FRANCES DELIVERS THE TREATY
George went to the Shield Gallery in Whitehall at ten o'clock the next
morning, where he found his Majesty, the Lord Chancellor, and a half
score of the king's creatures, including Berkeley, Wentworth, Crofts,
Jermyn, and others of like quality.
These were the men with whom George had to deal. He was known intimately
to each of them, and was hated most heartily by all save the Chancellor.
When George entered the Gallery, the king took his seat in a great chair
of state on a dais at one end of the room, while his counsellors ranged
themselves on either side. I, with a dozen other gentlemen, had been
commanded to be present, not as advisers, but as attendants on the king
to give dignity to the occasion.
George, having been sent to England secretly, had brought no retinue,
since it was desired by every one connected with the affair that his
presence should attract as little attention as possible and thus avoid
alarming London. When George went to Whitehall, he was accompanied only
by De Grammont and a gentleman of the count's household.
While George knelt before his Majesty, asking leave to speak for the
French king, his master, I could not help thinking of the strange
contiguity of antagonisms so frequently observed in one's journey through
this life, nor could I help wondering what would be the fate of the bold
man kneeling before the king if his Majesty could but see through the
Abbé's disguise.
But I had little time for reflection, since George was not one who
allowed matters to drag. On receiving permission to speak, he rose
and went to the point at once in badly broken English, which I shall
not try to reproduce.
"I shall not take up your Majesty's time with idle words," said the
Abbé, glancing at a written memorandum which he held in his hand. "My
master, King Louis, sends greeting to his royal brother, and hopes that
no cause of difference may ever arise to darken the blue sky of peace
that now hangs over two kings, potent as are your Majesty and my master,
and two nations, happy, rich, and powerful as are the noble realms of
France and England. Believing the possession by either monarch of cities
or territory within the other's realm to be a constant menace to this
much-desired peace and amity, my master, the king of France, sends me,
his humble ambassador, with plenary authority, the instrument of which
now lies with your Majesty's noble Lord Chancellor, to make offer to your
Majesty of the great sum of one hundred thousand pounds for the good city
of Dunkirk, which is on territory contiguous to my master's domain."
"The great sum of one hundred thousand pounds!" demanded Charles,
contemptuously. "Does your master consider one hundred thousand pounds a
great sum to pay for so great a city as Dunkirk?"
"It is a great sum to pay, your Majesty," returned the Abbé, with
meekness in his manner, but boldness in his words, "when it is considered
that the king of France might have the city of Dunkirk for the mere
taking, did he not love your Majesty."
"Might have it for the mere taking, say you?" cried Charles, with a flash
of imitation fire. "Odds fish, man! What do you suppose we should be
doing while he was taking it?"
"Sending ships across the Channel at a great cost in money and life to
your people, your Majesty," coolly, though meekly, answered the Abbé.
"Of that my people will not complain," answered Charles, still burning a
pinch of red powder. "Their blood and their gold will be given gladly to
defend my possessions abroad. My people are brave and do not fear death
for the sake of their king, I would have you to know, Sir Abbé."
"Noble praise, your Majesty, and beautiful in the mouth of a king who
stands ready to march at the head of his own army, and to help fight the
good fight of his own cause," returned the Abbé, bowing with deep
humility.
"Sir, your words are bold and are in no way mitigated by your humble
mien!" exclaimed the king. "If you have no other offer to make, the
audience will end, at least for the present."
"May I crave one moment more?" asked the Abbé.
"Yes, but be brief," returned the king.
"My instructions, your Majesty, are to leave London not later than
sunrise on the day after making my king's offer. That will be to-morrow
morning, when I shall hasten back to Paris, whence no other messenger
will come. Twenty thousand troops are now within three hours' march of
Dunkirk. Your Majesty's ships cannot reach the city in time to save it. I
beg to say that I have delivered the entire message intrusted to me by my
august master, and therefore crave your royal permission to withdraw."
The king lifted his right hand in assent, and the Abbé moved backward,
bowing himself from the room. De Grammont, who had come with him, met him
at the door, and immediately they went to the count's house. When they
were gone, the king dismissed all save his counsellors, and I being at
liberty to leave, hastened to her Grace's anteroom. As I passed the door,
my hat in my hand, I bowed to Frances, who was watching me intently. She
smiled, glanced significantly toward my hat, nodded her head to let me
know that she understood, and I passed by, glad that she had the courage
which I so sadly lacked.
Evidently Frances lost no time in doing her part with the king, for two
hours later a page came to me in the Wardrobe, saying that the king
wished to see me immediately. I made all possible haste, and when I
entered the king's closet, he said:--
"Close the door, Clyde," but seemed unable for the moment to say more.
He could not hide his excitement, and presently began telling me in a
peremptory manner that he had a very delicate piece of business for my
hands. He did not seem to feel sure of his ground, and spoke with a
bravado altogether unnecessary, as though he would say I should do
his will whether it suited me or not, rather than in words of respectful
command. I could see easily that his bravado was assumed for the purpose
of forestalling any objection on my part. Of course he did not suspect
for one moment that I surmised what he wanted, or his words would have
been: "Odds fish! To the Tower with him!"
After several stammering efforts, he began: "I want you to see Du Boise,
whom you will find at De Grammont's house, and tell him that I accept
the offer he made this morning. I understand he brings the treaties
from France already written. At eight o'clock this evening they are to
be placed in the hands of your cousin, Mistress Jennings, together with
the bill drawn on Backwell of Lombard Street, for the sum of one hundred
thousand pounds. Deliver my message immediately and secretly. Let no
one know that I have spoken to you on the subject. After you have
seen Du Boise, go to Mistress Jennings and give her word from the Abbé
designating where and at what hour she is to receive the documents. I
suggest eight o'clock, that they may not be in her possession too long.
But wait a moment!"
He went to a writing desk standing near the river window, beckoned to me,
and continued excitedly, "Sit here and write at my dictation."
I sat down before the desk, took a quill, and awaited the king's
pleasure. After a moment's thought he dictated as follows:--
"To MONSIEUR L'ABBÉ DU BOISE,
"Ambassador Extraordinary from his Majesty,
King Louis of France:
"Out of love for my royal brother, King Louis, and for the purpose of
maintaining the peace and amity now existing between the glorious realms
of England and France, I accept his Majesty's offer to purchase the
city of Dunkirk, communicated to me at this morning's audience. You will
therefore place in the hands of the bearer, Baron Clyde, two copies of a
treaty consummating this transaction which I understand you have already
written out. With said copies you will also place a bill drawn in the
sum of one hundred thousand pounds on one, Edward Backwell, goldsmith,
Lombard Street, with whom I am told the funds lie, and for which this
writing shall be your full acquittance.
"The treaties shall be fully executed by you on the part of your master,
in accordance with the terms of your instrument of authority now resting
with my Lord Chancellor. When said treaties and said bill come to me, the
treaties will be signed, and the copy intended for your master will be
returned to you this evening so that you may carry out your instructions
by leaving at dawn tomorrow morning. To the which I give my reluctant
consent and request that you leave England without further ceremony,
believing that your duty to your master mounts superior to the mere
observation of courtly usage in formal leave-taking.
"Signed by the king's own hand,
"CHARLES R."
"You will see your cousin immediately after your consultation with Du
Boise, and arrange to deliver the documents to her hands privately at the
hour of eight o'clock."
"I beg your Majesty's indulgence for one question," I said, assuming as
well as I could a reluctant manner.
"Yes, yes, but be quick," returned the king.
"It is this," I continued stammeringly. "Is my cousin to deliver the
documents to you after the hour of eight o'clock?"
"That is no affair of yours, and your question is impertinent," answered
the king. "Obey my commands and keep your lips sealed, if you would
oblige your king, save trouble to yourself, and perhaps be rewarded. Hear
me, Clyde! I will brook no interference in this matter. Do you fully
understand?"
"Yes, your Majesty. To obey the king's command is the highest duty I
know," I answered, hanging my head.
"Ah, that is better. Now you may go," said the king, motioning his hand
toward the door.
Frances had been expeditious in doing her part, and I was wondering what
she had done to work so great a change in the king's mind in so short a
time. So I made all haste to see Du Boise in order that I might the
sooner see my cousin and question her. I found Hamilton downcast, but
when I gave him the king's letter, his gloom turned to anger.
"No, no!" he cried, springing from his chair. "Never! Never! Frances is
buying the king's complaisance, God knows at what price! It shall not be!
The cur! The coward! I'll kill him before the hour arrives!"
"Listen to me, George," I insisted, "and for once in your life, don't
be a fool. You will ruin us all if you lose your head at the moment
when success is waiting for us. You, yourself, suggested this plan, and,
thanks to my cousin's courage, it is working out beautifully. I don't
know what she has to propose, nor what she is going to do. I know nothing
of her plans, but I trust her. Can't you?"
"Yes, yes, I trust her," he replied, growing more calm. "But I do not
trust him. She will go to him alone, expecting, doubtless, to escape, but
she does not know the risk she is running."
"Do not fear for her," I answered assuringly. "She will be prepared to
defend herself. Make all things ready, and I'll go to learn of Frances's
plans. You may be sure she will provide some way for her own protection.
When a woman of brains sets out to hoodwink a man, he usually gets what
he deserves, even though he be an absolute king."
"Well, be off, and back again at the earliest possible moment," said
George, resigning himself, under compulsion, to the hard conditions the
situation imposed.
When I left Hamilton, I hastened to Frances and found her expecting me.
She told me her story in a few words:--"The treaty and the bill of
exchange, I believe you call it, are to be placed in my hands to-night
at eight o'clock," she said. "I am trembling now, but I shall be calm
when the time comes. I am to take the documents to the king's closet at
nine o'clock, and am to enter by way of the privy stairs from the river."
"Yes, yes, I know," I answered, and then I told her briefly of the king's
orders.
"You to bring me the papers!" she exclaimed, laughing softly.
"Yes," I answered. "It completes the jest, if it prove to be one. But
tell me, what do you propose to do when you go to the king's closet?"
"You see it was this way," she began, sitting down and smoothing out her
skirts; "I so arranged it that I met his Majesty soon after I saw you
pass with your hat in your hand. He was ready enough to take me for a
walk in the garden, and when he fell under the influence of the sun and
the flowers, he began, as usual, to protest his love. I gave him full
rein,--full rein, Baron Ned,--and after he had talked and protested a
great deal, I told him that he might prove his regard for me if he would.
He asked me in what manner, and said that he would do whatever I asked.
"'It is this, your Majesty,' I answered hesitatingly. 'By accident I met
the Abbé du Boise at Lilly's house yesterday. It seems he had heard of
the kind friendship your Majesty has shown me, and doubtless hoping to
use me, offered me ten thousand pounds if I succeeded in inducing your
Majesty to accept the French king's offer for the city of Dunkirk. Ever
since my interview with him, I have been trying to see your Majesty,
hoping that you might find the information useful, and desiring your
Majesty to know that I was to receive the money in case you accepted,
else I might seem false to my king.'"
I laughed and said: "I knew you would be able to wheedle him. A little
woman with a big motive is like faith, in that she can move mountains."
"Yes, yes, it is easy enough," she answered. "He took my hand, and I
permitted him to hold it for a moment, then withdrew it, you know, as
though impelled by modesty. After duly hanging my head and casting down
my eyes in a very spasm of shyness, I told the king that I hoped he would
accept the French king's offer, and reminded him that it might avert the
terrible consequences of war, in addition to putting ten thousand pounds
in my poor empty little purse. He said he would put the ten thousand
there for me, but I refused, saying that I had never before made a
request of him, and that if he did not see fit to grant this, I should
never make another, but should leave Whitehall at once."
"Ah! the little woman with a big motive pouts if the mountain moves too
slowly. I should like to have heard you talking to him," I said.
"And perhaps you would have spoiled it all," she answered. "We walked
down the path for perhaps three or four minutes, but at length the king
spoke, stammeringly, and said that if I would bring the treaty to his
closet this evening at nine o'clock, he would sign it."
"The dog!" I exclaimed.
"After a long pause, I answered hesitatingly, telling him that I could
not accede to his request, and that I withdrew my petition, craving
permission to leave Whitehall to-morrow. Thereupon he fell into an
ecstasy of entreaty, and when we parted he was very happy, for I had
promised to take the documents to him at nine o'clock. He said I was to
come to the privy stairs leading from the river to his closet and go up
to him for his signature and seal, when he would execute the treaty
immediately and send it by a trusted messenger to the Abbé du Boise."
"Ah, but how will you get away from the closet?" I asked.
"If he will permit me to be the messenger, I can easily escape, but
for fear he will not, you and George shall act as my watermen. Have a
boat waiting for me near the garden stairs at nine o'clock, and we'll go
by river to the king's private stairs. I'll go by myself to his closet
and will come back to you by some means with the signed treaty. And,
Baron Ned, have Betty with you. A woman is always braver with a woman
alongside, and Betty always brings us good luck. Then, too, she can steer
the boat; she knows the river as she knows her father's house. Remember,
nine o'clock, and be sure that Betty is with you."
I went back to George, and when I told him of Frances's plan, he said:--
"If she does not return from the king's closet as soon as we shall have
reason to expect her, we'll fetch her and make a page of history by
leaving a dead king."
"In which case the English people would hang us and then bless us. It is
their fashion. We should be as immortal as Guy Fawkes," I answered;
laughing to keep my courage up.
George stood in revery for a moment and answered as if he were speaking
to himself:--
"But what will happen if we are overpowered in the king's closet? He
always keeps a ruffian guard in his ante-chamber."
"In that sad case, Frances must kill herself and we shall die fighting
unless we preferred Tyburn Hill a day or two later," I answered. "It is
all as plain as day. Why do you not forget that failure is possible? I
have never known you to stand in doubt; why do it now on the eve of
victory?"
"Frances! Frances! Frances! She is why I stand in doubt. My own life is
not worth a farthing, but I have no right to bring her into this
frightful peril."
"She has no fear, and the sooner you drive it out of your heart the
better it will be for our cause."
"I suppose you are right, Baron Ned," he responded with a sigh; "if we go
at this without fear or doubt we can't fail. Go ahead, my friend. May God
forgive us if we are wrong and help us in any case." And I left him
hurriedly, lest I should be infected with his deadly fear.
I next saw Betty, much to my delight, and of course she was eager to help
us.
"Know the river?" she exclaimed, in answer to my question. "I know it as
well as I know Gracious Street. I have shot the arches of London Bridge
with the spring tide going out, and there is many a waterman who would
not dare try it. If need be, I'll take you through the middle arch, where
the flambeau hangs, and land you at Deptford or Sheerness, or Holland, I
care not which." So there was no fear in her heart. If courage was the
touchstone of fortune, we were sure to win, for there was no fear in any
heart save George's, and ordinarily he was the bravest of us all.
When all arrangements were made, even to engaging a small boat, which was
to wait for us at Westminster stairs, I took to my bed for the rest of
the day. At six o'clock I received the treaties and the bill of exchange
from Hamilton and delivered them to Frances. Then I went to fetch
Bettina.
Grammont had offered to go with us, when we explained what we were to do
and the danger in doing it, and we were glad to have him and his sword,
for we might find ourselves in straits where we should need both. He and
Hamilton were to meet me at the head of King's Street. Each of us was to
carry a long sword and to have a pistol, charged and primed, in his belt.
After leaving the parchments with Frances, I hastened to bring Betty up
to Whitehall, and, shortly after eight o'clock, met Du Boise and De
Grammont at King's Street arch, all of us wearing full vizards.
We walked down to the boat, De Grammont frequently taking notice of
Bettina, for, despite her full vizard and an enveloping cloak, she was
far too attractive not to rivet his attention.
When we reached Westminster stairs, we found the boat awaiting us. We did
not want the watermen to go with us, so I bought the boat and dismissed
them.
We entered the boat, and when Bettina took the stern oar, De Grammont
asked:--
"Who is she--the lady on the stern thwart? Can she steer the boat? Does
she know the river?"
"Yes, to all of your questions, count," I answered.
"'Yes' doesn't answer the first question," he returned.
"It isn't to be answered," I replied curtly, and he returned with an
apologetic "Pardon!"
Just before nine o'clock we took Frances aboard at Whitehall Garden
Stairs and drifted slowly down to the king's privy stairs, from which
the narrow flight of steps rose to the king's closet in the story above.
When we drew up at the privy stairs, Frances stepped out of the boat to
the landing and whispered:--
"I shall arrange in some way to return, just as soon as the king signs
the treaty, but if you hear me scream, come to my rescue. I am prepared
to defend myself, and shall give the signal only when I must."
After climbing the narrow steps, she entered the king's closet and found
him alone. Almost at the same instant she caught the sound of heavy steps
in the adjoining room and heard the clang of steel on a bare oak floor.
This demonstration was made, I suppose, by the king's order, for the
purpose of intimidating Frances lest she prove rebellious.
In response to her frightened look of inquiry, the king said, "Only a
half dozen troopers whom I always keep in my anteroom to be at hand if
needed."
"A wise precaution, your Majesty," returned Frances, bringing herself
together as quickly as possible. "Here are the copies of the treaty, your
Majesty, and here is the bill on Backwell. The Abbé du Boise instructed
me to ask your Majesty to sign his copy of the treaty immediately and
return it to him. He waits in a boat at the foot of the privy stairs, and
is anxious to go down the river to his ship before the tide turns."
"Waits at the foot of the stairs?" exclaimed the king. "Odds fish! What
is he doing there? But it shall be done at once. I had the Great Seal
brought to me, so that I might fully execute the treaty without delay. I
supposed the Abbé would desire its immediate return as soon as the money
was paid."
"Yes, your Majesty," answered Frances, growing short of breath from
excitement, "he is waiting below for it."
The king sat down at his desk, signed the treaty, affixed the Great Seal,
returned the parchment to its envelope, and, turning to Frances, said:--
"Now, the first kiss, my beauty!"
"Not now, your Majesty. Please wait till I return," she answered, taking
the treaty from the king's hand without his leave. "I do not want to
disarrange my vizard till after I have returned the parchment to the
Abbé. I fear the watermen will recognize me."
"Who is in the boat with the Abbé?" asked the king.
"His servant, a French gentleman, and two watermen. He insisted on
bringing me, reluctant, doubtless to trust me with the parchments and
the bill," she answered, lying with the ease of a Lombard Street hosier.
But the king, growing suspicious because of her haste, caught her by the
arm, saying: "You remain here. I'll return the treaty."
She drew her arm from the king's grasp and started so hurriedly toward
the door that the king took alarm and followed her, crying out:--
"I tell you I'll send the packet by other hands. You remain here."
She did not stop, so he caught her again by the arm, and spoke sharply:
"You are to remain with me. Do you hear? I'm not to be played with. I'll
send the packet--"
But she broke from his grasp, hastily opened the door, and found
herself not at the head of the privy stairs, but in the king's anteroom,
surrounded by a half dozen men in armor one of whom attempted to seize
her. Instantly she sprang back to the king's closet, screaming, not as a
signal to us, for she had forgotten our agreement in that respect, but in
genuine fright.
Her screams brought George, De Grammont, and myself to the door at the
head of the stairs in less time than one could count ten. We drew our
swords, and I tried to open the door, but found it locked.
"The oars! The heavy oars!" whispered De Grammont.
I ran down the stairs to the boat and was about to ask Bettina to hand me
the oars, when she, anticipating me, whispered:--
"I heard some one call for the oars, so I threw them out. There they
are!"
There they were, true enough, halfway up the water stairs, ready for my
hand, because of Betty's quickness.
In less than ten seconds I was at the top of the stairs again, and within
twenty seconds more we had battered down the door with our heavy ash
oars. In the king's closet we found Frances, surrounded by men at arms,
and the king crouching in a corner, barricaded by small pieces of
furniture.
George fired his pistol, and one of the six men fell, whereupon several
pistol shots were fired, filling the small room with powder smoke, but
injuring no one so far as we knew. De Grammont found an opening in
another man's armor, and four stood between us and Frances. Then the real
fight began--four against three. This would have been heavy odds in an
open field, but it was not so formidable in a small room almost dark with
smoke. Above all, the troopers were fighting for pay; we were fighting
for life.
The four men charged us fiercely, and while we were fighting just inside
the room, Frances worked her way from behind our antagonists toward the
battered door and was about to make her escape when one of the king's men
struck her a cowardly blow with the hilt of his sword, and she fell to
the floor at the head of the stairs.
"You and Hamilton take her to the boat," cried De Grammont, speaking to
me, but continuing to fence, as though by instinct. "I'll hold the door
till you call; then I'll run. The next best thing to fighting is
running."
I regretted the use of Hamilton's name, as it would betray his presence,
if overheard, which otherwise would not have been suspected, all of us
being well masked. But I had no time to waste in vain regrets, so George
and I lifted Frances from the floor and helped her down to the boat,
leaving De Grammont just outside the battered door, defending himself
nobly against four armed men and keeping them inside the king's closet.
He seemed to be enjoying himself, for he was laughing, bowing, parrying,
and thrusting, as though he were at a frolic rather than a fight. There
is but one people on earth in whose blood is mingled fire and ice--the
French.
When we reached the water, we found that the running tide had carried the
boat a short distance down-stream, but Bettina was standing on the stern
thwart, bending this way and that in her endeavor to scull back to the
landing by means of the steering oar. Every drop of blood in Bettina's
plump little body was worth its weight in triple fine gold to us that
night, for she brought the boat back to us without delay, and George
helped Frances aboard while I ran to the foot of the privy stairs,
shouting loudly:--
"Come on, Berkeley! Come quickly!"
Usually I think of the right thing to say a fortnight after the
opportunity, but this once the name Berkeley came to me in the nick of
time, and I evened my score with its possessor for many a dirty trick he
had put upon me. To suspect was to condemn with Charles, and I knew that
if he heard me call Berkeley's name, that consummate villain would suffer
the royal frown. And so he did, never having been able to explain, nor
deny, satisfactorily to the king, his presence at the head of the privy
stairs that night. But to return to the fight.
De Grammont heard my summons, came down the stairs three steps at a time,
and sprang into the boat from the landing.
"The oars! The oars!" cried Hamilton.
"Death is between them and us!" cried De Grammont.
"Let us go!" cried Betty. "I'll scull the boat with the steering oar!"
There was not a man in the boat who knew the art of propelling it with
one oar. Truly Betty was our salvation that night.
I shoved the boat off, Betty turned its head down-stream, and away we
shot. We were not ten paces from the water stairs when five men came
running from the privy stairs to the landing. I recognized the king, who
was in the lead. As they reached the water edge of the landing, I heard
a splash. Majesty, in his eagerness to overtake us, had gathered too
great headway and had landed, if I may use the word, in the water.
The other men, being in armor, were compelled to doff their iron before
jumping in to save the king. The night was dark, but we were so near the
landing that I saw two of the men begin to throw off their armor, and
presently I heard two splashes, followed quickly by two pistol shots in
our direction. In our direction, I say, because both of the balls struck
our boat.
After the pistol shots, all was quiet, but I knew that one of the king's
barges, with a dozen men at as many sweeps, and a score of men at arms,
would soon follow us. I made my way to the stern thwart of our boat,
where Betty was sculling for dear life, taking her course diagonally
across the river toward the Southwark bank. After we had passed the swift
current in the middle of the river, which I thought she had been seeking,
I asked:--
"Why do you not keep to the centre, Betty? You are making toward the
other bank."
"Yes," she replied, with what breath she could spare. "We'll find a stand
of boats tied to poles almost opposite Temple Bar stairs. There we may
take a pair of oars. I'm afraid I can't hold out at this much longer."
We soon found the boat stand, and, with little ceremony, appropriated a
pair of oars, leaving a crown on the thwart of the rifled boat.
Hamilton and I quickly adjusted the stolen sweeps in the oar-locks, Betty
sat down on the stern thwart, guided the boat to the swift water of the
centre, and immediately we sped toward London Bridge at a fine rate.
Presently, as we had expected, we heard the rapid, regular stroke of the
sweeps in the king's barge, and in a few minutes it was so close behind
us that we could see the men at the sweeps. When they saw us, they fired
their pistols at us, but we did not hear the bullets splash in the water,
so we knew they did not have our range.
My greatest fear of the bullets was for Bettina's sake, she being in the
rear and more exposed to the enemy's fire than we who were at the sweeps,
but I could not leave my oar to take her place, nor could I have steered
the boat had I done so, being unfamiliar with the river. All I could do
was to hasten our stroke, which George and I did to our utmost, and soon
the welcome beacon over the centre arch of London Bridge came into view,
dimly at first, but brightening with every stroke of our sweeps. As we
approached the Bridge, De Grammont nervously called our attention to the
danger ahead of us.
"Yes, we'll take the middle arch, and I shall enjoy seeing the king's
barge follow us," I answered, with what breath I could spare.
"Take the middle arch, and the tide running as a river in flood?" cried
De Grammont, speaking French, being too excited to sort out English
words. "Never! Never! Let me out!"
"Do not fear, count," I answered. "Our pilot--"
"Our pilot! Ah, sacrament! We are lost! Our pilot is a mere girl!"
"But a wonder, count, a wonder. There is no waterman on the river in
whose hands we should be safer," I replied, expressing my confidence in
stronger terms than it really deserved. To shoot London Bridge when the
tide was running out, as it then was, would give pause to the hardiest
waterman. A misstroke of the steering oar, the slightest faltering in the
hands that held it, the mere touch of the boat's nose against the jagged
rocks and logs of the pier, and all would be lost.
We could not stop to put De Grammont on shore, and presently recognizing
that fact, he sat down in resignation in the bow of the boat, remarking
with a sigh, as though speaking to himself:--
"Ah, the beautiful land!"
By that time the flambeau was blazing not two hundred yards ahead of us.
The current had caught us, and the waves of the running tide came almost
to the gunwale of the boat. Bettina had risen to her feet, leaving her
hat, vizard, and cloak in the bottom of the boat, and was standing on the
stern thwart, her back towards us and her face up-stream. Behind us,
perhaps three hundred yards, came the king's great barge, ablaze with
torches. The men in the barge had ceased firing, supposing, probably,
that we should be forced to land above the Bridge, and should then become
an easy prey. But we had Bettina with us; they had not. Besides ours,
there was not another one in the world.
On came the flambeau over the middle arch. It seemed to be coming toward
us rather than we going toward it. Nearer lowered the black dim outline
of the houses on the Bridge, with here and there the flicker of a candle
in a window, magnified to starlike brightness by distance.
Clearer and clearer came the dash and the splash, the roar and the
turmoil of the waters pouring through the terrible death's door, the
middle arch. Yet over the middle arch was the only flambeau on London
Bridge, placed there because it was the broadest of all the spans, and
we dared not attempt to pass under the Bridge in the dark.
But worse than the middle arch ahead of us was the king's barge following
close behind us. It, too, was in the current, though its twelve sweeps
could easily have taken it ashore. I suppose that pride and eagerness to
overtake us prompted its captain to follow in our wake. At any rate, he
continued and was narrowing the distance between us with each stroke of
the sweeps. When I asked Bettina if she thought they would attempt the
arch, she replied:--
"I hope not," then laughing softly, "--for their own sakes. The royal
barges are not built to shoot the bridge."
As we approached the bridge, Betty turned her eyes backward toward it
every few seconds, taking her bearings and bringing the boat's nose now
a little to the right, now to the left, and again holding it straight
ahead.
When we were within twenty yards of the middle arch, she told us to cease
rowing, and we obeyed, leaving the boat in her hands.
The roar of the falling waters, tumbling in a cataract on the further
side of the Bridge, frightened me, but if Betty heard it she did not fear
it, for she began to sing the plaintive little French lullaby we had so
often heard, and De Grammont, leaning forward, touched me on the back as
he whispered:--
"God gives us an angel to steer our boat."
The next moment the water caught us in its mighty suck, just under the
upper edge of the arch, and almost before we were aware that we had
started through, our boat made a plunge on the lower side, the perilous
moment was past, and we were floating in comparatively still water two
score yards below London Bridge.
Then Captain Bettina resumed her seat on the stern thwart, and we dipped
our oars.
We were turning about to get under way again, when De Grammont cried
out:--
"Mon Dieu! They are lost! There they go under! Ah, Jesu!"
We all turned our eyes toward the Bridge, but were too late to see the
barge. It had sunk in four fathoms of water, and every man aboard had
gone down with it.
We backed water, resting on our oars, and presently the overturned barge
came to the surface and floated past us, telling its sad story, "Perished
in a bad king's bad cause,"--a story written on almost every page of the
world's history.
A short distance below the Tower, we met a large boat belonging to
the ship in which George had come from France, which was waiting off
Sheerness to take him back. The boat had been plying between Deptford and
the Bridge, looking for George, since early evening. We recognized it by
its long sweeps, and when we hailed it, we received the password and drew
alongside.
All this time Frances had been allowed to sit in the bottom of the boat,
she having assured us that she had taken no injury, but as we approached
the French boat she arose, and when I asked her if she was hurt, she
said, "No."
When I asked her if she had the treaty, she replied, holding out her hand
to George:--
"Yes, here it is. It would have been a pity, indeed, to have lost it
after all our trouble."
As we drew alongside the French boat, Hamilton whispered to Frances:--
"You have nothing to fear from the king. This affair shows him in a light
so ridiculous that he will not care to make it public, and besides, he
will not want to return the hundred thousand pounds. You will be safe in
London, and I shall write to you just as soon as I return to France. If
King Louis's reward proves to be what I expect, I pray you come to me,
for, after this affair, I dare not set my foot in England."
At that moment we touched the other boat, and the Frenchmen grappled us
to hold us alongside. George had risen and was about to step aboard, when
Frances, catching him by the arm, drew him back and sprang aboard the
French boat ahead of him, saying:--
"I shall not wait for a letter. I am going with you now."
George followed her into the other boat, and as it drew away, I saw him
bending low to kiss her hand. Then he shouted "Good-by!" and soon we
could see nothing but the black water between us.
Betty began to weep, and after a moment I began to swear, for I did not
like to see my cousin go off in this manner. De Grammont relieved his
mind by a shrug of his shoulders, took the oar that George had abandoned,
and without a word we started up-stream again.