Over the heads of these combatants, the cannoniers of Sir Andrew Gray fired briskly on the yellow standard, according to a treacherous arrangement made secretly between Huntly and Campbell of Lochnell, who bore a mortal enmity to Argyle, for having slain his brother Campbell of Calder in 1592; and, being next heir to the earldom, he saw with ambitious hope and joy the ordnance fire on that peculiar banner which marked the post of his chief; but, lo! a misdirected shot raked the ranks of Lochnell himself, and that deep-witted duinewassal was the first whom it cut in two. The next ball killed M'Neil of Barra, and the third wounded John Grant of Corriemonie.
From the brow of a steep eminence, the M'Leans poured volley after volley with their arquebusses on Huntly's desperate troop, until Sir Patrick Gordon of Auchindoune dashed up, and fell amongst them with a few horsemen; but then the M'Leans slung their fire-arms behind them, and repelled the troopers by the claymore, embowelling the horses by dirk and skene-dhu, and slaying the riders as they were tumbled prone to the earth; and there died the brave Auchindoune, pierced by fifty wounds. His knights fought blindly in a dark cloud; for the smoke of the cannon and arquebusses filled the whole glen, while their reports rang among the mountain peaks with a thousand echoes.
In dark sreen tartans, bare-legged and bare-armed, with their targets slung behind them, and their claymores swayed by both hands, the Campbells poured down in thousands like a torrent upon the devoted band of Huntly, whose daring horsemen broke into two bodies, one led by himself, the other by the high constable, who was severely wounded, and desperately they fought, with all the fury that Highland valour, feudal hatred, and religious rancour could inspire; and thus for two hours the battle raged in that narrow glen, till Argyle, observing that his main body wavered, ordered John Grant of Gartenbeg, with his column, consisting of a thousand men of his own name, to "advance and sweep the Catholics from the field."
Clad in scarlet tartan, with helmets and cuirasses of steel, and targets of burnished brass, this body, which had not been engaged otherwise than suffering from the cannonade, was advancing to end the contest, when their leader, who in secret was an ally of Huntly, and a well-wisher to the Catholic cause, threw his target over his shoulder, sheathed his claymore, and cried—
"To the mountains! to the mountains!" on which the Grants, with the whole left wing, gave way, and retireden massetowards the hills. Thus Kenneth Logie, who had long curbed his impatience, found himself alone, and in one moment more was involved among the advancing tide of Huntly's desperate horsemen, who, fighting every foot of the way, with the earl's torn banner fluttering above them, were hewing a passage over a field strewed with clansmen, whose tartans were drenched in blood. Nothing could surpass the bravery on both sides; one fighting for glory—the other for their lives, honour, and religion.
In the heat of the conflict, Lord Huntly had his horse shot under him, and Halbert Gordon, who, with all his faults, was brave as a lion, quickly slew Campbell of Auchinbreck, and remounted the earl on that gentleman's steed. At that moment, Kenneth Logie, who, with the coolness of a spectator, had been watching the conflict, reserving his strength and his wrath for Gordon, uttered a wild yell of rage and grief, and rushed upon him. They both wore open helmets, and, recognising each other, encountered at once, bridle to bridle, and hand to hand, with a savage and sombre fury, which rendered them quite oblivious of the battle that raged like a storm around them. They had not a breath for insult or invective; their teeth were set; their eyes were full of fire; they both hovered on the brink of eternity, and each saw nothing but his enemy.
"Forhersake, blessed Lord, direct my hand!" prayed Kenneth, and it seemed as if that voiceless prayer had been heard; for at the very moment his sword passed through the breast of Gordon, who fell forward across the saddle of his victor.
"Dog!" exclaimed the latter, seizing him relentlessly by the throat; "dog, and son of a dog, dost thou repent her death?"
"I do," gasped Gordon, almost choked in his blood; "sorely I do; but that fatal bullet was for thee—for thee—and not for her!"
"Would to Heaven thine aim had been more true! Lily," cried Kenneth, looking upward, "I have avenged thee."
"And thus I avenge myself!" exclaimed Gordon, as, with the last energy apparently of life, he twice buried his dagger in the body of Kenneth, and they fell together from their horses on the slippery field.
Gordon was supposed to be dead—but evil spirits do not pass so readily from among us.
Kenneth was borne away by a few of the Campbells; but he seemed to be in a dying state.
By this time Argyle, notwithstanding the vast superiority of his forces, had lost the battle, and Huntly was victorious. Disheartened by the treachery of the Grants and Lochnell, the Calvinists gave way in every direction; and though the brave M'Leans did all that mortal men could do to retrieve the falling fortune of the day, Huntly's horsemen drove them pell-mell beyond the rugged brook of Altconlachan, from whence the clansmen retreated to those steep mountains, up which mailed troopers could never pursue them. There, in the obscurity of the night, far down below in Glenlivat, they heard the trumpets sounding, as they summoned the Hays and the Gordons around their leaders, and all dismounted to kneel on that bloody field, where they solemnly sangTe Deum Laudamus.
Argyle left his two cousins Lochnell and Auchinbreck, the Laird of Barra, and five hundred men, dead in the valley; while Huntly lost only the Knight of Auchindoune, the Laird of Gicht, and a score or two of troopers.
Such was the Highland battle of Balrinnes or Glenlivat, which struck terror into the Scottish Protestants, and where Argyle lost his famous yellow banner, which was borne with other trophies into the Garioch, and placed on the summit of Huntly's castle of Strathbogie.
Abandoned by the Campbells in their hurried retreat, and left almost dying among the mountains that overlook the Livat, Kenneth found shelter in the hut of a poor old Highland crone, whose medical treatment, however kindly meant, aggravated the deadly nature of his wounds; and, as he had no wish to live, two months after the battle he sought his native place, but to die; and, however like romance the last episode of this story may be, I must only rehearse the event as it was narrated to me.
John Shool, the sexton of Logie Kirk, on entering the old burial-ground one cold and bitter morning in December, for the purpose of digging a grave, found a horse, with the bridle trailing between its legs, cropping the grass among the mounds and tombs; and he was still more startled—if any thing can startle one whose occupation is so horrible—on finding an armed man lying on the flat stone which covers fair Lily's grave. His rigid arms were spread over it, and his cold cheek rested on the letters of her name. The old carle turned him over, and uttered a cry of astonishment and pity on recognising Kenneth Logie of the Forest!
John averred, that when first found his lips were pressed upon the frost-covered gravestone. Some persons thought that this might be the sexton's fancy, or the position was accidental.
He looked calm and placid, and, as the winter sunshine fell upon his blanched face, and the morning wind lifted the dark locks of his dewy hair, it seemed to the old gravedigger as if poor Kenneth smiled.
He was buried there, and the stone which bears the inscription (already given), with the sword and cross, marks the place where he lies; the defaced tomb beside it covers the grave of Lily Donaldson.*
* A large cairn marked, or still marks, the place where Lily fell by the hand of Halbert Gordon. The stronghold of his family was pulled down many years ago, and the materials were used in the erection of other edifices; the deep wide Moat is still traceable on the farm called Parks-of-Coldstone. It surrounds an area of an acre; but the morass has long since been drained.
The flowers of many a summer have strewed their leaves above these graves; but at this hour the memory of those lovers is as fresh in Cromar as if they had been buried only yesterday.
Gordon did not die; but, leaving Scotland for ever, entered, as a Catholic, the service of the Emperor, and assuming his mother's name and designation, as Halbert Cunninghame of the Boortree-haugh, soon rose to honour and distinction. After the fashion of some of the Scoto-Imperialists, he spelt his name in a foreign manner, and as "Albrecht Count of Kœningheim" it will be frequently found in the pages of theSvedish Intelligencer, and the works of Famiano Strada, the Jesuit.
Such was the story revealed to us by the little manuscript book of Kœningheim, who, wandering from his native land, had sought death among the armies of the Empire, but found honour, rank, wealth, and distinction heaped upon him; for, until now, in every field he had escaped unharmed, and seemed to bear a charmed life, for against his breast the bullet had failed, and the steel lost its point.
Ernestine and I kept the secret between ourselves, and to her care I consigned the little manuscript book, which we resolved to preserve as a relic or souvenir of a brave but unfortunate friend. He was buried with all the military honours of his rank.
King Christian ordered the royal standard to be half hoisted on theAnna Catharina, the yards to be topped up in various directions, and the rigging to be thrown into loops and bights; and, under a salute of cannon, the body was lowered into a boat, and slowly pulled ashore. It was the evening of a beautiful and sunny day, but I do not remember to have seen a scene more solemn. The brave and venerable King of Denmark stood bareheaded on the deck, and his single eye glistened with self-gratification at the last honours he was thus enabled to render the bravest of his enemies—one whose valour had mainly contributed to the defeat of the Danes at Lütter.
All the officers of the little fleet and army attended the interment, and three companies of our regiment (M'Alpine's, Kildon's, and my own) formed the firing party. The muffled drum rolled; the shrill fife and the solemn war-pipe poured their saddest wail; and after a prayer from the Rev. Gideon Geddes, our preacher, we lowered him into Danish ground, by the shore of the Baltic sea, whose tideless waves were chafing and rippling on the yellow sand, within a pike-length of his dark and solitary grave.
Close by, a choir of birds sang joyously among a group of green birches and copper beeches; the sun of one of the loveliest days of summer was setting at the far and flat horizon, and between the thickets it poured upon the open grave a flood of that warm light which was dying away on the blue waters of the sea. Three hundred bright musket-barrels flashed thrice in the sun, as they were raised with muzzles skyward for the parting volley.
Then the drums rolled, while the pioneers heaped the sandy earth above him, and all was over.
It was an open and somewhat desert spot; near were three earthen tumuli, where perhaps the warriors of some remote and unknown battle lay. These rose to the height of twenty feet above the wavelike ridges of the coast; and between them lay a small morass, with the roots and trunks of vast pines imbedded in the moss—the remnants of some mighty forest, that of old had shrouded the unhallowed rites to the spirit of Loda.
There was no stone to speak to other years—as our mountain songs have it—to tell his fame to other times; and thus the nameless grave of the poor Scottish wanderer was left in its solitude by the sandy shore of the Baltic sea.
There is ever something solemn, touching, and mysterious about a grave that is solitary; it seems loneliness made more lonely, especially if it is the last resting-place of a stranger—an unknown or a nameless person. Thus it is more than probable, that in time the honest Holsteiners may have framed some dark legend concerning the Scotsman's grave, for oral transmission to the children of their children. But now to resume my own narrative.
Finding that the redoubt or sconce erected on the coast was of considerable strength, and by its elevation a garrison would be able to defend it on the landward, and keep all the adjacent country in check, while from the seaward they could be supplied with every provision,—after some skirmishing with the Imperialists from Kiel, and having one smart encounter, wherein Ian, with two companies of our regiment, handled Wingarti's dragoons (who endeavoured to turn our flank) in such a manner, that to their dying hour they would never forget the Scottish invincibles—King Christian drew all off on board of his ships, except some of old Colonel Dübbelsteirn's Dutch companies, who were left to defend the place; and who—if ultimately taken—would be no great loss.
We then put to sea.
This measure was rendered imperative by certain tidings which, about this time, old Baron Fœyœ brought from the sequestered court of Anna Catharina, concerning the siege of the free, and hitherto peaceful, city of Stralsund.
Wallenstein the Duke of Friedland, as generalissimo of the Emperor by sea and land, had resolved to sweep the shores as well as the waters of the Baltic. By shipping from Dantzig and the Hanse towns, he had carried the war to the other side of that shallow ocean, and pursued the Danes into the heart of their own isles. In the prosecution of his daring and ambitious plans of conquest, he hoped to cut off all communication between the states of Lower Germany and the Scandinavian kings; and by the aid of Poland—which was already dependent on Vienna—he hoped to stretch the authority of Ferdinand II. from the Sound of Elsineur to the shores of the Adriatic.
Such was theavowedintention of this great general; but in his inner heart he nursed one greater and more daring scheme, which was nothing less than to acquire territory and found a power, that, together with the army, which by his bravery, tact, and lavish generosity adored him, he might be enabled to throw off the yoke of that empire he was pretending to extend, and thus found a regal dynasty of his own.
In pursuance of this gigantic view he resolved to seize Stralsund, a city of the Baltic—the sixth of the Hanseatic League. It had remained peaceful during this disastrous war, pursuing those habits of industry which had secured it so many privileges from the Dukes of Pomerania; but its noble harbour, and vicinity to the coasts of Sweden and Denmark, made its possession necessary to the conqueror. He sent Campmaster-general Arnheim to the burghers, requiring them to receive an Imperial garrison; but they wisely refused, and betook them to their muskets and morions, buff-coats and halberts. He then sent Colonel Goëtz, who merely requested permission to march the enormous and disorderly army of Austria through the city; but the burgomaster was too wary, and this also was refused. Then the gates were closed and cannon loaded; the city stood upon its defence, and Wallenstein besieged it with a fury, the greater because it lay so near his newly acquired dukedom of Mechlenburg, and barred his way to mightier conquests. He poured his brigades through Pomerania, made the Duke Bogislaus IV. a prisoner; and after receiving £25,000 from the Stralsunders, as a bribe to leave them, unmolested, coolly put the money into his treasury, and then attacked the city with the greatest determination, investing it on all sides; but left Arnheim and the Count of Carlstein to press the siege, while he went to scourge the citizens of Gustrow, the capital of Mechlenburg, a duchy which had just been bestowed upon him by Ferdinand.
Such were the tidings brought to the king by the Baron Fœyœ,as we lay under easy sail in the Fehmer-sund, about the end of summer, and he was thunderstruck by the intelligence; for if Stralsund fell, the free navigation of the Baltic would be for ever lost, alike to Sweden and to Denmark.
Without an hour's delay, he despatched the Baron Karl on an embassy to the great Gustavus Adolphus, begging that they might now forget their petty jealousies, and unite to save the Stralsunders. Karl made good speed with his mission, and the famous treaty of 1628, concluded soon after, was its result. The northern kings bound themselves to combine for the defence of the city, and to oppose every hostile power in the Baltic. Gustavus offered to send Sir Alexander Leslie of Balgonie with five thousand Scottish troops, while Christian was to furnish a squadron of ships; and this squadron that gallant prince resolved to lead in person.
Elsineur was to be the muster-place, and all the remains of our slender garrisons in Zealand, Laaland, and Falster, and every man who could handle a musket in the king's service, was ordered to repair there by an appointed day.
The whole of our regiment looked forward with joy and ardour to entering on this new arena of operations, where we hoped to do deeds more worthy of us than the futile and desultory conflicts maintained by the brave, but almost fugitive King Christian, along the shores of the Lesser Belt; and though at times I caught the old spirit, from the fire, animation, and example of my comrades, the presence of Ernestine, and the doubt which overhung the fate of Gabrielle, were to me a source of great anxiety.
Christian having heard that the Count of Carlstein was with the Imperialists at the siege of Stralsund, was so gracious as to offer Ernestine the use of a small vessel with a white flag, that she might, accompanied by a slender retinue, rejoin him; but she modestly declined, and requested permission to remain until she could obtain some certain tidings of her sister; and the king pledged himself, that between this day and that of the rendezvous at Elsineur, nothing should be left undone to discover in what direction Count Merodé had marched.
Ernestine's proud heart was filled with gratitude, and on her knees she wept and kissed the rough brown hand of the warrior king, who immediately raised her up.
In the cabin of Sir Nikelas Valdemar she stood, amid a group of some twenty noble ladies of Holstein, all fugitives, and bound for Zealand; but in her satin hood of that bright yellow, which so finely became her beautiful black hair, and with her dark, yet timid and dovelike eyes, my Ernestine was the fairest among that group of fair ones.
By the isles of Fuhnen and Zealand we were to march for Elsineur, while the king was to go round with the fleet by sea, and take on board some of the little garrisons he had left in Faasinge, Œrœ, and the lesser isles. The ladies on board theAnna Catharina, being anxious to reach the cathedral city of Roschilde or Copenhagen, landed with us at Faaborg, from whence they proceeded at once towards their various destinations; some in caleches, others by waggon, the usual vehicle of the country, for transmission from place to place.
The Baron Karl had kindly placed his gilded caleche with its two sturdy switch-tailed Holsteiners at the service of Ernestine, so long as she might require them, and, having no other means of protection, she resolved with her female attendants to travel with our column towards Elsineur. The circumstance of her being with us, thrown in a manner so isolated, completely under my wardship (a beautiful young girl under the charge of a young fellow of three-and-twenty—and that young fellow an officer), certainly made me think, that, if we were married, a great deal of trouble in the mode of travelling, and expense in the matter of billets, might be saved; but her unprotected state, the distance from her father, and the mystery that overhung her sister's fate, compelled me to keep such occasional thoughts to myself.
Ernestine placed perfect confidence in every soldier of our regiment, and there were not less than a hundred tall gillies in my own company, each of whom considered it their bounden duty to risk life and limb, if necessary, in defence of the foreign lady who was the kinswoman of their captain, and consequently the kinswoman of every one who bore the name of Rollo or M'Farquhar.
On the morning we landed at Faaborg, a beautiful and unclouded sun arose from a brilliant sea, and its morning light tipped the foamy waves with purple; even in storms, the waves of that shallow sea are never so great as those of the outer ocean; but by their fury and rapidity they are much more dangerous, as they roll through the narrow straits, to deposit amber on the sands of Courland and on the Prussian shore.
At the small and unsheltered port of Faaborg, the Danish boats landed us on the ruinous quay; the little that had survived the time when the soldiers of Christian III. burned the town, was ill built and fast decaying. Being situated at the end of a shallow bay, and among marshes, Ian resolved that we should at once march inland, lest the effect of a swampy district on our mountaineers in the summer season, might cause some fatal distemper. As the king had directed him to halt for four days, that we might recover from the close confinement of the ships, he marched for Hesinge, a small town which we entered about mid-day, with our drums beating and pipes playing, to the great consternation and manifest annoyance of the townsmen and boors; who, although too cowardly to fight their own battles, gave ever a poor welcome to those who were good-natured enough to do that favour for them.
During this ten miles' march, I had frequently walked by the door of Ernestine's caleche; she was becoming intensely dejected; for to lose sight of the Baltic seemed like relinquishing all hope of recovering Gabrielle.
As the regiment drew up in close column under the colours in the main street of the little town, where all their bright arms flashed in the sun, as they were ordered on the ground, with the clatter of seven hundred butts of steel, a well-dressed cavalier, who wore a suit of peach-coloured velvet, laced with silver, large calf-skin boots, a broad hat bound with galloon, and garnished by a red feather, with a sword and pair of pistols in his girdle, rose up from a table under a beech that stood before the door of the Inn, which was named the Green-Tree.
While his horse which stood near took corn from a wooden bowl, he had been regaling himself with a pipe of tobacco and a can of pale Odenzee beer, when the rat-tat of our drums and the flashing of our arms, as we marched in, had excited his attention. He came slowly towards us. I saw him look once or twice into the caleche which followed the baggage wains, and then, as became a well-bred cavalier, he touched his beaver to its fair occupant. His figure now seemed familiar to me.
"Welcome to Hesinge, Captain Rollo," said he, grasping my hand, with a broad laugh.
"Major Fritz!" I exclaimed; "I thought you were at Vienna."
"Henckers! I was there, long enough, paying the penalty of admiring a pair of pretty ankles in white stockings."
"Oh—the mask?"
"No more of that—for I cannot, with patience, think of the outrageous ass I made of myself. However, I escaped; reached Rostock, disguised as a valet of General Arnheim, and wearing a suit of his livery, which I purchased at Vienna, took shipping at the Baltic, reached Nyeborg last week, and was on my way to join the king, when I now learn that his majesty is sailing round by the Great Belt for Helsingör. I am most anxious to serve again."
"Christian will gladly receive you."
"'Pon my soul, I would be most happy to take charge of your baggage guard."
"Thank you, major—but Willie Lumsden, my own lieutenant, has that duty assigned him."
"I think it would be a very interesting service, notwithstanding the dust, the noise, and the screeching of the wheels at one's ear. Ay, faith!" he continued, looking back, "'tis a dainty dame."
"Who—Herr Major?"
"She, with the dark hair and yellow hood in yonder caleche. Those arms are very like Klosterfiörd's. Surely Karl has not been such a blockhead as to marry the daughter of old Rantzau—Gunhilda, the holiday nun—the prudish little sister of St. Knud?"
"Our pistolier is still in the full enjoyment of single blessedness."
"Then whose ware may she be?"
I did not make any answer.
"Your colonel's lady," continued this incorrigible fellow; "for I do not perceive any other caleche. What! you grow red as a turkeycock! Zounds—it cannot be—is she thine? my dear fellow, I congratulate you. Happy dog! I should like to be in your shoes for six hours. Is she Carlstein's daughter? Faith! she turned the heads of half the Viennese."
I had some trouble in preserving my countenance and my temper, while Fritz ran on in this fashion. He quickly perceived this.
"Come," said he; "taste the beer of Odenzee. I drink to you, Herr Captain. You are a most fortunate dog; but upon my soul I would not like to have a wife half so pretty."
"Why so, Fritz?" said I, rather amused by his rattling manner.
"Because a girl like Lady Ernestine will never want for lovers. They will swarm about her, like flies round a honey-pot.'
"But I have the strongest faith in her."
"Faith! oh, that is an excellent and most necessary quality for one who has ideas of matrimony."
"Come, Herr Fritz—now, do not be impertinent."
"I—impertinent—not for the world."
"Your faith was strong in a pretty mask of black velvet."
"Enough, enough, my boy. I shall say no more," said he, clinking his can against mine; "my faith was not strong; but I am not the first man who has been led out of his way by seeing a mincing step, a lifted skirt, and a pair of pretty ankles, encased in spotless white stockings. Der Teufel! no. By the by, do you mean to beat up the Imperialists in this neighbourhood?"
"Imperialists here—in Odenzee—on this side of the Belt?"
"They are in every region but the Infernal, I believe, which should be their proper quarter. Is it possible that you do not know that a regiment of German musketeers occupy the old castle on the Cape of Helnœsland, about six Danish miles from this?"
"No, and sure I am that M'Farquhar, our lieutenant-colonel, knows nothing of it either."
"'Tis nevertheless true, though. Count Merodé, with his regiment, have ensconced themselves there, and have been playing some pretty pranks among the wives and daughters of our boors for a week past."
"Merodé!" I exclaimed, in a breathless voice, alike thunderstruck, and overjoyed by this intelligence. "Tell me, if there are any ladies with him."
"How should I know, my comrade?" asked the major waggishly, as he filled the beer cans again. "Is one—is that pretty one in the caleche, not enough for you? But doubt not, that wherever the Merodeurs are, a large assortment of the weaker vessels are always to be found."
"Ah, Heavens! Ernestine, be joyful! Think of what I have just heard!" said I, rushing from the major to the door of the caleche, where Ian had dismounted and was conversing with her; "our dear Gabrielle is in yonder castle on the promontory—not two cannon-shots distant."
"What the devil is all this about?" said Fritz, with a perplexed air, as he switched his capacious boots; "'pon my soul, 'tis highly dramatic!"
The eyes of Ernestine were filled with tears.
"Dioul! are you sure of this?" said Ian, whose hand wandered about the hilt of his long claymore.
"I am sure that at least Merodé is there."
"Enough then," said Ian; "madam, if this Austrian robber does not surrender your sister to us in four-and-twenty hours—spotless and unharmed as when he seized her—by the soul of my father! by the bones that lie under Cairn na Cuihmne! and by the Holy Iron, I will give his head to the wolves, and his heart to the eagles!"
Honest Ian commenced in German, and gradually slid into his Gaëlic, consequently, Ernestine understood only the half of what he said; but enough, however, to be assured, that he meant to rescue her sister at all hazards.
"May God bless you, kind cousin!" said she placing her hands on his shoulders, while her dove-like eyes, that beamed with affectionate admiration, were fixed on his dark and handsome face. "If a brave heart and a strong hand can save her, Gabrielle is already saved: and she could not owe her freedom to one she loves better than her cousin, Ian Dhu!"
"Let Merodé look to himself," continued Ian; "for it is not every day that he and his ruffianly caterans, have seven hundred Highlandmen to reckon their accounts with."
Big Phadrig, who was standing near, with his enormous tuagh, or Lochaber axe, gave it a flourish, and ran to acquaint the regiment (which had now piled arms) of the pretty piece of work that was likely to be cut out for it; while Ian assembled M'Alpine, M'Coll, Kildon, Major Fritz, and several other officers, under theGreen Tree, where—assisted by several cans of Odenzee beer—a solemn council of war was held upon the occasion.
Our suppositions were correct; for, as the sequel proved, poor Gabrielle was actually that moment Merodé's prisoner in the old castle of Helnœsland.
After carelessly setting on fire the fortress of Fredricksort, Merodé had been ordered by Tilly to establish himself in the next suitable castle; and in search of this, after a desultory and—to the people—disastrous march along the shore of the Lesser Belt, he daringly crossed over to Fuhnen, an island so named in consequence of its beauty and fertility, and established himself in an old tower, on the sandy promontory of Helnœsland.
Grim and strong, but small, and blending with the rock on which it is built, the castle had formed part of the dowery of the fair Florentina, Princess of Denmark, who about 1380 was espoused by Sir Henry Sinclair of Roslin (in Lothian), whom the king her father created Duke of Oldenburg, and Lord of Zetland; and I believe that his coat-of-arms, with the cross engrailed, the ships within the tressure, and the motto of the Lairds of Roslin,Commit thy work to God, are yet to be seen above the porch of the old fortress, collared by the orders which he wore—the Thistle, the Golden Fleece, and St. Michael.
While all the incidents which have occupied the last few chapters were passing elsewhere, Gabrielle was a prisoner in Helnœsland, pining for her father, for her sister, and for freedom, exposed to the incessant persecution of Merodé, who, instead of proceeding to extremities, had grown wonderfully tractable, and actually went the length of offering his hand, as well as his amiable heart.
When not attended by the count, Prudentia was ever by her side, to sing his praises. In this affair the dancer acted, apparently, with great self-denial; but, in truth, she and Merodé had grown perfectly tired of each other; and she was only waiting an opportunity for quietly and conveniently marching off with all the gold and jewels she could lay her pretty hands upon.
"Perverse one," said Prudentia, on one occasion, kissing Gabrielle; "have I not said a thousand times, that this handsome and gallant noble will marry you with joy?"
"Why does he not marryyou??" asked Gabrielle simply; "I am sure you are much prettier than I."
"I am only a poor girl of Spain (Ay de mi Espana!)—you are the daughter of a great noble."
"The count should remember that, and permit me to join my father——"
"Who is not himself free; rumour says he is marching to Stralsund; but truth adds, as I have said before, that he is imprisoned by the emperor at Vienna."
"My poor father!"
"The Count of Merodé is at present heir-presumptive to the Duke of Pomerania!"
"But the duke may marry."
"What! old Bogislaus IV?" asked Prudentia, with a merry burst of laughter.
"Yes—and have heirs."
"Very likely," replied Prudentia drily; "for heirs often come into noble families when they have no business to be there."
So great was her terror of Merodé, that Gabrielie scarcely ever dared to undress; she slept by snatches, closing her eyes like a child lulled by weariness and weeping; and often started, thinking that she heard the voice of her sister, addressing her in the accents of affection and tenderness, or distress and despair; or imagining that she felt the hateful touch of the crime-blackened Merodé, or saw the handsome face, the grave, dark, honest eye of Ian Dhu. Frequently she thought herself again in the little dogger, rolling over the foam-crested waves of the Lesser Belt, and that friends were beside her. Then she would spring from the couch of the beautiful but guilty Spanish girl, to look forth on the dawning day, and the young alder-trees, that waved their green branches beneath the old grey tower of Helnœsland.
At last, one morning Prudentia disappeared, and all the valuables of Merodé—his diamond order of Carinthia, his massive gold chain with his holy medals, his purse, &c.—vanished with her, and all the magnificent jewels he had placed at the disposal of Gabrielle, who was doubly shocked on discovering the character of the woman who had been her companion; and that she was Prudentia, the celebrated dancer, and the sister of the infamous Bandolo; for in the first burst of his anger, the count told every thing. The horror of Gabrielle increased. The remembered sweetness of the dancer's manner, seemed now all acting and professional study; her wit became levity, her charming candour, impudence.
Gabrielle felt more than ever the impossibility of trusting any of those around her, and her heart shrunk within itself. Dreading his own officers, none of whom were very scrupulous, Merodé kept her so secluded that now she saw no one, save an old German woman, the wife of a Fourrier de Campement, whose waggon for retailing beer and tobacco, or exchanging them for plunder, had followed the regiment from Vienna.
As one day will suffice for a specimen of the system pursued by the incorrigible Merodé, I will select that on which he last did Gabrielle the honour to place at her disposal his hand as well as his heart; for he was now beginning to reflect, that if she ever procured her freedom, without some such guarantee (for her silence) as matrimony, old Rupert-with-the-Red-plume, who certainly was, as he knew, thenen routefor Stralsund, at the head of a column of infantry, might take a terrible vengeance on the whole house of Merodé.
The room occupied by Gabrielle was low and gloomy; it had two windows arched and grated:—one faced the Lesser Belt, and the shore of Alsen, about ten miles distant; the other opened to the promontory on which the tower was situated, and overlooked its spacious garden. There, the parterres were bordered by deep edgings of old boxwood; the older hedges and alleys formed labyrinths, overtopped by the rustling leaves of the shady beeches. About their old stems, the purple bramble and the yellow honeysuckle grew in heavy and matted clusters, while long dark wreaths of spiral ivy clambered along their gnarled branches. Here and there, to terminate the vista of the long shady walks, were placed several ancient stones, covered with hideous emblems, and those mysterious Runes, the invention of which is ascribed to Odin, ruler of the elements and king of spells.
Gabrielle seldom gazed into the garden, for some of Merodé's officers were usually seated on the benches there, playing chess, smoking, drinking, or toying with some of the ladies who had occupied the waggons seen by Father Ignatius. Her sad eyes were constantly fixed on the blue waters of the Belt; there liberty and freedom seemed to be; the passing ships—the sky and ocean—with the seabirds floating like white specks amid the sparkling azure.
Though the season was summer, a large piece of turf (the only fuel in Fuhnen) burned in the fireplace of her chamber; for these old castles by the sea are ever damp and cold. This was supplied from time to time by fresh peats heaped on by the Fourrier's wife, with an enormous pair of iron tongs, from an oak bunker, built into a recess, which, like the fireplace, the doors, windows, and every other opening in the edifice, had a low-browed narrow arch, with deep zigzag mouldings, springing from little shafted pillars with escalloped capitals. Great squares of hideous and uncouth tapestry, wrought, as tradition says, by the Princess Florentine, covered the walls. The figures and the subject were enough to appal even a stouter heart than Gabrielle's.
They represented the last human sacrifice offered up in Britain. In the midst of a wood of gloomy pines stood a group of tall, ghostly, and long-bearded Druids, armed with their brass celts, and bearing goblets of mead. Amidst them, stood Einhar, Earl or Jarl of Caithness, who, in a battle near Avon-Horsa, in the days when Gregory the Great was King of Scotland, had taken prisoner Haldona, Prince of Norway, and offered him up to Odin. On an altar of stone the prince lay bound, and in his throat was the knife of the arch-druid,* for even in Gregory's days, some priests of Paganrie still lingered in the northern isles.
* A mound still marks where this occurred, A.D. 893.
These horrible, misshapen, and ghastly figures, were unpleasant objects for Gabrielle to contemplate; and she always turned from them to the engrailed cross, the heraldic ships, and motto of the Sinclairs, which the princess had hung upon the pines of the forest, committing an anachronism by no means uncommon in ancient tapestries.
Lost in thought, with her cheek resting on her right hand, Gabrielle had been gazing on the waters of the Belt, which mellowed with the shore in the sunny evening haze. Her pretty feet, cased in high-heeled shoes of scarlet velvet, richly embroidered with gold, rested on a satin footstool. Her right hand played with her fine hair, which hung in short loose ringlets, according to the fashion of the time.
A step, and the touch of a hand aroused her.
She turned to meet the impassioned eyes of Merodé, with his lanky black mustache, long ringleted hair, parted in the centre of his forehead, and his sinister face a little flushed by wine and recent merriment. She gave a slight shudder—a shrug of her shoulder, and said—
"Oh—is it you again?"
"And have you really an aversion for me, whom even my enemies admit to be the first in the breach, the foremost in the charge, and the last in retreat—though the Imperialists never do retreat. The heedlessness and imprudence of youth have plunged me into an abyss of misery and error; but my pride still bears me up, Gabrielle—yea, above even your scorn."
She did not reply.
"Ah!" said he in a low voice, "if I could only be her friend, it would not be a bad preface to the part of lover."
"Friend—oh, never!" replied Gabrielle, who had overheard these words: "Merodé can never be the friend of a virtuous woman."
Merodé seemed to be stung by her words; but he laughed, while her eyes filled with tears.
"Upon my soul, girl, you will weary me by this incessant resistance. You are just like Clelia or Cleopatra, who did not give their lovers so much as the smallest kiss, sometimes for six years."
"Dear Ernestine—if you knew all I suffer here!" said Gabrielle, bursting as usual into a passionate fit of weeping.
"Oh, do not talk of Ernestine!" said Merodé, rather coarsely, for the wine he had just imbibed was loosening his tongue, while it clouded his faculties. "I do not see why you should have such a horror of following my regiment in a gilded caleche drawn by six white horses, when she follows the bare legs of the Scottish musketeers in a caleche drawn by two brown Holsteiners."
"Wretch—silence!" said Gabrielle, crossing to the opposite window, and seating herself.
"Wretch—silence? here is a specimen of such good manners as we learn in Vienna!" said Merodé, following and leaning on the back of her chair. He continued to say a hundred fine things, with which the fluency of the time, his own ready invention, and impulsive nature supplied him. For more than an hour he continued to talk thus; and for that hour Gabrielle did nothing but weep and sob—sob and weep—without replying, till her eyes became inflamed, her face pale, her head ached, and her heart grew sick.
"Ah! tell me, my pretty Gabrielle, why am I so repugnant to you? 'Pon my honour, one would almost imagine I was a veritable ogre! Now, for the last time, I conjure you to tell me, if I have any hopes of living, or if I must blow out my brains? Speak—this silence—this grief—this apathy, overwhelm me with sorrow. Ah, what an unhappy rascal I am!"
Still there was no reply given.
Merodé had been so accustomed by presents, by flattery, and feigned affection, to overcome every obstacle thrown in his way by the many dark, brown, and fair beauties whom he had subdued, that he was piqued, perplexed, and even amused by the difficulty and resistance he encountered in Gabrielle. This gave her a new and dangerous charm; and, after his own fashion, he was now beginning to love her, at the very time when—had he been successful—that love would have been dying away; so he continued to string together assertions of his love and admiration, in the style of camp and barrack love-making, most familiar to him.
"You are so enchanting, Gabrielle! you are just the height I admire, and you must remember how I adored you at Vienna. Though when taken in detail, perhaps, your face is not of that kind which sculptors—the blockheads!—term strictly handsome, when taken altogether, it is divine! Your eyes are lively, full of tenderness and fire; your lips are full of smiles—(certainly not just now, by the Henckers!) but red as a rosebud; and your ankles—'pon my soul, they are very fine!"
Here Gabrielle retreated to the other window, and turned her back, but he followed her; then she began to tremble with anger.
"I do not mean to insult you—I do not mean to be rude! I have the tongue of an ass," said Merodé, beginning to speak very thick. "What is all this about? Now, if I was not a young fellow of spirit—ah pardon me, poor little Tot!—or is it a romance we are acting? I never meant to marry, but hang me as high as Mordecai, if I will not marry you, Gabrielle, ay, marry you in sober earnest—rather than not have you."
"Insult upon insult!" she murmured.
"Come, come, Gabrielle," said he, approaching a step; "listen to what I say, for assuredly your friends have forgotten you."
"It almost seems so," she replied, drowned in tears; "but even it were so, God will not forget me."
"Neither He nor they can protect you, while under the colours of the valiant regiment de Merodé."
"For pity's sake, do not, on any account, be tempted to speak blasphemy," said she.
"Der Teufel! what a difference between girls of eighteen and girls of five-and-forty; the first are as timid as the latter are forward. If I had said to the Baroness Fritz a thousandth part of the fine things I have said to you, she would have melted away in my arms at once. But what the deuce is the matter now? What is it you see; why are your eyes fixed—your nostrils dilated—your cheek flushed? Ah, damnation! am I tipsy, or blind?"
The sad face of Gabrielle had suddenly changed. Her eyes sparkled with tears of astonishment and joy; her cheeks flushed with crimson, her lips trembled.
"Ian!" she exclaimed, stretching her hands towards the window. "Ian—my cousin—come to me—save me, and take me to Ernestine!"
The surprise of Merodé at all this speedily became rage. He followed the direction of her eye from the window, and, gazing along the sandy beach towards the north, at an angle of the rock on which the outer-wall of the tower was built, he saw the imposing figure of a Scottish Highlander standing erect, as he coolly took a survey of the whole place. He wore a green tartan kilt, with a bright cuirass and helmet; the entire pinions of an eagle surmounted the cone of the latter; a round shield was on his left arm, and a drawn claymore glittered in his right hand. On seeing this bold fellow within musket-shot of the walls, Merodé could scarcely believe his senses; but the stranger was Ian, as the sequel will show.
"Der Teufel!" said the count, almost choking with rage; "I will notch that rascal's head for him. I knew not that any of these Scots were on this side of the Belt. Hallo! to your arms there," he cried, rushing down-stairs to the court-yard; "to your muskets there, the quarter-guard! Kaspar—Schwindler do you see that fellow, by the water-side?"
They did see him, and fired several shots, the report of which palsied Gabrielle with fear; and she fell upon her knees, but forgot to pray, for her heart had forgotten to beat; and, like one who had been stunned by a thunderbolt, she listened, as shot after shot rang from the tower battlement over her head; and then she saw the snow-white smoke curling away on the wind.
Ian had vanished before the first shot was fired.
"He has escaped," said Merodé, returning breathless, with knitted brows and a bitter smile; "are you rejoiced to hear it?"
Gabrielle did not reply; her thankfulness was too great for utterance.
"Ay, the tall Scot brandished his sword in defiance, and even while we saw the bullets knocking the sand about him, and whitening the trunks of the trees, he plunged into yonder thicket and disappeared. I have sent out Sergeant Swashbuckler, with a party, and hope to have him hanged as a spy before nightfall.
"And so yonder tall fellow is your lover, eh? Oh you need not deny it; I saw your eye say so. Never did a woman's eye light up as yours was lit, save for a lover or a husband. Now little one, tell me, what see you in that great swinging Scot, that you cannot see in me? Still no answer. Are we becoming sulky, passionate, and quarrelsome? 'Pon my soul, women are greater enigmas than those of the Sphynx I used to hear about at Gottingen. So we have got a lover, have we? oh—very well! I shall not break my heart, believe me."
Merodé was angry, and his heart was full of bitterness and jealousy; but he concealed it admirably.
"Now that your friends are in this neighbourhood, I shall have work cut out for me; they must be received with such hospitality and honour as the arsenals of the Emperor enable us to afford to such visitors. Farewell just now, Gabrielle. I give you three days to think of it. (Three days! now, have I not the patience of Job?) If in that time you do not learn to love me, I shall hate you!" and he retired singing the fag end of an old song,
"Three days, fair maid, my love will last,And in three days my love is past."
New hope sprang up in the bosom of Gabrielle.
Ian—and what a tide of suffocating thoughts his cherished image brought upon her mind—could not be alone, if in the vicinity of Helnœsland. He had heard of her detention there, and had come to free—perhaps to love, her.
What happiness might yet be in store for her!
Since she had been Merodé's prisoner, she had calculated the time, and found it many, many weeks, these made hundreds of hours, each of which had been counted, and watched wearily too.
She ceased to count them from that period, and began to reckon anew from the time when she had seen Ian.
He escaped the Merodeurs, and the fate their leader intended him to suffer; but many a long hour passed slowly on, and Gabrielle found herself still a prisoner in the old tower of Helnœsland.
The result of our solemn council of war, held over certain cans of Odenzee beer, under theGreen-Treeat Hesinge, was,first—that Gabrielle should be freed from Merodé, if she was still his prisoner;secondly, if not, that he should account for her body for body;thirdly, that her freedom should be obtained, if possible, by diplomacy, or threats, as we had strict orders to proceed to Elsineur, without detour or fighting under any consideration;fourthly, that no ransom should be paid (because we had none to pay), andfifthly, that if all means failed, we should risk the king's displeasure, storm Helnœsland, and knock all the Merodeurs on the head.
Attended by Phadrig, Ian departed to examine the castle before supper, and had just satisfied himself that it was a large square fortified tower, with grated windows, a battlement bristling with brass pateraroes, a barbican wall lined by six pound guns, well loopholed, and full of men, when several shots warned him to retire, and he and Phadrig, baffling the Merodeurs, reached our cantonments at Hesinge about nightfall. There, after guards were posted, and the soldiers billeted, the officers sat down to a jovial supper, at the large table under the Green-Tree.
Ernestine had the best apartment in the inn apportioned to her; I had command of the quarter-guard that night, with the task of posting, every two hours, twelve new sentinels round Hesinge; and (as the Merodeurs were in our vicinity) our soldiers had strict orders from Ian to sleep accoutred, in case of a surprise.
The night was moonless and cloudy, and my duty, as captain of the quarter-guard, kept me wakeful and anxious. The street was unlighted, unpaved, full of mud, and encumbered by rubbish and pools of water, where ducks, crows, and storks squattered by day; and where prowling dogs burrowed and snarled by night.
About the twelfth hour, when returning from visiting my sentinels, I paused for a moment in the middle of the street, to observe the dense bank of cloud that arched the sky from east to west, enclosing it on all sides save the north, where there lingered a warm yellow flush, that in so northern a region would never darken, but would brighten with the coming day. It shed a clear cold light on the gable-ends of the little street, on the sharp ridges of the roofs and chimney-tops, while their shadows, and all between me and them, were sunk in blackness and obscurity.
Ian occupied the house of the Herredsfoged, and, as the colours were deposited there, it had a special guard of twelve pikemen under Sergeant Phadrig Mhor. It stood without the village, and, to visit it, I had to pass through a narrow lane between two privet hedges, one of which enclosed the yard at the back of the inn, and where our baggage-waggons stood.
A faint light that burned in Ernestine's room arrested me.
The shutter was half closed, the light was subdued, and placed in the shade, so that I knew she had retired to rest; yet, with that sentiment so natural to a lover, I stood for a minute gazing at that light, the rays of which were probably falling on the fair and sleeping face of her I loved so well.
At that instant I became aware suddenly that other personages were similarly occupied. Between two of our baggage-wains, two men, like peasants, gazed intently at the solitary ray which shone into the inn-yard. They were evidently lurkers. My suspicions were roused, and, instead of challenging them, I resolved to watch, and loosened the loaded pair of good Doune pistols which hung at my girdle.
The lurkers conferred together in low whispers, and then approached the window. That corner of the inn-yard which it overlooked was involved in the deepest shadow; thus, by passing through an opening in the hedge, I stood within arm's length of them, and could perceive that they were somewhat tattered in aspect, wore conical white Danish hats with broad brims, and had enormously thick beards.
"They are thieves!" occurred to me immediately. My first thought was to seize them; my second, to fire on them; my third, to watch the issue.
After another brief conference, one left his companion to guard; and, ascending by the piled up chests of a baggage-wain, reached the little wooden balcony which projected at the back of the house, and softly approached the window of Ernestine, which, as the season was so warm, she had unguardedly left open an inch or two, and he glided into her chamber like an eel—for, as the lattice opened in two leaves from top to bottom, ingress was easily effected; but, before he entered, as the light of the night-lamp fell full on his face, I recognised Bandolo!
My heart beat like lightning! It flashed upon my mind that his comrade must be Bernhard the woodman!
To seize the latter by the ruff behind, to twist it until he was black in the face, and give him a smart blow with the steel claw of my Highland pistol, were the noiseless work of a moment. I laid him quietly on the ground at full length—with two springs reached the balcony from the roof of the baggage-wain, and with one pistol in my teeth, and the other in my right hand, crept softly in by the opened lattice.
Bandolo either believed that I was his comrade Bernhard close behind him, or artful, subtle, and ferocious as he was, he had found an object so dazzling to gaze on, that he could not resist contemplating it. By the bedside of Ernestine, he stood with an unsheathed poniard in his hand—a stiletto, round bladed and sharp as a needle.
Ah! what a moment was that! In each hand I had a loaded pistol, and I held them levelled full at his head from the other side of that pretty couch, the muslin curtains of which were half drawn aside, and yet concealed me in shadow.
I could comprehend that luxury and civilisation caused the moral depravity of such a man as Merodé, by creating wants which he could not supply, vices into which he plunged, and those false appetites which are the curse of the rich, the great, and luxurious; but here were a couple of incomprehensible rascals, doing mischief apparently for mere mischief's sake, unless we admit the love of revenge, by which Bandolo was assuredly inspired.
The night-lamp stood on a dressing-table near a round mirror, which threw a reflected light full upon the face of the beautiful sleeper.
The most divine and placid serenity were expressed in the face of Ernestine; on her smooth forehead and dark eyebrows—on her sweet mouth and long eyelashes. She scarcely seemed to respire as she smiled amid her dreams. Partly loose, her black and silky hair had escaped from a most charming little nightcap, having three frills of fine lace, and fell in a confused mass upon a neck that was white as a new-fallen snowflake. Her hands, unadorned by either rings or bracelets, and looking a hundred times more beautiful in form and colour without them, were gently crossed upon her breast, like those of the statues in old cathedral aisles. When sleeping thus, she had all the infantile grace of Gabrielle, all her Juno-like dignity was in abeyance; for the prettiest woman in the world can never look dignified in her nightcap. Her beauty, and the chaste purity of her slumber, might have robbed a destroying angel of his wrath; but the hollow, ghastly, and ferocious smile of the yellow-visaged Spaniard, showed that he contemplated some terrible villany.
Twice he placed his weapon between his teeth, and drew out a handkerchief as if to thrust into her mouth, and twice he resumed the stiletto.
"It is too much," thought I, "that his unhallowed eyes should see Ernestine as never lover saw her."
Three seconds had scarcely elapsed; my fingers were trembling on the triggers, and the matches of my pistols were smoking as I breathed upon them.
All at once Bandolo's eyes were lighted by a savage gleam; he placed one of his rough hands on those of Ernestine, and with the other raised his poniard for a blow, that, with this line, might have ended my story—for I never could have survived her.
My pistols were not four feet from his head—I fired one, and must own that when the smoke cleared away, I was petrified to find that, instead of being brained, Bandolo stood glaring at me with eyes that were white with fury, while his face was blackened and his hair scorched off by the explosion. In striking Bernhard, the bullet must have dropped from my pistol, for it was found in the yard next day; but then I thought not of that, and imagined that the fellow must assuredly begreforn—bullet-proof, or charmed. I fired the other, but the bullet only shattered the mirror; then by one bound, Bandolo cleared the apartment, reached the top of the baggage-wain, slid down, and escaped. I sprang after him: thus, Ernestine, on being startled from sleep by the discharge of two pistols within a yard of her pretty nose, was only roused in time to see two men spring like evil spirits from the window of her bedchamber.
She uttered a succession of those shrill cries which women have at command on all occasions. The host and hostess, the jungfers, the ostlers, the quarter-guard, and several of our officers who occupied the adjacent rooms, were all on the alert in a minute. M'Coll, holding on his kilt with one hand, and grasping a poker in the other; M'Alpine, with nothing on but his shirt and steel cap, and old Kildon, also in his shirt, with his target and claymore, with others variously accoutred, crowded to the scene of consternation and alarm; neither of which were allayed nor accounted for until I returned from a hopeless pursuit after the scout. By that time the whole inhabitants of the inn were in a terrible state of commotion; but Master Bernhard, who had been found senseless in the yard, was fortunately secured by the care of Sergeant M'Gillvray, who had ordered the quarter-guard to tie him with ropes, and retain him as a prisoner in the kitchen below.
When I reflected by what a narrow chance Ernestine had escaped a terrible assassination; when I thought of what my emotions, and the emotions of all, would have been, had we found her in the morning——but the idea was horror! I turned the buckle of my belt behind me, and after assuring Ernestine that she was neither killed nor wounded, but only frightened, took my sword in my hand, and ordered M'Gillvray to bring the prisoner to theGreen-Tree, before the door of the inn, where, as morning was now advanced, the waitresses were preparing breakfast for the officers.
The personal appearance of Master Bernhard was in no way improved by the tap I had given him on the head; for a quantity of blood that flowed from the wound had clotted his shock-head of hair, and streaked the hard lines of his coarse and repulsive visage, like the war paint of an Indian.
"Well,schelm," said I; "what have you to urge, that I should not hang you on the branch overhead as an ornament to our goodman's sign?"
"That we should never take away what we cannot give back," growled Bernhard.
"We are old acquaintances now," said I; "you remember the hut at Korslack, and the night with the Merodeurs? Have you always acted upon the principle of never taking away that which you cannot restore?"
"Herr Captain, I have tried to do so," he replied; looking anxiously at me, and anon at one of the ostlers, who was quietly knotting a running noose over one of the branches of the tree under which I was seated. "If I take a man's purse I can return it—but his life—oh, Herr Captain!"
"Have you never taken a man's life, Master Bernhard?"
"Have you or your soldiers never taken one, Herr Captain?"
"You are an impudent rascal!" said I, losing patience.
"Perhaps I am," said he; "yet I may be of more service to you than you imagine."
"You are the man who assisted Bandolo to decoy the daughters of the Count of Carlstein from Nyekiöbing, and betrayed one to the Count of Merodé."
"Betray is a harsh word, Herr Schottlander. I am but a poor fellow who, for a rixdollar, will serve any one. I was Merodé's valet at Vienna; he accused me of liking his laced doublets better than his livery, so we parted in dudgeon; but the real secret was, that he discovered his mistress bestowing on me, for nothing, all those blandishments which costhima thousand doubloons in the year. She was sent to the galleys; I turned woodman, and picked up a ducat or a florin now and then in various ways. Bandolo was acting the gentleman, and required a valet to carry his mails. I sailed with him to many places, where he was picking up information for the Count Tilly, who always pays for it like a prince. Bandolo brought two ladies with him from Falster; 'twas no business of mine—he has often ladies with him. I attended one—he the other, and so we parted company in the dark near Eckernfiörd; with the youngest, I fell among the Merodeurs, who cheated me of a thousand ducats, which I was to bring Bandolo from the count. I have usually been the scoutmaster's ass, or scapegoat, but I will be so no longer, and will gladly become valet or groom to any Schottish officer who will pay me."
"Thank you, Master Bernhard," said I, ironically; "well, ostler, is that rope ready?"
"I am making all the haste I can, Herr Captain."
"Do not hurry yourself, my good man, I beseech you," said Bernhard, giving a snake-like glance at the ostler.
"And this lady," said I.
"What lady, Herr?"
"Zounds! the lady with whom you fell among the Merodeurs."
"She is now in Helnœsland."
"In the castle?"
"With Count Merodé."
"Confound that dogged front of thine!" said I, grinding my teeth with anger, on thinking of all the mischief this villain had aided and abetted. "You hear, gentlemen," I added, "he says that Lady Gabrielle is in Helnœsland with Merodé."
"If he can be believed—the point is certain," said Ian.
"I see no reason to doubt him, Ian—now when he is on the point of death."
"Death—oh, do not, for the love of Heaven, say that, Herr Captain!" implored Bernhard in an agitated voice. "It is a sad word for a poor fellow to hear."
"A sadder still for a rich one," said Ian.
Held in the strong grasp of two athletic soldiers, he was totally incapable of resistance; and the muskets of the quarter-guard kept him completely in awe. The noose was ready; agony bedewed his pallid face with perspiration. His knees trembled, and he gave me a glance so imploring that my heart failed me. Amidst the confusion of a brawl I might have seen a dozen such fellows shot, and felt no compunction; but to hang up this cowardly and crime-steeped rascal, with his terror verging on despair, was quite another thing; and I began heartily to wish that his life or death had been in the hands of the Herredsfoged of the district, or any other than mine.
"Stay," said Ian; "one feature in this fellow's character is evident. He will do any thing for money."
"If I could serve you, Herr, or you, with my life," implored Bernhard.
"Well—you know yonder castle of Helnœsland?" said Ian.
"As well, Herr Colonel, as if it belonged to me."
"And the Merodeurs?"
"Most of them—they were my comrades at Vienna."
"In prison, I suppose. Well, if your life is spared, will you undertake to guide me with two hundred musketeers, on a dark night, to that sallyport which faces the north?"
"I will, Herr; but the Merodeurs are a thousand strong! and two hundred musketeers—ouf! they will be but a mouthful in Helnœsland."
"That is not your business—Dioul!"
"I will make a bargain with the Herr Rollo," said Bernhard, gathering courage at this glimpse of life and hope. "Merodé was to pay Bandolo a thousand ducats for the young grafine, Gabrielle of Carlstein, of which I was to receive my share. Merodé deceived us, and, not having the ducats at the time, kept the lady, and troubled himself no more about the matter. I am but a poor fellow; look at my doublet; it has as many holes as there are days in the year. Well, Herr—for four hundred ducats I will bring the young lady to you safe and sound, without the uproar of two hundred musketeers falling into Helnœsland in the night, and not knowing which way to turn. In terror at the noise and din of such a piece of work, the young lady will be sure to conceal herself; and your men might all be shot or taken by the Merodeurs, and nothing achieved after all."
"Besides," said Ian, in a low voice; "I have the king's strict orders to march for Elsineur, without filing a shot."
"Can we trust a man who is beyond the pale of the law?" said I.
"I did not make the law, mein Herr," said Bernhard; "if so, I should not have been outlawed—or called a robber, or so forth; four hundred ducats will be quite a fortune to a poor fellow like me. I will bring you the young lady, andthenthe money can be paid me down on this table, under that beech-tree. Is it a bargain, Herr Captain, and gentlemen Schottlanders?"
"On my honour it is," said Ian; and Bernhard gave him a glance of thankfulness and joy.
"Four hundred ducats!" said I; "where the devil are we to raise such a sum? The regiment has been without pay for two months past."
"Assemble the officers by beat of drum," said Ian.
The drum was beaten, and in five minutes they were all assembled under theGreen-Tree, thirty Highlanders, all stately men as ever drew a sword; and to them Ian, the lieutenant-colonel, related our dilemma.
Every man of them opened the mouth of his sporran.
"Hold your steel-bonnet, kinsman," said Ian to the sergeant, Mhor.
Phadrig held his helmet inverted, and every officer threw in what he could spare; some who had not even a brass bodle, cut the silver or gold buttons from their coats, or twisted off some links from those gold chains which our Scottish officers usually wore during the Thirty Years' war, I broke off ten from mine; Major Fritz gave twenty florins; and Bernhard's eyes glistened with joy, as the coin of every kind and value—silver, brass, and copper, buttons, chains, and rings—rattled into the helmet, where a sum amounting to more than eight hundred ducats was collected.
"This is a pretty sum to give such a rascal!" said M'Alpine, who had just twisted the gold tassels from his sporran.
"It is rewarding treachery and crime," said another: "think of how many brave fellows peril their lives in the field for a stiver per hour."
"By the head of Alpine! I would rather fight Merodé than pay it," said M'Alpine.
"But the king's orders," said our lieutenant-colonel.
"Ah, true! I had forgotten."
"Fellow," said I to Bernhard; "if you deceive me, tremble! for you have just one more in this world to outwit."
"Who, mein Herr—Bandolo?"
"The devil!"
"What a character you give yourself, cousin Philip," said Ian, and all our officers laughed as they sat down to breakfast; "but to business. Get this fellow despatched on his errand; and, until he returns to redeem his word, Phadrig, thou shalt keep the contributions. Away with him and them, too! Let us to breakfast, for I am like a famished wolf."
It was arranged that about nightfall sixty soldiers should march to a lonely place about five miles from Helnœsland, for the purpose of meeting Gabrielle, and escorting her with her guide to Hesinge. The latter was immediately despatched with a note, written by Ernestine, acquainting her with our vicinity (but of that she was already partly aware), and the necessity of trusting implicitly to the bearer; who, though he had deceived them once, would not do so again.
"For mercy's sake, gentlemen!" said Bernhard before departing; "keep our compact a secret, lest Count Tilly's scout, Bandolo, who seems to be every where at once, may discover and frustrate the whole. He hears every thing, I believe, like Grön Jette, or the wild huntsman."
Bernhard placed the letter in one of the many pockets of his tattered doublet, and set out on his mission. It was not without many conflicting thoughts and arguments that we agreed to intrust Gabrielle to this man, who was doubtless the perpetrator of many frightful crimes; but necessity owns no law, and none but a well-known vagabond could have found easy ingress, or egress, by the gates and guards of the illustrious Count of Merodé.
Now, as these volumes are not a romance, and there is not the least necessity for keeping my readers behind a curtain, I may as well relate, that, as the great father of all mischief would have it, Bandolo, on escaping from the inn-yard, had taken shelter in the very branches of that magnificent beech, under which the compact with Bernhard had been so fully discussed and arranged. It was a vast and thickly foliaged tree; and from the table that encircled its stem, he had easily reached a place of concealment and security.
There he had sat, perched right over our heads, during the examination of Bernhard; there he had narrowly escaped discovery, when the ostler was knotting the noose over one of the lower branches; and he had heard all our arrangements and conversation, while sitting with his heels dangling over the sumptuous breakfast to which thirty of our officers sat down, encircling the board and the broad beech-tree, like Knights of the Round Table; and there he had seen Bernhard receive the letter, and depart for Helnœsland, on that mission which he resolved to frustrate, and turn, perhaps, to his own account.