He gave them one by one the option of making himself useful in the

defence of the castle, or of being lowered into the dungeon whence

Fanshawe and Buckley had just been released. With one consent the men

elected to avoid the dungeon. Harry at once set some of them to collect

stones from the more ruinous parts of the castle, and to pile them up

across the gateway, leaving loopholes for musketry fire. Others he

ordered to take a supply of heavy stones to the summit of the keep, and

to stack them there out of sight from the distant copse. Three armed

men accompanied each squad to prevent treachery. In pursuance of the

plan of defence that was forming in his mind, Harry went himself to the

most dilapidated of the three towers, and selecting two or three

specially large blocks of stone, weighing at a guess about a

hundred-weight each, he had them loosened from the debris and carried up

the winding stair of the keep. In the courtyard he saw a number of

stout poles, for which a use at once suggested itself. As they would

not go up the winding stair, he got one of the men to splice several

lengths of rope, and the long rope thus formed was let down from the top

of the keep and knotted to one end of the poles, which were then drawn

up the tower on the side facing the courtyard.

When these tasks had been completed, the prisoners were placed in the

ground-floor room of one of the towers, and a man was set over them,

with orders to shoot any who should attempt to move from the place.

Harry divided his garrison into watches as on board ship, each watch to

be on duty for four hours. Every man had his post, and, entering into

their young leader's spirit, the dragoons accepted readily the duties

laid upon them, and showed themselves full of a light-hearted confidence

that augured well for their success. One and all they were hugely

delighted with the trick, and discussed it among themselves with much

merriment, exasperating Max, however, by the mock deference they still

paid to him as Prince Eugene.

As soon as he had a spare moment, Harry got from Fanshawe and Buckley an

account of their experiences. As he had guessed, Fanshawe had been

captured at dead of night in the inn, his captors coming through the

trap-door. Buckley had been misdirected by the landlord, and, losing his

way, had fallen into an ambush. Both had been kept in the dungeon day

and night, and fed twice a day. In his turn Harry related the chain of

adventures which had ended so happily for them, and when he told them

something of his plans for the future they both declared themselves well

enough to assist him. This, however, he would not allow for the

present, promising to avail himself of their help as soon as they had

had time to recover from the effects of their confinement.

Just before noon, the man on the look-out at the gateway announced that

one of the enemy was approaching with a flag of truce. Harry climbed up

to the battlements to the left of the keep, and as soon as the man was

within earshot demanded his business. Speaking in French, the messenger

said that he had come at his captain's order to say that if Prince

Eugene surrendered, he would be granted honourable treatment, and

conducted to the camp of his highness the Elector of Bavaria, his men

being allowed to go free. If these terms were rejected, the castle

would be stormed and every member of the garrison would be put to the

sword. The decision must be made in half an hour. Harry smiled.

"You may take our answer now," he said. "Tell your captain that

soldiers of the confederate army do not yield to brigands and

cut-throats."

The messenger rode back to the copse, and for some hours there was no

further sign of the enemy, except for a few men who were noticed moving

about a stretch of marshy ground about a mile from the castle. Harry

wondered what their object could be, and calling Max to him, asked what

there was on the marsh that they were likely to find useful.

"There is nothing there, Monsieur, but mud and reeds."

"Reeds! Of course. They are cutting reeds to bind together lengths of

timber for a bridge. I heard the sound of chopping from the copse this

morning. Well, Max, I think we are prepared for them."

Soon after three o'clock a body of about two hundred men was seen

approaching on foot in open order. When within musket-shot they took

what cover the irregularities of the ground and the scattered shrubs

afforded, and opened fire on every embrasure. Among them Harry had no

difficulty in recognizing the burly figure of Aglionby. Word was passed

round among the defenders to make no reply. The enemy were at present

too far off to do much damage, or for the fire of the garrison to be

effective. A few minutes later Harry, who had posted himself on the

keep, so that while invisible himself he could see everything, observed

a small body of men emerge from the copse, bearing a number of narrow

palisades, consisting, as he discovered on their nearer approach, of

thin logs roughly bound together. When they had come within about two

hundred yards of the castle, the main body of the enemy directed a more

continuous fire upon the battlements and loopholes, many advancing close

up to the edge of the fosse. Still there was no reply from the

defenders. The bridge-bearers came up at a slow run.

Harry had disposed of his little force as follows. Three men were

stationed on the top of the keep, four at loopholes on the stairways

half-way up each side, five behind the barricade of stones in the

gateway, and one to carry orders from his own position on the keep to

the men below. As soon as he saw the bridge-bearers approaching he

instructed his dragoons to fire when he gave the word, but only at the

men carrying the palisades. The extemporized bridge was in four

sections, each about two feet across, and carried by six men.

The twenty-four came on, halted at the brink of the gully, and prepared

to raise their palisades. Then Harry gave the word. The troopers below

had been instructed to fire at the left-hand sections, those above at

the right-hand sections. At the word they sprang up, thrust their

muzzles through the embrasures and loopholes, and, undeterred by the

patter of the enemy's bullets around them, took deliberate aim. The

effect was all that Harry had hoped. The range was short; the men were

old campaigners of iron nerve, and almost every shot told. Two or three

men in each section of the bridge-bearers fell; the rest, dismayed by

the fate of their comrades, loosened their hold on the palisades, which

dropped back on to the farther side of the fosse. There was a rush

among the bolder spirits to supply their places, and Aglionby himself,

his red face purple with fury and excitement, threw himself at the head

of his men, who strove with desperate haste to raise the palisades once

more. But there was no cessation of the fire from the walls. Harry had

taken the precaution of collecting from the stock of arms four muskets

for each man, so that they needed to waste no time in reloading. No

sooner had the palisades begun to rise again than a second fusillade

burst forth from the castle; again the unwieldy poles fell clattering to

the ground; again the men who had survived rushed back out of range.

Aglionby and one or two others at first refused to budge, and took

shelter behind the timber; but when they found themselves deserted they

at length scoured away after the rest, and the whole force drew off.

"Fire no more," cried Harry. "Let them look to their wounded."

Finding that the firing from the castle had ceased, a party of the enemy

ventured to the edge of the fosse and removed the hapless men there,

some stark dead, others wounded more or less severely. Half a dozen men

remained on watch at points surrounding the castle; the rest withdrew to

the copse; and the members of the garrison, not one of whom was hurt,

rejoiced in the repulse of this first assault, and went in relays to eat

the meal which Otto the landlord had prepared for them.

No further movement of the enemy was observable. Max suggested that they

had encamped in a large open glade within the wood. As night drew on, a

slight glow above the tree-tops and thin columns of smoke proclaimed

that camp fires had been lighted. Evidently, then, the enemy had not

relinquished their hope of recapturing the castle. They were, of

course, aware that its present garrison could not escape, for the plank

bridge could not be collected and replaced unobserved; without it the

inmates could only leave on foot, and they would thus easily be

overtaken by the horsemen.

Harry sat down with Fanshawe and Buckley to eat his supper and discuss

the situation. He was most apprehensive of a night-attack.

"They would have far better chances than by day," he said, "for their

numbers would tell against us, and we should have to divide our force so

as to guard points that might be threatened at any moment."

"But the battlements are inaccessible," said Fanshawe.

"The tower by which I escaped, you remember, is not. 'Tis difficult of

approach, indeed, but not impossible to resolute men. I should have to

leave at least one man to guard the postern. Of course, I shall block

up the underground entrance by the tunnel; a few stones piled on the

trap will prevent it from being lifted from below. But in the darkness

'twill not be so easy to hinder the enemy from throwing a bridge across

the fosse: that is most to be feared."

"Defend it with a mine," suggested Buckley.

"A good thought!"

"And easy to do. The soil at the edge of the fosse will be soft: dig a

hole and bury half a bag of powder in it. Pack it tightly with earth and

stones; you can lead a train of powder through the barricade into the

courtyard."

"Take care it is out of the reach of stray sparks from the men's

matches," said Fanshawe, "or there'll be an explosion too soon and all

spoilt."

"You're good counsellors, both of you. We'll make something of this

defence among us."

Harry waited until dusk before carrying out Buckley's suggestion, in

order that his movements might not be seen by the enemy. Having removed

several stones from the barricade, he set two men to dig a hole near the

gateway, filled it with a large charge of powder, and rammed down the

earth upon it, taking care that several large stones were placed near

the surface. Then the barricade was restored, and the garrison

rearranged, only two men being now left in the keep, the rest being

ordered to take up their position in the courtyard.

These arrangements had only just been completed, and those of the

dragoons who were not on watch had just turned in, when a body of men

was heard approaching. The garrison was instantly called to arms, and

Harry went up to a coign of safety in the battlements to await events.

It was almost pitch-dark: he dimly saw black masses moving about on the

farther side of the fosse; but he had resolved not to waste powder and

shot by opening fire with uncertain aim, and the enemy, finding their

progress unmolested, came, as his ears told him, right up to the fosse.

He wished he had some means of throwing a light on the scene, but knew

of nothing in the castle sufficiently inflammable for the purpose.

After a time the noise outside, strikingly in contrast with the absolute

silence in the castle itself, increased; the sound was like that of men

slowly moving forward with heavy loads. Harry heard the clank of stone

against stone, low whispers from across the fosse, less guarded commands

from a short distance farther back, where work of some kind was

evidently in progress. As Harry listened, his uncertainty as to what

was going on at length became intolerable, and racking his brains to

devise some means of making a light he at last hit upon an idea. The

cushions of the coach were probably stuffed with hay; that would burn,

and if smeared with grease might give a blaze strong enough to illumine

the scene for a few moments. He immediately had the cushions ripped up,

and found that their stuffing was as he had guessed. There was a good

stock of candles in the store-room; some of these were melted down and

the grease poured into the long bundle of hay made from the cushions.

The mass was carried to the top of the keep, weighted with a stone,

kindled, and thrown down. It fell steadily, the flame increasing as it

gained impetus, casting a yellow glare upon the walls of the castle and

its surroundings. Its appearance caused a sensation among the enemy: as

it reached the ground several men rushed forward and stamped it out; but

it had already fulfilled its purpose, and Harry had seen all that he

wished to see.

At the brink of the fosse the enemy had constructed a low parapet: a

large supply of stones was stacked about thirty yards to the rear, and

men were still adding to the store from the scattered debris in the

fosse and at the base of the ruined walls. The intention was clear:

protected by the parapet, the enemy hoped to throw their bridge across

the fosse in safety. With this knowledge Harry's fear of a night-attack

was removed, for if the enemy intended to assault in the darkness the

parapet would be unnecessary. They had apparently not cared to risk

such an enterprise. The bridge would be none too wide even in daylight

for the passage of a body of men rushing pell-mell over it. The attack,

then, was probably to be deferred until dawn. Having completed their

task the enemy by and by drew off, and in anticipation of desperate work

on the morrow Harry went to snatch a brief sleep, leaving Max as

responsible head of the watch.

In the cool glimmering dawn of that June morning Harry was awakened by

Max with the news that the brigands were moving from the copse. He

hastened at once to his post, and saw that the parapet extended for some

twenty yards along the farther side of the fosse, with a gap in the

centre protected by a traverse. The enemy came forward rapidly, took up

the palisades they had vainly endeavoured to throw across the fosse on

the previous day, and under cover of the parapet began to rear them. As

Harry had feared, musketry fire from the castle was almost wholly

ineffectual: only the men on the top of the keep got an occasional

chance as the besiegers incautiously moved away from their breastwork,

thus exposing the upper part of their bodies. The long palisades were

slowly reared on end, and lowered as slowly across the fosse, till the

end nearer to Harry rested on the base of the barricade beneath the

archway. When the last section was in its place, the fosse was spanned

by a bridge wide enough to allow four men to cross it abreast.

Harry felt a tightening at the heart as he realized the magnitude of the

task he had set himself. His force, reduced by his losses to eighteen,

including himself and the two English officers, who were scarcely

effectives, was outnumbered by nearly eighteen to one. And the enemy

were no feather-bed warriors. Looking at their motley array, he

recognized that he had to contend with some of the fiercest, most

desperate, least scrupulous men of war that Europe could produce. Their

nationalities were as varied as their costumes. His inexperienced eye

could not distinguish their types: but he saw small men and big men, men

fair, men dark, old and young; some were born dandies, as their attempts

at decoration in adverse circumstances showed; others born

tatterdemalions, who even in affluence would have held the decencies of

costume in derision. About a hundred seemed to be regular soldiers of

the Elector of Bavaria's army. Only one bond held them together: a

common love of lawlessness and rapine. He felt a new respect for

Aglionby; only a man of some moral force, however perverted, could have

imposed his leadership on such a heterogeneous crew.

At the moment Aglionby was in consultation with a few others at some

distance, and out of range of the clumsy firearms of those days. Among

the little group Harry singled out two men as of more consequence than

the rest: a tall fellow matching the captain in height and bulk, wearing

a red sash--the same man he had seen approaching the inn,--and a small

active man in whose cap a peacock's feather was jauntily stuck. They

were evidently discussing with great animation their plan of attack.

As nearly as Harry could judge, about a hundred men were crouching

behind the parapet. A body nearly two hundred strong was held in

reserve near the leaders. Against these Harry had five men in the

gateway, three at the summit of the keep, three half-way up, and Max as

lieutenant and aide-de-camp.

Suddenly the group of leaders parted, a bugle rang out, and

simultaneously with a fierce discharge of musketry from the parapet two

men dashed forward from each end of the gap on to the bridge. At a

second's interval these were followed by another four, while several men

rushed from the reserve towards the far end of the parapet to fill their

places. Three fell under the first volley from the defenders, but the

rest sprang forward unhurt, and gaining the other side began to clamber

up the barricade, to tear down the stones, or, thrusting their muskets

through the loopholes, to discharge them hap-hazard at the garrison

within. But three of the defenders of the gate had held their fire,

and, boldly mounting a low platform of stones just inside the barricade,

they discharged their pieces point-blank into the mass of men now

crowding with shouts across the bridge. The brigands, Harry noticed,

were headed by the big red-sashed Croatian he had seen in consultation

with Aglionby. They recoiled but for a second, then surged forward

again, and, yelling with fury, hurled themselves against the breastwork.

Eugene's troopers, led by Max, held their ground in silence, save for a

muttered exclamation when one of their adversaries fell reeling into the

fosse.

It was not long before the weight of numbers began to tell; portions of

the barricade had been pulled down; the gallant defenders were hard

beset. Calling to the two men in the keep, Harry rushed down and flung

himself into the fray, shouting to Max to go to the top of the keep and

carry out orders he had previously received. Max hurried away, and Harry

lost count of time as he engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand fight

across the fast crumbling barricade. Standing upon their platform the

defenders still had the advantage of position, and Harry and his two men

being fresh, the enemy for some few minutes gained but little. Then, as

the attackers were once more beginning to make headway, there was a

terrible crash on the bridge. The fighting ceased as by magic; all was

still. A huge mass of stone, swung outwards from the top of the keep,

had broken with terrific force through the light palisades, leaving only

one section intact, and carrying with it into the fosse nearly a dozen

men. The survivors on the castle side, seeing themselves almost cut

off, were seized with panic and made a simultaneous rush for safety, the

big Croatian pushing his weaker and wounded comrades into the fosse in

his reckless haste to regain the opposite bank.

Harry gave a gasp of thankfulness and relief,--and turned to see

Fanshawe and Buckley, who, weak as they were, had come up unknown to him

towards the close of the fight to bear a hand.

"Thank you, old fellow!" he said to Fanshawe, "we have scored one."

But he turned again, and, leaning on the barricade, anxiously scanned

the field. The leaders of the enemy were once more in earnest

consultation. They must have lost at least twenty men in the short

sharp struggle; but the defeat seemed only to have enraged them. During

the first part of the fight Max had been full in their view, and as he

still wore the prince's costume the brigands were no doubt convinced

that Eugene himself was the head and front of the defence, and were

buoyed up by the hope of capturing him. For some minutes the discussion

among the leaders continued; then, as having come to a decision, they

moved off with their men towards the copse, and, save for half a dozen

who remained to watch the castle, were seen no more for some hours.

Their absence gave Harry an opportunity of attending to his wounded. He

found that three were somewhat seriously hurt, and one was rendered hors

de combat. His total force was now reduced to fourteen, including

himself, his brother officers, and the two men on guard.

Towards mid-day, under a broiling sun, the enemy again appeared. This

time, in addition to palisades freshly made, they carried with them a

number of rough frameworks penthouse shaped, fashioned from stout

saplings bound together, like the bridge, with withies from the marsh.

Evidently there was a man of resource among them. Each of the frames

formed a kind of wooden tent, two yards long, some three to four wide,

and six feet high, requiring the united strength of half a dozen men to

carry. But there was no lack of men, and the bearers, protected from

bullets from above by the roof of these shelters, came safely almost to

the edge of the fosse. The new palisades were thrown across, but this

time the materials were stronger. One of the sheds, its end closed with

light logs, was rushed across the bridge by a dozen strong men. A

second was joined to it, then a third, and so on until a continuous

corridor stretched across the fosse. The lashings holding the logs

together at the inner end being cut, from out of this testudo sprang

brigand after brigand, who came impetuously up to the barricade and

instantly engaged the defenders in a furious hand-to-hand combat. Max,

whose marksmanship with his huge sling had been so effective before,

hurled stone after stone down upon the testudo, but they were turned off

by the sloping roof, and though the bridge creaked and groaned under the

impact it did not give way.

It was fortunate for the defenders that only a few men at a time could

make their way through the shed, and the space at the end was too narrow

to allow of a great accession of numbers unless the foremost could scale

the barricade. The enemy had again lost heavily at their first onset,

but as soon as one man fell his place was supplied, and no respite was

given to the little band within. Shoulder to shoulder Eugene's men

formed a wall of steel across the gateway: again and again they beat

back the enemy at the breastwork. But against such odds they could not

hope to escape unscathed; there were no reserves; and of the enemy there

was still a host ready and eager to fill the gaps. One man and then

another of the troopers fell, this one to rise no more, that to crawl

away and stanch his wound. Seven men were now all that was left of the

fighting line, and when Fanshawe and Buckley came up and insisted on

sharing their comrades' peril, Harry felt that he dared no longer delay

the playing of what might prove his last card. With a word to Max to

keep up the fight, he slipped for a moment out of the press, struck a

flint, kindled some tinder he had kept in readiness, and then, shouting

to his men to make for the keep, and waiting till they had begun to run,

he lit the train.

At the last moment a trooper fell, so badly hurt that he could not move.

Harry sprang forward, caught the man by the belt, and dragged him into

the courtyard towards the keep. The enemy, astonished at the sudden

flight of the garrison, hesitated for a moment before charging across

the obstacle which so far had held them off. Then, just as they leapt

forward over the barricade, now an irregular heap of stones, there was a

blinding flash behind them, and a deafening roar. The ground rocked;

fragments of the dilapidated walls fell inwards and outwards; a dense

cloud of dust and smoke bellied over the scene, and the air was rent by

the cries of men in agony.

Disregarding the falling stone-work, Harry ran forward to the archway,

his eyes smarting with the fumes. As the cloud gradually settled, he

saw crowds of the enemy huddled together on the farther side of the

fosse, their eyes aghast intently fixed on the archway. But of the

bridge, and the sheds, and the stream of men who a minute before had

been pressing forward exultantly across the fosse, not a vestige

remained. Wood and men lay an indistinguishable mass at the bottom.

*CHAPTER XXII*

*The Fight in the Keep*

Soldiers All--The Silent Watches--Twice a Traitor--The Oubliette--The

Horizon--Fanshawe Volunteers--A Powder Barrel--Nearing the

End--Allies--Von Stickstoff--More Stickstoff--The Confederate Camp--The

Anspach Dragoons--At the Sword Point--A Brief Respite--The Fight on the

Stairs--The Last Stand--The Anspachers

Harry was sick at heart when he came to examine his losses. Three of

his men were dead, nine badly wounded, there was not one but bore marks,

in bruise or cut or strain, of the desperate strife in which they had

played such manful parts. He arranged for the burial of the three

gallant troopers; then, heavy-hearted as he was, set to work with

indomitable pluck to repair the damage done to the defences. The

prisoners were pressed into the service; the barricade was restored, and

another mine was dug, though from the crack that showed in the masonry

of the archway Harry feared that a second explosion would bring half the

keep tumbling about his ears.

Having done all that could be done, and shared a meal with his devoted

men, Harry went with Fanshawe and Buckley to the top of the keep to

discuss the future.

"Our state is parlous, Fanshawe," he said. "Another assault will wipe

us out."

"We have a breathing-space. The brigands have had enough for the

present. Their ill-success must have daunted them."

"But Aglionby will not give up yet. He is playing for a high

stake.--What is doing yonder?"

In the distance he saw two wagons and a band of some fifty men making

their way across the hills towards the copse in which the enemy were

encamped.

"Reinforcements, it appears," said Buckley. "Perhaps food; they will

raid every farmhouse round."

"We must say nothing of this to the men," said Harry. "'Twould

dishearten them."

"It seems you have no choice but surrender," remarked Buckley.

"Never--unless you and Fanshawe as my superior officers take the

responsibility."

"Not I," said Fanshawe. "'Tis absurd to think of! The men are devoted

to you; and Prince Eugene put you in command; you have done wonders, and

whatever be the end, we'd be fools to interfere--eh, Buckley?"

"Certainly."

"Then I won't surrender. Say we make terms, think you the enemy would

hold to them, finding the prince not here? They would wreak vengeance

on us for their disappointment and their losses. They are in the main

freebooters, the scum of the French and Bavarian armies, as near savages

as men can be. We could expect no mercy at their hands. Besides,

Aglionby will by and by discover, if he have not already done so, that I

am here; and he has too many scores to pay off to deal very tenderly

with me or my men. We can but hold out to the last, and hope that help

may come in time."

"The prince must by this be in our camp," said Fanshawe. "What if we

tell the enemy they are on the wrong scent?"

"'Twould avail us nothing. Aglionby would not believe the story, or, if

he believed it, would scout it publicly so as to keep his men together.

He would be the more deeply embittered against us."

"You are in the right," said Fanshawe. "Pray God help comes to us,

then."

"We can still hold the keep," said Harry. "One man on the winding stair

can hold many at bay; we must fight against time."

That night Harry could not sleep for the harassing problem of the

continued defence of the castle. True, his object had been gained;

Prince Eugene had got off in safety; he himself had fought a good fight;

but it was clear that unless help came soon his defence must be broken

through by sheer force of numbers. He was resolved to die rather than

fall a captive into Aglionby's hands; but the longing for life was

strong within him. He thought of all that had passed during the two

years since his meeting with Lord Godolphin: the strange vicissitudes,

the ups and downs of fortune; the inexplicable enmity of Mr. Berkeley;

his pleasant relations with Mynheer Grootz and the ladies of Lindendaal;

the chances which had served him so well and brought him so near the

realization of his dearest longings. It was hard to think that at this

moment, when the confederate army under the greatest generals of the age

was moving towards events of high moment, he should be cut off in this

obscure spot and robbed of the opportunity to which he had looked

forward so eagerly.

He did not think only of himself. He remembered his

companions--Fanshawe, Buckley, the faithful Max, the brave troopers

whose fate was linked with his. Their lot was worse than his, for they

had ties--parents, children, relatives, to whom they were dear: he

himself was alone in the world. Apart from Mynheer Grootz, who he knew

loved him; Madame de Vaudrey, whose feeling for him was warm; Sherebiah,

whose affection was perhaps the closest of all; there was no one to be

interested in his welfare. Thinking of Madame de Vaudrey he thought of

her daughter, and was dimly conscious that he would have liked to stand

well in her eyes--to break through that cold reserve of manner she had

always shown to him, and win from her one look or word of approval.

Fanshawe, he knew, still nourished a hope of winning her; it seemed to

depend on him whether Fanshawe should have another chance.

He lay awake, thus musing, and gazing at a star that shone through the

loophole in the wall. By and by he felt a strange uneasiness,

unconnected with his previous train of thought. All was quiet; not even

the hoot of an owl broke the stillness. Unable to account for his

feeling, he rose and went to the top of the keep.

"Is all well?" he asked the sentry there.

"All is well, Monsieur."

"You have seen or heard nothing?"

"Nothing, Monsieur, but the scurry of rabbits in the fosse."

"Good-night!"

He returned to his bed and lay down again. But still he felt uneasy;

again he was impelled to rise. This time he went down into the

courtyard. Max was on duty there. The horses were ranged round the

walls; the coach stood in the corner to which it had been hauled;

everything was as it had been. He went into the large hall: the

prisoners were all asleep, the sentry on guard. Something led him to

continue his round; he was determined to allay his restlessness by

examining every nook and cranny of the castle. Taking a lighted candle,

he made his way into the lower part of the keep. He arrived at length

at the chamber to which there was access from the tunnel. He started,

and stopped short in amazement and consternation. The stones which had

been heaped on the trap-door had been removed. With a muttered

imprecation on the man who he supposed had carried the stones up the

keep for use with the sling, he was turning to order someone to replace

them when he noticed that several stones were piled in a corner near at

hand. He stood still, puzzled at this strange meddling with his work.

At this moment he heard a slight sound beneath him, and saw a tremor in

the stone trap-door. Could he believe his eyes? One end of the stone

was rising. Quick as thought he blew out his candle, and backing behind

a pillar drew a pistol from his belt. His fascinated eyes were fixed on

the slowly moving stone. There was now a ray of light at its edge; he

heard whispering voices. Steadily the heavy slab was pushed into a

vertical position; then appeared the head, the shoulders, the body of a

man. By the light of the sputtering candle he carried Harry recognized

Otto the landlord. Now he saw the meaning of all that had puzzled him.

The man, alarmed for his safety if, as must seem inevitable, the

brigands captured the castle and found him there, apparently an

accomplice in the trick played upon them, had sought to purchase his

peace by leading them through the secret passage. Harry felt a keen

pang of self-reproach that he should not have foreseen this development

and taken steps to prevent it.

[Illustration: Mein Wirth is surprised]

But he was instinctively bracing his muscles for the impending struggle.

The landlord was now through the opening; he stepped on to the floor of

the room and bent down to assist the next man. Slipping the pistol back

into his belt, Harry made two bounds and was beside the stooping figure.

The man heard his footfall and instantly straightened himself; but even

as he raised the hand holding the candle to ward off the imminent blow,

Harry struck him full upon the chin, and with a stifled gasp he fell

headlong to the stone floor. Then Harry, throwing all his weight

against the slab, hurled it with a crash into its place. The landlord's

candle was guttering, still feebly alight, on the floor. By its glimmer

Harry hauled from the corner one after another of the stones that had

been removed, and piled them with desperate haste upon the trap until

the way was again effectually blocked.

Then, picking up the candle, he examined the prostrate body. The man

was stunned. Harry, for all his anger, could not help pitying the poor

craven wretch. But only one course was open to him. The crashing sound

had already brought Max and two other men to the spot.

"Lower him into the dungeon," cried Harry.

And the dark hole in which Fanshawe and Buckley had spent nights and

days now received the senseless body of the traitorous landlord.

Sleep was banished for the rest of the night. The alarm had gone

through the garrison, and every man was on the alert. It was clearly

imperative to provide against a possible attack by way of the

underground passage. Such an attack was, in truth, not very likely.

Only one man could pass the slab at one time from below, and save by

mining operations the enemy could scarcely force a way through the ton

of stones which Harry now caused to be heaped above it. But it was

necessary to set a watch at this point, and as he could not spare

another man from his already too much diminished force he decided to

withdraw the man from the tower by which he had escaped from the castle,

and to release the prisoners.

Before he did this, however, he resolved to employ them once more in

strengthening his defences. It was pretty evident that the result of

another assault would be to drive him into the keep. The entrance to

this from the courtyard was without a door; it was necessary to block it

up, leaving only a narrow gap that could be easily closed. He employed

the prisoners to pile the largest stones that could be found flush with

the doorway, in such a manner that the enemy, approaching from the

outside, should be unable to get a hold upon them or push them away. A

narrow opening was left, and heavy stones were placed on the inside,

near at hand, to block it up when the time should come. At the same

time a large supply of missiles was conveyed to the top of the keep.

It was clear from the movements of the enemy during the day that they

were far from abandoning the siege. No doubt they had been encouraged by

the arrival of reinforcements. Sections for a new bridge were brought

in the afternoon and placed close to the fosse, together with the

sections of a second testudo. These were certain indications of another

attempt on the gateway.

Many times during the day Harry went up the keep and looked anxiously

northward for the expected succour, always to be disappointed. He could

not believe that Prince Eugene had left him to his fate; something must

have happened to detain the relieving force, and Harry thought with

anguish of heart that it might arrive too late. Then an idea struck

him. Why not send out a messenger to hasten the troops if they were

indeed on the road? There was one serious objection: the garrison could

not safely spare a man. He mentioned his idea to Fanshawe.

"Let me go," said his friend instantly. "I am of little use as a

fighting man; my strength is not equal to a fight so desperate as the

last. But if I can get away, I might find a horse in a neighbouring

hamlet, and I could at least keep my seat in the saddle. And an officer

would prove a better messenger than a trooper."

Harry accepted the offer. Fanshawe might fall into the hands of the

enemy, but he was willing to face the risk, and under cover of night

there was a reasonable hope that he might elude them. About ten o'clock

he clambered along the battlements towards the rearmost tower, and

there, assisted by a rope, he made his exit by the postern, slid down

the slope more riskily ventured by Harry on his first visit to the

castle, and, taking a wide sweep, disappeared into the darkness.

When Harry returned to the keep, he was informed by the sentry that he

had heard dull movements beneath the trap-door. The sounds had now

ceased. Harry's conclusion was that the enemy had been searching for a

weak spot in the passage, and having failed had finally given up any

notion of effecting an entrance there. He arranged with Buckley to take

the watch from midnight till dawn.

With the first glimmers of daylight Harry carried out his resolve to

release the prisoners. The odds were so heavy against him that one man

inside was now worth thirty out, and with no prisoners to guard he could

add one to his effective force. Rapidly marshalling them, he led them

to the ruined tower, and let them down by a rope as Fanshawe had been

let down in the night. The movement was seen by one of the enemy's

scouts, and before the prisoners had all reached the ground a crowd of

their comrades had gathered at the foot of the slope to meet them.

Their appearance seemed to create great astonishment; they were

surrounded and eagerly plied with questions. One result of their release

was that a new point of attack was disclosed to the enemy, who had

apparently not dreamt hitherto of making an attempt by the postern.

Harry saw a small body detach themselves from the main force and

approach the slope; but knowing the difficulty of an assault uphill upon

such a narrow opening he doubted whether they would push an attack home;

still, it would have the effect of engaging one at least of his men.

It was very early in the morning; the enemy had everything ready; but

they appeared to be waiting for something. Once more Harry scanned the

horizon vainly for sign of helmet or lance. Suddenly there was a deep

rumbling roar from the interior of the keep; an exultant shout rose from

the enemy's ranks, and rushing forward at full speed they began to throw

their new bridge across the fosse. Shouting to his men to hold the

gateway to the death, Harry hastened down to the entrance of the keep,

where he was met by stifling fumes of gunpowder. Then he rushed up the

winding stair to the first floor, and saw Buckley staggering towards

him.

"I had just been relieved," panted Buckley. "The explosion occurred the

moment after I left the spot. It stunned me for a few seconds. The

poor fellow who took my place must have been blown to atoms."

"They laid a charge last night, 'tis clear," said Harry. "But they can't

follow up at once; they must wait until the fumes have cleared away, and

that will take time: there are no vent holes. Remain at the top of the

stair; with your musket and pistol you can hold several off for a time.

They are assaulting the gateway; I must go."

Harry, having proved the futility of dropping missiles upon the testudo,

had concentrated his whole force, save Buckley and the man in the tower,

at the gateway. He noticed that the new bridge was higher at the

farther side of the fosse than at the end near the castle. The reason

was soon evident. The testudo this time was not blocked up by logs, and

Harry behind his barricade could see through its entire length. A

screen of saplings was suddenly raised over the farther end of the

bridge; it was as suddenly removed; and down the inclined plane rolled a

small keg of powder, with a burning fuse attached.

"Back, men, back!" he shouted.

The command was only just in time. They were but a few yards from the

barricade when there came a roar like thunder, followed by a second as

Harry's own mine was exploded, and through the swirling smoke fierce and

derisive cheers. Holding his breath and stooping low, Harry rushed back

to see what damage was done. The barricade had disappeared; the archway

was in ruins; and the enemy were flinging another bridge across the

fosse to replace that destroyed by the explosion. So far as the defence

of the gateway was concerned, Harry saw that the game was up. At the

best he could but delay the enemy for a few minutes, and even then he

would risk having his men cut off from the keep. Recalling the man from

the farther tower, he collected his little band, ordered them to fire

one volley into the advancing ranks, and then withdrew through the

barricaded doorway into his last defence.

At that moment he heard the dull sound of a shot above. Buckley must be

beset! Giving Max orders to hold the courtyard entrance, and sending a

man to hurl down stones from the roof upon the enemy crowding below, he

took two men with him to assist Buckley, whom he found hard pressed near

the head of the other stairway. Sword in hand, he was holding the

narrow winding passage against the big red-sashed Croatian, who was

making a desperate thrust at him with a half-pike, the head of which had

been severed by the Englishman's blade.

"Steady, Buckley! I am here!" shouted Harry.

He drew his pistol from his belt, slipped under Buckley's arm, and just

as the Croatian hurled himself up the last step intervening between

himself and his foe, Harry fired point-blank at his heart, and he fell

back upon his comrades. The narrow stairway was choked with men; the

din of their shouts echoed and re-echoed from the winding walls, and

above all the uproar Harry distinguished the tones of Aglionby, yelling

to his men to make way for him to pass.

When Fanshawe left the castle he walked steadily on for some hours,

making a wide circuit round the enemy's position, guiding himself by the

north star. His progress was difficult over the hills in the darkness.

He had to scale bluffs, to creep up rocks, to spring across ravines, to

wade through swamps at the risk of being engulfed, to skirt patches of

wood--though in one case, finding that he was being taken too far out of

his course, he plunged boldly into a copse, trusting to his good fortune

to bring him safely out at the other side. Thus delayed, it was long

before he felt sure that he was safe.

At last he struck into a narrow pathway leading north-west. Proceeding

more rapidly along this, he was brought, after walking for some four

hours, into what was apparently the highroad along which he had passed

with Marlborough's letter about ten days earlier. He was very tired,

but resolved to press on until he reached a village. Another hour's walk

brought him to a hamlet with a modest Gasthaus. He knocked up the

landlord, and with some difficulty persuaded the suspicious man to

provide him with a horse. No troops, he learnt, had passed through.

The landlord had been told that firing had been heard among the hills in

the direction of Rauhstein; he did not understand what it could be, for

the castle was in the possession of brigands, and he did not think the

prince's men were near enough.

Staying at the inn but to eat a little food, Fanshawe rode on, and

suddenly, some little while before dawn, came on a picket of four men

upon the road. He was challenged; the speaker was evidently a German,

and of German Fanshawe knew not enough to frame a sentence. He tried

French; but that raised the sergeant's suspicions; he mentioned the

names of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, with no better success; and he

was marched off under guard into the neighbouring village.

His escort halted at a small cottage, and the sergeant entered. Colonel

von Stickstoff was in bed. He was awakened, but the colonel was nothing

if not a stickler for etiquette, and he declined to see Fanshawe until

he had made some preparations. When Fanshawe was marched in, therefore,

he found himself confronted by a short, stout, pompous little officer,

with his tunic buttoned tight, a rug across his knees, which were

guiltless of breeches, and a large flaxen wig set awry over his

nightcap. The quarter-master was summoned, and an interrogation began.

"Who are you, sir, and what have you to say for yourself?" asked the

officer in German.

Fanshawe tried to explain in French, of which he had obtained a

smattering.

"Ha! You are a Frenchman! Take that down, quartermaster. Everything

must be done in order."

This was somewhat embarrassing. Fanshawe might understand the German's

French, but he must necessarily be ignorant of what was said to the

quarter-master in German.

"I am an officer in my lord Marlborough's army," he said haltingly.

"Take that down, quarter-master. A Frenchman in Lord Marlborough's

army. In what regiment, Monsieur?"

"In Schomberg's Horse."

"Take that down. Now, Monsieur, explain to me how it is that you, a

Frenchman in Lord Marlborough's army, are here, ten miles from his camp

at Gros Heppach."

This was good and unexpected news. Fanshawe at once proceeded to make

it clear that he was an Englishman, then explained in as few words as

possible whence he had come and the urgency of his mission.

"Take that down," said the colonel, translating to the quarter-master.

The man wrote slowly, and Fanshawe was growing more and more restive.

"I beg you to note, Monsieur," he said, "that while we are talking

Prince Eugene's men are possibly being massacred by the brigands. They

are at least forty to one."

"Ha! Take that down. The enemy is in force; we must adopt every

precaution. No doubt they are an advance-guard of the Elector's army.

How many do the enemy number?"

"Some three hundred."

"Three hundred!--And I have only two hundred and eighty-three. We are

outnumbered. Take that down. We must arrange a _postirung_, according

to rule, quartermaster; note that, strictly according to rule. I will

write you the instructions. Lieutenant Spitzkopf will advance with ten

men three hundred and twenty paces in front of our position; Lieutenant

the Baron von Blindwurm will post himself with five men two hundred and

sixty paces on our right flank--or is it two hundred and forty? Hand me

my manual, quarter-master."

"There is a swamp there, Excellency," suggested the quarter-master

doubtfully.

"Then they must post themselves in the swamp. A _postirung_ is a

_postirung_; let there be no mistake about that. Let me see; yes, here

it is: page one hundred and nine: 'Superior force: detachment in

presence of, what steps to take'. Yes, it is quite clear; we must

secure our position and send for reinforcements. 'Send for

reinforcements': that is it. You will at once send a messenger to

Stuttgart; I will write a despatch to the general while he is saddling

up."

Then turning to Fanshawe he said:

"I regret, Monsieur, that, having failed to give the countersign, you

must consider yourself under arrest until your bona fides is

established. Quarter-master, take the prisoner away; see that things

are done in order, and be sure to wake me up when the enemy are

sighted."

Fanshawe protested, but the colonel was evidently impatient to get back

to bed, and waved him peremptorily away. He was led out and deprived of

his arms, boiling with anger, and, feeling that every moment was of

importance, in a state of desperation. This was the officer to whom

Prince Eugene had entrusted the urgent task of relieving his hard-beset

troopers! The confederate camp was only ten miles distant; if only he

could find some means of sending word thither of the dire straits in

which Harry was!

As he passed along the street with his escort, he saw a number of horses

approaching, apparently from being watered. The first, a fine charger

lighter in build than the average cavalry horse of the period, was led

by a groom, who at this moment tethered the animal to a post a few yards

from his commandant's cottage. The trooper into whose custody Fanshawe

had been confided was marching on his right hand, carrying not only his

own carbine but the prisoner's sword and pistols. Fanshawe saw a bare

chance of escape and unhesitatingly took it. With a sudden movement he

deftly tripped the man up, sprang to the post, unhitched the reins, and

before the onlookers could collect their scattered wits was on the

horse's back and twenty yards down the road. There was a great hubbub

behind him; fortunately none of the troopers was at that time armed.

Suddenly he bethought him of the vedette whom the extreme caution of the

commandant had doubtless caused to be posted in the rear of his force.

He might come upon him at any moment. Taking the first turning to the

right he set spurs to his steed, dashed along a lane, leapt a fence, and

plunged into an orchard. From his study of the map previous to his ride

with Marlborough's message he remembered that Gros Heppach lay on the

Goeppingen road, to the north-east of his present position. If he could

strike this by a path over the hills he might yet succeed. He spurred

on, the rising sun enabling him to choose the easiest ground, and by and

by came upon a rough country track leading in the right direction. He

galloped along at break-neck pace, and gaining a little eminence, his

eyes were gladdened by the sight of white tents dotting the valley some

three miles below him.

He sped down the hill, and soon came plump upon a Dutch outpost, which

had evidently seen him from afar and prepared to stop him. Reining up,

he asked to be taken at once to Lord Marlborough. The Dutchman did not

insist on explanations, recognizing him as an English officer, but sent

a man at once to conduct him to headquarters. He had but just reached

the outer circle of the camp, when he saw Colonel Cadogan riding slowly

along in company with another officer whom he did not recognize. Without

hesitation he rode up to the colonel, saluted, and begged to be allowed

a word with him. His explanation was soon made, and to his surprise

Cadogan burst into a great laugh and cried in French:

"This concerns your highness. The troopers who played the trick on the

brigands, and that young daredevil Rochester, are trapped in a castle."

"Nom d'un tonnerre!" cried Prince Eugene. "Are they not relieved? I

ordered a detachment of Wuertembergers to ride out to them two days ago

as I passed through Stuttgart. What has become of them?"

"It appears," said Cadogan, still laughing, "that they are on the road,

but the colonel is learned in the art of war and is advancing by

strategical moves."

"Sacrebleu! He must be one of Baden's men. That young countryman of

yours, Colonel, must be saved."

"Yes, though he is a Dutchman now. Mr. Fanshawe, your friend's regiment

is close by; you had better take a squadron and ride out at once. I

suppose a troop or two of Dutch dragoons will be a match for the

brigands?"

"Certainly, sir,--of the Anspach dragoons."

"Very well, lose no time. I will mention the matter to the duke, to

whom you will, of course, report yourself at the earliest opportunity.

Good luck to you!"

Fanshawe rode off, and within a quarter of an hour was leading some two

hundred of Harry's troopers, Captain van der Werff at their head, and

Sherebiah among them, along the shortest road to the castle of

Rauhstein.

The winding staircase of the keep was ampler than in most castles of the

kind. Two men could mount abreast, but it was only possible for one to

find room for sword-play. The attackers soon adapted their tactics to

the conditions. One man pushed to the front with sword and pistol;

another just behind supported him with pistol and pike. Not long after

Harry came upon the scene, Buckley, all but sinking under the strain,

had to be assisted up the staircase. This gave the brigands a momentary

advantage, for Harry was left with only one swordsman to stem the rush.

There was no room for his companion by his side; he therefore sent him

aloft to bring large stones to hurl upon the mob. Not for the first

time he had reason to congratulate himself on the hours he had spent

with Sherebiah and the Dutch instructor of his regiment in practising

with sabre and rapier. His was the advantage of position, but the enemy

were always two to one, and had they had patience to recharge their

pistols after the failure of their first flurried snap-shots, or

boldness enough to press forward regardless of the loss of the first few

men, they could have borne him down with ease.

Only a few minutes had elapsed after Harry's arrival at the stairhead

when he heard a well-known voice storming below. The enemy gave back

for a moment, then Captain Aglionby pressed upward and engaged Harry

hand to hand. Harry was sufficiently occupied in parrying the captain's

vengeful attack without the necessity of guarding against the pike that

threatened every moment to impale him. This he could only turn aside;

he had no time for a sweeping cut to sever its head. Fortunately for

him the captain and his supporter impeded each other on the stairway.

Yet Harry saw that the struggle could not last long, and fervently hoped

that the man he had sent for missiles would return in time. The clang

of weapons and the shouts of men rang through the stone-walled spaces.

Aglionby had learnt from the released prisoners of the trick that had

been played upon him, and his fury found expression in the violence of

his onslaught and the venom of the curses he hurled upon his

nimble-wristed opponent. Harry said never a word, but kept his eye

steadily upon the captain, turning aside stroke and thrust.

At length he heard a footstep behind him. A stone as large as a man's

head struck the wall immediately below him on his left. Narrowly

missing Aglionby, it rebounded from the curved surface and struck the

pikeman below him with a terrible thud. With the steadiness of an old

campaigner the captain did not so much as wince, but continued his

attack with still more savage energy. When, however, another stone

hurtled down the stairway, maiming two other men below him, the rest of

his followers turned tail and fled helter-skelter to the foot. A third

stone grazed Aglionby's arm; then, seeing himself deserted, he backed

slowly down the stairs.

The attack having been thus for a time repulsed, Harry left two men on

the stairs with pistols ready charged and a supply of stones, and

hurried across to the other staircase to find how things had gone there.

It was with unutterable relief he saw that the assault of the enemy on

the entrance to the keep had so far been beaten off by the combined fire

from the doorway and the hurling of heavy blocks of stone from the top

of the building. But the enemy were preparing another move. Finding

that they could not force the obstacle, nor approach near enough to tear

it down, they were about to try the effect of an explosion. A keg of

powder had been rolled to the entrance by a lucky rush between the

falling of two of the dreaded stones from above; now, hugging the wall

so as to avoid the fire of the defenders, they were laying a train.

Harry saw that it was only a matter of minutes before the barricade at

the entrance to the keep would be blown in. He utilized the time by

bringing down a further supply of stones from the battlements and

storing them within easy reach of the inner stairway. He could not

prevent the explosion, or raise further obstacles to the progress of the

besiegers; he could but defend every inch of the staircase, and retreat,

if it must be so, step by step to the top of the keep. Almost

despairing now of relief, he was prepared to fight to the end, and,

looking round on his little group of stalwarts, he saw no sign of

wavering on their part. Eugene's men were worthy of their master.

Half an hour passed; the pause lengthened itself to an hour; yet the

train had not been fired, the attack had not been renewed. Had the

enemy some still more desperate device in preparation? Instinctively he

looked far out over the country; but through the sun-shot haze he

descried no sign of a friendly force. Then the watchman whom he had

left on the roof saw a thin ribbon of flame dart from the outer gateway,

along the wall, to the barred doorway of the keep. There was a

deafening roar, followed by the crash of ruining stone-work and the

vociferations of the exultant forayers, who swarmed forward to clear

away the rubbish. Their ingenuity was inexhaustible. When the mingled

smoke and dust had eddied away, Harry saw that they bore with them stout

shields of wood, each carried by two men, intended to ward off the

missiles he was preparing to launch upon them as they mounted the

winding stairs. This was the explanation of their long stillness.

Running down, he heard from his left the din of fierce strife in the

stairway leading to the dungeons. The enemy were attacking at both

points simultaneously.

Then began the last bitter struggle: the besiegers pushing relentlessly

before them the long upright shields that occupied almost the whole

height and breadth of the stairway; the besieged contesting every step,

hacking and thrusting, splitting the shields with the jagged boulders

from the ramparts, lunging with sword and pike through the narrow spaces

at the sides, yet moment by moment losing ground as fresh men from below

came up to replace their wounded or exhausted comrades. A din

compounded of many separate noises filled the narrow space--the crash of

stones, the creak of riven wood, the clash of steel upon steel or stone,

the crack of pistols, the cries of men in various tongues--cries of

pain, of triumph, of encouragement, of revenge. Desperately fought the

little garrison, every man loyal, resolute, undismayed. They had no

reserves to draw upon; theirs but to stand staunch against fearful odds,

and, if it must be, die with courage and clear minds. With labouring

breath, drenched with sweat, sickened by the reek, battle-worn and

weary, they plied their weapons, hurled their missiles, grimly gave blow

for blow. Back and ever back they were driven by the remorseless

shields; forced from the lower stairways they are now collected--a

little band of seven--on the single one above; Harry and Max in front,

two pikemen behind, and behind these, three who turn by turn smite the

mass thronging below, over the heads of their own comrades, with

cyclopean masses which only the strength of despair enables them to lift

and hurl. Now a stone crashes clean through one shield, ay, through

two, making its account of the bearers, and giving pause to the

brigands. Now a pike transfixes a limb, a sword cleaves a red path, a

bullet carries death. But the enemy press on and up; like an incoming

tide they roll back a little after every upward rush, rising, falling,

yet ever creeping higher, soon to sweep all before them.

Now only six men hold the narrow stair. The dimness of the scarce lit

space below is illumined from above; a yell of triumph breaks from the

brigands' throats as they realize that they are nearing the top of the

turret. The cry is like a knell to the hearts of Harry Rochester and

his devoted five. Only a few steps, and they must be forced upon the

roof, driven against the parapet, at bay to the horde of wolvish outlaws

already exulting in their victory. Aglionby has gone, sore hurt by a

thrust from a pike; but a doughty leader is still left, the lithe

Frenchman whose peacock's feather flickers hither and thither in the

van. Mechanically the defenders wield their weapons, cast their last

stones; the force is gone from their strokes, their dints fall ever

feebler and feebler upon the steel-edged wooden wall that thrusts them

upward without mitigation or remorse. Never a man dreams of yielding;

Buckley falteringly whispers a word of final cheer; there is no mercy

for such obstinate fighters from the savage outlaws, afire with the lust

of blood, infuriated by the checks and losses of the past desperate

days.

They are at the upmost turn of the stairway now, their heads already in

the pure clear air of the bright June morning. The imminence of the end

nerves them for a last despairing rally. Through the gaping joints of

the battered shields they make so sudden and trenchant an attack on the

foe that for a brief moment the upward movement is checked. A rebound:

already the feathered Frenchman leaps upward as on the crest of a wave,

when a confused shout reverberates through the hollow turret, a message

is sped with the rapidity of lightning from base to summit; all is

hushed to a sudden silence; then, while the six stand in amazed

stillness, the Frenchman swings round and, amid the clatter of wood and

weapons, flees headlong down the stairs at the heels of his scurrying

comrades. Bewilderment for a moment possesses the six, as, with the

vision of death before their eyes, they rest heavily on their weapons.

Then Buckley, nearest to the parapet, with a shout that breaks into a

sob, cries:

"They flee! they flee!"

Three bounds bring Harry to his side. With elbows on the parapet he

gazes hungrily into the open. The four press about him. Between the

castle and the copse men are scampering like scared animals, a few on

horseback, most of them on foot. And yes--in the distance, moving

across the hills from the north-west,--what is it that causes Harry's

heart to leap, his blood to sing a song of tempestuous joy in every

vein? One look is enough; he cannot be deceived; in the horsemen

galloping amain towards him he recognizes his own regiment, the Anspach

dragoons. One moment of self-collection: then he turns to his men.

"We are saved, my men," he says quietly.

And from the parched throats of the five war-scarred warriors on that

ancient keep rises a hoarse thin cheer, that floats away on the breeze,

and meets the faint blare of a bugle.

*CHAPTER XXIII*

*Blenheim*

Compromising Papers--A Jacobite Agent--Praise from Eugene--A

Contrast--Sherebiah Resigns--Foreign Ways--A Divided Command--The Duke's

Day--The Field of Battle--"The Doubtful Day"--A Famous Victory--A

Fugitive--Coals of Fire--A Revelation--Warnings--Silence--A Soft

Impeachment--Down the Rhine

Never a more cordial meeting took place between friends than the meeting

of Harry with Godfrey Fanshawe. The latter, with Sherebiah, rode

straight for the castle, while Captain van der Werff and his dragoons

swept upon the scattered forayers, exacting a terrible retribution from

all within reach of their sabres. The moment when the friends met in

the courtyard was too tense for speech. Buckley, weaker than the others

after his imprisonment, almost sobbed; Eugene's three dragoons sat down

on the flagstones and, resting their heads on their crossed arms, sought

the blessed oblivion of sleep. Harry's overwrought body was all

a-quiver; his trembling lips stammered out broken and inconsequent

phrases; and Fanshawe wisely left him to Sherebiah's tendance.

It was not till much later in the day that the story of the siege was

told. Harry's fellow-officers were unstinted in their admiration of his

pluck and resourcefulness. He on his side was provoked to mirth by

Fanshawe's story of the methodical Colonel von Stickstoff, though he was

serious enough when, turning to his friend, he thanked him earnestly for

what he had done to hasten the relief.

When Captain van der Werff arrived, he made a thorough search through

the castle, and discovered in the cellars a large and motley collection

of plunder gathered by the outlaws. There were costly church ornaments,

bullion, pictures, pieces of tapestry, jewelry, arms, clothes, articles

of furniture, but no plate; this, he concluded, had been melted down to

avoid the risk of discovery. In the dungeon was found the shattered

body of the landlord of the Zum grauen Baeren, killed by the explosion

engineered by his own friends. Harry could not but reflect on the

nemesis which had pursued this man of crooked ways.

Preparations were made in the late afternoon for riding back to the

confederate camp. Many of the stricken brigands had surrendered to

Captain van der Werff's dragoons, and were escorted into Urach to be

dealt with by the civil authorities. At Harry's suggestion the bodies

of the slain were examined by Sherebiah, to see if Aglionby was among

them; but he was not recognized; it was probable that he had escaped.

Before the castle was finally deserted, Aglionby's room was searched.

In a wallet beneath his bed a large number of papers was found,

consisting of letters, tavern bills, private memoranda, gazettes, and a

parchment conferring the rank of captain in the dragoons of the Elector

of Bavaria upon Ralph Aglionby, late of the Preobrashenski regiment of

his imperial majesty of Muscovy.

Harry looked through all these papers himself, hoping to find some clue

to the inveterate animosity of Mr. Berkeley. But though he was

disappointed in this, he discovered three papers which seemed to him of

particular interest, and which he kept carefully apart from the others.

The first was a brief note in French from Monsieur de Polignac, written

from the head-quarters of Marshal Tallard, congratulating Aglionby on

his commission in the Bavarian forces, and asking him to meet the writer

as soon as circumstances permitted. From this Harry concluded either

that Polignac had not been concerned in the attempt to drown Aglionby in

the Merk, or that he was a man of consummate and unblushing duplicity.

The second was a letter from Mr. Berkeley himself, written long before.

The squire spoke of enclosing money, and referred to the matter of H----

R----, hoping that the captain would make a better job of this

commission than with the M---- M----, by which Harry understood the name

of the vessel that had carried him down the Thames. The letter

continued:

"I shall require of you cleare proofe of your profess'd Zeale in my

service before I despatch any further Remittance. It will beseeme you

to send me an Attested Copie of such _Forme of Certificate_ as is usual

in Holland. Let nothing stande in the way of this moste necessarie

Document; I doubt not that among the _Notable People_ with whom you at

present consorte there will be founde a _respectable_ Attorney to whom

the Businesse may be with suretie confided."

This letter left no possibility of doubt that Mr. Berkeley was prepared

to stick at nothing to remove Harry; but it threw no light on his

motive, and Harry was as much perplexed as ever.

The third of the papers was a letter from a certain Anne Consterdine in

Westminster, addressed to Aglionby at the Hague.

"This is to advise you", it ran, "that the Packett from M. de P----

despatch'd by the hands of the Honnest Captin came safely to my hands.

The Gratification that you use to recieve will be pay'd to you at the

same Place as afore. I am bid by the _Friende_ at St. J---- to say that

besides this your Name & Services have been noted with a speciall Marke,

& will be _rewarded_ with all Rightfull Diligence when the _Good Shippe_

you wot of comes safe to Port."

To Harry this letter was a mere enigma; it bore no special significance;

but he gained enlightenment when he showed it to Fanshawe. That young

man was three years older than Harry, and had moved in a more varied

society.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, on reading the letter, "your friend Aglionby

has many irons in the fire. 'Tis clear he is a go-between, and the

correspondence, being betwixt Westminster and the Hague, can mean but

one thing. The 'good ship', too--what can that be but the ship that is

to convey the Pretender to England to assume his father's crown? Your

Aglionbys and Polignacs are Jacobites, Harry; there will be another bone

to pick with them."

The plunder was packed into Prince Eugene's coach; the wounded dragoons

were set on horseback and taken into Urach for treatment. Then, after

the destruction of what ammunition remained in the castle, Harry rode

with his comrades and Eugene's three dragoons from the memorable scene,

and before sundown entered the confederate camp at Gros Heppach. The

news of their coming had been already spread by a man riding in advance,

and their entry was made amid the clamour of thousands of shouting men

and drums and fifes. In a sort of triumph Harry was escorted to

head-quarters, where, in the presence of Marlborough and Eugene and

officers of their staffs, he had to tell over the story of the ruse and

the subsequent siege. He remembered afterwards how differently the two

great generals had heard him. Prince Eugene ever and anon broke into

exclamations, slapped the table, crossed and uncrossed his legs, was up

and down, restless and excited. Marlborough listened throughout with the

same tranquil attentiveness, scarce moving, saying never a word. When

the story was ended, Eugene cried impetuously:

"Ma foi, my lord, this is a lad of mettle. He has done right worthily,

and merits much at our hands. For myself, I beg him to accept at once

this ring; you did me a gallant service, Monsieur, and it will not

displease you to wear as a token of my thanks a ring from the finger of

Eugenio von Savoye."

"I add my thanks to his Excellency's," said Marlborough quietly. "If I

mistake not, my secretary already has your name on a list for

advancement; it is a long list, but no name has more merit than yours.

You will see to it, Mr. Cardonnel, that Mr. Rochester is not

overlooked."

"Parbleu, my lord!" exclaimed Eugene, "I am for speedier measures. The

lad is an officer of Dutch dragoons, I believe. I ask for his services

as aide-de-camp to myself; and, ma foi, I give him a commission in my

own hussars. Monsieur, you will not object to the transfer?"

"Your Excellency does me too much honour," said Harry, his breath almost

taken away by such good fortune.

"That is settled then, with my Lord Marlborough's consent?"

"I have no objection, your Excellency. And the young man could not be

in better hands."

"Then I will see your colonel, Monsieur, and the matter shall be

arranged as speedily as possible."

Harry felt some natural elation at this surprising change in his

fortunes. He was a little amused, too, to think that this was the third

time he had come under Marlborough's notice, and each time the

benevolent intentions of the duke had been anticipated. He could not

but contrast Prince Eugene's impetuous generosity with Marlborough's

placid goodwill; it was not till long afterwards that he understood what

obstacles lay in the duke's way. Marlborough was continually being

pestered with applications from people of importance at home on behalf

of their friends and connections; and in the then state of politics he

could not afford to set aside the requests of those whose support he was

so deeply concerned in retaining. Harry never had reason to doubt the

kindness of Marlborough's feeling towards him, and as he gained

knowledge of the complex intrigues in which the public men of those days

were enmeshed, he thought of the duke without bitterness.

Before many days he was gazetted captain in the Imperial service, and

left his regiment to join Prince Eugene. His departure was signalized by

a banquet got up by his fellow-officers, at which he was embarrassed by

the many complimentary things said of him. He parted from his old

comrades with regret, tempered by delight at the prospect of close

service with the great general who had so highly honoured him.

Since his return to camp, he had remarked a strange and unaccustomed

moodiness in Sherebiah. The worthy fellow went about his duties with

his usual care and punctuality, but he was abnormally silent, seldom

smiled or hummed country songs as he had been wont to do, and appeared

to be in a state of chronic antagonism to Max Berens, whom Harry had

taken as additional servant since their adventure together. Harry

affected to ignore Sherebiah's change of manner; but in reality it

amused him, and he was in constant expectation of something that would

bring matters to a crisis.

One morning Max came to him in a state of exaltation. Prince Eugene,

unwilling that a man who had worn his clothes to such good purpose

should remain unrewarded, had not only presented him with the suit, but

had purchased for him the Zum grauen Baeren on the Urach road. Max said

he was loth to leave his new master, but could not throw away so good a

chance of settling in life, and added that as Mr. Rochester's Englishman

apparently disliked him, the prince's gift had come most opportunely.

Max had hardly left Harry's presence when Sherebiah entered. He doffed

his cap and fingered it uncomfortably, his usually cheery face wearing a

portentously lugubrious look.

"Well, Sherry, what is it?" asked Harry.

"Well, 'tis like this, sir. 'Tis a sayen, a' b'lieve, when in Rome do

as the rum uns do. These be furren parts, and there be furren ways o'

doen things. Seems like now as if I bean't no more use, and I've been

a-chawen of it over, and the end on't is, I be come to axe 'ee kindly to

gi' me my discharge, sir."

"Indeed, Sherry! you surprise me."

"You see, sir, I be nowt but a Englishman,--a poor honest Wiltshire man;

you can't make a silk purse out o' a sow's ear, and nothen'll make a

furrener out of a home-spun countryman."

"That's true enough, Sherry, but you're right as you are."

"Nay, sir, axen your pardon. True, I ha' still got a bit o' muscle, and

can handle a sword featly; but I'm afeard I can't brush a coat nor fold

a pair of breeches like a furrener, let alone wearen on 'em. Zooks!

suppose a man do get inside of a high prince's goodly raiment, do it

make un a whit the better man?--I axe 'ee that, sir. Many's the time

I've seed a noble coat on a scarecrow in a turmut-field, sir."

Harry remembered that of late Max had made the care of his clothes his

special province.

"Furren ways and furreners," continued Sherebiah, "I can't abide 'em,

and but for bein' a man o' peace I'd find it main hard to keep my hands

off 'em, be they in prince's fine linen or their own nat'ral smalls,

sir."

"You don't like foreigners, eh?--Katrinka, eh?"

Sherebiah was nonplussed for a moment, but recovered himself with his

usual readiness.

"Ay, but there's a deal in the bringen up, sir. You can break a colt,

and tame wild beasts, and make summat o' crabs wi' graften. Katrinka be

a young wench, and teachable; bless 'ee, I've teached her how to fry a

rasher and make a roly-poly; her be half Wiltshire a'ready, and sings

the song o' turmut-hoein' like a bird. And 'tis my thought, sir, bein'

discharged, to have our names cried and do the lifelong deed, and goo

home-along and bide wi' feyther."

"Well, if your mind's set on it, I suppose I must be content to lose you

both."

Sherebiah ceased twiddling his cap and looked startled.

"Both, sir!--did I rightly hear 'ee say both?"

"Yes, you and Max."

"Hoy! be it the holy state o' matrimony wi' he too?"

"I shouldn't wonder. Prince Eugene has made him a present of the Zum

grauen Baeren inn, and he'll want a wife to help him."

Sherebiah looked thoughtfully at the floor.

"The striplen be a good enough feller," he said slowly. "Barren his

furren blood, which he couldn't help, poor soul, he bean't a bad feller.

He looks uncommon spry in the prince's noble garments--ay, he do so."

Sherebiah paused, and began to twiddle his cap again. Harry waited

patiently.

"I'm a-thinken, sir, 'twould be onbecomen in a Wiltshire man to let his

duty goo by, in furren parts an' all. Bean't in reason for both to take

our discharge all o' a heap, and if the young man Max goos, I bides,

leastways till 'ee set eyes on a plain Wiltshire man as 'ee'll fancy

better."

"Well, that's all right, Sherry. Now I think the best thing you can do

is to go and wish Max good luck."

He could not help smiling at Sherebiah's obvious relief at the turn

things had taken. Sherebiah heaved a deep sigh; then, as he observed

Harry's amused expression, a broad grin overspread his features, and he

moved away.

With the arrival of Prince Eugene the campaign entered upon a new phase.

Dissimilar as they were in character and temperament, the prince and the

duke at once became fast friends. Eugene not merely fell under the

spell of Marlborough's personal force of character; he recognized his

transcendent genius, and threw himself with enthusiasm into his plans.

Unluckily, the Prince of Baden was a man of a different stamp. He was a

soldier of the old school, brave as a lion, but wanting in judgment,

cautious, methodical, a stickler for form. He joined the others in

counsel at Gros Heppach, and being the eldest in rank expected that they

would yield him the chief command. But the execution of their plan, so

daringly conceived, demanded qualities he did not possess, and

Marlborough had to exercise all the tact and patience of which he was so

consummate a master. With much difficulty he persuaded the prince to

share the command with him on alternate days, but not all his diplomacy

availed to induce him to depart for the Rhine army. He insisted on

remaining with Marlborough on the Danube, and Eugene had reluctantly to

accept the other charge. On the 14th of June, therefore, Eugene left

for Philipsburg, to watch Marshal Tallard, who was marching along the

Rhine to join forces with the Elector of Bavaria. Harry accompanied

him.

Then began a fortnight of wearisome marching, in cold and rainy weather.

The Elector of Bavaria was by this time aware that Marlborough's design

was to attack him, and in order to cover his dominions and check the

confederate army until the expected reinforcements reached him he sent

General D'Arco to occupy the Schellenberg, a height commanding

Donauworth, on the north bank of the Danube. Hearing from Eugene that

Tallard and Villeroy were at Strasburg organizing these reinforcements,

Marlborough decided immediately to attack the Schellenberg. It happened

to be his turn of command; he knew that if the day was allowed to pass

Baden would find reasons for postponing the attempt, and after a hard

march he threw his weary troops upon the position and carried it with

heavy loss against an obstinate defence.

A diplomatic attempt to detach the Elector from his alliance with France

having failed, Bavaria, now open to the confederates, was put to fire

and sword. Marlborough, one of the humanest generals that ever lived,

refused to allow his own forces to engage in the work of burning and

pillage, and did his utmost to restrain the excesses of the German

soldiery.

Eugene meanwhile, having failed to prevent the junction of Tallard with

Marsin and the Elector of Bavaria, paid a hurried visit to Marlborough

at his camp at Sandizell to concert operations against the now

formidable enemy. Luckily, Prince Louis of Baden agreed to lay siege to

Ingolstadt, and his colleagues were relieved of the presence of one

whose captious temper was a continual stumbling-block.

During Eugene's absence news reached his camp that the enemy were

hastening towards Lauingen with a design to cross the Danube. Harry was

despatched to Sandizell with this important information. He met the

prince on the road back; the latter immediately returned to Marlborough,

who decided to reinforce him, and moved his own camp to Schoenefelt,

nearer the Danube, in order to be able to co-operate with him should

occasion arise. Late at night on Sunday, August 10, Eugene sent word to

Marlborough that the enemy had crossed the river at Lauingen. Marching

out at once he joined the prince, and early on Tuesday morning they went

towards Hochstadt, where they intended to make their camp. On a hill

two miles east of that town they caught sight of some squadrons of the

enemy. Not knowing whether this was merely a reconnoitring party or the

advance-guard of the main force, the two generals mounted the church

tower of Dapfheim, and through their glasses saw that the whole army of

the enemy was in full march in their direction, and that a camp was

being marked out on the very ground chosen by themselves. They

instantly determined to attack.

On the north bank of the Danube, at the head of a loop of the river,

lies the little village of Blindheim, or, as it was spelt by

Marlborough, Blenheim. At the eastern extremity of the loop the Danube

is joined by the brook Nebel, shallow and narrow, formed by many

rivulets flowing from a range of wooded hills three miles to the north.

In those days the ground between these various branches was an undrained

swamp. The Nebel flows through two villages, Unterglau a mile above

Blenheim, Oberglau three-quarters of a mile farther north.

[Illustration: Battle of Blenheim, 13th August, 1704.]

Tuesday night was spent in preparation for the coming battle. At three

o'clock on Wednesday morning the confederate army moved slowly out. A

light mist hung over the ground, but after three hours' march they came

in sight of the enemy, and the cannon opened fire while the troops

deployed into line.

The enemy, west of the Nebel, were in two main divisions, the right

under Tallard resting on Blenheim, the left under Marsin and the Elector

of Bavaria higher up the brook, occupying the villages of Oberglau and

Unterglau, the rear being in the village of Lutzingen. On the

confederate side, Eugene commanded the right, opposite Marsin, while

Marlborough was opposed to Tallard.

The confederate troops, composed of English, Germans, Dutch, and Danes,

were all in the highest spirits. The victory of the Schellenberg had

heartened them; they had unbounded confidence in their generals. As he

mounted his horse that morning Marlborough said quietly, "This day I

conquer or die," and officers and men alike caught the infection of his

brave, calm spirit.

The ground on which Prince Eugene's division was to be posted was broken

by branches of the Nebel and became uneven as it rose towards the hills.

For this reason it took the prince some time to get his men into

position. Marlborough's force was earlier posted, and he occupied the

interval until he should hear from Eugene that all was ready by having

prayers read at the head of each regiment. About twelve o'clock a

message came from Eugene that he was prepared. "Now, gentlemen, to your

posts," cried Marlborough to the officers with whom he had been

breakfasting. Up sprang the big Lord Cutts, deputed to open the attack

on Blenheim--a gallant leader, nicknamed Salamander from his careless

daring under fire. Up sprang General Churchill, and galloped off towards

Unterglau, already set on fire by the cannonade. Up sprang General

Lumley, hero of the cavalry charge at the Schellenberg. From brigadier

to bugler, every man was determined to "conquer or die".

Blenheim was filled with French, seventeen battalions of Tallard's best

troops hampering each other's movements there. So strongly was the

village defended that the English troops were twice compelled to retire.

Marlborough's foreseeing eye marked the urgency of the moment. The

enemy must be prevented from pursuing their advantage. In spite of

artillery fire in flank and cavalry charges in front he got his horse

across the stream and the intervening marshes. Tallard was late in

meeting the movement. He allowed the first line of English to form up

on his own side of the brook before he ordered a strenuous attack. Then

Marlborough reinforced his lines, and having assured himself that they

could hold their own, galloped to the left to see how things were faring

toward Blenheim.

Meanwhile on the right Eugene had fought with varying success. A

dashing cavalry charge broke the enemy's front line, but from the second

his horse recoiled, and he brought up his Prussian infantry to stem the

tide. At Oberglau also the Prince of Holstein's division was thrown

into confusion by the gallant Irish brigade, which flung itself upon the

Germans with the fierce valour for which these exiles were renowned.

Here, too, Marlborough's all-seeing eye marked the crisis. Galloping to

the point of danger, he ordered up battalions and squadrons that had not

yet been engaged, and in his turn threw the Irish into confusion.

The summer afternoon was drawing on; for five hours the battle had

raged, and neither side had yet gained a substantial advantage. But

soon after five, having seen all his cavalry across the Nebel, the duke

rode along the front, and gave orders to sound the charge. At the

trumpets' blare 8000 horsemen, splendidly mounted, moved up the slope in

two lines towards the enemy, first at a gentle trot, quickening their

pace until it became a gallop. One slight check from the terrible fire

of the French musketeers, then they swept forward irresistibly. The

enemy recoiled, broke, fell into disorder, and fled, the infantry

towards Hochstadt, the cavalry towards Sondersheim, on the river bank.

Then was seen Tallard's fatal mistake in crowding so many men into the

narrow streets of Blenheim. Catching the panic from their flying

comrades, they turned hither and thither, not knowing how to find

safety. Some plunged into the river, only to be borne away on its swift

current and drowned. Others sought to escape towards Hochstadt, but

every avenue was blocked. In rage and despair they maintained a

stubborn fight until the evening dusk descended, and the hopelessness of

their plight counselled surrender.

At the head of his shouting cavalry Marlborough himself had chased

thirty squadrons down the steep bank of the Danube to destruction. He

had but just returned when he was met by an aide-de-camp with a prisoner

no less notable than Marshal Tallard himself. The duke put him into his

own coach, and sat down to pencil that famous note to his duchess which

gave England the first tidings of this glorious victory.

The victorious army bivouacked on the field, taking possession of the

enemy's standing tents, with a great store of vegetables and a hundred

fat oxen ready skinned for the pot.

During this great action Harry had been hither and thither in all parts

of the field, bearing Eugene's orders to his divisional commanders. Of

the details of the fight he saw little, but was well pleased at the

close of the day when the prince thanked him in the presence of his

staff, and invited him to his own supper table.

During the next few weeks the troops marched towards the Rhine, the

duke's objective being Landau, which he hoped to take before the close

of the campaign. One afternoon Harry went on in advance with Sherebiah

from Langenhandel to Weissembourg, to secure quarters for Prince Eugene.

His errand accomplished, he was sitting at dinner in the inn when

through the open window came the sound of hubbub in the street.

"What is it, Sherry?" he asked.

"'Pears to be a crowd of Germans a-setten on to a wounded Frenchman,

sir. He have his arm strapped, and----why, sakes alive! 'tis black John

Simmons hisself."

"Indeed!" cried Harry, rising. "Then the captain will be near at hand.

Out and bring the fellow in."

Sherebiah issued forth and shouldered his way through the growing crowd.

When Simmons caught sight of him, his jaw dropped and he turned to make

away; but Sherebiah was at his heels in a twinkling, and soon he dragged

him through the throng and into the inn. The man looked even more

woebegone than when Harry had last seen him, and his drawn face

betokened keen suffering.

"Cotched again!" said Sherebiah. "Stand there afore Master Harry and

speak your mind."

"How come you here, Simmons?" asked Harry.

The man explained that after the rout at the castle he had escaped with

his master to the Elector's camp and been with the army at the battle of

Blenheim. He had ridden out of the fight with Aglionby, but being

wounded had fallen from his horse and been callously left to his fate by

the captain. Contriving to evade capture, he had wandered from village

to village, and, reaching Weissembourg, had been sheltered there by a

cottager until all his money was gone. Then he was turned out neck and

crop, and was being hustled out of the village when Sherebiah

intervened. His wound had not been properly treated, and he was in a

sorry plight.

Harry could not help pitying the poor wretch whose service had been so

ill-requited by his master. Properly he was a prisoner of war--one of

the 13,000 who had fallen into the hands of the victors. But he was a

fellow-countryman after all, and possibly had been an honest fellow

until he came under Aglionby's sinister influence. Harry had not the

heart to let him go to his fate.

"Sherry, look to his arm," he said. "Let us see what sort of a leech

Jacob Spinney made of you. Then give him some food and find him a

lodging."

Several days passed, and Harry, in the bustle of camp life, had almost

forgotten the incident, when one morning Simmons presented himself and

asked to be allowed to speak a word. His arm was nearly healed, and he

looked a cleaner, trimmer fellow.

"Ah, Simmons!" said Harry, "you're better, I see. What have you got to

say?"

"First to thank you, sir, for your kindness, which I know I don't

deserve. Sherebiah Minshull has treated me well."

"I'm glad of that. Now is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I've been thinkin', these few days, sir, and ponderin' on my past life;

and there's a thing I believe you ought to know."

"Well, speak up, man."

"'Tis summat I heard pass between Cap'n Aglionby and the Frenchman,

sir."

"That's enough: I'm not interested in the doings of your rascally

employer."

"But you are, sir, unless I be much mistaken. The matter concerns the

French lady near Breda, and the young mistress--partickler the young

mistress, sir."

Harry was now all attention.

"Speak on then, and use few words."

Simmons then related that, some few days before the battle of Blenheim,

Monsieur de Polignac had come secretly into the camp and paid a visit to

Aglionby. (Harry remembered the letter making the appointment he had

found in the castle.) The opening of the interview had been stormy;

Aglionby had accused Polignac of being a party to the attempt on his

life at Breda, and at first refused to accept his assurances that he

knew nothing whatever of the matter. But Polignac spoke him fairly,

declaring that his connection with Mr. Berkeley had been limited to

planning Aglionby's rescue from prison. The Captain's suspicions being

at last lulled, Polignac opened up the subject of his visit. Of the

remainder of the interview Simmons had but hazy ideas: he had listened

through a hole in Aglionby's tent, and the conversation being conducted

in low tones and in French, of which he had only a smattering, he had

missed a good deal of it. But he had heard enough to know that the

Mademoiselle of whom the two spoke was Mademoiselle de Vaudrey, and that

Polignac was bargaining with Aglionby to aid him in an attempt to get

possession of the young lady.

"One thing I heard plain, sir," said Simmons in conclusion, "and that

was that the cap'n was to get a good bit o' gold when the Frenchman

married the lady, and a good bit more when he came into the estates."

"What estates?"

"That I can't tell you, sir; 'the estates' was all I heard--_terres_ was

the word as was used."

"Oh! And why do you betray your master?"

"Well, sir, he've led me a dog's life for years; holds over me that

hangin' business on the old road; and then after I'd served him faithful

leaves me to shift for myself with a bullet in my arm. I don't owe him

no thanks."

Harry stood in thought for a few moments.

"You're a Londoner, I think, Simmons?" he said at length.

"Ay, sir."

"What trade were you bred to?"

"A joiner, sir."

"Well, if you'll promise me to go straight back to London and work at

your trade, I'll contrive to send you down the Rhine with the prisoners,

and give you a little money to start you."

"Thank 'ee kindly, sir!"

"Very well. Sherebiah shall take you to Hanau and see you safely

lodged. Remember, you've your character to build up afresh. If you

stick to your trade, and keep out of the way of folk who want to use you

for dirty work, you may become a decent citizen yet."

"On my soul I'll try, sir. 'Tisn't every one would give a poor fellow a

chance, and I thank 'ee true, sir."

Harry dismissed the man in Sherebiah's care. He was greatly disturbed

by his news. It was clear that Polignac, having failed to win

Mademoiselle de Vaudrey by fair means, and by the attempt to bring

pressure to bear, so happily frustrated by Mynheer Grootz, was now

determined to resort to desperate measures. Something must be done at

once to put Madame de Vaudrey on her guard. He would have liked to

convey the warning himself, but felt the impossibility of asking from

Prince Eugene leave of absence for so long a journey until the campaign

was ended. The only other means open to him was to write. Couriers were

constantly going backwards and forwards between the armies and the Hague

and other towns; he might avail himself of one of these to send his

urgent message.

Harry lost no time in putting his decision into effect. He wrote both

to Madame de Vaudrey and to Mynheer Grootz, telling them that Aglionby

and Polignac were scheming to abduct Mademoiselle, and also that they

were in league with the Jacobites in France and England. This latter

fact would give Grootz a free hand in dealing with them, even if he

detected them in no overt act against Mademoiselle de Vaudrey. It was

two days before Harry could send off his letters, which for greater

safety he entrusted to an official despatch-rider, by permission of

Prince Eugene. The post would take several days; it would be towards

the end of the first week in October before a reply could be expected.

Time passed away, and Harry was anxiously waiting, when, two days before

the earliest date on which a letter could be received from Grootz, he

was unexpectedly sent by Prince Eugene on an urgent private errand to

Vienna. He was accompanied by Sherebiah, now again his constant

companion. They made as much speed as possible, but nearly a month

elapsed before Harry was able to report the success of his mission to

the Prince, then in the confederate camp before Landau. As soon as he

had seen the prince, he enquired whether a letter had arrived for him

during his absence, and felt a great sense of relief when a packet was

given him addressed in Grootz's big business hand.

But his feeling was changed to the keenest anxiety when he found that

the letter, though written more than a week after the date at which

Grootz might reasonably be supposed to have received his letter, made no

reference to the news he had sent, and had clearly been despatched in

entire ignorance of the threatening danger. Long afterwards he learnt

that the courier had been accidentally drowned in crossing a river at

night, and his letters had been lost. He dreaded to think what might

have happened in the interval. He wrote another urgent letter to

Mynheer Grootz, and despatched it by a special messenger; but the bare

possibility of a mishap alarmed him, and he could never put the subject

from his thoughts. He woke at night under the pressure of his anxiety;

if only he could himself go to Lindendaal to see that all was safe! But

while the siege was still being prosecuted, and the prince had constant

need of his services, he could not bring himself to ask for leave.

His difficulty was solved for him by the prince himself. His evident

preoccupation, and a slight mistake he made in noting down a message,

attracted that astute gentleman's attention. He spoke to Harry on the

matter; by this time they were on such terms that Harry felt no

difficulty in opening his mind; and he explained that having become

aware of a plot likely to injure some friends of his, and fearing that

his letter of warning had miscarried, he was in considerable anxiety on

their behalf.

"Naturally," said the prince. "Who are these friends of yours?"

"A French refugee lady and her daughter, Monseigneur, who live near

Breda."

"Ah! What is their name?"

"De Vaudrey, Monseigneur."

"Are they relatives of yours?"

"No, Monseigneur."

"A mere matter of friendship, eh?" The prince's eyes twinkled. "Now,

my boy, confess: you are in love."