It was not long before the weight of numbers began to tell; portions of the barricade had been pulled down; the gallant defenders were hard beset. Calling to the two men in the keep, Harry rushed down and flung himself into the fray, shouting to Max to go to the top of the keep and carry out orders he had previously received. Max hurried away, and Harry lost count of time as he engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand fight across the fast crumbling barricade. Standing upon their platform the defenders still had the advantage of position, and Harry and his two men being fresh, the enemy for some few minutes gained but little. Then, as the attackers were once more beginning to make headway, there was a terrible crash on the bridge. The fighting ceased as by magic; all was still. A huge mass of stone, swung outwards from the top of the keep, had broken with terrific force through the light palisades, leaving only one section intact, and carrying with it into the fosse nearly a dozen men. The survivors on the castle side, seeing themselves almost cut off, were seized with panic and made a simultaneous rush for safety, the big Croatian pushing his weaker and wounded comrades into the fosse in his reckless haste to regain the opposite bank.Harry gave a gasp of thankfulness and relief,—and turned to see Fanshawe and Buckley, who, weak as they were, had come up unknown to him towards the close of the fight to bear a hand."Thank you, old fellow!" he said to Fanshawe, "we have scored one."But he turned again, and, leaning on the barricade, anxiously scanned the field. The leaders of the enemy were once more in earnest consultation. They must have lost at least twenty men in the short sharp struggle; but the defeat seemed only to have enraged them. During the first part of the fight Max had been full in their view, and as he still wore the prince's costume the brigands were no doubt convinced that Eugene himself was the head and front of the defence, and were buoyed up by the hope of capturing him. For some minutes the discussion among the leaders continued; then, as having come to a decision, they moved off with their men towards the copse, and, save for half a dozen who remained to watch the castle, were seen no more for some hours.Their absence gave Harry an opportunity of attending to his wounded. He found that three were somewhat seriously hurt, and one was rendered hors de combat. His total force was now reduced to fourteen, including himself, his brother officers, and the two men on guard.Towards mid-day, under a broiling sun, the enemy again appeared. This time, in addition to palisades freshly made, they carried with them a number of rough frameworks penthouse shaped, fashioned from stout saplings bound together, like the bridge, with withies from the marsh. Evidently there was a man of resource among them. Each of the frames formed a kind of wooden tent, two yards long, some three to four wide, and six feet high, requiring the united strength of half a dozen men to carry. But there was no lack of men, and the bearers, protected from bullets from above by the roof of these shelters, came safely almost to the edge of the fosse. The new palisades were thrown across, but this time the materials were stronger. One of the sheds, its end closed with light logs, was rushed across the bridge by a dozen strong men. A second was joined to it, then a third, and so on until a continuous corridor stretched across the fosse. The lashings holding the logs together at the inner end being cut, from out of this testudo sprang brigand after brigand, who came impetuously up to the barricade and instantly engaged the defenders in a furious hand-to-hand combat. Max, whose marksmanship with his huge sling had been so effective before, hurled stone after stone down upon the testudo, but they were turned off by the sloping roof, and though the bridge creaked and groaned under the impact it did not give way.It was fortunate for the defenders that only a few men at a time could make their way through the shed, and the space at the end was too narrow to allow of a great accession of numbers unless the foremost could scale the barricade. The enemy had again lost heavily at their first onset, but as soon as one man fell his place was supplied, and no respite was given to the little band within. Shoulder to shoulder Eugene's men formed a wall of steel across the gateway: again and again they beat back the enemy at the breastwork. But against such odds they could not hope to escape unscathed; there were no reserves; and of the enemy there was still a host ready and eager to fill the gaps. One man and then another of the troopers fell, this one to rise no more, that to crawl away and stanch his wound. Seven men were now all that was left of the fighting line, and when Fanshawe and Buckley came up and insisted on sharing their comrades' peril, Harry felt that he dared no longer delay the playing of what might prove his last card. With a word to Max to keep up the fight, he slipped for a moment out of the press, struck a flint, kindled some tinder he had kept in readiness, and then, shouting to his men to make for the keep, and waiting till they had begun to run, he lit the train.At the last moment a trooper fell, so badly hurt that he could not move. Harry sprang forward, caught the man by the belt, and dragged him into the courtyard towards the keep. The enemy, astonished at the sudden flight of the garrison, hesitated for a moment before charging across the obstacle which so far had held them off. Then, just as they leapt forward over the barricade, now an irregular heap of stones, there was a blinding flash behind them, and a deafening roar. The ground rocked; fragments of the dilapidated walls fell inwards and outwards; a dense cloud of dust and smoke bellied over the scene, and the air was rent by the cries of men in agony.Disregarding the falling stone-work, Harry ran forward to the archway, his eyes smarting with the fumes. As the cloud gradually settled, he saw crowds of the enemy huddled together on the farther side of the fosse, their eyes aghast intently fixed on the archway. But of the bridge, and the sheds, and the stream of men who a minute before had been pressing forward exultantly across the fosse, not a vestige remained. Wood and men lay an indistinguishable mass at the bottom.CHAPTER XXIIThe Fight in the KeepSoldiers All—The Silent Watches—Twice a Traitor—The Oubliette—The Horizon—Fanshawe Volunteers—A Powder Barrel—Nearing the End—Allies—Von Stickstoff—More Stickstoff—The Confederate Camp—The Anspach Dragoons—At the Sword Point—A Brief Respite—The Fight on the Stairs—The Last Stand—The AnspachersHarry was sick at heart when he came to examine his losses. Three of his men were dead, nine badly wounded, there was not one but bore marks, in bruise or cut or strain, of the desperate strife in which they had played such manful parts. He arranged for the burial of the three gallant troopers; then, heavy-hearted as he was, set to work with indomitable pluck to repair the damage done to the defences. The prisoners were pressed into the service; the barricade was restored, and another mine was dug, though from the crack that showed in the masonry of the archway Harry feared that a second explosion would bring half the keep tumbling about his ears.Having done all that could be done, and shared a meal with his devoted men, Harry went with Fanshawe and Buckley to the top of the keep to discuss the future."Our state is parlous, Fanshawe," he said. "Another assault will wipe us out.""We have a breathing-space. The brigands have had enough for the present. Their ill-success must have daunted them.""But Aglionby will not give up yet. He is playing for a high stake.—What is doing yonder?"In the distance he saw two wagons and a band of some fifty men making their way across the hills towards the copse in which the enemy were encamped."Reinforcements, it appears," said Buckley. "Perhaps food; they will raid every farmhouse round.""We must say nothing of this to the men," said Harry. "'Twould dishearten them.""It seems you have no choice but surrender," remarked Buckley."Never—unless you and Fanshawe as my superior officers take the responsibility.""Not I," said Fanshawe. "'Tis absurd to think of! The men are devoted to you; and Prince Eugene put you in command; you have done wonders, and whatever be the end, we'd be fools to interfere—eh, Buckley?""Certainly.""Then I won't surrender. Say we make terms, think you the enemy would hold to them, finding the prince not here? They would wreak vengeance on us for their disappointment and their losses. They are in the main freebooters, the scum of the French and Bavarian armies, as near savages as men can be. We could expect no mercy at their hands. Besides, Aglionby will by and by discover, if he have not already done so, that I am here; and he has too many scores to pay off to deal very tenderly with me or my men. We can but hold out to the last, and hope that help may come in time.""The prince must by this be in our camp," said Fanshawe. "What if we tell the enemy they are on the wrong scent?""'Twould avail us nothing. Aglionby would not believe the story, or, if he believed it, would scout it publicly so as to keep his men together. He would be the more deeply embittered against us.""You are in the right," said Fanshawe. "Pray God help comes to us, then.""We can still hold the keep," said Harry. "One man on the winding stair can hold many at bay; we must fight against time."That night Harry could not sleep for the harassing problem of the continued defence of the castle. True, his object had been gained; Prince Eugene had got off in safety; he himself had fought a good fight; but it was clear that unless help came soon his defence must be broken through by sheer force of numbers. He was resolved to die rather than fall a captive into Aglionby's hands; but the longing for life was strong within him. He thought of all that had passed during the two years since his meeting with Lord Godolphin: the strange vicissitudes, the ups and downs of fortune; the inexplicable enmity of Mr. Berkeley; his pleasant relations with Mynheer Grootz and the ladies of Lindendaal; the chances which had served him so well and brought him so near the realization of his dearest longings. It was hard to think that at this moment, when the confederate army under the greatest generals of the age was moving towards events of high moment, he should be cut off in this obscure spot and robbed of the opportunity to which he had looked forward so eagerly.He did not think only of himself. He remembered his companions—Fanshawe, Buckley, the faithful Max, the brave troopers whose fate was linked with his. Their lot was worse than his, for they had ties—parents, children, relatives, to whom they were dear: he himself was alone in the world. Apart from Mynheer Grootz, who he knew loved him; Madame de Vaudrey, whose feeling for him was warm; Sherebiah, whose affection was perhaps the closest of all; there was no one to be interested in his welfare. Thinking of Madame de Vaudrey he thought of her daughter, and was dimly conscious that he would have liked to stand well in her eyes—to break through that cold reserve of manner she had always shown to him, and win from her one look or word of approval. Fanshawe, he knew, still nourished a hope of winning her; it seemed to depend on him whether Fanshawe should have another chance.He lay awake, thus musing, and gazing at a star that shone through the loophole in the wall. By and by he felt a strange uneasiness, unconnected with his previous train of thought. All was quiet; not even the hoot of an owl broke the stillness. Unable to account for his feeling, he rose and went to the top of the keep."Is all well?" he asked the sentry there."All is well, Monsieur.""You have seen or heard nothing?""Nothing, Monsieur, but the scurry of rabbits in the fosse.""Good-night!"He returned to his bed and lay down again. But still he felt uneasy; again he was impelled to rise. This time he went down into the courtyard. Max was on duty there. The horses were ranged round the walls; the coach stood in the corner to which it had been hauled; everything was as it had been. He went into the large hall: the prisoners were all asleep, the sentry on guard. Something led him to continue his round; he was determined to allay his restlessness by examining every nook and cranny of the castle. Taking a lighted candle, he made his way into the lower part of the keep. He arrived at length at the chamber to which there was access from the tunnel. He started, and stopped short in amazement and consternation. The stones which had been heaped on the trap-door had been removed. With a muttered imprecation on the man who he supposed had carried the stones up the keep for use with the sling, he was turning to order someone to replace them when he noticed that several stones were piled in a corner near at hand. He stood still, puzzled at this strange meddling with his work.At this moment he heard a slight sound beneath him, and saw a tremor in the stone trap-door. Could he believe his eyes? One end of the stone was rising. Quick as thought he blew out his candle, and backing behind a pillar drew a pistol from his belt. His fascinated eyes were fixed on the slowly moving stone. There was now a ray of light at its edge; he heard whispering voices. Steadily the heavy slab was pushed into a vertical position; then appeared the head, the shoulders, the body of a man. By the light of the sputtering candle he carried Harry recognized Otto the landlord. Now he saw the meaning of all that had puzzled him. The man, alarmed for his safety if, as must seem inevitable, the brigands captured the castle and found him there, apparently an accomplice in the trick played upon them, had sought to purchase his peace by leading them through the secret passage. Harry felt a keen pang of self-reproach that he should not have foreseen this development and taken steps to prevent it.[image]Mein Wirth is surprisedBut he was instinctively bracing his muscles for the impending struggle. The landlord was now through the opening; he stepped on to the floor of the room and bent down to assist the next man. Slipping the pistol back into his belt, Harry made two bounds and was beside the stooping figure. The man heard his footfall and instantly straightened himself; but even as he raised the hand holding the candle to ward off the imminent blow, Harry struck him full upon the chin, and with a stifled gasp he fell headlong to the stone floor. Then Harry, throwing all his weight against the slab, hurled it with a crash into its place. The landlord's candle was guttering, still feebly alight, on the floor. By its glimmer Harry hauled from the corner one after another of the stones that had been removed, and piled them with desperate haste upon the trap until the way was again effectually blocked.Then, picking up the candle, he examined the prostrate body. The man was stunned. Harry, for all his anger, could not help pitying the poor craven wretch. But only one course was open to him. The crashing sound had already brought Max and two other men to the spot."Lower him into the dungeon," cried Harry.And the dark hole in which Fanshawe and Buckley had spent nights and days now received the senseless body of the traitorous landlord.Sleep was banished for the rest of the night. The alarm had gone through the garrison, and every man was on the alert. It was clearly imperative to provide against a possible attack by way of the underground passage. Such an attack was, in truth, not very likely. Only one man could pass the slab at one time from below, and save by mining operations the enemy could scarcely force a way through the ton of stones which Harry now caused to be heaped above it. But it was necessary to set a watch at this point, and as he could not spare another man from his already too much diminished force he decided to withdraw the man from the tower by which he had escaped from the castle, and to release the prisoners.Before he did this, however, he resolved to employ them once more in strengthening his defences. It was pretty evident that the result of another assault would be to drive him into the keep. The entrance to this from the courtyard was without a door; it was necessary to block it up, leaving only a narrow gap that could be easily closed. He employed the prisoners to pile the largest stones that could be found flush with the doorway, in such a manner that the enemy, approaching from the outside, should be unable to get a hold upon them or push them away. A narrow opening was left, and heavy stones were placed on the inside, near at hand, to block it up when the time should come. At the same time a large supply of missiles was conveyed to the top of the keep.It was clear from the movements of the enemy during the day that they were far from abandoning the siege. No doubt they had been encouraged by the arrival of reinforcements. Sections for a new bridge were brought in the afternoon and placed close to the fosse, together with the sections of a second testudo. These were certain indications of another attempt on the gateway.Many times during the day Harry went up the keep and looked anxiously northward for the expected succour, always to be disappointed. He could not believe that Prince Eugene had left him to his fate; something must have happened to detain the relieving force, and Harry thought with anguish of heart that it might arrive too late. Then an idea struck him. Why not send out a messenger to hasten the troops if they were indeed on the road? There was one serious objection: the garrison could not safely spare a man. He mentioned his idea to Fanshawe."Let me go," said his friend instantly. "I am of little use as a fighting man; my strength is not equal to a fight so desperate as the last. But if I can get away, I might find a horse in a neighbouring hamlet, and I could at least keep my seat in the saddle. And an officer would prove a better messenger than a trooper."Harry accepted the offer. Fanshawe might fall into the hands of the enemy, but he was willing to face the risk, and under cover of night there was a reasonable hope that he might elude them. About ten o'clock he clambered along the battlements towards the rearmost tower, and there, assisted by a rope, he made his exit by the postern, slid down the slope more riskily ventured by Harry on his first visit to the castle, and, taking a wide sweep, disappeared into the darkness.When Harry returned to the keep, he was informed by the sentry that he had heard dull movements beneath the trap-door. The sounds had now ceased. Harry's conclusion was that the enemy had been searching for a weak spot in the passage, and having failed had finally given up any notion of effecting an entrance there. He arranged with Buckley to take the watch from midnight till dawn.With the first glimmers of daylight Harry carried out his resolve to release the prisoners. The odds were so heavy against him that one man inside was now worth thirty out, and with no prisoners to guard he could add one to his effective force. Rapidly marshalling them, he led them to the ruined tower, and let them down by a rope as Fanshawe had been let down in the night. The movement was seen by one of the enemy's scouts, and before the prisoners had all reached the ground a crowd of their comrades had gathered at the foot of the slope to meet them. Their appearance seemed to create great astonishment; they were surrounded and eagerly plied with questions. One result of their release was that a new point of attack was disclosed to the enemy, who had apparently not dreamt hitherto of making an attempt by the postern. Harry saw a small body detach themselves from the main force and approach the slope; but knowing the difficulty of an assault uphill upon such a narrow opening he doubted whether they would push an attack home; still, it would have the effect of engaging one at least of his men.It was very early in the morning; the enemy had everything ready; but they appeared to be waiting for something. Once more Harry scanned the horizon vainly for sign of helmet or lance. Suddenly there was a deep rumbling roar from the interior of the keep; an exultant shout rose from the enemy's ranks, and rushing forward at full speed they began to throw their new bridge across the fosse. Shouting to his men to hold the gateway to the death, Harry hastened down to the entrance of the keep, where he was met by stifling fumes of gunpowder. Then he rushed up the winding stair to the first floor, and saw Buckley staggering towards him."I had just been relieved," panted Buckley. "The explosion occurred the moment after I left the spot. It stunned me for a few seconds. The poor fellow who took my place must have been blown to atoms.""They laid a charge last night, 'tis clear," said Harry. "But they can't follow up at once; they must wait until the fumes have cleared away, and that will take time: there are no vent holes. Remain at the top of the stair; with your musket and pistol you can hold several off for a time. They are assaulting the gateway; I must go."Harry, having proved the futility of dropping missiles upon the testudo, had concentrated his whole force, save Buckley and the man in the tower, at the gateway. He noticed that the new bridge was higher at the farther side of the fosse than at the end near the castle. The reason was soon evident. The testudo this time was not blocked up by logs, and Harry behind his barricade could see through its entire length. A screen of saplings was suddenly raised over the farther end of the bridge; it was as suddenly removed; and down the inclined plane rolled a small keg of powder, with a burning fuse attached."Back, men, back!" he shouted.The command was only just in time. They were but a few yards from the barricade when there came a roar like thunder, followed by a second as Harry's own mine was exploded, and through the swirling smoke fierce and derisive cheers. Holding his breath and stooping low, Harry rushed back to see what damage was done. The barricade had disappeared; the archway was in ruins; and the enemy were flinging another bridge across the fosse to replace that destroyed by the explosion. So far as the defence of the gateway was concerned, Harry saw that the game was up. At the best he could but delay the enemy for a few minutes, and even then he would risk having his men cut off from the keep. Recalling the man from the farther tower, he collected his little band, ordered them to fire one volley into the advancing ranks, and then withdrew through the barricaded doorway into his last defence.At that moment he heard the dull sound of a shot above. Buckley must be beset! Giving Max orders to hold the courtyard entrance, and sending a man to hurl down stones from the roof upon the enemy crowding below, he took two men with him to assist Buckley, whom he found hard pressed near the head of the other stairway. Sword in hand, he was holding the narrow winding passage against the big red-sashed Croatian, who was making a desperate thrust at him with a half-pike, the head of which had been severed by the Englishman's blade."Steady, Buckley! I am here!" shouted Harry.He drew his pistol from his belt, slipped under Buckley's arm, and just as the Croatian hurled himself up the last step intervening between himself and his foe, Harry fired point-blank at his heart, and he fell back upon his comrades. The narrow stairway was choked with men; the din of their shouts echoed and re-echoed from the winding walls, and above all the uproar Harry distinguished the tones of Aglionby, yelling to his men to make way for him to pass.When Fanshawe left the castle he walked steadily on for some hours, making a wide circuit round the enemy's position, guiding himself by the north star. His progress was difficult over the hills in the darkness. He had to scale bluffs, to creep up rocks, to spring across ravines, to wade through swamps at the risk of being engulfed, to skirt patches of wood—though in one case, finding that he was being taken too far out of his course, he plunged boldly into a copse, trusting to his good fortune to bring him safely out at the other side. Thus delayed, it was long before he felt sure that he was safe.At last he struck into a narrow pathway leading north-west. Proceeding more rapidly along this, he was brought, after walking for some four hours, into what was apparently the highroad along which he had passed with Marlborough's letter about ten days earlier. He was very tired, but resolved to press on until he reached a village. Another hour's walk brought him to a hamlet with a modest Gasthaus. He knocked up the landlord, and with some difficulty persuaded the suspicious man to provide him with a horse. No troops, he learnt, had passed through. The landlord had been told that firing had been heard among the hills in the direction of Rauhstein; he did not understand what it could be, for the castle was in the possession of brigands, and he did not think the prince's men were near enough.Staying at the inn but to eat a little food, Fanshawe rode on, and suddenly, some little while before dawn, came on a picket of four men upon the road. He was challenged; the speaker was evidently a German, and of German Fanshawe knew not enough to frame a sentence. He tried French; but that raised the sergeant's suspicions; he mentioned the names of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, with no better success; and he was marched off under guard into the neighbouring village.His escort halted at a small cottage, and the sergeant entered. Colonel von Stickstoff was in bed. He was awakened, but the colonel was nothing if not a stickler for etiquette, and he declined to see Fanshawe until he had made some preparations. When Fanshawe was marched in, therefore, he found himself confronted by a short, stout, pompous little officer, with his tunic buttoned tight, a rug across his knees, which were guiltless of breeches, and a large flaxen wig set awry over his nightcap. The quarter-master was summoned, and an interrogation began."Who are you, sir, and what have you to say for yourself?" asked the officer in German.Fanshawe tried to explain in French, of which he had obtained a smattering."Ha! You are a Frenchman! Take that down, quartermaster. Everything must be done in order."This was somewhat embarrassing. Fanshawe might understand the German's French, but he must necessarily be ignorant of what was said to the quarter-master in German."I am an officer in my lord Marlborough's army," he said haltingly."Take that down, quarter-master. A Frenchman in Lord Marlborough's army. In what regiment, Monsieur?""In Schomberg's Horse.""Take that down. Now, Monsieur, explain to me how it is that you, a Frenchman in Lord Marlborough's army, are here, ten miles from his camp at Gros Heppach."This was good and unexpected news. Fanshawe at once proceeded to make it clear that he was an Englishman, then explained in as few words as possible whence he had come and the urgency of his mission."Take that down," said the colonel, translating to the quarter-master.The man wrote slowly, and Fanshawe was growing more and more restive."I beg you to note, Monsieur," he said, "that while we are talking Prince Eugene's men are possibly being massacred by the brigands. They are at least forty to one.""Ha! Take that down. The enemy is in force; we must adopt every precaution. No doubt they are an advance-guard of the Elector's army. How many do the enemy number?""Some three hundred.""Three hundred!—And I have only two hundred and eighty-three. We are outnumbered. Take that down. We must arrange apostirung, according to rule, quartermaster; note that, strictly according to rule. I will write you the instructions. Lieutenant Spitzkopf will advance with ten men three hundred and twenty paces in front of our position; Lieutenant the Baron von Blindwurm will post himself with five men two hundred and sixty paces on our right flank—or is it two hundred and forty? Hand me my manual, quarter-master.""There is a swamp there, Excellency," suggested the quarter-master doubtfully."Then they must post themselves in the swamp. Apostirungis apostirung; let there be no mistake about that. Let me see; yes, here it is: page one hundred and nine: 'Superior force: detachment in presence of, what steps to take'. Yes, it is quite clear; we must secure our position and send for reinforcements. 'Send for reinforcements': that is it. You will at once send a messenger to Stuttgart; I will write a despatch to the general while he is saddling up."Then turning to Fanshawe he said:"I regret, Monsieur, that, having failed to give the countersign, you must consider yourself under arrest until your bona fides is established. Quarter-master, take the prisoner away; see that things are done in order, and be sure to wake me up when the enemy are sighted."Fanshawe protested, but the colonel was evidently impatient to get back to bed, and waved him peremptorily away. He was led out and deprived of his arms, boiling with anger, and, feeling that every moment was of importance, in a state of desperation. This was the officer to whom Prince Eugene had entrusted the urgent task of relieving his hard-beset troopers! The confederate camp was only ten miles distant; if only he could find some means of sending word thither of the dire straits in which Harry was!As he passed along the street with his escort, he saw a number of horses approaching, apparently from being watered. The first, a fine charger lighter in build than the average cavalry horse of the period, was led by a groom, who at this moment tethered the animal to a post a few yards from his commandant's cottage. The trooper into whose custody Fanshawe had been confided was marching on his right hand, carrying not only his own carbine but the prisoner's sword and pistols. Fanshawe saw a bare chance of escape and unhesitatingly took it. With a sudden movement he deftly tripped the man up, sprang to the post, unhitched the reins, and before the onlookers could collect their scattered wits was on the horse's back and twenty yards down the road. There was a great hubbub behind him; fortunately none of the troopers was at that time armed. Suddenly he bethought him of the vedette whom the extreme caution of the commandant had doubtless caused to be posted in the rear of his force. He might come upon him at any moment. Taking the first turning to the right he set spurs to his steed, dashed along a lane, leapt a fence, and plunged into an orchard. From his study of the map previous to his ride with Marlborough's message he remembered that Gros Heppach lay on the Göppingen road, to the north-east of his present position. If he could strike this by a path over the hills he might yet succeed. He spurred on, the rising sun enabling him to choose the easiest ground, and by and by came upon a rough country track leading in the right direction. He galloped along at break-neck pace, and gaining a little eminence, his eyes were gladdened by the sight of white tents dotting the valley some three miles below him.He sped down the hill, and soon came plump upon a Dutch outpost, which had evidently seen him from afar and prepared to stop him. Reining up, he asked to be taken at once to Lord Marlborough. The Dutchman did not insist on explanations, recognizing him as an English officer, but sent a man at once to conduct him to headquarters. He had but just reached the outer circle of the camp, when he saw Colonel Cadogan riding slowly along in company with another officer whom he did not recognize. Without hesitation he rode up to the colonel, saluted, and begged to be allowed a word with him. His explanation was soon made, and to his surprise Cadogan burst into a great laugh and cried in French:"This concerns your highness. The troopers who played the trick on the brigands, and that young daredevil Rochester, are trapped in a castle.""Nom d'un tonnerre!" cried Prince Eugene. "Are they not relieved? I ordered a detachment of Würtembergers to ride out to them two days ago as I passed through Stuttgart. What has become of them?""It appears," said Cadogan, still laughing, "that they are on the road, but the colonel is learned in the art of war and is advancing by strategical moves.""Sacrebleu! He must be one of Baden's men. That young countryman of yours, Colonel, must be saved.""Yes, though he is a Dutchman now. Mr. Fanshawe, your friend's regiment is close by; you had better take a squadron and ride out at once. I suppose a troop or two of Dutch dragoons will be a match for the brigands?""Certainly, sir,—of the Anspach dragoons.""Very well, lose no time. I will mention the matter to the duke, to whom you will, of course, report yourself at the earliest opportunity. Good luck to you!"Fanshawe rode off, and within a quarter of an hour was leading some two hundred of Harry's troopers, Captain van der Werff at their head, and Sherebiah among them, along the shortest road to the castle of Rauhstein.The winding staircase of the keep was ampler than in most castles of the kind. Two men could mount abreast, but it was only possible for one to find room for sword-play. The attackers soon adapted their tactics to the conditions. One man pushed to the front with sword and pistol; another just behind supported him with pistol and pike. Not long after Harry came upon the scene, Buckley, all but sinking under the strain, had to be assisted up the staircase. This gave the brigands a momentary advantage, for Harry was left with only one swordsman to stem the rush. There was no room for his companion by his side; he therefore sent him aloft to bring large stones to hurl upon the mob. Not for the first time he had reason to congratulate himself on the hours he had spent with Sherebiah and the Dutch instructor of his regiment in practising with sabre and rapier. His was the advantage of position, but the enemy were always two to one, and had they had patience to recharge their pistols after the failure of their first flurried snap-shots, or boldness enough to press forward regardless of the loss of the first few men, they could have borne him down with ease.Only a few minutes had elapsed after Harry's arrival at the stairhead when he heard a well-known voice storming below. The enemy gave back for a moment, then Captain Aglionby pressed upward and engaged Harry hand to hand. Harry was sufficiently occupied in parrying the captain's vengeful attack without the necessity of guarding against the pike that threatened every moment to impale him. This he could only turn aside; he had no time for a sweeping cut to sever its head. Fortunately for him the captain and his supporter impeded each other on the stairway. Yet Harry saw that the struggle could not last long, and fervently hoped that the man he had sent for missiles would return in time. The clang of weapons and the shouts of men rang through the stone-walled spaces. Aglionby had learnt from the released prisoners of the trick that had been played upon him, and his fury found expression in the violence of his onslaught and the venom of the curses he hurled upon his nimble-wristed opponent. Harry said never a word, but kept his eye steadily upon the captain, turning aside stroke and thrust.At length he heard a footstep behind him. A stone as large as a man's head struck the wall immediately below him on his left. Narrowly missing Aglionby, it rebounded from the curved surface and struck the pikeman below him with a terrible thud. With the steadiness of an old campaigner the captain did not so much as wince, but continued his attack with still more savage energy. When, however, another stone hurtled down the stairway, maiming two other men below him, the rest of his followers turned tail and fled helter-skelter to the foot. A third stone grazed Aglionby's arm; then, seeing himself deserted, he backed slowly down the stairs.The attack having been thus for a time repulsed, Harry left two men on the stairs with pistols ready charged and a supply of stones, and hurried across to the other staircase to find how things had gone there. It was with unutterable relief he saw that the assault of the enemy on the entrance to the keep had so far been beaten off by the combined fire from the doorway and the hurling of heavy blocks of stone from the top of the building. But the enemy were preparing another move. Finding that they could not force the obstacle, nor approach near enough to tear it down, they were about to try the effect of an explosion. A keg of powder had been rolled to the entrance by a lucky rush between the falling of two of the dreaded stones from above; now, hugging the wall so as to avoid the fire of the defenders, they were laying a train.Harry saw that it was only a matter of minutes before the barricade at the entrance to the keep would be blown in. He utilized the time by bringing down a further supply of stones from the battlements and storing them within easy reach of the inner stairway. He could not prevent the explosion, or raise further obstacles to the progress of the besiegers; he could but defend every inch of the staircase, and retreat, if it must be so, step by step to the top of the keep. Almost despairing now of relief, he was prepared to fight to the end, and, looking round on his little group of stalwarts, he saw no sign of wavering on their part. Eugene's men were worthy of their master.Half an hour passed; the pause lengthened itself to an hour; yet the train had not been fired, the attack had not been renewed. Had the enemy some still more desperate device in preparation? Instinctively he looked far out over the country; but through the sun-shot haze he descried no sign of a friendly force. Then the watchman whom he had left on the roof saw a thin ribbon of flame dart from the outer gateway, along the wall, to the barred doorway of the keep. There was a deafening roar, followed by the crash of ruining stone-work and the vociferations of the exultant forayers, who swarmed forward to clear away the rubbish. Their ingenuity was inexhaustible. When the mingled smoke and dust had eddied away, Harry saw that they bore with them stout shields of wood, each carried by two men, intended to ward off the missiles he was preparing to launch upon them as they mounted the winding stairs. This was the explanation of their long stillness. Running down, he heard from his left the din of fierce strife in the stairway leading to the dungeons. The enemy were attacking at both points simultaneously.Then began the last bitter struggle: the besiegers pushing relentlessly before them the long upright shields that occupied almost the whole height and breadth of the stairway; the besieged contesting every step, hacking and thrusting, splitting the shields with the jagged boulders from the ramparts, lunging with sword and pike through the narrow spaces at the sides, yet moment by moment losing ground as fresh men from below came up to replace their wounded or exhausted comrades. A din compounded of many separate noises filled the narrow space—the crash of stones, the creak of riven wood, the clash of steel upon steel or stone, the crack of pistols, the cries of men in various tongues—cries of pain, of triumph, of encouragement, of revenge. Desperately fought the little garrison, every man loyal, resolute, undismayed. They had no reserves to draw upon; theirs but to stand staunch against fearful odds, and, if it must be, die with courage and clear minds. With labouring breath, drenched with sweat, sickened by the reek, battle-worn and weary, they plied their weapons, hurled their missiles, grimly gave blow for blow. Back and ever back they were driven by the remorseless shields; forced from the lower stairways they are now collected—a little band of seven—on the single one above; Harry and Max in front, two pikemen behind, and behind these, three who turn by turn smite the mass thronging below, over the heads of their own comrades, with cyclopean masses which only the strength of despair enables them to lift and hurl. Now a stone crashes clean through one shield, ay, through two, making its account of the bearers, and giving pause to the brigands. Now a pike transfixes a limb, a sword cleaves a red path, a bullet carries death. But the enemy press on and up; like an incoming tide they roll back a little after every upward rush, rising, falling, yet ever creeping higher, soon to sweep all before them.Now only six men hold the narrow stair. The dimness of the scarce lit space below is illumined from above; a yell of triumph breaks from the brigands' throats as they realize that they are nearing the top of the turret. The cry is like a knell to the hearts of Harry Rochester and his devoted five. Only a few steps, and they must be forced upon the roof, driven against the parapet, at bay to the horde of wolvish outlaws already exulting in their victory. Aglionby has gone, sore hurt by a thrust from a pike; but a doughty leader is still left, the lithe Frenchman whose peacock's feather flickers hither and thither in the van. Mechanically the defenders wield their weapons, cast their last stones; the force is gone from their strokes, their dints fall ever feebler and feebler upon the steel-edged wooden wall that thrusts them upward without mitigation or remorse. Never a man dreams of yielding; Buckley falteringly whispers a word of final cheer; there is no mercy for such obstinate fighters from the savage outlaws, afire with the lust of blood, infuriated by the checks and losses of the past desperate days.They are at the upmost turn of the stairway now, their heads already in the pure clear air of the bright June morning. The imminence of the end nerves them for a last despairing rally. Through the gaping joints of the battered shields they make so sudden and trenchant an attack on the foe that for a brief moment the upward movement is checked. A rebound: already the feathered Frenchman leaps upward as on the crest of a wave, when a confused shout reverberates through the hollow turret, a message is sped with the rapidity of lightning from base to summit; all is hushed to a sudden silence; then, while the six stand in amazed stillness, the Frenchman swings round and, amid the clatter of wood and weapons, flees headlong down the stairs at the heels of his scurrying comrades. Bewilderment for a moment possesses the six, as, with the vision of death before their eyes, they rest heavily on their weapons. Then Buckley, nearest to the parapet, with a shout that breaks into a sob, cries:"They flee! they flee!"Three bounds bring Harry to his side. With elbows on the parapet he gazes hungrily into the open. The four press about him. Between the castle and the copse men are scampering like scared animals, a few on horseback, most of them on foot. And yes—in the distance, moving across the hills from the north-west,—what is it that causes Harry's heart to leap, his blood to sing a song of tempestuous joy in every vein? One look is enough; he cannot be deceived; in the horsemen galloping amain towards him he recognizes his own regiment, the Anspach dragoons. One moment of self-collection: then he turns to his men."We are saved, my men," he says quietly.And from the parched throats of the five war-scarred warriors on that ancient keep rises a hoarse thin cheer, that floats away on the breeze, and meets the faint blare of a bugle.
It was not long before the weight of numbers began to tell; portions of the barricade had been pulled down; the gallant defenders were hard beset. Calling to the two men in the keep, Harry rushed down and flung himself into the fray, shouting to Max to go to the top of the keep and carry out orders he had previously received. Max hurried away, and Harry lost count of time as he engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand fight across the fast crumbling barricade. Standing upon their platform the defenders still had the advantage of position, and Harry and his two men being fresh, the enemy for some few minutes gained but little. Then, as the attackers were once more beginning to make headway, there was a terrible crash on the bridge. The fighting ceased as by magic; all was still. A huge mass of stone, swung outwards from the top of the keep, had broken with terrific force through the light palisades, leaving only one section intact, and carrying with it into the fosse nearly a dozen men. The survivors on the castle side, seeing themselves almost cut off, were seized with panic and made a simultaneous rush for safety, the big Croatian pushing his weaker and wounded comrades into the fosse in his reckless haste to regain the opposite bank.
Harry gave a gasp of thankfulness and relief,—and turned to see Fanshawe and Buckley, who, weak as they were, had come up unknown to him towards the close of the fight to bear a hand.
"Thank you, old fellow!" he said to Fanshawe, "we have scored one."
But he turned again, and, leaning on the barricade, anxiously scanned the field. The leaders of the enemy were once more in earnest consultation. They must have lost at least twenty men in the short sharp struggle; but the defeat seemed only to have enraged them. During the first part of the fight Max had been full in their view, and as he still wore the prince's costume the brigands were no doubt convinced that Eugene himself was the head and front of the defence, and were buoyed up by the hope of capturing him. For some minutes the discussion among the leaders continued; then, as having come to a decision, they moved off with their men towards the copse, and, save for half a dozen who remained to watch the castle, were seen no more for some hours.
Their absence gave Harry an opportunity of attending to his wounded. He found that three were somewhat seriously hurt, and one was rendered hors de combat. His total force was now reduced to fourteen, including himself, his brother officers, and the two men on guard.
Towards mid-day, under a broiling sun, the enemy again appeared. This time, in addition to palisades freshly made, they carried with them a number of rough frameworks penthouse shaped, fashioned from stout saplings bound together, like the bridge, with withies from the marsh. Evidently there was a man of resource among them. Each of the frames formed a kind of wooden tent, two yards long, some three to four wide, and six feet high, requiring the united strength of half a dozen men to carry. But there was no lack of men, and the bearers, protected from bullets from above by the roof of these shelters, came safely almost to the edge of the fosse. The new palisades were thrown across, but this time the materials were stronger. One of the sheds, its end closed with light logs, was rushed across the bridge by a dozen strong men. A second was joined to it, then a third, and so on until a continuous corridor stretched across the fosse. The lashings holding the logs together at the inner end being cut, from out of this testudo sprang brigand after brigand, who came impetuously up to the barricade and instantly engaged the defenders in a furious hand-to-hand combat. Max, whose marksmanship with his huge sling had been so effective before, hurled stone after stone down upon the testudo, but they were turned off by the sloping roof, and though the bridge creaked and groaned under the impact it did not give way.
It was fortunate for the defenders that only a few men at a time could make their way through the shed, and the space at the end was too narrow to allow of a great accession of numbers unless the foremost could scale the barricade. The enemy had again lost heavily at their first onset, but as soon as one man fell his place was supplied, and no respite was given to the little band within. Shoulder to shoulder Eugene's men formed a wall of steel across the gateway: again and again they beat back the enemy at the breastwork. But against such odds they could not hope to escape unscathed; there were no reserves; and of the enemy there was still a host ready and eager to fill the gaps. One man and then another of the troopers fell, this one to rise no more, that to crawl away and stanch his wound. Seven men were now all that was left of the fighting line, and when Fanshawe and Buckley came up and insisted on sharing their comrades' peril, Harry felt that he dared no longer delay the playing of what might prove his last card. With a word to Max to keep up the fight, he slipped for a moment out of the press, struck a flint, kindled some tinder he had kept in readiness, and then, shouting to his men to make for the keep, and waiting till they had begun to run, he lit the train.
At the last moment a trooper fell, so badly hurt that he could not move. Harry sprang forward, caught the man by the belt, and dragged him into the courtyard towards the keep. The enemy, astonished at the sudden flight of the garrison, hesitated for a moment before charging across the obstacle which so far had held them off. Then, just as they leapt forward over the barricade, now an irregular heap of stones, there was a blinding flash behind them, and a deafening roar. The ground rocked; fragments of the dilapidated walls fell inwards and outwards; a dense cloud of dust and smoke bellied over the scene, and the air was rent by the cries of men in agony.
Disregarding the falling stone-work, Harry ran forward to the archway, his eyes smarting with the fumes. As the cloud gradually settled, he saw crowds of the enemy huddled together on the farther side of the fosse, their eyes aghast intently fixed on the archway. But of the bridge, and the sheds, and the stream of men who a minute before had been pressing forward exultantly across the fosse, not a vestige remained. Wood and men lay an indistinguishable mass at the bottom.
CHAPTER XXII
The Fight in the Keep
Soldiers All—The Silent Watches—Twice a Traitor—The Oubliette—The Horizon—Fanshawe Volunteers—A Powder Barrel—Nearing the End—Allies—Von Stickstoff—More Stickstoff—The Confederate Camp—The Anspach Dragoons—At the Sword Point—A Brief Respite—The Fight on the Stairs—The Last Stand—The Anspachers
Harry was sick at heart when he came to examine his losses. Three of his men were dead, nine badly wounded, there was not one but bore marks, in bruise or cut or strain, of the desperate strife in which they had played such manful parts. He arranged for the burial of the three gallant troopers; then, heavy-hearted as he was, set to work with indomitable pluck to repair the damage done to the defences. The prisoners were pressed into the service; the barricade was restored, and another mine was dug, though from the crack that showed in the masonry of the archway Harry feared that a second explosion would bring half the keep tumbling about his ears.
Having done all that could be done, and shared a meal with his devoted men, Harry went with Fanshawe and Buckley to the top of the keep to discuss the future.
"Our state is parlous, Fanshawe," he said. "Another assault will wipe us out."
"We have a breathing-space. The brigands have had enough for the present. Their ill-success must have daunted them."
"But Aglionby will not give up yet. He is playing for a high stake.—What is doing yonder?"
In the distance he saw two wagons and a band of some fifty men making their way across the hills towards the copse in which the enemy were encamped.
"Reinforcements, it appears," said Buckley. "Perhaps food; they will raid every farmhouse round."
"We must say nothing of this to the men," said Harry. "'Twould dishearten them."
"It seems you have no choice but surrender," remarked Buckley.
"Never—unless you and Fanshawe as my superior officers take the responsibility."
"Not I," said Fanshawe. "'Tis absurd to think of! The men are devoted to you; and Prince Eugene put you in command; you have done wonders, and whatever be the end, we'd be fools to interfere—eh, Buckley?"
"Certainly."
"Then I won't surrender. Say we make terms, think you the enemy would hold to them, finding the prince not here? They would wreak vengeance on us for their disappointment and their losses. They are in the main freebooters, the scum of the French and Bavarian armies, as near savages as men can be. We could expect no mercy at their hands. Besides, Aglionby will by and by discover, if he have not already done so, that I am here; and he has too many scores to pay off to deal very tenderly with me or my men. We can but hold out to the last, and hope that help may come in time."
"The prince must by this be in our camp," said Fanshawe. "What if we tell the enemy they are on the wrong scent?"
"'Twould avail us nothing. Aglionby would not believe the story, or, if he believed it, would scout it publicly so as to keep his men together. He would be the more deeply embittered against us."
"You are in the right," said Fanshawe. "Pray God help comes to us, then."
"We can still hold the keep," said Harry. "One man on the winding stair can hold many at bay; we must fight against time."
That night Harry could not sleep for the harassing problem of the continued defence of the castle. True, his object had been gained; Prince Eugene had got off in safety; he himself had fought a good fight; but it was clear that unless help came soon his defence must be broken through by sheer force of numbers. He was resolved to die rather than fall a captive into Aglionby's hands; but the longing for life was strong within him. He thought of all that had passed during the two years since his meeting with Lord Godolphin: the strange vicissitudes, the ups and downs of fortune; the inexplicable enmity of Mr. Berkeley; his pleasant relations with Mynheer Grootz and the ladies of Lindendaal; the chances which had served him so well and brought him so near the realization of his dearest longings. It was hard to think that at this moment, when the confederate army under the greatest generals of the age was moving towards events of high moment, he should be cut off in this obscure spot and robbed of the opportunity to which he had looked forward so eagerly.
He did not think only of himself. He remembered his companions—Fanshawe, Buckley, the faithful Max, the brave troopers whose fate was linked with his. Their lot was worse than his, for they had ties—parents, children, relatives, to whom they were dear: he himself was alone in the world. Apart from Mynheer Grootz, who he knew loved him; Madame de Vaudrey, whose feeling for him was warm; Sherebiah, whose affection was perhaps the closest of all; there was no one to be interested in his welfare. Thinking of Madame de Vaudrey he thought of her daughter, and was dimly conscious that he would have liked to stand well in her eyes—to break through that cold reserve of manner she had always shown to him, and win from her one look or word of approval. Fanshawe, he knew, still nourished a hope of winning her; it seemed to depend on him whether Fanshawe should have another chance.
He lay awake, thus musing, and gazing at a star that shone through the loophole in the wall. By and by he felt a strange uneasiness, unconnected with his previous train of thought. All was quiet; not even the hoot of an owl broke the stillness. Unable to account for his feeling, he rose and went to the top of the keep.
"Is all well?" he asked the sentry there.
"All is well, Monsieur."
"You have seen or heard nothing?"
"Nothing, Monsieur, but the scurry of rabbits in the fosse."
"Good-night!"
He returned to his bed and lay down again. But still he felt uneasy; again he was impelled to rise. This time he went down into the courtyard. Max was on duty there. The horses were ranged round the walls; the coach stood in the corner to which it had been hauled; everything was as it had been. He went into the large hall: the prisoners were all asleep, the sentry on guard. Something led him to continue his round; he was determined to allay his restlessness by examining every nook and cranny of the castle. Taking a lighted candle, he made his way into the lower part of the keep. He arrived at length at the chamber to which there was access from the tunnel. He started, and stopped short in amazement and consternation. The stones which had been heaped on the trap-door had been removed. With a muttered imprecation on the man who he supposed had carried the stones up the keep for use with the sling, he was turning to order someone to replace them when he noticed that several stones were piled in a corner near at hand. He stood still, puzzled at this strange meddling with his work.
At this moment he heard a slight sound beneath him, and saw a tremor in the stone trap-door. Could he believe his eyes? One end of the stone was rising. Quick as thought he blew out his candle, and backing behind a pillar drew a pistol from his belt. His fascinated eyes were fixed on the slowly moving stone. There was now a ray of light at its edge; he heard whispering voices. Steadily the heavy slab was pushed into a vertical position; then appeared the head, the shoulders, the body of a man. By the light of the sputtering candle he carried Harry recognized Otto the landlord. Now he saw the meaning of all that had puzzled him. The man, alarmed for his safety if, as must seem inevitable, the brigands captured the castle and found him there, apparently an accomplice in the trick played upon them, had sought to purchase his peace by leading them through the secret passage. Harry felt a keen pang of self-reproach that he should not have foreseen this development and taken steps to prevent it.
[image]Mein Wirth is surprised
[image]
[image]
Mein Wirth is surprised
But he was instinctively bracing his muscles for the impending struggle. The landlord was now through the opening; he stepped on to the floor of the room and bent down to assist the next man. Slipping the pistol back into his belt, Harry made two bounds and was beside the stooping figure. The man heard his footfall and instantly straightened himself; but even as he raised the hand holding the candle to ward off the imminent blow, Harry struck him full upon the chin, and with a stifled gasp he fell headlong to the stone floor. Then Harry, throwing all his weight against the slab, hurled it with a crash into its place. The landlord's candle was guttering, still feebly alight, on the floor. By its glimmer Harry hauled from the corner one after another of the stones that had been removed, and piled them with desperate haste upon the trap until the way was again effectually blocked.
Then, picking up the candle, he examined the prostrate body. The man was stunned. Harry, for all his anger, could not help pitying the poor craven wretch. But only one course was open to him. The crashing sound had already brought Max and two other men to the spot.
"Lower him into the dungeon," cried Harry.
And the dark hole in which Fanshawe and Buckley had spent nights and days now received the senseless body of the traitorous landlord.
Sleep was banished for the rest of the night. The alarm had gone through the garrison, and every man was on the alert. It was clearly imperative to provide against a possible attack by way of the underground passage. Such an attack was, in truth, not very likely. Only one man could pass the slab at one time from below, and save by mining operations the enemy could scarcely force a way through the ton of stones which Harry now caused to be heaped above it. But it was necessary to set a watch at this point, and as he could not spare another man from his already too much diminished force he decided to withdraw the man from the tower by which he had escaped from the castle, and to release the prisoners.
Before he did this, however, he resolved to employ them once more in strengthening his defences. It was pretty evident that the result of another assault would be to drive him into the keep. The entrance to this from the courtyard was without a door; it was necessary to block it up, leaving only a narrow gap that could be easily closed. He employed the prisoners to pile the largest stones that could be found flush with the doorway, in such a manner that the enemy, approaching from the outside, should be unable to get a hold upon them or push them away. A narrow opening was left, and heavy stones were placed on the inside, near at hand, to block it up when the time should come. At the same time a large supply of missiles was conveyed to the top of the keep.
It was clear from the movements of the enemy during the day that they were far from abandoning the siege. No doubt they had been encouraged by the arrival of reinforcements. Sections for a new bridge were brought in the afternoon and placed close to the fosse, together with the sections of a second testudo. These were certain indications of another attempt on the gateway.
Many times during the day Harry went up the keep and looked anxiously northward for the expected succour, always to be disappointed. He could not believe that Prince Eugene had left him to his fate; something must have happened to detain the relieving force, and Harry thought with anguish of heart that it might arrive too late. Then an idea struck him. Why not send out a messenger to hasten the troops if they were indeed on the road? There was one serious objection: the garrison could not safely spare a man. He mentioned his idea to Fanshawe.
"Let me go," said his friend instantly. "I am of little use as a fighting man; my strength is not equal to a fight so desperate as the last. But if I can get away, I might find a horse in a neighbouring hamlet, and I could at least keep my seat in the saddle. And an officer would prove a better messenger than a trooper."
Harry accepted the offer. Fanshawe might fall into the hands of the enemy, but he was willing to face the risk, and under cover of night there was a reasonable hope that he might elude them. About ten o'clock he clambered along the battlements towards the rearmost tower, and there, assisted by a rope, he made his exit by the postern, slid down the slope more riskily ventured by Harry on his first visit to the castle, and, taking a wide sweep, disappeared into the darkness.
When Harry returned to the keep, he was informed by the sentry that he had heard dull movements beneath the trap-door. The sounds had now ceased. Harry's conclusion was that the enemy had been searching for a weak spot in the passage, and having failed had finally given up any notion of effecting an entrance there. He arranged with Buckley to take the watch from midnight till dawn.
With the first glimmers of daylight Harry carried out his resolve to release the prisoners. The odds were so heavy against him that one man inside was now worth thirty out, and with no prisoners to guard he could add one to his effective force. Rapidly marshalling them, he led them to the ruined tower, and let them down by a rope as Fanshawe had been let down in the night. The movement was seen by one of the enemy's scouts, and before the prisoners had all reached the ground a crowd of their comrades had gathered at the foot of the slope to meet them. Their appearance seemed to create great astonishment; they were surrounded and eagerly plied with questions. One result of their release was that a new point of attack was disclosed to the enemy, who had apparently not dreamt hitherto of making an attempt by the postern. Harry saw a small body detach themselves from the main force and approach the slope; but knowing the difficulty of an assault uphill upon such a narrow opening he doubted whether they would push an attack home; still, it would have the effect of engaging one at least of his men.
It was very early in the morning; the enemy had everything ready; but they appeared to be waiting for something. Once more Harry scanned the horizon vainly for sign of helmet or lance. Suddenly there was a deep rumbling roar from the interior of the keep; an exultant shout rose from the enemy's ranks, and rushing forward at full speed they began to throw their new bridge across the fosse. Shouting to his men to hold the gateway to the death, Harry hastened down to the entrance of the keep, where he was met by stifling fumes of gunpowder. Then he rushed up the winding stair to the first floor, and saw Buckley staggering towards him.
"I had just been relieved," panted Buckley. "The explosion occurred the moment after I left the spot. It stunned me for a few seconds. The poor fellow who took my place must have been blown to atoms."
"They laid a charge last night, 'tis clear," said Harry. "But they can't follow up at once; they must wait until the fumes have cleared away, and that will take time: there are no vent holes. Remain at the top of the stair; with your musket and pistol you can hold several off for a time. They are assaulting the gateway; I must go."
Harry, having proved the futility of dropping missiles upon the testudo, had concentrated his whole force, save Buckley and the man in the tower, at the gateway. He noticed that the new bridge was higher at the farther side of the fosse than at the end near the castle. The reason was soon evident. The testudo this time was not blocked up by logs, and Harry behind his barricade could see through its entire length. A screen of saplings was suddenly raised over the farther end of the bridge; it was as suddenly removed; and down the inclined plane rolled a small keg of powder, with a burning fuse attached.
"Back, men, back!" he shouted.
The command was only just in time. They were but a few yards from the barricade when there came a roar like thunder, followed by a second as Harry's own mine was exploded, and through the swirling smoke fierce and derisive cheers. Holding his breath and stooping low, Harry rushed back to see what damage was done. The barricade had disappeared; the archway was in ruins; and the enemy were flinging another bridge across the fosse to replace that destroyed by the explosion. So far as the defence of the gateway was concerned, Harry saw that the game was up. At the best he could but delay the enemy for a few minutes, and even then he would risk having his men cut off from the keep. Recalling the man from the farther tower, he collected his little band, ordered them to fire one volley into the advancing ranks, and then withdrew through the barricaded doorway into his last defence.
At that moment he heard the dull sound of a shot above. Buckley must be beset! Giving Max orders to hold the courtyard entrance, and sending a man to hurl down stones from the roof upon the enemy crowding below, he took two men with him to assist Buckley, whom he found hard pressed near the head of the other stairway. Sword in hand, he was holding the narrow winding passage against the big red-sashed Croatian, who was making a desperate thrust at him with a half-pike, the head of which had been severed by the Englishman's blade.
"Steady, Buckley! I am here!" shouted Harry.
He drew his pistol from his belt, slipped under Buckley's arm, and just as the Croatian hurled himself up the last step intervening between himself and his foe, Harry fired point-blank at his heart, and he fell back upon his comrades. The narrow stairway was choked with men; the din of their shouts echoed and re-echoed from the winding walls, and above all the uproar Harry distinguished the tones of Aglionby, yelling to his men to make way for him to pass.
When Fanshawe left the castle he walked steadily on for some hours, making a wide circuit round the enemy's position, guiding himself by the north star. His progress was difficult over the hills in the darkness. He had to scale bluffs, to creep up rocks, to spring across ravines, to wade through swamps at the risk of being engulfed, to skirt patches of wood—though in one case, finding that he was being taken too far out of his course, he plunged boldly into a copse, trusting to his good fortune to bring him safely out at the other side. Thus delayed, it was long before he felt sure that he was safe.
At last he struck into a narrow pathway leading north-west. Proceeding more rapidly along this, he was brought, after walking for some four hours, into what was apparently the highroad along which he had passed with Marlborough's letter about ten days earlier. He was very tired, but resolved to press on until he reached a village. Another hour's walk brought him to a hamlet with a modest Gasthaus. He knocked up the landlord, and with some difficulty persuaded the suspicious man to provide him with a horse. No troops, he learnt, had passed through. The landlord had been told that firing had been heard among the hills in the direction of Rauhstein; he did not understand what it could be, for the castle was in the possession of brigands, and he did not think the prince's men were near enough.
Staying at the inn but to eat a little food, Fanshawe rode on, and suddenly, some little while before dawn, came on a picket of four men upon the road. He was challenged; the speaker was evidently a German, and of German Fanshawe knew not enough to frame a sentence. He tried French; but that raised the sergeant's suspicions; he mentioned the names of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, with no better success; and he was marched off under guard into the neighbouring village.
His escort halted at a small cottage, and the sergeant entered. Colonel von Stickstoff was in bed. He was awakened, but the colonel was nothing if not a stickler for etiquette, and he declined to see Fanshawe until he had made some preparations. When Fanshawe was marched in, therefore, he found himself confronted by a short, stout, pompous little officer, with his tunic buttoned tight, a rug across his knees, which were guiltless of breeches, and a large flaxen wig set awry over his nightcap. The quarter-master was summoned, and an interrogation began.
"Who are you, sir, and what have you to say for yourself?" asked the officer in German.
Fanshawe tried to explain in French, of which he had obtained a smattering.
"Ha! You are a Frenchman! Take that down, quartermaster. Everything must be done in order."
This was somewhat embarrassing. Fanshawe might understand the German's French, but he must necessarily be ignorant of what was said to the quarter-master in German.
"I am an officer in my lord Marlborough's army," he said haltingly.
"Take that down, quarter-master. A Frenchman in Lord Marlborough's army. In what regiment, Monsieur?"
"In Schomberg's Horse."
"Take that down. Now, Monsieur, explain to me how it is that you, a Frenchman in Lord Marlborough's army, are here, ten miles from his camp at Gros Heppach."
This was good and unexpected news. Fanshawe at once proceeded to make it clear that he was an Englishman, then explained in as few words as possible whence he had come and the urgency of his mission.
"Take that down," said the colonel, translating to the quarter-master.
The man wrote slowly, and Fanshawe was growing more and more restive.
"I beg you to note, Monsieur," he said, "that while we are talking Prince Eugene's men are possibly being massacred by the brigands. They are at least forty to one."
"Ha! Take that down. The enemy is in force; we must adopt every precaution. No doubt they are an advance-guard of the Elector's army. How many do the enemy number?"
"Some three hundred."
"Three hundred!—And I have only two hundred and eighty-three. We are outnumbered. Take that down. We must arrange apostirung, according to rule, quartermaster; note that, strictly according to rule. I will write you the instructions. Lieutenant Spitzkopf will advance with ten men three hundred and twenty paces in front of our position; Lieutenant the Baron von Blindwurm will post himself with five men two hundred and sixty paces on our right flank—or is it two hundred and forty? Hand me my manual, quarter-master."
"There is a swamp there, Excellency," suggested the quarter-master doubtfully.
"Then they must post themselves in the swamp. Apostirungis apostirung; let there be no mistake about that. Let me see; yes, here it is: page one hundred and nine: 'Superior force: detachment in presence of, what steps to take'. Yes, it is quite clear; we must secure our position and send for reinforcements. 'Send for reinforcements': that is it. You will at once send a messenger to Stuttgart; I will write a despatch to the general while he is saddling up."
Then turning to Fanshawe he said:
"I regret, Monsieur, that, having failed to give the countersign, you must consider yourself under arrest until your bona fides is established. Quarter-master, take the prisoner away; see that things are done in order, and be sure to wake me up when the enemy are sighted."
Fanshawe protested, but the colonel was evidently impatient to get back to bed, and waved him peremptorily away. He was led out and deprived of his arms, boiling with anger, and, feeling that every moment was of importance, in a state of desperation. This was the officer to whom Prince Eugene had entrusted the urgent task of relieving his hard-beset troopers! The confederate camp was only ten miles distant; if only he could find some means of sending word thither of the dire straits in which Harry was!
As he passed along the street with his escort, he saw a number of horses approaching, apparently from being watered. The first, a fine charger lighter in build than the average cavalry horse of the period, was led by a groom, who at this moment tethered the animal to a post a few yards from his commandant's cottage. The trooper into whose custody Fanshawe had been confided was marching on his right hand, carrying not only his own carbine but the prisoner's sword and pistols. Fanshawe saw a bare chance of escape and unhesitatingly took it. With a sudden movement he deftly tripped the man up, sprang to the post, unhitched the reins, and before the onlookers could collect their scattered wits was on the horse's back and twenty yards down the road. There was a great hubbub behind him; fortunately none of the troopers was at that time armed. Suddenly he bethought him of the vedette whom the extreme caution of the commandant had doubtless caused to be posted in the rear of his force. He might come upon him at any moment. Taking the first turning to the right he set spurs to his steed, dashed along a lane, leapt a fence, and plunged into an orchard. From his study of the map previous to his ride with Marlborough's message he remembered that Gros Heppach lay on the Göppingen road, to the north-east of his present position. If he could strike this by a path over the hills he might yet succeed. He spurred on, the rising sun enabling him to choose the easiest ground, and by and by came upon a rough country track leading in the right direction. He galloped along at break-neck pace, and gaining a little eminence, his eyes were gladdened by the sight of white tents dotting the valley some three miles below him.
He sped down the hill, and soon came plump upon a Dutch outpost, which had evidently seen him from afar and prepared to stop him. Reining up, he asked to be taken at once to Lord Marlborough. The Dutchman did not insist on explanations, recognizing him as an English officer, but sent a man at once to conduct him to headquarters. He had but just reached the outer circle of the camp, when he saw Colonel Cadogan riding slowly along in company with another officer whom he did not recognize. Without hesitation he rode up to the colonel, saluted, and begged to be allowed a word with him. His explanation was soon made, and to his surprise Cadogan burst into a great laugh and cried in French:
"This concerns your highness. The troopers who played the trick on the brigands, and that young daredevil Rochester, are trapped in a castle."
"Nom d'un tonnerre!" cried Prince Eugene. "Are they not relieved? I ordered a detachment of Würtembergers to ride out to them two days ago as I passed through Stuttgart. What has become of them?"
"It appears," said Cadogan, still laughing, "that they are on the road, but the colonel is learned in the art of war and is advancing by strategical moves."
"Sacrebleu! He must be one of Baden's men. That young countryman of yours, Colonel, must be saved."
"Yes, though he is a Dutchman now. Mr. Fanshawe, your friend's regiment is close by; you had better take a squadron and ride out at once. I suppose a troop or two of Dutch dragoons will be a match for the brigands?"
"Certainly, sir,—of the Anspach dragoons."
"Very well, lose no time. I will mention the matter to the duke, to whom you will, of course, report yourself at the earliest opportunity. Good luck to you!"
Fanshawe rode off, and within a quarter of an hour was leading some two hundred of Harry's troopers, Captain van der Werff at their head, and Sherebiah among them, along the shortest road to the castle of Rauhstein.
The winding staircase of the keep was ampler than in most castles of the kind. Two men could mount abreast, but it was only possible for one to find room for sword-play. The attackers soon adapted their tactics to the conditions. One man pushed to the front with sword and pistol; another just behind supported him with pistol and pike. Not long after Harry came upon the scene, Buckley, all but sinking under the strain, had to be assisted up the staircase. This gave the brigands a momentary advantage, for Harry was left with only one swordsman to stem the rush. There was no room for his companion by his side; he therefore sent him aloft to bring large stones to hurl upon the mob. Not for the first time he had reason to congratulate himself on the hours he had spent with Sherebiah and the Dutch instructor of his regiment in practising with sabre and rapier. His was the advantage of position, but the enemy were always two to one, and had they had patience to recharge their pistols after the failure of their first flurried snap-shots, or boldness enough to press forward regardless of the loss of the first few men, they could have borne him down with ease.
Only a few minutes had elapsed after Harry's arrival at the stairhead when he heard a well-known voice storming below. The enemy gave back for a moment, then Captain Aglionby pressed upward and engaged Harry hand to hand. Harry was sufficiently occupied in parrying the captain's vengeful attack without the necessity of guarding against the pike that threatened every moment to impale him. This he could only turn aside; he had no time for a sweeping cut to sever its head. Fortunately for him the captain and his supporter impeded each other on the stairway. Yet Harry saw that the struggle could not last long, and fervently hoped that the man he had sent for missiles would return in time. The clang of weapons and the shouts of men rang through the stone-walled spaces. Aglionby had learnt from the released prisoners of the trick that had been played upon him, and his fury found expression in the violence of his onslaught and the venom of the curses he hurled upon his nimble-wristed opponent. Harry said never a word, but kept his eye steadily upon the captain, turning aside stroke and thrust.
At length he heard a footstep behind him. A stone as large as a man's head struck the wall immediately below him on his left. Narrowly missing Aglionby, it rebounded from the curved surface and struck the pikeman below him with a terrible thud. With the steadiness of an old campaigner the captain did not so much as wince, but continued his attack with still more savage energy. When, however, another stone hurtled down the stairway, maiming two other men below him, the rest of his followers turned tail and fled helter-skelter to the foot. A third stone grazed Aglionby's arm; then, seeing himself deserted, he backed slowly down the stairs.
The attack having been thus for a time repulsed, Harry left two men on the stairs with pistols ready charged and a supply of stones, and hurried across to the other staircase to find how things had gone there. It was with unutterable relief he saw that the assault of the enemy on the entrance to the keep had so far been beaten off by the combined fire from the doorway and the hurling of heavy blocks of stone from the top of the building. But the enemy were preparing another move. Finding that they could not force the obstacle, nor approach near enough to tear it down, they were about to try the effect of an explosion. A keg of powder had been rolled to the entrance by a lucky rush between the falling of two of the dreaded stones from above; now, hugging the wall so as to avoid the fire of the defenders, they were laying a train.
Harry saw that it was only a matter of minutes before the barricade at the entrance to the keep would be blown in. He utilized the time by bringing down a further supply of stones from the battlements and storing them within easy reach of the inner stairway. He could not prevent the explosion, or raise further obstacles to the progress of the besiegers; he could but defend every inch of the staircase, and retreat, if it must be so, step by step to the top of the keep. Almost despairing now of relief, he was prepared to fight to the end, and, looking round on his little group of stalwarts, he saw no sign of wavering on their part. Eugene's men were worthy of their master.
Half an hour passed; the pause lengthened itself to an hour; yet the train had not been fired, the attack had not been renewed. Had the enemy some still more desperate device in preparation? Instinctively he looked far out over the country; but through the sun-shot haze he descried no sign of a friendly force. Then the watchman whom he had left on the roof saw a thin ribbon of flame dart from the outer gateway, along the wall, to the barred doorway of the keep. There was a deafening roar, followed by the crash of ruining stone-work and the vociferations of the exultant forayers, who swarmed forward to clear away the rubbish. Their ingenuity was inexhaustible. When the mingled smoke and dust had eddied away, Harry saw that they bore with them stout shields of wood, each carried by two men, intended to ward off the missiles he was preparing to launch upon them as they mounted the winding stairs. This was the explanation of their long stillness. Running down, he heard from his left the din of fierce strife in the stairway leading to the dungeons. The enemy were attacking at both points simultaneously.
Then began the last bitter struggle: the besiegers pushing relentlessly before them the long upright shields that occupied almost the whole height and breadth of the stairway; the besieged contesting every step, hacking and thrusting, splitting the shields with the jagged boulders from the ramparts, lunging with sword and pike through the narrow spaces at the sides, yet moment by moment losing ground as fresh men from below came up to replace their wounded or exhausted comrades. A din compounded of many separate noises filled the narrow space—the crash of stones, the creak of riven wood, the clash of steel upon steel or stone, the crack of pistols, the cries of men in various tongues—cries of pain, of triumph, of encouragement, of revenge. Desperately fought the little garrison, every man loyal, resolute, undismayed. They had no reserves to draw upon; theirs but to stand staunch against fearful odds, and, if it must be, die with courage and clear minds. With labouring breath, drenched with sweat, sickened by the reek, battle-worn and weary, they plied their weapons, hurled their missiles, grimly gave blow for blow. Back and ever back they were driven by the remorseless shields; forced from the lower stairways they are now collected—a little band of seven—on the single one above; Harry and Max in front, two pikemen behind, and behind these, three who turn by turn smite the mass thronging below, over the heads of their own comrades, with cyclopean masses which only the strength of despair enables them to lift and hurl. Now a stone crashes clean through one shield, ay, through two, making its account of the bearers, and giving pause to the brigands. Now a pike transfixes a limb, a sword cleaves a red path, a bullet carries death. But the enemy press on and up; like an incoming tide they roll back a little after every upward rush, rising, falling, yet ever creeping higher, soon to sweep all before them.
Now only six men hold the narrow stair. The dimness of the scarce lit space below is illumined from above; a yell of triumph breaks from the brigands' throats as they realize that they are nearing the top of the turret. The cry is like a knell to the hearts of Harry Rochester and his devoted five. Only a few steps, and they must be forced upon the roof, driven against the parapet, at bay to the horde of wolvish outlaws already exulting in their victory. Aglionby has gone, sore hurt by a thrust from a pike; but a doughty leader is still left, the lithe Frenchman whose peacock's feather flickers hither and thither in the van. Mechanically the defenders wield their weapons, cast their last stones; the force is gone from their strokes, their dints fall ever feebler and feebler upon the steel-edged wooden wall that thrusts them upward without mitigation or remorse. Never a man dreams of yielding; Buckley falteringly whispers a word of final cheer; there is no mercy for such obstinate fighters from the savage outlaws, afire with the lust of blood, infuriated by the checks and losses of the past desperate days.
They are at the upmost turn of the stairway now, their heads already in the pure clear air of the bright June morning. The imminence of the end nerves them for a last despairing rally. Through the gaping joints of the battered shields they make so sudden and trenchant an attack on the foe that for a brief moment the upward movement is checked. A rebound: already the feathered Frenchman leaps upward as on the crest of a wave, when a confused shout reverberates through the hollow turret, a message is sped with the rapidity of lightning from base to summit; all is hushed to a sudden silence; then, while the six stand in amazed stillness, the Frenchman swings round and, amid the clatter of wood and weapons, flees headlong down the stairs at the heels of his scurrying comrades. Bewilderment for a moment possesses the six, as, with the vision of death before their eyes, they rest heavily on their weapons. Then Buckley, nearest to the parapet, with a shout that breaks into a sob, cries:
"They flee! they flee!"
Three bounds bring Harry to his side. With elbows on the parapet he gazes hungrily into the open. The four press about him. Between the castle and the copse men are scampering like scared animals, a few on horseback, most of them on foot. And yes—in the distance, moving across the hills from the north-west,—what is it that causes Harry's heart to leap, his blood to sing a song of tempestuous joy in every vein? One look is enough; he cannot be deceived; in the horsemen galloping amain towards him he recognizes his own regiment, the Anspach dragoons. One moment of self-collection: then he turns to his men.
"We are saved, my men," he says quietly.
And from the parched throats of the five war-scarred warriors on that ancient keep rises a hoarse thin cheer, that floats away on the breeze, and meets the faint blare of a bugle.