"Atchew! There, 'tis done, and writ fair." He flung his pen on the
table. "And I'd fain know what the squire has against the knave; 'tis
more than pique, I promise you. Where's Simmons, confound him!"
He sanded the wet paper, folded it, sealed it with yellow wax, and wrote
the superscription:
_For Nicolas Barkley Esqre_
_at his house_
_Winton St. Mary_
_nr Salisbury, England_
This done, he tugged again at the bell-pull, blew his nose with sounding
ferocity, and stuck his legs into the hearth with the air of a man who
had successfully achieved a stupendous task.
The door opened, and John Simmons entered.
"Hang you, sirrah! why don't you answer my bell at the very moment, sir?
Go get me a bottle of rum."
Simmons, pallid, frowsy, scared-looking, stood hesitating in the
doorway.
"Are you deaf, clodpoll?" roared the captain. "A bottle of rum, and
instantly!"
"Yes, Captain, and the--and the money, sir?"
"The money, you dog! Where is the crown-piece I gave you this morning?"
"I had to buy the dinner, sir, and----"
"Zounds! You'll answer me, will you? You're the most pestilent knave
man ever had to serve him. 'Tis money, money, all day with you. Would
that Sherry Minshull had left you to the hangman! Begone, sirrah!
and----"
"Pardon!" said a voice in French from the door. "If I am in the
way----"
"Come in, Monsieur," said Aglionby, springing to his feet. "And you,
booby, be off and do my bidding."
Simmons vanished precipitately. Monsieur de Polignac gasped as he
entered the overheated room.
"Phew! It would roast an ox."
"Shut the door. I am nursing a pestilent rheum."
"So it appears. You are in an ill humour, my friend; I fear my news
will not cheer you."
"Spit it out and have done with it, then."
"Well, this is it. A commission has been made out, I hear, appointing
your young Englishman a cornet in the Anspach dragoons."
"What young Englishman?"
"The young man whom we met at Madame de Vaudrey's."
The captain swore a hearty British oath.
"Where learnt you that?"
"A la bonne heure! It is true. I have it on authority I cannot doubt.
Van Santen pressed it; his influence prevailed. There were several
vacancies in the regiment; it lost heavily in the action at Eckeren a
few weeks ago. This boy gets the senior cornetcy. We owe it to
ourselves, Monsieur le Capitaine, that the junior cornets get an early
step."
"Peste! We do owe it to ourselves; or, I should rather say, we owe it
to yourself. For me, I have knocked about the world too long to take
umbrage easily; and look you, Monsieur, my family, although gentle,
indeed I may say noble, cannot compare with yours in quartet-ings and
such fal-lals. I understand your sentiments; as you say, something must
be done."
"And at once, for which end I have come to see you. My position, as you
perceive, is delicate; for myself, I would seek a quarrel with the
bantling and spit him on my rapier without remorse. But affairs of
state--you understand me; that alters the case. I must not appear. I
propose to you this: to affront the boy, provoke him to a duel; you a
veteran, he a tyro; it will be a matter of seconds. Voila!"
The captain gazed steadily at Polignac for a few moments, then said:
"Look you, Polignac, no man ever accused Ralph Aglionby, late captain in
the Preobrashenski Grenadiers, of lack of courage--no man, that is to
say, that lived to tell of it. Had you made the proposition twenty
years ago, I should by this time have been half-way down the stairs on
the way to kill this young springald. But twenty years make a
difference. My courage is the same, look you; but the years have
enlarged my girth--and my discretion. On the point of honour I am as
sensitive as ever I was, but I have learnt to have patience--and
consideration. Say I engage this peddling fool; what happens? I kill
him and baulk you of your revenge. Where are you, my friend? Or
suppose, by some vile contrivance, he kills me; where am I? No, no,
Monsieur; the right of place belongs to you. Who am I, a broken
soldier, a poor unnecessary captain of grenadiers, to take precedence of
you?"
"You have most admirable patience," sneered Polignac, "and I am
overwhelmed by your consideration. I thank you, Monsieur le Capitaine,
and bid you adieu."
"Stay, my friend; why this haste? I have consideration, as you say.
Would the world be better for the loss of you or me? are there not more
ways of getting even with a man than making one's self a target for his
pistol or a sheath for his sword? You remember Marillier, and Aubin,
eh? Sit down, and let us talk this over like reasonable men."
Polignac sat on one of the rickety chairs in silence.
"Your memory is jogged, eh? You remember the dark lane, and the light
in the window, and----"
"Enough!" exclaimed the other impatiently. "My memory is as good as
yours. This is different. I must be circumspect. Were we in
Paris--then! But here at the Hague, I am not my own master; I have
weightier interests to consider. An incautious step, even a chance
word, may ruin a dynasty. My own life--I do not consider it; but when
one is playing for a crown one has duties, responsibilities. If you see
your way--well, I am not one to dissuade you; and if a few guilders----"
Aglionby's red eyes gleamed.
"Well, Monsieur, as you put it so, I own 'tis in a measure a question of
money. In truth 'tis desperate hard lines that I, who have ruffled it
with the best and got drunk with the Czar of Muscovy himself, should be
so hard driven as that I cannot offer due hospitality to a friend. Look
at this wretched lodging; was ever gentleman, by no fault of his own,
mark you, reduced to such straits!"
Polignac, glancing at the mean furniture and the empty bottle, agreeably
assented, but concealed a smile.
"Well," he said, "might I ask leave to send out for a bottle of wine?"
Aglionby jumped up with alacrity.
"You say so? 'Tis the mark of a true friend." He pulled hard at the
bell-rope. "My man will be here instantly; and, Monsieur, let it be
sack--sack, as you love me."
Simmons reappeared without delay, and was despatched for a bottle of
sack. With the energy of pleasurable anticipation the captain pursued:
"Now, my dear Polignac, mark--before attempting the house 'tis well to
poison the dog; aha! that is only my way of putting it, eh?"
"Of course. A figure of speech; but from the life!"
Aglionby flung him a suspicious glance; at times he had an uneasy
feeling that Polignac was quizzing him. But after a momentary pause he
went on as before.
"The dog in this case--and a low cur it is--is the young cockerel's
servant--the same that embraced you so cordially at Madame de Vaudrey's.
Ha! ha! I can relish the comical side of it e'en though he embraced me
also!--and before the charming mademoiselle too!"
He guffawed uproariously. He felt that he was now getting tit for tat
for Polignac's covert sneers, often rather suspected than understood.
But he was not a little startled by the effect of his words and
laughter. Polignac flushed purple with rage; his mouth took a very
decided twist towards his left eye. Springing up suddenly he cried:
"Morbleu, Monsieur, a truce to your pleasantries! and keep the lady's
name out of it, or by the----"
"No offence, no offence, my dear fellow," interposed the captain
hastily. "I'm but a plain soldier--just an honest, bluff, outspoken old
campaigner; we blades don't pick and choose our words like you fine
gentlemen of the courts; though in truth when I was in Russia my manners
were as good as the best."
Polignac resumed his seat reluctantly without a word. After a short,
strained silence Aglionby went on:
"The first thing, as I was saying, is to get this dog out of the way.
Burn him! he follows his master like a shadow. The man removed, the
rest is easy. A week from now, and he shall lie his length in six feet
of good Dutch soil, or my name isn't Ralph Montacute Aglionby. Leave it
to me, Monsieur; there will be necessary expenses; say fifty guilders, a
small sum, and at one time----"
"Send to my chambers; you shall have the money. And by the way, here is
a packet for Captain Rudge of the _Skylark_. He sails with this
evening's tide. Bid him have the greatest care of it; should he run
into danger he must destroy it.--It is arranged, then? I shall hear
from you?"
"Within a week, on the word of a gentleman."
"Then for the time, adieu!"
When Polignac had gone, Aglionby looked curiously at the packet
entrusted to him. The address ran:
_For Mistress Consterdine_
_to be left at the coffee-house,_
_by the Cockpitt, Whitehall, London._
It was carefully but not conspicuously sealed. The captain turned it
over and over in his dirty hands; they itched to open it. "To judge by
his rage," he muttered, "he's certainly smit with Mademoiselle de
Vaudrey. 'Tis not merely his interest is engaged." He sat musing for a
moment. Then his eye fell on a broadsheet, marked with many circular
stains, that lay on one of the chairs. He took it up and searched for a
passage which he had clearly already read. Lighting upon it, he read:
"The report goes that Coy's Horse embark at Harwich for Ostend on Friday
the 16th current. They will join the forces now operating under General
Lumley in Dutch Flanders."
"With a fair wind they'll make port to-morrow. Then, Sherebiah
Minshull, my sweet coz, we shall begin to square accounts,--you and I."
Stuffing the two packets into his capacious pocket, he clapped on his
hat, flung a cloak over his shoulders, wound the comforter more tightly
about his neck, and made his way out, sneezing half a dozen times as he
met the cooler air of the street. He walked along the Lange Pooten, the
chief business thoroughfare, into an open space known as the Plein. As
he was crossing this he caught sight of a figure hastening into one of
the larger houses, and almost involuntarily he stepped aside into a
doorway until all danger of being seen was past.
"What is the puppy doing here?" he muttered, passing on his way to the
old road to Scheveningen. After a pleasant woodland walk of two miles
he reached that little fishing village, and found, as he expected,
Captain Rudge, owner and skipper of the sloop _Skylark_, a fast sailer
which ran to and fro between Scheveningen and Harwich. To him Aglionby
confided his own letter and Polignac's. Then he retraced his steps, and
at the Hague took horse for Rotterdam. It was near midnight when he
returned and wearily climbed the lofty stair to his attic room; but
though he was fatigued, and his cold perceptibly worse, he seemed well
satisfied with himself, and chuckled many a time before he had drained
to the dregs the bottle of sack he had broached with Monsieur de
Polignac.
The person from whose sight he had shrunk in the afternoon was Harry
Rochester himself, who had just returned from a visit to Marlborough's
camp at Hanneff. Mynheer Grootz was up to his eyes in business, and the
wide area over which the confederate forces were spread taxed his
resources to the utmost. He had now come to the Hague to confer with a
committee of the States General and arrange further contracts, and had
instructed Harry to meet him there on the completion of his own errand.
"Well, my boy," said Grootz on his arrival, "I did not expect you zo
zoon." They were now on such friendly and familiar terms that the
Dutchman had dropped the formal address. "How have you fared?"
"Excellently, Mynheer," replied Harry. "The commissary was well content
with your arrangements, and said--'tis no harm to repeat it--that were
all Dutchmen like Jan Grootz he would be spared a peck of trouble."
"Dat is goot," said Grootz, evidently well pleased. "Dat is how I do my
business; always in time, always ready, always sure."
"I had hoped to catch a glimpse of my lord Marlborough himself, but
'twas not to be. Whatever may be said of his meanness and selfishness,
Mynheer, 'tis certain he is adored by his army. The soldiers are full
of courage, confident in my lord's genius, and all afire to meet the
French. They say, indeed, that if my lord were but free of restraint,
not bound to take counsel with your politicians here, one campaign would
see the end of the war."
"Dey zay!--Yes, well, it may be zo. My lord is a fine soldier--none
would deny it--for all he dink little of de rules of war. But as for de
field deputies--my countrymen--dey alzo have reason. To Lord
Marlborough and you English, my boy, a defeat mean much; dat is zo; but
to my country--ah! much more. To us it mean ruin, every village and
town overrun, our polders spoiled, our homes destroyed, everywhere black
misery. Dis poor country know it all too well; we have suffered--ah
yes! we have suffered before too often. For my lord, it is a game
wherein he can noding lose but glory; for us it is a struggle of life
and death. True, for myself, I zay in war, as in business, to follow a
bold course is best; but I do not derefore blame our statesmen dat dey
move zlowly; no, I do not blame dem."
Harry had seen more than once lately that beneath the stolid exterior of
the merchant beat a heart warm toward his fatherland and his friends.
He could not but recognize much to sympathize with in the Dutch point of
view, and began to realize what it meant to the Hollanders to have their
country turned into a cockpit for the political contentions of rival
monarchs.
A slight pause followed Grootz's earnest speech; then suddenly, with a
change of tone, he said:
"Now, Mynheer Harry, I have a ding to zay. Dere are reasons why I find
it now necessary to discharge you from my business."
Harry gasped and looked very blank. The merchant nodded solemnly; up
came his fat forefinger; and he continued with even more deliberation
than usual:
"Dat is zo. I tell you dis; I find no fault wid you; none in de world;
but all de same, I zay dat it is necessary you go."
Harry was so much taken aback that he found it difficult to speak.
"Why--'tis sudden--what can--surely--" his tongue stumbled over half a
dozen questions before, with an effort to command himself, he said: "Of
course, Mynheer, if there is nothing more for me to do, I must perforce
seek other work. You have been very kind to me; 'tis but poor thanks I
can give you for what you have done."
"What I have done! Gunst! it is noding. And you: it needs not to zeek
oder work; it is found. Hearken to dis."
He took up an official-looking paper that lay at his hand and read in
Dutch:
"Mynheer Henry Rochester is appointed to a cornetcy in the Anspach
dragoons in succession to Mynheer Lodewyk van Monnen deceased."
Harry flushed to the eyes.
"'Tis a mistake, Mynheer, surely. I have not sought this; I know
nothing of it."
"A mistake! Not at all. General van Santen come to me and zay,
'Grootz, you have in your business a young man dat has no business to be
in your business; he is a soldier, noding less, and we have need of
such;' dat is what he zay, and more, and he go straight off to put down
your name for a commission. And here it is, in de gazette. Dat is why
I discharge you, before--" (Mynheer Grootz made a brave attempt to be
jocular)--"before you discharge yourself."
Harry was silent. His nerves were tingling, his blood sang in his
veins. Here was the opening to a career after his own heart. All his
earlier longings came back to him; the inward struggle with which he had
acquiesced in his father's desire that he should enter the Church; the
light of hope that shone on him at his interview with Marlborough; the
agonizing dissolution of his castle in the air. And now, unsought, what
he had sought in vain had come to him, the aspiration of his boyhood was
about to be fulfilled. All this flashed through his mind in a moment of
time,--and there was Jan Grootz, smiling out of his kindly little eyes.
Jan Grootz!--what he owed to him! But for Jan Grootz he might now be a
hapless slave in the Plantations, with no ray of light upon the endless
vista of the years. To Jan Grootz he owed his health and freedom, his
training in dealing with men; more than all, he had met in Jan Grootz a
man whose character compelled his respect and admiration, and whom
indeed he had begun to love. Would it not be the worst of ingratitude
to leave him now?
The temptation was strong, the inward struggle sharp. But it was only a
few moments after the staggering announcement when he bent forward and
said:
"Mynheer, I cannot accept this offer--this splendid offer. 'Tis
exceeding kind of General van Santen; I owe him my hearty thanks; but
'tis not to be thought of, save you yourself wish to be rid of me, and
that I must doubt, since 'tis but a week since you told me I was useful
to you. I will see the general, and explain to him the reason why I
decline this commission; I must do so at once."
He made towards the door, as though eager to avoid dalliance. Grootz's
broad plain face was transfigured by delight and pride and
gratification. Catching Harry by the arm, he drew him back, laid his
hand on his shoulder, and said:
"No, Harry, my dear lad, I tell you dis; you must not do dis ding. I do
not zay I shall not feel your loss"--there was an unusual note of
tenderness in his voice--"true, it is not long dat we have worked
togeder, but already I regard you--jawohl, regard you as a son, and to
miss your bright face, your willing service----hoot! by den donder, I am
not myself to-day."
"'Tis too kind of you, Mynheer."
"Nay, nay; I am not zo weak. I am at one wid General van Santen: you
are made for a soldier. 'Tis de work you yourself would have chosen;
now 'tis de tide of fortune, dat you dare not miss. I tell you dis; I
am made up in my mind, fixed, noding can move me. I salute you, Mynheer
Rochester, cornet in de Anspach dragoons."
"Indeed, 'tis too good of you, Mynheer."
"Not zo. And dis I tell you alzo. You know me, Jan Grootz; I
prosper--God prospers me. I regard you as my son: well, 'tis a fader's
pleasure to provide for his son at de beginning of dings, just as 'tis a
skipper's pleasure to zee his ship sail taut and trim. You will have
heavy charges: clothes, equipment, a horse to buy. Dose charges, you
will permit me, zall be mine. 'Tis but right you should take your place
wid de best. I have no kith nor kin, nor like to have; de pay for
dragoons is little enough; I add a hundred guilders a month; dat will
suffice, dink you?"
"But, Mynheer----"
"Poof! no buts. I zall do as please me. Now, I am hungry: let us go to
de parlour. And dere is your man to tell; he will, no doubt, continue
to be your servant."
They went from the room, Grootz keeping his hand affectionately on
Harry's shoulder. The table in the parlour was already laid, and in
answer to the bell old Gretel appeared with a tureen of soup.
"Gretel," said the merchant, "Mynheer Harry is about to leave us."
"There! Something inside told me, Mynheer, you would not keep him
long."
"'Tis not of my own will, Gretel," said Harry at once.
"No," added Grootz. "The lad was not eager. He is to be an officer of
dragoons."
The old woman curtsied and grunted.
"A rare exchange!" she said. "To my mind 'tis better to sell corn than
to stand up to be shot at, and a deal safer. But I wish you good luck,
Mynheer."
"Thanks, Gretel, for that and for all your kindness to me. Is Sherry
downstairs?"
"Ja, Mynheer."
"Send him up, if you please. I must tell him the news."
"Oh! he will not be pleased. He has a scorn of soldiers, never a good
word to say for them. He is in the right."
Harry smiled as the privileged old housekeeper hobbled out. Sherebiah
soon appeared.
"Sherry," said Harry, "I have a thing to tell you. General van Santen
has recommended me to the heads of the Dutch army, and I am made an
officer of dragoons."
"Zooks!" was the man's astonished exclamation.
"We shall still be together, you and I. I shall want a man, of course;
and you will not object to the place?"
"Well, sir," said Sherebiah slowly, looking down at his boots, "'tis an
awk'ard matter for a man o' peace. 'Tis a line o' life I ha' no love
for. To be sarvant to a man o' war is next to bein' a man o' war
yourself. Not but what I'd be proud to sarve 'ee, Master Harry; no man
more; but them as take the sword shall fall by the sword, as the Book
says, and I take that for a warnen to have none on 't."
"A lame argument, Sherry."
"True, sir, haven no larnen I feel it so. And will 'ee go shoulder to
shoulder with our English sojers?"
There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
"That I can't say. I hope that my regiment won't be left out in the
cold."
"Well, sir, there's a providence in't. Them above knows what they're
about, to be sure, in a general way, and I bean't agwine to set up for
knowen better. I'll sarve 'ee, sir, polish your breastplate, currycomb
your horse, oil your boots, clean your pistols, keep an eye on the
sutlers, and----"
"You seem to have a good notion of your new duties," said Harry,
laughing.
"Pretty good, sir, for a man o' peace," said Sherebiah imperturbably.
"And when do 'ee mount your horse as a sojer, Master Harry?"
"Zoon," put in Grootz. "General van Santen himself will introduce him
to his broder officers; he tell me zo."
"Ay, so. Well, 'tis a world o' changes. For you, sir, 'tis a change
for the better, barren 'ee bean't killed; for me,--well, the truth on't
is, I fear 'tis the beginnen o' the end for Sherebiah
Stand-up-and-Bless."
*CHAPTER XIII*
*Concerning Sherebiah*
A Summons--Coy's Horse--Vain Search--A Clue--Sentenced--Confession--A
Quiet Mind--A Friend in Camp--The Informer--Intercession--Who Goes
There?--Hit--The Mantle of Night--In a Ditch
One evening, a few days after he had received news of his commission,
Harry returned home somewhat later than usual from his customary stroll.
He was fond of walking through the pleasant woods to Scheveningen, and
watching the herring-boats as they sailed out for the night's work. He
would chat with the fishermen, and had indeed by his frank manner, and
perhaps an occasional gift of tobacco, established himself as a
favourite with them.
On this evening, feeling a little tired, he threw himself into a chair
in the parlour, and sat musing, gazing into the glowing sky as the sun
went down. By and by old Gretel entered and began to lay the supper.
She had gone in and out two or three times in silence before Harry
bethought himself and said:
"Why, Gretel, how is it Sherry is not helping you to-night?"
"By den donder, Mynheer, you may well ask! He seems bewitched since the
great news. Not half so helpful to my poor old bones as he was."
"But where is he?"
"He has not returned yet."
"Returned from where?"
"Why, Mynheer, he went out at once after receiving your message,
and----"
"My message!"
"Ja, Mynheer, the message sent by the boy."
"What boy? Come, Gretel, I sent no message. I know nothing about a
boy. Tell me all you know."
"It was about four o'clock, Mynheer, a boy of twelve or so came to the
door--a stranger to me. He asked for Sherry Minshull--no mynheer to his
tongue. I called to Sherry, and heard the boy say, 'Mynheer Rochester
wishes you to come----' then the big bell of the Groote Kerk tolled, and
I heard no more. But Sherry reached down his hat and said he was going
to you, and he and the boy went away together."
Harry was puzzled, and a little uneasy. He rose from his chair.
"Are you sure you heard the boy mention my name?"
"Quite sure. And Sherry must have thought there was need for haste, for
he left his dish of coffee half full, and he is too fond of mocha to do
that without a reason."
Just then Mynheer Grootz came in to supper. When Harry had informed him
of the strange message and Sherebiah's continued absence, he was at
first disposed to make light of the matter.
"Gretel is growing hard of hearing," he said. "Maybe she mistook de
name."
"Don't you think, Mynheer, 'twould be well to make enquiry before it is
dark? I am strangely uneasy about Sherry."
The merchant consented to accompany Harry into the streets. Everybody
knew him and answered his questions readily enough; but none of the
porters of the neighbouring houses, or the watchmen who patrolled the
streets, had seen Sherebiah or the boy, though some of them owned that
they knew the former well by sight. By and by, however, they came upon
an old soldier smoking his evening pipe outside his cottage--the lodge
to one of the larger houses in Gedempte Spui. Grootz put the usual
question.
"Did you see an Englishman--stout, with a beard, and his hat on one
side, pass by a few hours ago with a boy of twelve or thereabouts?"
The soldier removed his long pipe, spat, and appeared to meditate before
replying.
"Yes--now I think of it; I believe I did see a man of that cut, though I
would not be sure. He might not have been an Englishman. He was stout,
certainly, and had a beard; as for his hat, I didn't notice it, for the
truth is, I had been looking at some other Englishmen, a party of Coy's
Horse; my old corps served side by side with them in '97. Yes, and
there was a man among them I knew too; a paymaster--Robins, I mind, was
his name--donder! what a temper he had! It was a curse and a blow with
him. Ay, it is a hard life, the soldier's. They halted at the inn over
by there, and I was just going over to drink a glass with them for old
times' sake when the Baron's coach came up and I had to open the gates.
A lodge-keeper, see you, is a sentry with no change of guard."
"Ja, ja! But the Englishman and the boy--which way did they go?"
"Which way? Let me see. They might have gone down the road: no, now I
bethink me, I believe they went up the road; but there, I can't be sure.
The sight of the English horse, men I fought side by side with in '97,
before I got my wound----"
"Ja, ja! Thank you!"
They escaped his further reminiscences by walking on, past the inn, past
a row of cottages with the inevitable bright green shutters, until they
came to the watch-house at the cross-roads. Grootz put the same
question to the watchman.
"No," he replied. "I saw no Englishman with a boy. But I saw a party of
English horse; they had come in from Rotterdam, and I heard afterwards
at the inn they were on the track of a deserter."
It was now almost dark; to continue the search further would be vain.
They returned home to their belated supper, Grootz promising to set
exhaustive enquiries on foot in the morning.
That night, for the first time for many months, Harry was unable to
sleep. He was oppressed by perplexity and uneasiness. From whatever
point of view he looked at Sherebiah's disappearance it seemed equally
inexplicable. He could divine no motive for a message sent to Sherebiah
in his name; the man appeared to be on very good terms with Dutchmen and
was unlikely to have private enemies. Harry was almost forced to the
conclusion that Gretel had been mistaken, after all, and that Sherebiah
would by and by return with a simple explanation of his absence. He
might have met a friend, and be spending a convivial evening with him.
Perhaps--the thought came like an illumination--one of the English
troopers from Rotterdam was a friend of his--a Wiltshire man, possibly.
The suggestion allayed his uneasiness, and he fell asleep half expecting
to be called by Sherebiah as usual next morning.
But Sherebiah did not return that night. It happened next day that
Mynheer Grootz was early summoned to a conference with a committee of
the States General, and when after a prolonged discussion he was
released he had to start at once for Leyden on important business. It
was late before he returned. Harry meanwhile had lost no time in
pursuing enquiries in every likely quarter, but in vain. Sherebiah had
not returned; nothing had been heard of him; and there was nothing for
it but to wait yet another day.
He was again wakeful, and his thoughts turned to the errand on which the
party of English horse had come. He pitied the unfortunate wretch for
whom they were in search--some poor fellow, perhaps, who had escaped in
the hope that he would be less easily tracked in a foreign land. The
punishment for desertion had become much more stringent and summary of
late owing to the prevalence of the offence. Harry himself remembered
one bleak morning in London when, having gone early into Hyde Park, he
had been the unwilling spectator of the shooting of a deserter. Had
they caught the man? he wondered. "I hope----" he thought, then
suddenly a strange suspicion flashed upon him. Surely it was
impossible; yet---- In a moment slumbering recollections awoke. He
remembered that many times, when approaching English soldiers in London,
Sherebiah had sidled away and disappeared. He remembered how, more than
once, Sherry had shown a knowledge of military matters singularly
intimate for a civilian; how insistently he had always proclaimed
himself a man of peace; how hardily he had behaved in the fight at
Lindendaal. These facts, and many a slight hint scarcely regarded
before, combined to convert a chance surmise, almost dismissed as
absurd, into a strong presumption little short of certainty.
He sprang out of bed, dressed quickly, ran downstairs with his slippers
in his hands, and, noiselessly drawing the bolts, hurried along the
silent street towards the inn on the Rotterdam Road at which the patrol
had halted. Though it was late, the people of the inn were still up.
He asked for the landlord, and had not conversed with him for more than
a minute before he was convinced, from what was said of the prisoner,
that it was indeed Sherebiah. The troopers had brought with them a led
horse; on this they had mounted the deserter, strapping him on each side
to a dragoon, and then ridden off at once towards Rotterdam, _en route_
for Breda. Returning to the house, Harry woke Mynheer Grootz, told him
of what he had learnt, and proposed to start at once for Breda to allay
or confirm his suspicion. From this the merchant dissuaded him. A
night ride would be attended with difficulty and danger; if he started
early in the morning, he might still overtake the dragoons before they
reached Breda. Accordingly he went back to bed for a few hours. At
dawn he rose, and by five o'clock was galloping towards Rotterdam on the
best horse in Grootz's stables.
At Rotterdam he learnt that a body of English horse, consisting of units
of several regiments, had left for Breda on the previous afternoon.
Waiting for an hour to rest and bait his horse he pushed on to Breda,
arriving there about one o'clock in the afternoon. Without delay he
sought out the officer to whom he had delivered his convoy of provisions
a few weeks before, and enquired whether he knew of the arrest of an
English deserter.
"Ay, and a notorious character, it appears. 'Twas not merely desertion
they had against him, but mutiny, and a murderous attack on an officer.
He fought like a cat when he was arrested; 'twas a foolish trick, for
they were ten to one, and in a little he was overpowered. He was tried
by court-martial this morning at nine, and the trial was short."
"Was sentence pronounced?"
"Of course; he had no defence; he was sentenced to be shot."
"There is no appeal?"
"None. The sentence will be laid before my lord Marlborough for
confirmation; a matter of form. But pray why do you take so much
interest in the man?"
"He is my servant, comes from my village, has done me right faithful
service. Good God! to think that he should come to this end!"
The officer shrugged.
"Unhappy chance indeed. 'Tis seven years or more since he deserted;
doubtless he felt secure. I am sorry for you. He'll get no more than
he deserves."
"Could I see him?"
"Certainly; he is confined in the town-house; I will take you to him
myself."
In a few minutes Harry was ushered into a dark room in the basement of
the town-house. A candle was lit; he was left alone with the prisoner,
and the door was locked behind him.
"Oh, Sherry, my poor fellow, who would have thought you would come to
this!"
"Master Harry, 'tis good of 'ee to come and see me. Ay; poor feller! you
med well say so; but to tell 'ee the truth, 'tis a load off my back."
"Yes, I understand. I know now why you always scouted the soldiers in
London. Why didn't you tell me? I would never have brought you to this
country, with our soldiers here, there, and everywhere."
"Tell 'ee! Not me. Why, you and me would 'a had to part company that
minute. Besides, 'twarn't zackly a thing to be proud on, look at it how
'ee will. 'Twas ill-luck I were nabbed, to be sure; but I've had nigh
eight year as a man o' peace, and I s'pose 'twas time the lid were putt
on the copper."
"And they'll shoot you!"
"Bless 'ee, I bean't afeard o' that. I've been shot at; ay, many's the
time: at Sedgemoor, and Walcourt, and other cities o' destruction. I
can stand fire wi' any man. Nay, the one thing as troubles me is how
poor old feyther o' mine'll take it. The poor ancient soul never dreams
I desarted; and zooks! 'tis that'll hurt un more'n my bein' a corpse;
his boy a desarter, and him a trooper of old Noll's! Ay, that'll hurt
un, 'twill so. And then there's you, sir; how be I agwine to leave 'ee,
wi' old Squire and Rafe Aglionby a-seeken whom they may devour, and no
one you can trust to polish your breastplate and oil your boots? Ay,
the way o' transgressors is hard; the wages o' sin is death; many's the
time I've yeard they holy words from the lips of pa'son your good
feyther, never thinken in my feeble mind he were aimen at me."
Harry was at a loss for words. Sherebiah was so perfectly resigned to
his fate that any attempt at consolation would seem an impertinence.
"How came you to desert?" he asked, to gain time.
"Why, I'll tell 'ee about it. I was a corporal in Coy's horse; med ha'
been a sergeant long agoo, indeed. But there was a paymaster o' that
regiment, Robins by name; a good sojer, true, but with his faults, like
any other mortal man. He was hot in his temper, and crooked in his
dealens. Us men was bein' cheated, right and left; our pay was small
enough, but we never got it: a penny here and a ha'penny there bein'
took off for this or that. Ay, and he was a knowen one, he was. All
done so soft and quiet-like. We stood it a long time; at long last,
'twas more'n Minshull blood could stomach, and one mornen I up and spoke
out; you see, I warn't a man o' peace then. Well, Robins bein' fiery by
nature, he got nettled; I should myself; but 'tis one thing to get
nettled, and another to use yer fist. Robins he used his fist, and not
bein' zackly meek as Moses, I used mine, and he fell under. Two or
three of my mates standen by saw it all. Robins he raved and called on
'em to arrest me, but they wouldn't. But 'twas all up wi' me; I knowed
that well enough; if Robins took a spite agen a man he med as well be a
dead dog. I had no mind to be a dead dog just then, so I bolted; and
that's how I come to be such a man o' peace."
"But surely if you explained that, your punishment wouldn't be so
heavy."
"Explain! Bless 'ee, 'twould be no good in the world. To strike a
officer be mortal sin. Nay, I've nowt to say for myself; I must just
take my wages."
"How did you manage to elude them so long?"
"Oh! the regiment was out o' my way: been quartered this many year in
Ireland. 'Twas just my bad luck that they should ha' been sent for on
this campaign. Ah, well! a man can die but once; I've kep' the
commandments, and that's more'n Robins can say; and there's no
commandment 'Thee shall let a man hit 'ee and say thank 'ee'. I bean't
afeard o' Them above, and I'll meet 'em with head up and eye clear, like
a English sojer."
"When is it to be?"
"They didn't tell me that. 'Twill not be long, you may be sure. My
lord Marlborough has only got to scribble his name on the paper, and
he'll never remember 'twas me as held his horse at Salisbury in '88 and
got nowt but a smile.--Master Harry, belike I sha'n't see 'ee again in
this world. When you go home-along, you'll say a word o' comfort to the
old ancient gaffer, won't 'ee? Tell un all the truth; tell un I be main
sorry to vex his old gray hairs,--though not for punchen Robins. Gi'
him my dear love: his boy, he calls me, poor soul: and say as how I were
quite easy in mind and not a bit afeard. He's a trooper of old Noll's,
you see."
"I'll give him your messages," said Harry with a gulp,--"if ever I get
back alive."
"Ay true, ye med not. The corn-dealen was a safer line o' life.--What!
time's up."--A sentry had thrown open the door.--"Good-bye, Master
Harry; God bless 'ee! and I hope you'll get a man as'll polish your
'coutrements to your mind. This time to-morrow, belike, I shall be a
true man o' peace."
Harry shook his hand in silence; he could not trust himself to speak.
He was angry at what he thought the essential injustice of the sentence.
Sherebiah had only struck the paymaster in self-defence, and in the
original cause of dissension had right on his side. But Harry knew what
military discipline meant; it was rigid as iron. Still, he could not
help asking himself whether even now it was impossible to get the whole
circumstances considered and the sentence revised. He thought of making
a personal appeal to Marlborough, but soon dismissed the idea, for
Marlborough had doubtless forgotten him, and he had no force of
persuasion to bring to bear. Suddenly, as he walked slowly along the
street, he remembered Godfrey Fanshawe; he was an officer in a companion
regiment, Schomberg's Horse; he would ask his advice. He enquired for
the quarters of the regiment, found that it was encamped a short
distance out on the Tilburg road, and hastened thither with an anxious
heart.
The troops were under canvas, and Harry found Fanshawe joint occupant of
a tent with a fellow subaltern.
"Hullo!" he cried when he saw Harry. "I wondered when I should run up
against you. I have heard all about your feat--rescuing beauty and all
that. What in the world brought you to this country?"
"'Twould be long in the telling. You shall know all in season. I am
here on a very special errand. You remember Sherry Minshull?"
"As well as I do you. Many's the trout we've caught together. A right
good fellow!"
"At this moment he is lying under sentence of death in the town-house at
Breda. Unknown to me, he had been a soldier, and deserted after
thrashing an officer----"
"D'ye know him, then?" interposed the other lieutenant.
"He is my man."
"Oh! Sorry for you both. I had heard about it from an officer of
Coy's--Cadogan's, I should say; their name's changed."
"Do you know, sir, how he came to be smoked?"
"'Twas an Englishman peached--a soldier of fortune, as it appears, who
wished to be nameless. He met the men of Cadogan's when they landed at
Rotterdam, and arranged a trick by which they got him alone on the open
road. 'Twas rather cleverly managed."
"And a dirty mean thing to do," said Fanshawe warmly.
"Can't something be done for him?" asked Harry.
"'Tis hopeless," was Lieutenant Tettefall's reply. "Robins was very
vindictive; he painted the man in the blackest colours in his evidence
before the court-martial, and not one of the officers of the court knew
your man. He has a double offence to answer for; 'tis certain he'll be
shot as soon as the forms are completed."
Harry's face was then the picture of blank despair.
"On my life, 'tis a thousand pities!" said Fanshawe. "I fear there is
not the ghost of a chance for him." His face gloomed for a moment; then
his high spirits asserted themselves. "But come, Harry, 'tis no good
taking on about it; come and forget it over a bottle. I want to hear
your story."
"No, I'm in no humour for racketing. Would to God I could do something
for the poor fellow! Would the colonel intercede if we asked him?"
"Not he. He would laugh and crack a joke. If Sherry were a Dutchman,
now! The duke is very sweet to the Hollanders at this time, and a word
from one of the States might turn him."
"General van Santen!" exclaimed Harry. "I had not thought of him.
'Twas he I happened to be of use to, and Sherry did his share too. Yes,
'twould be no harm to try him. Do you know where he is?"
"At Lillo," said Tettefall, "full thirty miles away."
"I'll ride there. Fanshawe, can you lend me a horse? Mine brought me
from the Hague, forty miles and more, and is done up."
"I'll lend you mine. I'd like to save Sherry, but 'tis a poor chance.
Leave your horse; I'll send him and another to meet you on the way back,
in case you have to ride for it."
"'Tis good of you. Do you know the road?"
"The easiest for you is by Bergen-op-Zoom. You are less likely to be
interrupted that way than by the Antwerp road; our forces are camped at
Calmpthout on that road, and you might be delayed in passing through the
lines, to say nothing of falling in with the French beyond."
"Thanks and thanks again!"
"You'll have to ride hard," added Tettefall. "The duke's at Thielen,
twenty miles east of Lillo; and there's no time to lose."
"No, I will start at once."
"And good luck go with you!"
Harry was soon riding at a smart pace along the road to Bergen-op-Zoom,
whence he made due south for Lillo, reaching that small fortified place
about seven o'clock in the evening. To his intense disappointment he
found that General van Santen was at the British head-quarters at
Thielen. He had been absent all day, but was expected to return before
night. Had it not been so late Harry would have started to meet him on
the road, but he did not care to risk missing him. He waited
impatiently; the general arrived soon after nine, and when he had heard
Harry's story he consented at once to write to Marlborough, mentioning
that the bearer of the letter had earned some consideration by his
excellent stratagem at Lindendaal, where the condemned man also had done
good service. Armed with the letter, Harry set off at ten, hoping to
cover the twenty miles to Thielen before the duke had retired to rest.
Before starting, General van Santen warned him that parties of French
horse were out observing the movements of the confederate army. Finding
that he was not familiar with the road, the general sent one of his own
orderlies with him, warmly wishing him success.
The two riders struck across the fields and by narrow bridle paths
almost due east, and passing through one or two ruined villages--among
them Eckeren, the scene of the Dutch defeat on June 30th--came to the
site of the French camp, vacated and burnt on the approach of
Marlborough some ten days before. The air was murky, the sky dark, and
Harry was glad of his companion. He was oppressed by the louring
prospect of Sherebiah's fate, and the heaviness of the night was not apt
to lighten his care. They had ridden for about a third of the distance,
and had just left the highway for a cross-road that saved a mile, when
all at once, from behind a hedge, there came a sharp challenge in
French.
"Who goes there?"
"A friend," said Harry, and, pulling up, walked his horse slowly
forward.
"Halt, and give the countersign!" said the voice peremptorily, and
dimly, a few yards before him, Harry saw a horseman come into the road.
"Now for a dash; keep close!" whispered Harry to the orderly.
Setting spurs to his horse, he rode straight at the piquet, hoping that
when the inevitable shot was fired it would miss him in the darkness.
As the horse sprang forward there was a report and a blinding flash, and
a choking sob behind. Harry closed with the Frenchman. There was no
time to draw his sword, and he did not wish to raise a further alarm by
discharging his pistols. Forcing his horse against the flank of the
enemy's, he struck the man with all the weight of his fist, and, taking
him by surprise, knocked him from his saddle. He turned to look for his
companion; he was prone on the ground, and his startled steed had taken
flight. Dismounting in haste, Harry found in a moment that the man was
dead, killed by the shot intended for himself. At the same instant he
heard a sound of hoofs from behind on his right. Springing on to his
horse he set him at the gallop across a flat grassy plain, bearing, as
nearly as he could judge, due east. Suddenly he heard the thud of more
hoofs, still on his right, but this time in front of him. Evidently he
was being headed off by another party approaching from the south-east.
He swerved to the left, intending to make a detour; as he did so, there
was the report of a carbine from behind a hedge a few yards away. He
felt his horse quiver, but it galloped on, the man who had fired
plunging through the hedge in hot pursuit.
Harry's nerves were now at high tension. It was clear that he had
stumbled upon a piquet or patrol, or even a more numerous party of the
enemy, and the odds were in favour of his meeting the same fate as the
poor fellow his guide. Unhappily his horse was beginning to flag.
Bending forward to encourage it, and patting its neck, he felt that his
hand was covered with blood. The horse had been struck. Harry
remembered how it had quivered. The wound accounted for its laboured
breathing; it was a good horse, and, not having as yet been seriously
pressed, could have held its own with those of the troopers behind. But
it was plain to Harry that, with the horse severely wounded, the race
must now be short, and the result inevitable. The distance between
himself and his pursuers was already lessening; a glance behind showed
him four dark figures close upon his heels; a few seconds would decide
his fate.
At the moment of danger, some men lose their heads, others are braced to
the quickest exercise of their faculties. Harry, fortunately for
himself, was of the latter class. He saw that to ride on must mean
speedy capture; the only chance of escape was to dismount and slip away
on foot. But the country here was quite open, he would instantly be
seen. He peered anxiously ahead; yes, there, against the indigo sky,
was a dense mass of black; it was a plantation of some kind; could he
but gain that, there was a bare possibility. He dug his spurs into his
panting steed, with pity for the poor wounded beast carrying him so
gallantly; but he dared not spare it; apart from his own fate, another
life hung in the balance. A brief effort was needed; the horse nobly
responded, and by the time it reached the edge of the wood had slightly
increased the gap between pursuer and pursued. Pulling up suddenly,
Harry sprang from the saddle, struck the trembling animal with his
scabbard, and as he slipped among the trees heard it dash forward.
Being wounded, Harry argued, the horse would certainly slacken its pace
when no longer urged by the voice and spur of its rider, and must soon
be overtaken. The enemy would immediately guess his device, and if the
wood should be of no great extent, they would probably surround it, wait
till morning, and capture him at their leisure. He waited breathlessly
for the coming of the enemy; he saw them sweep past, bending low in
their saddles, two men abreast, like phantom horsemen, so quietly did
they ride on the turf. His heart gave a jump when he estimated them as
at least half a troop. When they were past he left the wood, and ran
across the open plain at right angles to his previous line of flight.
As he expected, his manoeuvre was soon discovered. He heard the
Frenchmen call to one another; then the thud of returning hoofs on his
right, and in a few minutes he saw several dark forms approaching. They
were spreading out fanwise. Only the men at the right of the line were
directly approaching him at a trot, searching the ground as they rode.
The sky was lightening behind them; the moon was rising; fortunately,
Harry being on foot, the pursuers could not see him so clearly as he saw
them.
In a moment he perceived that it was a race between him and the man at
the end of the line. If he could get beyond the point at which the
trooper's present line of march would intersect his own path, he had a
reasonable chance of safety. To his dismay he noticed that the man was
edging still farther from his comrades, as though suspecting that he was
not taking a sufficiently wide sweep. Harry was now panting with his
exertions, and in a bath of sweat; he could run no faster over the heavy
ground; he felt that the game was up, wondering indeed that the "view
halloo!" had not already been given. Plunging blindly, despairingly,
on, he was almost at his last gasp when he suddenly fell headlong. He
had stumbled into an irrigation ditch. It was overgrown with weeds; in
the stress of war the culture of the fields had been neglected; the
bottom was dry. The weeds grew high on either side; Harry scrambled on
hands and knees into the rank vegetation, and lay still, his flanks
heaving, his breath coming and going in quick pants which he felt must
be audible yards away.
For some seconds he heard nothing but his deep breathing and the
thumping of his heart; then the beat beat of hoofs drawing nearer. A
horseman passed within a few yards of him, luckily on the right.
Another few seconds, and the Frenchman ejaculated an angry "Nom d'un
tonnerre!" as his horse struck the ditch and stumbled. He called to his
left-hand man, and Harry, cautiously peering through the enveloping
weeds, saw him alight and begin to examine the ditch. But he moved away
from the fugitive. As soon as he was at a safe distance, Harry, who had
by this time recovered his breath, crept out and stealthily crawled
along the watercourse on hands and knees. For some minutes he continued
this arduous progress, rejoicing to hear the men's voices receding
moment by moment. Then, judging it safe, he rose and broke into a trot,
left the ditch by and by, and continued to pound over fields and paths,
through hedges and over ditches, for what seemed to him miles. Then he
stopped. All sounds had now ceased save the chirp of crickets, the
raucous cry of the corn-crake, and the croak of frogs. He had lost his
way; he knew not whether he was near a highway; he was dead tired, his
knees trembling under him. But he remembered Sherebiah spending his
lonely vigil in the town-house of Breda, waiting for the dawn of his
last day, and he set his lips and breathed a vow that the faithful
fellow should not die if the last ounce of energy would save him.
*CHAPTER XIV*
*Harry Rides for a Life*
The Hour before Dawn--A Trivial Interruption--Recollections--Another
Memorandum--The Road to Breda--The Town Clock--Seven Minutes--Against
Time--Orange Wins
Years afterwards, when Harry was a father and a grandfather, and the
children came about his knees clamouring for a story, nothing held them
more entranced, nothing caused them such delicious creepiness, as his
account of the hours that followed his escape from the French.
"There was I," he would say, "in the dead of night, a white mist rising
from the fields, growing thicker moment by moment--and I knew not where
I was, knew not but an unlucky step might bring me again among the
enemy. My knees were trembling under me; my mouth was parched; my breast
like to burst with the striving of my breath; I was ready to drop and
sleep as I fell. But the thought of my faithful servant in that prison;
of his being led out and blindfolded, and standing up helpless to be the
mark of bullets; of his poor old father that doted on him--ah! my boys,
those thoughts were like a goad to me; 'twas as if I was urged on by
some unseen power.
"I could not now see the stars, so thick was the mist. I could not
choose my way. I could but go forward at a venture, praying that my
steps might be directed aright. I staggered into slimy ditches; forced
my way through quickset hedges, waded weedy streams; once I came full
upon a river that I must needs swim. There was never a cottage light to
guide me, for though I crossed many a field of corn and flax, many a
broad space of pasture land, I came nowhere near a house or farm, and
durst not turn aside, feeling as if some strange power bade me go on and
on. I know not for how many hours I struggled on thus, taking no count
of time; nor did I feel conscious of my great fatigue, but moved on as
though I was a soul without body.
"It grew darker and darker. The night seemed to press upon me, the mist
was like cold clammy hands seizing me to hold me back. Then all at
once, going blindly as I did, I well-nigh struck my head against a low
wall, and was immediately conscious of the smell of tobacco. 'Twas like
a breath of heaven to me, boys. I cried aloud, and the echo of my voice
seemed that of a startled ghost. A rough voice answered me; I stood
still, my heart thumping against my ribs. Footsteps drew near, and I
saw the blessed light of a lantern, and in a moment a man had me by the
sleeve, and drew back his hand with a cry, for my garments were cold and
wet, and the light was flashed in my face, and I saw a big Dutch farmer,
who took his pipe from his mouth and bade me tell whence I had come and
what was my business.
"What I said I know not now, boys, but soon I was wrapped in a cloak,
lying upon hay in the bottom of a jolting wain, and my new-found friend
driving through the dawn towards Thielen. I fell asleep, and when the
farmer's heavy hand stirred me, I was in Thielen, and all around me were
soldiers and horses and wagons; 'twas the great duke's camp. The
village clock was striking four; the sky was already bright; the camp
was astir, for the duke purposed that day to bridge the Nette.
"What figure I cut you may imagine. Wet, cold, dishevelled, my face and
hands and clothes all bemired, I crawled as best I might from the cart,
and staggered to the house where the duke was quartered. There was a
sentry at the door: when I said I wished to see the duke he flouted me,
laughed in my face, and was for turning me away. But I was in no mood
to be delayed. I took from my tunic the sodden letter of General van
Santen, and showed it to the fellow, bidding him on peril of his life to
stay me. 'Twas enough: he called to a servant; they talked together,
eyeing me as though I were some sorry cur: then the man roughly bade me
follow him, and within a little I stood in a small chamber, looking with
dazed eyes at the man seated at a table there: 'twas my lord Marlborough
himself."
"A letter from General van Santen, my lord."
Marlborough looked up as the servant spoke, but did not straighten
himself from his bent position at the table, nor remove his hands from
the pair of compasses that were stretched on the map there outspread.
Several officers were grouped about him; at a smaller table sat a
gentleman dealing with a mass of correspondence.
"Mr. Cardonnel," said the duke briefly; then resumed his discussion with
the officers.
The secretary turned sideways and took the letter. He broke the seal,
ran his eye hurriedly over the paper, then laid it on the table.
"It shall be looked to," he said, and bent again to his writing.
Harry stood for a moment; all his blood seemed to run cold. Then, his
whole body a-tingle, he stepped forward.
"Pardon me, sir, the matter is most urgent; 'tis a case of life or
death. If you would be so good as to lay the letter at once before my
lord----"
Mr. Cardonnel turned and stared with a sort of scornful wonder at the
dishevelled, bedraggled object who addressed him in an English and a
cultivated accent.
"'Tis too late. My lord's despatch left last night; the man will be
shot in a few hours; the matter must e'en take its course."
"Sir, may I beg of you----" Harry's voice, unknown to himself, was
raised to a tone of passionate entreaty. "My lord----"
"What is it, Mr. Cardonnel?" asked Marlborough.
"General van Santen, my lord, asks the pardon of the deserter Minshull,
sentenced by court-martial to be shot. 'Tis too late."
"Write and tell the general so, and be done with it."
"My lord," broke in Harry, "do but read the general's letter. I have
rid and run all night to deliver it; the execution will not yet have
taken place, and I know well----"
"Who are you, sir?"
The duke looked puzzled at the discrepancy between the tone of voice and
the disreputable appearance of the youth before him.
"My name is Rochester, my lord, the letter--I entreat your lordship to
read it--will tell the rest."
Marlborough signed to the secretary, received the letter from his hand,
and read it quickly. It was not long, and the last paragraph read as
follows:--
"Perchance, my lord, you may feel that the man's gallantry in the affair
at the Comtesse de Vaudrey's may be set against his offence, which
though heinous was not unprovoked and is now some years old. If your
lordship can reconcile it with the demands of discipline to pardon this
unfortunate man, you will I trust find that your clemency is not
ill-bestowed."
Marlborough fixed his eyes upon Harry. "I understand from this letter
that the man is your servant?"
He spoke in the low pleasant tone that never varied, whether he
addressed peer or peasant.
"Yes, my lord, a very true and faithful servant."
"And your name is Rochester? Have I not met you before?"
"Yes, my lord, well-nigh a year ago."
"Where?"
"At my lord Godolphin's."
"At my lord Godolphin's?" A slight ruffle marked his broad white brow.
He looked keenly at Harry. All at once his expression changed. "I
remember. I had clean forgotten it. You are the young fellow who
intervened in my lord's roadside adventure? Ah! and now I bethink me,
'twas your man that did the shouting. The same man?"
"Yes, my lord."
"That is enough.--Mr. Cardonnel, make out at once an order pardoning the
man--what is his name?--and discharging him from the army.--The man
whose lungs saved the Lord Treasurer has decidedly a claim to
indulgence. But I fear, Mr. Rochester, you are late. These little
matters are usually determined by eight o'clock in the morning. It is
near five: 'twill be some little time before I can despatch an orderly,
and there are fifty odd miles to ride."
"With your leave, my lord, I will go myself."
"So be it. Mr. Cardonnel will give you the pardon and discharge. It
rests with you. I hope you will be in time. Don't spare your horses."
"I thank you, my lord, from the bottom of my heart."
"There, no more: get to horse. Yet one moment: did I not--I seem to
remember it--did I not promise to do something for you?"
"'Twas not a promise, my lord."
Marlborough smiled, and looked at the boy with approval.
"But I intended it as such. I wrote your name, I recollect; papers have
a trick of losing themselves: I should have done something for you but
for sheer forgetfulness.--Mr. Cardonnel, will you please make a note?
Mr.--your full name, sir!"
"Henry Winterborne Rochester."
"Mr. Henry Winterborne Rochester for an ensigncy.--I had heard of the
ruse at the Comtesse de Vaudrey's: naturally I did not connect it with
you. You are with Grootz the contractor, I believe?"
"I was, my lord, but I have just been commissioned cornet in the Anspach
dragoons."
Marlborough and the group of officers laughed outright.
"Begad, my lord, you're behind the fair," cried Colonel Cadogan, a big
burly Irishman of twenty-eight, Marlborough's quartermaster-general.
"Ay, indeed, an angel has stirred the pool. But I am delaying you, Mr.
Rochester; you must ride hard. Good-bye!"
Harry had been itching to get away. Every moment was of importance.
Bowing himself out, he hurried to the inn where Fanshawe had promised to
stable a horse. It was there ready saddled, in charge of a trooper of
Fanshawe's regiment, who said that Harry's own charger Orange was
awaiting him half-way to Breda. Harry leapt to the saddle, flung a coin
to the man, and in less than two minutes was making his way at a sharp
trot among the press of villagers and soldiers thronging the street.
Clear of the village he went at a canter through the camp, where all was
bustle in preparation for the day's march: then, gaining the free
highroad, he set his steed to the gallop. Some minutes later he heard a
village clock strike five.
Two hours after Harry started on his ride, Godfrey Fanshawe left his
tent in company with Lieutenant Tettefall, and mounted his horse to ride
into Breda. He had passed a sleepless and anxious night, his mind
haunted by the impending fate of Sherebiah, with whom he had spent many
a pleasant day on the banks of the Avon, or in the coverts of his
father's estate. The execution had been fixed for eight by the clock of
the Hervormde Kerk near the market-place, Marlborough's despatch
confirming the sentence having arrived late on the previous evening.
Fanshawe had seen the major in command, explaining that Harry had gone
to see the duke with a view to a remission of the sentence. The major
had laughed at the idea, swearing that he would not delay the execution
a moment.
Galloping into Breda, Fanshawe's first care was to enquire whether Harry
had arrived, or whether any message had come from Marlborough
countermanding the execution. But nothing had been heard of the one or
the other. Fanshawe made a last appeal to the major, but Robins had
that officer's ear, and had convinced him that the condemned prisoner
was a rascal of whom the army would be well rid.
At a quarter after seven the regiment was paraded and marched to the
castle park, where the execution was to take place. Fanshawe meanwhile
paced moodily up and down, watching the inexorable clock. Suddenly, as
he looked at its face for the tenth time, he remembered a legend of the
Civil War, which his father had told him: the story of a Royalist
trooper who, condemned to die at the ringing of the curfew, had been
saved by the heroism of his sweetheart, who climbed the belfry tower,
caught the clapper of the bell, and with her delicate hands had
prevented the fatal sound. His recollection suggested an idea. There
was still forty minutes to spare.
At the park gate a knot of idlers had gathered to see the condemned man
pass to his doom. Singling out from among these a likely youth,
Fanshawe held with him a rapid conversation in whispers; and the two
hurried away.
They went straight to the sacristan of the Hervormde Kerk, whose cottage
was known to the Dutch youth. By the aid of this interpreter Fanshawe
explained to the old man that, being much interested in church clocks,
he would like to climb the tower and see the mechanism, at the same time
slipping a coin into the man's hand. The sacristan was a feeble,
tottering old fellow, and was persuaded without difficulty to hand over
the key of the tower, on the promise of the English officer to return it
within an hour. Armed with the key, Fanshawe then hurried under the
boy's guidance to the chief clock-maker's in the town. His shop was not
yet open for business, but when he learnt that a clock was in urgent
need of attention he agreed to send a young apprentice to oblige the
Englishman. At twenty minutes to eight Fanshawe with the young
clock-maker ascended the church tower. The boy remained at the door.
The clock chimed the three-quarters.
"Pray God Harry arrive in time!" was Fanshawe's thought as he returned
to the park gate.
The clock was too far off for any movement of the hands to be noted.
Had it been nearer, a close observer comparing with his own watch might
have seen that from this time the long hand of the clock advanced one
minute for every two.
It still marked ten minutes to eight when Sherebiah, with bound wrists,
came up under guard. He smiled serenely when, entering the park, he saw
Fanshawe, whose pale anxious looks betrayed his suffering.
"Don't 'ee take on, now, Master Godfrey," he said. "Let 'em aim well and
ha' done wi't. Bless 'ee, I bean't afeard. But, Master Godfrey, where
be Master Harry? To say good-bye, I mean."
"He--he couldn't come, Sherry."
"Ah! Well, 'tis no sight for a man o' peace, and he ha'n't donned the
breastplate yet. Gi' un my love and respect, an 'ee please, sir; and
axe un to remember the old gaffer." Fanshawe gripped his hand, and he
passed into the park. "Nay, I won't ha' my eyes tied up," he said to
one of the firing squad who approached to bandage him. "Must, must I?
Well, I'm not one to go agen the law at the last. Got a clean firelock,
mate? Ah! there's the bell a-dingen. Tell Robins--nay, I was gwine to
forgive un, but I won't; I'll leave that for Them above."
By this time he was standing, with eyes bandaged, against the wall. He
ceased to speak; the last stroke of eight had already sounded from
several steeples; but the clock of the Hervormde Kerk still wanted seven
minutes of the hour. Fanshawe's eyes were riveted on the hands; the
soldiers stood at ease, waiting.
Meanwhile, what of Harry?
The road through Turnhout to Breda passes through a wide moorland region
and crosses the river Merk. It was a somewhat heavy road at the best,
and the recent passage of troops and baggage wagons had made it rutty
and uneven. Harry had started at a stiff gallop; his horse was fresh,
and seemed to catch the infection of his eagerness. On he went,
scarcely varying his pace, his head low, his ears bent back for his
rider's encouraging words. At that hour the road was free; Harry met
with no obstruction. He dashed through Turnhout, crossed the river to
Hoogstraaten, and there found his own black charger awaiting him. He
was not quite half-way to Breda.
"Orange, my beauty, you must go as you never went before," he cried, as
he set the animal at a gallop. The horse pricked his ears in response.
He galloped on for mile after mile, scattering dust around him, getting
many a stare of wonderment from the peasants at work in the fields. As
the miles slipped by, Harry anxiously watched his gallant steed. Great
flakes of foam fell from the animal's quivering lips; his nostrils were
distended wide; his white eye-sockets were rimmed with red; and still he
galloped, panting, striving nobly to respond to the caressing pats and
cheering words of his master.
"Twenty minutes more, old fellow!" whispered Harry in the beast's ear.
"Twenty minutes; if you can only hold out!"
He was nearing the end of his ride, but the poor horse was in distress.
Spots of blood crimsoned the white foam; Harry fancied that he saw
despair in the animal's starting eyes; and when, still a mile on the
wrong side of Ginneken, he heard the little church clock strike eight,
his heart sank within him. He dared not press the horse further; he
might urge it to a short spurt, but the effort would probably be its
last; and he had still three miles to go!
"Well done, Orange, my beauty!" he cried, patting its ear. "Good horse!
Near home now; a few minutes more, old fellow, and then----"
Thus he rode on, inspiriting words on his lips, black despair at his
elbow. He knew what military punctuality meant; his ears were strained
to catch the sharp rattle of musketry. How far could a volley be heard?
He could not pause to speculate on the question; all he could hear was
the ringing of his flagging steed's hoofs.
He was a mile from Breda. He saw the whole of the little town before
him, smoke rising from the chimneys; he overtook a few carts slowly
wending towards the market, and heard the wondering exclamations of the
wagoners as his blood-flecked steed flashed by. His eyes were straining
towards the church tower; pray God the Ginneken clock was fast! But he
was too far away to see the hands. On he rode; he came to the open
gate; the sentry challenged him, but he was gone before the man had
finished the phrase. Now he dug his spurs into the horse's heaving
flanks for a last spurt; he clattered through the ill-paved street,
shouting to the pedestrians to make way; into the busy little
market-place, cumbered with the stalls of apple-women, poulterers, and
other purveyors. Boys scurried like rabbits out of his path; women
raised shrill cries as stalls were thrown down and apples rolled wide;
dogs barked and girls shrieked; but he was past; the church clock said
one minute to eight! Out of the market-square, round the corner,--and
there was Tettefall, hastening to meet him.
"To the park!" cried the lieutenant.
Harry shouted in the horse's ear. In half a minute he was in at the
park gate, and saw as in a mist the red uniforms of the firing-party,
the solitary figure of the condemned man, and the officer in advance of
the line with his eyes on the clock.
"Saved!" he cried, flinging the duke's order into the air. In a moment
he was off the horse, which sank a trembling, heaving heap upon the
ground.
"Just in time--thank God!" gasped Harry, as he sat with the horse's head
between his knees.
And upon his dazed ear there fell the first chimes of the beneficent
clock, mingled with the loud curt tones of the officer in command as he
gave his squad the order to march.
[Illustration: The Stroke of Eight]
*CHAPTER XV*
*The Water of Affliction*
The New Cornet--A Visit to Lindendaal--Fanshawe is Presented--The Family
Skeleton--Madame Protests--Mademoiselle Insists--Mynheer is
Mysterious--A Silent House--The Law Allows It--Not in the Bond--In the
Canal--Sherebiah Owns Up
By his famous ride from Thielen to Breda Harry became doubly a popular
hero. Neither citizens nor soldiers, Dutch or English, felt any
particular concern with Sherebiah; but Harry's feat, coming before the
memory of his former exploit at Lindendaal had died out, raised him to a
pitch of estimation that might well have made him vain, but which in
truth he found only embarrassing. Fanshawe, on the other hand, whose
ready device with the clock had, as Harry was the first to acknowledge,
really been the means of saving Sherebiah, was regarded with cold
unfriendliness and even dislike by the townsfolk. To tamper with the
town clock they regarded as a monstrous and unpardonable offence, and
there was some talk of laying a formal complaint before the Duke of
Marlborough. The proposal was warmly debated in the borough council,
and the burgomaster had to exercise all his tact to prevent the hotter
heads from carrying the day.
As for Sherebiah, he was a different man. By his formal discharge from
the army the cloud that had pressed upon him for nearly nine years was
dissolved; and now that he had become by official licence, as it were, a
man of peace in good earnest, he developed, not merely an unexpected
lightness of spirits, but a surprising partiality for the company of
soldiers. Every leisure moment he now spent in camp or barrack,
retailing endless anecdotes of his former experiences as a man of war,
and basing on these a right to criticise and instruct which younger men
admitted with humility, to the immense disgust and chagrin of Robins.
A few days after the incident, Harry's regiment marched into quarters at
Breda, and General van Santen himself paid a flying visit to the town in
order to introduce the new cornet to his messmates. Harry was welcomed
with open arms, less through the general's sponsorship than through the
fame of his own exploits and the proof he had given of courage and
daring. One little fact also, which leaked out in course of time, did
much to consolidate Harry's reputation as a thoroughly good fellow. He
made it his business to find out the relatives of the man who had been
killed during the night ride from Lillo. The poor fellow had left a
wife and six children, the eldest a boy of sixteen--a slow, earnest,
dogged youth who was overcome with shyness when Harry, at the interview
with his tearful mother, asked to see him. Harry liked the look of the
boy, and offered to apprentice him to an armourer. The mother gladly
accepted; and Mynheer Grootz further undertook, at Harry's persuasion,
to provide employment for the widow and those of her children who were
of age to work. This solicitude of Harry for the family of a man who
after all had only been killed by the fortune of war, and had no claim
upon him, made an impression on the officers of his regiment; and though
it was never mentioned in his presence at mess, it doubtless accounted
in large measure for his popularity with officers and men.
For some weeks Harry was fully occupied in learning his new duties,
practising with sword and rapier, and improving his knowledge of Dutch:
Sherebiah's command of the language was of course no longer a mystery.
Schomberg's Horse, to which Fanshawe belonged, being likewise quartered
outside Breda, Harry often had opportunities of conversation with his
friend. Naturally Fanshawe was amazed to hear of the strange enmity of
Mr. Berkeley, and shrewdly guessed that the soldier of fortune who had
informed on Sherebiah was Captain Aglionby.
"And mark my words," he said, "'twas another move against you. Sherry
seems to have been a sort of watchdog to you; him out of the way, so
much the less difficulty in aiming at you. Though what cause the squire
has to wish you ill it passes my wit to divine."
"And mine too. 'Tis a desperate revenge on me for being my father's
son."
"Have a care, Harry. Having gone so far they will not easily be
baulked, and in these cut-and-thrust times a blow in the dark, eh?--exit
Harry Rochester."
"I'll be on my guard, never fear; and I still have Sherry."
Harry had not forgotten his friends at Lindendaal. He rode over one
free afternoon some three weeks after joining his regiment, and found
that the ladies had heard of his promotion, and of his ride, from
Mynheer Grootz. Madame de Vaudrey was ecstatic in her congratulations,
and only deplored that his new coat was not more brilliant.
"It suits you well, mon ami," she said, "but for myself I should like
better the red than the blue."
"Indeed, Madame," replied Harry with a laugh, "I hadn't given it a
thought. There's one advantage in a dull garb: it presents a less
conspicuous mark to the enemy."
"A point, Monsieur, to which also you had not given a thought till this
moment," said Adele.
Harry laughed; then, changing the subject, he added: "Have you heard or
seen anything more of Monsieur de Polignac and his friend?"
"Nothing, Monsieur Harry," said the comtesse. "And indeed we do not
wish to. I only fear lest his silence augurs no good for us. As for
his friend, that odious captain----prrrut!"
Madame's indignation was too great for articulate expression. The idea
of Aglionby daring to pay his addresses to her was too monstrous. As
was her wont in this mood, she prattled away about her late husband,
Harry listening sympathetically and wondering at the half-smile on
Adele's face. When taking his leave, he said:
"An old friend of mine, an English officer, is in camp at Breda. May I
bring him, Madame, to call on you one day?"
"I shall be charmed, mon cher ami."
"Fanshawe speaks little French, I fear, but----"
"Ah bah!" interrupted the lady, "that matters nothing at all. Adele
shall teach him."
"I shall be charmed, as Mamma says," said Adele.
Harry smiled; nevertheless the suggestion set him thinking as he rode
back, and he felt a shade of annoyance when Fanshawe, to whom he
mentioned the circumstance, laughed heartily and quoted:
"'Amo, amas, I love a lass'. Is she pretty, Harry? By George! I like
the notion."
The two rode out together in the following week; Fanshawe made a good
impression on Madame de Vaudrey, and his stammering French and
good-humoured laughter at his own mistakes appeared to form a bond of
union between him and Adele, for she was soon chatting and smiling with
a friendliness and freedom quite different from her reserved attitude
towards Harry. Fanshawe talked and laughed gaily all the way back;
Harry on the contrary was decidedly glum; and when Sherebiah came to him
at night as usual for orders his master's unaccustomed moodiness did not
escape him.
"What med be the meanen o' this?" he muttered as he went away.
"'Yanker didee dudel down
Dida dudel launter----'
I must ride out-along to Lindendaal one o' these fine days, and putt a
question to Katrinka--ay sure."
One afternoon in the second week of September Harry, having finished his
duties for the day, paid a visit by himself to Madame de Vaudrey. He
found the good lady in tears, and Adele with very pale cheeks and a
suspicious redness about her eyes.
"Oh, Monsieur Harry!" cried the comtesse as he was shown in, "how glad I
am to see you! This is a moment when I need a friend. Look at this
letter from that odious Monsieur de Polignac. My poor dear husband! I
am glad--it is horrible to say it--but yes, I am glad he did not live to
see this terrible day. Read it, cher ami."
Harry looked at the letter. It was a curt and formal note from Polignac
intimating that, failing compliance with his suit, he was resolved to
foreclose his mortgage on the estate one month from the date of the
letter, as the terms of the deed provided. He still offered
Mademoiselle his hand and heart; did she accept him as a husband he
would immediately destroy the mortgage; he gave her a week to decide.
"The villain!" ejaculated Harry.
"He is within his right, Monsieur," said Adele.
"Right! Legal right, yes; no doubt it is so; but who but a villain
would put the matter in this way!"
"What I do not understand," said Madame de Vaudrey, "is his motive. If
Adele were a great heiress, I can understand that he should press his
suit; but she is not; this poor little estate would not tempt an
ambitious man; and as for herself, she has shown her aversion so
plainly----"
"I hate him!" cried the girl, with a vehemence that surprised Harry, so
unlike was it to her usual cold self-contained air.
"It is wrong to hate," said her mother; "but the dear girl has no liking
for him, and how should a man desire for a wife one to whom he is so
indifferent?"
"Tell me," said Harry, "is the mortgage for a large sum?"
"Alas! yes, for several thousand guilders; that is for the estate alone:
the house is separately mortgaged, and the mortgagee in that case is
content to receive his interest."
"Have you no relatives who would advance the money?"
"Not one. We are poor exiles, and have not, I believe, one relative in
the wide world."
Harry was greatly distressed. It was clear that Adele would never
consent to marry Polignac, even if her mother wished it; and there was
no escape from the dilemma save by raising the money.
"Are you quite sure you are so fully in the man's power?" he asked.
"I know it too well. There is no flaw in the documents; my dear
husband's lawyer is a good man; we have no way of escape."
"Of course you have consulted him?"
"Yes; he can do nothing. It is law, he tells me; we have no other
property the sale of which might pay off the mortgage; I have nothing
but my jewels, the gifts of my dear comte, and they would not bring
one-tenth of the sum we need. The income from the estate would enable
us to pay off the mortgage in ten years if we were given time."
A ray of light struck suddenly upon Harry.
"Does Mynheer Grootz know?" he asked.
"Oh no! Mynheer Grootz is indeed a friend, but he could do
nothing--nothing."
"I am not sure of that. I think he should be told. It is a matter of
business; he is a shrewd man of business; he may be able to see a way
out of the difficulty that we are ignorant of; with your leave I will
put the case to him."
"No, Monsieur Harry, I forbid it. I prefer that Mynheer Grootz should
not know. He has enough to do, I am sure, without being troubled with a
poor woman's affairs. I do not say he has not a good heart; he has; he
knows how fond I am of rare tulips, and has so kindly given me bulbs;
but no, I could not seek other favours from him, I could not indeed.
Besides, the lawyer has said, nothing can be done; Mynheer Grootz can do
nothing against the law."
"True, Madame; and yet--it is a chance; it can surely do no harm----"
"You do not understand, Monsieur; it may do the very greatest harm."
Harry was mystified, especially as he fancied he detected the glimmer of
a smile on Adele's face.
"I do not understand----" he began.
"Mother cannot explain," said Adele quietly. "I do not agree with her;
I think she is quite mistaken; certainly Mynheer Grootz should be told."
"Adele, you are a child; one cannot expect you to understand."
"Maman cherie, do you think so? You are a goose, petite Maman.
Monsieur, believe me, it will be the very best thing in the world to
consult Mynheer Grootz."
"Adele!"
"It will, Mamma. It is a poor chance, I fear, but ought we to neglect
even the least? and you do not wish me to marry Monsieur de Polignac?"
"Mon Dieu, non! A thousand times no! The odious man!"
"Then, Madame," said Harry, "I will venture to see Mynheer Grootz as
soon as I can,--or perhaps write to him."
"Eh bien! it is against my will. I protest; I can do no more. You will
tell him I protested?"
"Certainly, I shall not forget. I will let you know what he says;
perhaps he will come himself. Madame, have a good heart; why, if all
else fails, there is my man Sherry; you remember how he embraced the
gentlemen?"
Adele laughed, but the comtesse was too much distressed to see any
humour in the situation. Harry was surprised at the flutter into which
his simple suggestion had thrown her, and rode away feeling puzzled at
the strange ways of women.
He was spared the necessity of writing to Mynheer Grootz, for on
reaching his quarters he learnt that the merchant had called during the
evening, and had left word that he might be seen next afternoon after
his business with the commissary was concluded. He heard Harry's story
quietly.
"Leave it to me, Harry," he said, his little eyes twinkling. "I will
promise dis Monsieur de Polignac a little surprise. He is a noble; zo I
guess by de name. Dey are all de same, dese nobles; and I promise
Monsieur de Polignac zall be made to know dat dis is Holland, not
France, and moreover dat one honest Dutchman is match for a score of
rascal French. Dis man dink he have only a woman to deal wid; well, he
zall be undeceive."
"Will you see Madame de Vaudrey, then, or write to her?"
"No, neider will I zee her, nor write to her. But you--you will tell
her by no means to answer dis Monsieur de Polignac. He will foreclose
in a month, you zay? Very well. He zall meet wid a surprise. Now tell
me one ding. Madame la Comtesse--did she ask you to come to me?"
"Quite the contrary, Mynheer; she did not wish it, I did not understand
why; the reasons she gave were somewhat lame."
Then for the first time in Harry's knowledge of the Dutch merchant he
saw him excited.
"By den donder!" he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. Noting Harry's glance
of astonishment he chuckled again, adding: "I tell you dis; you alzo
zall zee someding." He wagged his forefinger knowingly.
"You have told me nothing," said Harry with a smile.
"No, dat is true. In good time. You do not yet know me, Jan Grootz."
Harry gave Madame de Vaudrey the Dutchman's message, and after that
found only one opportunity of visiting her for nearly a month. On that
occasion she showed him a final letter from Polignac, announcing that on
a specified day he would attend at the house to receive payment of his
mortgage, or, in default, possession of the property. The comtesse had
heard nothing from Grootz, and was in great distress, refusing to be
comforted when Harry assured her that all would be well. On his return
to Breda he wrote to Grootz informing him of Polignac's letter, and next
day received a reply asking him to arrange if possible to keep the day
named free.
Early on the morning of that September day, Grootz with Harry,
Sherebiah, and two men with large bags slung at their saddles, rode out
from Breda to Lindendaal. When the door was opened by old Jean, and they
had entered, Grootz bade him close it and slip one of the bolts half-way
into its socket. After a short conversation with the servant he went
into the reception-room, had the bags laid on the table, threw himself
into the biggest chair, and calmly lit his pipe.
"Madame abhors tobacco, Mynheer," Harry ventured to say.
"Huh! Zo I now remember. It is a pity; I must put out my pipe, even
though she be not here."
"She is gone from home, then? I fancied so by the manner of your
entering."
"Ja! At dis moment she and de juffrouw are, as I suppose, fast asleep
in Breda. Dey come dere last night."
"Oh! And we receive Monsieur de Polignac?"
"Dat is zo; we receive Monsieur de Polignac."
Deprived of the solace of his pipe, Grootz settled himself to sleep in
his chair. An hour or more later he was wakened by Harry.
"Here they are, Mynheer!"
"Zo!"
He was up in a moment, and from the window saw Polignac, accompanied by
Aglionby and two sturdy henchmen, walking up the drive towards the
house.
"Zooks!" exclaimed Sherebiah, "here be Rafe Aglionby again. 'Twill be
no cuddle this time if I lay hands on him. No thanks to he I be not a
dead corpse to-day."
"Sherebiah, it is my turn," said Grootz solemnly.
"Zackly, Mynheer, all fair and no favour."
The four men came to the door, and the bell gave forth a resounding
clang. All was silent within the house, and Jean at Grootz's orders
paid no heed to the appeal. Again the bell sounded; again there was no
response. Then Aglionby with an oath began to hammer on the door with
his riding-whip. Even this noisy summons being disregarded, after a
moment's consultation Polignac ordered one of his men to burst in the
door. It yielded easily to his force, and the four trooped in--to find
themselves confronted by Grootz, with Harry and Sherebiah behind him.
At the same moment six of the men about the estate came quietly from
behind the house and arranged themselves in two parties on both sides of
the entrance, outside, and out of view from within. Jean had fulfilled
his instructions.
Polignac halted in some embarrassment when he saw Grootz, and Aglionby
looked far from comfortable at this unexpected meeting with the two men
he had injured.
"Messieurs, I ask you," began Grootz in slow, halting French, "what is
the meaning of this forcible entry?"
"Pardon, Monsieur," replied Polignac, recovering his sang-froid
instantly. "I have not the pleasure. I came to see Madame la Comtesse
de Vaudrey."
"Zo? And permit me to ask, what is your business with Madame la
Comtesse de Vaudrey?"
"Before I reply, permit me to ask by what right you question me, and
what you are doing here?"
"Decidedly, Monsieur. My name is Jan Grootz; I am here by the power of
attorney I hold from Madame de Vaudrey. I beg you see it is in due
form."
He exhibited a roll of parchment which Polignac glanced at; he was
patently annoyed; his mouth twitched towards his left ear. Aglionby
meanwhile had edged towards him, evidently with the intention of
whispering something; but Sherebiah noted the movement and exclaimed:
"Keep a still tongue, Rafe Aglionby, 'ee were best, I tell 'ee."
"You are aware, then, Monsieur," said Polignac, "that I come according
to due notice as required by law to demand payment of a bond, or
possession of this estate, as provided in the deed?"
"Yes; I know it; what is the amount payable under the bond?"
"Fourteen thousand guilders, Monsieur."
Grootz pointed through the open doorway of the reception-room to the
bags upon the table.
"There is the money, Monsieur. You will please to count it, and give me
a quittance, and hand the bond to me to be destroyed."
With disappointment and rage written upon his face, Polignac proceeded
to count the money with Aglionby's assistance. It was a longish
process, and neither of the men felt quite at ease under the gaze of the
onlookers. At last it was finished; Polignac wrote a receipt, and gave
the cancelled bond to Grootz. Not a word was spoken while these
formalities were complied with. Harry noticed that Sherebiah had placed
himself between Aglionby and the door.
"Zo!" said Grootz. "Wait one minute, Monsieur." He unrolled the deed,
ran his eye over it, then looked up and said with deliberate gravity:
"Permit me to draw your attention to the fact that the property named in
this document is the land belonging to the estate. It does not include
the house and its appurtenances. Wherefore it appears, Monsieur, that
you, with a band of ruffian hirelings, have violently broken into the
private house of a lady who enjoys the protection of the Dutch flag.
That is, permit me to observe, Monsieur, a breach of the law, and
subjects you to a penalty--heavy, no doubt; I do not know the law. But
for the present, since the law moves somewhat slowly, it would not
surprise me if the servants of Madame la Comtesse, who are devoted to
their mistress, should prefer to anticipate the sentence. They may be
disposed to do what every honest and indignant Hollander would certainly
do in the circumstances."
At a signal the half-dozen Dutch servants moved to the door and blocked
the entrance.
"Men," said Grootz to them, "these gentlemen, who are not Hollanders,
have broken into your mistress's house. I do not give you any advice;
but for myself I do not think it would be a breach of the law if you
should throw these gentlemen into the canal yonder.--Do not be alarmed,
gentlemen; it is cold, I fear, and dirty, but as honest Hollanders
Madame de Vaudrey's servants will not allow you to drown, for all their
indignation."
Half-way through this speech Polignac and Aglionby had both made to draw
their swords; but the six Hollanders seized upon them; in a trice they
were overpowered. Their two men looked on, trembling. Polignac, white
to the lips, held his peace; but Aglionby, after wriggling vainly in the
hands of his captors, turned his head towards Sherebiah and cried:
"Zounds, Sherry, you will not stand by and see your own cousin so
misused. 'Tis a vile plot. I have done nothing; what are the ladies to
me? what is Polignac to me? Sherry, unhand these boors; I shall catch
my death of cold; Sherry, I say, blood is thicker than water----"
"Ay sure, but it bean't so cold."
"Od rat you!" shouted the enraged captain as he was hauled with Polignac
out of the house. He kept up his clamorous entreaties and oaths until
the very moment when, with a sounding splash, he was heaved into the
canal, and with spluttering breathlessness struck out with Polignac for
the other side. A moment's observation sufficed to show the Hollanders
that their victims could swim; they watched the scene with Dutch
stolidity, Grootz placidly smoking his long-deferred pipe.
"Ay, 'tis the water of affliction, as the Book says," remarked Sherebiah
sententiously as he watched the swimmers gain the farther bank, clamber
up, and slink away, Aglionby obviously pouring out the vials of his
wrath upon the miserable Frenchman. "'Tis the fust time for many a day
cold water have gone down Rafe's throat, and mebbe he's changed his mind
by now about blood bein' thicker 'n this water."