Month before Bevill Bracton had set out on the task of endeavouring in
some way to assist Sylvia Thorne in quitting Liége, and, should
Providence prove favourable, of enabling her to return to England
under his charge, the whole of what was termed, comprehensively,
Flanders was filled with various bodies of troops that were drawn from
almost all the countries of Western and, consequently, civilised
Europe.
Used--as this great combination of various states had long been
called--as "The Great Barrier"--_i.e_., the barrier between the
aggressions of France and the safety of the Netherlands, it was,
therefore, now filled with the above-named troops of the contending
nations. To the most northern portion of it--from Antwerp on the west
to Cologne on the east, and then downward to Kaiserswörth and
Bonn--the French held possession under the ostensible command of the
royal Duke of Burgundy, but actually under the command of the Maréchal
de Boufflers, styled the second in command. With these were the troops
of Spain under the command of Le Marquis de Bedmar. Other marshals and
generals, such as Tallard (who was afterwards to lose the battle of
Blenheim) and De Chamarande held high command under them.
The English and Dutch troops, many of the former of which had never
been withdrawn since the Peace of Ryswick, made during the reign of
William III., still held and garrisoned the more northern portions of
the Flanders barrier. Of these, the principal commanders were, until
Marlborough was appointed by the English and Dutch Governments
Captain-General of the whole army of the Grand Alliance, Ginkell, Earl
of Athlone, who was a Dutchman, and Coehoorn, who was another. Of
towns and villages and outposts which the allied troops held at this
time, Maestricht, a few miles north of Liége, was the principal; but
rapidly, after the arrival of the Earl of Marlborough, many more were,
one after the other, to fall into our hands.
By the time, however, that Bevill Bracton had reached Flanders, not
only were continuous sieges and encounters taking place, but also
continuous marchings and counter-marchings and deployings of troops.
The ground which one week had been occupied and held by the French
would, the next, be occupied by English or Dutch, Austrian or
Hanoverian troops; Austria, which was the rival claimant to the throne
of Spain, being the only Catholic country in the Alliance. Had her
claims not been recognised and used as the pivot on which revolved the
determination of the other Powers to break down, once and for all, the
arrogant assumption of the King of France, she would never have been
admitted as partner in this great alliance of Protestant princes. She
was, however, the foundation stone of the great fabric, and could not
be omitted.
The land, therefore, which formed part of the eastern portion of
Brabant, as well as the whole of Limburg, the Electorate of Cologne,
and the Bishopric of Liége, was at this time the scene of skirmishes,
of attacks, and general hostilities that occurred almost daily; but,
since these never attained to the dignity of a battle, they have gone
unrecorded even in the most dry-as-dust of military annals. Indeed,
they were frequently bloodless and often unimportant, the occasional
hanging of a spy, or supposed spy, on one side or the other, or the
detention of a person who could give no satisfactory account of
himself, being unworthy of notice by any chronicler, even if any
chronicler ever heard of the incidents--which is probably doubtful.
Almost directly St. Trond was quitted, the great Cologne road parted,
as it still parts; the northern arm passing through Looz to Maestricht
and the southern running straight to Liége by Waremme, only to reunite
later out side Liége.
At this bifurcation Bevill Bracton, drawing up his horse, paused
beneath some trees and determined to await the coming of the Comtesse
de Valorme.
It was still quite early, and, since he had been subjected to no delay
at the gate, his passport having merely been glanced at by the soldier
stationed there (perhaps because of the excellent French he spoke,
which was a great deal better than that of the man, who belonged to
the Régiment de Perche from the far south of France) he knew that
there was no likelihood of the Comtesse appearing yet. Therefore he
rode on a few hundred paces farther towards where he had observed a
signboard swinging from the branch of a tree, and decided that he
would wait here for her arrival. Also, he had not yet broken his fast,
and determined that now would be a good opportunity for doing so.
As he came within twenty or thirty yards of the signboard, which bore
a heart painted on it--the emblem resembling more a heart painted on a
card than that which is a portion of the human frame--and had beneath
it, in Dutch, the words, "The Kindly Heart," he was astonished at
hearing a voice call out "Halt!" Yet he was not so astonished at
hearing the word, which is very similar in most languages, as in
hearing the voice that uttered that word, since, undoubtedly, it was
the voice of an Englishman.
Turning in the direction whence the sound came, Bevill did not see any
person whatever. But what he did see was the short, squat, unbrowned
barrel of a musquetoon projecting through the interstices of a
quickset hedge and covering him. A moment later the voice of the
invisible owner of it repeated:
"Halt, will you, or shall I put a plum into you?"
In absolute fact, Bevill had halted at the first injunction; but, on
hearing the above words delivered in a most unmistakably English tone
of voice, he said:
"My friend, you will pay me no such compliment as that. Since we
happen to be countrymen----"
"Countrymen!" the voice exclaimed now. "And so I think, in truth, we
must be. Yet, countryman, are you mad? Have you escaped out of some
Dutch Bedlam to be roaming about here alone?"
"No more mad than you who cry out to one who may be a Frenchman to
halt. Come out of that hedge and let me see you. What regiment are you
of?"
"What regiment? The Tangier Horse--the Royal Dragoons, as we are now
called.[3] What matters the name so long as the fruit is good!" the
speaker said, as now he came out of a little wicket gate in the hedge
and advanced toward where Bevill sat his horse. As he did so, however,
he still held his musquetoon in such a manner that he could have fired
its charge into the other's body at any instant.
"What are you doing here?" the latter asked, while recognising by the
man's accoutrements and banderole that he was undoubtedly that which
he stated himself to be. "Is," he continued, "your regiment near here?
Or any portion of our army? If not, you must be mad to betray yourself
to one who might belong to the present controllers of all this
neighbourhood."
"That," the trooper replied respectfully, since he saw that he had a
gentleman to deal with, and one who, though he wore no signs of being
an officer, might very well be one, "you had best ask my captain and
the lieutenant. They are breaking their fast in the inn."
"Your captain and lieutenant? Great heavens! Almost might I ask if
they too, if all of you, are demented. Here, in this place, surrounded
on all sides, garrisoned everywhere, by the enemy!"
"They are as like, sir, to go harmless as you. And we have a picket
near. The enemy cannot get near us without our being warned in time to
escape. We are spying out the land."
"Lead me to the officers," Bevill said.
Upon which the trooper motioned to him to dismount and leave his horse
and follow him through the little orchard, out of which he had
descended to the road. "They are," he said, "at the back of the
house." While, as he did so, he repeated himself and said, "We are
spying out the land, but wish no one to spy on us."
A burst of low, suppressed laughter reached Bevill's ears as now,
after tying La Rose's reins to a stake in the quickset hedge, he drew
near to the spot where the man had said the officers were. A burst of
laughter, suddenly hushed by one who formed the group, as he said,
"Silence! Silence! Here comes some stranger. If 'tis a Frenchman by
chance----"
[Illustration: "'He is no Frenchman,' Bevill answered for himself."]
"He will not be a Frenchman or any other man long, unless he is of
us."
"He is no Frenchman," Bevill answered for himself as he reached the
grass plot, on which several officers sat round a table, and while
taking off his hat in salutation as he did so; "but, instead, an
Englishman. One who was once an officer of cavalry like yourselves,
and hopes to be one again ere long."
"One who was an officer and hopes to be one again! One who _was!_ Pray
sir, of what regiment?" the older of the group asked.
"Of the Cuirassiers. By name, Bevill Bracton."
"Bevill Bracton? You are Bevill Bracton? The man who trounced that
insolent Dutchman for traducing our calling? The man who was broken
for doing so?" And the speaker held out his hand.
"The same. Yet one who is not yet quit of him. He is now a spy in the
pay of the French, and at Antwerp he almost betrayed me, and so again
last night at St. Trond."
"And this time you killed him?"
"No. He disappeared. Something doubtless befell him--though not at my
hands--since I passed safely out of the town half an hour ago."
After which, since Bevill's exploit of nearly killing Sparmann for his
insolence more than two years ago had brought him into considerable
notoriety (of an enviable character) with the whole of the army, while
the harshness of the unpopular William of Orange in removing him from
it had been very adversely commented on, these men, thrown so
curiously together, began to discuss their affairs.
"Yet," said Bevill, as they commenced to "I pray you let your corporal
keep watch and ward over the road leading from St. Trond past here.
From out of the town will come ere long a travelling coach containing
a lady and her servants----"
"What? Are English ladies travelling here, too, at such a time as
this? And have you become a squire of dames? Pray, who can the daring
lady be?"
"The lady is not English!"
"Oh. I protest! Surely, much as we are grappled to these good
Hollanders, there is no need for a British officer, as you have been
and will be again, to become a knight errant to their comely
womankind."
"Nay. To be brief, the lady is a Frenchwoman. Ah! I beseech you,"
Bevill continued, "do not misunderstand me."
"'Tis very strange!"
"'Tis very simple. Listen, gentlemen. I go to help a young lady, a
ward of my Lord Peterborough's----"
"What! A ward of Mordanto's!" the captain exclaimed, with a laugh.
"The knight-errant _par excellence!_"
"The very same. He is my cousin--or, rather, I should say in all
respect that I am his. I go to help this young lady to leave Liége in
safety, and to escort her first to the English lines, and afterwards,
if I can compass it, to England."
"She must be the only English lady there now. For very sure, if you
get into Liége you will also be the only Englishman in it."
"It may be so--for a time. Yet, for certain, Liége must fall to us ere
long. It is a place to be possessed of."
"But the Frenchwoman!" one of the younger officers exclaimed. "The
Frenchwoman?"
"She is a wayside companion--one whom I came to know at an inn we both
sojourned at. A widow, grave, serious, and withal somewhat young. A
serious-minded woman. Some slight assistance I rendered her on the
road 'twixt Louvain and that place," nodding towards St. Trond, "and
since then I ride as her escort. Yet, in solemn truth, my mind is
teased; for, French though she is beyond all doubt, and deemed me to
be the same at first----"
"At first! And now?"
"Now she has discovered by some tone or trick of accent--I having the
French well enough in ordinary since my father, Sir George Bracton,
dwelt in Paris, and I was brought up and schooled there--that I am
none. Yet, it may be, she knows not that I am English; but still--but
still she has asked me if I know of the movements of my lords Athlone
and Marlborough. If I can tell her when our army will draw near to
Liége, when it will come, where it is now----"
"Tell her nothing," the captain said decisively. "She is a spy."
"No; she is no spy, I will be sworn. The cunning of spies harbours not
behind such clear eyes or so honest a face as hers. If she is aught
she should not be, and still I almost reproach myself for dreaming of
such a thing, she is a woman who by some injustice, some wickedness
done to her, is false to her own country, to France. Listen,
gentlemen. This woman, the Comtesse de Valorme, desires one thing
above all."
"What is it!" everyone of the dragoons asked in the same breath.
"To be brought to Marlborough or Athlone as soon as may be. How, then,
shall she be a spy on us?"
"Upon a pretext to see one of these generals, upon seeing them, she
might discover much," the lieutenant said; "yet she is but a sorry
fool if she dreams of speaking with either of them or learning aught.
Bah! Athlone--Ginkell--would offer her a glass of his native schnapps,
bow before her with heavy, stolid grace, call her, 'Zhére Matam la
Gondesse,' and tell her nothing. While as for my Lord Marlborough----"
"Ay, my Lord Marlborough!" Bevill said. "Marlborough!"
"He would receive her with infinite grace. Doubtless, he would kiss
her hand with the most engaging look on his handsome face. Also, he
would let her think that he esteemed himself well fortuned in being
able to place himself and all the army at her disposal, and--he also
would do nothing. A man with the sweetest disposition in all the
world, one bred a courtier from his youth, one who has been a French
soldier himself, who knows France as other Englishmen know their
native hamlet, will not be hoodwinked by any scheming Frenchwoman."
"She is no schemer, or, if she is, it is against her own land," Bevill
exclaimed. "Oh! if I knew, if I could divine what reason there may be
for any French, in such times as these, to look to the English for
help and support! Gentlemen, you have been long on this foreign
service. Have you heard no word? Can any French, any portion of
France, be hoping for help from us against their own selves?"
But the officers could tell him nothing. They had, indeed, been abroad
some time, but that time had been passed only in the Netherlands. They
did not know--it was impossible they should know--that far away in the
South, whose shores and golden sands were laved by the soft waters of
the Mediterranean, things were being done that were turning honest,
faithful subjects into rebels. They did not know that homes were being
rendered desolate, children made orphans, and parents childless; that
the nobles were escaping, where possible, to other lands; that the
working classes were being succoured in Clerkenwell and Spitalfields,
beneath the Swiss snows and on the burning shores of Africa.
Therefore, they could neither think nor dream of what might be the
cause--if there were any such!--which could make this woman of the
French aristocracy false to France.
But now the trooper came back to where they sat with Bevill, and
stated that a great travelling coach was coming slowly along, it
having evidently issued from out St. Trond, which lay round a bend of
the road. Upon which Bevill, wishing them a hasty farewell and
exchanging swift handshakes with them, mounted La Rose.
"God speed!" they all cried out to him. "God speed" and "_Fortune de
la guerre!_" while the youngest exclaimed, in boyish enthusiasm, "If
you creep into Liége and cannot find your way forth again, keep ever a
brave heart. We shall be near; we, or some of us, will have you out."
"And, 'ware _les beaux yeux_ of Madame la Comtesse," the captain
called.
"And those of the ward of my Lord Peterborough," said the lieutenant.
"'There is more danger,'" cried the youngest, misquoting, "'in one
look of theirs than twenty of our foemen's swords,' as Betterton says
as Romeo."
"So, monsieur le Mousquetaire--_monsieur mon cousin_, Le Blond," the
Comtesse with emphasis said, as now Bevill rode back to the carriage
and took up his usual position by the window, "you can speak English
when you desire."
"Yes, madame, when I desire. I hope the sound of that tongue is not
offensive to madame."
"An Englishman," the Comtesse replied, her calm, clear eyes upon him,
"should ever speak the tongue he loves best--even as a valiant knight
is ever knightly, no matter what his land may be."