THE END.
The early part of September, 1704, had been stormy and wet and very
dismal, so that all in London feared that the great spectacle, which
had been arranged with much pains and forethought for the seventh of
that month, must be impaired if not totally ruined by the inclemency
of the weather. And many there were who, during the night that passed
away and when the dawn came, rose from their beds to peer out and see
what the day promised.
Yet by great good fortune none were doomed to disappointment. For from
away over the river, down by where the great ships were all a-lying
dressed with flags, the sun came up in great magnificence and
splendour; the clouds turned from purple to a fair pure daffodil; a
sweeter autumn morning none had ever seen nor could hope to see.
And now from very early in the morning the crowd came in from far and
wide, from north and south and east and west, from the villages along
the river as far away as sylvan Richmond on one side, or Hampstead on
another; while the gentry drove in from their country seats at Clapham
or Kensington and on the road that leads to Fulham. Also those
regiments at Hounslow, and the foot guards at Kensington, as well as
the city militia from the east side, were all making their way into
the town, with drums a-beating and flags streaming out to the fresh
morning air and trumpets braying, while in the city itself my Lord
Mayor was getting ready to proceed to Temple Bar, there to receive the
queen and court.
For this day, the seventh of September, had been fixed for the
thanksgiving for the victory of Blenheim which the Duke of Marlborough
had recently won. The pity only being that, of those who were to take
part in the great ceremony, my Lord Duke could not be there, he being
still engaged on the Continent.
Nevertheless, from St. James' there set out so great a company for St.
Paul's that 'tis never likely any one then alive could expect to
witness a more noble and imposing sight. For there were all the great
officers of state, with, amidst them, the queen in a sumptuous coach
drawn by eight horses, Her Majesty being ablaze with jewels. Alone she
went in that coach excepting one companion, a lady dressed as quietly
and simply as could be any lady in the land, there being neither at
neck or bosom or throat, or in her hair, any single trinket to be
seen.
Yet, I think, she was that day the proudest woman in all England, not
even excepting great Anna, since she was the wife of the conqueror who
had trampled Louis and his armies under foot; was Sarah, Duchess of
Marlborough. Could any female heart have desired to be more!
In front of, as well as behind, and on either side of that chariot of
state, there rode the Queen's Guards; yet ahead of those who rode
behind--he being nearest to the back of the carriage--was one who
yielded to none in thankfulness and gratitude for all which Providence
had seen fit to do for him. An officer this, one handed, his left
arm bound up--it having been nearly lopped off at Blenheim by one of
the Elector of Bavaria's huge dragoons, whom that officer slew a
moment later with his right hand--whose scarf, sword knot,
richly laced scarlet coat and gold cockade proclaimed him a colonel
of horse--myself.
From where we entered the Strand--by the cross set up here--we saw
that all the shops were boarded up and scaffolded, partly to resist
the crowd and partly to furnish benches on which sight-seers might
sit. On those benches, also in the shop windows, on the bulks and at
the windows of the tradesmen's parlours above, was a noble and
splendid company, the ladies of which had all adorned themselves with
their choicest dresses and ribbons and laces, the more to do honour to
those other two ladies in the great coach. Then, behind, came the
lords of Parliament and the gentlemen of the Commons, also the
Bishops in their wigs and lawn--each and all in coaches drawn by
six horses--as well as many others of the nobility; while from the
churches along the route, St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, St. Mary's in
the Strand and St. Clement's Danes, the bells clashed and clanged,
and, inside, the organs blew and anthems pealed.
At Temple Bar there was a great halt, since the gates were shut, yet
opened as the queen came to them, whereon my Lord Mayor, surrounded by
the aldermen and sheriffs, in their red robes and on horses richly
caparisoned, received Her Majesty, the former handing to her the sword
of the city, which she at once returned; after which we progressed
once more toward St. Paul's, where, later, the dean preached a moving
sermon.
And now my eyes were fixed and searching for a face--two faces--at a
window beyond the Church of St. Dunstan's in Fleet street--which was
all hung with banners and adornments stretched across from side to
side--and presently I saw that which I sought for--a lady on a balcony
holding up a little wee child in her arms, a lady dark and beautiful
and dressed all in her best, her robe a rich brocade, with, at her
breast, a knot of ribbons, the colours of the Fourth Horse--the woman
who has ever been in my eyes the fairest, most lovely of her sex, my
loved and honoured wife. And she stood there seeking for me, leaning
over the balcony to wave and kiss her hand, took, also, our babe's
little one in her arms and caused it to wave, too.
Riding by, I looked up and saw them, and blessed God--blessed God and
praised His name, because He had seen fit to bring us safe through all
the dangers we had encountered together, because He had seen fit to
give to me for wife the sweetest woman the world held, and to bring us
safe into haven at last.
For that, as well as all else, I blessed and praised His name, even as
from roofs of houses and taverns the salvos roared forth, the bells
pealed from the steeples, and we progressed through the city;
companies ranged 'neath their banners, and, between the lines kept by
the militia, the queen bowing from her side of the coach, the great,
stately duchess from hers, the people shouting all the time, and
crying but two names, "Anne" and "Marlborough," and women holding up
their children, so that, in the days to come, when those children were
old, they might say they had gazed on the wife of the greatest soldier
in the world. And thus, at last, we came to St. Paul's and gave
thanksgiving.
It was when night had fallen after Blenheim that my Lord Duke sent for
me to his room in the inn, where he and the Marshal Tallard--who had
led the French, and been defeated that day, and was now an honoured
and well-cared-for prisoner of his Grace--were quartered, and spoke to
me as follows:
"Colonel Crespin--for such you will be when the next gazette is
published--if it were not that others have a prior claim, it should be
you to whom I would confide my message to the queen and lords. For,"
and he smiled sweetly, as usual, though, to-night, a little wearily,
"I have a recollection of your value as a bearer of despatches; yet,
all the same, you shall go to England. You have a wife and child
there, I know."
And again he smiled as I bowed before him.
"For which you have to thank me. By St. George, I never thought when I
sent you on that journey you were going sweetheart hunting, too."
Whereby you will perceive that his Grace knew very well all that had
befallen me two years before, when I set out for Spain to find, if
might be, the English fleet. It would be strange, indeed, if he had
not known it, for my story had been told all over the forces from the
moment I returned and joined my regiment; nay, more than once, I had
told it to Marlborough himself.
"I shall not be far behind you," he continued, "the New Year should
see me home, too. Yet I have messages for the queen and my own wife.
You shall bear them. It will give you an opportunity of seeing your
own wife. She is, I hear, vastly beautiful."
"In my eyes, my lord Duke, the most beautiful woman in the world."
"That is as it should be. So," he continued simply, "I think of mine.
But, also, you must see the queen. She has heard of your adventures,
wishes she had seen you when you were on leave in England. Tell her
all--tell her as bravely in words as you can be brave in action--and
you will not stop at the command of a regiment of horse. See also
my wife; her influence is extreme--our enemies say 'tis a bad
influence--yet she will help you."
And I did see the queen on my arrival in England, also the great
duchess, Sarah, on the night before we went to St. Paul's; after which
I wondered no more how every one loved the former, spoke of her,
indeed, as the "Good" Queen--a title, I think, as dear and precious as
that of "Great," which Elizabeth had worn. She was very ruddy, I
noticed when I stood before her, her beautiful red-brown hair bound
most matronly above her brow, while her arms--which were bare, to
show, as I have heard, their extreme beauty--were most marvellous to
behold, as well as her hands. Yet, queen as she was, and a well
favoured one, too, it was more on the other lady who stood behind her
that my eyes rested; for she was beautiful beyond all I had imagined,
so that I wondered not that report said the duke loved her as fondly
as when they were boy and girl together, she only a maid of honour,
and he an ensign. Yet, also, I thought that beauty marred by an
imperious haughtiness which made her seem the queen and the real queen
seem her subject.
"So, Colonel Crespin," Her Majesty said to me, "I set eyes on you at
last--you of whom I have heard so much. Well, I am vastly proud to
know so brave a gentleman. Later, I must also know your wife--whom I
hear you wooed and won in a strange fashion." Then changing the
subject swiftly, while her kindly eyes rested on me, she said: "Your
father must be very proud of you."
Not knowing what reply to make to such a compliment, I could but bow
again, whereon she continued:
"Your arm is bound up, I see--I hear you got the wound at Blenheim.
'Tis very well. In after years it will be as great a distinction to
have had that wound as any honours or titles that may come to you. It
does not prevent your riding?"
I murmured that it inconvenienced me but very little, whereon Her
Majesty said:
"That is also well. To-morrow I desire you follow my coach to St.
Paul's. I love my people to see those who have served me bravely,"
whereon, with a gracious inclination of her head, accompanied by a
sweet smile upon her honest, kindly face, she turned and left the
apartment, the duchess bowing too, though somewhat more haughtily than
the queen had done. Yet she whispered a word in my ear as she passed
out; a word appropriate enough to one as proud as she.
"You have served _him_ well," she said. "Those who do that are my
friends forever."
And now the rejoicings for our victory at Blenheim were over--the
siege and taking of Gibraltar three weeks before, by my other friend,
Sir George Rooke, being not forgotten--the crowds had dispersed, the
great banquet to be given by the city was near at hand and the
illuminations of London were beginning.
Yet I had no desire to be feasting in the midst of that great
company--instead, I was seated in the room from the balcony of which I
had seen my wife that morning; her head upon my shoulder, her lips
murmuring words of love inexpressible in my ear; words in which,
amongst the rest, I caught those that told me how proud she was to
have won me from all other women, how proud and happy in knowing that
we were each other's forever in this world.
* * * * * * * * *
What need to set down more--what more have I to say?
Only this. That never would she hear of redeeming any of that second
fortune which her unhappy father had left in the custody of the priest
in the Indies who had once been as he himself was; and consequently,
that from the time we became man and wife no further intercourse was
ever held between us and those far-off islands from which she came.
Nor was that fortune wanted--God has ever been good to us; I have
prospered exceedingly in my soldier's calling; all is very well.
Of him, Gramont, we have never heard more. Yet that, somewhere, he is,
if still alive, expiating his past I have never doubted. The truth was
in the man's eyes as he spoke to me on that morning when he went forth
broken-hearted from the house which held his child; the truth, and a
firm determination to atone by suffering and hardship for all that he
had done. And what stronger or more stern resolve could any sinner
have taken than that of his? The determination to tear himself away
forever from the companionship of his newly found daughter, and to
remove thereby from her forever the shame of his presence.
"Come, Mervan," she said to me, as now the autumn evening turned to
night, and from every house in Fleet street the illuminations began to
glisten. "Come, you must prepare for the city banquet."
"Nay," I said, "nay. I need no banquets, would prefer to stay here by
your side."
"And so I would you should do. Yet you must go. I will not have you
absent from so great a thing. You! my hero--my king. And while you are
gone I will watch over our child, or solace myself with this."
And as she spoke she went over to where the spinet was, and touched a
smaller instrument that lay upon it--the little viol d'amore from
which we have never parted, and never will.
THE END.
PRINTED BY STROMBERG, ALLEN & CO.
FOR
HERBERT S. STONE & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
CHICAGO
1897
End of Project Gutenberg's Across the Salt Seas, by John Bloundelle-Burton