MORE ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS
We had no difficulty in reaching Middleham railway station, that
familiar rendezvous, at the appointed time. Even Lord Frederick, who
lived farther afield than any of us, was able, by putting a powerful
car to an illegal use, to arrive on the stroke of the hour.
It was to be remarked that the prevailing tone in our coupe was one
which almost amounted to gaiety. Judged by the cold agnostic eye, the
scheme was only a little this side of madness. But it had the sanction
of a high motive. Further, we were brothers in arms who had smelt
powder together upon a more dubious enterprise; we had faith in one
another; and above all we were sustained, one might even say
translated, by the epic quality of an incomparable leader.
Fitz smoked his cigar and cut in at a rubber of bridge with an air of
indulgent and serene content.
"It is lucky," he said, "that I know an old innkeeper on the frontier
who will be rather useful if we have to go without passports. He is
about a mile on the Milesian side, and will be able to provide us with
horses and smuggle us across in the darkness. He will also find for us
a couple of guides over the mountains."
"You say we can get from the frontier to the Castle at Blaenau in six
hours?" inquired the gruff voice of the Chief Constable.
"Yes, unless there is a lot of snow in the passes."
"But if the country is in a state of revolution, aren't we likely to be
held up?"
"Perhaps; perhaps not. We shall find a way if we have to take an
airship. Eh, Joe?"
The Man of Destiny gave my relation by marriage a fraternal punch in
the ribs.
"Ra-_ther_!" That hero was in the act of cutting an ace and winning
the deal.
"I shall arrange," said Fitz, "for a change of horses at Postovik,
which is about half way. If all goes well we shall be at the foot of
the Castle rock a little before midnight on Thursday. I am thinking,
though, that we may have to swim the Maravina."
"Umph!" growled the Chief Constable, declaring an original spade, "a
moderately cheerful prospect on a January night in Illyria."
"It may not come to that, of course. But all the bridges and ferries
are sure to be guarded. And even if they are, with a bit of luck we
may be able to rush them."
As our leader began to evolve his plan of campaign it could not be said
to forfeit any of its romance. But I think it would be neither fair
nor gracious to Mr. Nevil Fitzwaren's corps of irregulars to say that
this spice of adventure made less its glamour. We could all claim some
little experience of war and that mimic sphere of action "that provides
the image of war without its guilt, and only thirty per cent. of its
dangers." Some of us had taken cover upon the veldt and others had
crossed the Blakiston after a week's rain; and we all felt as we sped
towards the metropolis at the rate of sixty miles an hour, and at the
same time endeavoured to restrain the cards from slipping on to the
floor, that whatever Fate, that capricious mistress, had in store for
us, our hazard was for as high a stake as any set of gamesters need
wish to play.
Punctual to the minute, we came into the London terminus. As on the
occasion of that former adventure, we posted off to Long's quiet family
hotel, with the exception of Joseph Jocelyn De Vere Vane-Anstruther,
who confided his kit-bag to the care of his man Kelly, and adjured him
to see that a decent room was found for him, while he went "to rout out
Alec at the Continental before they fired the beggar out."
"Tell him we leave Charing Cross at ten-forty in the morning," said
Fitz. "That will give me time to see what can be done in the way of
papers, although as far as Illyria is concerned, diplomatic relations
are pretty sure to have been suspended."
Driving again to Long's Hotel, I was regaled with the remembrance of
our former journey; of the incident of the cab which followed us
through the November slush; of the weird sequel; of that long night of
alarums and excursions, which yet was no more than a prelude to a
chaotic vista of events.
I recalled the drive from Ward's with Coverdale; the slow-drawn
tragi-comedy of suspense; the waiting-room at the Embassy, the plunge
up the stairs, the charming player of Schumann, the presentation to her
Royal Highness. I recalled the passages with the Ambassador and their
terrible issue; the drive with the Princess to the Savoy; the episode
of the pink satin at which I could now afford to laugh. Again I
recalled our _bizarre_ visit to Bryanston Square; our reception by my
Uncle Theodore, his "Fear nothing" and his still more curious prevision
of that which was to come to pass. I recalled our dash for this same
Grand Central railway station and the merciful shattering of our hopes
midway. I recalled the Scotland Yard inspector with the light
moustache, the hand of the Princess guiding me through the traffic, the
cool-fingered doctor, the bowl of crimson water at which I did not care
to look. Finally, in this panoramic jumble of wild occurrences, the
memory of which I should carry to the grave, I recalled that noble,
complex, misguided emblem of our species, the Victor of Rodova, the
clear-sighted, subtle yet great-hearted hero of an epoch in the destiny
of nations; the father of his people, whom his children had slain even
while the hand of death was already upon him.
I pictured him lying riddled with bullets on the steps of his palace at
Blaenau, riddled with the bullets he had so often despised. Even from
the brief account in the evening papers it was clear that the end of
the Victor of Rodova had been heroic.
The smouldering volcano had burst into flame at last. A tax-gatherer
had been slain in an outlying district. At the signal, a whole
province, at the back of one half-patriot, half-brigand, rose up,
marched armed to the Capital, and called upon the King at his palace to
grant a charter to the people. The King met them alone, as was his
custom, on the steps of his palace, and having listened with kindness
and patience to their demands, made the reply "that he would take steps
to procure the charter for his people if the peccant son who had slain
a faithful servant treacherously was rendered to justice."
Whether the King deliberately misread the temper of his subjects, or
whether he overestimated the personal power it was his custom to exert,
was hard to determine, but in this reply which was so strangely
deficient in that high political wisdom in which no man of his age
excelled him, lay his doom. The leader of the armed mob, who himself
had slain the tax-gatherer, laughed in the King's, face, and
immediately riddled him with bullets. And as the King fell, the
burghers of Blaenau poured in at the gates, the soldiers revolted
because their wages were over-due, possession was taken of the Castle;
and the long-deferred republic was proclaimed.
"And where were the aristocracy and the supporters of the monarchy
while all this was happening?" I asked, as we sat in the lounge at the
hotel having a final drink before turning in.
"Reading between the lines of the dispatch," said Fitz, "I should be
inclined to say that they had conspired to throw Ferdinand over at the
last and to let in the people. I can reconcile the facts on no other
hypothesis."
"Why should they?"
"The aristocracy have always been jealous of his power. He has walked
too much alone."
"It is hard to believe that they would yield up their country to mob
law."
"They have their own safety to consider. A small and exclusive class,
not accustomed to move very actively in public affairs, they have
little control of events. And the army having joined with the people,
their only hope is to sit on the fence and try to hold what they have."
"You are convinced of the Princess's danger?"
"There is no question of that. Having decided to make an end of their
rulers, the French Revolution is quite likely to be enacted over again.
They are a semi-barbarous people, and few will deny that they have
suffered."
On the morrow Fitz was early abroad. The morning papers brought
confirmation of the news from Illyria. The King was dead; the Crown
Princess was a close prisoner at Blaenau in the hands of the
insurgents; the Chancellor and other ministers had fled the country; a
number of regiments had massacred their officers; and it was expected
that a Committee of the People would take over the government.
At Charing Cross we found Alexander O'Mulligan already waiting for us.
He was in the pink of health and his grin was extraordinarily
expansive. Fitz arrived with the necessary tickets for the whole
party, but had only been able to procure passports as far as the
frontier. But, as he explained, this need not trouble us, as we should
leave the train before we came there and make our way over the
mountains in the darkness.
As our train wound its way through suburbia we began more clearly to
realise the promise of a crowded and glorious week. The motive was
adequate; and although the Chief Constable and myself had a sense of
the profound rashness of the scheme, we shared the common faith in Fitz.
Our route was by way of Paris. It was more direct to go from
Southampton, but there was very little difference in the point of
actual time.
When we reached Paris, soon after five that afternoon, we learned that
in spite of the representations of the Powers, the fate of the Princess
still hung in the balance. We stayed only an hour and then took train
again.
All night we travelled and all through the next day; and then, as Fitz
had predicted, shortly after five o'clock in the evening of Thursday we
had come to the township of Orgov, a mile from the Illyrian frontier on
the borders of Milesia. Here we found a shrewd old peasant who had
acted as the friend of Fitz on a former occasion, and with whom he had
already communicated by telegraph. The old fellow shook his head over
the state of affairs in the neighbouring kingdom, but provided us with
a couple of trustworthy guides through the mountains and seven
tolerable horses, one apiece for each member of our party.
Fitz affirmed his intention of getting to Blaenau in six hours. The
innkeeper, however, declared frankly that this was impossible. The
winter had been severe; heavy drifts of snow lay in the passes, and in
its present state the country itself was full of danger. Indeed, our
friend the innkeeper was fain to declare that, unless God was very kind
to us, we should never get to Blaenau at all.
However, we were a party of nine, stout fellows, well armed and
tolerably mounted. And when we started from Orgov a little after six
in the evening, I do not think the sense of peril oppressed us much.
Our mission was of the highest; each of us had faith in himself and in
his comrades. We were a small but mobile force in fairly hard
condition; and I think it may be claimed for each member of it that he
had a natural love of adventure.