Chapter X: Part 10

Harry had for some time been itching for an opportunity of active service in his new calling. Garrison life, with its drilling and exercising, was all very well, and he had much to learn; but the business of a soldier was to fight, and he was eager to take his share in the campaign, on the issue of which so many important interests depended. His chance came at last, and though the result was too tame for his active spirit, he felt that it was at least a beginning.

At the end of the first week in September his regiment received orders to join a corps forming under General Brulau to begin the investment of Limburg, a little hill-town south-east of Breda. On the 10th the force of twenty-four squadrons encamped before the town, cutting off all access, and occupying the approaches and the lower town without resistance. Some ten days later the Duke of Marlborough arrived with his main force; batteries played night and day on the upper town, and made so wide a breach that orders were given for a grand assault. At this point, however, the French commander, seeing the futility of resistance and the hopelessness of relief from the outside, beat a parley, and in less than twenty-four hours agreed to surrender. On the 28th the garrison of 1400 men laid down their arms and marched out. The duke, having taken possession of the place, announced that the campaign was closed, and the army would at once go into winter quarters. Harry therefore returned to Breda without having drawn his sword, and had to reconcile himself to the thought of a long winter of inaction.

One morning a messenger came to him from Mynheer Grootz, bearing a present of tea and Japanese ware from the merchant to Madame de Vaudrey, part of a cargo from the east which had eluded the French warships and privateers that scoured the narrow seas. Since the incident of Polignac's discomfiture at Lindendaal, Grootz had been assiduous in paying little attentions of this kind to the ladies, and often sought Harry's aid in conveying his presents. Harry was somewhat amused at this amiable side of his former employer's character; Grootz was not on the surface a likely squire of dames. No doubt, Harry thought, he was anxious about the welfare of the ladies in their solitary position, with no master of the house, but only a number of faithful though not too intelligent servants. He was nothing loth to be the medium through whom these gifts reached Madame de Vaudrey, and he found that Fanshawe was always very ready to accompany him on these and other occasions.

It happened that on this day Harry was on duty, and saw no opportunity of getting away until the evening. Having been absent from Breda for nearly three weeks, he was anxious to learn how things were at Lindendaal. The proximity of Polignac always gave him some uneasiness, and though that gentleman's hold on the ladies had been effectually snapped, Harry felt by no means sure that he would accept his rebuffs as final. He therefore sent for Sherebiah, and ordered him to ride over with Mynheer Grootz's parcel. Sherebiah's eagerness to set off amused his master.

"You want to see Katrinka--is that it?" he said.

"Well, sir, her do have a good hand at griddle-cakes, and I ha'n't tasted ne'er a one for three weeks."

"'Tis cupboard love, eh, Sherry?"

"The truth on't is, Master Harry, I be a-thinken o' old gaffer at home. He's had a deal of trouble wi' maids and housekeepers; can't get ne'er a one to cook his bacon to his mind, and besides has a sweet tooth for griddle-cakes. Katrinka be a rare buxom wench; not a beauty, sure, though handsome is as handsome doos; and when I found out her tidy ways and light hand wi' the kickshawses--well, says I, she be the right maid to keep old feyther o' mine above-ground for another ten year."

"Oh! and have you put the matter to Katrinka?"

"There's the rub, sir. Her be in the main willen, but there's a worm in th' apple. The truth on't is, sir, her have high notions."

"Indeed! She wants to be something better than a nurse-cook, eh?"

"Not zackly that, sir; her notions be husband high, sir; her won't make griddle-cakes for feyther o' mine not unless her be his darter, which is a backward way o' sayen, marry me."

"That's terrible, Sherry."

"It med be wuss, Master Harry. I ha'n't no fears myself, but 'tis old feyther I be thinken on. 'Ee see, I'm his boy; though I be forty-five by nature, to his old aged life I be but a younker yet; and I be afeard he'd think me a forrard youth did I venture a word about marryen."

Harry laughed outright.

"Take my advice, Sherry," he said. "If Katrinka's a good girl, get the knot tied; we sha'n't be home again for a year at least; you can break it gently to the old man, and sing the praises of your wife in respect of bacon and girdle-cakes and other housewifely virtues."

"Thank 'ee, sir; and 'ee won't mind if I be a bit late back, 'cos 'twill take a good time to talk over all that wi' Katrinka; her be terrible slow wi' her mind, sir."

"All right! Get along; and you may give her a kiss from me. 'Tis the chubby one, isn't it?"

"True, sir; a apple face, wi' a dimple in the chin, and eyes as blue as her chiney, and hair this side o' red, and----"

"There, there. You're in a bad way, Sherry; go and get it over, man."

Not long after Sherebiah's departure, Fanshawe came in.

"What do you think?" shouted Harry. "That old oddity Sherry is in love with Katrinka, one of the maids at Lindendaal, but was afraid to pop the question lest his father thought him too young. He has gone over to Lindendaal to-day; I fancy 'twill be a settled thing by the time he returns."

"Oh!" Fanshawe appeared somewhat constrained. "The fact is, Harry, I am riding to Lindendaal myself, and I came to see--to ask--that is, have you any message for the ladies?"

"No; as it happens, Sherry is taking them a parcel from Mynheer Grootz.--You've got a new coat, surely?"

"Ay; you see my old one was faded; things bleach soon in this country----"

"And a new hat, I declare!"

"The old one was too vexatious shabby. Then you have no message?"

"No; Sherry conveys my regards. You'll have his company back; I suppose you will be rather late, and 'twill be no bad thing to have a companion; there have been one or two robberies by night on the Helmund road."

Until the evening Harry was fully occupied. The regimental riding-master had begged his assistance in training a number of recruits, and, since example is better than precept, he had been for several hours on horseback, showing the Dutch youths the manage of their steeds. When this was finished he had a turn at the foils with the quarter-master, who had taken a fancy to him, and was wont to declare him one of the best swordsmen in the army. After his evening meal he felt he should like to stretch his legs, and, guessing that Fanshawe and Sherebiah would soon be on the way home, decided to walk out and meet them. It was a fine still evening, the road was dry, and a spin of a couple of miles, as far as a big chestnut-tree that marked the limit of the Sunday promenaders, would pleasantly end the day.

The sun was going down as he left the walls of Breda behind him, throwing a long shadow on the road. He did not hurry his pace, but ambled easily along, musing as a walker will, and paying little heed to things around him. His thoughts were bright and clear, for he was in the pink of physical health, and he felt that Providence was very good to him. It was just a year ago that his father had died, and all the prospect looked black. How strangely things had turned out! The very event that had seemed to fling a pall over his life had really proved the entrance to the career nearest to his heart. He was already impatient for the winter to be over; surely with the next spring the war would be prosecuted more vigorously, and the Dutch authorities would not hang like a drag upon the wheels of Marlborough's plans! He was ambitious, as every young officer must be, to distinguish himself; and in his ambition there was a spice of _amour propre_; he felt that he should dearly like to prove to the great duke himself that he would have done no discredit to his sponsor if his commission had been an English one. But a Dutch cornet, he thought, would have little chance of coming under Marlborough's personal notice; and, after all, what did it matter? Duty was duty, wherever and for whomsoever it was done.

Thus weaving a chain of imaginings, he came to the big solitary tree before he was aware of it. He halted; Fanshawe and Sherebiah were not in sight; the dusk was thickening, and he did not care to walk farther; yet, having come so far, he was loth to go back without them. Surely they could not be long now! Opposite the tree there was a gate into a field. He climbed on to that, and sat with his feet tucked below one of its bars, intending to wait their arrival. From his higher position he now descried two figures in the distance; in another moment he saw that they were horsemen. "Here they are at last!" he thought.

A whimsical idea flashed into his head. They would not expect to see him; he felt sportive, the boyish instinct for fun asserting itself. What if he could surprise the two--dart out on them unawares and make them jump? The tree opposite overhung the road for several yards, its foliage was still fairly thick, for the season had been mild; the autumn frosts and gales had not yet begun; and it would provide ample shelter. He sprang off the gate, ran across the road, leapt the ditch at the side, scaled the trunk with an agility bred of long practice in Wiltshire, and was soon hidden among the leaves, some fourteen feet above the road. He filled his pocket with burrs he found still clinging to the branches, laughing inwardly as he pictured Fanshawe's consternation when he should receive one of those prickly missiles on his head.

Soon he heard the measured beat of the approaching horses. Peering between the leaves, he was disappointed to notice that the riders were not Fanshawe and Sherebiah after all. One of them, a bulky man, had a familiar appearance, the other was masked; but in the first Harry recognized Captain Aglionby, and the second in figure and bearing unmistakably recalled Monsieur de Polignac. Harry wondered what was the meaning of the mask; knowing his men, he had little doubt that some villainy was afoot. His wonder gave way to uneasiness when he found that, instead of passing the tree, they dismounted and stood exactly beneath him. They opened the gate on which he had been seated a few minutes before, and led their horses through into the field, along the stone dike at the edge, and at some distance from the gate, as Harry could just see in the gathering darkness, secured them to the wall, after some difficulty in finding anything to hitch them to. Then they returned to the road, talking in low tones, and looking expectantly up and down.

"'Sdeath!" muttered Aglionby, "what has become of them?"

"Rate encore une fois?" sneered Polignac, inferring the other's meaning from his tone.

"Parbleu!" growled Aglionby, adding in French: "They ought to have been here a quarter of an hour ago. They cannot be long now."

Harry's curiosity was growing. The two men were clearly expecting somebody; for a moment he wondered whether Aglionby was meditating another attempt on Sherebiah, but it could hardly be that, for the captain had looked towards Breda as he spoke, not in the other direction. He listened with all his ears.

"They may as well stay away altogether if the others are here before them. We are only ten minutes ahead."

"Nearer twenty, if you believe me. They were riding slowly when we saw them--a mile behind; and we saved several minutes by the short cut through the wood. There is time yet."

As he spoke, three figures could be dimly seen coming along the road from the direction of Breda. Aglionby and his friend at once shrank back behind the dike, but after a moment's scrutiny, being apparently satisfied, came out again and stood waiting by the side of the road. The three men approaching caught sight of them and hastened their steps, to be received with curses when they reached the spot. One of the men, an Englishman, sullenly defended himself.

"It is all due to that confounded church clock. It has never gone right since Mr. Fanshawe tampered with it. But we are in time, Captain."

"No thanks to you," growled Aglionby. "Where is the rope?"

One of the other men opened a sack he carried, and produced a stout rope some thirty feet long.

"Take one end," said Aglionby, "and fix it to the gatepost; at the top, fool, not the bottom. You, Simmons, take the other end and loop it once round the tree. And quickly, do you hear?"

While the men were obeying his order, Aglionby put on a mask, not, as in Polignac's case, as a precaution against recognition by the hirelings, but by the victims.

By this time Harry's uneasiness had become real alarm. Motionless in the tree, he durst not rustle the leaves to make a peep-hole; he could only judge of what was going on below by the words he heard. It was clear that a carefully planned attack was to be made upon someone; he could not doubt that the someone was Sherebiah; both Polignac and the captain had heavy scores to pay off. Fanshawe would be involved in the same peril. His notion of playing a trick was forgotten; there was serious work for him to do.

"Let the rope lie on the road," he heard Aglionby say, "and you men remain at the tree ready to raise it and draw it taut at my signal."

Harry saw through the scheme in a flash. The rope was to be pulled taut across the road to stop the progress of the horsemen, and in the confusion the victim was doubtless to be attacked, every advantage being on the side of the ambuscaders. And at this moment his ears distinguished the faint distant beat of hoofs on the road.

"Captain," said one of the men, "what if I were to climb the tree and pick them off from above?"

Crouching against the stem Harry felt his heart-beats quicken. The suggestion if promptly acted on would be fatal to the project he had already formed to turn the tables upon the unsuspecting party beneath.

There was a moment's pause. Then another voice in low tones interjected:

"I hear horses on the road."

"No," interposed Polignac, replying rapidly to the man's proposal. "We must have two men at the rope if they are riding abreast; that leaves only three when we stop them; it is easy to miss in this dark night, and they are both ready with their weapons. Remember, there must be no noise; one volley, then cold steel, lest we have the Breda garrison upon us."

Harry wore his sword, and had with him the pistol without which he never stirred abroad. He had been rapidly deciding upon his course. If he was to be of any use, he must warn his friends before they came within range of the ambuscade; yet he durst not fire too soon, for the only result would be to bring them up at a gallop, and they would then almost certainly fall victims. Now that almost complete darkness had fallen, he ventured to make an opening in the foliage and to peer cautiously down.

He saw Aglionby and Polignac on the other side of the road crouching behind the gate-posts. Two men had concealed themselves behind the tree's thick trunk, holding the slack end of the rope; the third waited near them, pistol in hand. Though Harry could not see weapons in the hands of Polignac and Aglionby, he had no doubt that they too had pistols, ready to be used as soon as the riders were brought to a stand-still. On the side overhanging the road, the tree had been lopped of one or two lower branches, but a fairly thick bough ran out on the other side just above the man holding the pistol. Quickly, for time pressed, yet with great caution in order to avoid the slightest noise, Harry crept from his perch over the road, sliding backward down the branch until he reached the trunk. Then, holding his sword lest it clinked against the tree, he straightened himself and turned round, steadying himself with his free hand. One careful step brought him to the fork of the horizontal stem and the parent trunk. He heard the hoof-beats coming very near; the riders could be but a few hundred yards away; fortunately the growing sound was loud enough to drown the slight rustle he could not avoid; and besides, the men below were too much preoccupied with their stratagem to have wits for anything but their advancing victims.

Harry's feet were now wedged somewhat awkwardly; he felt by no means secure, and was for an instant perplexed how to dispose of his sword, for in drawing his pistol with the right hand he would need the left to maintain his equilibrium. He hit on a solution. Grasping the lower part of the scabbard with his knees he prevented it from rattling against the tree trunk; then, resting on his left hand, he bent over to get as clear a view as the circumstances afforded of the man immediately beneath. For a second he hesitated. It went against the grain to fire at the unsuspecting wretch; but the sound of the hoof-beats now certainly within musket-shot banished his hesitation and clinched his resolve. It was life against life: the lives of Fanshawe and Sherebiah against those of the villains ambushing them. Taking careful aim he fired. The cry of the wounded man was smothered by his own shout:

"Stop, Fanshawe! Jump the ditch and make for the tree!"

Without waiting to learn the result of his warning, he sprang round, heedless now of what noise he made, and, swinging by a branch to his right, dropped to the ground just behind the two other men, who had let go of the rope in their alarm and were transfixed with terror and amazement, staring into the black depths of the tree above them. One of them faced round as he heard the thud of Harry's descent. Without pausing to draw his sword Harry hurled himself at the man, hit out at him with all his strength, and felled him to the ground. The other, the first moment of paralysis past, whipped out a pistol and snapped it before Harry had time to recover himself. It missed fire; Harry closed with the man. There was a brief, sharp struggle; in the midst came Sherebiah's voice:

"Where bist, sir, where bist?"

"Here; by the tree; get a grip of this knave!"

At the sound of Sherebiah's voice Harry felt his opponent's efforts relax; the man tried to free himself; but Sherebiah had ridden his horse up to the tree, and bending low from the saddle to distinguish between the combatants, he brought the butt of his pistol down on the man's head. He fell without a groan.

Now Fanshawe dashed up. His horse had slipped at the ditch, thus giving Sherebiah a slight start.

"Two men on the other side of the road," panted Harry. "Follow me!"

Springing across the ditch he gained the other side of the road, and vaulted the gate. Fanshawe and Sherebiah had to dismount to follow him, for the road was too narrow to allow of their leaping the gate. Aglionby and his companion had not waited; discovering that their plan had failed, they had hurried away towards their horses. But they had not gone far. Harry heard a noise ahead; there was a chance of overtaking them before they gained their saddles. He dashed on over the stubble, and soon descried a broad figure lumbering along; from its stertorous breathing he guessed it to be Aglionby, an opinion confirmed immediately by the mingled oaths and entreaties which the captain sent after Polignac, who being lighter of foot had far outstripped his fellow-conspirator. Hearing Harry's step just behind him, Aglionby at length halted, swung round, and fired his pistol. But hard running and breathlessness flurried him and spoilt his aim; the ball whistled harmlessly past. So impetuous had been Harry in pursuit that he had had no time to draw his sword. He struck out at Aglionby, who only half warded the blow, staggering backward and endeavouring to parry this lively attack. Seeing his opportunity, Harry closed and tripped the big man up with a favourite fall taught him by Sherebiah; and Fanshawe coming up with Sherebiah at this moment, Aglionby was secured in a trice.

"That cursed coward!" he spluttered, as they led him back to the road. "Odsnigs! I'll be even with him for this."

"Nay," said Sherebiah, who had him grimly by the collar, "'ee'll never be _even_ wi' un, Rafe Aglionby. Your carcass'll need a longer rope."

"'Tis all a mistake, coz, on my honour," pleaded the captain.

"Don't 'ee coz me, I disown 'ee. I'll see a villain hung; and that'll be no mistake."

"Leave him to me, Sherry," said Harry, "and go and see to the man we hit."

A short examination proved that the man Harry had shot was less seriously wounded than he who had fallen to Sherebiah's pistol-butt. The third man whom Harry had knocked down had escaped in the darkness. The other two, injured as they were, were unable to walk, so Harry had them hoisted on to the horses, where they were held up by Fanshawe and Sherebiah. With Aglionby in his own keeping Harry led the march to Breda. On arriving there, all three prisoners were handed over to the Dutch authorities, and Harry asked Fanshawe to his rooms to talk over this adventure of the road.

"Faith," said Fanshawe, when Harry had explained his presence on the spot, "'twas a mercy you had the thought to walk out. But it passes my understanding why that fellow Aglionby should have been minded to waylay me."

"'Twas not you, 'twas Sherry that was the intended victim. I told you of the neat way he bundled the captain out of Madame de Vaudrey's house; that was only one of several affronts the bully has had to suffer. And I rather suspect that you were mistaken for me."

"How so?"

"'Twas part of the scheme of old Berkeley's to get rid of me; of that I am sure. And the other fellow, the Frenchman, must be pretty sore at his two discomfitures."

"You will, of course, inform against him."

"'Twould be little use, I fear. He was masked; I knew him only by his voice, and my testimony would not suffice to convict him on that ground alone."

"Did Aglionby say nothing as you walked into the town?"

"Nothing. I plied him with questions, but he held an obstinate silence; scarce opened his mouth except to say 'twas all a mistake."

"I am not sure you are right. Don't you think it may have been the Frenchman's plan--to get rid of me?"

"Why of you?"

"Well, you told me he is a suitor for Mademoiselle's hand----"

"What then?"

"He may have looked on me as a rival."

"Come, that's a good joke. You've known Mademoiselle for little better than a month."

"Ah! One can see you're young, Harry, and fancy free; I wish I were. But your Monsieur de Polignac might have spared his pains."

"You're talking in riddles, Fanshawe; speak plain English, man."

"Well, 'twas true."

"What was true?"

"She wouldn't have me."

Harry stared in puzzlement. Then a light dawned, and he smiled.

"You don't mean to say you've been on your knees to Mademoiselle Adele?"

"Indeed I have! By George, Harry! isn't she a splendid creature? But she wouldn't have me: that's all over; life isn't worth living now: I don't care how soon a bullet puts an end to my miserable existence."

Fanshawe sighed lugubriously; Harry laughed.

"Poor fellow! is it so bad as that? She didn't fall a victim to your new coat, then?"

"'Tis all very well for you to laugh. Wait till you suffer just such a rebuff."

"Tell me what you said."

"How do I know what I said? I only know what she said. She dropt me a curtsy, the hussy, and thanked me for the honour, and said she had no mind to a husband and would never wed, but stay with her mother. And then she opened the harpsichord and said: 'Don't let us be children, Monsieur. Sing me that amusing song of yours and be amiable.' And 'pon my word, Harry, I couldn't resist; she has a masterful way; and when her mother came in there was I trolling 'Widdicombe Fair' as if there'd been never a word of love betwixt us."

"Cheer up! you were too sudden. Wait a few months and then try your luck again."

"Never! I know she won't look at me. And take my advice, Harry. If ever you fall in love with a girl, don't make yourself cheap and sing cheerful songs. Egad, if I'd sung dying ditties and sighed like a furnace I might have had a different tale to tell. I'll go to quarters; but I sha'n't sleep; I know I sha'n't; good-night!"

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*A Little Plot*

Father and Son--A Message from Breda--An Afternoon Call--When Greek meets Greek--The Tug of War--Pourparlers--The Merk--Two Men and a Sack--Snatched from the River--Cousin Rafe--Scant Gratitude--A Ray of Light

One afternoon Squire Berkeley sat solitary in his inn at the Hague, warming his lean, withered hands in the blaze of a log fire. The air was cold, and it had been raining heavily for hours. The old man had laid aside his wig; a black velvet skull-cap covered his white hair to the ears; and, clad in the long cassock-like garment of rusty black that he always wore indoors, he might have passed, with his thin haggard cheeks, for an ascetic dignitary of the Church rather than the prosperous lord of an English manor.

He sat in a high-backed chair, staring into the fire. His lips moved as he communed with himself, and the expression of his face showed that his thoughts were none too pleasant. Once or twice he clenched his teeth and brought his closed fist heavily down upon the arm of the chair; he sighed often, and looked the very image of a sad, anxious, embittered man.

Presently the door opened noisily and, with a gust of keen air that made the squire shiver, a young man entered the room. It was Piers Berkeley, the squire's son. He was dressed as usual in the height of fashion, but presented a bedraggled woebegone aspect now, his finery effectually ruined by the rain.

"Split me, father," he cried in a peculiarly high and affected tone of voice, "I'm verily the most wretched man on earth."

"What is the matter?" said the old man, turning half round. "Why have you left your regiment?"

"Why! Stap my vitals, 'tis what I wish to know. I've rid post from Breda through the most villainous rain ever I saw. Look, I'm splashed to the eyes; my third best wig is utterly ruined; the colour of my waistcoat has run; 'twas a heavenly puce, and I'll be even with the tailor, hang him! that swore the colour was fast. As for my new jack-boots--look 'ee, they're not fit for a ploughman. And why! You may well ask."

"Well, you have a reason, I suppose. You want more money for your drunken orgies--is that it?"

"Hark to that, now! Was ever poor wretch so scurvily used by his own father! Why----"

"Come, a truce to your prating. Your reason, sir, and at once."

"A warm welcome, egad! Well, sir, I've a something for you, a billet-doux; ha! ha!"

The squire sprang up with an agility surprising in a man of his years. There was a look of expectancy, almost of joy, in his eyes, and he held forth his hand eagerly.

"Give it me," he said.

"You will deal handsomely by me," said the youth; "consider, 'tis not every son would ride through pelting rain and spoil his garments withal for----"

"Give it me, I say," cried the old man passionately.

Piers took from an inner pocket a letter, sealed with a big red seal. The squire's eyes gleamed as he took it and saw the handwriting of the address; his hand trembled as he tore away the seal and unfolded the paper. Then came a sudden change. The pallor of his cheeks became a deathly white, his features were distorted with rage, he muttered a curse and flung the letter to the floor.

"Gadzooks, 'tis not a billet-doux, then," piped his son, stooping to pick up the paper.

"Let it lie!" shouted the old man. "Lay not a finger on it, you--you puppy!"

"Why, there now," said the youth in an aggrieved tone. "That is all the thanks I get for adventuring myself in the fury of the elements, and ruining past cure as fine a coat as ever was seen in Spring Garden."

"Silence! Hold your foolish tongue! You're a useless fool! You're a scented fop, the mock of every farthing playwright in the kingdom. Heavens! what have I done that I should be cursed with a brainless, senseless coxcomb that can do nothing but squander good money in fal-lals and worse!"

"Odsnigs! 'tis most villainous injustice. I can do many things, egad. I can make a good leg, and trounce a watchman, and pink a cit, and----"

"Out of my sight, out of my sight!" cried the exasperated father, stepping forward with uplifted hand as though to strike the poor fool.

"Zoons! I protest this----"

But he left the sentence perforce unfinished, for the squire caught him by the shoulders and exerting all his strength thrust him from the room, turning the key, and standing for a moment with hand on heart to recover his breath. Then he suddenly opened the door again, caught the young man before he had gone three steps, swung him round, and holding him in a firm grip said:

"See that you say nothing of this. You know nothing of that man, that Aglionby, except that you met him on the packet-boat; you hear me? Presuming on that acquaintance he sought your assistance; you have wit enough to remember that? And you are not to go near him again."

"Egad, I've no wish to. Once is enough. A prison cell is no place for me. I had to hold my nose; and egad, to use a whole bottle of scent afterwards."

The old man pushed him contemptuously away, returned to his room, and again locked the door. He picked up the letter, sat down in his chair, and, crouching there, seemed to have shrunk even to less than his former meagre bulk. He read the letter again. It ran:--

"SIR,

"Fate is against me. In pursuit of the Businesse you wot of, I am at this present layd by the heels, in Jail, under sentence to be Hang'd. Young Rochester & my Cozen have done it. 'Tis nessessarie for you to pulle me out of this Hole, & speedilie, or _I'll tell All I knowe_. The Meanes I leave to you; I advize to comunicate with Mr de Poliniac at his house in the Plein; he will helpe: he has _Goode Reasone_, for at a Worde from me he'll _swing too_. No more at this Present from yr humble

"RALPH AGLIONBY.

"P.S.--I knew your Sonne was in Breda. He _knowes Nothing_."

The squire tore up the paper and flung the pieces on the fire. For a few moments he sat in thought; then he rose and went into an ante-room, returning soon in his outdoor attire--wig, cocked hat, and long cloak. A few minutes later he was walking at a brisk pace through the rain towards the house mentioned in Aglionby's letter. He knocked at the door; there was no answer; the green shutters were closed, the house had the appearance of being shut up for the season. He knocked again, and yet again, with growing vehemence, attracting the attention of passers-by. At length the door was opened for a few inches. Mr. Berkeley pushed it, but it was on the chain.

"Qu'est-ce que Monsieur demande?" said a voice.

"Monsieur de Polignac."

"Monsieur is not within," said the same voice in English, the speaker having detected the squire's nationality by his accent.

"Where is he?"

"Pardon, Monsieur, I am not sure where my master is at this moment; but if Monsieur will leave a message----"

Something in the man's manner assured Mr. Berkeley that he was lying.

"Look 'ee, my man," he said sternly, "I counsel you to bethink yourself. I will walk for five minutes, in the rain; you will have time to acquaint your master that an English gentleman whose name is probably unknown to him desires to see him on a very urgent matter--in the interest, mark you, of himself. An urgent matter, mark you. In five minutes I will return."

On returning Mr. Berkeley was instantly admitted. The manservant, cowering beneath his stern look, led him meekly to a room off the hall, where he found Polignac in long cloak and jack-boots, evidently on the point of departing on a journey. The squire gave him a keen glance, and was not surprised to find that it was the same man whom he had met at the door of Aglionby's attic some months before.

"Monsieur de Polignac?" he said.

"That is my name, Monsieur."

"My name is Berkeley. I met you at Aglionby's. It is for him I come. I desire a word with you."

"I am at your service, Monsieur. Shall we be private?"

"It will doubtless be better so."

Polignac shut the door, and offered Mr. Berkeley a seat.

"Thank you, I will stand; I need not detain you long."

"As you please, Monsieur."

"You have heard, Monsieur, of the plight into which our friend Captain Aglionby has fallen?--I say _our_ friend."

"I will not dispute the phrase, Monsieur. I had heard, as you surmise."

"Pardon me--as he is our friend--am I right in assuming that the news may have some little connection with your purposed journey?"

"Since, as you say, he is _our_ friend, I do not deny it, Monsieur."

"So that it will be, let us say, not disagreeable to you if some means of--of cheating the hangman--I am a plain blunt man, Monsieur--should be discovered?"

"Pardon me, Monsieur, I do not follow you."

Mr. Berkeley looked at him keenly.

"I have had a letter from our friend," he said slowly.

"And I also, Monsieur."

"He solicits my assistance."

"And mine."

"I came at once to see you."

"And I, Monsieur, leave at once for Paris."

"Ah!"

Polignac, leaning against the window-frame, had an inscrutable smile upon his face.

"I will sit down," said Mr. Berkeley, placing a chair with its back to the door; "I find our interview will last a little longer than I looked for."

"As you please, Monsieur. You will permit me?"

Polignac seated himself at the table.

"It appears, Monsieur," said the squire, "that I should have said _my_ friend."

"Again, Monsieur, I will not dispute the phrase. His family estates join yours, I understand?"

"What?"

"I do not know; I only repeat what your friend told me."

"Yes, I understand," said Mr. Berkeley hurriedly, feeling that by his unguarded exclamation he had lost one point in the game. "Not precisely adjoin, but the phrase is sufficiently exact: we are neighbours."

"And naturally you are concerned at the hapless situation into which your neighbour's evil star has brought him."

"That is so, Monsieur."

"Especially seeing that his evil star's influence extends also to you; is it not so?"

"As a neighbour and friend, you mean, Monsieur?"

"No, I do not mean that. I cannot say, like you, Monsieur, that I am a plain blunt man, but I think with small effort you will understand my meaning. I put myself in your place. Suppose, I tell myself, a neighbour of mine, whom I had found useful, had in the course of some enterprise on my behalf been so unlucky as to come into the grip of the law; naturally I should feel deeply concerned in his fate, and certainly I should do all in my power to save him, especially if I knew that the said enterprise was one that the law would look unkindly on. Such would be my sentiments, Monsieur, and I do not suppose myself different from other men."

"The case is so well put, Monsieur, that it would seem to fit your situation to a nicety."

"Appearances are then deceitful, Monsieur. Strange to say, I had the same thought with regard to you. Your friend the captain is not a hero, certainly not a martyr, and even though a few vindictive words at the last would not save his neck, yet to a man of his disposition it would sweeten his end to know that another shared his fate."

Mr. Berkeley had been growing visibly restive. How much did this suavely malicious Frenchman know? He dared not question him plainly.

"You speak, Monsieur, of a few vindictive words. It is clear to me that Aglionby has threatened you----"

"And I care not a jot for his threats," interrupted Polignac. "As you are aware, I am about to depart for Paris; eh bien! Monsieur le Capitaine's threats will not reach me there."

"But if I save him, Monsieur?"

Polignac's mouth twitched.

"He is a vengeful man," pursued the squire. "I should have no object in concealing from him your notions of the obligations of friendship; and since it appears that you, on your side, permit yourself to talk of an 'enterprise' and 'the grip of the law', does it not occur to you that the captain, and I myself as his friend, might make things--well, very unpleasant for you? And remember, you are not in Paris yet."

There was a moment's silence, taking advantage of which Mr. Berkeley leant forward and, tapping Polignac's knee, added:

"Come, Monsieur, let us understand one another. It is to my interest that Captain Aglionby should not die--by the hangman; it is to your interest--correct me if I am wrong--that he should not live, or you will find this country shut to you. Our interests appear to clash; but is it not possible--I throw out the suggestion--to reconcile them--to gain both our ends?"

Polignac smiled.

"Let us talk as friends, Monsieur," he said.

An hour passed before Mr. Berkeley left the house. It was still raining, but his gloomy expression had given place to one of fierce satisfaction. Polignac bade him a cordial adieu at the door, and as soon as he was gone called his servant.

"Antoine," he said, "unsaddle my horse. I do not ride to-day."

One evening, at dusk, Harry Rochester, whom no experience could cure of his habit of taking solitary strolls, was seated on a bridge spanning the Merk at a short distance outside Breda. His thoughts were anything but pleasant. Aglionby and his associates, though defended by the sharpest criminal lawyer in Holland, had been condemned to death, and the execution had been fixed for the morrow. Harry knew that the captain richly deserved his fate; his action in betraying his cousin Sherebiah in itself put him beyond the pale of pity, to say nothing of his persistent offences against Sherebiah's master, which Harry was more ready to forgive. But despicable as the man was, Harry, almost in spite of himself, felt a certain compassion for him. He had learnt from Sherebiah something of his history. His mother, old Gaffer Minshull's sister, had died when Ralph was very young, heart-broken by her husband, one of Cromwell's Ironsides, yet a hypocrite of the most brutal type. Aglionby had received a fair education, but had run wild from boyhood, and as a mere youth had decamped or been driven from his father's house and gone out into the world to seek his fortune. Sherebiah had lost sight of him for years; suddenly he had reappeared at Winton St. Mary, seared with travel and hard faring, and full of stories of adventure and prowess in all parts of Europe, especially in the service of the Czar of Muscovy. Harry knew as much as Sherebiah of his subsequent career, and shared the surprise of the whole village at the strangely close acquaintanceship between the captain and the squire.

This was the man who was to die next day, and Harry, sitting on the bridge, one hand clasping his knee, almost wished that he had let the villain go. He had been brought up in the worst school; all his life long he had been an Ishmael, his hand against every man, every man's hand against him. His mother had been a Minshull: surely there was some seed of good in him; mayhap his villainies were only the desperate expedients of a man who had no means of livelihood; certainly he could have no cause of enmity against Harry, and his machinations must be put down to the man who employed him. His approaching fate weighed also upon Sherebiah, who had for days gone about with restlessness and anxiety printed upon his usually jocund face. Certainly the good fellow had no reason to love Aglionby, but after all they were of the same blood, and Sherry appeared to fear keenly the shame and disgrace.

Looking over the glooming river, idly watching the rolling water and the scattered buildings upon the bank, Harry suddenly perceived a small door open in the face of a store or warehouse some few yards to his left. The door was some thirty feet above the river, and gave upon a narrow platform to which goods were hoisted by a crane from barges below. As the door opened, inwards, a head appeared. The owner looked for some time up and down the river, over which darkness was fast falling. All was quiet; no traffic was passing; no craft indeed was to be seen save one small boat, moored to a post on the bank some yards on the other side of the bridge.

The head disappeared, but immediately afterwards two men emerged from the doorway, coming sideways through the narrow opening. Between them they carried a large sack which their exertions showed to be heavy. They came to the edge of the platform; they laid their burden down; then, giving a quick look around, with one push they toppled it over, and it fell with a sounding plump into the water. It disappeared below the surface; after a moment the two men returned into the warehouse, and the door was shut.

The rivers were such common receptacles of rubbish that Harry would not have given a second thought to this incident but for a certain furtiveness in the manner of the two men. He wondered what the sack contained. All at once he saw it reappear on the surface, several yards nearer to him; the stream was flowing fast in his direction.

"'Tis maybe a superfluous dog," he thought, for only an animal was likely to rise after such an immersion. Yet it was large for a dog.

The sack came steadily towards him: it was about to pass under the single arch of the bridge: he leant over to watch it: and with a start of amazement saw dimly a white human face. At that same moment the bundle sank again. Harry could not know whether it was man or woman, whether alive or dead, but without an instant's hesitation he ran to the other parapet, sprang on it, and dived into the river. A drowning man rises three times, he had heard; perhaps there was a chance to save this poor wretch, whoever it might be, and foil his murderers.

Coming to the surface with a gasp, he looked around for any sign of the dark bundle, fearing lest in the blackness of the encroaching night he might lose it altogether. For some seconds he saw nothing; then, a few yards away, it bobbed up. Three or four vigorous strokes brought the swimmer to it just as it was going down once more. He seized it with his left hand and, supporting the head above the water, made for the bank, luckily no more than seven or eight yards distant. He hauled the heavy object up the sodden slope, stooped down to examine it, and saw that it was a man tied up to the neck, and with a gag about his mouth. It was the work of a moment to tear away the gag. He placed his hand over the man's heart: did it still beat? He could not tell; all feeling seemed to be deadened within him by his excitement and strain. The man made no sound or movement. Harry shivered and thought he must be dead; of the means to resuscitate a half-drowned man he knew nothing.

A few seconds passed; then he heard hasty footsteps behind him, and turned just as Sherebiah sprang down the slope. The faithful fellow had been again playing his part of watch-dog; he had seen Harry's plunge into the river, and raced round the embankment in alarm.

"Fecks, you give me a jump, sir," he panted. "What's amiss?"

"Ah! Sherry, look; 'tis a man, in a sack; the poor wretch is drowned, I fear."

"'Tis murder then. Let's see, sir."

He stooped down, cut the fastenings of the sack, and pulled it off the body.

"Now sir, lend a hand. Fust thing is to pour the water out of un."

"He was gagged, Sherry."

"Then that saves our time. A gagged man can't ship many gallons o' water. Leave un to me, sir."

He quickly opened the man's coat and vest, bent over him, and pressed heavily beneath his lower ribs. Then he sprang back, and again bent forward and pressed. After repeating these movements several times, he went to the man's head, took his arms and pulled them back till they met behind, then jerked them forward upon his breast. A gurgling sound came from the man's lips.

"He be alive, sir," cried Sherebiah. "Another minute or two and we'll have un on his feet."

A great sigh escaped from the prostrate form.

"Well done, master," said Sherebiah, ceasing from his exertions. "You've got your breath again, thanks be. Now, take your time, and don't get up till 'ee feel disposed: only bein' drippen wet the sooner you be dry the better, so----Sakes alive! Master Harry, 'tis my good-for-nothen cousin Rafe Aglionby, and no one else."

"Good heavens!"

"Rafe, man, can 'ee open your eyes? 'Tis me and Mr. Rochester; you be safe."

Both Harry and Sherebiah were now stooping over the captain. His eyes opened; the same choking sound came from his lips. For some minutes he lay gasping, wriggling, endeavouring vainly to rise, the others watching him the while with mixed feelings. His recovery of consciousness was slow: at last his movements ceased, he heaved a great sigh and looked up with intelligence.

"How be'st come to this?" asked Sherebiah. "Thowt 'ee was ripe for hangman this time, coz."

"Rot you!" spluttered the captain, struggling to his feet. "Hands off! Shall I never be quit of you!"

"Zooks! That's your thanks! Come, Rafe, blood's thicker nor water, as 'ee said yourself: you've broke prison sure enough, but they'll be after 'ee afore mornen. Mr. Rochester ha' saved 'ee from drownen, but you must put a few miles betwixt 'ee and hangman afore you can rest easy. How be'st come to this, man?"

"Let me go, I tell you."

"But you be drippen wet, Rafe; you'll cotch your death o' cold;--and faith, so will Master Harry. Better get home, sir, and change your things."

"No hurry, Sherry. Captain Aglionby, believe me, you must make yourself scarce. You've done me many an ill turn, for what reason I know not. But that's past now; I have no wish to give you up to the hangman. There's a boat moored to the bank a few yards down: you had better take that, and row through the night. Sherry, you're dry; change clothes with the captain."

"I'll have none of his clothes. I'll take the boat. Out of my way!"

Escaping from Sherebiah's grasp, Aglionby stumbled away in the direction of the boat, the other two watching him in silence until the darkness swallowed him.

"Unthankful viper!" muttered Sherebiah.

"To save a foe's life is an injury never forgiven," said Harry with a shrug. "I'm shivering, Sherry: let us get back."

"Ay sure. But I'd like to know what be the true meanen o' this. To be saved out o' jail and then chucked into river--why, in a manner o' speaken 'tis out o' fryen-pan into fire. One thing 'tis sure: my coz Rafe bean't born to be hanged nor drownded neither: question is, will it be pison or a dagger-end? But you be mortal cold, true; we'll home-along, sir."

They returned to the city, and were passing a large inn in the market-place when Harry suddenly touched Sherebiah on the arm.

"Sherry, you see that man at the door of the coach there? 'Tis one of the men I saw fling Aglionby into the river. I know him by his cap."

"I' feck, we'll have a nearer sight on un, and see who he be speaken to in coach. Keep close, sir, and we'll take a peep at 'em unbeknown."

Crossing to the other side of the street, and keeping well in the darkness, they quickly made their way towards the coach, and reached a position whence, by the light of the inn lamp, they could see into it without being seen. Each turned to the other in silence, astonishment and conviction in their eyes. The occupants of the coach were two: Mr. Berkeley and Monsieur de Polignac. It was to the latter that the man at the door was speaking. They were clearly at the end of their conversation; the man touched his cap and withdrew, and as the coach drove off, a look of gratification shone in the faces of its two occupants.

"What do you make of that, Sherry?"

"Make on't! 'tis plain as a pikestaff. Dead men tells no tales; that's what I make on't, sir. Rafe Aglionby knows a mort too much for they two high-liven villains; that's where 't is: they got un out o' jail to stop his tongue at scaffold foot, and then pitched un in the river to cool it for ever. 'Tis a mortal pity we let un go, sir, for't seems to me we ought to know what he knows, and get to the bottom o' the squire's desperate work agen you. But you always was a tender-hearted Christian, like your feyther afore 'ee."

"I couldn't let murder be done before my very eyes, Sherry."

"Ah, you'll have to see wuss now you be a man o' war, sir. Well, 'tis heapen coals of fire on his yead, as the Book says, and mebbe Them above'll reward 'ee for't; ay, so."

*CHAPTER XIX*

*Marlborough's March to the Danube*

A Foreigner at the Hall--War Again--Good-bye!--Comparisons--Up the Rhine--A Bold Stroke--Marlborough's Way--Despatches--A Mission to Eugene--Fanshawe Missing--The Road to Innsprueck--Zum Grauen Baeren--Mein Wirth--Breakfast at Three--The Second-best Room--A Trap-Door--Midnight Visitors--A Hasty Toilet--A Sound on the Stairs--Through the Copse--Stampede--The Lieutenant of the Guard--At Obermiemingen--The Little Abbe--Max Berens--A Surprise Visit--Mein Wirth Explains--Injured Innocence--In the Net--Hobson's Choice--The Missing Messengers--In Terrorem

No soldier worth his salt ever endured the long idleness of winter quarters patiently, and Harry Rochester was not an exception to the rule. As the weary months passed slowly by, he grew tired of the endless drilling and exercising, varied by marching and sham fights. He was very popular with his captain, Willem van der Werff, and the other officers of the regiment, but found himself unable to take much interest in their amusements. Beer-drinking was not to his taste; the Dutch comedies performed at the theatres were dull, and the paternal government prohibited the performance of lighter French pieces. As the winter drew on he had opportunities of skating, and became so proficient as to win a prize at a regimental match; but the frost was not of long duration. He was not a fellow to allow time to hang on his hands. He practised broadsword and sabre with Sherebiah, read a great deal of Dutch, studied all the military histories on which he could lay hands, and spent many an hour poring over maps until he had the geography of all central Europe at his finger-ends.