THE RESCUE
Matthew stopped short, unable to move a yard further, his eyes fixed
upon the slight form hanging so dangerously high above him. It was
truly an awful moment for both the lads, a moment never afterwards to
be forgotten by either of them. The time of suspense was but seconds;
it seemed years. But George, his knees firmly pressed against the low
parapet wall that ran along the top in front of the house, had no
difficulty in supporting the weight, and not too much in actually
hauling up his living burden. Another moment and he had seized one arm
with a strong grip; the next he had pulled the child to him on the
roof.
"Safe! thank God!" he murmured, almost breathless with his exertions
and still more with his agitation.
Safe! As if to mock him a great tongue of flame shot from the window
from which rescuer and rescued had but now emerged, and a cry of
despair rose from Matthew below.
"Run for the library!" Blackett shouted, a thought suddenly striking
him. "Run, run!" And the boy pointed to a sort of wing, an addition to
the mansion recently made by the Squire, and devoted to his books and
the extensive and valuable collection of antiquities and curiosities
of which he was very proud. This building was connected with the body
of the house by only one small arched door, on the ground-floor.
George understood, and cautiously but rapidly edging his way along the
broad leaden gutter behind the parapet, he drew the girl, by this time
conscious once more, but dazed with fright, to the outlying portion of
the roof, which was as yet untouched by the flames. He peered over for
Matthew, but could see nothing of him.
For the moment the two were in no danger. But the flames were already
licking the portion of the library immediately adjoining the house
proper; soon the whole wing must be ablaze. The boy gazed wildly
around, to see if there was any means, however risky or even
desperate, by which escape might be made. He saw nothing but the
slender branches of a magnificent yew that grew in the retired garden
behind and close to the library. These boughs overtopped even the tall
building, and some of them overhung the roof a little. But the nearest
of them was ten feet above the heads of the two, and hopelessly out of
reach. Would that some great gust of wind would drive those branches
within clutching distance!
This tantalizing thought had hardly taken possession of George's mind
when his attention was attracted by shouts from below. Peering down he
was astonished to see Matthew rapidly climbing the yew. The same
thought had struck him also! Up the climber swarmed, higher and
higher. Then he began without hesitation to crawl along some of the
topmost branches that overhung the library roof. Outwards he crept,
embracing tightly half a dozen of the long thin boughs; they seemed
but little more than twigs.
"You'll be dashed to pieces!" Mary cried; "go back, go back!"
"Haven't you a rope anywhere?" George asked eagerly.
"Every rope and ladder locked up in the stable yard," was the
breathless reply, "and the men away. This is our only chance. Catch
hold."
As Matthew spoke, the end of the long swaying branches, swinging ever
lower, came down to the roof, and a good yard or more of the greenery
was within George's grasp. Matthew lay at full length on his
collection of boughs in order that his weight might keep the ends
down. It was a precarious position truly, but Matthew was very light,
and had absolutely no fear for himself.
"Lash her well to three or four of the strongest of the boughs," he
said hurriedly; "give the rope half a dozen good turns about her waist
and the boughs. They are yew and very tough. Quick!"
Hardly knowing what he was doing, George obeyed. He was a bit of a
sailor, and in a couple of minutes he had bound the child to the
branches in a way to satisfy even Matthew, who still lay amongst the
foliage, some three yards away.
"Now cling for your life to the rest of the branches you've got,
Fairburn, till I go down to the long thick arm there below. Can you
hold?"
"Yes!" cried the other cheerfully, light beginning to dawn upon him.
"I can hold on; you go down."
Matthew moved down, and the branches, relieved of their burden, began
to exert a considerable upward pull. But the weight of the boy and the
girl held down the ends, and they awaited Matthew's call. It soon
came, though the interval of waiting seemed an age.
"Now then!" came the shout, and George could see his quondam enemy
firmly seated on a stout branch that had been cut shorter, its foliage
having interfered with the light of one of the windows of the library.
Matthew was sitting astride, his legs firmly gripping the branch. "Now
drop yourselves over," he went on. "You'll fall right on the top of
me, and I'll grab you. Throw one arm round Mary's waist, and then
seize the branches with both hands and stick tight."
"I'll stick like a leech," George replied, "but it's a fearful drop."
"There's no other way, none! See! the blaze has caught the library
roof behind you! It will be upon you in another minute. Drop over, for
pity's sake!"
George set his teeth, placed one arm round the child's slender form,
gripped hard a handful of the pliant boughs, and dropped over the
parapet, Mary closing her eyes in her mortal fright. With a huge swing
the branches bent, and in an instant the two were swaying a good
fifteen feet below, George almost jerked from his hold. The boughs
creaked but did not snap.
"Thank heaven!" cried Matthew, "I have you!" And reaching up, he got a
grip of George's foot and dragged down the swinging pair.
"Grab the branch with your legs, Fairburn! and I'll cut Mary clear."
No sooner said than done. By the aid of a good clasp-knife Matthew
severed the cords and secured his little sister, her weight, however,
as it came upon him, almost knocking him from his perch. But he held
desperately, and in another moment had Mary on the branch beside him.
Then George, throwing his legs apart, suddenly loosed his hold of the
branches and dropped also astride of the bough, which he grasped tight
with both hands. He swung round and hung from the branch head
downwards. But the next minute he had righted himself, and was ready
to help with Mary.
The rescue was complete. To guide the child along the branch, towards
the middle of the tree, and then to lower her from limb to limb of the
old yew was mere play to the two boys. The three dropped the last four
or five feet to earth just as a man rushed forward with a great cry,
to clasp in his arms the fainting girl.
"God is merciful!" he ejaculated. It was Squire Blackett, who had
arrived just in time to see his beloved child saved from an awful
fate.
For a few moments father and children clung to each other. When at
length they looked round to express their gratitude to the plucky
rescuer, he was nowhere to be seen. Seeing a great crowd of the
Blackett pitmen arrive with a run, George had felt that he could be of
no more use, and slipping into the wood had made for home. He wanted
no thanks, and moreover the brig was to sail at four in the morning,
at which time the tide would serve.
"He's gone--George has gone!" cried Matthew.
"We can never repay him," murmured Mr. Blackett. "We must go on to see
him at the earliest moment in the morning."
When Mr. Blackett, with Matthew and the rescued Mary, drove early next
day to the Fairburns' house, it was only to learn that George had
sailed for London some hours before. There was no help for it, and all
they could do was to overwhelm the father and mother with words of
gratitude and praise. They informed the Fairburns that by the
exertions of the men the library and its contents had been saved; the
rest of the mansion was left a wreck. Mrs. Maynard had been drawn from
the mass of burning rubbish at the foot of the staircase, and was now
lying between life and death.
George had had a bad quarter of an hour at the parting from his
parents, but by the time the vessel felt the swell of the open sea he
was full of spirits again. The sea voyage, even in a dirty collier,
was a delight. Then there was London the wonderful at the end of it,
and he had long desired to see the great capital of which he had heard
and read so much.
The London of Queen Anne's reign was not the huge overgrown London of
our own day. But it was a notable city, and to George Fairburn and his
contemporaries the grandest city in the world. The Great Fire had
taken place but twenty years before George was born, yet already the
city had risen from its ashes, with wider and nobler streets, and with
a multitude of handsome churches which Wren had built. The new and
magnificent St. Paul's, the great architect's proudest work, was
rapidly approaching completion. George's father had witnessed the
opening for worship of a portion of the cathedral five years before,
and soon the stupendous dome, which was beginning to tower high above
the city, would be finished. Sir Thomas Gresham's Exchange, the centre
of the business life of the city, had been replaced by another and not
less noble edifice. The great capital contained a population of well
over half a million souls, a number that seemed incredible to those
who knew only Bristol, and York, and Norwich, the English cities next
in size. The houses stretched continuously from the city boundary to
Westminster, and soon the two would be but one vast town. George had
heard much of London Bridge, with its shops and its incessant stream
of passengers and vehicles, and he hoped to visit the pleasant
villages of Kensington and Islington, and many another that lay within
a walk of great London. He hoped one day, too, to get a glimpse of
some of the clever wits, Mat Prior, Wycherley, Dick Steele, and
others, who haunted the coffee-houses of the capital, and of the
rising young writer, Mr. Addison, not to mention a greater than them
all, the incomparable Sir Isaac Newton. For George had ever been a
great reader, even while he loved a good game as well as any boy in
the land.
It was many a long year, however, ere George Fairburn was destined to
see the mighty capital. Once fairly at sea, the skipper brought out
and mounted his four little guns, to the lad's huge joy.
"You mean business, captain," he remarked with a merry laugh.
"I do, if there comes along a Frenchy who won't leave us alone," the
old fellow replied, "leastways if she isn't too big a craft for us
altogether."
The evening was coming in, the town of Yarmouth faintly visible
through the haze, when suddenly the crew of the _Ouseburn Lassie_
became aware of a big vessel in the offing.
"She's giving chase, by thunder!" cried the skipper, after he had
taken a long look through the glass; and all was excitement on board
the brig. Anxiously all hands watched the stranger, and at last the
shout went up, "She's a Frenchy!"
"Aye, and a big 'un at that," somebody added.
Hastily the preparations were made to receive her, though the captain
shook his head even as he gave his orders.
"It's no go," he whispered to George. "We've got these four small
guns, but what's the good? We've nobody to man 'em; only a couple on
'em, leastways. And the Frenchman's a monster."
"We'll show them a bit of fight all the same," George put in eagerly.
The old salt shook his head again.
Quickly the big vessel overhauled the collier brig, and signals were
made to pull down her flag, whereupon the Englishman grunted.
Within a minute a puff was seen, and a round shot whizzed close past
the _Ouseburn Lassie's_ bows.
"Give them a reply!" George urged in great excitement.
"Wait a bit, my lad," and the skipper bided his time.
"Now!" came the order at length, and a couple of eight-pound balls
flew straight to the Frenchman.
"Well hit!" shouted the Englishmen, as a shower of splinters was seen
to fly upwards from the enemy's deck.
"It's enough to show 'em we've got mettle in us," growled the old
captain, "and that's all we can say."
His words were justified, for the next moment there came another
flash, and with a crash the brig's mast went by the board.
"Done for!" groaned the skipper. "We shall see the inside of a French
prison, I reckon."
The enemy's long boat put out with a crew four times that of the brig.
Within a quarter of an hour the Englishmen had all been transferred to
the _Louis Treize_, and an officer and half a dozen men left in charge
of the prize. The Frenchman at once set a course for Dunkirk, and,
with a spanking breeze behind her, she made the port in fifteen hours.
The noon of the next day saw George Fairburn and his companions
clapped into a French prison.
"A bonny come off," the old skipper grumbled, "but we shall ha' to
make the best on it."
It will not be forgotten that the war just begun was, to put it
bluntly, a war to determine which of two indifferent princes, Philip
of France and Charles of Austria, should have the Spanish crown. Lord
Peterborough declared that it was not worth his country's while to
fight for such "a pair of louts."
[Illustration: "Now!" came the order.]
Into the war, however, England had thrown herself, under the direction
of Harley, the famous Tory minister now in power, at home, and with
Marlborough as commander-in-chief of both the English and the Dutch
forces abroad. The General's first aim was to take back from Louis XIV
all those fortresses in the Spanish Netherlands which had been seized
and garrisoned by the French troops as if the country were a French
possession.
He started from Kaiserwörth, a town on the Rhine, which his troops had
captured from one of Louis's chief allies, the Elector of Cologne,
before Marlborough arrived to take command. Venloo was taken in
gallant style, and then the important city of Liége, on the Meuse. The
result of the campaign was that the French had been chased from the
Lower Rhine, and Holland, much to its relief, made far more safe from
attack. Returning to England, the victorious commander was given a
grand reception. And no wonder, for it was the first time for many a
year that the French had received a real check.
While these things were going on in the Netherlands, another leader
under the Grand Alliance, Prince Louis of Baden, took Landau, on the
Rhine, from the French. In Italy, too, the allies triumphed, the
gallant Prince Eugene, presently to be the warm and life-long friend
of Marlborough, defeating the French brilliantly at Cremona, a
fortunate thing for the Empire, which was thus secured from a French
invasion through the Tyrol.
To crown the successes of the Grand Alliance during the campaign of
1702, the first of the war, the brave sailor Sir George Rooke,
following the Spanish galleons and the French war vessels into the
harbour of Vigo, destroyed the greater number of them. It was a
repetition of Drake's famous expedition to "singe the King of Spain's
beard."
All these things happened while George Fairburn and other English
prisoners ate their hearts out in captivity at Dunkirk. The lad chafed
under the surveillance to which he was subjected, and never passed a
day without turning over in his mind some scheme of escape. How it was
to be done, he did not see. But he waited for his chance, and
meanwhile, partly to avoid being suspected, and partly to while away
the hours he made friends with the soldiers on guard. He already knew
a little French, and with his natural quickness he soon made rapid
progress. At the end of a month he could get along capitally in the
language; at the end of three months he could speak the tongue
fluently; at the end of nine months--for thus did his term of
captivity drag itself out--he was, so far as the language was
concerned, almost a Frenchman. Thus the winter passed, and the spring
of 1703 came round, George Fairburn still an inmate of a French
prison, hopeless of escape, so far as he could see.
But his chance came at last suddenly and unexpectedly. One morning he
was escorted to the Hôtel de Ville, to interpret for an officer
examining a batch of English prisoners who had been brought in from
the Netherlands border. The way to the town lay at no great distance
from the shore, and he observed how a boat lay close in on the low
sandy beach, no owner in sight. His heart leapt into his mouth, and he
had much ado to keep himself from betraying his thoughts by the flush
that mantled hotly on his cheek.
One, two, three hundred paces the boat was left behind. Now or never!
Instantly the lad started off back to the spot, his feet flying across
the sand.
A shout broke from the throats of his astonished guards, and a half
score of bullets whistled after the runaway. George ducked his head
and sped on unhurt. A second volley did little more harm than the
first, merely grazing the lobe of his right ear. The race was furious,
but the lusty English lad was far and away the superior of the heavy
Frenchmen. He gained the boat, the enemy still a hundred paces behind.
The painter was loosely wound round a large stone, and in a trice
George had leapt with it into the little craft. He had just time to
give a vigorous shove off before the pursuers came up, the foremost
dashing into the sea after him.