahead of us;
innkeepers have good memories if they are paid for it.”
In this Longsword was right. They paused for food at a small hostelry
about noon, and Ethan questioned the landlord.
“A traveler? Oh, yes, monsieur, there have been many pass by to-day and
yesterday. You are trying to overtake a friend, I suppose? It will be
difficult, because all who went by seemed in a very great hurry, and
scarce had time to spend a sou even. But what sort of a man is he whom
you ride after? Stout? Ah! And with a great white frill and many seals?
I have him. He passed early this morning in a carriage with postilions;
and he drove very fast after he had had his breakfast.”
This news made them increase the pace of their nags along the road.
“He will probably get fresh horses at given points along the road,”
said Ethan, “so he will have that advantage of us.”
Their mounts were big-boned, lean beasts with plenty of bottom and
great willingness; the miles flowed by under their hoofs; but still no
indication of their overtaking the carriage of the secret agent. It was
late in the afternoon when they entered a long stretch of road bordered
by thick woods upon each side; the trees were tall and bare of leaves;
their frost-dry branches swung and rattled in the wind. They had met no
person or come upon no human habitation for a long time; and now were
astonished to hear a hearty, rollicking sort of a voice roaring out:
“‘Oh, the French are on the sea,’ says the Shan Van Vogh;
‘The French are on the sea,’ says the Shan Van Vogh;
‘Oh, the French are in the bay, they’ll be here without delay,
And the Orange will decay,’ says the Shan Van Vogh.”
“Hurro,” cried Longsword in delight. “Faith, that’s a countryman of my
own, I’ll go bail.”
“There can be little doubt of that,” said Ethan smiling. “And a hearty,
joyful blade he must be, judging from his voice.”
Rounding a bend in the road they overtook a strongly built young man
with a great shock of yellow hair and the bluest of blue eyes; he
bestrode a tall gray horse; and with his head thrown back he trolled
forth his song.
“The top of the morning to you,” saluted Longsword.
The song was checked so suddenly that it seemed as though the yellow
haired young man had bitten it off short. He gazed at the dragoon in
astonishment.
“What’s that?” demanded he.
“The top of the morning to ye,” repeated Longsword, with a smile.
With a whoop of delight the stranger wheeled his gray horse alongside
the other and seized his hand in a powerful grip.
“An Irishman, be the hooky!” shouted he. “Faith, then, I’m as glad to
see ye as I would be to see me own mother, and I haven’t laid eyes on
her these many years.”
Longsword seemed equally pleased, and his hand grip was fully as warm
as that of the other.
“It was like a dream to hear the old Shan Van Vogh upon a lonely French
road, so far away from home,” he said. “And faith it warmed the heart
of me, so it did.”
They exchanged some remarks in the Erse tongue; then Longsword turned
to Ethan.
“This,” said he formally, “is Rory McHale, captain of the lugger, Erin,
now lying at Brest.” Then, speaking to McHale, he went on: “And this
is Mr. Ethan Carlyle, in the service of the Confederated Colonies of
America.”
The two thus introduced shook hands, and McHale said:
“Faith, sir, the tide have turned at last; ye’ll bate the English, so
ye will; for ye have the French with ye now, and that is all ye needed.”
“I trust that you are right,” said the lad. “England will now be forced
to divide her attention between the Colonies and France; and so our
chances will be increased.”
“Are ye riding to Brest, may I ask?” inquired the Irishman.
“We are,” answered Ethan.
“So am I; and if it’s not pushing meself for’ard too much I’ll be glad
to ride in your company, sir.”
“You are very welcome, Captain McHale. You are going to join your
vessel, I suppose.”
“I am. She is all ready for another cruise, and I’ve been to Paris to
see her owners and get instructions.”
“You are in the merchant service, then?”
“Not a bit of it. The Erin is a privateer, faith, and as smart a little
vessel as ever cut the water.”
“Ah, indeed.”
“She’s French built and Irish manned,” continued Captain McHale. “And
though I do say it meself, she’s done more damage to the Saxon than any
other craft of her tonnage that ever slipped out to sea by the light of
the stars.”
Longsword had been examining the young sailor carefully while he talked
to Ethan. Now he asked:
“Are ye of the west of Ireland, Captain McHale?”
“I am, sure,” answered the other.
“I thought so. When ye see an Irishman wid straw colored hair and blue
eyes he’s always a sailor. There’s some of the blood of the old Vikings
in ye all. King Brian beat the Danes at Clontarf, but he didn’t drive
them all out of the land. And if ye went back far enough, McHale, I’ll
go bail ye’d find your ancestors wid winged helmets on the heads of
them and beards a foot long.”
The yellow haired man laughed.
“Maybe so,” said he. “I’ll not be denying it.”
After they had ridden together for some minutes, Ethan asked:
“Have you seen anything of a carriage on the road, Captain McHale?”
“I have. One passed me some hours ago. A fat Frenchman in it demanded
the road of me and flew into a rage because I would not leap me horse
into a ditch to accommodate him. He seemed to be in a great hurry, so
he did.”
“Our man,” said Ethan to Longsword.
“No doubt of it,” answered the dragoon.
The seaman looked from one to the other questioningly.
“Ye are wanting this gentleman, then?” asked he.
“We are,” said Longsword. “And we’re wanting him more than we ever
wanted anything in our lives before.”
“You may come up wid him.”
“It’s not likely, if he is hours ahead of us.”
“One of his horses had a limp; I think it had cast a shoe. This was the
real cause of the Frenchman’s anger, I think.” The speaker looked from
one to the other once more. “Does he know that ye are after him, may I
ask?”
“He may suspect. But he is not sure.”
“Well, he’s running no risks, faith, and is making the best of his time
on the road.”
Night came on and they put up at a quiet little place upon the edge of
the forest through which they had been passing.
“Yes,” replied the landlord to Ethan’s question, “a stout gentleman
passed in a carriage some time ago. He was very angry because I had no
horse to give him. One of his was lame, I think, and when he drove off,
he went at a very slow pace.”
“We’ll overtake him in the morning,” said Longsword in English. “If his
horse was as badly lamed as all that he’ll be forced to put up before
he reaches the next town where he can get relays.”
“We will be on the road by daylight,” said the young American. “If our
horses could stand it I’d be in favor of pressing on to-night.”
Next morning while the pale moon was still lighting up the snowy
countryside they were stirring; a quick breakfast and then they climbed
into their saddles and were off.
“I’m not so comfortable upon the quarter-deck of a horse as I am upon
the Erin,” said Captain McHale as they rode along.
“And it’s a long distance to Brest, so it is,” said Longsword.
The moon grew paler and the few stars disappeared before the touch of
dawn; some distance along the road they caught a gleam of a fire.
“Some wayfarers who had not the money for a bed,” said Ethan. “It must
have been a cold night, indeed, in the open air.”
It was a matter of five or more miles from the inn; the fire seemed to
burn close by the roadside, and in the red glare a number of people
could be seen sitting beside it. Suddenly Ethan pulled up, and uttered
a smothered cry of surprise.
“Look,” said he. “There upon the other side of the road.”
They followed the direction of his outstretched finger, and saw a
carriage drawn up, with horses tied up by the bridles behind it.
“Fochard!” exclaimed Longsword exultantly.
“It can be no one else,” said Ethan.
“It’s the carriage that I spoke to ye of, I feel sure,” said Captain
McHale. “The lame horse must have broken down entirely at this point.”
Ethan put his horse into a run and the others followed his example.
When they reached the fire they halted; and with his hand upon the butt
of a pistol, Ethan cried out:
“Stand forth, Monsieur Fochard. We have a small matter of business with
you.”
One of the men arose to his feet and touched his hat, tremblingly.
“We are postilions, sir, waiting for daylight. The brown horse, there,
cast a shoe and went lame. Monsieur Fochard took one of the other
horses and rode on to the next town in the night, as he could not wait
for us.”
“How far is it to the next town?” asked Ethan.
“About eight miles, monsieur.”
Ethan wheeled his horse into the middle of the road once more.
“Come on,” he called. “He may be delayed in getting a carriage. We have
a chance of overtaking him yet.”
And away they dashed, with loose reins, down the frosty road.