For Mistress Consterdineto be left at the coffee-house,by the Cockpitt, Whitehall, London.It was carefully but not conspicuously sealed. The captain turned it over and over in his dirty hands; they itched to open it. "To judge by his rage," he muttered, "he's certainly smit with Mademoiselle de Vaudrey. 'Tis not merely his interest is engaged." He sat musing for a moment. Then his eye fell on a broadsheet, marked with many circular stains, that lay on one of the chairs. He took it up and searched for a passage which he had clearly already read. Lighting upon it, he read:"The report goes that Coy's Horse embark at Harwich for Ostend on Friday the 16th current. They will join the forces now operating under General Lumley in Dutch Flanders.""With a fair wind they'll make port to-morrow. Then, Sherebiah Minshull, my sweet coz, we shall begin to square accounts,—you and I."Stuffing the two packets into his capacious pocket, he clapped on his hat, flung a cloak over his shoulders, wound the comforter more tightly about his neck, and made his way out, sneezing half a dozen times as he met the cooler air of the street. He walked along the Lange Pooten, the chief business thoroughfare, into an open space known as the Plein. As he was crossing this he caught sight of a figure hastening into one of the larger houses, and almost involuntarily he stepped aside into a doorway until all danger of being seen was past."What is the puppy doing here?" he muttered, passing on his way to the old road to Scheveningen. After a pleasant woodland walk of two miles he reached that little fishing village, and found, as he expected, Captain Rudge, owner and skipper of the sloopSkylark, a fast sailer which ran to and fro between Scheveningen and Harwich. To him Aglionby confided his own letter and Polignac's. Then he retraced his steps, and at the Hague took horse for Rotterdam. It was near midnight when he returned and wearily climbed the lofty stair to his attic room; but though he was fatigued, and his cold perceptibly worse, he seemed well satisfied with himself, and chuckled many a time before he had drained to the dregs the bottle of sack he had broached with Monsieur de Polignac.The person from whose sight he had shrunk in the afternoon was Harry Rochester himself, who had just returned from a visit to Marlborough's camp at Hanneff. Mynheer Grootz was up to his eyes in business, and the wide area over which the confederate forces were spread taxed his resources to the utmost. He had now come to the Hague to confer with a committee of the States General and arrange further contracts, and had instructed Harry to meet him there on the completion of his own errand."Well, my boy," said Grootz on his arrival, "I did not expect you zo zoon." They were now on such friendly and familiar terms that the Dutchman had dropped the formal address. "How have you fared?""Excellently, Mynheer," replied Harry. "The commissary was well content with your arrangements, and said—'tis no harm to repeat it—that were all Dutchmen like Jan Grootz he would be spared a peck of trouble.""Dat is goot," said Grootz, evidently well pleased. "Dat is how I do my business; always in time, always ready, always sure.""I had hoped to catch a glimpse of my lord Marlborough himself, but 'twas not to be. Whatever may be said of his meanness and selfishness, Mynheer, 'tis certain he is adored by his army. The soldiers are full of courage, confident in my lord's genius, and all afire to meet the French. They say, indeed, that if my lord were but free of restraint, not bound to take counsel with your politicians here, one campaign would see the end of the war.""Dey zay!—Yes, well, it may be zo. My lord is a fine soldier—none would deny it—for all he dink little of de rules of war. But as for de field deputies—my countrymen—dey alzo have reason. To Lord Marlborough and you English, my boy, a defeat mean much; dat is zo; but to my country—ah! much more. To us it mean ruin, every village and town overrun, our polders spoiled, our homes destroyed, everywhere black misery. Dis poor country know it all too well; we have suffered—ah yes! we have suffered before too often. For my lord, it is a game wherein he can noding lose but glory; for us it is a struggle of life and death. True, for myself, I zay in war, as in business, to follow a bold course is best; but I do not derefore blame our statesmen dat dey move zlowly; no, I do not blame dem."Harry had seen more than once lately that beneath the stolid exterior of the merchant beat a heart warm toward his fatherland and his friends. He could not but recognize much to sympathize with in the Dutch point of view, and began to realize what it meant to the Hollanders to have their country turned into a cockpit for the political contentions of rival monarchs.A slight pause followed Grootz's earnest speech; then suddenly, with a change of tone, he said:"Now, Mynheer Harry, I have a ding to zay. Dere are reasons why I find it now necessary to discharge you from my business."Harry gasped and looked very blank. The merchant nodded solemnly; up came his fat forefinger; and he continued with even more deliberation than usual:"Dat is zo. I tell you dis; I find no fault wid you; none in de world; but all de same, I zay dat it is necessary you go."Harry was so much taken aback that he found it difficult to speak."Why—'tis sudden—what can—surely—" his tongue stumbled over half a dozen questions before, with an effort to command himself, he said: "Of course, Mynheer, if there is nothing more for me to do, I must perforce seek other work. You have been very kind to me; 'tis but poor thanks I can give you for what you have done.""What I have done! Gunst! it is noding. And you: it needs not to zeek oder work; it is found. Hearken to dis."He took up an official-looking paper that lay at his hand and read in Dutch:"Mynheer Henry Rochester is appointed to a cornetcy in the Anspach dragoons in succession to Mynheer Lodewyk van Monnen deceased."Harry flushed to the eyes."'Tis a mistake, Mynheer, surely. I have not sought this; I know nothing of it.""A mistake! Not at all. General van Santen come to me and zay, 'Grootz, you have in your business a young man dat has no business to be in your business; he is a soldier, noding less, and we have need of such;' dat is what he zay, and more, and he go straight off to put down your name for a commission. And here it is, in de gazette. Dat is why I discharge you, before—" (Mynheer Grootz made a brave attempt to be jocular)—"before you discharge yourself."Harry was silent. His nerves were tingling, his blood sang in his veins. Here was the opening to a career after his own heart. All his earlier longings came back to him; the inward struggle with which he had acquiesced in his father's desire that he should enter the Church; the light of hope that shone on him at his interview with Marlborough; the agonizing dissolution of his castle in the air. And now, unsought, what he had sought in vain had come to him, the aspiration of his boyhood was about to be fulfilled. All this flashed through his mind in a moment of time,—and there was Jan Grootz, smiling out of his kindly little eyes. Jan Grootz!—what he owed to him! But for Jan Grootz he might now be a hapless slave in the Plantations, with no ray of light upon the endless vista of the years. To Jan Grootz he owed his health and freedom, his training in dealing with men; more than all, he had met in Jan Grootz a man whose character compelled his respect and admiration, and whom indeed he had begun to love. Would it not be the worst of ingratitude to leave him now?The temptation was strong, the inward struggle sharp. But it was only a few moments after the staggering announcement when he bent forward and said:"Mynheer, I cannot accept this offer—this splendid offer. 'Tis exceeding kind of General van Santen; I owe him my hearty thanks; but 'tis not to be thought of, save you yourself wish to be rid of me, and that I must doubt, since 'tis but a week since you told me I was useful to you. I will see the general, and explain to him the reason why I decline this commission; I must do so at once."He made towards the door, as though eager to avoid dalliance. Grootz's broad plain face was transfigured by delight and pride and gratification. Catching Harry by the arm, he drew him back, laid his hand on his shoulder, and said:"No, Harry, my dear lad, I tell you dis; you must not do dis ding. I do not zay I shall not feel your loss"—there was an unusual note of tenderness in his voice—"true, it is not long dat we have worked togeder, but already I regard you—jawohl, regard you as a son, and to miss your bright face, your willing service——hoot! by den donder, I am not myself to-day.""'Tis too kind of you, Mynheer.""Nay, nay; I am not zo weak. I am at one wid General van Santen: you are made for a soldier. 'Tis de work you yourself would have chosen; now 'tis de tide of fortune, dat you dare not miss. I tell you dis; I am made up in my mind, fixed, noding can move me. I salute you, Mynheer Rochester, cornet in de Anspach dragoons.""Indeed, 'tis too good of you, Mynheer.""Not zo. And dis I tell you alzo. You know me, Jan Grootz; I prosper—God prospers me. I regard you as my son: well, 'tis a fader's pleasure to provide for his son at de beginning of dings, just as 'tis a skipper's pleasure to zee his ship sail taut and trim. You will have heavy charges: clothes, equipment, a horse to buy. Dose charges, you will permit me, zall be mine. 'Tis but right you should take your place wid de best. I have no kith nor kin, nor like to have; de pay for dragoons is little enough; I add a hundred guilders a month; dat will suffice, dink you?""But, Mynheer——""Poof! no buts. I zall do as please me. Now, I am hungry: let us go to de parlour. And dere is your man to tell; he will, no doubt, continue to be your servant."They went from the room, Grootz keeping his hand affectionately on Harry's shoulder. The table in the parlour was already laid, and in answer to the bell old Gretel appeared with a tureen of soup."Gretel," said the merchant, "Mynheer Harry is about to leave us.""There! Something inside told me, Mynheer, you would not keep him long.""'Tis not of my own will, Gretel," said Harry at once."No," added Grootz. "The lad was not eager. He is to be an officer of dragoons."The old woman curtsied and grunted."A rare exchange!" she said. "To my mind 'tis better to sell corn than to stand up to be shot at, and a deal safer. But I wish you good luck, Mynheer.""Thanks, Gretel, for that and for all your kindness to me. Is Sherry downstairs?""Ja, Mynheer.""Send him up, if you please. I must tell him the news.""Oh! he will not be pleased. He has a scorn of soldiers, never a good word to say for them. He is in the right."Harry smiled as the privileged old housekeeper hobbled out. Sherebiah soon appeared."Sherry," said Harry, "I have a thing to tell you. General van Santen has recommended me to the heads of the Dutch army, and I am made an officer of dragoons.""Zooks!" was the man's astonished exclamation."We shall still be together, you and I. I shall want a man, of course; and you will not object to the place?""Well, sir," said Sherebiah slowly, looking down at his boots, "'tis an awk'ard matter for a man o' peace. 'Tis a line o' life I ha' no love for. To be sarvant to a man o' war is next to bein' a man o' war yourself. Not but what I'd be proud to sarve 'ee, Master Harry; no man more; but them as take the sword shall fall by the sword, as the Book says, and I take that for a warnen to have none on 't.""A lame argument, Sherry.""True, sir, haven no larnen I feel it so. And will 'ee go shoulder to shoulder with our English sojers?"There was a note of anxiety in his voice."That I can't say. I hope that my regiment won't be left out in the cold.""Well, sir, there's a providence in't. Them above knows what they're about, to be sure, in a general way, and I bean't agwine to set up for knowen better. I'll sarve 'ee, sir, polish your breastplate, currycomb your horse, oil your boots, clean your pistols, keep an eye on the sutlers, and——""You seem to have a good notion of your new duties," said Harry, laughing."Pretty good, sir, for a man o' peace," said Sherebiah imperturbably. "And when do 'ee mount your horse as a sojer, Master Harry?""Zoon," put in Grootz. "General van Santen himself will introduce him to his broder officers; he tell me zo.""Ay, so. Well, 'tis a world o' changes. For you, sir, 'tis a change for the better, barren 'ee bean't killed; for me,—well, the truth on't is, I fear 'tis the beginnen o' the end for Sherebiah Stand-up-and-Bless."CHAPTER XIIIConcerning SherebiahA Summons—Coy's Horse—Vain Search—A Clue—Sentenced—Confession—A Quiet Mind—A Friend in Camp—The Informer—Intercession—Who Goes There?—Hit—The Mantle of Night—In a DitchOne evening, a few days after he had received news of his commission, Harry returned home somewhat later than usual from his customary stroll. He was fond of walking through the pleasant woods to Scheveningen, and watching the herring-boats as they sailed out for the night's work. He would chat with the fishermen, and had indeed by his frank manner, and perhaps an occasional gift of tobacco, established himself as a favourite with them.On this evening, feeling a little tired, he threw himself into a chair in the parlour, and sat musing, gazing into the glowing sky as the sun went down. By and by old Gretel entered and began to lay the supper. She had gone in and out two or three times in silence before Harry bethought himself and said:"Why, Gretel, how is it Sherry is not helping you to-night?""By den donder, Mynheer, you may well ask! He seems bewitched since the great news. Not half so helpful to my poor old bones as he was.""But where is he?""He has not returned yet.""Returned from where?""Why, Mynheer, he went out at once after receiving your message, and——""My message!""Ja, Mynheer, the message sent by the boy.""What boy? Come, Gretel, I sent no message. I know nothing about a boy. Tell me all you know.""It was about four o'clock, Mynheer, a boy of twelve or so came to the door—a stranger to me. He asked for Sherry Minshull—no mynheer to his tongue. I called to Sherry, and heard the boy say, 'Mynheer Rochester wishes you to come——' then the big bell of the Groote Kerk tolled, and I heard no more. But Sherry reached down his hat and said he was going to you, and he and the boy went away together."Harry was puzzled, and a little uneasy. He rose from his chair."Are you sure you heard the boy mention my name?""Quite sure. And Sherry must have thought there was need for haste, for he left his dish of coffee half full, and he is too fond of mocha to do that without a reason."Just then Mynheer Grootz came in to supper. When Harry had informed him of the strange message and Sherebiah's continued absence, he was at first disposed to make light of the matter."Gretel is growing hard of hearing," he said. "Maybe she mistook de name.""Don't you think, Mynheer, 'twould be well to make enquiry before it is dark? I am strangely uneasy about Sherry."The merchant consented to accompany Harry into the streets. Everybody knew him and answered his questions readily enough; but none of the porters of the neighbouring houses, or the watchmen who patrolled the streets, had seen Sherebiah or the boy, though some of them owned that they knew the former well by sight. By and by, however, they came upon an old soldier smoking his evening pipe outside his cottage—the lodge to one of the larger houses in Gedempte Spui. Grootz put the usual question."Did you see an Englishman—stout, with a beard, and his hat on one side, pass by a few hours ago with a boy of twelve or thereabouts?"The soldier removed his long pipe, spat, and appeared to meditate before replying."Yes—now I think of it; I believe I did see a man of that cut, though I would not be sure. He might not have been an Englishman. He was stout, certainly, and had a beard; as for his hat, I didn't notice it, for the truth is, I had been looking at some other Englishmen, a party of Coy's Horse; my old corps served side by side with them in '97. Yes, and there was a man among them I knew too; a paymaster—Robins, I mind, was his name—donder! what a temper he had! It was a curse and a blow with him. Ay, it is a hard life, the soldier's. They halted at the inn over by there, and I was just going over to drink a glass with them for old times' sake when the Baron's coach came up and I had to open the gates. A lodge-keeper, see you, is a sentry with no change of guard.""Ja, ja! But the Englishman and the boy—which way did they go?""Which way? Let me see. They might have gone down the road: no, now I bethink me, I believe they went up the road; but there, I can't be sure. The sight of the English horse, men I fought side by side with in '97, before I got my wound——""Ja, ja! Thank you!"They escaped his further reminiscences by walking on, past the inn, past a row of cottages with the inevitable bright green shutters, until they came to the watch-house at the cross-roads. Grootz put the same question to the watchman."No," he replied. "I saw no Englishman with a boy. But I saw a party of English horse; they had come in from Rotterdam, and I heard afterwards at the inn they were on the track of a deserter."It was now almost dark; to continue the search further would be vain. They returned home to their belated supper, Grootz promising to set exhaustive enquiries on foot in the morning.That night, for the first time for many months, Harry was unable to sleep. He was oppressed by perplexity and uneasiness. From whatever point of view he looked at Sherebiah's disappearance it seemed equally inexplicable. He could divine no motive for a message sent to Sherebiah in his name; the man appeared to be on very good terms with Dutchmen and was unlikely to have private enemies. Harry was almost forced to the conclusion that Gretel had been mistaken, after all, and that Sherebiah would by and by return with a simple explanation of his absence. He might have met a friend, and be spending a convivial evening with him. Perhaps—the thought came like an illumination—one of the English troopers from Rotterdam was a friend of his—a Wiltshire man, possibly. The suggestion allayed his uneasiness, and he fell asleep half expecting to be called by Sherebiah as usual next morning.But Sherebiah did not return that night. It happened next day that Mynheer Grootz was early summoned to a conference with a committee of the States General, and when after a prolonged discussion he was released he had to start at once for Leyden on important business. It was late before he returned. Harry meanwhile had lost no time in pursuing enquiries in every likely quarter, but in vain. Sherebiah had not returned; nothing had been heard of him; and there was nothing for it but to wait yet another day.He was again wakeful, and his thoughts turned to the errand on which the party of English horse had come. He pitied the unfortunate wretch for whom they were in search—some poor fellow, perhaps, who had escaped in the hope that he would be less easily tracked in a foreign land. The punishment for desertion had become much more stringent and summary of late owing to the prevalence of the offence. Harry himself remembered one bleak morning in London when, having gone early into Hyde Park, he had been the unwilling spectator of the shooting of a deserter. Had they caught the man? he wondered. "I hope——" he thought, then suddenly a strange suspicion flashed upon him. Surely it was impossible; yet—— In a moment slumbering recollections awoke. He remembered that many times, when approaching English soldiers in London, Sherebiah had sidled away and disappeared. He remembered how, more than once, Sherry had shown a knowledge of military matters singularly intimate for a civilian; how insistently he had always proclaimed himself a man of peace; how hardily he had behaved in the fight at Lindendaal. These facts, and many a slight hint scarcely regarded before, combined to convert a chance surmise, almost dismissed as absurd, into a strong presumption little short of certainty.He sprang out of bed, dressed quickly, ran downstairs with his slippers in his hands, and, noiselessly drawing the bolts, hurried along the silent street towards the inn on the Rotterdam Road at which the patrol had halted. Though it was late, the people of the inn were still up. He asked for the landlord, and had not conversed with him for more than a minute before he was convinced, from what was said of the prisoner, that it was indeed Sherebiah. The troopers had brought with them a led horse; on this they had mounted the deserter, strapping him on each side to a dragoon, and then ridden off at once towards Rotterdam,en routefor Breda. Returning to the house, Harry woke Mynheer Grootz, told him of what he had learnt, and proposed to start at once for Breda to allay or confirm his suspicion. From this the merchant dissuaded him. A night ride would be attended with difficulty and danger; if he started early in the morning, he might still overtake the dragoons before they reached Breda. Accordingly he went back to bed for a few hours. At dawn he rose, and by five o'clock was galloping towards Rotterdam on the best horse in Grootz's stables.At Rotterdam he learnt that a body of English horse, consisting of units of several regiments, had left for Breda on the previous afternoon. Waiting for an hour to rest and bait his horse he pushed on to Breda, arriving there about one o'clock in the afternoon. Without delay he sought out the officer to whom he had delivered his convoy of provisions a few weeks before, and enquired whether he knew of the arrest of an English deserter."Ay, and a notorious character, it appears. 'Twas not merely desertion they had against him, but mutiny, and a murderous attack on an officer. He fought like a cat when he was arrested; 'twas a foolish trick, for they were ten to one, and in a little he was overpowered. He was tried by court-martial this morning at nine, and the trial was short.""Was sentence pronounced?""Of course; he had no defence; he was sentenced to be shot.""There is no appeal?""None. The sentence will be laid before my lord Marlborough for confirmation; a matter of form. But pray why do you take so much interest in the man?""He is my servant, comes from my village, has done me right faithful service. Good God! to think that he should come to this end!"The officer shrugged."Unhappy chance indeed. 'Tis seven years or more since he deserted; doubtless he felt secure. I am sorry for you. He'll get no more than he deserves.""Could I see him?""Certainly; he is confined in the town-house; I will take you to him myself."In a few minutes Harry was ushered into a dark room in the basement of the town-house. A candle was lit; he was left alone with the prisoner, and the door was locked behind him."Oh, Sherry, my poor fellow, who would have thought you would come to this!""Master Harry, 'tis good of 'ee to come and see me. Ay; poor feller! you med well say so; but to tell 'ee the truth, 'tis a load off my back.""Yes, I understand. I know now why you always scouted the soldiers in London. Why didn't you tell me? I would never have brought you to this country, with our soldiers here, there, and everywhere.""Tell 'ee! Not me. Why, you and me would 'a had to part company that minute. Besides, 'twarn't zackly a thing to be proud on, look at it how 'ee will. 'Twas ill-luck I were nabbed, to be sure; but I've had nigh eight year as a man o' peace, and I s'pose 'twas time the lid were putt on the copper.""And they'll shoot you!""Bless 'ee, I bean't afeard o' that. I've been shot at; ay, many's the time: at Sedgemoor, and Walcourt, and other cities o' destruction. I can stand fire wi' any man. Nay, the one thing as troubles me is how poor old feyther o' mine'll take it. The poor ancient soul never dreams I desarted; and zooks! 'tis that'll hurt un more'n my bein' a corpse; his boy a desarter, and him a trooper of old Noll's! Ay, that'll hurt un, 'twill so. And then there's you, sir; how be I agwine to leave 'ee, wi' old Squire and Rafe Aglionby a-seeken whom they may devour, and no one you can trust to polish your breastplate and oil your boots? Ay, the way o' transgressors is hard; the wages o' sin is death; many's the time I've yeard they holy words from the lips of pa'son your good feyther, never thinken in my feeble mind he were aimen at me."Harry was at a loss for words. Sherebiah was so perfectly resigned to his fate that any attempt at consolation would seem an impertinence."How came you to desert?" he asked, to gain time."Why, I'll tell 'ee about it. I was a corporal in Coy's horse; med ha' been a sergeant long agoo, indeed. But there was a paymaster o' that regiment, Robins by name; a good sojer, true, but with his faults, like any other mortal man. He was hot in his temper, and crooked in his dealens. Us men was bein' cheated, right and left; our pay was small enough, but we never got it: a penny here and a ha'penny there bein' took off for this or that. Ay, and he was a knowen one, he was. All done so soft and quiet-like. We stood it a long time; at long last, 'twas more'n Minshull blood could stomach, and one mornen I up and spoke out; you see, I warn't a man o' peace then. Well, Robins bein' fiery by nature, he got nettled; I should myself; but 'tis one thing to get nettled, and another to use yer fist. Robins he used his fist, and not bein' zackly meek as Moses, I used mine, and he fell under. Two or three of my mates standen by saw it all. Robins he raved and called on 'em to arrest me, but they wouldn't. But 'twas all up wi' me; I knowed that well enough; if Robins took a spite agen a man he med as well be a dead dog. I had no mind to be a dead dog just then, so I bolted; and that's how I come to be such a man o' peace.""But surely if you explained that, your punishment wouldn't be so heavy.""Explain! Bless 'ee, 'twould be no good in the world. To strike a officer be mortal sin. Nay, I've nowt to say for myself; I must just take my wages.""How did you manage to elude them so long?""Oh! the regiment was out o' my way: been quartered this many year in Ireland. 'Twas just my bad luck that they should ha' been sent for on this campaign. Ah, well! a man can die but once; I've kep' the commandments, and that's more'n Robins can say; and there's no commandment 'Thee shall let a man hit 'ee and say thank 'ee'. I bean't afeard o' Them above, and I'll meet 'em with head up and eye clear, like a English sojer.""When is it to be?""They didn't tell me that. 'Twill not be long, you may be sure. My lord Marlborough has only got to scribble his name on the paper, and he'll never remember 'twas me as held his horse at Salisbury in '88 and got nowt but a smile.—Master Harry, belike I sha'n't see 'ee again in this world. When you go home-along, you'll say a word o' comfort to the old ancient gaffer, won't 'ee? Tell un all the truth; tell un I be main sorry to vex his old gray hairs,—though not for punchen Robins. Gi' him my dear love: his boy, he calls me, poor soul: and say as how I were quite easy in mind and not a bit afeard. He's a trooper of old Noll's, you see.""I'll give him your messages," said Harry with a gulp,—"if ever I get back alive.""Ay true, ye med not. The corn-dealen was a safer line o' life.—What! time's up."—A sentry had thrown open the door.—"Good-bye, Master Harry; God bless 'ee! and I hope you'll get a man as'll polish your 'coutrements to your mind. This time to-morrow, belike, I shall be a true man o' peace."Harry shook his hand in silence; he could not trust himself to speak. He was angry at what he thought the essential injustice of the sentence. Sherebiah had only struck the paymaster in self-defence, and in the original cause of dissension had right on his side. But Harry knew what military discipline meant; it was rigid as iron. Still, he could not help asking himself whether even now it was impossible to get the whole circumstances considered and the sentence revised. He thought of making a personal appeal to Marlborough, but soon dismissed the idea, for Marlborough had doubtless forgotten him, and he had no force of persuasion to bring to bear. Suddenly, as he walked slowly along the street, he remembered Godfrey Fanshawe; he was an officer in a companion regiment, Schomberg's Horse; he would ask his advice. He enquired for the quarters of the regiment, found that it was encamped a short distance out on the Tilburg road, and hastened thither with an anxious heart.The troops were under canvas, and Harry found Fanshawe joint occupant of a tent with a fellow subaltern."Hullo!" he cried when he saw Harry. "I wondered when I should run up against you. I have heard all about your feat—rescuing beauty and all that. What in the world brought you to this country?""'Twould be long in the telling. You shall know all in season. I am here on a very special errand. You remember Sherry Minshull?""As well as I do you. Many's the trout we've caught together. A right good fellow!""At this moment he is lying under sentence of death in the town-house at Breda. Unknown to me, he had been a soldier, and deserted after thrashing an officer——""D'ye know him, then?" interposed the other lieutenant."He is my man.""Oh! Sorry for you both. I had heard about it from an officer of Coy's—Cadogan's, I should say; their name's changed.""Do you know, sir, how he came to be smoked?""'Twas an Englishman peached—a soldier of fortune, as it appears, who wished to be nameless. He met the men of Cadogan's when they landed at Rotterdam, and arranged a trick by which they got him alone on the open road. 'Twas rather cleverly managed.""And a dirty mean thing to do," said Fanshawe warmly."Can't something be done for him?" asked Harry."'Tis hopeless," was Lieutenant Tettefall's reply. "Robins was very vindictive; he painted the man in the blackest colours in his evidence before the court-martial, and not one of the officers of the court knew your man. He has a double offence to answer for; 'tis certain he'll be shot as soon as the forms are completed."Harry's face was then the picture of blank despair."On my life, 'tis a thousand pities!" said Fanshawe. "I fear there is not the ghost of a chance for him." His face gloomed for a moment; then his high spirits asserted themselves. "But come, Harry, 'tis no good taking on about it; come and forget it over a bottle. I want to hear your story.""No, I'm in no humour for racketing. Would to God I could do something for the poor fellow! Would the colonel intercede if we asked him?""Not he. He would laugh and crack a joke. If Sherry were a Dutchman, now! The duke is very sweet to the Hollanders at this time, and a word from one of the States might turn him.""General van Santen!" exclaimed Harry. "I had not thought of him. 'Twas he I happened to be of use to, and Sherry did his share too. Yes, 'twould be no harm to try him. Do you know where he is?""At Lillo," said Tettefall, "full thirty miles away.""I'll ride there. Fanshawe, can you lend me a horse? Mine brought me from the Hague, forty miles and more, and is done up.""I'll lend you mine. I'd like to save Sherry, but 'tis a poor chance. Leave your horse; I'll send him and another to meet you on the way back, in case you have to ride for it.""'Tis good of you. Do you know the road?""The easiest for you is by Bergen-op-Zoom. You are less likely to be interrupted that way than by the Antwerp road; our forces are camped at Calmpthout on that road, and you might be delayed in passing through the lines, to say nothing of falling in with the French beyond.""Thanks and thanks again!""You'll have to ride hard," added Tettefall. "The duke's at Thielen, twenty miles east of Lillo; and there's no time to lose.""No, I will start at once.""And good luck go with you!"Harry was soon riding at a smart pace along the road to Bergen-op-Zoom, whence he made due south for Lillo, reaching that small fortified place about seven o'clock in the evening. To his intense disappointment he found that General van Santen was at the British head-quarters at Thielen. He had been absent all day, but was expected to return before night. Had it not been so late Harry would have started to meet him on the road, but he did not care to risk missing him. He waited impatiently; the general arrived soon after nine, and when he had heard Harry's story he consented at once to write to Marlborough, mentioning that the bearer of the letter had earned some consideration by his excellent stratagem at Lindendaal, where the condemned man also had done good service. Armed with the letter, Harry set off at ten, hoping to cover the twenty miles to Thielen before the duke had retired to rest.Before starting, General van Santen warned him that parties of French horse were out observing the movements of the confederate army. Finding that he was not familiar with the road, the general sent one of his own orderlies with him, warmly wishing him success.The two riders struck across the fields and by narrow bridle paths almost due east, and passing through one or two ruined villages—among them Eckeren, the scene of the Dutch defeat on June 30th—came to the site of the French camp, vacated and burnt on the approach of Marlborough some ten days before. The air was murky, the sky dark, and Harry was glad of his companion. He was oppressed by the louring prospect of Sherebiah's fate, and the heaviness of the night was not apt to lighten his care. They had ridden for about a third of the distance, and had just left the highway for a cross-road that saved a mile, when all at once, from behind a hedge, there came a sharp challenge in French."Who goes there?""A friend," said Harry, and, pulling up, walked his horse slowly forward."Halt, and give the countersign!" said the voice peremptorily, and dimly, a few yards before him, Harry saw a horseman come into the road."Now for a dash; keep close!" whispered Harry to the orderly.Setting spurs to his horse, he rode straight at the piquet, hoping that when the inevitable shot was fired it would miss him in the darkness. As the horse sprang forward there was a report and a blinding flash, and a choking sob behind. Harry closed with the Frenchman. There was no time to draw his sword, and he did not wish to raise a further alarm by discharging his pistols. Forcing his horse against the flank of the enemy's, he struck the man with all the weight of his fist, and, taking him by surprise, knocked him from his saddle. He turned to look for his companion; he was prone on the ground, and his startled steed had taken flight. Dismounting in haste, Harry found in a moment that the man was dead, killed by the shot intended for himself. At the same instant he heard a sound of hoofs from behind on his right. Springing on to his horse he set him at the gallop across a flat grassy plain, bearing, as nearly as he could judge, due east. Suddenly he heard the thud of more hoofs, still on his right, but this time in front of him. Evidently he was being headed off by another party approaching from the south-east. He swerved to the left, intending to make a detour; as he did so, there was the report of a carbine from behind a hedge a few yards away. He felt his horse quiver, but it galloped on, the man who had fired plunging through the hedge in hot pursuit.Harry's nerves were now at high tension. It was clear that he had stumbled upon a piquet or patrol, or even a more numerous party of the enemy, and the odds were in favour of his meeting the same fate as the poor fellow his guide. Unhappily his horse was beginning to flag. Bending forward to encourage it, and patting its neck, he felt that his hand was covered with blood. The horse had been struck. Harry remembered how it had quivered. The wound accounted for its laboured breathing; it was a good horse, and, not having as yet been seriously pressed, could have held its own with those of the troopers behind. But it was plain to Harry that, with the horse severely wounded, the race must now be short, and the result inevitable. The distance between himself and his pursuers was already lessening; a glance behind showed him four dark figures close upon his heels; a few seconds would decide his fate.At the moment of danger, some men lose their heads, others are braced to the quickest exercise of their faculties. Harry, fortunately for himself, was of the latter class. He saw that to ride on must mean speedy capture; the only chance of escape was to dismount and slip away on foot. But the country here was quite open, he would instantly be seen. He peered anxiously ahead; yes, there, against the indigo sky, was a dense mass of black; it was a plantation of some kind; could he but gain that, there was a bare possibility. He dug his spurs into his panting steed, with pity for the poor wounded beast carrying him so gallantly; but he dared not spare it; apart from his own fate, another life hung in the balance. A brief effort was needed; the horse nobly responded, and by the time it reached the edge of the wood had slightly increased the gap between pursuer and pursued. Pulling up suddenly, Harry sprang from the saddle, struck the trembling animal with his scabbard, and as he slipped among the trees heard it dash forward.Being wounded, Harry argued, the horse would certainly slacken its pace when no longer urged by the voice and spur of its rider, and must soon be overtaken. The enemy would immediately guess his device, and if the wood should be of no great extent, they would probably surround it, wait till morning, and capture him at their leisure. He waited breathlessly for the coming of the enemy; he saw them sweep past, bending low in their saddles, two men abreast, like phantom horsemen, so quietly did they ride on the turf. His heart gave a jump when he estimated them as at least half a troop. When they were past he left the wood, and ran across the open plain at right angles to his previous line of flight.As he expected, his manoeuvre was soon discovered. He heard the Frenchmen call to one another; then the thud of returning hoofs on his right, and in a few minutes he saw several dark forms approaching. They were spreading out fanwise. Only the men at the right of the line were directly approaching him at a trot, searching the ground as they rode. The sky was lightening behind them; the moon was rising; fortunately, Harry being on foot, the pursuers could not see him so clearly as he saw them.In a moment he perceived that it was a race between him and the man at the end of the line. If he could get beyond the point at which the trooper's present line of march would intersect his own path, he had a reasonable chance of safety. To his dismay he noticed that the man was edging still farther from his comrades, as though suspecting that he was not taking a sufficiently wide sweep. Harry was now panting with his exertions, and in a bath of sweat; he could run no faster over the heavy ground; he felt that the game was up, wondering indeed that the "view halloo!" had not already been given. Plunging blindly, despairingly, on, he was almost at his last gasp when he suddenly fell headlong. He had stumbled into an irrigation ditch. It was overgrown with weeds; in the stress of war the culture of the fields had been neglected; the bottom was dry. The weeds grew high on either side; Harry scrambled on hands and knees into the rank vegetation, and lay still, his flanks heaving, his breath coming and going in quick pants which he felt must be audible yards away.For some seconds he heard nothing but his deep breathing and the thumping of his heart; then the beat beat of hoofs drawing nearer. A horseman passed within a few yards of him, luckily on the right. Another few seconds, and the Frenchman ejaculated an angry "Nom d'un tonnerre!" as his horse struck the ditch and stumbled. He called to his left-hand man, and Harry, cautiously peering through the enveloping weeds, saw him alight and begin to examine the ditch. But he moved away from the fugitive. As soon as he was at a safe distance, Harry, who had by this time recovered his breath, crept out and stealthily crawled along the watercourse on hands and knees. For some minutes he continued this arduous progress, rejoicing to hear the men's voices receding moment by moment. Then, judging it safe, he rose and broke into a trot, left the ditch by and by, and continued to pound over fields and paths, through hedges and over ditches, for what seemed to him miles. Then he stopped. All sounds had now ceased save the chirp of crickets, the raucous cry of the corn-crake, and the croak of frogs. He had lost his way; he knew not whether he was near a highway; he was dead tired, his knees trembling under him. But he remembered Sherebiah spending his lonely vigil in the town-house of Breda, waiting for the dawn of his last day, and he set his lips and breathed a vow that the faithful fellow should not die if the last ounce of energy would save him.
by the Cockpitt, Whitehall, London.
It was carefully but not conspicuously sealed. The captain turned it over and over in his dirty hands; they itched to open it. "To judge by his rage," he muttered, "he's certainly smit with Mademoiselle de Vaudrey. 'Tis not merely his interest is engaged." He sat musing for a moment. Then his eye fell on a broadsheet, marked with many circular stains, that lay on one of the chairs. He took it up and searched for a passage which he had clearly already read. Lighting upon it, he read:
"The report goes that Coy's Horse embark at Harwich for Ostend on Friday the 16th current. They will join the forces now operating under General Lumley in Dutch Flanders."
"With a fair wind they'll make port to-morrow. Then, Sherebiah Minshull, my sweet coz, we shall begin to square accounts,—you and I."
Stuffing the two packets into his capacious pocket, he clapped on his hat, flung a cloak over his shoulders, wound the comforter more tightly about his neck, and made his way out, sneezing half a dozen times as he met the cooler air of the street. He walked along the Lange Pooten, the chief business thoroughfare, into an open space known as the Plein. As he was crossing this he caught sight of a figure hastening into one of the larger houses, and almost involuntarily he stepped aside into a doorway until all danger of being seen was past.
"What is the puppy doing here?" he muttered, passing on his way to the old road to Scheveningen. After a pleasant woodland walk of two miles he reached that little fishing village, and found, as he expected, Captain Rudge, owner and skipper of the sloopSkylark, a fast sailer which ran to and fro between Scheveningen and Harwich. To him Aglionby confided his own letter and Polignac's. Then he retraced his steps, and at the Hague took horse for Rotterdam. It was near midnight when he returned and wearily climbed the lofty stair to his attic room; but though he was fatigued, and his cold perceptibly worse, he seemed well satisfied with himself, and chuckled many a time before he had drained to the dregs the bottle of sack he had broached with Monsieur de Polignac.
The person from whose sight he had shrunk in the afternoon was Harry Rochester himself, who had just returned from a visit to Marlborough's camp at Hanneff. Mynheer Grootz was up to his eyes in business, and the wide area over which the confederate forces were spread taxed his resources to the utmost. He had now come to the Hague to confer with a committee of the States General and arrange further contracts, and had instructed Harry to meet him there on the completion of his own errand.
"Well, my boy," said Grootz on his arrival, "I did not expect you zo zoon." They were now on such friendly and familiar terms that the Dutchman had dropped the formal address. "How have you fared?"
"Excellently, Mynheer," replied Harry. "The commissary was well content with your arrangements, and said—'tis no harm to repeat it—that were all Dutchmen like Jan Grootz he would be spared a peck of trouble."
"Dat is goot," said Grootz, evidently well pleased. "Dat is how I do my business; always in time, always ready, always sure."
"I had hoped to catch a glimpse of my lord Marlborough himself, but 'twas not to be. Whatever may be said of his meanness and selfishness, Mynheer, 'tis certain he is adored by his army. The soldiers are full of courage, confident in my lord's genius, and all afire to meet the French. They say, indeed, that if my lord were but free of restraint, not bound to take counsel with your politicians here, one campaign would see the end of the war."
"Dey zay!—Yes, well, it may be zo. My lord is a fine soldier—none would deny it—for all he dink little of de rules of war. But as for de field deputies—my countrymen—dey alzo have reason. To Lord Marlborough and you English, my boy, a defeat mean much; dat is zo; but to my country—ah! much more. To us it mean ruin, every village and town overrun, our polders spoiled, our homes destroyed, everywhere black misery. Dis poor country know it all too well; we have suffered—ah yes! we have suffered before too often. For my lord, it is a game wherein he can noding lose but glory; for us it is a struggle of life and death. True, for myself, I zay in war, as in business, to follow a bold course is best; but I do not derefore blame our statesmen dat dey move zlowly; no, I do not blame dem."
Harry had seen more than once lately that beneath the stolid exterior of the merchant beat a heart warm toward his fatherland and his friends. He could not but recognize much to sympathize with in the Dutch point of view, and began to realize what it meant to the Hollanders to have their country turned into a cockpit for the political contentions of rival monarchs.
A slight pause followed Grootz's earnest speech; then suddenly, with a change of tone, he said:
"Now, Mynheer Harry, I have a ding to zay. Dere are reasons why I find it now necessary to discharge you from my business."
Harry gasped and looked very blank. The merchant nodded solemnly; up came his fat forefinger; and he continued with even more deliberation than usual:
"Dat is zo. I tell you dis; I find no fault wid you; none in de world; but all de same, I zay dat it is necessary you go."
Harry was so much taken aback that he found it difficult to speak.
"Why—'tis sudden—what can—surely—" his tongue stumbled over half a dozen questions before, with an effort to command himself, he said: "Of course, Mynheer, if there is nothing more for me to do, I must perforce seek other work. You have been very kind to me; 'tis but poor thanks I can give you for what you have done."
"What I have done! Gunst! it is noding. And you: it needs not to zeek oder work; it is found. Hearken to dis."
He took up an official-looking paper that lay at his hand and read in Dutch:
"Mynheer Henry Rochester is appointed to a cornetcy in the Anspach dragoons in succession to Mynheer Lodewyk van Monnen deceased."
Harry flushed to the eyes.
"'Tis a mistake, Mynheer, surely. I have not sought this; I know nothing of it."
"A mistake! Not at all. General van Santen come to me and zay, 'Grootz, you have in your business a young man dat has no business to be in your business; he is a soldier, noding less, and we have need of such;' dat is what he zay, and more, and he go straight off to put down your name for a commission. And here it is, in de gazette. Dat is why I discharge you, before—" (Mynheer Grootz made a brave attempt to be jocular)—"before you discharge yourself."
Harry was silent. His nerves were tingling, his blood sang in his veins. Here was the opening to a career after his own heart. All his earlier longings came back to him; the inward struggle with which he had acquiesced in his father's desire that he should enter the Church; the light of hope that shone on him at his interview with Marlborough; the agonizing dissolution of his castle in the air. And now, unsought, what he had sought in vain had come to him, the aspiration of his boyhood was about to be fulfilled. All this flashed through his mind in a moment of time,—and there was Jan Grootz, smiling out of his kindly little eyes. Jan Grootz!—what he owed to him! But for Jan Grootz he might now be a hapless slave in the Plantations, with no ray of light upon the endless vista of the years. To Jan Grootz he owed his health and freedom, his training in dealing with men; more than all, he had met in Jan Grootz a man whose character compelled his respect and admiration, and whom indeed he had begun to love. Would it not be the worst of ingratitude to leave him now?
The temptation was strong, the inward struggle sharp. But it was only a few moments after the staggering announcement when he bent forward and said:
"Mynheer, I cannot accept this offer—this splendid offer. 'Tis exceeding kind of General van Santen; I owe him my hearty thanks; but 'tis not to be thought of, save you yourself wish to be rid of me, and that I must doubt, since 'tis but a week since you told me I was useful to you. I will see the general, and explain to him the reason why I decline this commission; I must do so at once."
He made towards the door, as though eager to avoid dalliance. Grootz's broad plain face was transfigured by delight and pride and gratification. Catching Harry by the arm, he drew him back, laid his hand on his shoulder, and said:
"No, Harry, my dear lad, I tell you dis; you must not do dis ding. I do not zay I shall not feel your loss"—there was an unusual note of tenderness in his voice—"true, it is not long dat we have worked togeder, but already I regard you—jawohl, regard you as a son, and to miss your bright face, your willing service——hoot! by den donder, I am not myself to-day."
"'Tis too kind of you, Mynheer."
"Nay, nay; I am not zo weak. I am at one wid General van Santen: you are made for a soldier. 'Tis de work you yourself would have chosen; now 'tis de tide of fortune, dat you dare not miss. I tell you dis; I am made up in my mind, fixed, noding can move me. I salute you, Mynheer Rochester, cornet in de Anspach dragoons."
"Indeed, 'tis too good of you, Mynheer."
"Not zo. And dis I tell you alzo. You know me, Jan Grootz; I prosper—God prospers me. I regard you as my son: well, 'tis a fader's pleasure to provide for his son at de beginning of dings, just as 'tis a skipper's pleasure to zee his ship sail taut and trim. You will have heavy charges: clothes, equipment, a horse to buy. Dose charges, you will permit me, zall be mine. 'Tis but right you should take your place wid de best. I have no kith nor kin, nor like to have; de pay for dragoons is little enough; I add a hundred guilders a month; dat will suffice, dink you?"
"But, Mynheer——"
"Poof! no buts. I zall do as please me. Now, I am hungry: let us go to de parlour. And dere is your man to tell; he will, no doubt, continue to be your servant."
They went from the room, Grootz keeping his hand affectionately on Harry's shoulder. The table in the parlour was already laid, and in answer to the bell old Gretel appeared with a tureen of soup.
"Gretel," said the merchant, "Mynheer Harry is about to leave us."
"There! Something inside told me, Mynheer, you would not keep him long."
"'Tis not of my own will, Gretel," said Harry at once.
"No," added Grootz. "The lad was not eager. He is to be an officer of dragoons."
The old woman curtsied and grunted.
"A rare exchange!" she said. "To my mind 'tis better to sell corn than to stand up to be shot at, and a deal safer. But I wish you good luck, Mynheer."
"Thanks, Gretel, for that and for all your kindness to me. Is Sherry downstairs?"
"Ja, Mynheer."
"Send him up, if you please. I must tell him the news."
"Oh! he will not be pleased. He has a scorn of soldiers, never a good word to say for them. He is in the right."
Harry smiled as the privileged old housekeeper hobbled out. Sherebiah soon appeared.
"Sherry," said Harry, "I have a thing to tell you. General van Santen has recommended me to the heads of the Dutch army, and I am made an officer of dragoons."
"Zooks!" was the man's astonished exclamation.
"We shall still be together, you and I. I shall want a man, of course; and you will not object to the place?"
"Well, sir," said Sherebiah slowly, looking down at his boots, "'tis an awk'ard matter for a man o' peace. 'Tis a line o' life I ha' no love for. To be sarvant to a man o' war is next to bein' a man o' war yourself. Not but what I'd be proud to sarve 'ee, Master Harry; no man more; but them as take the sword shall fall by the sword, as the Book says, and I take that for a warnen to have none on 't."
"A lame argument, Sherry."
"True, sir, haven no larnen I feel it so. And will 'ee go shoulder to shoulder with our English sojers?"
There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
"That I can't say. I hope that my regiment won't be left out in the cold."
"Well, sir, there's a providence in't. Them above knows what they're about, to be sure, in a general way, and I bean't agwine to set up for knowen better. I'll sarve 'ee, sir, polish your breastplate, currycomb your horse, oil your boots, clean your pistols, keep an eye on the sutlers, and——"
"You seem to have a good notion of your new duties," said Harry, laughing.
"Pretty good, sir, for a man o' peace," said Sherebiah imperturbably. "And when do 'ee mount your horse as a sojer, Master Harry?"
"Zoon," put in Grootz. "General van Santen himself will introduce him to his broder officers; he tell me zo."
"Ay, so. Well, 'tis a world o' changes. For you, sir, 'tis a change for the better, barren 'ee bean't killed; for me,—well, the truth on't is, I fear 'tis the beginnen o' the end for Sherebiah Stand-up-and-Bless."
CHAPTER XIII
Concerning Sherebiah
A Summons—Coy's Horse—Vain Search—A Clue—Sentenced—Confession—A Quiet Mind—A Friend in Camp—The Informer—Intercession—Who Goes There?—Hit—The Mantle of Night—In a Ditch
One evening, a few days after he had received news of his commission, Harry returned home somewhat later than usual from his customary stroll. He was fond of walking through the pleasant woods to Scheveningen, and watching the herring-boats as they sailed out for the night's work. He would chat with the fishermen, and had indeed by his frank manner, and perhaps an occasional gift of tobacco, established himself as a favourite with them.
On this evening, feeling a little tired, he threw himself into a chair in the parlour, and sat musing, gazing into the glowing sky as the sun went down. By and by old Gretel entered and began to lay the supper. She had gone in and out two or three times in silence before Harry bethought himself and said:
"Why, Gretel, how is it Sherry is not helping you to-night?"
"By den donder, Mynheer, you may well ask! He seems bewitched since the great news. Not half so helpful to my poor old bones as he was."
"But where is he?"
"He has not returned yet."
"Returned from where?"
"Why, Mynheer, he went out at once after receiving your message, and——"
"My message!"
"Ja, Mynheer, the message sent by the boy."
"What boy? Come, Gretel, I sent no message. I know nothing about a boy. Tell me all you know."
"It was about four o'clock, Mynheer, a boy of twelve or so came to the door—a stranger to me. He asked for Sherry Minshull—no mynheer to his tongue. I called to Sherry, and heard the boy say, 'Mynheer Rochester wishes you to come——' then the big bell of the Groote Kerk tolled, and I heard no more. But Sherry reached down his hat and said he was going to you, and he and the boy went away together."
Harry was puzzled, and a little uneasy. He rose from his chair.
"Are you sure you heard the boy mention my name?"
"Quite sure. And Sherry must have thought there was need for haste, for he left his dish of coffee half full, and he is too fond of mocha to do that without a reason."
Just then Mynheer Grootz came in to supper. When Harry had informed him of the strange message and Sherebiah's continued absence, he was at first disposed to make light of the matter.
"Gretel is growing hard of hearing," he said. "Maybe she mistook de name."
"Don't you think, Mynheer, 'twould be well to make enquiry before it is dark? I am strangely uneasy about Sherry."
The merchant consented to accompany Harry into the streets. Everybody knew him and answered his questions readily enough; but none of the porters of the neighbouring houses, or the watchmen who patrolled the streets, had seen Sherebiah or the boy, though some of them owned that they knew the former well by sight. By and by, however, they came upon an old soldier smoking his evening pipe outside his cottage—the lodge to one of the larger houses in Gedempte Spui. Grootz put the usual question.
"Did you see an Englishman—stout, with a beard, and his hat on one side, pass by a few hours ago with a boy of twelve or thereabouts?"
The soldier removed his long pipe, spat, and appeared to meditate before replying.
"Yes—now I think of it; I believe I did see a man of that cut, though I would not be sure. He might not have been an Englishman. He was stout, certainly, and had a beard; as for his hat, I didn't notice it, for the truth is, I had been looking at some other Englishmen, a party of Coy's Horse; my old corps served side by side with them in '97. Yes, and there was a man among them I knew too; a paymaster—Robins, I mind, was his name—donder! what a temper he had! It was a curse and a blow with him. Ay, it is a hard life, the soldier's. They halted at the inn over by there, and I was just going over to drink a glass with them for old times' sake when the Baron's coach came up and I had to open the gates. A lodge-keeper, see you, is a sentry with no change of guard."
"Ja, ja! But the Englishman and the boy—which way did they go?"
"Which way? Let me see. They might have gone down the road: no, now I bethink me, I believe they went up the road; but there, I can't be sure. The sight of the English horse, men I fought side by side with in '97, before I got my wound——"
"Ja, ja! Thank you!"
They escaped his further reminiscences by walking on, past the inn, past a row of cottages with the inevitable bright green shutters, until they came to the watch-house at the cross-roads. Grootz put the same question to the watchman.
"No," he replied. "I saw no Englishman with a boy. But I saw a party of English horse; they had come in from Rotterdam, and I heard afterwards at the inn they were on the track of a deserter."
It was now almost dark; to continue the search further would be vain. They returned home to their belated supper, Grootz promising to set exhaustive enquiries on foot in the morning.
That night, for the first time for many months, Harry was unable to sleep. He was oppressed by perplexity and uneasiness. From whatever point of view he looked at Sherebiah's disappearance it seemed equally inexplicable. He could divine no motive for a message sent to Sherebiah in his name; the man appeared to be on very good terms with Dutchmen and was unlikely to have private enemies. Harry was almost forced to the conclusion that Gretel had been mistaken, after all, and that Sherebiah would by and by return with a simple explanation of his absence. He might have met a friend, and be spending a convivial evening with him. Perhaps—the thought came like an illumination—one of the English troopers from Rotterdam was a friend of his—a Wiltshire man, possibly. The suggestion allayed his uneasiness, and he fell asleep half expecting to be called by Sherebiah as usual next morning.
But Sherebiah did not return that night. It happened next day that Mynheer Grootz was early summoned to a conference with a committee of the States General, and when after a prolonged discussion he was released he had to start at once for Leyden on important business. It was late before he returned. Harry meanwhile had lost no time in pursuing enquiries in every likely quarter, but in vain. Sherebiah had not returned; nothing had been heard of him; and there was nothing for it but to wait yet another day.
He was again wakeful, and his thoughts turned to the errand on which the party of English horse had come. He pitied the unfortunate wretch for whom they were in search—some poor fellow, perhaps, who had escaped in the hope that he would be less easily tracked in a foreign land. The punishment for desertion had become much more stringent and summary of late owing to the prevalence of the offence. Harry himself remembered one bleak morning in London when, having gone early into Hyde Park, he had been the unwilling spectator of the shooting of a deserter. Had they caught the man? he wondered. "I hope——" he thought, then suddenly a strange suspicion flashed upon him. Surely it was impossible; yet—— In a moment slumbering recollections awoke. He remembered that many times, when approaching English soldiers in London, Sherebiah had sidled away and disappeared. He remembered how, more than once, Sherry had shown a knowledge of military matters singularly intimate for a civilian; how insistently he had always proclaimed himself a man of peace; how hardily he had behaved in the fight at Lindendaal. These facts, and many a slight hint scarcely regarded before, combined to convert a chance surmise, almost dismissed as absurd, into a strong presumption little short of certainty.
He sprang out of bed, dressed quickly, ran downstairs with his slippers in his hands, and, noiselessly drawing the bolts, hurried along the silent street towards the inn on the Rotterdam Road at which the patrol had halted. Though it was late, the people of the inn were still up. He asked for the landlord, and had not conversed with him for more than a minute before he was convinced, from what was said of the prisoner, that it was indeed Sherebiah. The troopers had brought with them a led horse; on this they had mounted the deserter, strapping him on each side to a dragoon, and then ridden off at once towards Rotterdam,en routefor Breda. Returning to the house, Harry woke Mynheer Grootz, told him of what he had learnt, and proposed to start at once for Breda to allay or confirm his suspicion. From this the merchant dissuaded him. A night ride would be attended with difficulty and danger; if he started early in the morning, he might still overtake the dragoons before they reached Breda. Accordingly he went back to bed for a few hours. At dawn he rose, and by five o'clock was galloping towards Rotterdam on the best horse in Grootz's stables.
At Rotterdam he learnt that a body of English horse, consisting of units of several regiments, had left for Breda on the previous afternoon. Waiting for an hour to rest and bait his horse he pushed on to Breda, arriving there about one o'clock in the afternoon. Without delay he sought out the officer to whom he had delivered his convoy of provisions a few weeks before, and enquired whether he knew of the arrest of an English deserter.
"Ay, and a notorious character, it appears. 'Twas not merely desertion they had against him, but mutiny, and a murderous attack on an officer. He fought like a cat when he was arrested; 'twas a foolish trick, for they were ten to one, and in a little he was overpowered. He was tried by court-martial this morning at nine, and the trial was short."
"Was sentence pronounced?"
"Of course; he had no defence; he was sentenced to be shot."
"There is no appeal?"
"None. The sentence will be laid before my lord Marlborough for confirmation; a matter of form. But pray why do you take so much interest in the man?"
"He is my servant, comes from my village, has done me right faithful service. Good God! to think that he should come to this end!"
The officer shrugged.
"Unhappy chance indeed. 'Tis seven years or more since he deserted; doubtless he felt secure. I am sorry for you. He'll get no more than he deserves."
"Could I see him?"
"Certainly; he is confined in the town-house; I will take you to him myself."
In a few minutes Harry was ushered into a dark room in the basement of the town-house. A candle was lit; he was left alone with the prisoner, and the door was locked behind him.
"Oh, Sherry, my poor fellow, who would have thought you would come to this!"
"Master Harry, 'tis good of 'ee to come and see me. Ay; poor feller! you med well say so; but to tell 'ee the truth, 'tis a load off my back."
"Yes, I understand. I know now why you always scouted the soldiers in London. Why didn't you tell me? I would never have brought you to this country, with our soldiers here, there, and everywhere."
"Tell 'ee! Not me. Why, you and me would 'a had to part company that minute. Besides, 'twarn't zackly a thing to be proud on, look at it how 'ee will. 'Twas ill-luck I were nabbed, to be sure; but I've had nigh eight year as a man o' peace, and I s'pose 'twas time the lid were putt on the copper."
"And they'll shoot you!"
"Bless 'ee, I bean't afeard o' that. I've been shot at; ay, many's the time: at Sedgemoor, and Walcourt, and other cities o' destruction. I can stand fire wi' any man. Nay, the one thing as troubles me is how poor old feyther o' mine'll take it. The poor ancient soul never dreams I desarted; and zooks! 'tis that'll hurt un more'n my bein' a corpse; his boy a desarter, and him a trooper of old Noll's! Ay, that'll hurt un, 'twill so. And then there's you, sir; how be I agwine to leave 'ee, wi' old Squire and Rafe Aglionby a-seeken whom they may devour, and no one you can trust to polish your breastplate and oil your boots? Ay, the way o' transgressors is hard; the wages o' sin is death; many's the time I've yeard they holy words from the lips of pa'son your good feyther, never thinken in my feeble mind he were aimen at me."
Harry was at a loss for words. Sherebiah was so perfectly resigned to his fate that any attempt at consolation would seem an impertinence.
"How came you to desert?" he asked, to gain time.
"Why, I'll tell 'ee about it. I was a corporal in Coy's horse; med ha' been a sergeant long agoo, indeed. But there was a paymaster o' that regiment, Robins by name; a good sojer, true, but with his faults, like any other mortal man. He was hot in his temper, and crooked in his dealens. Us men was bein' cheated, right and left; our pay was small enough, but we never got it: a penny here and a ha'penny there bein' took off for this or that. Ay, and he was a knowen one, he was. All done so soft and quiet-like. We stood it a long time; at long last, 'twas more'n Minshull blood could stomach, and one mornen I up and spoke out; you see, I warn't a man o' peace then. Well, Robins bein' fiery by nature, he got nettled; I should myself; but 'tis one thing to get nettled, and another to use yer fist. Robins he used his fist, and not bein' zackly meek as Moses, I used mine, and he fell under. Two or three of my mates standen by saw it all. Robins he raved and called on 'em to arrest me, but they wouldn't. But 'twas all up wi' me; I knowed that well enough; if Robins took a spite agen a man he med as well be a dead dog. I had no mind to be a dead dog just then, so I bolted; and that's how I come to be such a man o' peace."
"But surely if you explained that, your punishment wouldn't be so heavy."
"Explain! Bless 'ee, 'twould be no good in the world. To strike a officer be mortal sin. Nay, I've nowt to say for myself; I must just take my wages."
"How did you manage to elude them so long?"
"Oh! the regiment was out o' my way: been quartered this many year in Ireland. 'Twas just my bad luck that they should ha' been sent for on this campaign. Ah, well! a man can die but once; I've kep' the commandments, and that's more'n Robins can say; and there's no commandment 'Thee shall let a man hit 'ee and say thank 'ee'. I bean't afeard o' Them above, and I'll meet 'em with head up and eye clear, like a English sojer."
"When is it to be?"
"They didn't tell me that. 'Twill not be long, you may be sure. My lord Marlborough has only got to scribble his name on the paper, and he'll never remember 'twas me as held his horse at Salisbury in '88 and got nowt but a smile.—Master Harry, belike I sha'n't see 'ee again in this world. When you go home-along, you'll say a word o' comfort to the old ancient gaffer, won't 'ee? Tell un all the truth; tell un I be main sorry to vex his old gray hairs,—though not for punchen Robins. Gi' him my dear love: his boy, he calls me, poor soul: and say as how I were quite easy in mind and not a bit afeard. He's a trooper of old Noll's, you see."
"I'll give him your messages," said Harry with a gulp,—"if ever I get back alive."
"Ay true, ye med not. The corn-dealen was a safer line o' life.—What! time's up."—A sentry had thrown open the door.—"Good-bye, Master Harry; God bless 'ee! and I hope you'll get a man as'll polish your 'coutrements to your mind. This time to-morrow, belike, I shall be a true man o' peace."
Harry shook his hand in silence; he could not trust himself to speak. He was angry at what he thought the essential injustice of the sentence. Sherebiah had only struck the paymaster in self-defence, and in the original cause of dissension had right on his side. But Harry knew what military discipline meant; it was rigid as iron. Still, he could not help asking himself whether even now it was impossible to get the whole circumstances considered and the sentence revised. He thought of making a personal appeal to Marlborough, but soon dismissed the idea, for Marlborough had doubtless forgotten him, and he had no force of persuasion to bring to bear. Suddenly, as he walked slowly along the street, he remembered Godfrey Fanshawe; he was an officer in a companion regiment, Schomberg's Horse; he would ask his advice. He enquired for the quarters of the regiment, found that it was encamped a short distance out on the Tilburg road, and hastened thither with an anxious heart.
The troops were under canvas, and Harry found Fanshawe joint occupant of a tent with a fellow subaltern.
"Hullo!" he cried when he saw Harry. "I wondered when I should run up against you. I have heard all about your feat—rescuing beauty and all that. What in the world brought you to this country?"
"'Twould be long in the telling. You shall know all in season. I am here on a very special errand. You remember Sherry Minshull?"
"As well as I do you. Many's the trout we've caught together. A right good fellow!"
"At this moment he is lying under sentence of death in the town-house at Breda. Unknown to me, he had been a soldier, and deserted after thrashing an officer——"
"D'ye know him, then?" interposed the other lieutenant.
"He is my man."
"Oh! Sorry for you both. I had heard about it from an officer of Coy's—Cadogan's, I should say; their name's changed."
"Do you know, sir, how he came to be smoked?"
"'Twas an Englishman peached—a soldier of fortune, as it appears, who wished to be nameless. He met the men of Cadogan's when they landed at Rotterdam, and arranged a trick by which they got him alone on the open road. 'Twas rather cleverly managed."
"And a dirty mean thing to do," said Fanshawe warmly.
"Can't something be done for him?" asked Harry.
"'Tis hopeless," was Lieutenant Tettefall's reply. "Robins was very vindictive; he painted the man in the blackest colours in his evidence before the court-martial, and not one of the officers of the court knew your man. He has a double offence to answer for; 'tis certain he'll be shot as soon as the forms are completed."
Harry's face was then the picture of blank despair.
"On my life, 'tis a thousand pities!" said Fanshawe. "I fear there is not the ghost of a chance for him." His face gloomed for a moment; then his high spirits asserted themselves. "But come, Harry, 'tis no good taking on about it; come and forget it over a bottle. I want to hear your story."
"No, I'm in no humour for racketing. Would to God I could do something for the poor fellow! Would the colonel intercede if we asked him?"
"Not he. He would laugh and crack a joke. If Sherry were a Dutchman, now! The duke is very sweet to the Hollanders at this time, and a word from one of the States might turn him."
"General van Santen!" exclaimed Harry. "I had not thought of him. 'Twas he I happened to be of use to, and Sherry did his share too. Yes, 'twould be no harm to try him. Do you know where he is?"
"At Lillo," said Tettefall, "full thirty miles away."
"I'll ride there. Fanshawe, can you lend me a horse? Mine brought me from the Hague, forty miles and more, and is done up."
"I'll lend you mine. I'd like to save Sherry, but 'tis a poor chance. Leave your horse; I'll send him and another to meet you on the way back, in case you have to ride for it."
"'Tis good of you. Do you know the road?"
"The easiest for you is by Bergen-op-Zoom. You are less likely to be interrupted that way than by the Antwerp road; our forces are camped at Calmpthout on that road, and you might be delayed in passing through the lines, to say nothing of falling in with the French beyond."
"Thanks and thanks again!"
"You'll have to ride hard," added Tettefall. "The duke's at Thielen, twenty miles east of Lillo; and there's no time to lose."
"No, I will start at once."
"And good luck go with you!"
Harry was soon riding at a smart pace along the road to Bergen-op-Zoom, whence he made due south for Lillo, reaching that small fortified place about seven o'clock in the evening. To his intense disappointment he found that General van Santen was at the British head-quarters at Thielen. He had been absent all day, but was expected to return before night. Had it not been so late Harry would have started to meet him on the road, but he did not care to risk missing him. He waited impatiently; the general arrived soon after nine, and when he had heard Harry's story he consented at once to write to Marlborough, mentioning that the bearer of the letter had earned some consideration by his excellent stratagem at Lindendaal, where the condemned man also had done good service. Armed with the letter, Harry set off at ten, hoping to cover the twenty miles to Thielen before the duke had retired to rest.
Before starting, General van Santen warned him that parties of French horse were out observing the movements of the confederate army. Finding that he was not familiar with the road, the general sent one of his own orderlies with him, warmly wishing him success.
The two riders struck across the fields and by narrow bridle paths almost due east, and passing through one or two ruined villages—among them Eckeren, the scene of the Dutch defeat on June 30th—came to the site of the French camp, vacated and burnt on the approach of Marlborough some ten days before. The air was murky, the sky dark, and Harry was glad of his companion. He was oppressed by the louring prospect of Sherebiah's fate, and the heaviness of the night was not apt to lighten his care. They had ridden for about a third of the distance, and had just left the highway for a cross-road that saved a mile, when all at once, from behind a hedge, there came a sharp challenge in French.
"Who goes there?"
"A friend," said Harry, and, pulling up, walked his horse slowly forward.
"Halt, and give the countersign!" said the voice peremptorily, and dimly, a few yards before him, Harry saw a horseman come into the road.
"Now for a dash; keep close!" whispered Harry to the orderly.
Setting spurs to his horse, he rode straight at the piquet, hoping that when the inevitable shot was fired it would miss him in the darkness. As the horse sprang forward there was a report and a blinding flash, and a choking sob behind. Harry closed with the Frenchman. There was no time to draw his sword, and he did not wish to raise a further alarm by discharging his pistols. Forcing his horse against the flank of the enemy's, he struck the man with all the weight of his fist, and, taking him by surprise, knocked him from his saddle. He turned to look for his companion; he was prone on the ground, and his startled steed had taken flight. Dismounting in haste, Harry found in a moment that the man was dead, killed by the shot intended for himself. At the same instant he heard a sound of hoofs from behind on his right. Springing on to his horse he set him at the gallop across a flat grassy plain, bearing, as nearly as he could judge, due east. Suddenly he heard the thud of more hoofs, still on his right, but this time in front of him. Evidently he was being headed off by another party approaching from the south-east. He swerved to the left, intending to make a detour; as he did so, there was the report of a carbine from behind a hedge a few yards away. He felt his horse quiver, but it galloped on, the man who had fired plunging through the hedge in hot pursuit.
Harry's nerves were now at high tension. It was clear that he had stumbled upon a piquet or patrol, or even a more numerous party of the enemy, and the odds were in favour of his meeting the same fate as the poor fellow his guide. Unhappily his horse was beginning to flag. Bending forward to encourage it, and patting its neck, he felt that his hand was covered with blood. The horse had been struck. Harry remembered how it had quivered. The wound accounted for its laboured breathing; it was a good horse, and, not having as yet been seriously pressed, could have held its own with those of the troopers behind. But it was plain to Harry that, with the horse severely wounded, the race must now be short, and the result inevitable. The distance between himself and his pursuers was already lessening; a glance behind showed him four dark figures close upon his heels; a few seconds would decide his fate.
At the moment of danger, some men lose their heads, others are braced to the quickest exercise of their faculties. Harry, fortunately for himself, was of the latter class. He saw that to ride on must mean speedy capture; the only chance of escape was to dismount and slip away on foot. But the country here was quite open, he would instantly be seen. He peered anxiously ahead; yes, there, against the indigo sky, was a dense mass of black; it was a plantation of some kind; could he but gain that, there was a bare possibility. He dug his spurs into his panting steed, with pity for the poor wounded beast carrying him so gallantly; but he dared not spare it; apart from his own fate, another life hung in the balance. A brief effort was needed; the horse nobly responded, and by the time it reached the edge of the wood had slightly increased the gap between pursuer and pursued. Pulling up suddenly, Harry sprang from the saddle, struck the trembling animal with his scabbard, and as he slipped among the trees heard it dash forward.
Being wounded, Harry argued, the horse would certainly slacken its pace when no longer urged by the voice and spur of its rider, and must soon be overtaken. The enemy would immediately guess his device, and if the wood should be of no great extent, they would probably surround it, wait till morning, and capture him at their leisure. He waited breathlessly for the coming of the enemy; he saw them sweep past, bending low in their saddles, two men abreast, like phantom horsemen, so quietly did they ride on the turf. His heart gave a jump when he estimated them as at least half a troop. When they were past he left the wood, and ran across the open plain at right angles to his previous line of flight.
As he expected, his manoeuvre was soon discovered. He heard the Frenchmen call to one another; then the thud of returning hoofs on his right, and in a few minutes he saw several dark forms approaching. They were spreading out fanwise. Only the men at the right of the line were directly approaching him at a trot, searching the ground as they rode. The sky was lightening behind them; the moon was rising; fortunately, Harry being on foot, the pursuers could not see him so clearly as he saw them.
In a moment he perceived that it was a race between him and the man at the end of the line. If he could get beyond the point at which the trooper's present line of march would intersect his own path, he had a reasonable chance of safety. To his dismay he noticed that the man was edging still farther from his comrades, as though suspecting that he was not taking a sufficiently wide sweep. Harry was now panting with his exertions, and in a bath of sweat; he could run no faster over the heavy ground; he felt that the game was up, wondering indeed that the "view halloo!" had not already been given. Plunging blindly, despairingly, on, he was almost at his last gasp when he suddenly fell headlong. He had stumbled into an irrigation ditch. It was overgrown with weeds; in the stress of war the culture of the fields had been neglected; the bottom was dry. The weeds grew high on either side; Harry scrambled on hands and knees into the rank vegetation, and lay still, his flanks heaving, his breath coming and going in quick pants which he felt must be audible yards away.
For some seconds he heard nothing but his deep breathing and the thumping of his heart; then the beat beat of hoofs drawing nearer. A horseman passed within a few yards of him, luckily on the right. Another few seconds, and the Frenchman ejaculated an angry "Nom d'un tonnerre!" as his horse struck the ditch and stumbled. He called to his left-hand man, and Harry, cautiously peering through the enveloping weeds, saw him alight and begin to examine the ditch. But he moved away from the fugitive. As soon as he was at a safe distance, Harry, who had by this time recovered his breath, crept out and stealthily crawled along the watercourse on hands and knees. For some minutes he continued this arduous progress, rejoicing to hear the men's voices receding moment by moment. Then, judging it safe, he rose and broke into a trot, left the ditch by and by, and continued to pound over fields and paths, through hedges and over ditches, for what seemed to him miles. Then he stopped. All sounds had now ceased save the chirp of crickets, the raucous cry of the corn-crake, and the croak of frogs. He had lost his way; he knew not whether he was near a highway; he was dead tired, his knees trembling under him. But he remembered Sherebiah spending his lonely vigil in the town-house of Breda, waiting for the dawn of his last day, and he set his lips and breathed a vow that the faithful fellow should not die if the last ounce of energy would save him.