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39arbarb College 3Library
FROM
*rs. Gwendolyn W. Parker
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eſ. Chauſtom
fººt-


THE LA RD’S LUCK
AND OTHER FIRESIDE TALES


WORKS B P THE SAME A UTHOR.
OLD FIRES AND PROFITABLE GHOSTS. 6s.
THE SHIP OF STARS. 6s.
ADVENTURES IN CRITICISM. 6s.
The Astonishing HistoRY OF TROY Town.
SS. -
“I SAw THREE SHIPS, AND OTHER WINTER's
TALEs." 5s.
Noughts AND CRosses. 5s.
WANDERING HEATH. 5s.
The DELECTABLE Duchy. 5s.
DEAD MAN's Rock. 3s.6d.
THE SPLENDID SPUR. 3s.6d.
IA. A Love Story. 3s. 6d.
CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited, London; Paris,
Mew York & Melbourne.


The Laird's Luck
and other
Fireside Tales
by
A. T. QUILLER-COUCH
LONDON
CASSE L L AND COMPANY
LIMITED
1901


|
-
-
~


CONTENTS
THE LAIRD's LUCK .
THREE MEN OF BADAJoz
CAPTAIN DICK AND CAPTAIN JAckA
THE Two SCOUTS
I. THE FORD OF THE TORMES .
II. THE BARBER-SURGEON OF SABUGAL
III. THE PAROLE
D'ARFET's VENGEANCE
THE POISONED ICE .
MARGERY OF LAWHIBBET
MIDSUMMER FIRES
PHOEBUS ON HALZAPHRON
page
61
93
109
i i o
I34
253
289
319





THE LAIRD’S LUCK AND OTHER
FIRESIDE TALES
THE LAIRD’S LUCK
[In a General Order issued from the Horse-Guards
on New Year's Day, 1836, His Majesty King
William IV. was pleased to direct, through the
Commander-in-Chief, Lord Hill, that “with the
view of doing the fullest justice to Regiments,
as well as to Individuals who had distinguished
themselves in action against the enemy," an
account of the services of every Regiment in the
British Army should be published, under the
supervision of the Adjutant General.
With fair promptitude this scheme was put
in hand, under the editorship of Mr. Richard
Cannon, Principal Clerk of the Adjutant Gene-
ral's Office. The duty of examining, siſting,
and preparing the records of that distinguished
Regiment which I shall here call the Moray
Highlanders (concealing its real name for reasons
which the narrative will make apparent) ſell to
B


THE LAIRD’S LUCK
a certain Major Reginald Sparkes; who in the
course of his researches came upon a number
of pages in manuscript sealed under one cover
and docketed “Memoranda concerning Ensign
D. M. J. Mackenzie. J. R., Jan. 3rd, IS16"—
the initials being those of Lieut.-Colonel Sir
James Ross, who had commanded the 2nd
Battalion of the Morays through the campaign
of Waterloo. The cover also bore, in the
same handwriting, the word “Private," twice
underlined.
Of the occurrences related in the enclosed
papers — of the private ones, that is — it so
happened that of the four eye-witnesses none
survived at the date of Major Sharkes' dis-
covery. They had, moreover, so carefully taken
their secret with them that the Regiment
preserved not a rumour of it. Major Sparkes'
own commission was considerably more recent
than the Waterloo year, and he at least had
heard no whisper of the story. It lay outside
the purpose of his inquiry, and he judiciously
omitted it from his report. But the time is
past when its publication might conceivably have
been injurious, and with some alterations in
the names—to carry out the disguise of the
Regiment—it is here given. The reader will
understand that I use the IPSISSIM.A. VERBA of
Colonel Ross.-Q.]


THE LAIRD'S LUCK 3
I
I HAD the honour of commanding my Regiment,
the Moray Highlanders, on the 16th of June,
1815, when the late Ensign David Marie Joseph
Mackenzie met his end in the bloody struggle of
Quatre Bras (his first engagement). He fell beside
the colours, and I gladly bear witness that he had
not only borne himself with extreme gallantry, but
maintained, under circumstances of severest trial,
a coolness which might well have rewarded me
for my help in procuring the lad's commission.
And yet at the moment I could scarcely regret
his death, for he went into action under" a sus-
picion so dishonouring that, had it been proved,
no amount of gallantry could have restored him
to the respect of his fellows. So at least I
believed, with three of his brother officers who
shared the secret. These were Major William Ross
(my half-brother), Captain Malcolm Murray, and
Mr. Ronald Braintree Urquhart, then our senior
ensign. Of these, Mr. Urquhart fell two days
later, at Waterloo, while steadying his men to
face that heroic shock in which Pack's skeleton
regiments were enveloped yet not overwhelmed by
four brigades of the French infantry. From the
others I received at the time a promise that the
accusation against young Mackenzie should be
wiped off the slate by his death, and the affair
kept secret between us. Since then, however,


ºn D
, º, . . . . . . Y.
ºr
l A 1954


CONTENTS
THE LAIRD's LUCK .
THREE MEN OF BADAJoz
CAPTAIN Dick AND CAPTAIN JAckA
THE TWO SCOUTS
I. THE FORD OF THE TORMES .
II. THE BARBER-SURGEON OF SABUGAI,
III. THE PAROLE
D'ARFET's VENGEANCE
THE POISONED ICE .
MARGERY OF LAWHIBBET
MIDSUMMER FIRES
PHOEBUS ON HALZAPHRON
page
61
93
Io9
I IO
I 34
164
I93





THE LAIRD’S LUCK AND OTHER
FIRESIDE TALES
THE LAIRD’S LUCK
[In a General Order issued from the Horse-Guards
on New Pear's Day, 1836, His Majesty King
William IV. was pleased to direct, through the
Commander-in-Chief, Lord Hill, that “with the
view of doing the fullest justice to Regiments,
as well as to Individuals who had distinguished
themselves in action against the enemy,” an
account of the services of every Regiment in the
British Army should be published, under the
supervision of the Adjutant General.
With fair promptitude this scheme was put
in hand, under the editorship of Mr. Richard
Cannon, Principal Clerk of the Adjutant Gene-
ral's Office. The duty of examining, sifting,
and preparing the records of that distinguished
Regiment which I shall here call the Moray
Highlanders (concealing its real name for reasons
which the narrative will make apparent) fell to
B


THE LAIRD’S LUCK
a certain Major Reginald Sparkes; who in the
course of his researches came upon a number
of pages in manuscript sealed under one cover
and docketed “Memoranda concerning Ensign
D. M. J. Mackenzie. J. R., Jan. 3rd, IS16"—
the initials being those of Lieut.-Colonel Sir
James Ross, who had commanded the 2nd
Battalion of the Morays through the campaign
of Waterloo. The cover also bore, in the
same handwriting, the word “Private," twice
underlined.
Of the occurrences related in the enclosed
papers — of the private ones, that is — it so
happened that of the four eye-witnesses none
survived at the date of Major Sharkes' dis-
covery. They had, moreover, so carefully taken
their secret with them that the Regiment
preserved not a rumour of it. Major Sparkes'
own commission was considerably more recent
than the Waterloo year, and he at least had
heard no whisper of the story. It lay outside
the purpose of his inquiry, and he judiciously
omitted it from his report. But the time is
past when its publication might conceivably have
been injurious, and with some alterations in
the names—to carry out the disguise of the
Regiment—it is here given. The reader will
understand that I use the IPSISSIMA VERBA of
Colonel Ross.-Q.]


THE LAIRD S LUCK 3
I
I HAD the honour of commanding my Regiment,
the Moray Highlanders, on the 16th of June,
1815, when the late Ensign David Marie Joseph
Mackenzie met his end in the bloody struggle of
Quatre Bras (his first engagement). He fell beside
the colours, and I gladly bear witness that he had
not only borne himself with extreme gallantry, but
maintained, under circumstances of severest trial,
a coolness which might well have rewarded me
for my help in procuring the lad's commission.
And yet at the moment I could scarcely regret
his death, for he went into action under a sus-
picion so dishonouring that, had it been proved,
no amount of gallantry could have restored him
to the respect of his fellows. So at least I
believed, with three of his brother officers who
shared the secret. These were Major William Ross
(my half-brother), Captain Malcolm Murray, and
Mr. Ronald Braintree Urquhart, then our senior
ensign. Of these, Mr. Urquhart fell two days
later, at Waterloo, while steadying his men to
face that heroic shock in which Pack's skeleton
regiments were enveloped yet not overwhelmed by
four brigades of the French infantry. From the
others I received at the time a promise that the
accusation against young Mackenzie should be
wiped off the slate by his death, and the affair
kept secret between us. Since then, however,


4. THE LAIRD’S LUCK
there has come to me an explanation which—
though hard indeed to credit—may, if true, ex-
culpate the lad. I laid it before the others, and
they agreed that if, in spite of precautions, the
affair should ever come to light, the explanation
ought also in justice to be forthcoming ; and hence
I am writing this memorandum.
It was in the late September of 1814 that I
first made acquaintance with David Mackenzie.
A wound received in the battle of Salamanca—a
shattered ankle—had sent me home invalided, and
on my partial recovery I was appointed to com-
mand the 2nd Battalion of my Regiment, then
being formed at Inverness. To this duty I was
equal ; but my ankle still gave trouble (the splinters
from time to time working through the flesh), and
in the late summer of 1814 I obtained leave of
absence with my step-brother, and spent some
pleasant weeks in cruising and fishing about the
Moray Firth. Finding that my leg bettered by
this idleness, we hired a smaller boat and embarked
on a longer excursion, which took us almost to
the south-western end of Loch Ness.
Here, on September 18th, and pretty late in
the afternoon, we were overtaken by a sudden
squall, which carried away our mast (we found
afterwards that it had rotted in the step), and put
us for some minutes in no little danger; for my
brother and I, being inexpert seamen, did not cut
the tangle away, as we should have done, but


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 5
made a bungling attempt to get the mast on
board, with the rigging and drenched sail; and
thereby managed to knock a hole in the side of
the boat, which at once began to take in water.
This compelled us to desist and fall to baling with
might and main, leaving the raffle and jagged end
of the mast to bump against us at the will of the
waves. In short, we were in a highly unpleasant
predicament, when a coble or row-boat, carrying
one small lug-sail, hove out of the dusk to our
assistance. It was manned by a crew of three,
of whom the master (though we had scarce light
enough to distinguish features) hailed us in a voice
which was patently a gentleman's. He rounded
up, lowered sail, and ran his boat alongside; and
while his two hands were cutting us free of our
tangle, inquired very civilly if we were strangers.
We answered that we were, and desired him to
tell us of the nearest place alongshore where we
might land and find a lodging for the night, as
well as a carpenter to repair our damage.
“In any ordinary case,” said he, “I should ask
you to come aboard and home with me. But my
house lies five miles up the lake; your boat is
sinking, and the first thing is to beach her. It
happens that you are but half a mile from
Ardlaugh and a decent carpenter who can answer
all requirements. I think, if I stand by you, the
thing can be done; and afterwards we will talk
of supper.”


6 THE LAIRD'S LUCK
By diligent baling we were able, under his
direction, to bring our boat to a shingly beach,
over which a light shone warm in a cottage
window. Our hail was quickly answered by a
Second light. A lantern issued from the building,
and we heard the sound of footsteps.
“Is that you, Donald 2" cried our rescuer (as
I may be permitted to call him).
Before an answer could be returned, we saw
that two men were approaching; of whom the
one bearing the lantern was a grizzled old carlin
with bent knees and a stoop of the shoulders.
His companion carried himself with a lighter step.
It was he who advanced to salute us, the old
man holding the light obediently; and the rays
revealed to us a slight, up-standing youth, poorly
dressed, but handsome, and with a touch of pride
in his bearing. -
“Good evening, gentlemen.” He lifted his bonnet
politely, and turned to our rescuer. “Good evening,
Mr. Gillespie,” he said—I thought more coldly.
“Can I be of any service to your friends 2"
Mr. Gillespie's manner had changed suddenly
at sight of the young man, whose salutation he
acknowledged more coldly and even more curtly
than it had been given. “I can scarcely claim
them as my friends,” he answered. “They are
two gentlemen, strangers in these parts, who have
met with an accident to their boat : one so serious
that I brought them to the nearest landing, which


THE LAIRD’S LUOK 7
happened to be Donald's." He shortly explained our
mishap, while the young man took the lantern in
hand and inspected the damage with Donald.
“There is nothing,” he announced, “which
cannot be set right in a couple of hours; but we
must wait till morning. Meanwhile if, as I gather,
you have no claim on these gentlemen, I shall
beg them to be my guests for the night.”
We glanced at Mr. Gillespie, whose manners
seemed to have deserted him. He shrugged his
shoulders. “Your house is the nearer,” said he,
“and the sooner they reach a warm fire the
better for them after their drenching.” And with
that he lifted his cap to us, turned abruptly, and
pushed off his own boat, scarcely regarding our
thanks.
A somewhat awkward pause followed as we
stood on the beach, listening to the creak of the
thole-pins in the departing boat. After a minute
our new acquaintance turned to us with a slightly
constrained laugh.
“Mr. Gillespie omitted some of the formalities,”
said he. “My name is Mackenzie-David Mac-
kenzie; and I live at Ardlaugh Castle, scarcely
half a mile up the glen behind us. I warn you
that its hospitality is rude, but to what it affords
you are heartily welcome."
He spoke with a high, precise courtliness which
contrasted oddly with his boyish face (I guessed
his age at nineteen or twenty), and still more


8 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
oddly with his clothes, which were threadbare
and patched in many places, yet with a deftness
which told of a woman's care. We introduced
ourselves by name, and thanked him, with some
expressions of regret at inconveniencing (as I put
it, at hazard) the family at the Castle.
“Oh!” he interrupted, “I am sole master there.
I have no parents living, no family, and,” he added,
with a slight sullenness which I afterwards re-
cognised as habitual, “I may almost say, no
friends: though to be sure, you are lucky enough
to have one fellow-guest to-night—the minister of
the parish, a Mr. Saul, and a very worthy man.”
He broke off to give Donald some instructions
about the boat, watched us while we found our
plaids and soaked valises, and then took the
lantern from the old man's hand. “I ought to
have explained,” said he, “that we have neither
cart here nor carriage: indeed, there is no carriage-
road. But Donald has a pony.”
He led the way a few steps up the beach,
and then halted, perceiving my lameness for the
first time. “Donald, fetch out the sheltie. Can you
ride bareback 2" he asked : “I fear there's no
saddle but an old piece of sacking." In spite of
my protestations the pony was led forth; a starved
little beast, on whose over-sharp ridge I must have
cut a sufficiently ludicrous figure when hoisted
into place with the valises slung behind me.
The procession set out, and I soon began to


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 9
feel thankful for my seat, though I took no ease
in it. For the road climbed steeply from the
cottage, and at once began to twist up the bottom
of a ravine so narrow that we lost all help of the
young moon. The path, indeed, resembled the bed
of a torrent, shrunk now to a trickle of water, the
voice of which ran in my ears while our host
led the way, springing from boulder to boulder,
avoiding pools, and pausing now and then to hold
his lantern over some slippery place. The pony
followed with admirable caution, and my brother
trudged in the rear and took his cue from us.
After five minutes of this the ground grew easier
and at the same time steeper, and I guessed that
we were slanting up the hillside and away from
the torrent at an acute angle. The many twists
and angles, and the utter darkness (for we were
now moving between trees) had completely baffled
my reckoning when—at the end of twenty minutes,
perhaps—Mr. Mackenzie halted and allowed me
to come up with him.
I was about to ask the reason of this halt
when a ray of his lantern fell on a wall of
masonry; and with a start almost laughable I
knew we had arrived. To come to an entirely
strange house at night is an experience which
holds some taste of mystery even for the oldest
campaigner; but I have never in my life received
such a shock as this building gave me—naked,
unlit, presented to me out of a darkness in which


10 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
s
I had imagined a steep mountain scaur dotted
with dwarfed trees — a sudden abomination of
desolation standing, like the prophet's, where it
ought not. No light showed on the side where
we stood—the side over the ravine; only one
pointed turret stood out against the faint moon-
light glow in the upper sky: but feeling our way
around the gaunt side of the building, we came to
a back court-yard and two windows lit. Our host
whistled, and helped me to dismount.
In an angle of the court a creaking door
opened. A woman's voice cried, “That will be you,
Ardlaugh, and none too early 1 The minister—"
She broke off, catching sight of us. Our host
stepped hastily to the door and began a whispered
conversation. We could hear that she was pro-
testing, and began to feel awkward enough. But
whatever her objections were, her master cut them
short.
“Come in, sirs,” he invited us: “I warned you
that the fare would be hard, but I repeat that
you are welcome."
To our surprise and, I must own, our amuse-
ment, the woman caught up his words with new
protestations, uttered this time at the top of her
voice.
“The fare hard 2 Well, it might not please
folks accustomed to city feasts ; but Ardlaugh was
not yet without a joint of venison in the larder
and a bottle of wine, maybe two, maybe three,
-


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 11
for any guest its master chose to make welcome.
It was. ‘an ill bird that 'filed his own nest'"—
with more to this effect, which our host tried in
vain to interrupt. -
“Then I will lead you to your rooms,” he
said, turning to us as soon as she paused to draw
breath.
“Indeed, Ardlaugh, you will do nothing of the
kind.” She ran into the kitchen, and returned
holding high a lighted torch—a grey-haired woman,
with traces of past comeliness, overlaid now by an
air of worry, almost of fear. But her manner
showed only a defiant pride as she led us up the
uncarpeted stairs, past old portraits sagging and
rotting in their frames, through bleak corridors,
where the windows were patched and the plastered
walls discoloured by fungus. Once only she halted.
“It will be a long way to your ap-partments.
A grand house !” She had faced round on us,
and her eyes seemed to ask a question of ours.
“I have known it filled,” she added—“filled with
guests, and the drink and fiddles never stopping
for a week. You will see it better to-morrow.
A grand house !”
I will confess that, as I limped after this barbaric
woman and her torch, I felt some reasonable appre-
hensions of the bedchamber towards which they
were escorting me. But here came another surprise.
The room was of moderate size, poorly furnished
indeed, but comfortable and something more. It


12 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
bore traces of many petty attentions, even—in its
white dimity curtains and valances—of an attempt
at daintiness. The sight of it brought quite a
pleasant shock after the dirt and disarray of the
corridor. Nor was the room assigned to my
brother one whit less habitable. But if surprised
by all this, I was fairly astounded to find in each
room a pair of candles lit—and quite recently lit—
beside the looking-glass, and an ewer of hot water
standing, with a clean towel upon it, in each wash-
hand basin. No sooner had the woman departed
than I visited my brother and begged him (while
he unstrapped his valise) to explain this apparent
miracle. He could only guess with me that the
woman had been warned of our arrival by the noise
of footsteps in the courtyard, and had dispatched a
servant by some backstairs to make ready for
uS.
Our valises were, fortunately, waterproof. We
quickly exchanged our damp clothes for dry ones,
and groped our way together along the corridors,
helped by the moon which shone through their
uncurtained windows, to the main staircase. Here
we came on a scent of roasting meat—appetising to
us after our day in the open air—and at the foot
found our host waiting for us. He had donned his
Highland dress of ceremony—velvet jacket, phillabeg
and kilt, with the tartan of his clan—and looked (I
must own) extremely well in it, though the garments
had long since lost their original gloss. An apology


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 13
for our rough touring suits led to some few questions
and replies about the regimental tartan of the
Morays, in the history of which he was passably
well informed.
Thus chatting, we entered the great hall of
Ardlaugh Castle—a tall, but narrow and ill-pro-
portioned apartment, having an open timber roof, a
stone-paved floor, and walls sparsely decorated with
antlers and round targes—where a very small man
stood warming his back at an immense fireplace.
This was the Reverend Samuel Saul, whose ac-
quaintance we had scarce time to make before a
cracked gong summoned us to dinner in the
adjoining room. -
The young Laird of Ardlaugh took his seat in
a roughly carved chair of state at the head of the
table; but before doing so treated me to another
surprise by muttering a Latin grace and crossing
himself. Up to now I had taken it for granted he
was a member of the Scottish Kirk. I glanced at
the minister in some mystification; but he, good
man, appeared to have fallen into a brown study,
with his eyes fastened upon a dish of apples which
adorned the centre of our promiscuously furnished
board.
Of the furniture of our meal I can only say that
poverty and decent appearance kept up a brave fight
throughout. The table-cloth was ragged, but spot-
lessly clean; the silver-ware scanty and worn with
high polishing. The plates and glasses displayed


14 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
a noble range of patterns, but were for the most
part chipped or cracked. Each knife had been
worn to a point, and a few of them joggled in their
handles. In a lull of the talk I caught myself idly
counting the darns in my table-napkin. They were
— if I remember — fourteen, and all exquisitely
stitched. The dinner, on the other hand, would
have tempted men far less hungry than we—grilled
steaks of salmon, a roast haunch of venison, grouse,
a milk-pudding, and, for dessert, the dish of apples
already mentioned; the meats washed down with
one wine only, but that wine was claret, and
beautifully sound. I should mention that we were
served by a grey-haired retainer, almost stone deaf,
and as hopelessly cracked as the gong with which
he had beaten us to dinner. In the long waits
between the courses we heard him quarrelling
outside with the woman who had admitted us ;
and gradually—I know not how—the conviction
grew on me that they were man and wife, and the
only servants of our host's establishment. To cover
the noise of one of their altercations I began to
congratulate the Laird on the quality of his venison,
and put some idle question about his care for his
deer.
“I have no deer-forest,” he answered. “Elspeth
is my only housekeeper.”
I had some reply on my lips, when my attention
was distracted by a sudden movement by the Rev.
Samuel Saul. This honest man had, as we shook


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 15
hands in the great hall, broken into a flood of small
talk. On our way to the dining-room he took me,
so to speak, by the button-hole, and within the
minute so drenched me with gossip about Ardlaugh,
its climate, its scenery, its crops, and the dimensions
of the parish, that I feared a whole evening of
boredom lay before us. But from the moment
we seated ourselves at table he dropped to an
absolute silence. There are men, living much
alone, who by habit talk little during their meals;
and the minister might be reserving himself. But
I had almost forgotten his presence when I heard
a sharp exclamation, and, looking across, saw him
take from his lips his wine-glass of claret and set
it down with a shaking hand. The Laird, too, had
heard, and bent a darkly questioning glance on him.
At once the little man—whose face had turned to
a sickly white—began to stammer and excuse him-
self.
“It was nothing—a spasm. He would be better
of it in a moment. No, he would take no wine :
a glass of water would set him right—he was more
used to drinking water," he explained, with a small,
nervous laugh.
Perceiving that our solicitude embarrassed him,
we resumed our talk, which now turned upon the
last Peninsular campaign and certain engagements
in which the Morays had borne part; upon the
stability of the French Monarchy, and the career
(as we believed, at an end) of Napoleon. On all


16 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
these topics the Laird showed himself well informed,
and while preferring the part of listener (as became
his youth) from time to time put in a question which
convinced me of his intelligence, especially in military
affairs.
The minister, though silent as before, had
regained his colour; and we were somewhat
astonished when, the cloth being drawn and the
company left to its wine and one dish of dessert,
he rose and announced that he must be going. He
was decidedly better, but (so he excused himself)
would feel easier at home in his own manse; and
so, declining our host's offer of a bed, he shook
hands and bade us good-night. The Laird accom-
panied him to the door, and in his absence I fell to
peeling an apple, while my brother drummed with
his fingers on the table and eyed the faded hangings.
I suppose that ten minutes elapsed before we heard
the young man's footsteps returning through the
flagged hall and a woman's voice uplifted.
“But had the minister any complaint, whatever
—to ride off without a word f She could answer
for the collops—”
“Whist, woman I Have done with your clashin',
ye doited old fool I " He slammed the door upon
her, stepped to the table, and with a sullen frown
poured himself a glass of wine. His brow cleared
as he drank it. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen;
but this indisposition of Mr. Saul has annoyed me.
He lives at the far end of the parish—a good seven


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 17
miles away—and I had invited him expressly to
talk of parish affairs.”
“I believe,” said I, “you and he are not of the
same religion ?"
“Eh 2" He seemed to be wondering how I
had guessed. “No, I was bred a Catholic. In our
branch we have always held to the Old Religion.
But that doesn't prevent my wishing to stand well
with my neighbours and do my duty towards them.
What disheartens me is, they won't see it.” He
pushed the wine aside, and for a while, leaning his
elbows on the table and resting his chin on his
knuckles, stared gloomily before him. Then, with
sudden boyish indignation, he burst out: “It’s an
infernal shame ; that's it—an infernal shame ! I
haven't been home here a twelvemonth, and the
people avoid me like the plague. What have I
done 2 My father wasn't popular—in fact, they
hated him. But so did I. And he hated me, God
knows: misused my mother, and wouldn't endure
me in his presence. All my miserable youth I've
been mewed up in a school in England—a private
seminary. Ugh, what a den it was, too ! My
mother died calling for me—I was not allowed to
come : I hadn't seen her for three years. And
now, when the old tyrant is dead, and I come
home meaning—so help me ! — to straighten things
out and make friends—come home, to the poverty
you pretend not to notice, though it stares you in
the face from every wall—come home, only asking
C


18 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
to make the best of it, live on good terms with my
fellows, and be happy for the first time in my life
—damn them, they won't fling me a kind look
What have I done *—that's what I want to know.
The queer thing is, they behaved more decently at
first. There's that Gillespie, who brought you
ashore : he came over the first week, offered me
shooting, was altogether as pleasant as could be.
I quite took to the fellow. Now, when we meet,
he looks the other way ! If he has anything against
me, he might at least explain : it's all I ask. What
have I done 2"
Throughout this outburst I sat slicing my apple
and taking now and then a glance at the speaker.
It was all so hotly and honestly boyish He only
wanted justice. I know something of youngsters,
and recognised the cry. Justice It's the one thing
every boy claims confidently as his right, and pro-
bably the last thing on earth he will ever get. And
this boy looked so handsome, too, sitting in his
father's chair, petulant, restive under a weight too
heavy (as anyone could see) for his age. I couldn't
help liking him.
My brother told me afterwards that I pounced
like any recruiting-sergeant. This I do not believe.
But what, after a long pause, I said was this : “If
you are innocent or unconscious of offending, you
can only wait for your neighbours to explain them-
selves. Meanwhile, why not leave them Why
not travel, for instance 2"


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 19
“Travel !” he echoed, as much as to say, “You
ought to know, without my telling, that I cannot
afford it.”
“Travel,” I repeated; “see the world, rub
against men of your age. You might by the way
do some fighting.”
He opened his eyes wide. I saw the sudden
idea take hold of him, and again I liked what I
SaW.
“If I thought—” He broke off. “You don't
mean—” he began, and broke off again.
“I mean the Morays,” I said. “There may be
difficulties; but at this moment I cannot see any real
ones."
By this time he was gripping the arms of his
chair. “If I thought ” he harked back, and for
the third time broke off. “What a fool I am | It's
the last thing they ever put in a boy's head at
that infernal school. If you will believe it, they
wanted to make a priest of me !” -
He sprang up, pushing back his chair. We
carried our wine into the great hall, and sat there
talking the question over before the fire. Before
we parted for the night I had engaged to use all
my interest to get him a commission in the Morays;
and I left him pacing the hall, his mind in a whirl,
but his heart (as was plain to see) exulting in his
new prospects.
And certainly, when I came to inspect the castle
by the next morning's light, I could understand his


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 21
man has one only servant it's well to have her
devoted.” Seeing my look of surprise, he added,
“I don't count old Duncan, her husband; for he's
half-witted, and only serves to break the plates.
Does it surprise you to learn that, barring him,
Elspeth is my only retainer.”
“H'm," said I, considerably puzzled—I must
explain why.
I am by training an extraordinary light sleeper;
yet nothing had disturbed me during the night
until at dawn my brother knocked at the door
and entered, ready dressed.
“Hullo 1" he exclaimed, “are you responsible
for this 2 " and he pointed to a chair at the foot
of the bed where lay, folded in a neat pile, not
only the clothes I had tossed down carelessly
overnight, but the suit in which I had arrived. He
picked up this latter, felt it, and handed it to me.
It was dry, and had been carefully brushed.
“Our friend keeps a good valet,” said I ; “but
the queer thing is that, in a strange room, I didn't
wake. I see he has brought hot water too.”
“Look here," my brother asked : “ did you
lock your door "
“Why, of course not—the more by token that
it hasn't a key."
“Well," said he, “mine has, and I'll swear I
used it; but the same thing has happened to me !”
This, I tried to persuade him, was impossible;


22 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
and for the while he seemed convinced. “It must
be,” he owned ; “but if I didn't lock that door I'll
never swear to a thing again in all my life.”
The young Laird's remark set me thinking of
this, and I answered after a pause, “In one of
the pair, then, you possess a remarkably clever
valet.”
It so happened that, while I said it, my eyes
rested, without the least intention, on the sleeve
of his shooting-coat; and the words were scarcely
out before he flushed hotly and made a motion as
if to hide a neatly mended rent in its cuff. In
another moment he would have retorted, and was
indeed drawing himself up in anger, when I pre-
vented him by adding—
“I mean that I am indebted to him or to her
this morning for a neatly brushed suit; and I
suppose to your freeness in plying me with wine
last night that it arrived in my room without
waking me. But for that I could almost set it
down to the supernatural.”
I said this in all simplicity, and was quite un-
prepared for its effect upon him, or for his extra-
ordinary reply. He turned as white in the face
as, a moment before, he had been red. “Good
God . " he said eagerly, “you haven't missed any-
thing, have you ?”
“Certainly not,” I assured him. “My dear
sir—”


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 23
“I know, I know. But you see,” he stammered,
“I am new to these servants. I know them to
be faithful, and that's all. Forgive me; I feared
from your tone one of them—Duncan perhaps . . . ."
He did not finish his sentence, but broke into
a hurried walk and led me towards the house. A
minute later, as we approached it, he began to dis-
course half-humorously on its more glaring features,
and had apparently forgotten his perturbation.
I too attached small importance to it, and
‘recall it now merely through unwillingness to omit
any circumstance which may throw light on a
story sufficiently dark to me. After breakfast our
host walked down with us to the loch-side, where
we found old Donald putting the last touches on
his job. With thanks for our entertainment we
shook hands and pushed off: and my last word at
parting was a promise to remember his ambition
and write any news of my success.
II
I anticipated no difficulty, and encountered none.
The Gazette of January, 1815, announced that David
Marie Joseph Mackenzie, gentleman, had been
appointed to an ensigncy in the –th Regiment of
Infantry (Moray Highlanders); and I timed my
letter of congratulation to reach him with the
news. Within a week he had joined us at Inver-
ness, and was made welcome.


24 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
I may say at once that during his brief period
of service I could find no possible fault with his
bearing as a soldier. From the first he took
seriously to the calling of arms, and not only
showed himself punctual on parade and in all the
small duties of barracks, but displayed, in his
reserved way, a zealous resolve to master what-
ever by book or conversation could be learned
of the higher business of war. My junior officers
—though when the test came, as it soon did, they
acquitted themselves most creditably—showed, as
a whole, just then no great promise. For the
most part they were young lairds, like Mr. Mac-
kenzie, or cadets of good Highland families; but,
unlike him, they had been allowed to run wild,
and chafed under harness. One or two of them
had the true Highland addiction to card-playing ;
and though I set a pretty stern face against this
curse—as I dare to call it—its effects were to be
traced in late hours, more than one case of shirking
“rounds,” and a general slovenliness at morning
parade.
In such company Mr. Mackenzie showed to
advantage, and I soon began to value him as a
likely officer. Nor, in my dissatisfaction with them,
did it give me any uneasiness—as it gave me no
surprise—to find that his brother-officers took less
kindly to him. He kept a certain reticence of
manner, which either came of a natural shyness
or had been ingrained in him at the Roman Catholic


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 25
seminary. He was poor, too; but poverty did
not prevent his joining in all the regimental amuse-
ments, figuring modestly but sufficiently on the
subscription lists, and even taking a hand at cards
for moderate stakes. Yet he made no headway,
and his popularity diminished instead of growing.
All this I noted, but without discovering any
definite reason. Of his professional promise, on
the other hand, there could be no question; and
the men liked and respected him.
Our senior ensign at this date was a Mr.
Urquhart, the eldést son of a West Highland laird,
and heir to a considerable estate. He had been
in barracks when Mr. Mackenzie joined ; but a
week later his father's sudden illness called for
his presence at home, and I granted him a leave
of absence, which was afterwards extended. I
regretted this, not only for the sad occasion, but
because it deprived the battalion for a time of one
of its steadiest officers, and Mr. Mackenzie in
particular of the chance to form a very useful
friendship. For the two young men had (I
thought) several qualities which might well attract
them each to the other, and a common gravity
of mind in contrast with their companions' pre-
valent and somewhat tiresome frivolity. Of the
two I judged Mr. Urquhart (the elder by a year)
to have the more stable character. He was a good-
looking, dark-complexioned young Highlander, with
a serious expression which, without being gloomy,


26 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
did not escape a touch of melancholy. I should
judge this melancholy of Mr. Urquhart's constitu-
tional, and the boyish sullenness which lingered
on Mr. Mackenzie's equally handsome face to have
been imposed rather by circumstances.
Mr. Urquhart rejoined us on the 24th of
February. Two days later, as all the world knows,
Napoleon made his escape from Elba ; and the
next week or two made it certain not only that
the Allies must fight, but that the British contingent
must be drawn largely, if not in the main, from
the second battalions then drilling up and down
the country. The 29th of March brought us our
marching orders; and I will own that, while
feeling no uneasiness about the great issue, I dis-
trusted the share my raw youngsters were to take
in it.
On the 12th of April we were landed at Ostend,
and at once marched up to Brussels, where we
remained until the middle of June, having been
assigned to the 5th (Picton's) Division of the
Reserve. For some reason the Highland regiments
had been massed into the Reserve, and were
billeted about the capital, our own quarters lying
between the 92nd (Gordons) and General Kruse's
Nassauers, whose lodgings stretched out along the
Louvain road; and although I could have wished
some harder and more responsible service to get
the Morays into training, I felt what advantage
they derived from rubbing shoulders with the fine


THE IAIRD’S LUCK 27
fellows of the 42nd, 79th, and 92nd, all First Bat-
talions toughened by Peninsular work. The gaieties
of life in Brussels during these two months have
been described often enough ; but among the
military they were chiefly confined to those officers
whose means allowed them to keep the pace set
by rich civilians, and the Morays played the part
of amused spectators. Yet the work and the few
gaieties which fell to our share, while adding to
our experiences, broke up to some degree the old
domestic habits of the battalion. Excepting on
duty I saw less of Mr. Mackenzie and thought less
about him ; he might be left now to be shaped
by active service. But I was glad to find him
often in company with Mr. Urquhart.
I come now to the memorable night of June
15th, concerning which and the end it brought
upon the festivities of Brussels so much has been
written. All the world has heard of the Duchess
of Richmond's ball, and seems to conspire in
decking it out with pretty romantic fables. To
contradict the most of these were waste of time;
but I may point out (1) that the ball was over
and, I believe, all the company dispersed, before
the actual alarm awoke the capital; and (2) that
all responsible officers gathered there shared the
knowledge that such an alarm was impending,
might arrive at any moment, and would almost
certainly arrive within a few hours. News of the
French advance across the frontier and attack on


28 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
General Zieten's outposts had reached Wellington
at three o'clock that afternoon. It should have
been brought five hours earlier; but he gave his
orders at once, and quietly, and already our troops
were massing for defence upon Nivelles. We of
the Reserve had secret orders to hold ourselves
prepared. Obedient to a hint from their Com-
mander-in-chief, the generals of division and brigade
who attended the Duchess's ball withdrew them-
selves early on various pleas. Her Grace had
honoured me with an invitation, probably because
I represented a Highland regiment; and High-
landers (especially the Gordons, her brother's
regiment) were much to the fore that night with
reels, flings, and strathspeys. The many with-
drawals warned me that something was in the
wind, and after remaining just so long as seemed
respectful I took leave of my hostess and walked
homewards across the city as the clocks were
striking eleven.
We of the Morays had our headquarters in a
fairly large building—the Hôtel de Liège—in time
of peace a resort of commis-voyageurs of the better
class. It boasted a roomy hall, out of which
opened two coffee-rooms, converted by us into
guard- and mess-room. A large drawing-room on
the first floor overlooking the street served me for
sleeping as well as working quarters, and to reach
it I must pass the entresol, where a small apart-
ment had been set aside for occasional uses. We


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 29
made it, for instance, our ante-room, and assembled
there before mess; a few would retire there for
smoking or card-playing; during the day it served
as a waiting-room for messengers or anyone whose
business could not be for the moment attended to.
I had paused at the entrance to put some small
question to the sentry, when I heard the crash of
a chair in this room, and two voices broke out in
fierce altercation. An instant after, the mess-room
door opened, and Captain Murray, without ob-
serving me, ran past me and up the stairs. As he
reached the entresol, a voice—my brother's—called
down from an upper landing, and demanded,
“What's wrong there 2"
“I don't know, Major,” Captain Murray an-
swered, and at the same moment flung the door
open. I was quick on his heels, and he wheeled
round in some surprise at my voice, and to see
me interposed between him and my brother, who
had come running downstairs, and now stood
behind my shoulder in the entrance.
“Shut the door,” I commanded quickly. “Shut
the door, and send away anyone you may hear out-
side. Now, gentlemen, explain yourselves, please.”
Mr. Urquhart and Mr. Mackenzie faced each
other across a small table, from which the cloth
had been dragged and lay on the floor with a
scattered pack of cards. The elder lad held a
couple of cards in his hand; he was white in the
face.


30 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“He cheated 1" He swung round upon me in
a kind of indignant fury, and tapped the cards
with his forefinger.
I looked from him to the accused. Mackenzie's
face was dark, almost purple, rather with rage (as
it struck me) than with shame.
“It's a lie.” He let out the words slowly, as
if holding rein on his passion. “Twice he's said
so, and twice I've called him a liar." He drew
back for an instant, and then lost control of
himself. “If that's not enough—." He leapt
forward, and almost before Captain Murray could
interpose had hurled himself upon Urquhart. The
table between them went down with a crash, and
Urquhart went staggering back from a blow which
just missed his face and took him on the collar-
bone before Murray threw both arms around the
assailant.
“Mr. Mackenzie,” said I, “you will consider
yourself under arrest. Mr. Urquhart, you will
hold yourself ready to give me a full explanation.
Whichever of you may be in the right, this is a
disgraceful business, and dishonouring to your
regiment and the cloth you wear: so disgraceful,
that I hesitate to call up the guard and expose it
to more eyes than ours. If Mr. Mackenzie"—I
turned to him again—“can behave himself like
a gentleman, and accept the fact of his arrest
without further trouble, the scandal can at least
be postponed until I discover how much it is


THE LAIRD’S. LUCK 31
necessary to face. For the moment, sir, you are
in charge of Captain Murray. Do you under-
stand?"
He bent his head sullenly. “He shall fight me,
whatever happens,” he muttered.
I found it wise to pay no heed to this. “It
will be best,” I said to Murray, “to remain here
with Mr. Mackenzie until I am ready for him.
Mr. Urquhart may retire to his quarters, if he
will—I advise it, indeed—but I shall require his
attendance in a few minutes. You understand,”
I added significantly, “that for the present this
affair remains strictly between ourselves.” I knew
well enough that, for all the King's regulations, a
meeting would inevitably follow sooner or later,
and will own I looked upon it as the proper
outcome, between gentlemen, of such a quarrel.
But it was not for me, their Colonel, to betray
this knowledge or my feelings, and by imposing
secrecy I put off for the time all the business of
a formal challenge with seconds. So I left them,
and requesting my brother to follow me, mounted
to my own room. The door was no sooner shut
than I turned on him.
“Surely,” I said, “this is a bad mistake of
Urquhart's It's an incredible charge. From all
I've seen of him, the lad would never be guilty . . .”
I paused, expecting his assent. To my surprise he
did not give it, but stood fingering his chin and
looking serious.


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 33
“Good heavens, sir!” I cried. “Do you know
you have accused that young man of a villainy
which must damn him for life 2 And now you
tell me—” I broke off in sheer indignation.
“I know,” he answered quietly. “The noise
fetched you in upon us on the instant, and the
mischief was done.”
“Indeed, sir,” I could not avoid sneering, “to
most of us it would seem that the mischief was
done when you accused a brother-officer of fraud
to his face.”
He seemed to reflect. “Yes, sir,” he assented
slowly; “it is done. I saw him cheat: that I
must persist in ; but I cannot say how far he was
conscious of it. And since I cannot, I must take
the consequences.”
“Will you kindly inform us how it is possible
for a player to cheat and not know that he is
cheating 2"
He bent his eyes on the carpet as if seeking
an answer. It was long in coming. “No,” he
said at last, in a slow, dragging tone, “I cannot."
“Then you will at least tell us exactly what
Mr. Mackenzie did."
Again there was a long pause. He looked at
me straight, but with hopelessness in his eyes. “I
fear you would not believe me. It would not be
worth while. If you can grant it, sir, I would ask
time to decide.”
“Mr. Urquhart," said I sternly, “are you aware
D


34 * THE LAIRD’S LUCK
you have brought against Mr. Mackenzie a charge
under which no man of honour can live easily for
a moment 2 You ask me without a word of
evidence in substantiation to keep him in torture
while I give you time. It is monstrous, and I beg
to remind you that, unless your charge is proved,
you can—and will—be broken for making it."
“I know it, sir,” he answered firmly enough ;
“and because I knew it, I asked—perhaps selfishly
—for time. If you refuse, I will at least ask
permission to see a priest before telling a story
which I can scarcely expect you to believe." Mr.
Urquhart too was a Roman Catholic.
But my temper for the moment was gone. “I
see little chance,” said I, “of keeping this scandal
secret, and regret it the less if the consequences are
to fall on a rash accuser. But just now I will have
no meddling priest share the secret. For the present,
one word more. Had you heard before this evening
of any hints against Mr. Mackenzie's play ?”
He answered reluctantly, “Yes.”
“And you set yourself to lay a trap for him f"
“No, sir; I did not. Unconsciously I may
have been set on the watch : no, that is wrong
—I did watch. But I swear it was in every hope
and expectation of clearing him. He was my
friend. Even when I saw, I had at first no
intention to expose him until—”
“That is enough, sir,” I broke in, and turned
to my brother. “I have no option but to put


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 35
Mr. Urquhart too under arrest. Kindly convey
him back to his room, and send Captain Murray
to me. He may leave Mr. Mackenzie in the
entresol."
My brother led Urquhart out, and in a minute
Captain Murray tapped at my door. He was an
honest Scot, not too sharp-witted, but straight as
a die. I am to show him this description, and
he will cheerfully agree with it.
“This is a hideous business, Murray,” said I
as he entered. “There's something wrong with
Urquhart's story. Indeed, between ourselves it
has the fatal weakness that he won't tell it.”
Murray took half a minute to digest this : then he
answered, “I don't know anything about Urquhart's
story, sir. But there's something wrong about
Urquhart.” Here he hesitated.
“Speak out, man,” said I : “in confidence.
That's understood.”
“Well, sir,” said he, “Urquhart won't fight.”
“Ah ! so that question came up, did it 2." I
asked, looking at him sharply.
He was not abashed, but answered, with a
twinkle in his eye, “I believe, sir, you gave me
no orders to stop their talking, and in a case like
this—between youngsters—some question of a meet-
ing would naturally come up. You see, I know
both the lads. Urquhart I really like; but he
didn't show up well, I must own—to be fair to
the other, who is in the worse fix."


36 TEIE LAIRD’S LUCK
“I am not so sure of that,” I commented;
“but go on.”
He seemed surprised. “Indeed, Colonel? Well,”
he resumed, “I being the sort of fellow they could
talk before, a meeting was discussed. The question
was how to arrange it without seconds—that is,
without breaking your orders and dragging in out-
siders. For Mackenzie wanted blood at once, and
for awhile Urquhart seemed just as eager. All of
a sudden, when . . . .” here he broke off suddenly,
not wishing to commit himself.
“Tell me only what you think necessary,” said I.
He thanked me. “That is what I wanted,” he
said. “Well, all of a sudden, when we had found
out a way and Urquhart was discussing it, he
pulled himself up in the middle of a sentence, and
with his eyes fixed on the other—a most curious
look it was—he waited while you could count ten,
and, ‘No,' says he, “I’ll not fight you at once'—
for we had been arranging something of the sort—
‘not to-night, anyway, nor to-morrow, he says.
“I’ll fight you ; but I won't have your blood on
my head in that way.' Those were his words. I
have no notion what he meant; but he kept
repeating them, and would not explain, though
Mackenzie tried him hard and was for shooting
across the table. He was repeating them when
the Major interrupted us and called him up.”
“He has behaved ill from the first,” said I.
“To me the whole affair begins to look like an


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 37
abominable plot against Mackenzie. Certainly I
cannot entertain a suspicion of his guilt upon a
bare assertion which Urquhart declines to back
with a tittle of evidence.”
“The devil he does 1" mused Captain Murray.
“That looks bad for him. And yet, sir, I'd sooner
trust Urquhart than Mackenzie, and if the case lies
against Urquhart—"
“It will assuredly break him,” I put in, “unless
he can prove the charge, or that he was honestly
mistaken."
“Then, sir,” said the Captain, “I’ll have to show
you this. It's ugly, but it's only justice.”
He pulled a sovereign from his pocket and pushed
it on the writing-table under my nose.
“What does this mean 2"
“It is a marked one," said he.
“So I perceive.” I had picked up the coin and
was examining it.
“I found it just now,” he continued, “in the
room below. The upsetting of the table had scattered
Mackenzie's stakes about the floor.”
“You seem to have a pretty notion of evidence 1"
I observed sharply. “I don't know what accusation
this coin may carry; but why need it be Mac-
kenzie's He might have won it from Urquhart.”
“I thought of that,” was the answer. “But no
money had changed hands. I enquired. The
quarrel arose over the second deal, and as a matter
of fact Urquhart had laid no money on the table, but


38 THE LAIRD'S LUCK
made a pencil-note of the few shillings he lost by
the first hand. You may remember, sir, how the
table stood when you entered.”
I reflected. “Yes, my recollection bears you out.
Do I gather that you have confronted Mackenzie
with this 2"
“No. I found it and slipped it quietly into my
pocket. I thought we had trouble enough on hand
for the moment.”
“Who marked this coin 2"
“Young Fraser, sir, in my presence. He has been
losing small sums, he declares, by pilfering. We sus-
pected one of the orderlies.”
“In this connection you had no suspicion of Mr.
Mackenzie 2 "
“None, sir." He considered for a moment, and
added: “There was a curious thing happened three
weeks ago over my watch. It found its way one
night to Mr. Mackenzie's quarters. He brought it
to me in the morning; said it was lying, when he
awoke, on the table beside his bed. He seemed
utterly puzzled. He had been to one or two al-
ready to discover the owner. We joked him about
it, the more by token that his own watch had broken
down the day before and was away at the mender's.
The whole thing was queer, and has not been ex-
plained. Of course in that instance he was innocent:
everything proves it. It just occurred to me as
worth mentioning, because in both instances the lad
may have been the victim of a trick.”


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 39
“I am glad you did so,” I said ; “though just
now it does not throw any light that I can see."
I rose and paced the room. “Mr. Mackenzie had
better be confronted with this, too, and hear your
evidence. It's best he should know the worst
against him; and if he be guilty it may move him
to confession.”
“Certainly, sir,” Captain Murray assented. “Shall
I fetch him 2"
“No, remain where you are,” I said; “I will go
for him myself.”
I understood that Mr. Urquhart had retired to his
own quarters or to my brother's, and that Mr.
Mackenzie had been left in the entresol alone. But
as I descended the stairs quietly I heard within that
room a voice which at first persuaded me he had
company, and next that, left to himself, he had
broken down and given way to the most childish
wailing. The voice was so unlike his, or any grown
man's, that it arrested me on the lowermost stair
against my will. It resembled rather the sobbing
of an infant mingled with short strangled cries of
contrition and despair.
“What shall I do 2 What shall I do 2 I didn't
mean it—I meant to do good l What shall I
do ’’’
So much I heard (as I say) against my will,
before my astonishment gave room to a sense of
shame at playing, even for a moment, the eaves-
dropper upon the lad I was to judge. I stepped


40 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
quickly to the door, and with a warning rattle (to
give him time to recover himself) turned the handle
and entered.
He was alone, lying back in an easy chair—not
writhing there in anguish of mind, as I had fully
expected, but sunk rather in a state of dull and
hopeless apathy. To reconcile his attitude with the
sounds I had just heard was merely impossible; and
it bewildered me worse than any in the long chain
of bewildering incidents. For five seconds or so he
appeared not to see me ; but when he grew aware
his look changed suddenly to one of utter terror,
and his eyes, shifting from me, shot a glance about
the room as if he expected some new accusation to
dart at him from the corners. His indignation and
passionate defiance were gone : his eyes seemed
to ask me, “How much do you know 2 " before he
dropped them and stood before me, sullenly sub-
missive.
“I want you upstairs,” said I : “not to hear your
defence on this charge, for Mr. Urquhart has not yet
specified it. But there is another matter.”
“Another ?” he echoed dully, and, I observed,
without surprise.
I led the way back to the room where Captain
Murray waited. “Can you tell me anything about
this 2 " I asked, pointing to the sovereign on the
writing-table.
He shook his head, clearly puzzled, but anticipat-
ing mischief.


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 41
“The coin is marked, you see. I have reason to
know that it was marked by its owner in order to
detect a thief. Captain Murray found it just now
among your stakes.”
Somehow — for I liked the lad—I had not the
heart to watch his face as I delivered this. I kept
my eyes upon the coin, and waited, expecting an
explosion —a furious denial, or at least a cry that
he was the victim of a conspiracy. None came. I
heard him breathing hard. After a long and very
dreadful pause some words broke from him, so lowly
uttered that my ears only just caught them.
“This too ! O my God 1"
I seated myself, the lad before me, and Captain
Murray erect and rigid at the end of the table.
“Listen, my lad," said I. “This wears an ugly
look, but that a stolen coin has been found in your
possession does not prove that you've stolen it."
“I did not. Sir, I swear to you on my honour,
and before Heaven, that I did not.”
“Very well,” said I : “Captain Murray asserts
that he found this among the moneys you had been
staking at cards. Do you question that assertion ?”
He answered almost without pondering. “No,
sir. Captain Murray is a gentleman, and incapable
of falsehood. If he says so, it was so."
“Very well again. Now, can you explain how
this coin came into your possession ?"
At this he seemed to hesitate ; but answered at
length, “No, I cannot explain."


42 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“Have you any idea Or can you form any
guess 2"
Again there was a long pause before the answer
came in low and strained tones : “I can guess.”
“What is your guess 2"
He lifted a hand and dropped it hopelessly.
“You would not believe,” he said.
I will own a suspicion flashed across my mind on
hearing these words—the very excuse given a while
ago by Mr. Urquhart—that the whole affair was a
hoax and the two young men were in conspiracy to
befool me. I dismissed it at once : the sight of Mr.
Mackenzie's face was convincing. But my temper
was gone.
“Believe you ?” I exclaimed. “You seem to
think the one thing I can swallow as credible, even
probable, is that an officer in the Morays has been
pilfering and cheating at cards. Oddly enough, it's
the last thing I’m going to believe without proof,
and the last charge I shall pass without clearing it
up to my satisfaction. Captain Murray, will you go
and bring me Mr. Urquhart and the Major "
As Captain Murray closed the door I rose, and
with my hands behind me took a turn across the
room to the fireplace, then back to the writing-
table.
“Mr. Mackenzie,” I said, “before we go any
further I wish you to believe that I am your friend
as well as your Colonel. I did something to start
you upon your career, and I take a warm interest in


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 43
it. To believe you guilty of these charges will give
me the keenest grief. However unlikely your
defence may sound—and you seem to fear it—I will
give it the best consideration I can. If you are
innocent, you shall not find me prejudiced because
many are against you and you are alone. Now, this
coin " I turned to the table.
The coin was gone.
I stared at the place where it had lain; then at
the young man. He had not moved. My back had
been turned for less than two seconds, and I could
have sworn he had not budged from the square of
carpet on which he had first taken his stand, and on
which his feet were still planted. On the other
hand, I was equally positive the incriminating coin
had lain on the table at the moment I turned my
back.
“It is gone !” cried I.
“Gone 2" he echoed, staring at the spot to which
my finger pointed. In the silence our glances were
still crossing when my brother tapped at the door
and brought in Mr. Urquhart, Captain Murray fol-
lowing.
Dismissing for a moment this latest mystery, I
addressed Mr. Urquhart. “I have sent for you, sir,
to request in the first place that here in Mr. Mac-
kenzie's presence and in colder blood you will
either withdraw or repeat and at least attempt
to substantiate the charge you brought against
him."


44 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“I adhere to it, sir, that there was cheating. To
withdraw would be to utter a lie. Does he deny
it 2 ”
I glanced at Mr. Mackenzie. “I deny that I
cheated,” said he sullenly.
“Further,” pursued Mr. Urquhart, “I repeat
what I told you, sir. He may, while profiting by
it, have been unaware of the cheat. At the moment
I thought it impossible; but I am willing to
believe—”
“You are willing !” I broke in. “And pray, sir,
what about me, his Colonel, and the rest of his
brother officers ? Have you the coolness to sug-
gest—"
But the full question was never put, and in this
world it will never be answered. A bugle call,
distant but clear, cut my sentence in half. It came
from the direction of the Place d'Armes. A second
bugle echoed it from the height of the Montagne
du Parc, and within a minute its note was taken
up and answered across the darkness from quarter
after quarter of the city.
We looked at one another in silence. “Business,”
said my brother at length, curtly and quietly.
Already the rooms above us were astir. I heard
windows thrown open, voices calling questions, feet
running.
“Yes,” said I, “it is business at length, and for
the while this inquiry must end. Captain Murray,
look to your company. You, Major, see that the


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 45
lads tumble out quick to the alarm-post. One
moment 1"—and Captain Murray halted with his
hand on the door—“It is understood that for the
present no word of to-night's affair passes our lips.”
I turned to Mr. Mackenzie and answered the question
I read in the lad's eyes. “Yes, sir; for the present
I take off your arrest. Get your sword. It shall be
your good fortune to answer the enemy before
answering me.”
To my amazement Mr. Urquhart interposed. He
was, if possible, paler and more deeply agitated than
before. “Sir, I entreat you not to allow Mr.
Mackenzie to go. I have reasons—I was mistaken
just now—"
“Mistaken, sir?”
“Not in what I saw. I refused to fight him—
under a mistake. I thought—"
But I cut his stammering short. “As for you,” I
said, “the most charitable construction I can put on
your behaviour is to believe you mad. For the
present you, too, are free to go and do your duty.
Now leave me. Business presses, and I am sick and
angry at the sight of you."
It was just two in the morning when I reached
the alarm-post. Brussels by this time was full of the
rolling of drums and screaming of pipes; and the
regiment formed up in darkness rendered tenfold
more confusing by a mob of citizens, some wildly
excited, others paralysed by terror, and all intractable.


46 THE LA II?ID'S LUCK
We had, moreover, no small trouble to disengage
from our ranks the wives and families who had most
unwisely followed many officers abroad, and now
clung to their dear ones bidding them farewell. To
end this most distressing scene I had in some instances
to use a roughness which it still afflicts me to re-
member. Yet in actual time it was soon over, and
dawn scarcely breaking when the Morays with the
other regiments of Pack's brigade filed out of the
park and fell into stride on the road which leads
southward to Charleroi.
In this record it would be immaterial to describe
either our march or the since-famous engagement
which terminated it. Very early we began to hear
the sound of heavy guns far ahead and to make
guesses at their distance; but it was close upon two
in the afternoon before we reached the high ground
above Quatre Bras, and saw the battle spread below
us like a picture. The Prince of Orange had been
fighting his ground stubbornly since seven in the
morning. Ney's superior artillery and far superior
cavalry had forced him back, it is true; but he still
covered the cross-roads which were the key of his
defence, and his position remained sound, though it
was fast becoming critical. Just as we arrived, the
French, who had already mastered the farm of Pier-
mont on the left of the Charleroi road, began to push
their skirmishers into a thicket below it and com-
manding the road running east to Namur. Indeed,
for a short space they had this road at their mercy,


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 47
and the chance within grasp of doubling up our left
by means of it.
This happened, I say, just as we arrived; and
Wellington, who had reached Quatre Bras a short
while ahead of us (having fetched a circuit from
Brussels through Ligny, where he paused to inspect
Field-Marshal Blücher's dispositions for battle), at
once saw the danger, and detached one of our regi-
ments, the 95th Rifles, to drive back the tirailleurs
from the thicket; which, albeit scarcely breathed
after their march, they did with a will, and so re-
gained the Allies' hold upon the Namur road. The
rest of us meanwhile defiled down this same road,
formed line in front of it, and under a brisk
cannonade from the French heights waited for the
next move.
It was not long in coming. Ney, finding that our
artillery made poor play against his, prepared to
launch a column against us. Warned by a cloud of
skirmishers, our light companies leapt forward, chose
their shelter, and began a very pretty exchange of
musketry. But this was preliminary work only, and
soon the head of a large French column appeared on
the slope to our right, driving the Brunswickers slowly
before it. It descended a little way, and suddenly
broke into three or four columns of attack. The
mischief no sooner threatened than Picton came
galloping along our line and roaring that our division
would advance and engage with all speed. For a raw
regiment like the Morays this was no light test; but,


48 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
supported by a veteran regiment on either hand, they
bore it admirably. Dropping the Gordons to protect
the road in case of mishap, the two brigades swung
forward in the prettiest style, their skirmishers
running in and forming on either flank as they
advanced. Then for a while the work was hot; but,
as will always happen when column is boldly met by
line, the French quickly had enough of our envelop-
ing fire, and wavered. A short charge with the
bayonet finished it, and drove them in confusion up
the slope : nor had I an easy task to resume a hold
on my youngsters and restrain them from pursuing
too far. The brush had been sharp, but I had
the satisfaction of knowing that the Morays had
behaved well. They also knew it, and fell to jesting
in high good-humour as General Pack withdrew the
brigade from the ground of its exploit and posted us in
line with the 42nd and 44th Regiments on the left of
the main road to Charleroi.
To the right of the Charleroi road, and some way
in advance of our position, the Brunswickers were
holding ground as best they could under a hot and
accurate artillery fire. Except for this, the battle had
come to a lull, when a second mass of the enemy
began to move down the slopes: a battalion in line
heading two columns of infantry direct upon the
Brunswickers, while squadron after squadron of
lancers crowded down along the road into which by
weight of numbers they must be driven. The Duke
of Brunswick, perceiving his peril, headed a charge of


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 49
his lancers upon the advancing infantry, but without
the least effect. His horsemen broke. He rode back
and called on his infantry to retire in good order.
They also broke, and in the attempt to rally them he
fell mortally wounded.
The line taken by these flying Brunswickers would
have brought them diagonally across the Charleroi
road into our arms, had not the French lancers seized
this moment to charge straight down it in a body.
They encountered, and the indiscriminate mass was
hurled on to us, choking and overflowing the cause-
way. In a minute we were swamped—the two
Highland regiments and the 44th bending against a
sheer weight of French horsemen. So suddenly came
the shock that the 42nd had no time to form square,
until two companies were cut off and well-nigh
destroyed; then that noble regiment formed around
the horsemen who could boast of having broken it,
and left not one to bear back the tale. The 44th
behaved more cleverly, but not more intrepidly: it
did not attempt to form square, but faced its rear rank
round and gave the Frenchmen a volley; before they
could check their impetus the front rank poured in a
second ; and the light company, which had held its
fire, delivered a third, breaking the crowd in two, and
driving the hinder-part back in disorder and up the
Charleroi road. But already the fore-part had fallen
upon the Morays, fortunately the last of the three
regiments to receive the shock. Though most for-
tunate, they had least experience, and were conse-
E


50 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
quently slow in answering my shout. A wedge of
lancers broke through us as we formed around the
two standards, and I saw Mr. Urquhart with the
King's colours hurled back in the rush. The pole fell
with him, after swaying within a yard of a French
lancer, who thrust out an arm to grasp it. And with
that I saw Mackenzie divide the rush and stand—it
may have been for five seconds—erect, with his foot
upon the standard. Then three lances pierced him,
and he fell. But the lateral pressure of their own
troopers broke off the head of the wedge which the
French had pushed into us. Their leading squadrons
were pressed down the road and afterwards accounted
for by the Gordons. Of the seven-and-twenty as-
sailants around whom the Morays now closed, not
one survived.
Towards nightfall, as Ney weakened and the
Allies were reinforced, our troops pushed forward
and recaptured every important position taken by
the French that morning. The Morays, with the
rest of Picton's division, bivouacked for the night in
and around the farmstead of Gemiancourt.
So obstinately had the field been contested that
darkness fell before the wounded could be collected
with any thoroughness; and the comfort of the men
around many a camp-fire was disturbed by groans
(often quite near at hand) of some poor comrade or
enemy lying helpless and undiscovered, or exerting
his shattered limbs to crawl towards the blaze. And
these interruptions at length became so distressing to


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 51
the Morays, that two or three officers sought me and
demanded leave to form a fatigue party of volunteers
and explore the hedges and thickets with lanterns.
Among them was Mr. Urquhart: and having readily
given leave and accompanied them some little way
on their search, I was bidding them good-night and
good-speed when I found him standing at my elbow.
“May I have a word with you, Colonel ?” he
asked.
His voice was low and serious. Of course I knew
what subject filled his thoughts. “Is it worth while,
sir 2 " I answered. “I have lost to-day a brave lad
for whom I had a great affection. For him the
account is closed ; but not for those who liked him
and are still concerned in his good name. If you
have anything further against him, or if you have any
confession to make, I warn you that this is a bad
moment to choose.”
“I have only to ask,” said he, “that you will
grant me the first convenient hour for explaining; and
to remind you that when I besought you not to send
him into action to-day, I had no time to give you
reasons."
“This is extraordinary talk, sir. I am not used
to command the Morays under advice from my sub-
alterns. And in this instance I had reasons for not
even listening to you.” He was silent. “Moreover,"
I continued, “you may as well know, though I am
under no obligation to tell you, that I do most
certainly not regret having given that permission to


52 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
one who justified it by a signal service to his king and
country.”
“But would you have sent him knowing that he
must die 2 Colonel,” he went on rapidly, before I
could interrupt, “I beseech you to listen. I knew he
had only a few hours to live. I saw his wraith last
night. It stood behind his shoulder in the room
when in Captain Murray's presence he challenged me
to fight him. You are a Highlander, sir: you may be
sceptical about the second sight; but at least you
must have heard many claim it. I swear positively
that I saw Mr. Mackenzie's wraith last night, and for
that reason, and no other, tried to defer the meeting.
To fight him, knowing he must die, seemed to me as
bad as murder. Afterwards, when the alarm sounded
and you took off his arrest, I knew that his fate must
overtake him—that my refusal had done no good. I
tried to interfere again, and you would not hear.
Naturally you would not hear; and very likely, it
you had, his fate would have found him in some other
way. That is what I try to believe. I hope it is not
selfish, sir; but the doubt tortures me.”
“Mr. Urquhart,” I asked, “is this the only
occasion on which you have possessed the second
sight, or had reason to think so 2"
“No, sir.”
“Was it the first or only time last night you be-
lieved you were granted it 2"
“It was the second time last night,” he said
steadily.


54 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
me, a visiting-card neatly indited with the name of
the Reverend Samuel Saul. On inquiry I learnt
that the minister had paid at least three visits to
Inverness during the past fortnight, and had, on
each occasion, shown much anxiety to learn when
the battalion might be expected. He had also
left word that he wished to see me on a matter
of much importance. -
Sure enough, at ten o'clock next morning the
little man presented himself. He was clearly
bursting to disclose his business, and our salutations
were scarce over when he ran to the door and
called to some one in the passage outside."
“Elspeth ! Step inside, woman. The house-
keeper, sir, to the late Mr. Mackenzie of Ardlaugh,”
he explained, as he held the door to admit her.
She was dressed in ragged mourning, and wore
a grotesque and fearful bonnet. As she saluted
me respectfully I saw that her eyes indeed were
dry and even hard, but her features set in an ex-
pression of quiet and hopeless misery. She did
not speak, but left explanation to the minister.
“You will guess, sir,” began Mr. Saul, “that
we have called to learn more of the poor lad.”
And he paused.
“He died most gallantly,” said I : “died in the
act of Saving the colours. No soldier could have
wished for a better end.”
“To be sure, to be sure. So it was reported to
us. He died, as one might say, without a stain on


THE LAIRD'S LUCK 55
his character 7” said Mr. Saul, with a sort of
question in his tone.
“He died,” I answered, “in a way which could
only do credit to his name.”
A somewhat constrained silence followed. The
woman broke it. “You are not telling us all,"
she said, in a slow, harsh voice.
It took me aback. “I am telling all that needs
to be known,” I assured her.
“No doubt, sir, no doubt,” Mr. Saul interjected.
“Hold your tongue, woman. I am going to tell
Colonel Ross a tale which may or may not bear
upon anything he knows. If not, he will interrupt
me before I go far; but if he says nothing I shall
take it I have his leave to continue. Now, sir, on
the 16th day of June last, and at six in the
morning—that would be the day of Quatre Bras ar
He paused for me to nod assent, and continued.
“At six in the morning or a little earlier, this
woman, Elspeth Mackenzie, came to me at the
Manse in great perturbation. She had walked all
the way from Ardlaugh. It had come to her (she
said) that the young Laird abroad was in great
trouble since the previous evening. I asked, “What
trouble 2 Was it danger of life, for instance 2 –
asking it not seriously, but rather to compose her ;
for at first I set down her fears to an old woman's
whimsies. Not that I would call Elspeth old
precisely—"
Here he broke off and glanced at her; but,


56 THE LAIRD’S LUOK
perceiving she paid little attention, went on again
at a gallop. “She answered that it was worse—
that the young Laird stood very near disgrace,
and (the worst of all was) at a distance she could
not help him. Now, sir, for reasons I shall here-
after tell you, Mr. Mackenzie's being in disgrace
would have little surprised me ; but that she should
know of it, he being in Belgium, was incredible.
So I pressed her, and she being distraught and
(I verily believe) in something like anguish, came
out with a most extraordinary story: to wit, that
the Laird of Ardlaugh had in his service, unbe-
known to him (but, as she protested, well known
to her), a familiar spirit—or, as we should say
commonly, a ‘brownie’—which in general served
him most faithfully but at times erratically, having
no conscience nor any Christian principle to direct
him. I cautioned her, but she persisted, in a kind
of wild terror, and added that at times the spirit
would, in all good faith, do things which no
Christian allowed to be permissible, and further,
that she had profited by such actions. I asked
her, “Was thieving one of them * ' She answered
that it was, and indeed the chief.
“Now, this was an admission which gave me
some eagerness to hear more. For to my know-
ledge there were charges lying against young Mr.
Mackenzie-though not pronounced—which pointed
to a thief in his employment and presumably in his
confidence. You will remember, sir, that when I


THE LAIRD’S LUCK 57
had the honour of meeting you at Mr. Mackenzie's
table, I took my leave with much abruptness.
You remarked upon it, no doubt. But you will
no longer think it strange when I tell you that
there—under my nose—were a dozen apples of a
sort which grows nowhere within twenty miles
of Ardlaugh but in my own Manse garden. The
tree was a new one, obtained from Herefordshire,
and planted three seasons before as an experiment.
I had watched it, therefore, particularly ; and on
that very morning had counted the fruit, and been
dismayed to find twelve apples missing. Further,
I am a pretty good judge of wine (though I taste
it rarely), and could there and then have taken
my oath that the claret our host set before us was
the very wine I had tasted at the table of his
neighbour Mr. Gillespie. As for the venison—I had
already heard whispers that deer and all game
were not safe within a mile or two of Ardlaugh.
These were injurious tales, sir, which I had no
mind to believe ; for, bating his religion, I saw
everything in Mr. Mackenzie which disposed me
to like him. But I knew (as neighbours must) of
the shortness of his purse; and the multiplied
evidence (particularly my own Goodrich pippins
staring me in the face) overwhelmed me for a
moment.
“So then, I listened to this woman's tale with
more patience—or, let me say, more curiosity—
than you, sir, might have given it. She persisted,


58 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
I say, that her master was in trouble; and that
the trouble had something to do with a game of
cards, but that Mr. Mackenzie had been innocent
of deceit, and the real culprit was this spirit I
tell of --
Here the woman herself broke in upon Mr.
Saul. “He had nae conscience—he had nae con-
science. He was just a poor luck-child, born by
mischance and put away without baptism. He had
nae conscience. How should he "
I looked from her to Mr. Saul in perplexity.
“Whist 1” said he ; “we’ll talk of that anon.”
“We will not,” said she. “We will talk of
it now. He was my own child, sir, by the young
Laird's own father. That was before he was
married upon the wife he took later --
Here Mr. Saul nudged me, and whispered :
“The old Laird had her married to that daunderin'
old half-wit Duncan, to cover things up. This part
of the tale is true enough, to my knowledge.”
“My bairn was overlaid, sir,” the woman went
on ; “not by purpose, I will swear before you and
God. They buried his poor body without baptism;
but not his poor soul. Only when the young
Laird came, and my own bairn clave to him as
Mackenzie to Mackenzie, and wrought and hunted
and mended for him—it was not to be thought that
the poor innocent, without knowledge of God's
ways—"
She ran on incoherently, while my thoughts


THE LAIRD's Luck 59
harked back to the voice I had heard wailing
behind the door of the entresol at Brussels; to
the young Laird's face, his furious indignation,
followed by hopeless apathy, as of one who in the
interval had learnt what he could never explain;
to the marked coin so mysteriously spirited from
sight; to Mr. Urquhart's words before he left me
on the night of Quatre Bras.
“But he was sorry,” the woman ran on ; “he
was sorry—sorry. He came wailing to me that
night; yes, and sobbing. He meant no wrong;
it was just that he loved his own father's son, and
knew no better. There was no priest living within
thirty miles; so I dressed, and ran to the minister
here. He gave me no rest until I started.”
I addressed Mr. Saul. “Is there reason to sup-
pose that, besides this woman and (let us say)
her accomplice, any one shared the secret of these
pilferings 2"
“Ardlaugh never knew,” put in the woman
quickly. “He may have guessed we were helping
him ; but the lad knew nothing, and may the
saints in heaven love him as they ought ! He
trusted me with his purse, and slight it was to
maintain him. But until too late he never knew
—no, never, sir!"
I thought again of that voice behind the door
of the entresol.
“Elspeth Mackenzie,” I said, “I and two other
living men alone know of what your master was
_*


60 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
accused. It cannot affect him ; but these two
shall hear your exculpation of him. And I will
write the whole story down, so that the world, if
it ever hears the charge, may also hear your
testimony, which of the two (though both are
strange) I believe to be not the less credible.”


61
THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ.
I
YoU enter the village of Gantick between two
round-houses set one on each side of the high
road where it dips steeply towards the valley
bottom. On the west of the opposite hill the road
passes out between another pair of round-houses.
And down in the heart of the village among the
elms facing the churchyard lych-gate stands a fifth,
alone.
The five, therefore, form an elongated St. Andrew's
cross; but nobody can tell for certain who built
them, or why. They are all alike ; each built of
cob, circular, whitewashed, having pointed windows
and a conical roof of thatch with a wooden cross
on the apex. When I was a boy these thatched
roofs used to be pointed out to me as masterpieces;
and they still endure. But the race of skilled
thatchers, once the peculiar pride of Gantick, has
come to an end. What time has eaten modern
and clumsy hands have tried to repair; yet a glance
will tell you that the old sound work means to
outwear the patches.
The last of these famous thatchers lived in the
round-house on your right as you leave Gantick
by the seaward road. His name was old Nat


62 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
Ellery, or Thatcher Ellery, and his age (as I
remember him) between seventy or eighty. Yet
he clung to his work, being one of those lean
men upon whom age, exposure, and even drink
take a long while to tell. For he drank; not
sociably at the Ring of Bells, but at home in
solitude with a black bottle at his elbow. He
lived there alone; his neighbours, even of the round-
house across the road, shunned him and were
shunned by him : children would run rather than
meet him on the road as he came along, striding
swiftly for his age (the drink never affected his
legs), ready greaved and sometimes gauntleted as
if in haste for his job, always muttering to himself;
and when he passed us with just a side-glance
from his red eyes, we observed that his pale face
did not cease to twitch nor his lips to work. We
felt something like awe for the courage of Archie
Passmore, who followed twenty paces behind with
his tools and a bundle of spars or straw-rope, or
perhaps at the end of a ladder which the two
carried between them. Archie (aged sixteen) used
to boast to us that he did not fear the old man
a ha'penny ; and the old man treated Archie as
a Gibeonite, a hewer of wood, a drawer of water,
never as an apprentice. Of his craft, except what
he picked up by watching, the lad learned nothing.
What made him so vaguely terrible to us was
the common rumour in the village that Thatcher
Ellery had served once under his Majesty's colours,


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 63
but had deserted and was still liable to be taken
and shot for it. Now this was true and everyone
knew it, though why and how he had deserted
were questions answered among us only by dark
and frightful guesses. He had outlived all risk of
the law's revenge; no one, it was certain, would
take the trouble to seize and execute justice upon
a drunkard of seventy. But we children never
thought of this, and for us as we watched him
down the road there was always the thrilling
chance that over the hedge or around the next
corner would pop up a squad of redcoats. Some
of us had even seen it, in dreams.
II
This is the story of Thatcher Ellery as it was
told to me after his death, which happened one
night a few weeks before I came home from school
on my first summer holidays.
His father, in the early years of the century,
had kept the mill up at Trethake Water, two
miles above Gantick. There were two sons, of
whom Reub, the elder, succeeded to the mill. Nat
had been apprenticed to the thatching. Accident
of birth assigned to the two these different walks
of life, but by taking thought their parents could
not have chosen more wisely, for Nat was born
clever, with an ambition to cut a figure in man's
eyes, and just that sense of finish and the need of


64 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
it which makes the good workman. Whereas his
brother went the daily round at home as contentedly
as a horse at a cider-press. But Nat made the
mistake of lodging under his father's roof, and his
mother made the worse mistake of liking her first-
born the better and openly showing it. Nat,
jealous and sensitive by nature, came to imagine
the whole world against him, and Reub, who had
no vice beyond a large thick-witted selfishness,
seemed to make a habit of treading on his corns.
At length came the explosion : a sudden furious
assault which sent Reub souse into the paternal
mill-leat.
The mother cursed Nat forth from the door,
and no doubt said a great deal more than she
meant. The boy—he was just seventeen—carried
his box down to the Ring of Bells. Next morning
as he sat viciously driving in spars, astride on a
rick ridge whence he could see far over the Channel,
there came into sight round the Dodman Point a
ship-of-war, running before the strong easterly breeze
with piled canvas, white stun-sails bellying, and a
fine froth of white water running off her bluff bows.
Another ship followed, and another—at length a
squadron of six. Nat watched them from time to
time until they trimmed sails and stood in for
Falmouth. Then he climbed down from the rick
and put on his coat.
Two years later he landed at Portsmouth, heartily
sick of the sea and all belonging to it. He drank


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 65
himself silly that night and for ten nights follow-
ing, and one morning found himself in the streets
without a penny. Portsmouth just then (July,
1808) was filled with troops embarking under Sir
John Moore for Portugal. One regiment especially
took Nat's eye—the 4th or King's Own, and indeed
the whole service contained no finer body of men.
He sidled up to a corporal and gave a false name.
Varcoe had been his mother's maiden name, and
it came handy. The corporal took him to a
recruiting sergeant and handed him over with a
wink. The recruiting sergeant asked a few con-
venient questions, and within the hour Nat was a
soldier of King George. To his disgust, however,
they did not embark him for Portugal, but marched
him up the length of England to Lancaster, to
learn his drill with the second battalion.
Seventeen months later they marched him
back through the length of England – outwardly a
made soldier—and shipped him on a transport for
Gibraltar. In the meanwhile he had found two
friends, the only two real ones he ever found in
his life. They were Dave McInnes and Teddy
Butson, privates of the 4th Regiment of Foot, 2nd
Battalion, C Company. Dave McInnes came from
somewhere to the west of Perth and drank like
a fish when he had the chance. Teddy Butson
came from the Lord knew where, with a tongue
that wagged about everything except his own past.
It did indeed wag about that, but told nothing
F


66 THE LAIRD'S LUCK
but lies which were understood and accepted for
lies and by consequence didn't count. These two
had christened Nat Ellery “Spuds.” He had no
Secret from them but one.
He was the cleverest of the three, and they
admired him for it. He admired them in return
for possessing something he lacked. It seemed to
him the most important, almost the only important,
thing in the world.
For (this was his secret) he believed himself
to be a coward. He was not really a coward,
though he carried about in his heart the liveliest
fear of death and wounds. He was always asking
himself how he would behave under fire, and
somehow he found the odds heavy against his
behaving well. He put roundabout questions to
Dave and Teddy with the aim of discovering what
they felt about it. They answered in a careless,
matter-of-fact way, as men to whom it had never
occurred to have any doubt about themselves.
Nat was desperately afraid they might guess his
reason for asking. Just here, when their friend-
ship might have been helpful, it failed altogether.
He felt angry with them for not understanding,
while he prayed that they might not understand.
He took to observing other men in the regiment,
and found them equally cheerful, concerned only
with the moment. He became secretly religious
after a fashion. He felt that he was the one and
only coward in the King's Own, and prayed and


THIEEE MEN OF BADAJOZ 67
planned his behaviour day and night to avoid
being found out.
In this state of mind he landed at Gibraltar.
When the order came for the 4th to move up to
the front, he cheered with the rest, watching their
faces.
III
At ten o'clock on the night of April 6th, 1812,
our troops were to assault Badajoz. It was now
a few minutes past nine.
The night had closed in without rain, but cloudy
and thick, with river fog. The moon would not
rise for another hour or more. After the day's
furious bombardment silence had fallen on besieged
and besiegers; but now and then a light flitted
upon the ramparts, and at intervals the British in
the trenches could hear the call of a sentinel
proclaiming that all was well in Badajoz.
In the trenches a low continuous murmur
mingled with the voices of running water. On
the right by the Guadiana waited Picton's Third
Division, breathing hard as the time drew nearer.
Kempt commanded these for the moment. Picton
was in camp attending to a hurt, but his men
knew that before ten o'clock he would arrive to
lead across the Rivillas by the narrow bridge and
up to the walls of the Castle frowning over the
river at the city's north-eastern corner.


70 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
light which showed foggily for a moment on the
distant ramparts.
“All right,” said he, “you
know 'tis Teddy's birthday.”
“There will be wine,” said Dave, dreamily.
“Lashins of it; wine and women, and loot. I
wonder how our boys are feeling on the right 2
What's that 2"–as a light shot up over the ridge
to the eastward. “Wish I could see what's doing
over there. My belief we're only put up for a
feint."
“O, hush it, you royal mill-clappers : " This
came from the darkness behind—from some man of
the 30th, no doubt.
The voice was tense, with a note of nervousness
in it, which Nat recognised at once. He turned with
a sudden desire to see the speaker's face. Here was
one who felt as he did, one who could understand
him, but his eyes sought in vain among the lines of
glimmering black shakos.
“Silence in the ranks!" Two officers came
forward, talking together and pausing to watch the
curious light now rising and sinking and rising again
in the sky over the eastern ridges. “They must
have caught sight of our fellows—listen, wasn't that
a cheer 2 What time is it 2." The officer was
Captain Hopkins commanding Nat's Company, but
now in charge of the stormers. A voice hailed him,
and he ran back. “Yes, sir, I think so decidedly,”
Nat heard him saying, and he came running, clutch-
town Little you


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 71
ing his scabbard. “Silence, men—the brigade will
advance."
The Portuguese picked up and shouldered their
ladders: the orders were given, and the columns
began to move down the slope. For a while they
could hear the tramp of the other brigade moving
parallel with them on the other side of the knoll,
then fainter and fainter as it wheeled aside and down
the gorge to the right. At the foot of the slope they
opened a view up the gorge lit for a moment by a
flare burning on the ramparts of the Pardaleras, and
saw their comrades moving down and across the
bottom like a stream of red lava pouring towards
the foot. The flare died down and our brigade
struck away to the left over the level country. On
this side Badajoz remained dark and silent.
They were marching quickly, yet the pace did
not satisfy Nat. He wanted to be through with it,
to come face to face with the worst and know it.
And yet he feared it abominably. For two years
he had contrived to hide his secret. He had
marched, counter-marched, fed, slept, and fought
with his comrades; had dodged with them behind
cover, loaded, fired, charged with them; had
behaved outwardly like a decent soldier, but almost
always with a sickening void in the pit of the
stomach. Once or twice in particularly bad mo-
ments he had caught himself blubbering, and with
a deadly shame. He had not an idea that at least
a dozen of his comrades — among them Dave and


68 THE LAIRD's LUCK
In the centre and over against the wall to the
left of the Castle were assembled Colville's and
Barnard's men of the Fourth and Light Divisions.
Theirs, according to the General's plan, was to be
the main business to-night—to carry the breaches
hammered in the Trinidad and Santa Maria bastions
and the curtain between ; the Fourth told off for
the Trinidad and the curtain, the Light Bobs for
the Santa Maria—heroes these of Moore's famous
rear-guard, tried men of the 52nd Foot and the
95th Rifles, with the 43rd beside them, and destined
to pay the heaviest price of all to-night for the
glory of such comradeship. But, indeed, Ciudad
Rodrigo had given the 43rd a title to stand among
the best.
And far away to the left, on the lower slopes of
the hills, Leigh's Fifth Division was halted in deep
columns. A knoll separated his two brigades, and
across the interval of darkness they could hear each
other's movements. They were to operate indepen-
dently ; and concerning the task before the brigade
on the right there could be no doubt: a dash across
the gorge at their feet, and a feint upon the out-
lying Pardaleras, on the opposite slope. But the
business before Walker's brigade, on the left, was by
no means so simple. The storming party had been
marching light, with two companies of Portuguese
to carry their ladders, and stood discussing prospects:
for as yet they were well out of earshot of the walls,
and the moment for strict silence had not arrived.


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 69
“The Vincenty,” grumbled Teddy Butson; “and
be shot to me if I even know what it's like.”
“Like ' " McInnes' jaws shut on the word like
a steel trap. “The scarp's thirty feet high, and the
ditch accordin'. The last on the west side it will
be-over by the river. I know it like your face, and
its uglier, if that's possible.”
“Dick Webster was saying it's mined," put in Nat,
commanding a firm voice.
“Eh 2 The glacis 2 I shouldn't wonder. Walker
will know.”
“But what'll he do 2"
“Well, now"—Dave seemed to be considering—
“it will not be for the likes of me to be telling the
brigadier-general. But if Walker comes to me and
says, “Dave, there's a mine hereabouts. What will I
be doing 2' it's like enough I shall say: ‘Your
honour knows best; but the usual course is to walk
round it.'"
Teddy Butson chuckled, and rubbed the back of
his axe approvingly. Nat held his tongue for a
minute almost, and then broke out irritably: “To
hell with this waiting !”
His nerves were raw. Two minutes later a man
on his right kicked awkwardly against his foot. It
startled him, and he cursed furiously.
“Hold hard, Spuds, my boy," said the man
cheerfully; “you ain't Lord Wellington, nor his
next-of-kin, to be makin' all the noise."
Teddy Butson wagged his head solemnly at a


70 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
light which showed foggily for a moment on the
distant ramparts.
“All right,” said he, “you — town Little you
know 'tis Teddy's birthday.”
“There will be wine,” said Dave, dreamily.
“Lashins of it; wine and women, and loot. I
wonder how our boys are feeling on the right 2
What's that f"—as a light shot up over the ridge
to the eastward. “Wish I could see what's doing
over there. My belief we're only put up for a
feint.”
“O, hush it, you royal mill-clappers " " This
came from the darkness behind—from some man of
the 30th, no doubt.
The voice was tense, with a note of nervousness
in it, which Nat recognised at once. He turned with
a sudden desire to see the speaker's face. Here was
one who felt as he did, one who could understand
him, but his eyes sought in vain among the lines of
glimmering black shakos.
“Silence in the ranks " Two officers came
forward, talking together and pausing to watch the
curious light now rising and sinking and rising again
in the sky over the eastern ridges. “They must
have caught sight of our fellows—listen, wasn't that
a cheer P What time is it 2." The officer was
Captain Hopkins commanding Nat's Company, but
now in charge of the stormers. A voice hailed him,
and he ran back. “Yes, sir, I think so decidedly,”
Nat heard him saying, and he came running, clutch-


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 71
ing his scabbard. “Silence, men—the brigade will
advance.”
The Portuguese picked up and shouldered their
ladders: the orders were given, and the columns
began to move down the slope. For a while they
could hear the tramp of the other brigade moving
parallel with them on the other side of the knoll,
then fainter and fainter as it wheeled aside and down
the gorge to the right. At the foot of the slope they
opened a view up the gorge lit for a moment by a
flare burning on the ramparts of the Pardaleras, and
saw their comrades moving down and across the
bottom like a stream of red lava pouring towards
the foot. The flare died down and our brigade
struck away to the left over the level country. On
this side Badajoz remained dark and silent.
They were marching quickly, yet the pace did
not satisfy Nat. He wanted to be through with it,
to come face to face with the worst and know it.
And yet he feared it abominably. For two years
he had contrived to hide his secret. He had
marched, counter-marched, fed, slept, and fought
with his comrades; had dodged with them behind
cover, loaded, fired, charged with them; had
behaved outwardly like a decent soldier, but almost
always with a sickening void in the pit of the
stomach. Once or twice in particularly bad mo-
ments he had caught himself blubbering, and with
a deadly shame. He had not an idea that at least
a dozen of his comrades — among them Dave and


72 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
Teddy—had seen it, and thought nothing of it; still
less did he imagine that those had been his most
courageous moments. Soldiers fight differently.
Teddy Butson, for instance, talked all the time
until his tongue swelled, and then he barked like a
dog. Dave shut his teeth and groaned. But these
symptoms escaped Nat, whose habit was to think
all the while of himself. Of one thing he felt sure,
that he had never yet been anything but glad to hear
the recall sounded.
Well, so far he had escaped. Heaven knew how
he had managed it; he only knew that the last two
years had been as long as fifty, and he seemed to
have been living since the beginning of the world.
But here he was, and actually keeping step with a
storming party. He kept his eyes on Dave's long
lean back immediately in front, and trudged on,
divided between an insane desire to know of what
Dave was thinking, and an equally insane wonder
what Dave's body might be worth to him as
COVer.
What was the silly word capering in his head 2
“Mill-clappers.” Why on earth “Mill-clappers ?”
It put him in mind of home : but he had no silly
tender thoughts to waste on home, or the folks there.
He had never written to them. If they should
happen on the copy of the Gazette—and the chances
were hundred to one against it—the name of Na-
thaniel Varcoe among the killed or wounded would
mean nothing to them. He tramped on, chewing


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 73
his fancy, and extracted this from it: “A man with
never a friend at home hasn't even an excuse to be a
coward, curse it !”
Suddenly the column halted, in a bank of fog
through which his ear caught the lazy ripple of
water. He woke up with a start. The fog was all
about them.
“What's this 2 " he demanded aloud; then, with
a catch of his breath, “Mines 2"
“Eh, be quiet,” said Teddy Butson at his elbow;
“listen to yonder.” And the words were hardly out
when an explosion split the sky and was followed by
peal after peal of musketry. Nat had a swift vision
of a high black wall against a background of flame,
and then night came down again as you might close a
shutter. But the musketry continued. “That will
be at the breaches," Dave flung the words over his
left shoulder. Then followed another flash and
another explosion. This time, however, the light,
though less vivid than the first flash, did not vanish.
While he wondered at this Nat saw first of all the
rim of the moon through the slant of an embrasure,
and then Teddy's pale but cheerful face.
The head of the column had been halted a few
yards only from a breastwork, with a stockade above
it and a chevaux de frise on top of all. As far as
knowledge of his whereabouts went, Nat might have
been east, west, north or south of Badajoz, or some-
where in another planet. But the past two years had
somehow taught him to divine that behind this ugly


74 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
obstruction lay a covered way with a guard house.
And sure enough the men, keeping dead silence now,
could hear the French soldiers chattering in that un-
Seen guard house and laughing.
“Now's the time.” Nat heard the word passed
back by the young engineer officer who had crept
forward to reconnoitre : and then an order given in
Portuguese.
“Ay, bring up the ladders, you greasers, and let's
put it through.” This from Teddy Butson chafing by
Nat's side.
The two Portuguese companies came forward with
the ladders as the storming party moved up to the
gateway. And just at that moment there the sentry
let off his alarm shot. It set all within the San
Vincente bastion moving and whirring like the works
of a mechanical toy; feet came running along the
covered way; muskets clinked on the stone parapet;
tongues of fire spat forth from the embrasures; and then,
as the musketry quickened, a flash and a roar lifted the
glacis away behind, to the right of our column, so
near that the wind of it drove our men sideways.
“All right, Johnny," Dave grunted, recovering
himself as the clods of earth began to fall: “Blaze
away, my silly ducks—we're not there !”
But the Portuguese companies as the mine ex-
ploded cast down the ladders and ran. Half a dozen
came charging back along the column's right flank,
and our soldiers cursed and struck at them as they
fled. But the curses were as nothing beside those


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 75
of the Portuguese officers striving to rally their
men.
“My word,” said Teddy. “Hear them scandalous
greasers l It's poor talk, is English.”
“On with you, lads !”—it was Walker himself
who shouted. “Pick up the ladders, and on with
you !”
They hardly waited for the word, but, shouldering
the ladders, ran forward through the dropping
bullets to the gate, cheering and cheered by the rear
ranks.
But they flung themselves in vain on the gate.
On its iron-bound and iron-studded framework their
axes made no impression. A dozen men charged it,
using a ladder as a battering ram. “Aisy with that,
ye blind ijits 1” yelled an Irish sergeant. “Ye'll be
needin' thim ladders prisintly " Our three privates
found themselves in the crowd surging towards the
breastwork to the right of the gate. “Nip on my
shoulders, Teddy lad,” grunted McInnes, and Teddy
nipped up and began hacking at the chevaux de frise
with his axe. “That's av ut, bhoys,” yelled the Irish
sergeant again. “Lave them spoikes, an' go for the
stockade. Good for you, little man—whirro !” Nat
by this time was on a comrade's back, and using his
axe for dear life; one of twenty men hacking, ripping,
tearing down the wooden stakes. But it was Teddy
who wriggled through first with Dave at his heels.
The man beneath Nat gave a heave with his shoulders
and shot him through his gap, a splinter tearing his


76 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
cheek open. He fell head foremost, sprawling down
the slippery slope of the ditch.
While he picked himself up and stretched out a
hand to recover his axe a bullet struck the blade of it
—ping ! He caught up the axe and ran his finger
over it stupidly. Phut—another bullet spat into the
soft earth behind his shoulder. Then he understood.
A fellow came tumbling through the gap, pitched
exactly where Nat had been sprawling a moment
before, rose to his knees, and then with a quiet
bubbling sound lay down again.
“Ugh ! he would be killed—he must get out of
this ' " But there was no cover unless he found it
across the ditch and close under the high stone
curtain. They would be dropping stones, beams, fire-
barrels; but at least he would be out of the reach of
the bullets. He forgot the chance—the certainty—
of an enfilading fire from the two bastions. His one
desire was to get across and pick some place of
shelter.
But by this time the men were pouring in behind
and fast filling the ditch. A fire-ball came crashing
over the rampart, rolled down the grass slope and lay
sputtering, and in the infernal glare he saw all his
comrades' faces—every detail of their dress down to
the moulded pattern on their buttons. “Fourth !
Fourth !” some one shouted, and then voice and
vision were caught up and drowned together in a hell
of musketry. He must win across or be carried he
knew not where by the brute pressure of the crowd.


THREE MEN OF RADAJOZ 77
A cry broke from him and he ran, waving his axe,
plunged down the slope and across. On the further
slope an officer caught him up and scrambled beside
him. “Whirro, Spuds ! After him, boys 1” sang out
Teddy Butson. But Spuds did not hear.
He and the officer were at the top of the turf–at
the foot of the curtain. “Ladders Ladders | " He
caught hold of the first as it was pushed up and helped
—now the centre of a small crowd—to plant it against
the wall. Then he fell back, mopping his forehead,
and feeling his torn cheek. What the devil were they
groaning at 2 Short 2 The ladder too short 2 He
stared up foolishly. The wall was thirty feet high
perhaps and the ladder ten feet short of that or more.
“Heads !” A heavy beam crashed down, snapping
the foot of the ladder like a cabbage stump. Away
to the left a group of men were planting another.
Half a dozen dropped while he watched them. Why
in the world were they dropping like that He
stared beyond and saw the reason. The French
marksmen in the bastion were sweeping the face of
the curtain with their cross fire—those cursed bullets
again And the ladder did not reach, after all. O,
it was foolishness—flinging away men like this for no
earthly good Why not throw up the business and
go home * Why didn't somebody stop those silly
bugles sounding the Advance 2
There they went again It was enough to drive
a man mad
He turned and ran down the slope a short way.


78 THE IAIRD’S LUCK
For the moment he held a grip on himself, but it was
slackening, and in another half-minute he would have
lost it and run in mere blind terror. But in the first
group he blundered upon were Dave and Teddy and
a score of the King's Own, with a couple of ladders
between them; and better still, they were listening to
Captain Hopkins, who waved an arm and pointed
to an embrasure to the left. Nat, pulling himself
up and staring with the rest, saw that no gun stood
in this embrasure, only a gabion. In a moment
he was climbing the slope again; if a man must
die, there's comfort at least in company. He
bore a hand in planting the two ladders; a third
was fetched—heaven knew whence or how—and
planted beside them; and up the men swarmed, three
abreast, Dave leading on the right-hand one at the
foot of which Nat hung back and swayed. He heard
Dave's long sigh, the sigh, the sob almost, of desire
answered at last. He watched him as he mounted.
The ladders were still too short, and the leader on
each must climb on the second man's shoulders to get
hand-hold on the coping. In that moment he might
be clubbed on the head, defenceless. On the middle
ladder a young officer of the 30th mounted by Dave's
side. Nat turned his head away, and as he did so a
rush of men, galled by the fire from the bastion to the
right, came on him like a wave, and swept him up the
first four rungs.
He was in for it now. Go back he could not, and
he followed the tall Royal ahead, whose heels scraped


THREE MEN OF BAIDA.JOZ 79
against his breast buttons, and once or twice bruised
him on the jaw; followed up, wondering what face of
death would meet him at the top, where men were
yelling and jabbering in three languages—French,
English, and that tongue which belongs equally to
men and brutes at close quarters and killing.
Something came sliding down the ladder. The
man in front of Nat ducked his head; Nat ducked
too; but the body slid sideways before it reached
them and dropped plumb–the inert lump which had
been Dave McInnes. His shako, spinning straight
down the ladder, struck Nat on the shoulder and
leaped off it down into darkness.
He saw other men drop ; he saw Teddy Butson
parallel with him on the far ladder, and mounting
with him step for step—now earlier, now later, but
level with him most of the time. They would meet
at the embrasure; find together whatever waited for
them there. Nat was sobbing by this time—sweat
and tears together running down the caked blood on
his cheek—but he did not know it.
He had almost reached the top when a sudden
pressure above forced his feet off the rung and his
body over the ladder's side; and there he dangled,
hooked by his armpit. Someone grabbed his leg, and,
pulling him into place, thrust him up over the
shoulders of the tall Royal in front. He saw the
leader on the middle ladder go down under a clubbed
blow which burst through his japanned shako-cover,
and then a hand came down to help him.


S0 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“Spuds, O Spuds !”
It was Teddy reaching down from the coping to
help him, and he paid for it with his life. The two
wriggled into the embrasure together, Nat's head and
shoulders under Teddy's right arm. Nat did not see
the bayonet thrust given, but heard a low grunt, as he
and his friend's corpse toppled over the coping to-
gether and into Badajoz.
He rose on his knees, caught a man by the leg,
flung him, and, as the fellow clutched his musket,
wrenched the bayonet from it and plunged it into his
body. While the Frenchman heaved, he pulled out
the weapon for another stab, dropped sprawling on
his enemy's chest, and the first wave of the storming
party broke over him, beating the breath out of him,
and passed on.
Yet he managed to wriggle his body from under
this rush of feet, and, by-and-bye, to raise himself, still
grasping the sidearm. Men of the 4th were pouring
thick and fast through the embrasure, and turning to
the right in pursuit of the enemy now running along
the curve of the ramparts. A few only pressed straight
forward to silence the musketry jetting and crackling
from the upper windows of two houses facing on the
fortifications.
Nat staggered down after them, but turned as soon
as he gained the roadway, and, passing to the right,
plunged down a black side street. An insane notion
possessed him of taking the two houses in the rear,
and as he went he shouted to the 4th to follow him.


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 81
No one paid him the smallest attention, and presently
he was alone in the darkness, rolling like a drunkard,
shaken by his sobs, but still shouting and brandishing
his sidearm. He clattered against a high blank
wall. -
Still he lurched forward over uneven cobbles. He
had forgotten his design upon the two houses; but a
light shone at the end of this dark lane, and he made
for it, gained it, and found himself in a wider street.
And there the enchantment fell on him.
For the street was empty, utterly empty, yet
brilliantly illuminated. Not a soul could he see : yet
in house after house as he passed lights shone from
every window, in the lower floors behind blinds or
curtains which hid the inmates. It was as if Badajoz
had arrayed itself for a fête ; and still, as he staggered
forward a low buzz, a whisper of voices surrounded
him, and now and again at the sound of his footstep
on the cobbles a lattice would open gently and be as
gently re-shut. Hundreds of eyes were peering at
him, the one British soldier in a bewitched city;
hundreds of unseen eyes, stealthy, expectant. And
always ahead of him, faint and distant, sounded the
bugles and the yells around the Trinidad and the
breaches.
He stood alone in the great square. While he
paused at the corner, his eyes following the rows of
mysterious lights from house to house, from storey to
storey, the regular tramp of feet fell on his ears and
a company of Foot marched down into the moonlight
G


82 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
patch facing him and grounded arms with a clatter.
They were men of his own regiment, and they formed
up in the moonlight like a company of ghosts. One
or two shots were fired at them, low down, from the
sills of a line of doorways to his right; but no citizen
showed himself and no one appeared to be hit. And
ever from the direction of the Trinidad came the
low roar of combat and the high notes of the
bugles.
He was creeping along the side of the square
towards an outlet at its north-east corner, when the
company got into motion again and came towards
him. Then he turned up a narrow lane to the left
and fled. He was sobbing no longer; the passion
had died out of him, and he knew himself to be mad.
In the darkness the silent streets began to fill; random
shots whistled at every street corner; but he
blundered on, taking no account of them. Once he
ran against a body of Picton's men—half a score of
the 74th Regiment let loose at length from the captured
Castle, and burning for loot. One man thrust the
muzzle of his musket against his breast before he was
recognised. Then two or three shook hands with
him.
He was back in the square again and fighting—
Heaven knew why—with an officer of the Bruns-
wickers over a birdcage. Whence the birdcage came
he had no clear idea, but there was a canary-bird
inside, and he wanted it. A random shot smashed
his left hand as he gripped the cage, and he dropped


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 83
it as something with which he had no further
concern. As he turned away, hugging his hand,
and cursing the marksman, a second shot from
another direction took the Brunswicker between the
shoulders.
At dawn he found himself on the ramparts by
the Trinidad breach, peering curiously among the
slain. Across the top of the breach stretched a heavy
beam studded with sword blades, and all the bodies
on this side of it were French. Right beneath it lay
one red-coat whose skull had been battered out of
shape as he attempted to wriggle through. All the
upper blades were stained, and on one fluttered a
strip of flannel shirt. Powder blackened every inch
of the rampart hereabouts, and as Nat passed over
he saw the bodies piled in scores on the glacis below
—some hideously scorched—among beams, gabions,
burnt out fire-pots, and the wreckage of ladders. A
horrible smell of singed flesh rose on the morning air;
and, beyond the stench and the sullen smoke, birds
sang in dewy fields, and the Guadiana flowed
seaward between grey olives and green promise of
harvest.
Below, a single British officer, wrapped in a dark
cape, picked his way among the corpses. Behind,
intermittent shots and outcries told of the sack in
progress. Save for Nat and the dead, the Trinidad
was a desert. Yet he talked incessantly, and, stoop-
ing to pat the shoulder of the red-coat beneath the
chevaux de frise, spoke to Dave McInnes and Teddy


84 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
Butson to come and look. He never doubted they
were beside him. “Pretty mess they've made of
this chap.” He touched the man's collar: “48th, a
corporal Ugh, let's get out of this 1" In imagina-
tion he linked arms with two men who in fact were
already stiffening, one at the foot and the other on
the summit of the San Vincente bastion. “King's
Own—all friends in the King's Own " he babbled as
he retraced his way into the town.
He had a firelock in his hands . . . he was
fumbling with it, very clumsily, by reason of his
shattered fingers. He had wandered down a narrow
street, and was groping at an iron-studded door.
“Won't open,” he told the ghosts beside him. “Must
try the patent key.” He put the muzzle against the
lock and fired, flung himself against the door, and as
it broke before him, stood swaying, staring across a
wisp of smoke into a mean room, where a priest
knelt in one corner by a straw pallet, and a girl rose
from beside him and slowly confronted the intruder.
As she rose she caught at the edge of a deal table,
and across the smoke she too seemed to be sway-
ing.
IV
Seventeen years later Nat Ellery walked down
the hill into Gantick village, and entered the Ring of
Bells.
“I've come,” said he, “to inquire about a chest I


THREE MEN OF BADA.JOZ 8,
left here, one time back along.” And he told his
name and the date.
The landlord, Joshua Martin—son of old Joshua
who had kept the inn in 1806—rubbed his double
chin. “So you be Nat Ellery 2 I can just mind'ee
as a lad. As for the chest—come to think, father
sent it back to Trethake Water. Reckon it went in
the sale.”
“What sale 2"
“Why, don't 'ee know 2 When Reub sold up.
That would be about five years after the old folks
died. The mill didn' pay after the war, so Reub sold
up and emigrated."
“Ah ! What became of him 2 "
“I did hear he was dead too,” said Joshua Martin,
“out in Canady somewhere. But that may be lies,”
he added cheerfully.
Nat made no further comment, but paid for his
gin-and-water, picked up his carpet bag, and went out
to seek for a cottage. On his way he eyed the
thatched roofs critically. “Old Thatcher Hockaday
will be dead,” he told himself. “There's work for
me here." He felt certain of it in Farmer Sprague's
rick-yard. Farmer Sprague owned the two round-
houses at the seaward end of the village, and wanted
a tenant for one of them. Nat applied for it, and
declared his calling.
“Us can't afford to pay the old prices these times,”
said the farmer.
Nat's eyes had wandered off to the ricks. “You’ll


86 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
find you can when you've seen my work," he
answered.
Thus he became tenant of the round-house, and
lived in it to the day of his death. No one in my
day knew when or how the story first spread that he
had been in the army and deserted. Perhaps he let
slip the secret in his cups; for at first he spent his
Saturday evenings at the Ring of Bells, dropping this
habit when he found that every soul there disliked
him. Perhaps some discharged veteran of the 4th,
tramping through Gantick in search of work, had
recognised him and let fall a damning hint. Long
before I can remember the story had grown up
uncontradicted, believed in by everyone. Beneath
it the man lived on and deteriorated ; but his work-
manship never deteriorated, and no man challenged
its excellence.
About a month before his death (I have this from
the postmistress) he sat down and wrote a letter, and
ten days later a visitor arrived at the round-house.
This visitor the Jago family (who lived across the
road) declare to have been Satan himself; they have
assured me so again and again, and I cannot shake
their belief. But that is nonsense. The man was a
grizzled artizan-looking fellow well over fifty; extra-
ordinarily like the old Thatcher, though darker of skin
—yellow as a guinea, said Gantick; in fact and
beyond doubt, the old man's son. He made no
friends, no acquaintances even, but confined himself
to nursing the Thatcher, now tied to his chair by


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 87
rheumatism. One thing alone gives colour to the
Jagos' belief; the Thatcher who had sent for him
could not abide the sight of him. The Jago children,
who snatched a fearful joy by stealing after dark into
the 'unkempt garden and peering through the un-
curtained lattice-windows, reported that as the pair
sat at table with the black bottle between them, the
Thatcher's eyes would be drawn to fix themselves on
the other's with a stealthy shrinking terror—or, as
they put it, “vicious when he wasna' lookin' and
afeared when he was.”
They would sit (so the children reported) half an
hour, or maybe an hour, at a time, without a word
spoken between them ; but, indeed, the yellow
stranger troubled few with his speech. His only visits
were paid to the postmistress, who kept a small
grocery store, where he bought arrowroot and other
spoon-food for the invalid, and the Ring of Bells,
where he went nightly to have the black bottle
refilled with rum. On the doctor he never called.
It was on July 12th that the end came. The fine
weather, after lasting for six weeks, had broken up
two days before into light thunderstorms, which did
not clear the air as usual. Ky Jago (short for
Caiaphas), across the way, prophesied a big thunder-
storm to come, but allowed he might be mistaken
when on the morning of the 12th the rain came down
in sheets. This torrential rain lasted until two in the
afternoon, when the sky cleared and a pleasant north-
westerly draught played up the valley. At six o'clock


88 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
Ky Jago, who, in default of the Thatcher, was making
shift to cover up Farmer Sprague's ricks, observed
dense clouds massing themselves over the sea and
rolling up slowly against the wind, and decided that
the big storm would happen after all. At nine in the
evening it broke.
It broke with such fury that the Stranger, with
the black bottle under his arm, paused on the thresh-
old as much as to ask his father, “Shall I go 2 "
But the old man was clamouring for drink, and he
went. He was half-way down the hill when with a
crack the heavens opened and the white jagged
lightning fairly hissed by him. Crack followed crack,
flash and peal together, or so quick on each other,
that no mortal could distinguish the rattle of one
discharge from the bursting explosion of the other.
No such tempest, he decided, could last for long,
and he fled down to the Ring of Bells for shelter
until the worst should be over. He waited there
perhaps twenty minutes, and still the infernal din
grew worse instead of better, until his anxiety for
the old man forced him out in the teeth of it and up
the hill, where the gutters had overflowed upon the
roadway, and the waters raced over his ankles. The
first thing he saw at the top in one lurid instant was
the entire Jago family gathered by their garden
gate—six of them—and all bareheaded under the
deluge.
The next flash revealed why they were there.
Against the round-house opposite a ladder rested,


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 89
and above it on the steep roof clung a man — his
father. He had clamped his small ladder into the
thatch, and as the heaven opened and shut—now sil-
houetting the round-house, now wrapping it in white
flames — they saw him climbing up, and still up,
towards the cross at the top.
“Help, there !” shouted the Stranger. “Come
down 1 O help, you !—we must get him down "
The women and children screamed. A fresh explo-
sion drowned shout and Screams.
Jago and the Stranger reached the ladder together.
The Stranger mounted first ; but as he did so, the
watchers in one blinding moment saw the old
Thatcher's hand go up and grip the cross. The
shutters of darkness came to with a roar, but above it
rose a shrill, a terribly human cry.
“Dave / " cried the voice. “Ted / "
Silence followed, and then a heavy thud. They
waited for the next flash. It came. There was no
one on the roof of the round-house, but a broken
stump where the cross had been.
V
This was the story the yellow Stranger told to the
Coroner. And the Coroner listened and asked :
“Can you account for conduct of deceased ?
Had he been drinking that evening 2"
“He had," answered the witness, and for a
moment, while the Coroner took a note, it seemed


90 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
he had said all. Then he seemed to think better
of it, and added “My father suffered from delusions,
sir.”
“Hey What sort of delusions 2 " The Coroner
glanced at the jury, who sat impassive.
“Well, sir, my father in his young days had served
as a soldier.”
Here the jurymen began to show interest sud-
denly. One or two leaned forward. “He belonged
to the 4th Regiment, and was at the siege of Badajoz.
During the sack of the city he broke into a house,
and—and—after that he was missing."
“Go on," said the Coroner, for the witness had
paused.
“That was where he first met my mother, sir. It
was her house, and she and a priest kept him hidden
till the English had left. After that he married her.
There were three children—all boys. My brothers
came first : they were twins. I was born two years
later."
“All born in Badajoz 2"
“All in Badajoz, sir. My brothers will be there
still, if they're living.”
“But these delusions—"
“I’m coming to them. My father must have
been hurt, somehow hurt in his head. He would
have it that my two brothers—twins, sir, if you'll be
pleased to mark it—were no sons of his, but of two
friends of his, soldiers of the 4th Regiment who
had been killed, the both, that evening by the San


THREE MEN OF BADAJOZ 91
Vincente bastion. So you see he must have been
wrong in his head.”
“And you?”
“O, there couldn't be any mistake about me. I
was his very image, and—perhaps I ought to say,
sir—he hated me for it. When my mother died—
she had been a fruit-seller—he handed the business
over to my brothers, taking only enough to carry
him back to England and me with him. The day
after we landed in London he apprenticed me to a
brassworker. I was just turned fifteen, and from
that day until last Wednesday three weeks we never
set eyes on each other.”
“Let me see,” said the Coroner, turning back a
page or two. “At the last moment just before he
fell, you say—and the other witnesses confirm it—
that he called out twice — uttered two names, I
think.”
“They were the names by which he used to call
my brothers, sir—the names of his two mates in the
storming party.”





93
CAPTAIN DICK AND CAPTAIN JACKA
A REPORTED TALE OF TWO FRIGATES AND
TWO LUGGERS
I DARE say you've never heard tell of my wife's
grandfather, Captain John Tackabird — or Cap'n
Jacka, as he was always called. He was a remark-
able man altogether, and he died of a seizure in the
Waterloo year; an earnest Methody all his days,
and towards the end a highly respected class-leader.
To tell you the truth, he wasn't much to look at,
being bald as a coot and blind of one eye, besides
other defects. His mother let him run too soon, and
that made his legs bandy. And then a bee stung
him, and all his hair came off. And his eye he lost in
a little job with the preventive men ; but his lid
drooped so, you'd hardly know 'twas missing. He'd
a way, too, of talking to himself as he went along,
so that folks reckoned him silly. It was queer how
that maggot stuck in their heads; for in handling a
privateer or a Guernsey cargo—sink the crop or run
it straight—there wasn't his master in Polperro. The
very children could tell 'ee.
I'm telling of the year 'five, when the most of the
business in Polperro—free-trade and privateering—
was managed (as the world knows) by Mr. Zephaniah


CAPTAIN DIOK AND CAPTAIN JACKA 95
his nose—he was a leggy old galliganter, with
stiverish grey hair and a jawbone long enough to
make Cap'n Jacka a new pair of shins—and said he,
“What do'ee think of her ?”
“Well," said Jacka, “any fool can see she'll run,
and any fool can see she'll reach. I reckon she'll
come about as fast as th' old Pride, and if she don't
sit nigher the wind than the new revenue cutter it'll
be your sailmaker's fault.”
“That's a first-class report,” said Mr. Job. “I
was thinking of offering you the post of mate in
her.”
Cap'n Jacka felt poorly all of a sudden. “Aw,”
he asked, “who's to be skipper, then 2"
“The Company was thinkin' of young Dick
Hewitt."
“Aw," said Cap'n Jacka again, and shut his
mouth tight. Young Dick Hewitt's father had
shares in the Company and money to buy votes
beside.
“What do'ee think 7" asked Mr. Job, still slant-
ing his eye down his nose.
“I’ll go home an' take my wife's opinion,” said
Cap'n Jacka.
So when he got home he told it all to his funny
little wife that he doted on like the apple of his one
eye. She was a small, round body, with beady eyes
that made her look like a doll on a pen-wiper; and
she said, of course, that the Company was a parcel of
rogues and fools together.


96 THE LAIRD'S LUCK
“Young Dick Hewitt is every bit so good a sea-
man as I be,” said Cap'n Jacka.
“He’s a boaster.”
“So he is, but he's a smart seaman for all."
“I declare if the world was to come to an end
you'd sit quiet an’ never say a word."
“I dessay I should. I'd leave you to speak up
for me."
“Baint'ee goin' to say nothin', then 2"
“Iss; I'm goin' to lay it before the Lord.”
So down 'pon their knees these old souls went
upon the limeash, and asked for guidance, and Cap'n
Jacka, after a while, stretched out his hand to the
shelf for Wesley's Hymns. They always pitched a
hymn together before going to bed. When he'd got
the book in his hand he saw that 'twasn't Wesley at
all, but another that he never studied from the day
his wife gave it to him, because it was called the
“Only Hymn Book,” and he said the name was as
good as a lie. Howsever, he opened it now, and
came slap on the hymn :—
Though troubles assail and dangers affright,
If friends all should fail and foes all unite,
Yet one thing assures us, whatever betide,
I trust in all dangers the Lord will provide.
They sang it there and then to the tune of “O all
that pass by,” and the very next morning Cap'n Jacka
walked down and told Mr. Job he was ready to go
for mate under young Dick Hewitt.
* Probably “Olney.”


CAPTAIN DICK AND CAPTAIN JAOKA 97
More than once, the next week or two, he came
near to repenting; for Cap'n Dick was very loud
about his promotion, especially at the Three Pilchards;
and when the Unity came round and was fitting—
very slow, too, by reason of delay with her letters of
marque—he ordered Cap'n Jacka back and forth like
a stevedore's dog. “There was to be no ‘nigh
enough' on this lugger"—that was the sort of talk;
and oil and rotten-stone for the very gun-swivels.
But Jacka knew the fellow, and even admired the
great figure and its loud ways. “He’s a cap'n, any-
how," he told his wife; “Twon't be ‘all fellows to
football' while he's in command. And I've seen him
handle the Good Intent, under Hockin.”
Mrs. Tackabird said nothing. She was busy
making sausages and setting down a stug of butter for
her man's use on the voyage. But he knew she
would be a disappointed woman if he didn't contrive
in some honest way to turn the tables on the
Company and their new pet. For days together he
went about whistling “Tho' troubles assail . . . ";
and the very night before sailing, as they sat quiet,
one each side of the hearth, he made the old woman
jump by saying all of a sudden, “Coals o' fire | "
“What d'ee mean by that " " she asked.
“Nothin'. I was thinkin' to myself, and out it
popped."
“Well, 'tis like a Providence For, till you said
that, I'd clean forgot the siſter for your cuddy fire.
Mustn't waste cinders now that you're only a mate."
H


98 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
Being a woman, she couldn't forego that little dig;
but she got up there and then and gave the old boy a
kiss.
She wouldn't walk down to the quay, though,
next day, to see him off, being certain (she said) to
lose her temper at the sight of Cap'n Dick carrying on
as big as bull's beef, not to mention they sneering share-
holders and their wives. So Cap'n Jacka took his
congees at his own door, and turned, halfway down
the street, and waved a good-bye with the cinder-
sifter. She used to say afterwards that this was
Providence, too.
The Unity ran straight across until she made
Ushant Light; and after cruising about for a couple
of days, in moderate weather (it being the first week
in April) Cap'n Dick laid her head east and began to
nose up Channel, keeping an easy little distance off
the French coast. You see, the Channel was full of
our ships and neutrals in those days, which made fat
work for the French privateers; but the Frenchies'
own vessels kept close over on their coast; and even
so, the best our boys could expect, nine times out of ten
when they'd crossed over, was to run against a chasse-
marée dodging between Cherbourg and St. Malo or
Morlaix, with naval stores or munitions of war.
However, Cap'n Dick had very good luck. One
morning, about three leagues N.W. of Roscoff, what
should he see but a French privateering craft of about
fifty tons (new measurement) with an English trader
in tow 2–a London brig, with a cargo of all sorts, that


CAPTAIN DICK AND CAPTAIN JAOKA 99
had fallen behind her convoy and been snapped up in
mid-channel. Cap'n Dick had the weather-gauge, as
well as the legs of the French chasse-marée. She was
about a league to leeward when the morning lifted and
he first spied her. By seven o'clock he was close, and
by eight had made himself master of her and the
prize, without the loss of a man and only four wounded,
the Frenchman being short-handed, by reason of
the crew he'd put into the brig to work her into
Morlaix. -
This was first-rate business. To begin with, the
brig (she was called the Martha Edwards, of London)
would yield a tidy little sum for salvage. The wind
being fair for Plymouth, Cap'n Dick sent her into that
port—her own captain and crew working her, of
course, and thirty Frenchmen on board in irons. And
at Plymouth she arrived without any mishap.
Then came the chasse-marée. She was called
the Bean Pheasant,” an old craft and powerful
leaky ; but she mounted sixteen guns, the same as
the Unity, and ought to have made a better run
from her; but first, she hadn't been able to make
her mind to desert her prize pretty well within
sight of port; and in the Second place her men
had a fair job to keep her pumps going. Cap'n
Dick considered, and then turned to old Jacka.
“I’m thinking,” said he, “I’ll have to put you
aboard with a prize crew to work her back to
Polperro.”
* Probably Bienfaisant.


100 THE LAIRD’S LUCK.
“The Lord will provide,” said Jacka, though he
had looked to see a little more of the fun.
So aboard he went with all his belongings, not
forgetting his wife's sausages and the stug of butter
and the cinder-sifter. Towards the end of the action
about fifteen of the Johnnies had got out the brig's
large boat and pulled her ashore, where, no doubt,
they reached, safe and sound. So Jacka hadn't
more than a dozen prisoners to look after, and pre-
pared for a comfortable little homeward trip.
“I’ll just cruise between this and Jersey,” said
Cap'n Dick; “and at the week-end, if there's nothing
doing, we'll put back for home and re-ship you.”
So they parted; and by half-past ten Cap'n Jacka
had laid the Bean Pheasant's head north-and-by-
west, and was reaching along nicely for home with
a stiff breeze and nothing to do but keep the pumps
going and attend to his eating and drinking between
whiles.
The prize made a good deal of water, but was
a weatherly craft for all that, and on this point of
sailing shipped nothing but what she took in through
her seams; the worst of the mischief being forward,
where her stem had worked a bit loose with age
and started the bends. Cap'n Jacka, however,
thought less of the sea—that was working up into
a nasty lop-than of the weather, which turned
thick and hazy as the wind veered a little to west
of south. But even this didn't trouble him much.
He had sausages for breakfast and sausages for din-


CAPTAIN DIOK AND CAPTAIN JACKA 101
ner, and, as evening drew on, and he knew he was
well on the right side of the Channel, he knocked
out his pipe and began to think of sausages for tea.
Just then one of the hands forward dropped
pumping, and sang out that there was a big sail
on the starboard bow. “I b'lieve 'tis a frigate, sir,”
he said, spying between his hands.
So it was. She had sprung on them out of the
thick weather. But now Cap'n Jacka could see the
white line on her and the ports quite plain, and
not two miles away.
“What nation ?” he bawled.
“I can't make out as she carries any flag. Losh
me l if there bain't another / "
Sure as I'm telling you, another frigate there was,
likewise standing down towards them under easy
canvas on the same starboard tack, a mile astern,
but well to windward of the first.
“Whatever they be,” said Cap'n Jacka, “they're
bound to head us off, and they're bound to hail us.
I go get my tea,” he said; “for, if they're French-
men, 'tis my last meal for months to come.”
So he fetched out his frying-pan and plenty
sausages and fried away for dear life—with butter,
too, which was ruinous waste. He shared round
the sausages, two to each man, and kept the Bean
Pheasant to her course until the leading frigate
fired a shot across her bows, and ran up the red-
white-and-blue; and then, knowing the worst, he
rounded-to as meek as a lamb.


102 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
The long and short of it was that, inside the
hour, the dozen Frenchmen were free, and Cap'n
Jacka and his men in their place, ironed hand and
foot; and the Bean Pheasant working back to
France again with a young gentleman of the French
navy aboard in command of her.
But 'tis better be lucky born, they say, than a
rich man's son. By this time it was blowing pretty
well half a gale from soul-sou'-west, and before mid-
night a proper gale. The Bean Pheasant being
kept head to sea, took it smack-and-smack on the
breast-bone, which was her leakiest spot; and soon,
being down by the head, made shocking weather
of it. 'Twas next door to impossible to work the
pump forward. Towards one in the morning old
Jacka was rolling about up to his waist as he sat,
and trying to comfort himself by singing “Tho'
troubles assail,” when the young French gentleman
came running with one of his Johnnies and knocked
the irons off the English boys, and told them to
be brisk and help work the pumps, or the lugger—
that was already hove to-would go down under
them.
“But where be you going 2" he sings out—or
French to that effect. For Jacka was moving aft
towards the cuddy there.
Jacka fetched up his best smuggling French, and
answered: “This here lugger is going down. Any
fool can see that, as you're handling her. And I'm
going down on a full stomach."


CAPTAIN DICK AND CAPTAIN JACKA 103
With that he reached an arm into the cuddy,
where he'd stacked his provisions that evening on
top of the frying-pan. But the labouring of the
ship had knocked everything there of a heap, and
instead of the frying-pan he caught hold of his
wife's cinder-sifter.
At that moment the Frenchman ran up behind
and caught him a kick. “Come out o' that, you
old villain, and fall in at the after pump !” said he.
“Aw, very well," said Jack, turning at once—
for the cinder-siſter had given him a bright idea;
and he went right aft to his comrades. By this
time the Frenchmen were busy getting the first gun
overboard.
They were so long that Jacka's boys had the
after-pump pretty well to themselves, and between
spells one or two ran and fetched buckets, making
out 'twas for extra baling; and all seemed to be
working like niggers. But by-and-by they called
out all together with one woeful voice, “The pump
is chucked 1 The pump is chucked 1"
At this all the Frenchmen came running, the
young officer leading, and crying to know what
was the matter.
“A heap of cinders got awash, sir," says Jacka.
“The pump's clogged wi' em, and won't work."
“Then we're lost men " says the officer; and
he caught hold by the foremast, and leaned his
face against it like a child.
This was Jacka's chance. “‘Lost,' is it 2 Iss,


104 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
I reckon you be lost –and inside o' ten minutes,
unless you hearken to rayson. Here you be, not
twenty mile from the English coast, as I make it,
and with a fair wind. Here you be, three times
that distance and more from any port o' your own,
the wind dead on her nose, and you ram-stramming
the weak spot of her at a sea that's knocking the
bows to Jericho. Now, Mossoo, you put her about,
and run for Plymouth. She may do it. Pitch over
a couple of guns forr'ad, and quit messing with a
ship you don't understand, an' I'll warn she will
do it.”
The young Frenchy was plucky as ginger.
“What I Take her into Plymouth, and be made
prisoner. I'll sink first 1” says he.
But, you see, his crew weren't navy men to listen
to him ; and they had wives and families, and knew
that Cap'n Jacka's was their only chance. In five
minutes, for all the officer's stamping and morblewing,
they had tied him down, put the Bean Pheasant
about, and were running for the English coast.
Now I must go back and tell you what was
happening to the Unity in all this while. About four
in the afternoon Cap'n Dick, not liking the look of
the weather at all, and knowing that, so long as it
lasted, he might whistle for prizes, changed his mind
and determined to run back to Polperro, so as to
re-ship Cap'n Jacka and the prize crew almost as
soon as they arrived. By five o'clock he was well on


CAPTAIN DIOK AND CAPTAIN JACKA 105
his way, the Unity skipping along quite as if she
enjoyed it; and ran before the gale all that night.
Towards three in the morning the wind mode-
rated, and by half-past four the gale had blown itself
out. Just about then the look-out came to Cap'n
Dick, who had turned in for a spell, and reported
two ships' lights, one on each side of them. The
chances against their being Frenchmen, out here in
this part of the Channel, were about five to two ;
so Cap'n Dick cracked on ; and at daybreak—about
a quarter after five–found himself right slap between
the very two frigates that had called Jacka to halt
the evening before.
One was fetching along on the port tack, and the
other on the weather side of him, just making ready
to put about. They both ran up the white ensign at
sight of him ; but this meant nothing. And in a few
minutes the frigate to starboard fired a shot across
his bows and hoisted her French flag.
Cap'n Dick feigned to take the hint. He
shortened sail and rounded at a nice distance under
the lee of the enemy—both frigates now lying-to
quite contentedly with their sails aback, and lowering
their boats. But the first boat had hardly dropped
a foot from the davits when he sung out, “Wurroo,
lads !" and up again went the Unity's great lug-sail
in a jiffy. The Frenchmen, like their sails, were all
aback; and before they could fire a gun the Unity
was pinching up to windward of them, with
Cap'n Dick at the helm, and all the rest of the crew


106 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
flat on their stomachs. Off she went under a rattling
shower from the enemy's bow-chasers and musketry,
and was out of range without a man hurt, and with
no more damage than a hole or two in the mizzen-
lug. The Frenchmen were a good ten minutes
trimming sails and bracing their yards for the chase;
and by that time Cap'n Dick had slanted up well on
their weather bow. Before breakfast-time he was
shaking his sides at the sight of seven hundred odd
Johnnies vainly spreading and trimming more canvas
to catch up their lee-way (for at first the lazy dogs
had barely unreefed courses after the gale, and still
had their topgallant masts housed). Likely enough
they had work on hand more important than chasing
a small lugger all day; for at seven o'clock they gave
up and stood away to the south-east, and left the
Unity free to head back homeward on her old course.
'Twas a surprising feat, to slip out of grasp in this
way, and past two broadsides, any gun of which
could have sent him to the bottom ; and Cap'n Dick
wasn't one to miss boasting over it. Even during
the chase he couldn't help carrying on in his usual
loud and cheeky way, waving good-bye to the
Mossoos, offering them a tow-rope, and the like;
but now the deck wasn't big enough to hold his
swagger, and in their joy of escaping a French prison,
the men encouraged him, so that to hear them talk
you'd have thought he was Admiral Nelson and Sir
Sidney Smith rolled into one.
By nine o'clock they made out the Eddystone on


CAPTAIN DICK AND CAPTAIN JACKA 107
their starboard bow ; and a little after—the morning
being bright and clear, with a nice steady breeze—
they saw a sail right ahead of them, making in for
Plymouth Sound. And who should it be but the old
Bean Pheasant, deep as a log | Cap'n Dick cracked
along after her, and a picture she was as he drew up
close ! Six of her guns had gone; her men were
baling in two gangs, and still she was down a bit by
the head, and her stern yawing like a terrier's tail
when his head's in a rabbit-hole. And there at the
tiller stood Cap'n Jacka, his bald head shining like
a statue of fun, and his one eye twinkling with
blessed satisfaction as he cocked it every now and
then for a glance over his right shoulder.
“Hullo | What's amiss 2" sang out Cap'n Dick,
as the Unity fetched within hail.
“Aw, nothin', nothin'. “Tho' troubles assail an'
dangers'—Stiddy there, you old angletwitch l—She's
a bit too fond o' smelling the wind, that's all.”
As a matter of fact she'd taken more water than
Jacka cared to think about, now that the danger
Was Over.
“But what brings 'ee here 2 An' what cheer wi'
you ?" he asked.
This was Cap'n Dick's chance. “I’ve a run
between two French frigates," he boasted, “in broad
day, an' given the slip to both !"
“Dear, now !" said Cap'n Jacka. “So have I—
in broad day, too. They must ha’ been the very
same. What did 'ee take out of 'em "


109
THE TWO SCOUTS
Chapters from the Memoirs of Manuel (or
Manus) McNeill, an agent in the Secret Service
of Great Britain during the campaigns of the
Peninsula (1808–1813). A Spanish subject by
birth, and a Spaniard in all his upbringing, he
traces in the first chapter of his Memoirs his
descent from an old Highland family through
one Manus McNeill, a Jacobite agent in the
Court of Madrid at the time of the War of
Succession, who married and settled at Aranjuez.
The authenticity of these Memoirs has been
doubted, and according to Napier the name of
the two scouts whom Marmont confused together
(as will appear) was not McNeill, but Grant :
which is probable enough, but not sufficient to
stamp the Memoirs as forgeries. Their author
may have chosen McNeill as a nom de guerre,
and been at pains to deceive his readers on this
point, while adhering to strictest truth in his
relation of events. And this I conceive to be
the real explanation of a narrative which itself
clears up, and credibly, certain obscurities in
Mapier's.-Q.


110 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
I
THE FORD OF THE TORMES
IN the following chapters I shall leave speaking
of my own adventures and say something of a
man whose exploits during the campaigns of
1811–1812 fell but a little short of mine. I do so
the more readily because he bore my own patro-
nymic, and was after a fashion my kinsman; and
I make bold to say that in our calling Captain
Alan McNeill and I had no rival but each other.
The reader may ascribe what virtue he will to
the parent blood of a family which could produce
at one time in two distinct branches two men so
eminent in a service requiring the rarest conjunc-
tion of courage and address.
I had often heard of Captain McNeill, and
doubtless he had as often heard of me. At least
thrice in attempting a coup d'esſionage upon ground
he had previously covered—albeit long before and
on a quite different mission—I had been forced
to take into my calculations the fame left behind
by “the Great McNeill,” and a wariness in our
adversaries whom he had taught to lock the stable
door after the horse had been stolen. For while
with the Allies the first question on hearing of
some peculiarly daring feat would be “Which
McNeill f" the French supposed us to be one and
the same person; which, if possible, heightened
their grudging admiration.


THE TWO SCOUTS 111
Yet the ambiguous credit paid us upon these
occasions was scarcely more intelligent than our
foes' complete bewilderment; since to anyone who
studied even the theory of our business the Captain's
method and mine could have presented but the
most superficial resemblance. Each was original,
and each carried even into details the unmistakable
stamp of its author. My combinations, I do not
hesitate to say, were the subtler. From choice I
worked alone; while the Captain relied for help
on his servant José (I never heard his surname),
a Spanish peasant of remarkable quickness of sight,
and as full of resource as of devotion. Moreover
I habitually used disguises, and prided myself on
their invention, whereas it was the Captain's vanity
to wear his conspicuous scarlet uniform upon all
occasions, or at most to cover it with his short
dark-blue riding cloak. This, while to be sure it
enhanced the showiness of his exploits, obliged him
to carry them through with a suddenness and dash
foreign to the whole spirit of my patient work.
I must always maintain that mine were the sounder
methods; yet if I had no other reason for my
admiration I could not withhold it from a man
who, when I first met him, had been wearing a
British uniform for three days and nights within
the circuit of the French camp. I myself had
been living within it in a constant twitter for
hard upon three weeks.
It happened in March, 1812, when Marmont


112 THE LAIRI) 'S LUCK
was concentrating his forces in the Salamanca
district, with the intent (it was rumoured) of
marching and retaking Ciudad Rodrigo, which the
Allies had carried by assault in January. This
stroke, if delivered with energy, Lord Wellington
could parry; but only at the cost of renouncing
a success on which he had set his heart, the
capture of Badajoz. Already he had sent forward
the bulk of his troops with his siege-train on the
march to that town, while he kept his headquarters
to the last moment in Ciudad Rodrigo as a blind.
He felt confident of smashing Badajoz before Soult
with the army of the south could arrive to relieve
it; but to do this he must leave both Almeida
and Ciudad Rodrigo exposed to Marmont, the latter
with its breaches scarcely healed and its garrison
disaffected. He did not fear actual disaster to these
fortresses; he could hurry back in time to defeat
that, for he knew that Marmont had no siege guns,
and could only obtain them by successfully storming
Almeida and capturing the battering train which
lay there protected by 3,000 militia. Nevertheless,
a serious effort by Marmont would force him to
abandon his scheme.
All depended therefore (1) on how much Marmont
knew and (2) on his readiness to strike boldly.
Consequently, when that General began to draw
his scattered forces together and mass them on the
Tormes before Salamanca, Wellington grew anxious ;
and it was to relieve that anxiety or confirm it


THE TWO SCOUTS 113
that I found myself serving as tapster of the Posada
del Rio in the village of Huerta, just above a ford
of the river, and six miles from Salamanca. Neither
the pay it afforded nor the leisure had attracted
me to the Posada del Rio. Pay there was little,
and leisure there was none, since Marmont's lines
came down to the river here, and we had a battalion
of infantry quartered about the village—sixteen under
our roof–and all extraordinarily thirsty fellows for
Frenchmen; besides a squadron of cavalry, vedettes
of which constantly patrolled the farther bank of
the Tormes. The cavalry officers kept their chargers
—six in all—in the ramshackle stable in the court-
yard facing the inn; and since (as my master
explained to me the first morning) it was a tradition
of the posada to combine the duties of tapster and
ostler in one person, I found all the exercise I needed
in running between the cellar and the great kitchen,
and between the kitchen and the stable, where the
troopers had always a job for me, and allowed me
in return to join in their talk. They seemed to
think this an adequate reward, and I did not
grumble.
Now, beside the stable, and divided from it by
a midden-heap, there stood at the back of the
inn a small outhouse with a loft. This in more
prosperous days had accommodated the master's
own mule, but now was stored with empty barrels,
strings of onions, and trusses of hay—which last
had been hastily removed from the larger stable
I


114 THE LA II?ID'S LUCK
when the troopers took possession. Here I slept
by night, for lack of room indoors, and also to
guard the fodder—an arrangement which suited me
admirably, since it left me my own master for six
or seven hours of the twenty-four. My bedroom
furniture consisted of a truss of hay, a lantern, a
tinder-box, and a rusty fowling-piece. For my
toilet I went to the bucket in the stable yard.
On the fifth night, having some particular
information to send to headquarters, I made a
cautious expedition to the place agreed upon with
my messenger—a fairly intelligent muleteer, and
honest, but new to the business. We met in the
garden at the rear of his cottage, conveniently
approached by way of the ill-kept cemetery which
stood at the end of the village. If surprised, I
was to act the nocturnal lover, and he the angry
defender of his sister's reputation—a foolish but
not ill-looking girl, to whom I had confided nothing
beyond a few amorous glances, so that her evidence
(if unluckily needed) might carry all the weight
of an obvious incapacity to invent or deceive.
These precautions proved unnecessary. But my
muleteer, though plucky, was nervous, and I had
to repeat my instructions at least thrice in detail
before I felt easy. Also he brought news of a fresh
movement of battalions behind Huerta, and of a
sentence in the latest General Order affecting my
own movements, and this obliged me to make
some slight alteration in my original message. So


THE TWO SCOUTS 115
that, what with one thing and another, it wanted
but an hour of dawn when I regained the yard
of the Posada del Rio and cautiously re-entered
the little granary.
Rain had fallen during the night—two or three
short but heavy showers. Creeping on one's belly
between the damp graves of a cemetery is not the
pleasantest work in the world, and I was shivering
with wet and cold and an instant want of sleep.
But as I closed the door behind me and turned
to grope for the ladder to my sleeping loft, I came
to a halt, suddenly and painfully wide awake. There
was someone in the granary. In the pitch darkness
my ear caught the sound of breathing—of someone
standing absolutely still and checking his breath
within a few paces of me—perhaps six, perhaps less.
I, too, stood absolutely still, and lifted my hand
towards the hasp of the door. And as I did so—
in all my career I cannot recall a nastier moment
—as my hand went up, it encountered another.
I felt the fingers closing on my wrist, and wrenched
loose. For a moment our two hands wrestled
confusedly; but while mine tugged at the latch
the other found the key and twisted it round with
a click. (I had oiled the lock three nights before.)
With that I flung myself on him, but again my
adversary was too quick, for as I groped for his
throat my chest struck against his uplifted knee,
and I dropped on the floor and rolled there in
intolerable pain.


116 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
No one spoke. I struggled to raise myself on
hands and knees, heard the chipping of steel on
flint, and caught a glimpse of a face. As its
lips blew on the tinder this face vanished and re-
appeared, and at length grew steady in the blue
light of the sulphur match. It was not the face,
however, on which my eyes rested in a stupid
wonder, but the collar below it—the scarlet collar
and tunic of a British officer.
And yet the face may have had something to
do with my bewilderment. I like, at any rate, to
think so; because I have been in corners quite
as awkward, yet have never known myself so
pitifully demoralised. The uniform might be that
of a British officer, but the face was that of Don
Quixote de la Mancha, and shone at me in that
blue light straight out of my childhood and the
story-book. High brow, high cheek-bone, long
pointed jaw, lined and patient face—I saw him
as I had known him all my life, and I turned up
at the other man, who stooped over me, a look
of absurd surmise.
He was a Spanish peasant, short, thick-set
and muscular, but assuredly no Sancho : a quiet,
quick-eyed man, with a curious neat grace in his
movements. Our tussle had not heated him in
the least. His right fist rested on my back, and
I knew he had a knife in it; and while I gasped
for breath he watched me, his left hand hovering
in front of my mouth to stop the first outcry.


TIIE TWO SCOUTS 117
Through his spread fingers I saw Don Quixote
light the lantern and raise it for a good look at
me. And with that in a flash my wits came back,
and with them the one bit of Gaelic known to me.
“Latha math leat,” I gasped, and caught my
breath again as the fingers closed softly on my
jaw, “O Alan mhic Neill / "
The officer took a step and swung the lantern
close to my eyes—so close that I blinked.
“Gently, José.” He let out a soft pleased
laugh while he studied my face. Then he spoke
a word or two in Gaelic—some question which I
did not understand.
“My name is McNeill,” said I; “but that's
the end of my mother tongue."
The Captain laughed again. “We’ve caught
the other one, José,” said he. And José helped
me to my feet—respectfully, I thought. “Now
this," his master went on, as if talking to himself,
“this explains a good deal."
I guessed. “You mean that my presence has
made the neighbourhood a trifle hot for you !”
“Exactly; there is a General Order issued which
concerns one or both of us."
I nodded. “In effect it concerns us both ; but,
merely as a matter of history, it was directed
against me. Pardon the question, Captain, but
how long have you been within the French lines f"
“Three days,” he answered simply ; “and this
is the third night.”


118 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“What? In that uniform 2''
“I never use disguises,” said he—a little too
stiffly for my taste.
“Well, I do. And I have been within Marmont's
cantonments for close on three weeks. However,
there's no denying you're a champion. But did you
happen to notice the date on the General Order 2"
“I did; and I own it puzzled me. I concluded
that Marmont must have been warned beforehand
of my coming.”
“Not a bit of it. The order is eight days old.
I secured a copy on the morning it was issued;
and the next day, having learnt all that was
necessary in Salamanca, I allowed myself to be
hired in the market-place of that city by the
landlord of this damnable inn.”
“I disapprove of swearing,” put in Captain
McNeill, very sharp and curt.
“As well as of disguises 2 You seem to carry
a number of scruples into this line of business. I
suppose,” said I, nettled, “when you read in the
General Order that the notorious McNeill was
lurking disguised within the circle of cantonments,
you took it that Marmont was putting a wanton
affront on your character, just for the fun of the
thing 2"
“My dear sir,” said the Captain, “if I have
expressed myself rudely, pray pardon me: I have
heard too much of you to doubt your courage,
and I have envied your exploits too often to speak


THE TWO SCOUTS 119
slightingly of your methods. As a matter of fact,
disguise would do nothing, and worse than nothing,
for a man who speaks Spanish with my Highland
accent. I may, perhaps, take a foolish pride in
my disadvantage, but,” and here he smiled, “So,
you remember, did the fox without a tail.”
“And that's very handsomely spoken,” said I;
“but, unless I'm mistaken, you will have to break
your rule for once, if you wish to cross the Tormes
this morning.”
“It's a case of must. Barring the certainty
of capture if I don't, I have important news to
carry–Marmont starts within forty-eight hours.”
“Since it seems that for once we are both
engaged on the same business, let me say at once,
Captain, and without offence, that my news is as
fresh as yours. Marmont certainly starts within
forty-eight hours to assault Ciudad Rodrigo, and
my messenger is already two hours on his way to
Lord Wellington.”
I said this without parade, not wishing to hurt
his feelings. Looking up, I found his mild eyes
fixed on me with a queer expression, almost with
a twinkle of fun.
“To assault Ciudad Rodrigo 2 I think not.”
“Almeida, then, and Ciudad Rodrigo next.
So far as we are concerned the question is not
important.”
“My opinion is that Marmont intends to assault
neither.”


120 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“But, my good sir,” I cried, “I have seen and
counted the scaling-ladders "
'And so have I. I spent six hours in Salamanca
itself," said the Captain quietly.
“Well, but doesn't that prove it 2 What other
place on earth can he want to assault 2 He
certainly is not marching south to join Soult."
I turned to José, who had been listening with an
impassive face.
“The Captain will be right. He always is,”
said José, perceiving that I appealed to him.
“I will wager a month's pay ry
“I never bet,” Captain McNeill interrupted, as
stiffly as before. “As you say, Marmont will
march upon the Agueda, but in my opinion he
will not assault Ciudad Rodrigo.”
“Then he will be a fool.”
“H'm . As to that I think we are agreed. But
the question just now is how am I to get across
the Tormes 2 The ford, I suppose, is watched on
both sides.” I nodded. “And I suppose it will be
absolutely fatal to remain here long after daybreak 2"
“Huerta swarms with soldiers,” said I, “we
have sixteen in the posada and a cavalry picket
just behind. A whole battalion has eaten the
village bare, and is foraging in all kinds of unlikely
places. To be sure you might have a chance in
the loft above us, under the hay."
“Even so, you cannot hide our horses.”
“Your horses 2"


THE TWO SCOUTS 121
“Yes, they're outside at the back. I didn't know
there was a cavalry picket so close, and José must
have missed it in the darkness.”
José looked handsomely ashamed of himself.
“They are well-behaved horses,” added the
Captain. “Still, if they cannot be stowed some-
where, it is unlikely they can be explained away,
and of course it will start a search.”
“Our stable is full.”
“Of course it is. Therefore you see we have
no choice—apart from our earnest wish—but to
cross the ford before daybreak. How is it patrolled
on the far side 2"
“Cavalry,” said I ; “two vedettes.”
“Meeting, I suppose, just opposite the ford *
How far do they patrol 2"
“Three hundred yards maybe; certainly not
more.”
The Captain pursed up his lips as if whistling.
“Is there good cover on the other side 2 My
map shows a wood of fair size.”
“About half a mile off; open country between.
Once there, you ought to be all right; I mean
that a man clever enough to win there ought.to
make child's-play of the rest.”
He mused for half a minute. “The stream is
too wide for me to hear the movements of the
patrols opposite. José has a wonderful ear."
“Yes, Captain, and I can hear the water from
where we stand," José put in.


122 THE LAIRD'S LUCK
“He is right,” said I, “it’s not a question of
distance, but of the noise of the water. The ford
itself will not be more than twenty yards across."
“What depth 2"
“Three feet in the middle, as near as can be.
I have rubbed down too many horses these last
three days not to know. The river may have
fallen an inch since yesterday. They have cleared
the bottom of the ford, but just above and below
there are rocks, and slippery ones.”
“My horse is roughed. Of course the bank is
watched on this side 2"
“Two sentries by the ford, two a little up the
road, and the guard-house not twenty yards beyond.
Captain, I think you'll have to put on a disguise
for once in your life.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Then, excuse me, but how the devil do you
propose to manage 2"
He frowned at the oath, recovered himself, and
looked at me again with something like a twinkle
of fun in his solemn eyes.
“Do you know,” said he, “it has just occurred
to me to pay you a tremendous compliment—
McNeill to McNeill, you understand 2 I propose
to place myself entirely in your hands."
“Oh, thank you !” I pulled a wry face. “Well,
it's a compliment if ever there was one—an infernally
handsome compliment. Your man, I suppose, can
look after himself f" But before he could reply I


THE TWO SCOUTS 123
added, “No ; he shall go with me : for if you do
happen to get across, I shall have to follow, and
look sharp about it.” Then, as he seemed inclined
to protest, “No inconvenience at all—my work here
is done, and you are pretty sure to have picked
up any news I may have missed. You had best
be getting your horse at once; the dawn will be
on us in half an hour. Bring him round to the
door here. José will find straw—hay—anything—
to deaden his footsteps. Meanwhile I'll ask you
to excuse me for five minutes.”
The Spaniard eyed me suspiciously.
“Of course,” said I, reading his thoughts, “if
your master doubts me—"
“I think, Señor McNeill, I have given you no
cause to suspect it," the Captain gravely interrupted.
“There is, however, one question I should like to
ask, if I may do so without offence. Is it your
intention that I should cross in the darkness or
wait for daylight 2"
“We must wait for daylight; because although
it increases some obvious dangers * *
“Excuse me; your reasons are bound to be
good ones. I will fetch around my horse at once,
and we shall expect you back here in five minutes."
In five minutes time I returned to find them
standing in the darkness outside the granary door.
José had strewn a space round about with hay ;
but at my command he fetched more and spread
it carefully, step by step, as Captain McNeill led


124 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
his horse forward. My own arms were full; for
I had spent the five minutes in collecting a score
of French blankets and shirts off the hedges, where
the regimental washermen had spread them the day
before to dry.
A sketch will here explain my plan and our
movements better than a page of explanation :-
ſº-
*
t
\
\
t
The reader will observe that the Posada del Rio,
which faces inwards upon its own courtyard, thrusts
out upon the river at its rear a gable which overhangs
the stream and flanks its small waterside garden from
view of the village street. Into this garden, where
the soldiers were used to sit and drink their wine of
an evening, I led the Captain, whispering him to


THE TWO SCOUTS 125
keep silence, for eight of the Frenchmen slept behind
the windows above. In the corner by the gable was
an awning, sufficient, when cleared of stools and
tables, to screen him and his horse from any eyes
looking down from these windows, though not tall
enough to allow him to mount. And at daybreak,
when the battalion assembled at its alarm-post
above the ford, the gable itself would hide him. But
of course the open front of the garden—where in
two places the bank shelved easily down to the
water—would leave him in full view of the troopers
across the river. It was for this that I had brought
the blankets. Across the angle by the gable there
ran a clothes line on which the house-servant, Mer-
cedes, hung her dish-clouts to dry. Unfastening the
inner end, I brought it forward and lashed it to a
post supporting a dovecote on the river wall. To
fasten it high enough I had to climb the post, and
this set the birds moving uneasily in the box over-
head. But before their alarm grew serious I had
slipped down to earth again, and now it took José
and me but a couple of minutes to fling the blankets
over the line and provide the Captain with a curtain,
behind which, when day broke, he could watch the
troopers and his opportunity. Already, in the village
behind us, a cock was crowing. In twenty minutes
the sun would be up and the bugles sounding the
reveillé. “Down the bank by the gable,” I whis-
pered. “It runs shallow there, and six or seven
yards to the right you strike the ford. When the


126 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
vedettes are separated—just before they turn to come
back—that's your time.”
I took José by the arm. “We may as well be
there to see. How were you planning to cross 2"
“Oh,” said he, “a marketer—with a raw-boned
Galician horse and two panniers of eggs — for
Arapiles—"
“That will do; but you must enter the village
at the farther end and come down the road to the
ford. Get your horse” — we crept back to the
granary together—“but wait a moment, and I will
show you the way round.”
When I rejoined him at the back of the granary
he had his horse ready, and we started to work around
the village. But I had miscalculated the time. The
sky was growing lighter, and scarcely were we in
the lane behind the courtyard before the bugles began
to sound.
“Well,” said I, “that may save ºwn. trouble
after all.” -
Across the lane was an archway leading into a
wheelwright's yard. It had a tall door of solid oak
studded with iron nails ; but this was unlocked and
unbolted, and I knew the yard to be vacant, for the
French farriers had requisitioned all the wheel-
wright's tools three days before, and the honest
man had taken to his bed and proposed to stay there
pending compensation.
To this archway we hastily crossed, and had
barely time to close the door behind us before the
º


THE TWO SCOUTS 127
soldiers, whose billets lay farther up the lane, came
running by in twos and threes for the alarm post,
the later ones buckling their accoutrements as they
ran, halting now and then, and muttering as they
fumbled with a strap or a button. José at my
instruction had loosened his horse's off hind shoe
just sufficiently to allow it to clap ; and as soon as
he was ready I opened the door boldly, and we
stepped out into the lane among the soldiers, cursing
the dog's son of a smith who would not arise from
his lazy bed to attend to two poor marketers pressed
for time.
Now it had been dim within the archway, but
out in the lane there was plenty of light, and it did
me good to see José start when his eyes fell on me.
For a couple of seconds I am sure he believed himself
betrayed : and yet, as I explained to him afterwards,
it was perhaps the simplest of all my disguises and
—barring the wig–depended more upon speech and
gait than upon any alteration of the face. (For a
particular account of it I must refer the reader back
to my adventure in Villafranca. On this occasion,
having proved it once, I felt more confident; and since
it deceived José, I felt I could challenge scrutiny as
an aged peasant travelling with his son to market.)
A couple of soldiers passed us and flung jests
behind them as we hobbled down the lane, the
loose shoe clacking on the cobbles, José tugging
at his bridle, and I limping behind and swearing
volubly, with bent back and head low by the


12S THE LAIRD’S LUCK
horse's rump, and on the near side, which would be
the unexposed one when we gained the ford. And
So we reached the main street and the river, José
turning to point with wonder at the troops as we
hustled past. One or two made a feint to steal an
egg from our panniers. José protested, halting and
calling in Spanish for protection. A sergeant inter-
fered; whereupon the men began to bait us, calling
after us in scraps of camp Spanish. José lost his
temper admirably ; for me, I shuffled along as an
old man dazed with the scene ; and when we came
to the water's edge felt secure enough to attempt a
trifle of comedy business as José hoisted my old
limbs on to the horse's back behind the panniers.
It fetched a shout of laughter. And then, having
slipped off boots and stockings deliberately, José took
hold of the bridle again and waded into the stream.
We were safe.
I had found time for a glance at the farther bank,
and saw that the troopers were leisurely riding to
and fro. They met and parted just as we entered
the ford. Before we were half-way across they had
come near to the end of their beat, with about three
hundred yards between them, and I was thinking
this a fair opportunity for the Captain when José
whispered, “There he goes,” very low and quick,
and, with a souse, horse and rider struck the water
behind us by the gable of the inn. As the stream
splashed up around them we saw the horse slip on
the stony bottom and fall back, almost burying his


THE TWO SCOUTS 129
haunches, but with two short heaves he had gained
the good gravel and was plunging after us. The
infantry spied him first—the two vedettes were in
the act of wheeling about and heard the warning
before they saw. Before they could put their
chargers to the gallop Captain McNeill was past us
and climbing the bank between them. A bullet or
two sang over us from the Huerta shore. Not
knowing of what his horse was capable, I feared he
might yet be headed off; but the troopers in their
flurry had lost their heads and their only chance
unless they could drop him by a fluking shot. They
galloped straight for the ford-head, while the Captain
slipped between, and were almost charging each other
before they could pull up and wheel at right angles
in pursuit.
“Good,” said José simply. A shot had struck
one of our panniers, Smashing a dozen eggs (by the
smell he must have bought them cheap), and he
halted and gesticulated in wrath like a man in two
minds about returning and demanding compensation.
Then he seemed to think better of it, and we moved
forward; but twice again before we reached dry land
he turned and addressed the soldiers in furious Spanish
across the babble of the ford. José had gifts.
For my part I was eager to watch the chase
which the rise of the bank hid from us, though we
could hear a few stray shots. But José's confidence
proved well grounded; for when we struck the high
road there was the Captain half a mile away within
J


130 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
easy reach of the wood, and a full two hundred yards
ahead of the foremost trooper.
“Good | " said José again. “Now we can eat l”
and he pulled out a loaf of coarse bread from the
injured pannier, and trimming off an end where the
evil-smelling eggs had soaked it, divided it in two.
On this and a sprig of garlic we broke our fast, and
were munching and jogging along contentedly when
we met the returning vedettes. They were not in
the best of humours, you may be sure, and although
we drew aside and paused with crusts half lifted to
our open mouths to stare at them with true yokel
admiration, they cursed us for taking up too much
of the roadway, and one of them even made a cut
with his sabre at the near pannier of eggs.
“It's well he broke none,” said I, as we watched
them down the road. “I don't deny you and your
master any reasonable credit, but for my taste you
leave a little too much to luck.”
Our road now began to skirt the wood into which
the Captain had escaped, and we followed it for a
mile and more, José all the while whistling a gipsy
air which I guessed to carry a covert message; and
sure enough, after an hour of it, the same air was
taken up in the wood to our right, where we found
the Captain dismounted and seated comfortably at
the foot of a cork tree.
He was good enough to pay me some pretty
compliments, and, after comparing notes, we agreed
that—my messenger being a good seven hours on his


THE TWO SCOUTS 131
way with all the information Lord Wellington could
need for the moment—we would keep company for
a day or two, and a watch on the force and disposi-
tion of the French advance. We had yet to discover
Marmont's objective. For though in Salamanca the
French officers had openly talked of the assault on
Ciudad Rodrigo, there was still a chance (though
neither of us believed in it) that their general meant
to turn aside and strike southward for the Tagus.
Our plan, therefore, was to make for Tammames
where the roads divided, where the hills afforded
good cover, and to wait.
So towards Tammames (which lay some thirty
miles off) we turned our faces, and arriving there
on the 27th, encamped for two days among the
hills. Marmont had learnt on the 14th that none
of Wellington's divisions were on the Agueda, and
we agreed, having watched his preparations, that
on the 27th he would be ready to start. These two
days, therefore, we spent at ease, and I found the
Captain, in spite of his narrow and hide-bound
religion, an agreeable companion. He had the
NcNeills' genealogy at his finger ends, and I picked
up more information from him concerning our
ancestral home in Ross and our ancestral habits
than I have ever been able to verify. Certainly
our grandfathers, Manus of Aranjuez and Angus
(slain at Sheriff-muir), had been first cousins. But
this discovery had no sooner raised me to a claim
on his regard than I found his cordiality chilled by


132 THE LAIRD'S LUCK
the thought that I believed in the Pope or (as he
preferred to put it) Antichrist. My eminence as a
genuine McNeill made the shadow of my error the
taller. In these two days of inactivity I felt his
solicitude growing until, next to the immediate
movements of Marmont, my conversion became
for him the most important question in the Penin-
sula, and I saw that, unless I allowed him at least
to attempt it, another forty-eight hours would wear
him to fiddle-strings.
Thus it happened that mid-day of the 30th found
us on the wooded hill above the cross-roads; found
me stretched at full length on my back and smoking,
and the Captain (who did not smoke) seated beside
me with his pocket Testament, earnestly sapping
the fundamental errors of Rome, when José, who
had been absent all the morning reconnoitring,
brought news that Marmont's van (which he had
been watching, and ahead of which he had been
dodging since ten o'clock) was barely two miles
away. The Captain pulled out his watch, allowed
them thirty-five minutes, and quietly proceeded
with his exposition. As the head of the leading
column swung into sight around the base of the
foot-hills, he sought in his haversack and drew out
a small volume — the Pilgrim's Progress — and
having dog's-eared a page of it inscribed my name
on the fly-leaf, “from his kinsman, Alan McNeill.”
“It is a question,” said he, as I thanked him,
“and one often debated, if it be not better that a


THE TWO SCOUTS 133
whole army, such as we see approaching, should
perish bodily in every circumstance of horror than
that one soul, such as yours or mine, should fail
to find the true light. For my part"—and here he
seemed to deprecate a weakness—“I have never
been able to go quite so far; I hope not from any
lack of intellectual courage. Will you take notes
while I dictate 2"
So on the last leaf of the Pilgrim's Progress I
entered the strength of each battalion, and noted
each gun as the great army wound its way into
Tammames below us, and through it for the cross-
roads beyond, but not in one body, for two of the
battalions enjoyed an hour's halt there before setting
forward after their comrades, by this time out of sight.
They had taken the northern road.
“Ciudad Rodrigo ( " said I. “And there goes
Wellington's chance of Badajoz.”
The Captain beckoned to José and whispered in
his ear, then opened his Testament again as the
sturdy little Spaniard set off down the hill with his
leisurely, lopping gait, so much faster than it seemed.
The sun was setting when he returned with his
report.
“I thought so," said the Captain. “Marmont
has left three-fourths of his scaling ladders behind in
Tammames. Ciudad Rodrigo he will not attempt;
I doubt if he means business with Almeida. If you
please," he added, “José and I will push after and
discover his real business, while you carry to Lord


134 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
Wellington a piece of news it will do him good to
hear.”
II
THE BARBER-SURGEON OF SABUGAL
SO, leaving my two comrades to follow up and detect
the true object of Marmont's campaign, I headed
south for Badajoz. The roads were heavy, the
mountain torrents in flood, the only procurable horses
and mules such as by age or debility had escaped the
strictest requisitioning. Nevertheless, on the 4th of
April I was able to present myself at Lord Welling-
ton's headquarters before Badajoz, and that same
evening started northwards again with his particular
instructions. I understood (not, of course, by direct
word of mouth) that disquieting messages had poured
in ahead of me from the allied commanders scattered
in the north, who reported Ciudad Rodrigo in
imminent peril; that my news brought great relief
of mind; but that in any case our army now stood
committed to reduce Badajoz before Soult came to
its relief. Our iron guns had worked fast and well,
and already three breaches on the eastern side of the
town were nearly practicable. Badajoz once secured,
Wellington would press northward again to teach
Marmont manners; but for the moment our weak
troops opposing him must even do the best they
could to gain time and protect the magazines and
Stores.


THE TWO SCOUTS 135
At six o'clock then in the evening of the 4th, on
a fresh mount, I turned my back on the doomed
fortress, and crossing the Guadiana by the horse ferry
above Elvas, struck into the Alemtejo.
On the 6th I reached Castello Branco and found
the position of the Allies sufficiently serious. Victor
Alten's German cavalry were in the town—600 of
them—having fallen back before Marmont without
striking a blow, and leaving the whole country four
good marches from Rodrigo exposed to the French
marauders. They reported that Rodrigo itself had
fallen (which I knew to be false, and, as it turned
out, Marmont had left but one division to blockade
the place); they spoke openly of a further retreat
upon Wilha Velha. But I regarded them not. They
had done mischief enough already by scampering
southward and allowing Marmont to push in between
them and the weak militias on whom it now
depended to save Almeida with its battering train,
Celorico and Pinhel with their magazines, and even
Ciudad Rodrigo itself; and while I listened I tasted
to myself the sarcastic compliments they were likely
to receive from Lord Wellington when he heard
their tale.
Clearly there was no good to be done in Castello
Branco, and the next morning I pushed on. I had
no intention of rejoining Captain McNeill; for, as he
had observed on parting—quoting some old Greek
for his authority—“three of us are not enough for
an army, and for any other purpose we are too


136 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
many,” and although pleased enough to have a
kinsman's company, he had allowed me to see that
he preferred to work alone with José, who understood
his methods, whereas mine (in spite of his compli-
ments) were unfamiliar and puzzling. I knew him
to be watching Marmont, and even speculated on the
chances of our meeting, but my own purpose was to
strike the Coa, note the French force there and its
disposition, and so make with all serviceable news
for the north, where Generals Trant and Wilson with
their Portuguese militia were endeavouring to cover
the magazines.
Travelling on mule-back now as a Portuguese
drover out of work, I dodged a couple of marauding
parties below Penamacor, found Marmont in force in
Sabugal at the bend of the Coa, on the 9th reached
Guarda, a town on the top of a steep mountain, and
there found General Trant in position with about
6,000 raw militiamen. To him I presented myself
with my report—little of which was new to him
except my reason for believing Ciudad Rodrigo safe
for the present; and this he heard with real pleasure,
chiefly because it confirmed his own belief and gave
it a good reason which it had hitherto lacked.
And here I must say a word on General Trant.
He was a gallant soldier and a clever one, but inclined
(and here lay his weakness) to be on occasion too
clever by half. In fact, he had a leaning towards my
own line of business, and naturally it was just here
that I found him out. I am not denying that during


THE TWO SCOUTS 137
the past fortnight his cleverness had served him well.
He had with a handful of untrained troops to do his
best for a group of small towns and magazines, each
valuable and each in itself impossible of defence.
His one advantage was that he knew his weakness
and the enemy did not, and he had used this
knowledge with almost ludicrous success.
For an instance: Immediately on discovering the
true line of Marmont's advance he had hurried to
take up a position on the lower Coa, but had been
met on his march by an urgent message from
Governor Le Mesurier that Almeida was in danger
and could not resist a resolute assault. Without
hesitation Trant turned and pushed hastily with one
brigade to the Cabeça Negro mountain behind the
bridge of Almeida, and reached it just as the French
drew near, driving 200 Spaniards before them across
the plain. Trant, seeing that the enemy had no
cavalry at hand, with the utmost effrontery and quite
as if he had an army behind him, threw out a cloud
of skirmishers beyond the bridge, dressed up a dozen
guides in scarlet coats to resemble British troopers,
galloped with these to the glacis of Almeida, spoke
the governor, drew off a score of invalid troopers
from the hospital in the town, and at dusk made his
way back up the mountain, which in three hours he
had covered with sham bivouac fires.
These were scarcely lit when the governor, taking
his cue, made a determined sortie and drove back the
French light troops, who in the darkness had no


THE TWO SCOUTS 139
or “Quite so." All the while his fingers were
drumming on the camp table, and I had no sooner
come to an end than he began to question me about
the French marshal's headquarters in Sabugal. The
town itself and its position he knew as well as I did,
perhaps better. I had not entered it on my way,
but kept to the left bank of the Coa. I knew
Marmont to be quartered there, but in what house or
what part of the town I was ignorant. “And what
the deuce can it matter 2 " I wondered.
“But could you not return and discover ?" the
general asked at length.
“Oh, as for that," I answered, “it’s just as you
choose to order."
“It's risky of course,” said he.
“It's risky to be sure,” I agreed; “but if the risk
comes in the day's work I take it I shall have been
in tighter corners.”
“Excuse me," he said with a sort of deprecatory
smile, “but I was not thinking of you; at least not
altogether." And I saw by his face that he held
something in reserve and was in two minds about
confiding it.
“I beg that you won't think of me," I said simply,
for I have always made it a rule to let a general
speak for himself and ask no questions which his
words may not fairly cover. Outside of my own
business (the limits of which are well defined) I seek
no responsibility; least of all should I seek it in serving
one whom I suspect of over-cleverness.


140 THE LAIRD’S LUUK
“Look here,” he said at length, “the Duke of
Ragusa is a fine figure of a man.”
“Notoriously,” said I. “All Europe knows it, and
he certainly knows it himself.”
“I have heard that his troops take him at his own
valuation."
“Well,” I answered, “he sits his horse gallantly;
he has courage; at present he is only beginning to
make his mistakes; and soldiers, like women, have a
great idea of what a warrior ought to look like."
“In fact,” said General Trant, “the loss of him
would make an almighty difference."
Now he had asked me to be seated and had poured
me out a glass of wine from his decanter. But at
these words I leapt up suddenly, jolting the table so
that the glass danced and spilled half its contents.
“What the dickens is wrong 2" asked the general,
Snatching a map out of the way of the liquor.
“Good Lord, man You don't suppose I was asking
you to assassinate Marmont l”
“I beg your pardon,” said I, recovering myself.
“Of course not; but it sounded --
“Oh, did it 2." He mopped the map with his
pocket-handkerchief and looked at me as who should
say, “Guess again."
I cast about wildly. “This man cannot be wanting
to kidnap him 1" thought I to myself.
“You tell me his divisions are scattered after
supplies. I hear that the bulk of his troops are in
camp above Penamacor ; that at the outside he has


THE TWO SCOUTS 141
in Sabugal under his hand but 5,000. Now Silveira
should be here in a couple of days; that will make
us roughly 12,000.
“Ah !” said I, “a surprise 2" He nodded.
“Night 2." He nodded again. “And your cavalry 2"
I pursued.
“I could, perhaps, force General Bacellar to spare
his squadron of dragoons from Celorico. Come,
what do you think of it?”
“I do as you order,” said I; “and that I suppose
is to return to Sabugal and report the lie of the land.
But since, general, you ask my opinion, and speaking
without local knowledge, I should say—"
“Yes 2"
“Excuse me, but I will send you my opinion in
four days' time." And I rose to depart.
“Very good, but keep your seat. Drink another
glass of wine.”
“Sabugal is twenty miles off, and when I arrive I
have yet to discover how to get into it,” I protested.
“That is just what I am going to tell you.”
“Ah,” said I, “so you have already been making
arrangements 2"
He nodded while he poured out the wine. “You
come opportunely, for I was about to rely on a far
less rusé hand. The plan, which is my own, I submit
to your judgment, but I think you will allow some
merit in it.”
Well, I was not well-disposed to approve of any
plan of his. In truth, he had managed to offend me


142 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
seriously. Had an English gentleman committed my
recent error of supposing him to hint at assassination,
General Trant (who can doubt it 2) would have
flamed out in wrath ; but me he had set right with a
curt carelessness which said as plain as words that
the dishonouring suspicion no doubt came natural
enough to a Spaniard. He had entertained me with
a familiarity which I had not asked for, and which
became insulting the moment he allowed me to see
that it came from cold condescension. I have known
a dozen combinations spoilt by English commanders
who in this way have combined extreme offensiveness
with conscious affability; and I have watched their
allies—Spaniards and Portuguese of the first nobility
—raging inwardly, while ludicrously impotent to dis-
cover a peg on which to hang their resentment.
I listened coldly, therefore, leaving the general's
wine untasted and ignoring his complimentary
deference to my judgment. Yet the neatness and
originality of his scheme surprised me. He certainly
had talent.
He had found (it seemed) an old vine-dresser at
Bellomonte, whose brother kept a small shop in
Sabugal, where he shaved chins, sold drugs, drew
teeth, and on occasion practised a little bone-setting.
This barber-surgeon or apothecary had shut up his
shop on the approach of the French and escaped out
of the town to his brother's roof. As a matter of fact
he would have been safer in Sabugal, for the excesses
of the French army were all committed by the


THE TWO SCOUTS 143
marauding parties scattered up and down the country-
side and out of the reach of discipline, whereas
Marmont (to his credit) sternly discouraged looting,
paid the inhabitants fairly for what he took, and
altogether treated them with uncommon humanity.
It was likely enough, therefore, that the barber-
surgeon's shop stood as he had left it. And General
Trant proposed no less than that I should boldly
enter the town, take down the shutters, and open
business, either personating the old man or (if I could
persuade him to return) going with him as his
assistant. In either case the danger of detection was
more apparent than real, for so violently did the
Portuguese hate their invaders that scarcely an
instance of treachery occurred during the whole of
this campaign. The chance of the neighbours betray-
ing me was small enough, at any rate, to justify the risk,
and I told the General promptly that I would take it.
Accordingly I left Guarda that night, and reaching
Bellomonte a little after daybreak, found the vine-
dresser and presented Trant's letter.
He was on the point of starting for Sabugal,
whither he had perforce to carry a dozen skins of
wine; and with some little trouble I persuaded the
old barber-surgeon to accompany us, bearing a
petition to Marmont to be allowed peaceable
possession of his shop. We arrived and were allowed
to enter the town, where I assisted the vine-dresser
in handling the heavy wine skins, while his brother
posted off to headquarters and returned after an hour


144 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
with the marshal's protection. Armed with this, he
led me off to the shop, found it undamaged, helped
me to take down the shutters, showed me his cup-
boards, tools, and stock in trade, and answered my
rudimentary questions in the art of compounding
drugs—in a twitter all the while to be gone. Nor
did I seek to delay him (for if my plans miscarried,
Sabugal would assuredly be no place for him). Late
in the afternoon he left me and went off in search of
his brother, and I fell to stropping my razors with
what cheerfulness I could assume.
Before nightfall my neighbours on either hand
had looked in and given me good evening. They
asked few questions when I told them I was taking
over old Diego's business for the time, and kept their
speculations to themselves. I lay down to sleep that
night with a lighter heart.
The adventure itself tickled my humour, though I
had no opinion at all of the design—Trant's design—
which lay at the end of it. This, however, did not
damp my zeal in using eyes and ears; and on the
third afternoon, when the old vine-dresser rode over
with more wine skins, and dropped in to inquire
about business and take home a pint of rhubarb for
the stomach-ache, I had the satisfaction of making up
for him, under the eyes of two soldiers waiting to be
shaved, a packet containing a compendious account
of Marmont's dispositions with a description of his
headquarters. My report concluded with these
words:—


THE TWO SCOUTS 145
“With regard to the enterprise on which I have
had the honour to be consulted I offer my opinion
with humility. It is, however, a fixed one. Pou will
lose two divisions, and even a third, should you bring
it.”
On the whole I had weathered through these
three days with eminent success. The shaving I
managed with something like credit (for a Portu-
guese). My pharmaceutics had been (it was vain to
deny) in the highest degree empirical, but if my
patients had not been cured they even more certainly
had not died—or at least their bodies had not been
found. What gravelled me was the phlebotomy.
Somehow the chance of being called upon to let
blood had not occurred to me, and on the second
morning when a varicose sergeant of the line dropped
into my operating chair and demanded to have a vein
opened, I bitterly regretted that I had asked my
employer neither where to insert the lancet nor how
to stop the bleeding. I eyed the brawn in the chair,
so full of animal life and rude health—no, strike at
random I could not l I took his arm and asked
insinuatingly, “Now, where do you usually have it
done 7" “Sometimes here, sometimes there,” he
answered. Joy! I remembered a bottle of leeches
on the shelf. I felt the man's pulse and lifted his
eyelids with trembling fingers. “In your state,” said
I, “it would be a crime to bleed you. What you
want is leeches.” “You think so *" he asked—“how
K


146 THE LA IRI) S LUCK
many 2" “Oh, half-a-dozen—to begin with.” In
my sweating hurry I forgot (if I had ever known)
that the bottle contained but three. “No," said I,
“we'll start with a couple and work up by degrees.”
He took them on his palm and turned them over
with a stubby forefinger. “Funny little beasts 1"
said he and marched out of the shop into the sunshine.
To this day when recounting his Peninsular exploits
he onlits his narrowest escape.
I can hardly describe the effect of this ridiculous
adventure upon my nerves. My heart sank when-
ever a plethoric customer entered the shop, and I
caught fright or snatched relief even from the weight
of a footfall or the size of a shadow in my doorway.
A dozen times in intervals of leisure I reached down
the bottle from its shelf and studied my one remaining
leech. A horrible suspicion possessed me that the
little brute was dead. He remained at any rate
completely torpid, though I coaxed him almost in
agony to show some sign of life. Obviously the
bottle contained nothing to nourish him ; to offer him
my own blood would be to disable him for another
patient. On the fourth afternoon I went so far as to
try him on the back of my hand. I waited five
minutes; he gave no sign. Then, startled by a foot-
step outside, I popped him hurriedly back in his
bottle.
A scraggy, hawk-nosed trooper of hussars entered
and flung himself into my chair demanding a shave.
In my confusion I had lathered his chin and set to


THE TWO SCOUTS 147
work before giving his face any particular attention.
He had started a grumble at being overworked (he
was just off duty and smelt potently of the stable),
but sat silent as men usually do at the first scrape of
the razor. On looking down I saw in a flash that
this was not the reason. He was one of the troopers
whose odd jobs I had done at the Posada del Rio in
Huerta, an ill-conditioned Norman called Michu—
Pierre Michu. Since our meeting, with the help of a
little walnut juice, I had given myself a fine Portu-
guese complexion with other small touches sufficient
to deceive a cleverer man. But by ill-luck (or to give
it a true name, by careless folly) I had knotted under
my collar that morning a yellow-patterned handker-
chief which I had worn every day at the Posada del
Rio, and as his eyes travelled from this to my face I
saw that the man recognised me.
There was no time for hesitating. If I kept
silence, no doubt he would do the same ; but if I let
him go, it would be to make straight for headquarters
with his tale. I scraped away for a second or two in
dead silence, and then drawing my razor back I said,
sharp and low, “I am going to kill you."
He turned white as a sheet, opened his mouth,
and I could feel him gathering his muscles together
to heave himself out of the chair; no easy matter.
I laid the flat of the razor against his flesh, and he
sank back helpless. My hand was over his mouth.
“Yes, I shall have plenty of time before they find
you.” A sound in his throat was the only answer,


148 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
something between a grunt and a sob. “To be
sure,” I went on, “I bear you no grudge. But there
is no other way, unless—"
“No, no,” he gasped. “I promise. The grave
shall not be more secret.”
“Ah,” said I, “but how am I to believe that ?"
“Parole d'honneur."
“I must have even a little more than that." I
made him swear by the faith of a soldier and half-a-
dozen other oaths which occurred to me as likely to
bind him if, lacking honour and religion, he might
still have room in his lean body for a little supersti-
tion. He took every oath eagerly, and with a
pensive frown I resumed my shaving. At the first
scrape he winced and tried to push me back.
“Indeed no,” said I; “business is business,” and I
finished the job methodically, relentlessly. It still
consoles me to think upon what he must have
suffered.
When at length I let him up he forced an uneasy
laugh. “Well, comrade, you had the better of me
I must say. Ehl but you're a clever one—and at
Huerta, eh?” He held out his hand. “No rancour
though—a fair trick of war, and I am not the man to
bear a grudge for it. After all war's war, as they
say. Some use one weapon, some another. You
know,” he went on confidentially, “it isn't as if you
had learnt anything out of me. In that case—
well, of course, it would have made all the differ-
Cince.


THE TWO SCOUTS 149
I fell to stropping my razor. “Since I have your
oath—"I began.
“That's understood. My word, though, it is hard
to believe "
“You had best believe it, anyway,” said I; and
with a sort of shamefaced swagger he lurched out of
the shop.
Well, I did not like it. I walked to the door and
watched him down the street. Though it wanted an
hour of sunset I determined to put up my shutters
and take a stroll by the river. I had done the most
necessary part of my work in Sabugal; to-morrow I
would make my way back to Bellomonte, but in case
of hindrance it might be as well to know how the
river bank was guarded. At this point a really
happy inspiration seized me. There were many
pools in the marsh land by the river—pools left by
the recent floods. Possibly by hunting among these
and stirring up the mud I might replenish my stock
of leeches. I had the vaguest notion how leeches
were gathered, but the pursuit would at the worst
give me an excuse for dawdling and spying out the
land.
I closed the shop at once, hunted out a tin box,
and with this and my bottle (to serve as evidence, if
necessary, of my good faith) made my way down to
the river side north of the town. The bank here was
well guarded by patrols, between whom a number of
peaceful citizens sat a-fishing. Seen thus in line and
with their backs turned to me they bore a ludicrous


150 THE LAIR D S LUCK
resemblance to a row of spectators at a play; and
gazing beyond them, though dazzled for a moment
by the full level rays of the sun, I presently became
aware of a spectacle worth looking at.
On the road across the river a squadron of lancers
was moving northward.
“Hallo 1" thought I, “here's a reconnaissance of
some importance.” But deciding that any show of
inquisitiveness would be out of place under the eyes
of the patrols, I kept my course parallel with the
river's, at perhaps 300 yards distance from it. This
brought me to the first pool, and there I had no
sooner deposited my bottle and tin box on the brink
than beyond the screen of the town wall came
pushing the head of a column of infantry.
Decidedly here was something to think over. The
column unwound itself in clouds of yellow dust—a
whole brigade; then an interval, then another dusty
column—two brigades 1 Could Marmont be planning
against Trant the very coup which Trant had planned
against him Twenty miles—it could be done
before daybreak; and the infantry (I had seen at the
first glance) were marching light.
I do not know to this day if any leeches inhabit
the pools outside Sabugal. It is very certain that I
discovered none. About a quarter of a mile ahead of
me and about the same distance back from the river
there stood a ruinous house which had been fired, but
whether recently or by the French I could not tell;
once no doubt the country villa of some well-to-do


THE TWO SCOUTS 151
townsman, but now roofless, and showing smears of
black where the flames had licked its white outer
walls. Towards this I steered my way cautiously,
that behind the shelter of an outbuilding I might
study the receding brigades at my leisure.
The form of the building was roughly a hollow
square enclosing a fair-sized patio, the entrance of
which I had to cross to gain the rearward premises
and slip out of sight of the patrols. The gate of this
entrance had been torn off its hinges and now lay
jammed aslant across the passage; beyond it the
patio lay heaped with bricks and rubble, tiles, and
charred beams. I paused for a moment and craned
in for a better look at the débris.
And then the sound of voices arrested me—a
moment too late. I was face to face with two
French officers, one with a horse beside him. They
saw me, and on the instant ceased talking and
stared ; but without changing their attitudes, which
were clearly those of two disputants. They stood
perhaps four paces apart. Both were young men,
and the one whose attitude most suggested menace
I recognised as a young lieutenant of a line regiment
(the 102nd) whom I had shaved that morning. The
other wore the uniform of a staff officer, and at the
first glance I read a touch of superciliousness in his
indignant face. His left hand held his horse's bridle,
his other he still kept tightly clenched while he
stared at me.
“What the devil do you want here 2" demanded


152 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
the lieutenant roughly in bad Portuguese. “But,
hallo ' " he added, recognising me, and turned a
curious glance on the other.
“Who is it 2 " the staff officer asked.
“It's a barber; and I believe something of a
surgeon. That's so, eh?” He appealed to me.
“In a small way,” I answered apologetically.
The lieutenant turned again to his companion.
“He might do for us; the sooner the better,
unless—"
“ Unless,” interrupted the staff officer with cold
politeness, “you prefer the apology you owe me."
The lieutenant swung round again with a brusque
laugh. “Look here, have you your instruments
about you ?”
For answer I held up my bottle with the one
absurd leech dormant at the bottom. He laughed
again just as harshly.
“That is about the last thing to suit our purpose.
Listen"—he glanced out through the passage—“the
gates won't be shut for an hour yet. It will take you
perhaps twenty minutes to fetch what is necessary.
You understand 2 Return here, and don't keep us
waiting. Afterwards, should the gates be shut, one
of us will see you back to the town.”
I bowed without a word and hurried back across
the water meadow. Along the river bank between
the patrols the anglers still sat in their patient
row. And on the road to the north-west the tail of
the second brigade was winding slowly out of sight.


THE TWO SCOUTS 153
Once past the gate and through the streets, I
walked more briskly, paused at my shop door to fit
the key in the lock, and was astonished when the
door fell open at the push of my hand.
- Then in an instant I understood. The shop had
been ransacked—by that treacherous scoundrel Michu,
of course. Bottles, herbs, shaving apparatus, all was
topsy-turvy. Drawers stood half-open ; the floor
was in a litter.
I had two consolations: the first that there were
no incriminating papers in the house ; the second
that Michu had clearly paid me a private visit before
carrying his tale to headquarters. Otherwise the
door would have been sealed and the house under
guard. I reflected that the idiot would catch it hot
for this unauthorised piece of work. Stay ! he might
still be in the house rummaging the upper rooms.
I crept upstairs.
No, he was gone. He had left my case of
instruments, too, after breaking the lock and scatter-
ing them about the floor. I gathered them together
in haste, descended again, snatched up a roll of lint,
and pausing only at the door for a glance up and
down the street, made my escape post-haste for the
water meadow.
In the patio I found the two disputants standing
much as I had left them, the staff officer gently
and methodically smoothing his horse's crupper, the
lieutenant with a watch in his hand.
“Good," said he, closing it with a snap, “seventeen


154 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
minutes only. By the way, do you happen to
understand French 7"
“A very little,” said I.
“Because, as you alone are the witness of this our
little difference, it will be in order if I explain that I
insulted this gentleman.”
“Somewhat grossly,” put in the staff officer.
“Somewhat grossly, in return for an insult put
upon me—somewhat grossly—in the presence of my
company, two days ago, in the camp above Pena-
macor, when I took the liberty to resent a message
conveyed by him to my colonel—as he alleges upon
the authority of the marshal, the Duke of Ragusa.”
“An assertion," commented the staff officer,
“which I am able to prove on the marshal's return
and with his permission, provided always that the
request be decently made.”
They had been speaking in French and meanwhile
removing their tunics. The staff officer had even
drawn off his riding boots. “Do you understand 2"
asked the lieutenant.
“A little," said I; “enough to serve the occa-
sion."
“Excellent barber-surgeon I Would that all your
nation were no more inquisitive " He turned to
the staff officer. “Ready ? On guard, then, mon-
sieur ! ”
The combat was really not worth describing. The
young staff officer had indeed as much training as
his opponent (and that was little), but no wrist at all.


THE TWO. SCOUTS 155
He had scarcely engaged before he attempted a blind
cut over the scalp. The lieutenant, parrying clumsily,
but just in time, forced blade and arm upward until
the two pointed almost vertically to heaven, and
their forearms almost rubbed as the pair stood close
and chest to chest. For an instant the staff officer's
sword was actually driven back behind his head;
and then with a rearward spring the lieutenant dis-
engaged and brought his edge clean down on his
adversary's left shoulder and breast, narrowly missing
his ear. The cut itself, delivered almost in the recoil
had no great weight behind it, but the blood spurted
at once, and the wounded man, stepping back for a
fresh guard, swayed foolishly for a moment and then
toppled into my arms.
“Is it serious 2" asked the lieutenant, wiping his
sword and looking, it seemed to me, more than a
little scared.
“Wait a moment,” said I, and eased the body to
the ground. “Yes, it looks nasty. And keep back,
if you please; he has ſainted.”
“Being off my guard I said it in very good French,
which in his agitation he luckily failed to remark.
“I had best fetch help," said he.
“Assuredly.”
“I’ll run for one of the patrols; we'll carry him
back to the town.”
But this would not suit me at all. “No,” I
objected, “you must fetch one of your surgeons.
Meanwhile I will try to stop the bleeding; but I


156 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
certainly won't answer for it if you attempt to move
him at once.”
I showed him the wound as he hurried into his
tunic. It was a long and ugly gash, but (as I had
guessed) neither deep nor dangerous. It ran from
the point of the collar-bone aslant across the chest,
and had the lieutenant put a little more drag into the
stroke it must infallibly have snicked open the artery
inside the upper arm. As it was, my immediate
business lay in frightening him off before the bleeding
slackened, and my heart gave a leap when he turned
and ran out of the patio, buttoning his tunic as
he went.
It took me ten minutes perhaps to dress the wound
and tie a rude bandage; and perhaps another four to
pull off coat and shoes and slip into the staff officer's
tunic, pull on his riding boots over my blue canvas
trousers—at a distance scarcely discernible in colour
from his tight-fitting breeches—and buckle on his
sword-belt. I had some difficulty in finding his cap,
for he had tossed it carelessly behind one of the
fallen beams, and by this time the light was bad
within the patio. The horse gave me no trouble,
being an old campaigner, no doubt, and used to
surprises. I untethered him and led him gently across
the yard, picking my way in a circuit which would
take him as far as possible from his fallen master.
But glancing back just before mounting, to my horror
I saw that the wounded man had raised himself on
his right elbow and was staring at me. Our eyes


THE TWO SCOUTS 157
met; what he thought—whether he suspected the
truth or accepted the sight as a part of his delirium—
I shall never know. The next instant he fell back
again and lay inert.
I passed out into the open. The warning gun
must have sounded without my hearing it; for across
the meadow the townspeople were retracing their
way to the town gate, which closed at sunset. At
any moment now the patrols might be upon me; so
swinging myself into the saddle I set off at a brisk
trot towards the gate.
My chief peril for the moment lay in the chance
of meeting the lieutenant on his way back with the
doctor; yet I must run this risk and ride through
the town to the bridge gate, the river being unford-
able for miles to the northward and trending farther
and farther away from Guarda; and Guarda must be
reached at all costs, or by to-morrow Trant's and
Wilson's garrisons would have ceased to exist. My
heart fairly sank when on reaching the gate I saw
an officer in talk with the sentry there, and at least
a score of men behind him. I drew aside; he stepped
out and called an order to his company, which at
once issued and spread itself in face of the scattered
groups of citizens returning across the meadow.
“Yes, captain,” said the sentry, answering the
question in my look, “they are after a spy, it seems,
who has been practising here as a barber. They say
even the famous McNeill."
I rode through the gateway and spurred my horse


158 THE LA IRD’S LUCK
to a trot again, heading him down a side street to
the right. This took me some distance out of my
way, but anything was preferable to the risk of
meeting the lieutenant, and I believed that I had yet
some minutes to spare before the second gun-fire.
In this I was mistaken. The gun boomed out
just as I came in sight of the bridge gate, and the
lieutenant of the guard appeared clanking out on the
instant to close the heavy doors. I spurred my horse
and dashed down at a canter, hailing loudly:-
“A spy —a barber fellow; here, hold a minute 1"
“Yes, we have had warning half an hour ago.
Nobody has passed out since.”
“At the gate below,” I panted, “they sighted him;
and he made for the river—tried to swim it. Run
out your men and bring them along to search the
bank "
He began to shout orders. I galloped through
the gate and hailed the sentry at the tete du pont.
“A spy " I shouted—“in the river. Keep your
eyes open if he makes the bank 1"
The fellow drew aside, and I clattered past him
with a dozen soldiers at my heels fastening their
belts and looking to their muskets as they ran.
Once over the bridge I headed to the right again
along the left bank of the river.
“This way ! This way ! Keep your eyes
open "
I was safe now. In the rapidly falling dusk,
still increasing the distance between us, I led them


THE TWO SOOUTS 159
down past the town and opposite the astonished
patrols on the meadow bank. Even then, when
I wheeled to the left and galloped for the high
road, it did not occur to them to suspect me, nor
shall I ever know when first it dawned on them
that they had been fooled. Certainly not a shot
was sent after me, and I settled down for a steady
gallop northward, pleasantly assured of being at
least twenty minutes ahead of any effective pursuit.
I was equally well assured of overtaking the
brigades, but my business, of course, was to avoid
and get ahead of them. And with this object,
after an hour's brisk going, I struck a hill-track
to the left which, as I remembered (having used
it on my journey from Badajoz), at first ran parallel
with the high road for two miles or more and
then cut two considerable loops which the road
followed along the valley bottom.
Recent rains had unloosed the springs on the
mountain side and set them chattering so loudly
that I must have reined up at least a score of times
before I detected the tramp of the brigades in the
darkness below. Of the cavalry, though I rode on
listening for at least another two miles, I could hear
no sound. Yet, as I argued, they could not be far
distant; and I pushed forward with heart elate at
the prospect of trumping Marmont's card, for I re-
membered the staff officer's words, “on the marshal's
return.” I knew that Marmont had been in Sabugal
no longer ago than mid-day; and irregular and


160 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
almost derogatory as it might be thought for a
marshal of France to be conducting a night surprise
against a half-disciplined horde of militia, I would
have wagered my month's pay that this was the
fact.
And then, with a slip of my horse on the stony
track, my good fortune suddenly ended, and smash
went my basket of eggs while I counted the chickens.
The poor brute with one false step came down
heavily on his near side. Quick as I was in
flinging my foot from the stirrup, I was just a
moment too late; I fell without injury to bone,
but his weight pinned me to earth by the boot,
and when I extricated myself it was with a wrenched
ankle. I managed to get him to his feet, but he
had either dislocated or so severely wrung his near
shoulder that he could scarcely walk a step. It
went to my heart to leave him there on the
mountain side, but it had to be done, for possibly
the fate of the garrison at Guarda depended on it.
I left him, therefore, and limped forward along
the track until it took an abrupt turn around a
shoulder of the mountain. Immediately below me,
unless I erred in my bearings, a desolate sheep
farm stood but a short distance above the high
road. Towards this I descended, and finding it
with no great difficulty, knocked gently at the
back door. To my surprise the shepherd opened
it almost at once. He was fully dressed in spite
of the lateness of the hour, and seemed greatly


THE TWO SCOUTS 161
perturbed ; nor, I can promise you, was he reassured
when, after giving him the signal arranged between
Trant and the peasantry, I followed him into his
kitchen and his eyes ſell on my French uniform.
But it was my turn to be perturbed when,
satisfied with my explanation, he informed me that
a body of cavalry had passed along the road towards
Guarda a good twenty minutes before. It was this
that had awakened him. “No infantry " I asked.
He shook his head positively. He had been
on the watch ever since. And this, while it jumped
with my own conviction that the infantry was at
least a mile behind me, gave me new hope. I
could not understand this straggling march, but it
was at least reasonable to suppose that Marmont's
horse would wait upon his foot before attempting
such a position as Guarda.
“I must push on," said I, and instructed him
where to seek for my unfortunate charger.
He walked down with me to the road. My
ankle pained me cruelly.
“See here," said he, “the señor had best let
me go with him. It is but six miles, and I can
recover the horse in the morning."
He was in earnest, and I consented. It was
fortunate that I did, or I might have dropped in
the road and been found or trodden on by the
French column behind us.
As it was, I broke down after the second mile.
The shepherd took me in his arms like a child
L


162 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
and found cover for me below a bank to the left
of the road beside the stream in the valley bottom.
I gave him my instructions and he hurried on.
Lying there in the darkness half an hour later
I heard the tramp of the brigade approaching, and
lay and listened while they went by.
I have often, in writing these memoirs, wished
I could be inventing instead of setting down facts.
With a little invention only, how I could have
rounded off this adventure But that is the way
with real events. All my surprising luck ended
with the casual stumble of a horse, and it was not
I who saved Guarda, nor even my messenger, but
Marmont's own incredible folly.
When my shepherd reached the foot of the
ascent to the fortress he heard a drum beaten
suddenly in the darkness above. This single drum
kept rattling (he told me) for at least a minute
before a score of others took up the alarm. There
had been no other warning, not so much as a single
shot fired; and even after the drums began there
was no considerable noise of musketry until the
day broke and the shepherd saw the French cavalry
retiring slowly down the hill scarcely 500 yards
ahead of the Portuguese militia, now pouring forth
from the gateway. These were at once checked
and formed up in front of the town, the French still
retiring slowly, with a handful of English dragoons
hanging on their heels. A few shots only were
exchanged, apparently without damage. The man


THE TWO SCOUTS 163
assured me that the whole 4oo or 500 troopers
passed within a hundred yards of him and so down
the slope and out of his sight.
What had happened was this: Marmont, im-
patient at the delay of his two brigades of infantry
(which by some bungle in the starting did not
reach the foot of the mountain before daylight),
had pushed his horsemen up the hill and managed
to cut off and silence the outposts without their
firing a shot. Encouraged by this he pressed on
to the very gates of the town, and had actually
entered the street when the alarm was sounded—
and by whom 2 By a single drummer whom
General Trant, distrusting the watchfulness of his
militia, had posted at his bedroom door Trant's
servant entering with his coffee at daybreak brought
a report that the French were at the gates; the
drummer plied his sticks like a madman; other
drummers all over the town caught up their sticks
and tattooed away without the least notion of
what was happening; the militia ran helter-skelter
to their alarm post; and the French marshal, who
might have carried the town at a single rush and
without losing a man, turned tail . Such are the
absurdities of war.
But in fancy I sometimes complete the picture
and see myself, in French staff officer's dress,
boldly riding up to the head of the French infantry
column and in the name of the Duke of Ragusa
commanding its general to halt. True, I did not


THE TWO SCOUTS 165
some forty dragoons (which Trant had begged from
Bacellar to help him in his proposed couſ, upon
Sabugal, and which had arrived from Celorico but
the day before) came galloping down through the
woods with a squadron of French cavalry in pursuit,
and charging in panic through the rear guard flung
everything into confusion. The day was a rainy
one, and the militia, finding their powder wet, ran
for the ford like sheep. The officers, however, kept
their heads and got the men over, though with the
loss of two hundred prisoners. Even so, Marmont
might have crossed the river on their flank and
galloped into Celorico ahead of them. As it was,
he halted and allowed the rabble to save themselves
in the town. While blaming his head I must do
justice to his heart and add that, finding what poor
creatures he had to deal with, he forbade his horse-
men to cut down the fugitives, and not a single man
was killed.
Foreseeing that Trant must sooner or later retreat
upon Celorico—though ignorant, of course, of what
was happening—I was actually crossing the river at
the time by a ford some four miles above, not in
the French staff officer's uniform which I had worn
out of Sabugal, but in an old jacket lent me by my
friend the shepherd. By the time I reached the
town Wilson had swept in his rabble and was plant-
ing his outposts, intending to resist and, if this
became impossible, to blow up the magazines before
retiring. Trant and Bacellar with the bulk of the


THE TWO SCOUTS 167
“Here is a nasty piece of news,” said he. “Your
namesake is a prisoner.”
“Where 2 "
“In Sabugal; but it seems he was brought there
from the main camp above Penamacor. Trant tells
me that you are not only namesakes but kins-
men. Would you care to question the messen-
ger ?”
The messenger was brought in—a peasant from
the Penamacor district. Out of his rambling tale
one or two certainties emerged. McNeill — the
celebrated McNeill—was a prisoner; he had been
taken on the 14th somewhere in the pass above
Penamacor, and conveyed to Sabugal to await the
French marshal's return. His servant was dead—
killed in trying to escape, or to help his master's
escape. So much I sifted out of the mass of in-
accuracies. For, as usual, the two McNeills had
managed to get mixed up in the story, a good half
of which spread itself into a highly coloured version
of my own escape from Sabugal on the evening of
the 13th ; how I had been arrested by a French
officer in a back shop in the heart of the town ;
how, as he overhauled my incriminating papers, I
had leapt on him with a knife and stabbed him to
the heart, while my servant did the same with his
orderly ; how, having possessed ourselves of their
clothes and horses, we had ridden boldly through
the gate and southward to join Lord Wellington;
and a great deal more equally veracious. As I


16S THE LAIRD’S LUCK
listened I began to understand how legends grow
and demigods are made.
It was flattering ; but without attempting to show
how I managed to disengage the facts, I will here
quote the plain account of them, sent to me long
afterwards by Captain Alan himself:—
Captain Alan McNeill's Statement.
“You wish, for use in your Memoirs, an account
of my capture in the month of April, 1811, and the
death of my faithful servant, José. I imagine this
does not include an account of all our movements
from the time you left us at Tammames (though
this, too, I shall be happy to send if desired), and
so I come at once to the 14th, the actual date of
the capture.
“The preceding night we had spent in the woods
below the great French camp, and perhaps a mile
above the mouth of the pass opening on Penamacor.
All through the previous day there had been consider-
able stir in the camp, and I believed a general
movement to be impending. I supposed Marmont
himself to be either with the main army or behind
in his headquarters at Sabugal, and within easy
distance. It never occurred to me — nor could it
have occurred to any reasonable man—to guess, upon
no evidence, that a marshal of France had gone
gallivanting with six thousand horse and two
brigades of infantry in chase of a handful of un-
drilled militia.


THE TWO SCOUTS 169
“My impression was that his move, if he made
one, would be a resolute descent through Penamacor
and upon Castello Branco. As a matter of fact,
although Victor Alten had abandoned that place to
be held by Lecor and his two thousand five hundred
militiamen, the French (constant to their policy of
frittering away opportunities) merely sent down two
detachments of cavalry to menace it, and I believe
that my capture was the only success which befel
them.
“Early on the 14th, and about an hour before
these troops (dragoons for the most part) began to
descend the pass, I had posted myself with José on
one of the lower ridges and (as I imagined) well
under cover of the dwarf oaks which grew thickly
there. They did indeed screen us admirably from
the squadrons I was watching, which passed unsus-
pecting within fifty yards of us. Believing them to
be but an advance guard, and that we should soon
hear the tramp of the main army, I kept my shelter
for another ten minutes, and was prepared to keep
it for another hour, when José—whose eyes missed
nothing—caught me by the arm and pointed high up
the hillside behind us.
“‘Scouts he whispered. “They have seen us,
sir '
“I glanced up and saw a pair of horsemen about
two gunshots away galloping down the uneven ridge
towards us, with about a dozen in a cluster close
behind. We leapt into saddle at once, made off


THE TWO SCOUTS 171
caps. For another ten minutes we baffled them,
and then crawling on hands and knees from a thicket
where we could hear our enemies not a dozen yards
away beating the bushes with the flat of their swords,
we came face to face with a second party advancing
straight upon us. I stood up straight and was on the
point of making a last desperate run for it when I
saw José sink on his face exhausted.
““Do not shoot ' ' I called to the officer. “We
have hurt no man, monsieur.” — For it is, as you
know, a fact that in our business I strongly disap-
prove of bloodshed, and in all our expeditions
together José had never done physical injury to a
living creature.
“But I was too late. The young officer fired,
and though the ball entered my poor servant's skull
and killed him on the instant, a hulking fellow beside
him had the savagery to complete what was finished
with a savage bayonet-thrust through the back.
“I stood still, fully expecting to be used no more
humanely, but the officer lowered his pistol and
curtly told me I was his prisoner. By this time
the fellows had come up from beating the thicket
behind and surrounded me. I therefore surrendered,
and was marched up the hill to the camp with poor
José's body at my heels borne by a couple of
soldiers.
“In all the hurry and heat of this chase I had
found time to wonder how our pursuers happened to
be so well posted. For a good fortnight and more


172 THE LAIRD'S LUCK
—in fact, since my escape across the ford at Huerta
—I could remember nothing that we had done to
give the French the slightest inkling that we were
watching them. or, indeed, were anywhere near.
And yet the affair suggested no casual piece of
scouting, but a deliberate plan to entrap somebody of
whose neighbourhood they were aware.
“Nor was this perplexity at all unravelled by the
general officer to whose tent they at once conveyed
me—a little round white-headed man, Ducrét by
name. He addressed me at once as Captain
McNeill, and seemed vastly elated at my cap-
ture.
“‘So we have you at last !” he said, regarding
me with a jocular smile and a head cocked on one
side, pretty much after the fashion of a thrush eyeing
a worm. “But, excuse me, after so much finesse it
was a blunder—hein 2'
“Now finesse is not a word which I should have
claimed at any time for my methods,” and I cast
about in my memory for the exploit to which he
could be alluding.
“‘It is the mistake of clever men,' continued
* Nore by MANUEL McNeill. — Here the captain, in his hurry
to pay me a compliment, does himself some injustice. Finesse, to be
sure, was not generally characteristic of his methods, but he used it
at times with amazing dexterity, as, for instance, the latter part of
this very adventure will prove, if I can ever prevail on him to narrate
it. On the whole I should say that he disapproved of finesse much
as he disapproved of swearing, but had a natural aptitude for
both.


THE TWO SOOUTS 173
General Ducrát sagely, “to undervalue their oppon-
ents; but surely after yesterday the commonest
prudence might have warned you to put the greatest
possible distance between yourself and Sabugal.'
“‘Sabugal 2' I echoed.
“‘Oh, my dear sir, we know. It was amusing—
eh !—the barber's shop 7 I assure you I laughed.
It was time for you to be taken ; for really, you
know, you could never have bettered it, and it is
not for an artist to wind up by repeating inferior
successes.'
“For a moment I thought the man daft. What
on earth (I asked myself) was this nonsense about
Sabugal and a barber's shop 2 I had not been near
Sabugal; as for the barber's shop it sounded to me
like a piece out of the childish rigmarole about
cutting a cabbage leaf to make an apple pie. Some
fleeting suspicion I may have had that here was
another affair in which you and I had again
managed to get confused ; but if so the suspicion
occurred only to be dismissed. A fortnight before
you had left me on your way south to Badajoz,
and you will own that to connect you with some-
thing which apparently had happened yesterday in
a barber's shop in Sabugal was to overstrain guessing.
Having nothing to say, I held my tongue; and
General Ducrot put on a more magisterial air. He
resented this British phlegm in a prisoner with whom
he had been graciously jocose, and fell back on his
national belief that we islanders, though occasionally


174 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
funny, are so by force of eccentricity rather than by
humour.
“I do not propose to deal with you myself, he
announced. “At one time and another, sir, you have
done our cause an infinity of mischief, and I prefer
that the Duke of Ragusa should decide your fate.
I shall send you therefore to Sabugal to await his
return.'
“This gave me my first intimation that Marmont
was neither in Sabugal nor with his main army.
That same afternoon they marched me off to the
town and set me under guard in a house next door to
his headquarters.
“Marmont returned from Celorico (if my mem-
ory serves me) on the afternoon of the 17th. I was
taken before him at once. He treated me with the
greatest apparent kindness, hoped I had suffered no
ill-usage, and wound up by inviting me to dinner. A
couple of hours later I was escorted to headquarters,
where, on entering the room where he received his
guests, I found him in conversation with a young
staff officer who wore his arm in a sling.
“The marshal turned to me at once, and very
gaily. “I understand," said he with a smile, “that I
have no need to introduce you to Captain de
Brissac.'
“I looked from him to the young officer in
some bewilderment, and saw in a moment that
Captain de Brissac was certainly not less bewildered
than I.


THE TWO SCOUTS - 175
“‘But, Monsieur le Maréchal—but this is not the
man l'
“‘Not the man 2'
“‘Most decidedly not. The man of whom I
spoke was dark ard not above middle height. He
spoke Portuguese like a native, and belonged to a
class altogether different. It would be impossible for
this gentleman to disguise himself so."
“For a moment Marmont seemed no less puzzled
than we. Then he broke out laughing again.
“‘Ah of course; that will have been Captain
McNeill's servant—the poor fellow who was killed,’
he added more gravely. “I am told, sir, that this
servant shared and furthered most of your adven-
tures 2'
“‘He did indeed, M. le Maréchal,' said I ; “but
excuse me if I am at a loss—'
“The Duke interrupted me by laughing again
and laying a hand on my shoulder as an orderly
announced dinner. ‘Rest easy, my friend, we know
of all your little tricks.' And at table he amused
himself and more and more befogged me by a precise
account of my haunts and movements—how I had
kept a barber's shop in Sabugal under his very nose;
what disguises I used (and you know that I never
used a disguise in my life); how my servant had
assisted M. de Brissac in a duel and afterwards
escaped in his uniform—with much more, and all of
it news to me. My astonished face merely excited
his laughter; he set it down to my eccentricity.


176 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
But after dinner, when M. de Brissac had taken his
departure, Marmont crossed his handsome legs and
came to business.
“‘Sir," said he, “I am going to pay you a compli-
ment. We have suffered heavily through your
cleverness; and although Lord Wellington may
choose to call you a scouting officer, you must be
aware (and will forgive me for reminding you) that I
might well be excused for calling you by an uglier
name.’
“You may be sure I did not like this. You may
also remember how at Huerta on the occasion of our
first meeting the question of disguise came up
between us, and how I assured you that to me,
with my Scottish face and accent, a disguise would
be worse than useless. Well, that was true enough
so far as it went; but I fear that in my anxiety not
to offend your feelings I spoke less than the whole
truth, for I have always held that in our business as
soon as a man resorts to disguise his work ceases to
be legitimate scouting. It may be no less justifiable
and even more useful, but it is no longer scouting. I
admit the distinction to be a nice one ; * and I have
sometimes asked myself, when covering my uniform
with my dark riding cloak, ‘What, after all, is a
disguise 2' Nevertheless, I had always observed it,
and standing before Marmont now in His Majesty's
* Note by MANUEL McNeill.—I should think so, indeed To
me the moral difference, say, between hiding in a truss of hay and
hiding under a wig is not worth discussing outside a seminary.


THE TWO SCOUTS 177
scarlet, which (as I might have told him) I had
never discarded either to further a plan or to avoid
a danger, I put some constraint on myself to listen in
silence on the merest off-chance that my silence
might help an affair with which the marshal assumed
my perfect acquaintance, while I could only surmise
that somehow you were mixed up in it, and therefore
presumably it aimed at some advantage to our
arms. I did keep silence, however, though without
so much as a bow to signify that I assented.
“But you are a gentleman, Marmont continued,
‘and I propose to treat you as one. You will be
sent in safe custody to France, and beyond this
I propose to take no revenge on you—but upon
one condition.'
“I waited.
“‘The condition is you give me your parole
that on your journey through Spain to France you
not only make no effort to escape, but will not
consent to be rescued should the attempt be made
by any of the partidas in hope of reward.'
“I considered this for a moment. ‘That is not
a small thing to require, since Wellington may
be reasonably expected to offer a round price for
my recapture.'
“The marshal laughed not too pleasantly.
‘Truly," said he, “I have heard that Scotsmen are
hard bargainers. But considering that I could have
you shot out of hand for a spy, I believed I was offer-
ing you generous terms.'
M


178 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“Well that was unfortunately true; so after a
few seconds' pause I answered, “Monsieur le Duc,
by imposing these terms on me you at any rate pay
me a handsome compliment. I accept them and
give you my word.'
“Upon this parole, then, on the 19th I began my
journey towards France and captivity, escorted only
by M. Gérard, a young lieutenant of dragoons, and one
trooper. The rest you know."
(Conclusion of Captain McNeill's Statement.)
As I have said, the bare news of my kinsman's
capture and of poor José's death reached me at
Celorico on the 16th late in the evening. Knowing
that Lord Wellington was by this time well on his
way northward, and believing that for more than one
reason the captain's fate would concern him deeply—
feeling, moreover, some compunction at the toils I
had all innocently helped to wind about an honest
man—I at once sought and obtained leave from
General Wilson to ride southward to meet the
Commander-in-Chief with the tidings, and if necessary
solicit his help in a rescue. The captain (on this
point the messenger was precise) had been taken to
Sabugal to await Marmont's return. I did not know
that Marmont was actually at that moment on his
way thither, but I thought him at least likely to be
returning very soon. To be sure he might decide to
shoot Captain Alan out of hand. My recent per-


THE TWO SCOUTS 179
formances gave him a colourable excuse, unless the
prisoner could dissociate himself from these and
prove an alibi, which under the circumstances and
without the help of José's evidence he might find
difficult enough. I built, however, some faith on Mar-
mont's known humanity, of which in his pursuit of
the militia he had just given striking proof. The
longer I weighed the chances the more certain I
became that Marmont would treat him as an
ordinary prisoner of war and send him up to France
under escort.
Why, then (the reader may ask), did I lose time
in seeking Lord Wellington instead of making my
way at once to the north and doing my best to incite
the partidas to attempt a rescue somewhere on the
road north of Burgos, or even between Valladolid and
Burgos ? My answer is that such an affair would
certainly turn on the question of money. The French
held the road right away to the Pyrenees, not so
strongly perhaps as to forbid hope, but strongly
enough to make an attempt upon it risky in the
extreme. The guerilla bands of Mendizabal, Mina,
and Merino were kept busy by Generals Bonnet and
Abbé; for a big convoy they might be counted on to
exert themselves, but for a single prisoner they as
certainly had no time to spare without the incitement
of such a reward as only the Commander-in-Chief
could offer.
Accordingly I made my way south to Castello
Branco and reached it on the 18th, to find Lord


180 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
Wellington arrived there and making ready to push
on as soon as overtaken by the bulk of his troops. I
had always supposed him to cherish a peculiar liking
for my kinsman, but was fairly astonished by the
emotion he showed.
“Rescued 2 Of course he must be rescued 1" He
broke off to use (I must confess) some very strong
words upon Trant's design against Marmont and the
tomfoolery, as he called it, which had taken me into
Sabugal, and left a cloud of suspicion hanging over
“the best scouting officer in my service; the only
man of the lot, sir, who knows his business." Lord
Wellington could, when he lost his temper, be
singularly unjust. I strove to point out that my
“tomfoolery” in Sabugal had as a matter of fact
put a stop to the very scheme of General Trant's
which he condemned. He cut me short by asking if
I proposed to argue with him.
“Ride back, sir. Choose the particular black-
guard who can effect your purpose, and inform him
that on the day he rescues Captain McNeill I am his
debtor for twelve thousand francs.”
The speech was ungracious enough, but the price
more than I had dared to hope for. Feeling pretty
sure that in his lordship's temper a word of thanks
would merely invite him to consign my several
members to perdition, I bowed and left him.
Twenty minutes later I was on the road and gallop-
ping north again. -
Before starting from Celorico I had sent the


THE TWO SCOUTS 181
peasant who brought news of Captain Alan's plight
back to Sabugal with instructions to discover what
more he could, and bring his report to Bellomonte on
my northward road not later than the 20th. On the
afternoon of the 19th when I rode into that place I
could hear no news of him. But late in the evening
he arrived with word that “the great McNeill” had
been sent off under escort towards Salamanca. Of
the strength of that escort he could tell me nothing,
and had very wisely not stayed to inquire; he had
picked up the news from camp gossip and brought it
at once, rightly judging that time was more valuable
to me just now than detailed information.
His news was doubly cheering ; it assured me that
my kinsman still lived, and also that by riding to
secure Lord Wellington's help I had not missed my
opportunity. Yet there was need to hurry, for I had
not only to fetch a long circuit by difficult paths
before striking the road to the Pyrenees, I had to
find the partidas, persuade them, and get them on to
the road ahead of their quarry.
I need not describe my journey at length. I rode
by Guarda, Almeida, Ledesma, keeping to the north
of the main road, and travelling, not by day only but
through the better part of each night. Beyond the
ford of Tordesillas, left for the while unguarded, I was
in country where at any moment I might stumble on
the gueyula bands, or at least get news of them. The
chiefs most likely for my purpose were “the three
M's" –the curate Merino, Mina, and Mendizabal.


THE TWO SCOUTS 183
for months he had supported his troops on English
money conveyed through Sir Howard Douglas, this
ignorant fellow snapped his dirty fingers at the men-
tion of Wellington, and, flushed with a casual triumph,
had nothing but contempt for the allied troops who
were saving his country while he and his like wasted
themselves on futile raids. I can see him now as he
sat smoking and dangling his legs on a rock in the
midst of his unwashed staff officers.
“For an Englishman,” he scoffed, “I won't say
but twelve thousand francs is a high price to pay.
Unfortunately, it is no price for my troops to earn.
Here am I expecting at any moment a convoy which
is due from the Valencia side, and Lord Wellington
asks me to waste my men and miss my chance
for the sake of a single redcoat. He must be a
fool."
Said I, nettled, “For a Spaniard you have
certainly acquired a rare suit of manners. But may
I suggest that their rarity will scarcely prove worth
the cost when your answer comes to Lord Welling-
ton's ears."
He glared at me for a moment, during which no
doubt he weighed the temptation of shooting me
against the probable risk. Then his features relaxed
into a grin, and withdrawing the chewed cigarette
from his teeth he spat very deliberately on the
ground. “The interview,” he announced, “is
ended."
I took my way down the hillside with no light


184 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
heart. I had travelled far; my nerves were raw
with lack of sleep. I judged myself at least a day
ahead of any convoy with which the captain could
be travelling, even though it had moved with the
minimum of delay. But where in the next two
days was I to find the help which Mina had
refused ? To be sure I had caught up at Sedano
a flying rumour that the curate Merino had eluded
Bonnet, broken out of the Asturias, and was again
menacing the road above Burgos. I had come across
no sign of him on my way, yet could hit on no more
hopeful course than to hark back along the road on
the chance of striking the trail of a man who as likely
as not was a hundred miles away.
It was about nine in the morning when Mina gave
me his answer, and at three in the afternoon I was
scanning the road towards Miranda de Ebro from a
hill about a mile beyond Arinez (the same hill, in
fact, where General Gazan's centre lay little more
than a year afterwards on the morning of the battle
of Vittoria). I had been scanning the road perhaps
for ten minutes when my heart gave a jump and my
hand, I am not ashamed to confess, shook on the
small telescope. To the south-west, between me
and Nanclares, three horsemen were advancing at
a walk, and the rider in the middle wore a scarlet
jacket.
It took me some seconds to get my telescope
steady enough for a second look, and with that I
wheeled my horse, struck spur and posted back


186 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
patriotism I should not have troubled to appeal
a second time.”
He warned me to keep a civil tongue in my head;
but I knew my man, and within half-an-hour I rode
out of his camp with two of his choicest ruffians,
one beside me and one ahead to guide me through
the darkness.
Now at Vittoria the road towards Irun and the
frontier runs almost due north for some distance and
then bends about in a rough arc towards the east.
Another road runs almost due east from Vittoria to
Pamplona. The first road would certainly be taken
by my kinsman and his escort: Mina's camp lay
above the second : but, a little way beyond, at
Alsasua, a third road of about five leagues joins the
two, and by this short cut I was certain of heading
off our quarry.
There was no call to hurry. If, as I judged
likely, the party meant to sleep the night at Vittoria,
I had almost twenty-four hours in hand. So we rode
warily, on the look-out for French vedettes, and
reaching Beasain a little before two in the morning
took up a comfortable position on the hillside above
the junction of the roads.
At dawn we shifted into better shelter — a
shepherd's hut, dilapidated and roofless—and eked
out a long day with tobacco and a greasy pack
of cards. A few bullock carts passed along the
road below us, the most of them bound west-
ward, and perhaps half-a-dozen peasants on mule-


THE TWO SOOUTS 187
back. At about four in the afternoon a French
patrol trotted by. As the evening drew on I began
to feel anxious.
A little before sunset I sent off one of my ruffians
—Alonso something-or-other (I forget his magnifi-
cent surname)—to scout along the road. He had
been gone half-an-hour when his fellow, Juan Galle-
gas, flung down his cards in the dusk—the more
readily perhaps because he held a weak hand—and
pricked up his ears.
“Horses 1" he whispered, and after a pause
nodded confidently. “Three horses 1"
We picked up our muskets and crept down to-
wards the road. Half way down we met Alonso
ascending with the news. Yes, there were three
horsemen on this side of Zumarraga and coming at a
trot. One of them wore a red coat.
“Be careful, then, how you pick them off. The
man in red must not be hurt; the money depends on
that.”
They nodded. Night was now falling fast, yet
not so fast but that as the horsemen came up I could
distinguish Captain Alan. He was riding on the left
beside the young French officer, the orderly about
six yards behind. As they came abreast of us Juan
let fly, and the orderly's horse pitched forward at
once and fell, flinging his man, who struck the road
and lay either stunned or dead. At the noise of the
report the other horses shied violently and separated,
thus giving us our chance without danger to the


188 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
prisoner. Alonso and I fired together, and rushed
out upon the officer, who groaned in the act of
wheeling upon us. One of our bullets had shattered
his sword arm. Within the minute we had him
prisoner, the captain not helping us at all.
“What is this f" he demanded in Spanish, peering
at me out of the dusk and breaking off to quiet his
frightened horse. “What is this, and who are
you ?”
“Well, it looks like a rescue,” said I; “and I am
your kinsman, Manus McNeill, and have been at
some pains to effect it."
“You !” he peered at me. “I thank you," said he,
“but you have done a bad evening's work. I am on
parole, as a man so clever as you might have guessed
by the size of my escort.”
“We will talk of that later,” I answered, and sent
Juan and Alonso off to examine the fallen trooper.
“Meanwhile the man here has fainted. Oblige me
by helping him a little way up the hill, or by lead-
ing his horse while I carry him. The road here is
not healthy.”
Captain Alan followed in silence while I bore my
burden up to the hut. Having tethered the horses
outside, he entered and stood above me while I lit a
lantern and examined the young officer's wound.
“Nothing serious,” I announced, “a fracture of
the forearm and maybe a splintered bone. I can fix
this up in no time."
“You had better leave it to me and run,” my


THE TWO SCOUTS 189
kinsman answered. “This M. Gérard is an amiable
young man and a friend of mine, and I charge myself
to see him safe to Tolosa to-night. What are you
doing 2"
“Searching for his papers."
“I forbid it.”
“Alain mhic Neill,” said I, “you are not yet the
head of our clan." And I broke the seal of a letter
addressed to the Governor of Bayonne. “Ah! I
thought as much,” I added, having glanced over
the missive. “It seems, my dear kinsman, that
my knowledge of the Duke of Ragusa goes a bit
deeper than yours. Listen to this: ‘The prisoner I
send you here with is one Captain McNeill, a spy and
a dangerous one, who has done infinite mischief to
our arms. I have not executed him on the spot out
of respect to something resembling an uniform which
he wears. But I desire you to place him at once in
irons and send him up to Paris, where he will doubt-
less suffer as he deserves' . . .”
Captain Alan took the paper from me and perused
it slowly, biting his upper lip the while. “This is
very black treachery,” said he.
“It acquits you, at any rate."
“Of my parole 2" He pondered for a moment;
then, “I cannot see that it does," he said. “If the
Duke of Ragusa chooses to break an implied bond
with me it does not follow that I can break an
explicit promise to him."
“No 2 Well, I should have thought it did.”


190 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
At once my kinsman put on that stiff pedantic
tone which had irritated me at Huerta. “I venture
to think,” said he, “that no McNeill would say so
unless he had been corrupted by traffic with the
Scarlet Woman.”
“Scarlet grandmother ' " I broke out. “You seem
to forget that I have ridden a hundred leagues to
effect this rescue, for which, by the way, Lord
Wellington offers twelve thousand francs. I have
promised them to the biggest scoundrel in Spain; but
because he happens to be even a bigger scoundrel
than the Duke of Ragusa, must I break my bond
with him and let you go to be shot for the sake
of your silly punctilio 2"
I spoke with heat, and bent over the groaning
officer. My kinsman rubbed his chin. “What you
say,” he replied, “demands a somewhat complicated
answer, or rather a series of answers. In the first
place, I thank you sincerely for what you have done,
and not the less sincerely because I am going to
nullify it. I shall, perhaps, not cheat myself by
believing that a clansman's spirit went some way to
help your zeal”—here I might well have blushed in
truth, for it had not helped my zeal a peseta. “I
thank Lord Wellington, too, for the extravagant price
he has set upon my services, and I beg you to convey
my gratitude to him. As for being shot, I might
answer that my parole extends only to the Pyrenees;
but I consider myself to have extended it tacitly to
my young friend here, who has treated me with all


THE TWO SCOUTS 191
possible consideration on the journey; and I shall go
to Bayonne.”
He spoke quietly and in the most matter-of-fact
voice. But I have often thought since of his words;
and often when I call up the figure of Marmont in
exile at Venice, where, as he strode gloomily along
the Riva dei Schiavoni, the very street urchins pointed
and cried after him, “There goes the man who
betrayed Napoleon " I call up and contrast with it
the figure of this humble gentleman of Scotland in
the lonely hut declining simply and without parade
to buy his life at the expense of a scruple of con-
science.
“But,” he continued, “I fancy I may persuade
M. Gérard at least to delay the delivery of that letter,
in which case I see my way at least to a chance of
escape. For the rest, these partidas have been
promised twelve thousand francs for a service which
they have duly rendered. My patrimony is not a
rich one, but I can promise that this sum, whether I
escape or not, shall be as duly paid. Hush | " he
ended, as I sprang to my feet, and Juan and Alonso
appeared in the doorway supporting the trooper,
who had only been stunned after all.
“We did not care to kill him," Juan explained
blandly, “until we had the señor's orders.”
“You did rightly,” I answered, and glanced at my
kinsman. His jaw was set. I pulled out a couple of
gold pieces for each. “An advance on your earnings,”
said I. “My orders are that you leave the trooper


192 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
here with me, ride back instantly to your chief,
report that your work has been well done and
successfully, and the money for which he holds an
order shall be forwarded as soon as I return and
report to Lord Wellington in Beira."


193
DARFET's VENGEANCE
THE STORY IS TOLD BY DOM BARTHOLOMEW
PERESTRELLO, GOVERNOR OF THE ISLAND
OF PORTO SANTO
I
IT was on the fifteenth day of August, 1428, and
about six o'clock in the morning, that while taking
the air on the seaward side of my house at Porto
Santo, as my custom was after breaking fast, I
caught sight of a pinnace about two leagues distant,
and making for the island.
I daresay it is commonly known how I came
to the governance of Porto Santo, to hold it and
pass it on to my son Bartholomew; how I sailed
to it in the year 1420 in company with the two
honourable captains John Gonsalvez Zarco and
Tristram Vaz; and what the compact was which
we made between us, whereby on reaching Porto
Santo these two left me behind and passed on to
discover the greater island of Madeira. And many
can tell with greater or less certainty of our old
pilot, the Spaniard Morales, and how he learned
of such an island in his captivity on the Barbary
coast. Of all this you shall hear, and perhaps more
accurately, when I come to my meeting with the
Englishman. But I shall tell first of the island
itself, and what were my hopes of it on the morning
when I sighted his pinnace. -
N


D’ARFET'S VENGEANCE 197
ance, yet—as my duty was sent down word to
the guard to challenge her business before admitting
her ; and a little before nine o'clock I put on my
coat and walked down to the haven to look after this
with my own eyes. I arrived almost at the moment
when she entered and her crew, with sail partly
lowered, rounded her very cleverly up in the wind.
The guard-boat put off at once and boarded her;
and by-and-by came back with word that the pin-
nace was English (which by this time I had guessed),
by name the George of Bristol, and owned by an
Englishman of quality, who, by reason of his extreme
age, desired of my courtesy that I would come on
board and confer with him. This at first I was
unwilling to risk : but seeing her moored well under
the five guns of our fort, and her men so far advanced
with the furling of her big sail that no sudden stroke
of treachery could be attempted except to her de-
struction, I sent word to the gunners to keep a brisk
look-out, and stepping into the boat was pulled
alongside.
At the head of the ladder there met me an aged
gentleman, lean and bald and wrinkled, with narrow
eyes and a skin like clear vellum. For all the heat
of the day he wore a furred cloak which reached
to his knees; also a thin gold chain around his
neck : and this scrag neck and the bald head above
it stood out from his fur collar as they had been a
vulture's. By his dress and the embroidered bag at
his girdle, and the clasps of his furred shoes, I made


198 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
no doubt he was a rich man ; and he leaned on an
ebony staff or wand capped with a pretty device of
ivory and gold.
He stood thus, greeting me with as many bobs of
the head as a bird makes when pecking an apple ;
and at first he poured out a string of salutations (I
suppose) in English, a language with which I have
no familiarity. This he perceived after a moment,
and seemed not a little vexed ; but covering himself
and turning his back, shuffled off to a door under the
poop.
“Martin ' " he called in a high, broken voice.
“Martin l’’
A little man of my own country, very yellow and
foxy, came running out, and the pair talked together
for a moment before advancing towards me.
“Your Excellency,” the interpreter began, “this
is a gentleman of England who desires that you will
dine with him to-day. His name is Master Thomas
d'Arſet, and he has some questions to put to you, of
your country, in private.”
“D’Arſet 2 " I mused: and as my brows went up
at the name I caught the old gentleman watching me
with an eye which was sharp enough within its
dulled rim. “Will you answer that I am at his
service, but on the one condition that he comes
ashore and dines with me.” -
When this was reported Master d'Arſet at first
would have none of it, but rapped his staff on the
desk and raised a score of objections in his scolding


D'ARFET'S VENGEANCE 199
voice. Since I could understand none of them, I
added very firmly that it was my rule; that he
could be carried up to my house on a litter without
an ache of his bones; and, in short, that I must
either have his promise or leave the ship.
He would have persisted, I doubt not; but it is
ill disputing through an interpreter, and he ended
by giving way with a very poor grace. So ashore
we rowed him with the man Martin, and two of my
guard conveyed him up the hill in a litter, on which
he sat for all the world like a peevish cross'd child.
In my great airy dining-room he seemed to cool
down and pick up his better humour by degrees.
He spoke but little during the meal, and that little
was mainly addressed to Martin, who stood behind
his chair: but I saw his eyes travelling around the
panelled walls and studying the portraits, the furni-
ture, the neat table, the many comforts which it
clearly astonished him to find on this forsaken
island. Also he as clearly approved of the food
and of my wine of Malmsey. Now and then he
would steal a look at my wife Beatrix, or at one
or the other of my three daughters, and again
gaze out at the sea beyond the open window, as
though trying to piece it all together into one pic-
ture.
But it was not until the womenfolk had risen
and retired that he unlocked his thoughts to me.
And I hold even now that his first question was a
curious one.


200 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“Dom Bartholomew Perestrello, are you a happy
man 2"
Had it come from his own lips it might have
found me better prepared : but popped at me through
the mouth of an interpreter, a servant who (for all
his face told) might have been handing it on a dish,
his question threw me out of my bearings.
“Well, Sir," I found myself answering, “I hope
you see that I have much to thank God for.” And
while this was being reported to him I recalled with
a twinge my dejected thoughts of the morning. “I
have made many mistakes,” I began again.
But without seeming to hear, Master d'Arfet
began to dictate to Martin, who, after a polite pause
to give me time to finish if I cared to, translated in
his turn.
“I have told you my name. It is Thomas
d'Arfet, and I come from Bristol. You have heard
my name before ?”
I nodded, keeping my eyes on his.
“I also have heard of you, and of the two cap-
tains in whose company you discovered these islands."
I nodded again. “ Their names,” said I, “are
Gonsalvez Zarco and Tristram Vaz. You may visit
them, if you please, on the greater island, which
they govern between them.”
He bent his head. “The ſame of your discovery,
Sir, reached England some years ago. I heard at
the time, and paid it just so much heed as one
does pay to the like news—just so much and no


D'ARFET'S VENGEANCE 201
more. The manner of your discovery of the greater
island came to my ears less than a twelvemonth
ago, and then but in rumours and broken hints.
Yet here am I, close on my eightieth year, voyaging
more than half across the world to put those broken
hints together and resolve my doubts. Tell me"—
he leaned forward over the table, peering eagerly
into my eyes—“there was a tale concerning the
island—concerning a former discovery—"
“Yes,” said I, as he broke off, his eyes still
searching mine, “there was a tale concerning the
island.”
“Brought to you by a Spanish pilot, who had
picked it up on the Barbary coast 2"
“You have heard correctly," said I. “The pilot's
name was Morales."
“Well, it is to hear that tale that I have travelled
across the world to visit you.”
“Ah, but forgive me, Sir ' " I poured out another
glassful of wine, drew up my chair, rested both elbows
on the table, and looked at him over my folded
hands, “You must first satisfy me what reason you
have for asking."
“My name is Thomas d'Arſet,” he said.
“I do not forget it: but maybe I should rather
have said—What aim you have in asking. I ought
first to know that, methinks."
In his impatience he would have leapt from his
chair had his old limbs allowed. Pressing the table
with white finger-tips, he sputtered some angry words


202 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
of English, and then fell back on the interpreter
Martin, who from first to last wore a countenance
fixed like a mask.
“Mother of Heaven, Sir You see me here, a
man of eighty, broken of wind and limb, palsied,
with one foot in the grave : you know what it
costs to fit out and victual a ship for a voyage:
you know as well as any man, and far better than
I, the perils of these infernal seas. I brave those
perils, undergo those charges, drag my old limbs
these thousands of miles from the vault where they
are due to rest—and you ask me if I have any
reason for coming !”
“Not at all,” I answered, “I perceive rather
that you must have an extraordinarily strong reason
—a reason or a purpose clean beyond my power of
guessing. And that is just why I wish to hear it.”
“Men of my age—” he began, but I stopped
Martin's translation midway.
“Men of your age, Sir, do not threaten the peace
of such islands as these. Men of your age do not
commonly nurse dangerous schemes. All that I
can well believe. Men of your age, as you say,
do not chase a wild goose so far from their chimney-
side. But men of your age are also wise enough to
know that governors of colonies—ay,” for my words
were being interpreted to him a dozen at a time, and
I saw the sneer grow on his face, “even of so poor a
colony as this—do not give up even a small secret to
the very first questioner."


D'ARFET'S VENGEANOE 203
“But the secret is one no longer. Even in
England I had word of it.”
“And your presence here,” said I, “is proof
enough that you learned less than you wanted."
He drew his brows together over his narrow eyes.
I think what first set me against the man was the
look of those eyes, at once malevolent and petty.
You may see the like in any man completely un-
generous. Also the bald skin upon his skull was
drawn extremely tight, while the flesh dropped in
folds about his neck and under his lean chaps, and
the longer I pondered this the more distasteful I
found him.
“You forget, Sir,” said he—and while Martin
translated he still seemed to chew the words—“the
story is not known to you only. I can yet seek out
the pilot himself.”
“Morales 2 He is dead these three years.”
“Your friends, then, upon the greater island.
Failing them, I can yet put back to Lagos and
appeal to the Infante himself—for doubtless he
knows. Time is nothing to me now.” He sat his
chin obstinately, and then, not without nobility,
pushed his glass from him and stood up. “Sir,"
said he, “I began by asking if you were a happy
man. I am a most unhappy one, and (I will con-
fess) the unhappier since you have made it clear
that you cannot or will not understand me. In my
youth a great wrong was done me. You know my
name, and you guess what that wrong was : but


204 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
you ask yourself, ‘Is it possible this old man re-
members, after sixty years 2 Sir, it is possible,
nay, certain ; because I have never for an hour
forgotten. You tell yourself, ‘It cannot be this
only : there must be something behind.' There is
nothing behind; nothing. I am the Thomas d'Arſet
whose wife betrayed him just sixty years ago; that,
and no more. I come on no State errand, Il I
have no son, no daughter; I never, to my know-
ledge, possessed a friend. I trusted a woman, and
she poisoned the world for me. I acknowledge in
return a duty to no man but myself; I have voyaged
thus far out of that duty. You, Sir, have thought
it fitter to baffle than to aid me—well and good.
But by the Christ above us I will follow that duty
out; and, at the worst, death, when it comes, shall
find me pursuing it !”
He spoke this with a passion of voice which I
admired before his man began to interpret: and
even when I heard it repeated in level Portuguese,
and had time to digest it and extract its monstrous
selfishness, I could look at him with compassion,
almost with respect. His cheeks had lost their flush
almost as rapidly as they had taken it on, and he
stood awkwardly pulling at his long bony fingers
until the joints cracked.
“Be seated, Sir," said I. “It is clear to me that
I must be a far happier man than I considered myself
only this morning, since I find nothing in myself
which, under any usage of God, could drive me


D'ARFET'S VENGEANCE 205
on such a pursuit as yours would seem to be. I
may perhaps, without hypocrisy, thank God that I
cannot understand you. But this, at any rate, is
clear—that you seek only a private satisfaction : and
although I cannot tell you the story here and now,
something I will promise. As soon as you please
I will sail with you to the greater island, and we
will call together on Count Zarco. In his keeping
lies one of the two copies of Morales' story as we
took it down from his lips at Sagres, or, rather,
compiled it after much questioning. It shall be
for the Count to produce or withhold it, as he may
decide. He is a just man, and neither one way nor
the other will I attempt to sway him.”
Master d'Arfet considered for a while. Then
said he, “I thank you : but will you sail with me
in my pinnace or in your own 2"
“In my own," said I, “as I suspect you will
choose to go in yours. I promise we shall outsail
you ; but I promise also to await your arriving, and
give the Count his free choice. If you knew him,” I
added, “you would know such a promise to be
superfluous."
II
My own pinnace arrived in sight of Funchal two
mornings later, and a little after sunrise. We had
outsailed the Englishman, as I promised, and lay
off-and-on for more than two hours before he came


206 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
up with us. I knew that Count Zarco would be
sitting at this time in the sunshine before his house
and above the fennel plain, hearing complaints and
administering justice : I knew, moreover, that he
would recognise my pinnace at once : and from
time to time I laughed to myself to think how this
behaviour of ours must be puzzling my old friend.
Therefore I was not surprised to find him already
arrived at the quay when we landed ; with a groom
at a little distance holding his magnificent black
stallion. For I must tell you that my friend was
ever, and is to this day, a big man in all his ways—
big of stature, big of voice, big of heart, and big to
lordliness in his notions of becoming display. None
but Zarco would have chosen for his title, “Count
of the Chamber of the Wolves,” deriving it from a
cave where his men had started a herd of sea-calves
on his first landing and taking seizin of the island.
And the black stallion he rode when another would
have been content with a mule; and the spray of
fennel in his hat; and the ribbon, without which he
never appeared among his dependents; were all a
part of his large nature, which was guileless and
simple withal as any child's.
Now, for all my dislike, I had found the old
Englishman a person of Some dignity and command :
but it was wonderful how, in Zarco's presence, he
shrank to a withered creature, a mere applejack
without juice or savour. The man (I could see)
was eager to get to business at once, and could well


208 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“If it please you,” said I, and this being conveyed
to Master d'Arſet, while Zarco sent a servant with
his keys for the roll of parchment, we drew up our
chairs to the table, and I began.
“It was in September 1419,” said I, “when the
two captains, John Gonsalvez Zarco and Tristram
Vaz, returned to Lagos from their first adventure in
these seas. I was an equerry of our master, the
Infante Henry, at that time, and busy with him in
rebuilding and enlarging the old arsenal on the
neck of Cape Sagres; whence, by his wisdom, so
many expeditions have been sent forth since to
magnify God and increase the knowledge of
mankind.
“We had built already the chapel and the library,
with its map-room, and the Prince and I were busy
there together, on the plans for his observatory, in
the late afternoon when the caravels were sighted :
and the news being brought, his Highness left me at
work while he rode down to the port to receive his
captains. I was still working by lamplight in the
map-room when he returned, bringing them and a
third man, the old Spaniard Morales.
“Seating himself at the table, he bade me leave
my plans, draw my chair over, and take notes in
writing of the captains' report. Zarco told the story
—he being first in command, and Tristram Vaz a
silent man, then and always: and save for a question
here and there, the Prince listened without comment,


210 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
fawning carriage of a figure so venerable : but when
Tristram Vaz drew off the decent doublet he wore
and displayed his back, we wondered no longer.
Zarco pushed him into a chair and held a lamp
while the Prince examined the man's right foot,
where an ankle-ring had bitten it so that to his
death (although it scarely hindered his walking)
the very bone showed itself naked between the healed
edges of the wound.
“Moreover, when Zarco persuaded him to talk
in Spanish, it was some while before we could under-
stand more than a word or two here and there.
The man had spent close upon thirty years in
captivity, and his native speech had all but dried
up within him. Also he had no longer any thought
of difference between his own country and another:
it was enough to be among Christians again: nor
could we for awhile disengage that which was or
moment from the rambling nonsense with which
he wrapped it about. He, poor man was con-
cerned chiefly with his own sufferings, while we
were listening for our advantage : yet as Christians
we forbore while he muttered on, and when a word
or two fell from him which might be of service, we
recalled him to them (I believe) as gently as we
could.
“Well, the chaff being sifted away, the grain
came to this : His name was Morales, his birth-
place Cadiz, his calling that of pilot : he had
fallen (as I have said) into the hands of the Moors


D'ARFET'S VENGEANCE 211
about thirty years before : and at Azamor, or a
little inland, he had made acquaintance with a
fellow-prisoner, an Englishman, by name Roger
Prince, or Prance. This man had spent the best
part of his life in captivity, and at one time had
changed his faith to get better usage: but his first
master dying at a great age, he passed to another,
who cruelly ill-treated him, and under whose
abominable punishments he quickly sank. He
lay, indeed, at the point of death when Morales
happened upon him. Upon some small act of
kindness such as one slave may do for another,
the two had made friends: and thus Morales came
to hear the poor Englishman's story.”
Here I broke off and nodded to the Count, who
called for a lamp. And so for a few minutes we
all sat without speech in the twilight, the room
silent save for the cracking of Master d'Arſet's
knuckles. When at length the lamp arrived, Zarco
trimmed it carefully, unfolded his parchment, spread
it on the table, and began to read very deliberately
in his rolling voice, pausing and looking up between
the sentences while the man Martin translated—
“This is the statement made to me by Roger
Prance, the Englishman, Anno MCCCCIX., at
various times in the month before he died.
“He said: My name is Roger Prance. I come
from St. Lawrence on the River Jo”, in England.
* Wick St. Lawrence on the Yeo, in Somerset.


D'ARFET'S VENGEANCE 213
sently cuts the light hawser we rode by ; and so
we dropped down upon the tide and were out to
sea by morning.
“All this time we knew nothing of our two
passengers; nor until we were past the Land's
End did they come on deck. But when they did,
it was hand in hand and as lovers; the man a
mere youngster, straight, and gentle in feature and
dress, but she the loveliest lady your eyes ever
looked upon. One of our company, Will Tamblyn,
knew her at once—as who would not that had once
seen her ?—and he cried out with an oath that she
was Mistress d'Arſet, but newly married to a rich
man a little to the north of Bristol. Afterwards,
when Master Gervase found that we knew so
much, he made no difficulty to tell us more ; as
that the name of her lover was Robert Machin or
Macham, a youth of good family, and that she it
was who had hired the ship, being an heiress in her
own right.
“We held southward after clearing the land;
with intent, as I suppose, to make one of the
Breton ports. But about six leagues from the
French coast a tempest overtook us from the
north-east and drove us beyond Channel, and
lasted with fury for twelve days, all of which time
we ran before it, until on the fourteenth day we
sighted land where never we looked to find any,
and came to a large island, thickly wooded, with
high mountains in the midst of it.


214 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“Coasting this island we soon arrived off a pretty
deep bay, lined with cedar-trees: and here Master
Machin had the boat lowered and bore his mistress
to land : for the voyage had crazed her, and plainly
her time for this world was not long. Six of us
went with them in the boat, the rest staying by
the ship, which was anchored not a mile from
shore. There we made for the poor lady a couch
of cedar-boughs with a spare sail for awning, and
her lover sat beside her for two nights and a day,
holding of her hand and talking with her, and
wiping her lips or holding the cup to them when
she moaned in her thirst. But at dawn of the second
day she died.
“Then we, who slept on the beach at a little
distance, being waked by his terrible cry, looked
up and supposed he had called out for the loss of
the ship. Because the traitors on board of her,
considering how that they had the lady's wealth,
had weighed or slipped anchor in the night (for
certainly there was not wind enough to drag by),
and now the ship was nowhere in sight. But when
we came to Master Machin he took no account of
our news : only he sat like a statue and stared
at the sea, and then at his dead lady, and ‘Well,'
he said; “is she gone º' We knew not whether
he meant the lady or the ship : nor would he
taste any food though we offered it, but turned his
face away.
“So that evening we buried the body, and five


216 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“We sailed from Lagos in June and reached
Porto Santo without mishap. Here Gonsalvez found
all well with the colonists he had left behind on his
former visit. But of one thing they were as eager
to tell as of their prosperity: and we had not
arrived many hours before they led us to the top
of the island and pointed to a dark line of cloud
(as it seemed) lying low in the south-west. They
had kept watch on this (they said) day by day,
until they had made certain it could not be a cloud,
for it never altered its shape. While we gazed at
it I heard the pilot's voice say suddenly at my
shoulder, “That will be the island, Captain — the
Englishman's island 1’ and I turned and saw that
he was trembling. But Gonsalvez, who had been
musing, looked up at him sharply. “All my life,'
said he, “I have been sailing the seas, yet never
saw landfall like yonder. That which we look
upon is cloud and not land.’ ‘But who,' I asked,
“ever saw a fixed cloud 2' ‘Marry, I for one,' he
answered, ‘and every seaman who has sailed beside
Sicily But say nothing to the men; for if they
believe a volcano lies yonder we shall hardly get
them to cross.’ ‘Yet,' said Morales, ‘by your
leave, Captain, that is no volcano, but such a cloud
as might well rest over the thick moist woodlands
of which the Englishman told me.’ ‘Well, that
we shall discover by God's grace,’ Gonsalvez made
answer. “You will cross thither 2 " I asked. “Why
to be sure,' said he cheerfully, with a look at


D'ARFET'S VENGEANCE 21,
Tristram Vaz ; and Tristram Vaz nodded, saying
nothing.
“Yet he had no easy business with his sailors,
who had quickly made up their own minds about
this cloud and that it hung over a pit of fire. One
or two had heard tell of Cipango, and allowed this
might be that lost wandering land. “But how can
we tell what perils await us there 2' ‘Marry, by
going and finding out,’ growled Tristram Vaz, and
this was all the opinion he uttered. As for Morales,
they would have it he was a Castilian, a foreigner,
and only too eager to injure us Portuguese.
“But Gonsalvez had enough courage for all :
and on the ninth morning he and Tristram set sail,
with their crews as near mutiny as might be. Me
they left to rule Porto Santo. “And if we never
come back,' said Gonsalvez, ‘you will tell the
Prince that something lies yonder which we would
have found, but our men murdered us on the
way—’”
“My dear brother Bartholomew,” Gonsalvez
broke in, “you are wearying Master d'Arſet, who
has no wish to hear about me." And taking up
the tale he went on : “We sailed, Sir, after six
hours into as thick a fog as I have met even on
these seas, and anon into a noise of breakers which
seemed to be all about us. So I prayed to the
Mother of Heaven and kept the lead busy, and
always found deep water: and more by God's
guidance than our management we missed the


218 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
Desertas, where a tall bare rock sprang out of the
fog so close on our larboard quarter that the men
cried out it was a giant in black armour rising out
of the waves. So we left it and the noises behind,
and by-and-by I shifted the helm and steered
towards the east of the bank, which seemed to me
not so thick thereabouts: and so the fog rolled
up and we saw red cliffs and a low black cape,
which I named the Cape of St. Lawrence. And
beyond this, where all appeared to be marshland,
we came to a forest shore with trees growing to
the water's edge and filling the chasms between
the cliffs. We were now creeping along the south
of the island, and in clearer weather, but saw no
good landing until Morales shouted aft to me that
we were opening the Gulf of Cedars. Now I,
perceiving some recess in the cliffs which seemed
likely to give a fair landing, let him have his way:
for albeit we could never win it out of him in words,
I knew that the Englishman must have given him
some particular description of the place, from the
confidence he had always used in speaking of it.
So now we had cast anchor, and were well on our
way shoreward in the boat before I could be certain
what manner of trees clothed this Gulf : but
Morales never showed doubt or hesitancy; and
being landed, led us straight up the beach and
above the tide - mark to the foot of a low cliff,
where was a small pebbled mound and a plain
cross of wood. And kneeling beside them I prayed


D'ARFET'S VENGEANCE 219
for the souls' rest of that lamentable pair, and so
took seizin of the island in the names of our King
John, Prince Henry, and the Order of Christ.
That, Sir, is the story, and I will not weary you
by telling how we embarked again and came to
this plain which lies at our feet. So much as I
believe will concern you you have heard: and the
grave you shall look upon to-morrow.”
Master d'Arfet had left off cracking his joints,
and for a while after the end of the story sat
drumming with his finger-tips on the table. At
length he looked up, and says he—
“I may suppose, Count Zarco, that as governor
of this island you have power to allot and sell
estates upon it on behalf of the King of Portugal 2"
“Why, yes,” answered Gonsalvez; “any new
settler in Funchal must make his purchase through
me: the northern province of Machico I leave to
Tristram Vaz.”
“I speak of your southern province, and indeed
of its foreshore, the possession of which I suppose
to be claimed by the crown of Portugal.”
“That is so.”
“To be precise I speak of this Gulf of Cedars,
as you call it. You will understand that I have
not seen it : I count on your promise to take me
thither to-morrow. But it may save time, and I
shall take it as a favour if–without binding yourself
or me to any immediate bargain—you can give me
some notion of the price you would want for it.


220 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
But perhaps " — here he lifted his eyes from the
table and glanced at Gonsalvez cunningly — “you
have already conveyed that parcel of land, and I
must deal with another.”
Now Gonsalvez had opened his mouth to say
something, but here compressed his lips for a
moment before answering.
“No : it is still in my power to allot.”
“In England just now,” went on Master d'Arſet,
“we should call ten shillings an acre a good price
for unstocked land. We take it at sixpence per
annum rent and twenty years' purchase. I am
speaking of reasonably fertile land, and hardly
need to point out that in offering any such price
for mere barren foreshore I invite you to believe
me half-witted. But, as we say at home, he who
keeps a fancy must pay a tax for it: and a man
of my age with no heir of his body can afford to
spend as he pleases.”
Gonsalvez stared at him, and from him to me,
with a puzzled frown.
“Bartholomew,” said he, “I cannot understand
this gentleman. What can he want to purchase
in the Gulf of Cedars but his wife's grave 2 And
yet of such a bargain how can he speak as he has
spoken f"
I shook my head. “It must be that he is a
merchant, and is too old to speak but as a haggler.
Yet I am sure his mind works deeper than this
haggling.” I paused, with my eyes upon Master


D'ARFET'S VENGEANCE 221
d'Arſet's hands, which were hooked now like claws
over the table which his fingers still pressed : and
this gesture of his put a sudden abominable thought
in my mind. “Yes, he wishes to buy his wife's
grave. Ask him—” I cried, and with that I broke
off.
But Gonsalvez nodded. “I know,” said he
softly, and turned to the Englishman. “Your desire,
Sir, is to buy the grave I spoke off"
Master d'Arfet nodded.
“With what purpose 2 Come, Sir, your one
chance is to be plain with us. It may be the
difference in our race hinders my understanding
you: it may be I am a simple captain and unused
to the ways and language of the market. In any
case put aside the question of price, for were that
all between us I would say to you as Ephron the
Hittite said to Abraham. “Hear me, my lord,' I
would say, ‘what is four hundred shekels of silver
betwixt me and thee Bury therefore thy dead.'
But between you and me is more than this : some-
thing I cannot fathom. Yet I must know it before
consenting. I demand therefore, what is your
purpose 7"
Master d'Arſet met him straightly enough with
those narrow eyes of his, and said he, “My purpose,
Count, is as simple as you describe your mind to
be. Honest seaman, I desire that grave only that
I may be buried in it.”
“Then my thought did you wrong, Master


222 THE LAIRD'S LUCK
d'Arſet, and I crave your pardon. The grave is
yours without price. You shall rest in the end
beside the man and woman who wronged you,
and at the Last Day, when you rise together, may
God forgive you as you forgave them ' "
The Englishman did not answer for near a
minute. His fingers had begun to drum on the
table again and his eyes were bent upon them.
At length he raised his head, and this time to speak
slowly and with effort—
“In my country, Count, a bargain is a bargain.
When I seek a parcel of ground, my purpose with
it is my affair only : my neighbour fixes his price,
and if it suit me I buy, and there's an end. Now
I have passed my days in buying and selling and
you count me a huckster. Yet we merchants have
our rules of honour as well as you nobles: and if
in England I bargain as I have described, it is
b:cause between me and the other man the rules
are understood. But I perceive that between you
and me the bargain must be different, since you
sell on condition of knowing my purpose, and
would not sell if my purpose offended you. There-
fore to leave you in error concerning my purpose
would be cheating : and, Sir, I have never cheated
in my life. At the risk then, or the certainty, of
losing my dearest wish I must tell you this—I do
not forgive my wife Anne or Robert Machin : and
though I would be buried in their grave, it shall not
be beside them.”


D'ARFET'S VENGEANCE 223
“How then 2 " cried Gonsalvez and I in one
voice.
“I would be buried, Sirs, not beside but between
them. Ah Your eyes were moist, I make no
doubt, when you first listened to the pretty affect-
ing tale of their love and misfortune 2 Not yet
has it struck either of you to what a hell they left
me. And I have been living in it ever since 1
Think I loved that woman. She wronged me
hatefully, meanly : yet she and he died together,
feeling no remorse. It is I who keep the know-
ledge of their vileness which shall push them
asunder as I stretch myself at length in my cool
dead ease, content, with my long purpose achieved,
with the vengeance prepared, and nothing to do
but wait securely for the Day of Judgment. Par-
don me, Sirs, that I say “this shall be,” whereas
I read in your faces that you refuse me. I have
cheered an unhappy life by this one promise, which
at the end I have thrown away upon a little
scruple." He passed a hand over his eyes and
stood up. “It is curious," he said, and stood
musing. “It is curious,” he repeated, and turning
to Gonsalvez said in a voice empty of passion, “You
refuse me, I understand 2"
“Yes," Gonsalvez answered. “I salute you for
an honest gentleman: but I may not grant your
wish.”
“It is curious,” Master d'Arfet repeated once
more, and looked at us queerly, as if seeking to


224 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
excuse his weakness in our judgment. “So small a
difficulty 1"
Gonsalvez bowed. “You have taught us this,
Sir, that the world speaks at random, but in the
end a man's honour rests in no hands but his
own.”
Master d'Arſet waited while Martin translated ;
then he put out a hand for his staff, found it,
turned on his heel and tottered from the room, the
interpreter following with a face which had altered
nothing during our whole discourse.
+ + + + +
Master d'Arſet sailed at daybreak, having
declined Gonsalvez' offer to show him the grave.
My old friend insisted that I must stay a week
with him, and from the terrace before his house
we watched the English pinnace till she rounded the
point to eastward and disappeared.
“After all,” said I, “we treated him hardly.”
But Gonsalvez said: “A husk of a man All
the blood in him sour ! And yet,” he mused, “the
husk kept him noble after a sort.”
And he led me away to the warm slopes to see
how his young vines were doing.


225
THE POISONED ICE
WE were four in the patio. And the patio was
magnificent, with a terrace of marble running round
its four sides, and in the middle a fountain splashing
in a marble basin. I will not swear to the marble;
for I was a boy of ten at the time, and that is a long
while ago. But I describe as I recollect. It was a
magnificent patio, at all events, and the house was a
palace. And who the owner might be, Felipe perhaps
knew. But he was not one to tell, and the rest of us
neither knew nor cared.
The two women lay stretched on the terrace, with
their heads close together and resting against the
house wall. And I sat beside them gnawing a bone.
The sun shone over the low eastern wall upon the
fountain and upon Felipe perched upon the rim of the
basin, with his lame leg stuck out straight and his
mouth working as he fastened a nail in the end of his
beggar's crutch.
I cannot tell you the hour exactly, but it was early
morning, and the date the twenty-fourth of February,
1671. I learnt this later. We in the patio did not
bother ourselves about the date, for the world had
come to an end, and we were the last four left in it.
For three weeks we had been playing hide-and-seek
with the death that had caught and swallowed every-
P


226 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
one else; and for the moment it was quite enough for
the women to sleep, for me to gnaw my bone in the
shade, and for Felipe to fasten the loose nail in his
crutch. Many windows opened on the patio. Through
the nearest, by turning my head a little, I could see
into a noble room lined with pictures and heaped with
furniture and torn hangings. All of it was ours, or
might be, for the trouble of stepping inside and taking
possession. But the bone (I had killed a dog for it)
was a juicy one, and I felt no inclination to stir.
There was the risk, too, of infection—of the plague.
“Hullo 1" cried Felipe, slipping on his shoe, with
the heel of which he had been hammering. “You
awake 2"
I put Felipe last of us in order, for he was an old
fool. Yet I must say that we owed our lives to him.
Why he took so much trouble and spent so much
ingenuity in saving them is not to be guessed: for the
whole city of Panama comprehended no two lives
more worthless than old Doña Teresa's (as we called
her) and mine : and as for the Carmelite, Sister
Marta, who had joined our adventures two days
before, she, poor soul, would have thanked him for
putting a knife into her and ending her shame.
But Felipe, though a fool, had a fine sense of irony.
And so for three weeks Doña Teresa and I–and for
forty-eight hours Sister Marta too—had been lurking
and doubling, squatting in cellars, crawling on roofs,
breaking cover at night to snatch our food, all under
Felipe's generalship. And he had carried us through.


THE POISONED ICE 227
Perhaps he had a soft corner in his heart for old
Teresa. He and she were just of an age, the two
most careless-hearted outcasts in Panama; and knew
each other's peccadilloes to a hair. I went with
Teresa. Heaven knows in what gutter she had first
picked me up, but for professional ends I was her
starving grandchild, and now reaped the advantages
of that dishonouring fiction.
“How can a gentleman sleep for your thrice-
accursed hammering 2" was my answer to Felipe
Fill-the-Bag.
“The city is very still this morning,” he observed,
sniffing the air, which was laden still with the scent of
burnt cedar-wood. “The English dogs will have
turned their backs on us for good. I heard their
bugles at daybreak; since then, nothing.”
“These are fair quarters, for a change.”
He grinned. “They seem to suit the lady, your
grandmother. She has not groaned for three hours.
I infer that her illustrious sciatica is no longer
troubling her.”
Our chatter awoke the Carmelite. She opened
her eyes, unclasped her hand, which had been locked
round one of the old hag's, and sat up blinking, with
a smile which died away very pitiably.
“Good morning, Señorita,” said I.
She bent over Teresa, but suddenly drew back
with a little “Ah !” and stared, holding her breath.
“What is the matter 2"
She was on her knees, now ; and putting out a


228 THE LAIRD’S LUCR
hand, touched Teresa's skinny neck with the tips of
two fingers.
“What is the matter 2" echoed Felipe, coming
forward from the fountain.
“She is dead ' " said I, dropping the hand which
I had lifted.
“Jesu-" began the Carmelite, and stopped :
and we stared at one another, all three,
With her eyes wide and fastened on mine, Sister
Marta felt for the crucifix and rope of beads which
usually hung from her waist. It was gone : but her
hands fumbled for quite a minute before the loss came
home to her brain. And then she removed her face
from us and bent her forehead to the pavement. She
made no sound, but I saw her feet writhing.
“Come, come,” said Felipe, and found no more
to say. -
I can guess now a little of what was passing
through her unhappy mind. Women are women,
and understand one another. And Teresa, unclean
and abandoned old hulk though she was, had stood
by this girl when she came to us flying out of the
wrack like a lost ship. “Dear, dear, dear"—I
remembered scraps of her talk—“the good Lord is
debonair, and knows all about these things. He isn't
like a man, as you might say " : and again, “Why
bless you, He's not going to condemn you for a
matter that I could explain in five minutes. “If it
comes to that,' I should say—and I’ve often noticed
that a real gentleman likes you all the better for


230 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“But do you mean to say
“She was a personage of great force of character,
and of some virtues which escaped recognition, being
unusual. I pray," said he, lifting the rim of his rusty
hat, “that her soul may find the last peace : I had
the honour to follow her career almost from the
beginning. I remember her even as a damsel of a
very rare beauty: but even then, as I say, her virtues
were unusual, and less easily detected than her
failings. I, for example, who supposed myself to
know her thoroughly, missed reckoning upon her
courage, or I had spent last night in seeking food. I
am a fool and a pig."
“And consequently, while we slept—”
“Excuse me, I have not slept.”
“You have been keeping watch 2"
“Not for the buccaneers, my Lord. They left
before daybreak. But the dogs of the city are starv-
ing, even as we : and like us they have taken to
hunting in company. Now this is a handsome
courtyard, but the gate does not happen to be too
secure.”
I shivered. Felipe watched me with an amiable
grin.
“But let us not,” he continued, “speak con-
temptuously of our inheritance. It is, after all, a
very fair kingdom for three. Captain Morgan and
his men are accomplished scoundrels, but careless:
they have not that eye for trifies which is acquired
in our noble profession, and they have no instinct


THE POISONED ICE 231
at all for hiding-places. I assure you this city yet
contains palaces to live in, linen and silver plate to
keep us comfortable. Food is scarce, I grant, but
we shall have wines of the very first quality. We
shall live royally. But, alas ! Heaven has exacted
more than its tithe of my enjoyment. I had looked
forward to seeing Teresa in a palace of her own.
What a queen she would have made, to be sure . "
“Are we three the only souls in Panama 2"
Felipe rubbed his chin. “I think there is one
other. But he is a philosopher, and despises purple
and linen. We who value them, within reason,
could desire no better subject.” He arose and
treated me to a regal bow. “Shall we inspect our
legacy, my brother, and make arrangements for the
coronation ?"
“We might pick up something to eat on the
way," said I.
Felipe hobbled over to the terrace. “Poor old
—,” he muttered, touching the corpse with his
staff, and dwelling on the vile word with pondering
affection. “Señorita,” said he aloud, “much grief
is not good on an empty stomach. If Juan here
will lift her feet—"
We carried Doña Teresa into the large cool room,
and laid her on a couch. Felipe tore down the
silken hangings from one of the windows and spread
them over her to her chin, which he tied up with
the yellow kerchief which had been her only head-
gear for years. The Carmelite meanwhile detached


232 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
two heavy silver sconces from a great candelabrum
and set them by her feet. But we could find no
tinder-box to light the candles—big enough for an
altar.
“She will do handsomely until evening,” said
Felipe, and added under his breath, “But we must
contrive to fasten the gate of the patio.”
“I will watch by her,” said Sister Marta.
Felipe glanced at us and shook his head. I
knew he was thinking of the dogs. “That would
not do at all, Señorita. “For the living, the living,'
as they say. If we live, we will return this evening
and attend to her; but while my poor head remains
clear (and Heaven knows how long that will be)
there is more important work to be done.”
“To bury the dead—”
“It is one of the Seven Corporal Acts of Mercy,
Señorita, and it won Raphael to the house of Tobit.
But in this instance Raphael shuts himself up and
we must go to him. While Teresa lived, all was
well: but now, with two lives depending on my
wits, and my wits not to be depended on for an
hour, it does not suit with my conscience to lose
time in finding you another protector.”
“But they—they have gone 2"
“The Lutheran dogs have gone, and have taken
the city's victuals with them.”
“I do not want to live, my friend.”
“Granted : but I do not think that Juanito,
here, is quite of your mind.”


THE POISONED ICE 233
She considered for a moment. “I will go with
you," she said: and we quitted the patio together.
The gate opened upon a narrow alley, encum-
bered now with charred beams and heaps of refuse
from a burnt house across the way. The fury of
the pirates had been extravagant, but careless (as
Felipe had said). In their lust of robbing, firing,
murdering, they had followed no system; and so
it happened that a few houses, even wealthy ones,
stood intact, like islands, in the general ruin. For
the most part, to be sure, there were houses which
hid their comfort behind mean walls. But once or
twice we were fairly staggered by the blind rage
which had passed over a mansion crowded with
valuables and wrecked a dozen poor habitations all
around it. The mischief was that from such houses
Felipe, our forager, brought reports of wealth to make
the mouth water, but nothing to stay the stomach.
The meat in the larders was putrid; the bread hard
as a stone. We were thankful at last for a few
oranges, on which we snatched a breakfast in an
angle of ruined wall on the north side of the
Cathedral, pricking up our ears at the baying of
the dogs as they hunted their food somewhere in
the northern suburbs.
I confess that the empty houses gave me the
creeps, staring down at me with their open windows
while I sucked my orange. In the rooms behind
those windows lay dead bodies, no doubt: some
mutilated, some swollen with the plague (for during


234 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
a fortnight now the plague had been busy); all
łying quiet up there, with the sun staring in on
them. Each window had a meaning in its eye,
and was trying to convey it. “If you could only
look through me," one said. “The house is empty
-come upstairs and see." For me that was an
uncomfortable meal. Felipe, too, had lost some
of his spirits. The fact is, we had been forced to
step aside to pass more than one body stretched
at length or huddled in the roadway, and—well,
I have told you about the dogs.
Between the Cathedral and the quays scarcely
a house remained : for the whole of this side of
the city had been built of wood. But beyond this
Smoking waste we came to the great stone ware-
houses by the waterside, and the barracks where
the Genoese traders lodged their slaves. The shells
of these buildings stood, but every one had been
gutted and the roofs of all but two or three had
collapsed. We picked our way circumspectly now,
for here had been the buccaneers' headquarters.
But the quays were as desolate as the city. Empty,
too, were the long stables where the horses and
mules had used to be kept for conveying the royal
plate from ocean to ocean. Two or three poor
beasts lay in their stalls—slaughtered as unfit for
service; the rest, no doubt, were carrying Morgan's
loot on the road to Chagres.
Here, beside the stables, Felipe took a sudden
turn to the right and struck down a lane which


THE POISONED ICE 235
seemed to wind back towards the city between long
lines of warehouses. I believe that, had we gone
forward another hundred yards, to the quay's edge,
we should have seen or heard enough to send us
along that lane at the double. As it was, we heard
nothing, and saw only the blue bay, the islands
shining green under, the thin line of smoke blown
on the land breeze—no living creature between us
and them but a few sea-birds. After we had struck
into the lane I turned for another look, and am sure
that this was all.
Felipe led the way down the lane for a couple
of gun-shots; the Carmelite following like a ghost
in her white robes, and I close at her heels. He
halted before a low door on the left; a door of
the most ordinary appearance. It opened by a
common latch upon a cobbled passage running
between two warehouses, and so narrow that the
walls almost met high over our heads. At the end
of this passage—which was perhaps forty feet long—
we came to a second door, with a grille, and, hang-
ing beside it, an iron bell-handle, at which Felipe
tugged. -
The sound of the bell gave me a start, for it
seemed to come from just beneath my feet. Felipe
grinned.
“Brother Bartolomé works like a mole. But good
wine needs no bush, my Juanito, as you shall pre-
sently own. He takes his own time, though," Felipe
grumbled, after a minute. “It cannot be that * -


236 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
He was about to tug again when somebody
pushed back the little shutter behind the grille, and
a pair of eyes (we could see nothing of the face)
gazed out upon us.
“There is no longer need for caution, reverend
father,” said Felipe, addressing the grille. “The
Lutheran dogs have left the city, and we have come
to taste your cordial and consult with you on a
matter of business.”
We heard a bolt slid, and the door opened upon
a pale emaciated face and two eyes which clearly
found the very moderate daylight too much for them.
Brother Bartolomé blinked without ceasing, while
he shielded with one hand the thin flame of an
earthenware lamp.
“Are you come all on one business 2" he asked,
his gaze passing from one to another, and resting at
length on the Carmelite.
“When the forest takes fire, all beasts are cousins,”
said Felipe sententiously. Without another question
the friar turned and led the way, down a flight of
stairs which plunged (for all I could tell) into the
bowels of earth. His lamp flickered on bare
walls upon which the spiders scurried. I counted
twenty steps, and still all below us was dark as a pit;
ten more, and I was pulled up with that peculiar
and highly disagreeable jar which everyone remem-
bers who has put forward a foot expecting a step,
and found himself suddenly on the level. The
passage ran straight ahead into darkness: but the


THE POISONED ICE 237
friar pushed open a low door in the left-hand wall,
and, stepping aside, ushered us into a room, or paved
cell, lit by a small lamp depending by a chain from
the vaulted roof.
Shelves lined the cell from floor to roof; chests,
benches, and work-tables occupied two-thirds of the
floor-space : and all were crowded with books,
bottles, retorts, phials, and the apparatus of a
laboratory. “Crowded,” however, is not the word;
for at a second glance I recognised the beautiful
order that reigned. The deal work-benches had
been scoured white as paper; every glass, every
metal pan and basin sparkled and shone in the
double light of the lamp and of a faint beam of day
conducted down from the upper world by a kind
of funnel and through a grated window facing the
door.
In this queer double light Brother Bartolomé
faced us, after extinguishing the small lamp in his
hand.
“You say the pirates have left 2"
Felipe nodded. “At daybreak. We in this room
are all who remain in Panama.”
“The citizens will be returning, doubtless, in a
day or two. I have no food for you, if that is
what you seek. I finished my last crust yester-
day.”
“That is a pity. But we must forage. Meanwhile,
reverend father, a touch of your cordial x -
Brother Bartolomé reached down a bottle from a


23S THE LAIRD’S LUCK
shelf. It was heavily sealed and decorated with a
large green label bearing a scarlet cross. Bottles
similarly sealed and labelled lined this shelf and a
dozen others. He broke the seal, drew the cork, and
fetched three glasses, each of which he held carefully
up to the lamplight. Satisfied of their cleanliness,
he held the first out to the Carmelite. She shook her
head.
“It is against the vow."
He grunted and poured out a glassful apiece for
Felipe and me. The first sip brought tears into my
eyes: and then suddenly I was filled with sunshine
—golden sunshine—and could feel it running from
limb to limb through every vein in my small body.
Felipe chuckled. “See the lad looking down at
his stomach | Button your jacket, Juanito ; the
noonday's shining through ! Another sip, to the
reverend father's health ! His brothers run away—
the Abbot himself runs : but Brother Bartolomé
stays. For he labours for the good of man, and
that gives a clear conscience. Behold how just, after
all, are the dispositions of Heaven: how blind are
the wicked For three weeks those bloody-minded
dogs have been grinning and running about the city:
and here under their feet, as in a mine, have lain the
two most precious jewels of all—a clear conscience
and a liquor which, upon my faith, holy father,
cannot be believed in under a second glass.”
Brother Bartolomé was refilling the glass, when
the Carmelite touched his arm.


240 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
ing, locked down the lid, and drew out the key
abruptly.
“Is it here 7" she repeated.
“My child, that is an ice-chest. In the liquor,
for perfection, the water used has first to be frozen.
That chest contains ice.”
“And nothing else 2 " she persisted.
But here Felipe broke in. “The Señorita is off
her hinges, father. Much fasting has made her
light-headed. And that brings me to my business.
You know my head, too, is not strong: good enough
for a furlong or two, but not for the mile course.
Now if you will shelter these two innocents whilst I
forage, we shall make a famous household. You
have rooms here in plenty; the best-hidden in
Panama. But none of us can live without food, and
with these two to look after I am hampered. There
are the dogs, too. But Felipe knows a trick or two
more than the dogs, and if he do not fill your larder
by sunset, may his left leg be withered like his
right !”
Brother Bartolomé considered. “Here are the
keys,” said he. “Choose your lodgings and take
the boy along with you, for I think the sister here
wishes to talk with me alone."
Felipe took the keys and handed me the small
lamp, which I held aloft as he limped after me
along the dark corridor, tapping its flagged pave-
ment with the nail of his crutch. We passed an
iron-studded door which led, he told me, to the


THE POISONED ICE 241
crypt of the chapel ; and soon after mounted a flight
of steps and found ourselves before the great folding
doors of the ante-chapel itself, and looked in. Here
was daylight again : actual sunlight, falling through
six windows high up in the southern wall and resting
in bright patches on the stall canopies within. We
gazed on these bright patches through the interspaces
of a great carved screen : but when I would have
pressed into the chapel for a better view, Felipe took
me by the collar.
“Business first,” said he, and pointed up the
staircase, which mounted steeply again after its break
by the chapel doors. Up we went, and were saluted
again by the smell of burnt cedar-wood waſted
through lancet windows, barred but unglazed, in the
outer wall. The inner wall was blank, of course,
being the northern side-wall of the chapel: but we
passed one doorway in it with which I was to make
better acquaintance. And, about twenty steps higher,
we reached a long level corridor and the cells where
the brothers slept.
Felipe opened them one by one and asked me to
take my choice. All were empty and bare, and
seemed to me pretty much alike.
“We have slept in worse, but that is not the
point. Be pleased to remember, Juanito, that we are
kings now ; and as kings we are bound to find the
reverend fathers' notions of bedding inadequate.
Suppose you collect us half-a-dozen of these mat-
tresses apiece, while I go on and explore."
Q


242 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
I chose three cells for Sister Marta, Felipe, and
myself, and set about dragging beds and furniture
from the others to make us really comfortable. I
dare say I spent twenty minutes over this, and, when
all was done, perched myself on a stool before the
little window of my own bed-room, for a look across
the city. It was a very little window indeed, and all
I saw was a green patch beyond the northern suburbs,
where the rich merchants' gardens lay spread like
offerings before a broken-down shrine. Those trees
no doubt hid trampled lawns and ruined verandahs :
but at such a distance no scar could be seen. The
suburbs looked just as they had always looked in
early spring.
I was staring out of window, so, and just beginning
to wonder why Felipe did not return as he had
promised, when there came ringing up the staircase
two sharp cries, followed by a long, shrill, blood-
freezing scream.
My first thought (I cannot tell you why) was that
Felipe must have tumbled downstairs: and without
any second thought I had jumped off my chair and
was flying down to his help, three stairs at a bound,
when another scream and a roar of laughter fetched
me up short. The laugh was not Felipe's; nor could
I believe it Brother Bartolomé's. In fact it was the
laugh of no one man but of several. The truth leapt
on me with a knife, as you might say. The buc-
caneers had returned.
I told you, a while back, of a small doorway in


THE POISONED ICE 243
the inner wall of the staircase. It was just opposite
this door that I found myself cowering, trying to close
my ears against the abhorrent screams which filled
the stairway and the empty corridor above with
their echoes. To crawl out of sight—had you lived
through those three weeks in Panama you would
understand why this was the only thought in my
head, and why my knees shook so that I actually
crawled on them to the little door, and finding that
it opened easily, crept inside and shut it before
looking about me.
But even in the act of shutting it I grew aware
that the screams and laughter were louder than ever.
And a glance around told me that I was not in a room
at all, but in the chapel, or rather in a gallery over-
looking it, and faced with an open balustrade.
As I crouched there on my knees, they could not
see me, nor could I see them ; but their laughter and
their infernal jabber—for these buccaneers were the
sweepings of half-a-dozen nations—came to my ears
as distinct as though I stood among them. And
under the grip of terror I crawled to the front of the
gallery and peered down between its twisted balusters.
I told you, to start with, that Felipe was a crazy
old fool : and I dare say you have gathered by this
time what shape his craziness took. He had a mania
for imagining himself a great man. For days together
he might be as sane as you or I; and then, all of a
sudden—a chance word would set him off—he had
mounted his horse and put on all the airs of the King


THE POISONED ICE 245
“Once more, Master Abbot—will you show us
your treasures, or will you not 2"
Felipe moaned.
“I tell you," Brother Bartolomé spoke up, very
short and distinct, “there are no treasures. And if
there were, that poor wretch could not show them.
He is no Abbot, but a beggar who has lived on charity
these twenty years to my knowledge.”
“That tongue of yours, friar, needs looking to. I
promise you to cut it out and examine it when I have
done with your reverend father here. As for the
wench at your side—”
“You may do as your cruelty prompts you,”
Brother Bartolomé interrupted. But that man is no
Abbot.”
“He may be Saint Peter himself, and these the
keys of Heaven and Hell. But I and my camarados
are going to find out what they open, as sure as my
name is Evan Evans.” And he knotted a cord round
Felipe's forehead and began to twist. The Carmelite
put her hands over her eyes and would have fallen :
but one of her guards held her up, while another
slipped both arms round her neck from behind and
held her eyelids wide open with finger and thumb. I
believe—I hope—that Felipe was past feeling by this
time, as he certainly was past speech. He did not
scream again, and it was only for a little while that
he moaned. But even when the poor fool's head
dropped on his shoulder, and the life went out of him,
they did not finish with the corpse until, in their


246 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
blasphemous sport, they had hoisted it over the altar
and strapped it there with its arms outstretched and
legs dangling.
“Now I think it is your turn,” said the scoundrel
Evans, turning to Brother Bartolomé with a grin. “I
regret that we cannot give you long, for we returned
from Tavoga this morning to find Captain Morgan
already on the road. It will save time if you tell us
at once what these keys open.”
“Certainly I will tell you,” said the friar, and
stretched out a hand for the bunch. “This key, for
instance, is useless : it opens the door of the wicket
by which you entered, This opens the chest which,
as a rule, contains the holy vessels; but it, too, is
useless, since the chest is empty of all but the silver
chalices and a couple of patens. Will you send one
of your men to prove that I speak truth 2 This, again,
is the key of my own cell——”
“Where your reverence entertains the pretty nuns
who come for absolution.”
“After that," said Brother Bartolomé, pointing a
finger towards the altar of the poor shape dangling,
“you might disdain small brutalities.”
The scoundrel leaned his back against a carved
bench-end and nodded his head slowly. “Master
friar, you shall have a hard death.”
“Possibly. This, as I was saying, is the key of
my cell, where I decoct the liquor for which this
house is famous. Of our present stock the bulk lies
in the cellars, to which this"—and he held up yet


THE POISONED ICE 247
another key—“will admit you. Yes that is it," as
one of the pirates produced a bottle and held it under
his nose.
“Eh 2 Let me see it.” The brute Evans snatched
the bottle. “Is this the stuff?” he demanded,
holding it up to the sunlight which streamed down
red on his hand from the robe of a martyr in one of
the painted windows above. He pulled out his
heavy knife, and with the back of it knocked off the
bottle-neck.
“I will trouble you to swear to the taste," said
he.
“I taste it only when our customers complain.
They have not complained now for two-and-twenty
years."
“Nevertheless you will taste it."
“You compel me 2"
“Certainly I compel you. I am not going to be
poisoned if I can help it. Drink, I tell you !"
Brother Bartolomé shrugged his shoulders. “It
is against the vow . . . but, under compulsion
and truly I make it even better than I used,"
he wound up, smacking his thin lips as he handed
back the bottle.
The buccaneer took it, watching his face closely.
“Here's death to the Pope 1" said he, and tasted it,
then took a gulp. “The devil, but it is hot ' " he
exclaimed, the tears springing into his eyes.
“Certainly, if you drink it in that fashion. But
why not try it with ice 2"


248 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“Ice 2 "
“You will find a chestful in my cell. Here is the
key; which, by the way, has no business with this
bunch. Felipe, yonder, who was always light-fin-
gered, must have stolen it from my work-bench.”
“Hand it over. One must go to the priests to
learn good living. Here, Jacques le Bec | " He
rattled off an order to a long-nosed fellow at his
elbow, who saluted and left the chapel, taking the
key.
“We shall need a cup to mix it in,” said Brother
Bartolomé quietly.
One of the pirates thrust the silver chalices into
his hands: for the bottle had been passed from one
man to another, and they were thirsty for more.
Brother Bartolomé took it ; and looked at the
Carmelite. For the moment nobody spoke : and a
queer feeling came over me in my hiding. This quiet
group of persons in the quiet chapel—it seemed to me
impossible they could mean harm to one another,
that in a minute or two the devil would be loose
among them. There was no menace in the posture
of any one of them, and in Brother Bartolomé's there
was certainly no hint of fear. His back was towards
me, but the Carmelite stood facing my gallery, and I
looked straight into her eyes as they rested on the
cups, and in them I read anxiety indeed, but not fear.
It was something quite different from fear.
The noise of Jacques le Bec's footstep in the
ante-chapel broke this odd spell of silence. The man


THE POISONED ICF 249
Evans, uncrossed his legs and took a pace to meet
him. “Here, hand me a couple of bottles. How
much will the cups hold 7"
“A bottle and a half, or thereabouts: that is, it
you allow for the ice.”
Jacques carried the bottles in a satchel, and a
block of ice in a wrapper under his left arm. He
handed over the satchel, set down the ice on the
pavement and began to unwrap it. At a word from
Evans he fell to breaking it up with the pommel of
his sword.
“We must give it a minute or two to melt,”
Evans added. And again a silence fell, in which I
could hear the lumps of ice tinkling as they knocked
against the silver rims of the chalices.
“The ice is melted. Is it your pleasure that I
first taste this also : " Brother Bartolomé spoke very
gravely and deliberately.
“I believe,” sneered Evans, “that on these
occasions the religious are the first to partake.”
The friar lifted one of the chalices and drank.
He held it to his lips with a hand that did not shake
at all ; and, having tasted, passed it on to Evans
without a word or a glance. His eyes were on the
Carmelite, who had taken half a step forward with
palms held sidewise to receive the chalice he still held
in his right hand. He guided it to her lips, and his
left hand blessed her while she drank. Almost before
she had done, the Frenchman, Jacques le Bec,
Snatched it.


250 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
The Carmelite stood, swaying. Brother Barto-
lomé watched the cups as they went full circle.
Jacques le Bec, wiping his mouth with the
back of his hand, spoke a word or two rapidly in
French.
Brother Bartolomé turned to Evans. “Yes, I go
with you. For you, my child !” He felt for
his crucifix and held it over the Carmelite, who had
dropped on her knees before him. At the same time,
with his left hand, he pointed towards the altar.
“For these, the mockery of the Crucified One which
themselves have prepared "
I saw Evans pull out his knife and leap. I saw
him like a man shot, drop his arm and spin right-
about as two screams rang out from the gallery
over his head. It must have been I who screamed:
and to me, now, that is the inexplicable part of
it. I cannot remember uttering the screams:
yet I can see Evans as he turned at the sound
of them.
Yet it was I who screamed, and who ran for the
door and, still screaming, dashed out upon the stair-
case. Up the stairs I ran : along the corridor : and
up a second staircase.
The sunshine broke around me. I was on the
leads of the roof, and Panama lay spread at my feet
like a trodden garden. I listened : no footsteps were
following. Far away from the westward came the
notes of a bugle—faint, yet clear. In the northern
suburbs the dogs were baying. I listened again. I





MARGERY OF LAWHIBBET
A STORY OF 1644
I PRAY God to deal gently with my sister Margery
Lantine; that the blood of her twin-brother Mark,
though it cry out, may not prevail against her on the
Day of Judgment.
We three were all the children of Ephraim Lantine,
a widower, who owned and farmed (as I do to-day)
the little estate of Lawhibbet on the right shore of
the Fowey River, above the ford which crosses to
St. Veep. The whole of our ground slopes towards
the river; as also does the neighbour estate of
Lantine, sometime in our family's possession, but
now and for three generations past yielding us only
its name. Three miles below us the river opens into
Fowey Harbour, with Fowey town beside it and
facing across upon the village of Polruan, and a fort
on either shore to guard the entrance. Three miles
above us lies Lostwithiel, a neat borough, by the bridge
of which the tidal water ceases. But the traffic
between these two towns passes behind us and out of
sight, by the high-road which, after climbing out of
Lostwithiel, runs along a narrow neck of land dividing
our valley from Tywardreath Bay. This ridge comes
to its highest and narrowest just over the chimneys
of Lawhibbet, and there the old Britons once planted
an earthwork overlooking the bay on one hand and
the river-passage on the other. Castle Dore is its


254 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
name ; a close of short smooth turf set within two
circular ramparts and two fosses choked with
brambles. Thither we children climbed, whether to
be alone with our games—for I do not suppose my
father entered the earthwork twice in a year, and no
tillage ever disturbed it, though we possessed a
drawerful of coins ploughed up from time to time in
the field outside—or to watch the sails in the bay
and the pack-horses jingling along the ridge, which
contracted until it came abreast of us and at once
began to widen towards Fowey and the coast; so
that it came natural to feign ourselves robbers sitting
there in our fastness and waiting to dash out upon
the rich convoys as they passed under our noses.
I talk as if we three had played this game with
one mind. But indeed I was six years younger than
the others, and barely nine years old when my
brother Mark tired of it and left me, who hitherto
had been his obedient scout, to play at the game
alone. For Margery turned to follow Mark in
this, as in everything, although with her it had
been more earnest play. For him the fun began and
ended with the ambush, the supposed raid and its
swashing deeds of valour; for her all these were but
incident to a scheme, long brooded on, by which we
were to amass plunder sufficient to buy back the
family estate of Lantine with all the consequence due
to an ancient name in which the rest of us forgot to
feel any pride. But this was my sister Margery's
way; to whom, as honour was her passion, so the


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 255
very shadows of old repute, dead loyalties, perished
greatness, were idols to be worshipped. By a ballad,
a story of former daring or devotion, a word even, I
have seen her whole frame shaken and her eyes
brimmed with bright tears; nay, I have seen tears
drop on her clasped hands, in our pew in St.
Sampson's Church, with no more cause than old
Parson Kendall's stuttering through the prayer for
the King's Majesty—and this long before the late
trouble had come to distract our country. She
walked our fields beside us, but in company with
those who walked them no longer; when she looked
towards Lantine 'twas with an angry affection. In
the household she filled her dead mother's place, and
so wisely that we all relied on her without thinking
to wonder or admire; yet had we stayed to think,
we had confessed to ourselves that the love in which
her care for us was comprehended reached above
any love we could repay or even understand—that
she walked a path apart from us, obedient to a call
we could not hear.
In her was born the spirit which sends men to die
for a cause ; but since God had fashioned her a girl
and condemned her to housework, she took (as it
were) her own hope in her hands and laid it all upon
her twin brother. They should have been one, not
twain. He had the frame to do, and for him she
nourished the spirit to impel. With her own high
thoughts she clothed him her hero, and made him
mine also. And Mark took our homage easily


sº THE LAIRD’S LUCK
enough, without doubting he deserved it. He was in
truth a fine fellow, tall, upright, and handsome, with
the delicate Lantine hands and a face in which you
saw his father's features refined and freshly coloured
to the model of the Lantine portraits which hung
in the best sitting-room to remind us of our lost
glories. For me, I take after my mother, who
was a farmer's daughter of no lineage.
I remember well the Christmas Eve of 1643,
when the call came for Mark; a night very clear
and crisp, with the stars making a brave show against
the broad moon, and a touch of frost against which
we wrapped ourselves warmly before the household
sallied down to the great Parc an Wollas orchard
above the ford, to bless the apple-trees. My father
led the way as usual with his fowling-piece under his
arm, Mark following with another ; after them
staggered Lizzie Pascoe, the serving maid, with the
great bowl of lamb's-wool; Margery followed, I at
her side, and the men after us with their wives, each
carrying a cake or a roasted apple on a string. We
halted as usual by the bent tree in the centre of the
orchard, and there, having hung our offerings on the
bough, formed a circle, took hands and chanted,
while Lizzie splashed cider against the trunk—
“Here's to thee, old apple-tree,
Whence to bud and whence to blow,
And whence to bear us affles enow.—
Hats full, packs full,
Great bushel sacks full,
And every one a pocket full–
With hurrah and fire off the gun / "


** *
MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 257 . "
I remember the moment's wait on the flint-lock
and the flame and roar of my father's piece, shatter-
ing echoes across the dark water and far up the
creek where the herons roosted. And out of the
echoes a voice answered—a man's voice hailing across
the ford.
Mark took a torch, and, running down to the
water's edge, waved it to guide the stranger over.
By-and-by we caught sight of him—a tall trooper on
horseback, with the moonlight and torchlight flaming
together on his steel morion and gorget. He picked
his way carefully to shore and up the bank, and
reined up his dripping horse in the midst of us with
a laugh.
“Hats full, pockets full, eh? Good-evenin', nay-
bours, and a merry Christmas, and I'm sure I wish
you may get it. Which of 'ee may happen to be
Master Ephr’m Lantine 7"
My father announced himself, and the trooper
drew out a parchment and handed it.
“'Tisn’ no proper light here," said my father,
fumbling with the packet, and not caring to own
that he could not read. “Come to the house, honest
man, and we'll talk it over; for thou’lt sleep with
us, no doubt 2"
“Ay, and drink to your apple-trees too," the
trooper answered very heartily. So my father led
the way and we followed, Margery gripping my hand
tight, and the rest talking in loud whispers. They
guessed what the man's business was.
R
*


258 THE LAIRD'S LUCK
An hour later, when the ashen faggot had been
lit and the cider-drinking and carolling were fairly
started in the kitchen, Margery packed me off to
bed; and afterwards came and sat beside me for a
while, very silent, listening with me to the voices
below.
“Where is Mark 2 " I asked, for I missed his clear
tenor.
“In the parlour. He and father and the soldier
are talking there.”
“Is Mark going to fight 2"
She bent down, slipped an arm round my neck
and caught me to her in a sudden breathless hug.
“But he may be killed,” I objected.
“No, no; we must pray against that.” She said
it confidently, and I knew Margery had a firm belief
that what was prayed for fitly must be granted. “I
will see to that, morning and evening: we will pray
together. But you must pray sometimes between
whiles, when I am not by to remind you: many
times a day—promise me, Jack.”
I promised, and it made me feel better. Margery
had a way of managing things, a way which I had
learned to trust. We said no more but Good-night:
in a little while she left me and I jumped out of bed
and punctually started to keep my new promise.
Next morning—Christmas Day—we all attended
church together; that is to say, all we of the family,
for our guest chose rather to remain in the parlour
with the cider-mug. Parson Kendall preached to us


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 259
at length on Obedience and the authority delegated
by God upon kings; and working back to his text,
which was I. Samuel xvii. 42, wound up with some
particular commendation of “the young man to-day
going forth from amongst us"—which turned all
heads towards the Lawhibbet pew and set Mark
blushing and me almost as shamefacedly; but
Margery, after the first flow of colour, turned
towards her brother with bright proud eyes.
That same afternoon between three and four
o'clock—so suddenly was all decided—Mark rode
away from us on the young sorrel, and the trooper
beside him, to join the force Sir Bevill Grenvill was
collecting for Sir Ralph Hopton at Liskeard. To
his father he said good-bye at the yard-gate; but
Margery and I walked beside the horses to the ford,
and afterwards stood and watched their crossing,
waving many times as Mark turned and waved a
hand back, and the red sun over behind us blinked
on the trooper's cap and shoulder-piece. Just before
they disappeared we turned away together—for it is
unlucky to watch anyone out of sight—and I saw
that Margery was trembling from head to foot.
“But he will come back,” said I, to comfort her.
“Yes," she answered, “he will come back." With
that she paused, and broke forth, twisting her hand-
kerchief, “Jack, if I were a man—" and so checked
herself.
“Why, you think more of the Cause than Mark
does, I believe 1 "I put in.
f :


260 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“Not more than Mark—not more than Mark :
Jack, you mustn't say that: you mustn't think it !”
“And a great deal more of our name,” I went on
sturdily, disregarding her tone, which I considered
vehement beyond reason. “'Tis a strange thing to
me, Margery, that of us three you should be the one
to think everything of the name of Lantine, who are
a girl and must take another when you marry.”
She halted and turned on me with more anger
than I had ever seen on her face. She even stamped
her foot. “Never !” she said, and again “Never !”
“Oh, well " I began ; but she had started
walking rapidly; and although I caught her up, not
another word would she say to me until we reached
home.
For a year we saw no more of our brother, and
received of him only two letters (for he hated pen-
work), the both very cheerful. Yet within a month
of his going, on a still clear day in January, we
listened together to the noise of a pitched battle in
which he was fighting, a short six miles from us as
the crow flies. I have often admired how men who
were happily born too late to witness the troubles of
those times will make their own pictures of warfare,
as though it changed at once the whole face of the
country and tenour of folk's lives; whereas it would
be raging two valleys away and men upon their own
farms ploughing to the tune of it, with nothing seen
by them then or afterwards; or it would leap


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 261
suddenly across the hills, filling the roads with
cursing weary men, and roll by, leaving a sharp
track of ruin for the eye to follow and remember it
by. So on this afternoon, when Hopton and the
Cornish troops were engaging and defeating Ruthen
on Braddock Down, Margery and I counted the
rattles of musketry borne down to us on the still
reaches of the river and, climbing to the earthwork
past the field where old Will Retallack stuck to
his ploughing with an army of gulls following and
wheeling about him as usual, spied the smoke rolling
over the edge of Boconnoc woodland to the north-
east; but never a soldier we saw that day or for
months after.
A little before the end of daylight the rebel army
broke and began to roll back through Liskeard and
towards the passes of the Tamar, and Mark followed
with his troops to Saltash, into Devonshire, and as
far as Chagford, where he rode by Mr. Sydney
Godolphin in the skirmish which gave that valiant
young gentleman his mortal wound. Soon after, the
whole of the King's forces retired upon Tavistock,
where a truce was patched up between the opposing
factions in the West. But this did not release Mark,
who was kept at duty on the border until May—
when the strife burst out again—and joined the
pursuit after Stratton Heath. Thereafter he fought
at Lansdowne, and in the operations against Bristol,
and later in the same year, having won a cornetcy in
the King's Horse, bore his part in the many brisk


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 263
became him. Once only, when he described the
entry of the troops into Bristol and their behaviour
there—while Margery turned her eyes aside for a
moment, that were dim for the death of Slanning
and Trevanion—he came to a pause with a grin
that invited me to be knowing beyond my years.
The old Mark would never have looked at me
with that meaning.
On the whole he behaved well, and took
Margery's adoration with great patience. He had
the wit to wish to fall nothing in her eyes. His
new and earthlier view of war, as a game with
coarse rewards, he confided to me; and this not
in words but in a smile now and then and a
general air, when safe from his sister's eyes, of
being passably amused by her high-fangled nonsense.
His business of beating up recruits took him away
from us for days together; and we missed him on
Christmas Eve when we christened the apple-trees
as usual. It was I who discovered and kept it
from Margery—who supposed him as far away as
St. Austell, and tried to find that distance a sufficient
excuse—that he had spent the night a bare mile
away, hobnobbing with the owner of Lantine, a
rich man who had used to look down on our
family but thought it worth while to make friends
with this promising young soldier.
“And I mean to be equal with him and his
likes," said Mark to me afterwards by way of
excuse. “A man may rise by soldiering as by any


264 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
other calling—and quicklier too, perhaps, in these
days.”
The same thought clearly was running in his
head a week later, when he took leave of us once
more by the ford.
“Come back to us, Mark 1" Margery wept this
time, with her arms about his neck.
“Ay, Sweetheart, and with an estate in my
pocket."
“Ah, forget that old folly! Come back with body
safe and honour bright, and God may take the rest.”
He slapped his pocket with a laugh as he shook
up the reins.
Then followed five quiet anxious months. 'Twas
not until early in June that, by an express from
Ashburton in Devon, we heard that our brother's
fortune was still rising, he having succeeded to the
command of his company made vacant by the
wounding of Captain Sir Harry Welcome. “And
this is no mean achievement for a poor yeoman's
son,” he wrote, “in an army where promotion
goes as a rule to them that have estates to pawn.
But I hope in these days some few may serve
his Majesty and yet prosper, and that my dear
Margery may yet have her wish and be mistress
in Lantine.” Margery read this letter and knit
her brow thoughtfully. “It was like Mark to think
of writing so,” said she ; “but I have not thought
of Lantine for this many a day.”


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 265
“And he might have left thinking of it,” said
I, “until these troubles are over and the King's
peace established.”
“Tut,” she answered smiling, “he does not
think of it but only to please me. 'Tis his way
to speak what comes to his tongue to give us
pleasure."
“For all that, he need not have misjudged us,”
I grumbled; and then was sorry for the pain with
which she looked at me.
“It is you, Jack, who misjudge ' " She spoke
it sharply. We still prayed together for our brother
twice a day; but she knew—and either dared not
or cared not to ask why—that since his first
home-coming my love had cooled towards him.
Very likely she believed me to be jealous.
The hay-harvest found and passed us in peace,
and the wheat was near ripe, when, towards the
close of July, rumours came to us of an army
marching towards Cornwall under command of the
Earl of Essex; by persuasion (it was said) of the
Lord Robarts, whose seat of Lanhydrock lies on
our bank of the river about three miles above
Lostwithiel, facing the Lord Mohun's house of
Boconnoc across the valley. My Lord Mohun,
after some wavering at first, had cast in his fortune
with the King's party, to which belonged well nigh
all the gentry of our neighbourhood; and had done
so in good time for his reputation. But the Lord
Robarts was an obstinate clever man who chose


266 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
the other side and stuck to it in despite of first
misfortunes. We guessed therefore that if the
Parliamentarians came by his invitation they would
not neglect a district on which he staked so much
for mastery; and sure enough, about July 25th,
we heard that Essex had reached Bodmin with
the mass of his forces, Sir Richard Grenvill having
retired before him and moved hastily with the
Queen's troop to Truro. After this, Margery and
I used to climb every morning to the earthwork
and spy all the country round for signs of the
hated troopers. Yet day passed after day with
nought to be seen, and little to be heard but further
rumours, of which the most constant said that the
King himself was following Essex with an army,
and had already seized and crossed the passes of
the Tamar.
'Twas on the 2nd of August that the bolt fell ;
when after mounting the slope at daybreak with
nothing to warn us, we stepped through the dykes
into the old camp. A heavy dew hung in beads
on the brambles, and at the second dyke I had
turned and was holding aside a brier to let Margery
pass, when a short cry from her fetched me right-
about and staring into the face of a tall soldier
grinning at us over the bank. In the enclosure
behind him (as we saw through a gap) were a
number of men in mud-coloured jerkins, quietly
mounting a couple of cannon.
“Good-morning !” said the soldier amiably, with


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 267
an up-country twang in his voice, “Good-morning,
my pretty dears And if you come from the farm
below, what may be the name of it 7”
“Lawhibbet,” I answered, seeing that Margery
closed her lips tight.
“Ay, Lawhibbet ; that's the name I was told."
He nodded in the friendliest manner.
“Are you the rebels 2 " I blurted out, while
Margery gripped my arm ; but this boldness only
fetched a laugh from the big man.
“Some of 'em,” said he ; “though you'll have
to unlearn that name, my young whipstercock,
seein' we're here to stay for a while. The Earl
marched down into Fowey last night while you
were asleep, and is down there now making it
right and tight. Do you ever play at blind-man's
buff in these parts 2"
Three or four soldiers had gathered behind him
by this, and were staring down on us. One of
them blew a clumsy kiss to Margery.
- “Do you mean the child's game 2 " I asked,
wondering whatever he could be driving at.
“I do; but perhaps, sir, you are too old to
remember it." He winked at the men and they
guffawed. “It begins, “How many horses has your
father in stall 2' ‘Six," says you; ‘black, red, and
grey '—or that's the number according to our in-
structions. ‘Very good then,' says we ; ‘turn round
three times and catch which you may.' And the
moral is, don't be surprised if you find the stable


268 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
- - -
empty when you get home. There's a detachment
gone to attend to it after seizing the ford below ;
hungry men, all of them. No doubt they'll be
visiting the bacon-rack after the stable, and if
missy knows where to pick up the new-laid eggs
she might put a score aside for us poor artillery-
men.”
We turned from them and hurried down the
slope. “Rebels " said Margery once, under her
breath ; but the blow had stunned us and we could
not talk. In the stable yard we found, as the
artillerymen had promised, a company of soldiers
leading out the horses, and my father watching
them with that patient look which never deserted
him. He turned to Margery—
“Go into the kitchen, my dear. They will
want food next, and we have to do what we can.
They have been civil, and promise to pay for all
they take. I do not think they will show any
roughness."
Margery obeyed with a set Iace. For the next
hour she and Lizzie were busy in the kitchen,
frying ham and eggs, boiling great pans of milk,
cutting up all the bread of the last baking, and
heating the oven for a fresh batch. The men, I
am bound to say, took their food civilly, that
morning and afterwards; and for a fortnight at
least they paid reasonably for all they took. For
several days I hung closer about the ingle than
ever I had done in my life; not that a boy of


MARGERY OF LA IV HIBBET 269
fourteen could be any protection to the women-folk,
but to be ready at least to give an alarm should
insult be offered. But we had to do with decent
men, who showed themselves friendly not only in
the house but in their camp down by the ford,
whither, after the first morning, Lizzie and I trudged
it twice a day with baskets of provisions. Lizzie
indeed talked freely with them, but I held my
tongue and glowered (I dare say) in my foolish
hate. Margery kept to the house.
'Twas, I think, on August 15th that the first
hope of release came to us, by the King's troops
seizing the ford-head across the river; and this
happened as suddenly as our first surprise. Lizzie
and I were carrying down our baskets at four
o'clock that day, when we heard a sound of
musketry on the St. Veep shore and on top of
it a bugle twice blown. Running to the top of
a knoll from which the river spread in view, I
saw some rebels of our detachment splashing out
from shore in a hurry. The leaders reached mid-
stream or thereabouts, and paused. Doubtless they
could see better than I what was happening; for
after they had stood there a couple of minutes,
holding their fire—the musketry on the St. Veep
bank continuing all the while –some twenty men
came running out of the woods there and fled
across towards us, many bullets splashing into the
water behind them. They reached their comrades
in the river-bed, and the whole body stood irresolute,


270 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
facing the shore where nothing showed but a glint
of steel here and there between the trees. Thus
for ten further minutes, perhaps, they hesitated;
then turned and came sullenly back across the
rising water. In this manner the royal troops won
the ford-head, and kept it; for although the two
cannon opened fire that evening from the earth-
work above us, and dropped many balls among
the trees, they did not dislodge the regiment
(Colonel Lloyd's) which lay there and held one of
the few passes by which the rebels could break away.
For—albeit I knew nothing of this at the time
—by withdrawing his headquarters to Lostwithiel
and holding our narrow ridge with Fowey at the
end of it seaward, the Earl had led his army into
a trap, and one which his Majesty was now fast
closing. Already he had drawn his troops across
the river-meadows above Lostwithiel; and, what-
ever help the Earl might have hoped to fetch from
the sea at his base, he was there prevented by
the quickness of Sir Jacob Astley in seizing a fort
on the other side of the harbour's mouth as well
as a battery commanding the town from that shore,
and in flinging a hundred men into each, who easily
beat off all ships from entering. From this com-
fortable sea-entrance then Essex perforce turned
for his stores to Twyardreath Bay on the western
side of the ridge, where he landed a couple of
cargoes at the mouth of the little river Par; but
on the 25th the Prince Maurice sent down 2,000


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 271
horse and 1,000 foot, and after sharp skirmishing
blocked this inlet also. So now we had the whole
rebel army cooped around us and along the two
sides of the ridge, trampling our harvest and eating
our larders bare, with no prospect but a surrender;
which yet the Earl refused, although his Majesty
thrice offered to treat with him.
This (I say) was the position, though we at
Lawhibbet knew not how desperate ’twas for the
rebels our guests; only that our food was pinched
to short rations of bread and that payment had
ceased, though the sergeants still gave vouchers
duly for the little we could supply. The battery
above us kept silence day after day, save twice
when the Royalists made a brief show of forcing
the pass; but at intervals each day we would
hear a brisk play of artillery a little higher up the
stream, where they had planted a fort on the
high ground by St. Nectan's Chapel, to pound at
Lostwithiel in the valley. For my part I could
have pitied the rebels, so worn they were with
weeks of hunger and watching, to which the weather
added another misery, turning at the close of the
month to steady rain with heavy fogs covering
land and sea, and no wind to disperse them.
Margery had no pity; but I believed would have
starved cheerfully—if that could have helped—to
see these poor sodden wretches in worse plight.
I think 'twas on the morning of the 28th that
the Royalists across the ford showed a flag of


272 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
truce; which having been answered, a small party
of horse came riding over, the leader with a letter
for the Earl of Essex which he was suffered to
carry to Fowey, riding thither in the midst of an
escort of six and leaving his own men behind on
the near side of the ford.
While they waited by their horses I drew near
to one of them and asked him if he knew aught
of my brother, Captain Mark Lantine. He answered,
after eyeing me sharply, that he knew my brother
well—a very gallant officer, now serving with the
Earl of Cleveland's brigade.
“That will be on the slope beneath Boconnoc,"
said I.
“How know you that ?" he asked briskly, and
I was telling him that the dispositions of the Royal
troops were no secret to the rebels (warning of
all fresh movements being brought daily to the
ford from Lostwithiel), when a sergeant interrupted
and, forbidding any further converse, packed me
off homeward with a flea in my ear.
For what came of this talk Margery—to whom
I reported it that same evening—must bear the
credit. For two days she brooded over it, keeping
silence even beyond her wont, and then on the
night of the 30th, at nine o'clock, when I was
scarce abed, she tapped at my door and bade me
arise and dress myself. She had an expedition
to propose, no less than that we should cross the
river and pay Mark a visit in his quarters.


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 273
Her boldness took away my breath : yet as
she whispered her plan it did not seem impossible,
or, bating the chance of being shot by a stray
outpost, so very dangerous. A heavy fog lay over
the hills, as it had lain for nights. The tide was
flowing. My father's boat had been dragged ashore
and lay bottom upwards under a cliff about three
hundred yards above the ford. If we could reach
and right it without being discovered, either one
of us was clever enough, with an oar over the
Stern, to scull noiselessly across to the entrance
of a creek where the current would take us up
towards Boconnoc between banks held on either
side by Royalists; to whom, if they surprised us,
we could tell our business.
The plan (I say) was a promising one. It mis-
carried only after we had righted the boat and were
dragging it across the strip of shingle between the
meadow bank and the water's edge. A quick-eared
Sentry caught the sound and challenged at two
gunshots' distance. I had the boat's nose afloat as
I heard his feet stumbling over the uneven foreshore :
but the paddles and even the bottom-boards were
lying on the beach behind us. There was no help
for it. Margery stepped on board swiftly and
silently, and I pushed well out into the stream,
following until the water rose to my middle and so
standing while the fellow challenged again. For a
minute we kept mute as mice. The footsteps hesi-
tated and came to a halt by the water's edge a full
S


274 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
twenty yards below, and I guessed that the fog had
blurred for him the distance as well as the direction
of the sound. Very quietly I heaved myself ove:
the stern and into the boat, which swung broadside
to the current and so was borne up and beyond
danger from him. But the mischief was, we were
drifting up the main channel which ended in the
Lostwithiel marshes and must pretty certainly lead
us into the enemy's hands, unless before striking the
moors below the town we could by some means push
across to the farther bank. We leaned over, dipped
our arms in the water, and with the least possible
noise began to paddle. Even in the darkness the
tall banks were familiar, and between skill and good
fortune we came to shore on the left bank below a
coppice and just within sight of the town lights.
Between us and them lay a broad marsh-land through
which the river wound, and along the edge of which,
under the trees skirting this shore, we started at a
timorous run, pulling up now and again to listen.
So we had come abreast of the town without
challenge, when the sky almost on a sudden grew
lighter, and we saw the church spire glimmering and
the weather-cock above it, and knew that the moon
had risen over the woodland in the shadow of which
we crouched. And with that Margery glanced back
and plucked at my arm.
The moor we had skirted was full of horsemen,
drawn up in rank and motionless. They loomed
through the river fog like giants—rank behind rank,


MARGERY OF I.A. WHIPBET 275
each man stiff and upright and silent in his saddle—
as it were a vale full of mounted ghosts awaiting
the dreadful trumpet; and in my terror I forgot to
tremble at the nearness of our escape (for we had
all but blundered into them). But while I stared,
and the wreaths of fog hid and again disclosed them,
I heard Margery's whisper—
“They are escaping to-night. It can only be by
the bridge and across Boconnoc downs. If we can
win to Mark and warn him 1"
She drew me off into the wood at a sharp angle,
and we began to climb beneath the branches. They
dripped on us, soaking us to the skin ; but this we
scarcely felt. We knew that we must be moving
along the narrow interval between the two lines of
outposts. Beneath us, in the centre of a basin of
fog, a cluster of lights marked Lostwithiel: above,
the moon and the glow of Royalist camp-fires threw
up the outline of the ridge. Alongside of this we
kept, and a little below it, crossing the high-road
which leads east from Lostwithiel bridge, and,
beyond that, advancing more boldly under the lee of
a hedge beside a by-road which curves towards the
brow of Boconnoc downs. I began to find it strange
that, for all our secrecy, no one challenged us here.
At a bend of the lane, we came in view of a
solitary cottage with one window lit and blurring
its light on the mist. We crept close, still on the
far side of the hedge, and, parting the bushes,
peered at it.


276 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
It must be here or hereabouts (by all information)
that the Earl of Cleveland kept his quarters. The
light shone into our eyes through a drawn blind
which told nothing; and Margery was dragging me
forward to knock at the door when it opened and
two men stepped quickly across the threshold and
passed down the lane. They crossed the bar of light
swiftly and were gone into the dark; and they trod
softly—so softly that we listened in vain for their
footfalls.
Then, almost before I knew it, Margery had
dragged me across a gap in the hedge and was
rapping at the cottage door. No one answered.
She lifted the latch and entered, I at her heels. The
kitchen—an ordinary cottage kitchen—was empty.
A guttered candle stood on the table to the right,
and beside it lay a feathered cap. Margery stepped
toward this and had scarce time to touch the brim of
it before a voice hailed us in the doorway behind my
shoulder.
“ Hullo 1 ''
It was our brother Mark.
“Well, of all—” he began, and came to a stop;
his face white as a sheet, as well it might be.
Margery rounded upon him. She must have been
surprised, but she began without explanation, running
to him and kissing him swiftly—
“Mark—dear Mark, we have news for thee,
instant news | Sure, Heaven directed us to-night
that you should be the first to hear it. Mark, we


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 277
passed the rebel cavalry in the valley, and for certain
they will attempt to break through to-night.”
“Yes, yes,” said he peevishly, pulling at an end
of his long love-locks, “we have had that scare often
enough, these last few nights.”
“But we passed them close—saw them plainly in
rank below Lostwithiel bridge, and every man in
saddle. Even now they will be moving—”
Mark swung about and passed out at the open
door. He had not returned Margery's kiss. “I
must be off, then, to visit my videttes,” said he
quickly, and then paused as if considering. “For
you, the cottage here will not be safe : it stands
close beside the line of march and I must get down
a company of musketeers. You had best follow
me—” he took a step and paused again : “No,
there will not be time.”
“Tell us in what direction to go and we will fend
for ourselves and leave you free.”
“Through the garden, then, at the back and into
the woods—the fence has a gap and from it a path
leads up to a quarry among the trees; you cannot
miss. The quarry is full of brambles—good hiding,
in case we have trouble. No cavalryman will win
so far, you may be sure.”
Margery gathered her skirts about her, and we
stole out into the darkness. At the door she turned
up her face to Mark. “Kiss me, my brother.” He
kissed her, and breaking away (as I thought) with a
low groan, strode from us up the lane.


278 THE LAIR D'S LUCK
“Now why should he go up the lane f" mused
Margery: and I too wondered. For the first alarm
must needs come from the lower end towards which
he had been walking with his other visitor, when we
first spied on the cottage through the bushes.
But 'twas not for us to guess how the troops were
disposed or where the outposts lay. We made our
escape through the little garden, and, blundering
along the woodland path behind it, came at length
to a thicket of brambles over which hung the scarp
of the quarry with a fringe of trees above it pitch-
black against the foggy moonlight. Here on the
soaked ground I found a clear space and a tumbled
stone or two, on which we crouched together,
sleepless and intently listening.
For an hour we heard no sound. Then the valley
towards Lostwithiel shook with a dull explosion,
which puzzled us a great deal. (But the meaning, I
have since learnt was this:—Two prisoners in the
church there had contrived to climb up into the
steeple and, pulling the ladder after them, jeered
down upon the rebels' Provost Marshal, who was
now preparing for a night retreat of the Infantry
upon Fowey and in a hurry to be gone. “I’ll fetch
you down,” said he, and with a barrel of powder
blew most of the slates off the roof, but without
harming the defiant pair who were found still
perched on the steeple next morning.)
After this the hours passed without sound. It
eemed incredible, this silence in the ring of wakeful


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 279
outposts. Margery shivered now and again, and I
knew that her eyes were open, though she said
nothing. For me, towards morning, I dropped into
a doze, and woke to the tightening of her hand upon
my arm.
“Hist!”
I listened with her. The sky had grown grey
about us, and up through the dripping trees came a
soft and regular footfall, as of a body of horse moving
past. “It will be Mark's troop,” I whispered, and
listened again. It seemed to me that the noise
moved away to our right instead of towards Lost-
withiel. A quick suspicion took me then : I scaled
the right-hand side of the quarry at a run, burst
through the fringe of pines, and came out suddenly
upon a knoll in full view of the down. The first
gleam of sunshine was breaking over this slope, and
towards it at an easy trot rode the whole body of
rebel cavalry, in number above a thousand.
“Escaped 1"
While I stood and stared, Margery caught up
with me. We looked into each other's face. Then
without a word she went from me. I lingered there
for perhaps ten minutes; for now, from behind the
trees above, a squadron of Royalist horse charged
across the slope at a gallop. They were less than
four hundred, however, and as the rebel rearguard
turned to face them, drew rein and exchanged but a
few harmless shots. I watched the host as it wound
slowly over the crest with its pursuers hanging


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 281
hill they had been holding: so that now we had the
whole force falling back towards Fowey along the
ridge, with our forlorn hope following in chase from
field to field.
Before eight the King himself with two troops of
horse (one of them my brother's) passed over a ford
a little to the south of the town, with intent to catch
this movement in flank: and there, by the ford's
edge, I believe, took a cartload of muskets with five
abandoned pieces, two of them very long guns. The
river being too deep, with a rising tide, for Margery
to wade, we made our crossing by the bridge, where
the fighting had been, but where there was now no
soldiery, only a many dead bodies, some huddled
into the coigns of the parapet, more laid out upon
a patch of turf at the bridge end, the mud caked on
their faces. It made me shiver to see: but my sister
went by with scarce a glance and, once past the
river, caught my hand and set off running after
the troops.
The beginning of the retreat had been brisk
enough—so brisk that it outpaced His Majesty's
movement in flank: who, breasting the hill with
his cavalry (after some minutes lost at the ford in
collecting the cannon and muskets which might well
have been gleaned later) found himself, if anything,
in the rear of his victorious footmen. But after two
miles, coming to that part of the ridge where it
narrows above Lawhibbet, and in view of our old
earthwork which was yet pretty strongly held by


MARGERY OF LA WHIRRET 283
track, mounting from the valley bottom, led us up to
the high road on the ridge; and there, peering out
cautiously, I spied the backs of a rebel company
posted across it, a bare two hundred yards away
towards Lostwithiel. Their ranks parted and I had
time enough, and no more, to push Margery into the
ditch and fling myself beside her among the brambles
before a team of horses swept by at a gallop, with
a cannon bumping on its carriage behind them and
dragging a long cloud of dust.
“Quick 1" called Margery as it passed: sprang
to her feet and across the road in the noise and
smother. Choking with dust and anger I followed,
almost on all-fours.
“But what folly is this 2 " I demanded, overtaking
her by the opposite hedge.
“I know what I am doing," she said. “They did
not see—the dust hid us. Now quick again, and help
me up to this hazel-bush."
I swung her up, and myself after her. The bush
was one which I myself had polled two years before;
an old stump set thickly about with young shoots, in
the cover of which we huddled, staring down the
slope of our own great grass-field (the largest on
Lawhibbet farm) now filled with rebels withdrawing
in good order upon the earthwork on Castle Dore.
This earthwork stood in the very next field on our
right, behind what had used to be a hedge but where
was now a gap some twenty yards wide (levelled a few
days before by Essex's canoniers), and through this


284 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
gap, towards which the regiments were streaming,
drifted the smoke of the guns as they flung their
round shot high over our heads, and over the hedge
on our left which hid from us all of the royal troops
save now and then the flash of a steel cap behind the
top-growth of hazel, ash and bramble.
The line of this hedge, on the near side to us, was
yet held by musketeers who had spread themselves
along it very closely and seemed to be using every
bush. Indeed I wondered how they were to be
forced from such cover, when a party of them by the
gate suddenly gave back and began running, and
through the gateway a small troop of horse came
pouring at their heels. And albeit these cavaliers
must have suffered desperately in so charging up
to a covered foe (and many riderless chargers came
galloping with them), yet the remnant held such
good order that in pouring through they seemed to
divide by agreement, a part wheeling to right and a
part to left to drive the skirmishers, while the main
troop held on across the field nor drew rein until
they had chased the rebel rearguard to the gap.
But as the gap cleared ahead and showed the earth-
work and the muzzles of the guns now lowered right
in their path, their leader checked his horse, wheeled
about in as pretty a curve as you could wish to see,
and his troop following cantered back towards the
gate.
It was gallantly done, and clearly won high
approval from a horseman who at the moment came


MARGERY OF LA WHIBBET 285
at a trot through the gate, with a second troop
behind him, and was saluted by the returning
squadron with one flash of sword-blades, all together,
hilt brought to chin and every blade pointing straight
in air—a flourish almost as pretty as the feat it
concluded. He too held his sword before him with
point upright, but awkwardly; and though he sat his
saddle well, his bearing had more of civil authority
than of soldierlike precision. I was wondering,
indeed, what his business might be on this field of
arms—for his men hung back somewhat, as escorting
rather than charging at his lead, when Margery
plucked at my elbow.
“The King !"
I stared at her stupidly. And reading awe in her
wide eyes, I had almost turned to follow their gaze
when my own fell on a rider who had detached
himself from the escort and was coming towards us
along the hedge-row, whipping it idly with the flat
of his sword, and now and again thrusting at it with
the point, as if beating for hidden skirmishers. It
was our brother Mark, and he frowned as he rode.
I held my breath as he drew near. Margery's
eyes were on the King ; but she must needs recognise
her brother when he came abreast of us.
And so it was. She gave him at first an idle
glance, and with that started, let out a short choking
cry, and leapt down from the hedge right in his path,
dragging me after her by the sleeve.
“Mark : " she cried.


286 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
He swerved his horse round with a curse. But
she caught at the bridle and pointed towards the gap
through which, though hidden from us by the angle,
pointed the muzzles of the rebel artillery. “You
must Oh, if you fear, I will run with you and die
with you—I your sister 1 There is no other way.
You must, Mark 1"
He pushed past her sullenly, moving towards the
group where the King stood.
“Mark, if you do not, the King shall know !
Redeem, brother; or I swear—and when did I break
word 2–here and now the King shall know who lost
him the rebel horse.”
She spoke it fast and low, with a dead-white face.
We were close now to the royal group; close enough
to hear the King's words.
“I must needs,” he was saying, “envy Her
Majesty, Captain Brett. Under your leading her
troop has done that which my own can only envy.”
He turned at what seemed at first a murmur
among his own men, and no doubt was framing a
compliment for them too. But their murmur grew
to a growl of mere astonishment as a thud of hoofs
drew all eyes after my brother riding at full gallop
for the gap.
“But what is the madman after 2 " began the
King, and broke off with a sharp exclamation as his
eyes fell on Margery, who had picked up her skirts
and was running after Mark. She was perhaps a
hundred yards behind him when the cannon roared


MIDSUMMER FIRES
I
IN the course of an eventful life John Penaluna did
three very rash things.
To begin with, at seventeen he ran away to sea.
He had asked his father's permission. But for
fifty years the small estate had been going from
bad to worse. John's grandfather, in the piping
days of agriculture, had drunk the profits and
mortgaged everything but the furniture. On his
death, John's father (who had enlisted in a line
regiment) came home with a broken knee-pan and
a motherless boy, and turned market-gardener in
a desperate attempt to rally the family fortunes.
With capital he might have succeeded. But market-
gardening required labour; and he could neither
afford to hire it nor to spare the services of a
growing lad who cost nothing but his keep. So
John's request was not granted.
A week later, in the twilight of a May evening,
John was digging potatoes on the slope above
the harbour, when he heard—away up the first
bend of the river—the crew of the Hannah Hands
brigantine singing as they weighed anchor. He
listened for a minute, stuck his visgy into the
soil, slipped on his coat, and trudged down to the
ferry-slip.
T


MIDSUMMER FIRES 293
He found himself outside the door, mopping his
forehead.
This was the second rash thing that John
Penaluna did.
II
It was Midsummer Eve, and a Saturday, when
Hester knocked at the Mayows' green door on
the Town Quay. The Mayows' house hung over
the tideway, and the Touch-me-not schooner, home
that day from Florida with a cargo of pines, and
warped alongside the quay, had her foreyard braced
aslant to avoid knocking a hole in the Mayows'
roof.
A Cheap Jack's caravan stood at the edge of
the quay. The Cheap Jack was feasting inside on
fried ham rasher among his clocks and mirrors and
pewter ware; and though it wanted an hour of
dusk, his assistant was already lighting the naphtha
lamps when Hester passed.
Steam issued from the Mayows' doorway, which
had a board across it to keep the younger Mayows
from straggling. A voice from the steam invited
her to come in. She climbed over the board,
groped along the dusky passage, pushed open a
door and looked in on the kitchen, where, amid
clouds of vapour, Mrs. Mayow and her daughter
Cherry were washing the children. Each had a
“th 2nd a child in it; and three children, already
washed, skipped around the floor stark naked, one


294 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
with a long churchwarden pipe blowing bubble
which the other two pursued. In the far corne:
behind a deal table, sat Mr. Mayow, and patiently
tuned a fiddle—a quite hopeless task in that at
mosphere.
“My gracious !” Mrs. Mayow exclaimed, rising
from her knees; “if it isn't Hester already I Amelia,
get out and dry yourself while I make a cup of
tea.”
Hester took a step forward, but paused at a
sound of dismal bumping on the staircase leading
up from the passage.
“That's Elizabeth Ann,” said Mrs. Mayow com-
posedly, “ or Heber, or both. We shall know when
they get to the bottom. My dear, you must be
perishing for a cup of tea. Oh, it's Elizabeth Ann
Cherry, go and smack her, and tell her what I'll
do if she falls downstairs again. It's all Matthew
Henry's fault.” Here she turned on the naked
urchin with the churchwarden pipe. “If he'd only
been home to his time——"
“I was listening to Zeke Penhaligon," said
Matthew Henry (aged eight). “He’s home to-
day in the Touch-me-not.”
“He’s no good to King nor country,” said Mrs.
Mayow.
“He was telling me about a man that got
swallowed by a whale—"
“Go away with your Jonahses 1" sneered one
F
of his sisters.


MIDSUMMER FIRES 299
as her feet fell into time with the measure, she
really began to enjoy it all—the music, the rush
of the cool night air against her temples, even the
smell of naphtha and the heat of the flames on
her face as the dancers paused now and again,
dashed upon the fire as if to tread it out, and
backed until the strain on their arms grew tense
again; and, just as it grew unbearable, the circular
leaping was renewed. Always in these pauses the
same face confronted her across the fire: the face
of a young man in a blue jersey and a peaked cap,
a young man with crisp dark hair and dark eyes,
gay and challenging. In her daze it seemed to
Hester that, when they came face to face, he was
always on the side of the bonfire nearest the water;
and the moon rose above the farther hill as they
danced, and swam over his shoulder, at each meeting
higher and higher.
It was all new to her and strange. The music
ceased abruptly, the dancers unclasped their hands
and fell apart, laughing and panting. And then,
while yet she leaned against the Mayows' door-
post, the fiddle broke out again—broke into a polka
tune; and there, in front of her stood the young man
in the blue jersey and peaked cap.
He was speaking. She scarcely knew what she
answered; but, even while she wondered, she had
taken his arm submissively. And, next, his arm
was about her and she was dancing. She had
never danced before; but, after one or two broken


300 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
paces, her will surrendered to his, her body and its
movements answered him docilely. She felt that
his eyes were fixed on her forehead, but dared not
look up. She saw nothing of the crowd. Other
dancers passed and re-passed like phantoms, neither
jostling nor even touching—so well her partner
steered. She grew giddy; her breath came short
and fast. She would have begged for a rest, but the
sense of his mastery weighed on her and held her
dumb. Suddenly he laughed close to her ear, and
his breath ruffled her hair.
“You dance fine,” he said. “Shall us cross the
fire P’’
She did not understand. In her giddiness they
seemed to be moving in a wide, empty space among
many fires, nor had she an idea which was the real
one. His arm tightened about her.
“Now !” he whispered. With a leap they
whirled high and across the bonfire. Her feet had
scarcely touched ground before they were off again
to the music—or would have been ; but, to her
immense surprise, her partner had dropped on his
knees before her and was clasping her about the
ankles. She heard a shout. The fire had caught
the edge of her skirt and her frock was burning.
It was over in a moment. His arms had stifled,
extinguished the flame before she knew of her
danger. Still kneeling, holding her fast, he looked
up, and their eyes met. “Take me back,” she
murmured, swaying. He rose, took her arm, and


MIDSUMMER FIRES 303
On the landing outside a short ladder led up to a
trapdoor in the eaves, and through the open trap-
way a broad ray of moonlight streamed upon the
staircase.
“That's mother again l Now I know where
Amelia got that cold in her head. I'll war'n' the
door hasn't been locked since Tuesday !”
She climbed the ladder, with Hester at her
heels. They emerged through the trap upon a flat
roof, where on Mondays Mrs. Mayow spread her
family “wash" to dry in the harbour breezes. Was
that a part of the “wash" now hanging in a row
along the parapet 2
No ; those dusky white objects were the younger
members of the Mayow family leaning over the tide-
way, each with a stick and line—fishing for conger
Matthew Henry explained, as Cherry took him by
the ear; but Elizabeth Jane declared that, after
four nights of it, she, for her part, limited her hopes
to shannies.
Cherry swept them together, and filed them in-
doors through the trap in righteous wrath, taking
her opportunity to box the ears of each. “Come'st
along, Hester."
Hester was preparing to follow, when she heard
a subdued laugh. It seemed to come from the far
side of the parapet, and below her. She drew her
dressing-gown close about her and leaned over.
She looked down upon a stout spar overhanging
the tide, and thence along a vessel's deck, empty,


304 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
glimmering in the moonlight; upon mysterious cois
of rope; upon the dew-wet roof of a deck-house:
upon a wheel twinkling with brass-work, and behind
it a white-painted taffrail. Her eyes were travelling
forward to the bowsprit again, when, close by the
foremast, they were arrested, and she caught her
breath sharply.
There, with his naked feet on the bulwarks and
one hand against the house-wall, in the shadow of
which he leaned out-board, stood a man. His
other hand grasped a short stick; and with it he
was reaching up to the window above him—her
bedroom window. The window, she remembered,
was open at the bottom—an inch or two, no more.
The man slipped the end of his stick under the sash
and prised it up quietly. Next he raised himself
on tiptoe, and thrust the stick a foot or so through
the opening; worked it slowly along the window-
ledge, and hesitated; then pulled with a light
jerk, as an angler strikes a fish. And Hester,
holding her breath, saw the stick withdrawn, inch
by inch ; and at the end of it a garment—her
petticoat
“How dare you !”
The thief whipped himself about, jumped back
upon deck, and stood smiling up at her, with the
petticoat in his hand. It was the young sailor she
had danced with.
“How dare you ? Oh, I'd be ashamed !"
“Midsummer Evel” said he, and laughed.


MIDSUMMER FIRES 305
“Give it up at once 1" She dared not speak
loudly, but felt herself trembling with wrath.
“That's not likely.” He unhitched it from the
fish-hook he had spliced to the end of his stick.
“And after the trouble I’ve taken "
“I’ll call your captain, and he'll make you give
it up.”
“The old man's sleeping ashore, and won't be
down till nine in the morning. I'm alone here."
He stepped to the fore-halliards. “Now I'll just
hoist this up to the topmast head, and you'll see
what a pretty flag it makes in the morning.”
“Oh, please . . . ."
He turned his back and began to bend the
petticoat on the halliards.
“No, no . . . please . . . it's cruel !"
He could hear that she was crying softly; hesi-
tated, and faced round again.
“There now . . . if it teases you so. There
wasn’ no harm meant. You shall have it back—
wait a moment 1"
He came forward and clambered out on the
bowsprit, and from the bowsprit to the jib-boom
beneath her. She was horribly afraid he would ſall,
and broke off her thanks to whisper him to be
careful, at which he laughed. Standing there, and
holding by the fore-topmast stay, he could just
reach a hand up to the parapet, and was lifting it,
but paused.
“No," said he, “I must have a kiss in exchange.”
U


306 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
“Please don't talk like that. I thank you so
much. Don't spoil your kindness.”
“You've spoilt my joke. See, I can hoist myself
on the stay here. Bend over as far as you can.
I swear you shall have the petticoat at once, but
I won't give it up without.”
“I can't. I shall never think well of you again."
“Oh, yes, you will. Bend lower.”
“Don’t l” she murmured; but the moonlight,
refracted from the water below, glimmered on her
face as she leaned towards him.
“Lower l What queer eyes you've got. Do you
know what it means to kiss over running water f"
His lips whispered it close to her ear. And with
that, as she bent, some treacherous pin gave way,
and her loosely knotted hair fell in dark masses
across his face. She heard him laugh as he kissed
her in the tangled screen of it.
The next moment she had snatched the bundle
and sprung to her feet and away. But as she passed
by the trapdoor and hurriedly retwisted her hair
before descending, she heard him there, beyond the
parapet, laughing still.
IV
THREE weeks later she married John Penaluna.
They spent their honeymoon at home, as sober
folks did in those days. John could spare no
time for holiday-making. He had entered on his


314 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
comes to say good-bye. Tangye says he 've got the
offer of a new berth, up to Runcorn.”
“Yes, I know.”
If she wished, or struggled, to say more he did
not seem to observe it, but rose from his chair,
stooped and kissed her on the forehead, and
resolutely marched out to his garden. He worked
that afternoon in a small patch which commanded
a view of the ferry and also of the road leading up
to Hall: and at half-past three, or a few minutes
later, dropped his spade and strolled down to the
edge of his property, a low cliff overhanging the
ferry-slip.
“Hullo, Zeke l"
Zeke, as he stepped out of the ferry-boat, looked
up with some confusion on his face. He wore his
best suit, with a bunch of sweet-william in his
button-hole.
“Come to bid us good-bye, I spose 2 We've
heard of your luck. Here, scramble up this way if
you can manage, and shake hands on your fortune.”
Zeke obeyed. The climb seemed to fluster him;
but the afternoon was a hot one, in spite of a light
westerly breeze. The two men moved side by side
across the garden-slope, and as they did so John
caught sight of a twinkle of sunshine on Captain
Tangye's brass telescope across the harbour.
They paused beside one of the heaps of rubbish.
“This is a fine thing for you, Zeke.”
“Ay, pretty fair.”


MIDSUMMER FIRE'S 315
“I spose we sha'n't be seein' much of you now.
'Tis like an end of old times. I reckoned we'd have
a pipe together afore partin'." John pulled out a
stumpy clay and filled it. “Got a match about
you?”
Zeke passed him one, and he struck it on his boot.
“There, now,” he went on, “I meant to set a light
to these here heaps of rubbish this afternoon, and
now I've come out without my matches." He
waited for the sulphur to finish bubbling, and then
began to puff.
Zeke handed him half-a-dozen matches.
“I dunno how many 'twill take, said John.
“S'pose we go round together and light up. "Twon't
take us a quarter of an hour, an' we can talk by the
way."
Ten minutes later, Captain Tangye, across the
harbour, shut his telescope with an angry snap. The
smoke of five-and-twenty bonfires crawled up the
hillside and completely hid John Penaluna's garden
—hid the two figures standing there, hid the little
summer-house at the top of the slope. It was
enough to make a man swear, and Captain Tangye
SWOre.
John Penaluna drew a long breath.
“Well, good-bye and bless 'ee, Zeke. Hester's
up in the summer-house. I won't go up with 'ee:
my back's too stiff. Go an' make your adoos to her;
she's cleverer than I be, and maybe will tell 'ee what
we've both got in our minds.”


316 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
This was the third rash thing that John Penaluna
did.
He watched Zeke up the hill, till the smoke hid
him. Then he picked up his spade. “Shall I find her,
when I step home this evening 7 Please God, yes.”
And he did. She was there by the supper-table
waiting for him. Her eyes were red. John pre-
tended to have dropped something, and went back
for a moment to look for it. When he returned,
neither spoke.
VI
YEARS passed—many years. Their life ran on in its
old groove.
John toiled from early morning to sunset, as
before—and yet not quite as before. There was a
difference, and Captain Tangye would, no doubt,
have perceived it long before had not Death one day
come on him in an east wind and closed his activities
with a snap, much as he had so often closed his
telescope.
For a year or two after Zeke's departure, John
went on enlarging his garden-bounds, though more
languidly. Then followed four or five years during
which his conquests seemed to stand still And then
little by little, the brambles and wild growth rallied.
Perhaps—who knows 2—the assaulted wilderness had
found its Joan of Arc. At any rate, it stood up to
him at length, and pressed in upon him and drove


320 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
above were stained purple and crimson by the
growth of some minute fungus; but where darkness
began, these colors passed through rose-pink into a
delicate ivory-white—a hard crust of lime, crenelated
like coral by the ceaseless trickle of water which
deposited it.
At first the explorers supposed themselves on the
track of a lost holy well. They had no candles, but
by economising their stock of matches they followed
up the mysterious and beautiful staircase until it
came to a sudden end, blocked by the fallen mass of
cliff. Still in ignorance whither it led or what
purpose it had served, they turned back and descended
to the sunshine again; when one of the party,
scanning the cliff's face, observed a fragment—three
steps only—jutting out like a cornice some sixty or
seventy feet overhead.
This seemed to dispose of the holy well theory,
and suggested that the stairway had reached to the
summit, where perhaps an entrance might be found.
The party returned to Penzance, and their report at
once engaged the attention of the local Antiquarian
Society; a small subscription list was opened, per-
mission obtained from the owner of the property,
and within a week a gang of labourers began to
excavate on the cliff-top directly above the jutting
cornice. The ground here showed a slight depres-
sion, and the soil proved unexpectedly deep and easy
to work. On the second day, at a depth of seven
feet, one of the men announced that he had come


PHOEBUS ON HALZAPHRON 325
wondered no longer, for the old gray wolf, for whose
head Graul had offered a talent of silver, was loping
down the hill-side in full view, with her long family
at her heels. She passed within a stone's throw of
the King and gave him one quiet disdainful look out
of her green eyes as she headed her pack to the
southward.
Then the King understood. He looked south-
ward and saw the plain full of moving beasts. He
looked northward, and two miles away the rolling
downs were not, but in their place a bright line
stretched taut as a string, and the string roared as if
a great finger were twanging it.
Queen Niotte's horse had come to a standstill.
Graul lifted and set her before him on Rubh's
crupper, and called to Gwennolar to follow him.
But Gwennolar's horse, too, was spent, and in a little
while he drew rein and lifted her, too, and set her
on the stallion's broad back behind him. Then
forward he spurred again and southward after the
wolves—with a pack fiercer than wolves shouting at
Rubh's heels, nearer and yet nearer.
And Rubh galloped, yet not as before; for this
Gwennolar was a witch a child of sixteen, golden-
tressed, innocent to look upon as a bird of the air.
Her parents found no fault in her, for she was their
only one. None but the Devil, whom she had
bound to serve her for a year and a day, knew of
her lovers—the dark young sailors from the ships of
Tyre, who came ashore and never sailed again nor


328 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
hand did no more than grasp the rein. He trusted
to the stallion, and through twilight and darknes
alike Rubh held his course.
When at length he slackened speed and came to
a halt with a shudder, Graul looked up and saw the
stars overhead and a glimmering scarp of granite, and
knew it for the gray rock, Cara Clowz. By the base
of it he lowered Niotte to the ground, dismounted,
and began to climb, leading Rubh by the bridle and
seeking for a pathway. Behind him the voices of
crashing trees filled the windless night. He found
a ledge at length, and there the three huddled
together—Niotte between swooning and sleep, Graul
seated beside her, and Rubh standing patient, waiting
for the day. When the crashing ceased around
them, the King could hear the soft flakes of sweat
dripping from the stallion's belly, and saw the stars
reflected now from the floor where his forest had
stood. Day broke, and the Lyonnesse had vanished.
Forest and pasture, city, mart and haven—away to
the horizon a heaving sea covered all. Of his
kingdom there remained only a thin strip of coast,
marching beside the Cornish border, and this sentinel
rock, standing as it stands to-day, then called Cara
Clowz, and now St. Michael's Mount.
If you have visited it, you will know that the
mount stands about half a mile from the mainland;
an island except at low water, when you reach
it by a stone causeway. Here, on the summit,
Graul and Niotte built themselves a house, asking
r


PHOEBUS ON HALZAPHRON 331
their abiding sorrow and wonder and self-reproach.
Why had Graul not turned Rubh's head perforce
and ridden back to die with her, since help her
he could not Many times a day he asked himself
this; and though Niotte's lips had never spoken
it, her eyes asked it too. At night he would hear
her breath pause at his side, and knew she was
thinking of their child out yonder in the cold waters.
“She calls to us also," he answered, and checked
himself.
“So it is plain her spirit is alive yet, and she
must be a witch," said the spokesman, readily.
The King rent his clothes. “My daughter is no
witch " he cried. “But I left her to die, and she
suffers."
“Our lads follow her. She calls to them and they
perish."
“It is not Gwennolar who calls, but some evil
thing which counterfeits her. She was innocent as
the day. Nevertheless your sons shall not perish,
nor you accuse her. From this day your boats shall
have a lantern on this rock to guide them, and I and
my wife will tend it with our own hands."
Thenceforward at sunset with their own hands
Graul and Niotte lit and hung out a lantern from the
niche which stands to this day and is known as St.
Michael's Chair; and trimmed it, and tended it the
night through, taking turns to watch. Niotte, doited
with years and sorrow, believed that it shone to
signal her lost child home. Her hands trembled


332 THE LAIRD’S LUC RT
every night as Graul lit the wick, and she arched be:
palms above to shield it from the wind. She was
happier than her husband.
Gwennolar's spell defied the lantern and the
tottering pains. Boats were lost, men perished as
before. The people tried a new appeal. It was the
women's turn to lay their grief at the King's door.
They crossed the sands by ones and twos—widows,
childless mothers, maids betrothed and bereaved-
and spread their dark skirts and sat before the gate-
way. Niotte brought them food with her own hands;
they took it without thanks. All the day they sat
silent, and Graul felt their silence to be heavier than
curses—nay, that their eyes did indeed curse as they
sat around and watched the lighting of the lantern,
and Niotte, nodding innocently at her arched hands,
told them, “See, I pray; cannot you pray too 2"
But the King's prayer was spoken in the morning,
when the flame and the stars grew pale together and
the smoke of the extinguished lamp sickened his soul
in the clean air. His gods were gone with the oaks
under which he had worshipped; but he stood on a
rock apart from the women and, lifting both hands,
cried aloud: “If there be any gods above the tree-
tops, or any in the far seas whither the old fame of
King Graul has reached; if ever I did kindness to a
stranger or wayfarer, and he, returning to his own
altars, remembered to speak of Graul of Lyonnesse:
may I, who ever sought to give help, receive help
now ! From my youth I have believed that around
-
|


PHOEBUS ON HALZAPHRON 333
me, beyond sight as surely as within it, stretched
goodness answering the goodness in my own heart;
yea, though I should never travel and find it, I trusted
it was there. O trust, betray me not O kindness,
how far soever dwelling, speak comfort and help I
For I am afflicted because of my people."
Seven mornings he prayed thus on his rock: and
on the seventh, his prayer ended, he stood watching
while the sunrays, like dogs shepherding a flock,
searched in the mists westward and gathered up the
tale of boats one by one. While he counted them,
the shoreward breeze twanged once like a harp, and
he heard a fresh young voice singing from the base of
the cliff at his feet—
There lived a king in Argos,—
A merchantman in Tyre
Would sell the King his cargoes,
But took his heart's desire :
Sing Io, Io, Io 1–
Graul looked toward his wife. “That will be the
boy Laian," said Niotte; “he sits on the rock below
and sings at his fishing."
“The song is a strange one," said Graul; “and
never had Laian voice like that."
The singer mounted the cliff—
The father of that merry may
A thousand towns he made to pay,
And lapp'd the world in fire /
He stood before them — a handsome, smiling
youth, with a crust of brine on his blue sea-cloak,


338 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
the yoke on their own necks, and drew the car in
which their mother sat, and brought her to the
temple, which was forty-five stades away. This
they did in sight of the multitude assembled ; and
the men commended their strength, while the women
called her blessed to be the mother of such sons.
But she, overjoyed at the deed and its renown,
entered the temple and, standing before the image
of Hera, prayed the goddess to grant to her two sons,
Cleobis and Biton, the greatest boon which could
fall to man. After she had prayed, and they had
sacrificed and eaten of the feast, the young men
sat down in the temple and fell asleep, and never
awoke again, but so made an end with life. In
this wise the blessing of Hera came to them, and
the men of Argos caused statues to be made of
them and set up at Delphi, for a memorial of
their piety and its reward.”
Thus quietly the great song ended, and Graul,
looking around on his people, saw on their faces
a cheerfulness they had not known since the day
of flood.
“Sir," said he, “yours is the half of my poor
kingdom and yours the inheritance, if you will
abide with us and sing us more of these songs."
“For that service,” answered the Stranger, “I
am come ; but not for the reward. Give me only
a hide of land somewhere upon your cliffs, and
there will I build a house and sing to all who
have need of me."


PHOEBUS ON HALZAPHRON 339
So he did ; and the fable goes on to say that
never were known in the remnant of Lyonnesse
such seasons as followed, nor ever will be. The
fish crowded to the nets, the cliffs waved with
harvest. Heavy were the nets to haul and laborious
was the reaping, but the people forgot their aches
when the hour came to sit at the Stranger's feet
and listen, and drink the wine which he taught
them to plant. For his part he toiled not at all,
but descended at daybreak and nightfall to bathe
in the sea, and returned with the brine on his
curls and his youth renewed upon him. He never
slept; and they, too, felt little need of sleep, but
drank and sang the night away, refreshed by the
sacred dews, watching for the moon to rise over
the rounded corn-fields, or for her feet to touch
the sea and shed silver about the boats in the
offing. Out yonder Gwennolar sang and took her
toll of life as before ; but the people heeded less,
and soon forgot even when their dearest perished.
Other things than sorrow they began to unlearn.
They had been a shame-faced race; the men shy
and the women chaste. But the Stranger knew
nothing of shame; nor was it possible to think harm
where he, their leader, so plainly saw none. Naked
he led them from the drinking-bout down the west
stairway to the bathing-pool, and naked they plunged
in and splashed around him and laughed as the cool
shock scattered the night's languor and the wine-
fumes. What mattered anything 2—what they did,


340 THE LAIRD’S LUCE
or what they suffered, or what news the home-
coming boats might bring 2 They were blithe for
the moment and lusty for the day's work, and with
night again would come drink and song of the
amorous gods; or if by chance the Singer should
choose another note and tell of Procris or of
Philomela they could weep softly for others' woes
and, so weeping, quite forget their own.
And the fable goes on to say that for three years
by these means the Stranger healed the griefs of the
people of Lyonnesse, until one night when they sat
around he told them the story of Ion ; and if the
Stranger were indeed Phoebus Apollo himself, shame-
less was the telling. But while they listened, wrapped
in the story, a cry broke on the night above the
murmur of the beaches—a voice from the cliff below
them, calling “Repent 1 Repent l”
They leaped to their feet at once, and hurried
down the stairway. But the beach was empty; and
though they hunted for an hour, they found no one.
Yet the next night and every night after the same
voice called “Repent l Repent l” They hurled down
stones upon it and threatened it with vengeance;
but it was not to be scared. And by and by the
Stranger missed a face from his circle, then another.
At length came a night when he counted but half of
his company.
He said no word of the missing ones; but early
next morning, when the folk had set out to their


PHOEBUS ON HALZAPHRON 341
labours in the fields, he took a staff and walked along
the shore toward the Mount. A little beyond Parc-
an-als, where a spring gushes from the face of the
cliff, he came upon a man who stood under it catching
the trickle in a stone basin, and halted a few paces
off to watch him. The man's hair and beard were
long and unkempt, his legs bare, and he wore a
tattered tunic which reached below the knees and
was caught about his waist with a thong girdle. For
some minutes he did not perceive the Singer; but .
turned at length, and the two eyed each other awhile.
Then the Singer advanced smiling, while the
other frowned.
“Thou hast followed me," he said.
“I have followed and found thee,” the other
answered.
“Thy name 2"
“Leven,” said the man. “I come out of Ire-
land."
“The Nazarite travels far; but this spot He over-
looked on his travels, and the people had need. I
brought them help ; but they desert me now—for
thee doubtless f"
The Saint bent his head. The Singer laughed.
“He is strong, but the old gods bear no malice.
I go to-night to join their sleep, but I have loved
this folk in a fashion. I pitied their woes and
brought them solace: I taught them to forget—
and in the forgetting maybe they have learned
much that thou wilt have to unteach. Yet deal


342 THE LAIRD’S LUCK
gently with them. They are children, and too often
you holy men come with bands of iron. Shall we
sit and talk awhile together, for their sakes 2"
And the fable says that for a long day St.
Leven sat on the sands of the Porth which now
bears his name, and talked with the Singer; and,
that in consequence, to this day the descendants
of the people of Lyonnesse praise God in cheerfuller
hymns than the rest of the world uses.
Twilight had fallen before the Stranger rose
and took his farewell. On his way back he spied
a company approaching along the dusky shore,
and drew aside behind a rock while they passed
toward the Saint's dwelling. He found his own
deserted. Of his old friends either none had come
or none had waited; and away on a distant beach
rose the faint chant of St. Patrick's Hymn of
the Guardsman :
Christ the eye, the ear, the heart,
Christ above, before, behind me:
From the snare, the sword, the dart,
On the Trinity I bind me—
Christi est salus,
Christi est salus,
Salus tua, Domine, sit semper nobiscum !
Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited, La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C.





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wor


Important Works of Fiction published by Cassell & Co. 3
By RIDER HA60ARD.
King Solomon's Mines. Popular Edition, Illus.
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The Adventures of Captain Horn. Cheap
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Pomona's Travels. Cheap Edition, 3s.6d.
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Important Works of Fiction published by Cassell & Co. 5
Buſ W. CLARK RUSSELL.
What Cheer | Dedicated by permission to H.R.H.
The Duke of Cornwall and York. Cheap Edition, 3s.6d.
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Father Stafford. 3s.6d. Peºple's Edition, 6d.


6 Important Works of Fiction published by Cassell & Co.
£y D084. M. JONES.
A Soldier of the King. 6s.
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Fictiºn. 5-or


ŽSºlº
A SELECTED LIST
Or
CASSELL & CoMPANY’s
PUBLICATIONS.
5 C - 8.or


Selections from Carself & Company's Publications.
England, A History of.
Day. By H. O.
edges. 6s. 6d.
English Dictionary, Cassell's.
From the Landing of Julius Caesar to the Presen:
ARNold-ForstsR. M.A. Fully Illustrated, 5s. Cloth gil:, gilt
Containing Definitions of upwards of Icocco
Words and Phrases. Cheap Edition, 3s. 6d.
English History, The Dictionary of Edited by SIDNEY Low, B.A. and
Prof. F. S.
Eartºon, 7s.6d
Pulling, M.A.,
with Contributions by Eminent Writers. Ars
English Literature, Library ot. By Prof. H. Morley. In 5 vols. 7s 6d each
English Literature, Morley's First Sketch of.
ANNA BUCKLAND.
eriod to Shakespeare. By HENET
English Literature, The Story of.
English Writers from the Earliest
Morlev. Eleven Vols. 5s, each.
Etiquette of Good Society. New Edition.
1s. ; cloth, 1s. 6d.
Colin CAM phrll.
A'evised Edition, 7s 6d.
3s 6d.
Edited and Revised by LAD?
Eton Boy's Letters, An. By G. NUGENT BANKEs, 5s.
Eventful Life, An. By the Rev. A. J. HARRIsoN. 6s.
Familiar Butterflies and Moths. By W. F. KIRBy.
Plates. 6s.
With 18 Color:red
Family Doctor, Cassell's. By A MEDICAL MAN. Illustrated. Cheap Editiºn, ts.
Family Lawyer, Cassell's.
By A BARRISTER-At-Law.
Ios. 6d.
Far East, The New. By ARTHUR Diósy. With a Map and Illustrations. Cherº
Edition, 6s,
Fiction, Cassell's Popular Library of.
The Refiner's Fire. By Mrs. E. Hockliffe.
By a Hair’s-Breadth. -
Bpectre Gold. } By Headon Hill.
Island Nights' Entertainments. By R.
L. Stevenson.
What Cheer : * By W. Clark Russell
List, ye Landsmen: J People's Edition, 6d.
Mrs. Cliff's Yacht.
The Vizier of the Two-
Horned Alexander.
The Girl at Cobburst.
The Adventures of
Captain Horn,
Pomona's Travels.
Cu º Garden. By Ellen Thorneycroft
owner.
he Impregnable City.
#:#####. City.) B, Max Pemberton.
The Iron Pirate. People's Edition, 6d.
Loveday. By A. E. Wickham.
Tiny Luttrell.
Young Blood.
Bome Persons Un-
known.
The Rogue's March.
My Lord Duke.
The White Rhield. By Bertram Mitford.
Tuxter's Little Maidſ. By G. B. Rurgin.
The Hispaniola Plate. By John Bloundelle-
Burton. *ś. Edition, 6d.
Bighway of Sorrow. By Hesba Stretton
and * * * * * * * *, a Famous Russian Exile,
King Solomon's ifines. Ey"Hº" Riº
Haggard. Also People's Edition, 6d.
Field Naturalist's Handbook, The.
Wood. Chead Edition, as. 6d.
By Frank
Stockton.
By E. W. Hornung.
3s.6d. each.
The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane. By
Frank Barrett.
The Lights of Sydney. By Lilian Turner
Ia: A Love Story } By “Q.” (A. r
fººtºni) by a-tence F---
Capture of the “Estrella,” The. A t-i-
of the Slave Trade. By Commander cº-3
Harding, R.N.
The Awkward Squads. And other Ulster
Stories, By Shan F. Bullock.
A King's Hussar.
A Free-Lance #}º, Herbert Campton.
rºßha Parodi s
y things an arodies. hort Ster
Th *ś. &c. 1. **t -
e edicine Ladv. 1- T. Meade
People's Edition, 6d. y
*Hººra. By Anthony Hope. Peºes
-clition, -
The A - --
*gººser of Blood. By J. Macºse-
The Man in Black.
People's Edition, 6d.
Francis Cudde, The
§§ of:
From the Memoirs of a
Minister of France.
Thºse of Raffles w. By A. Conn
yle.
By Stanley wers-
By Revs. J. G. WooD and Theoposs
Field Hospital, The Tale of a. By Sir FREDERick Treves, F.R.C.S., K.C.V.O.
With 14 Illustrations
Bound in Leather, 6s.
Piguler's Popular Scientific Works. With Several Hundred IIlustrations in
each.
Mamm
S. 6d. each. . The Insect world. The Human Race. Reptil
a. The World before the Deluge. The vegetable world. º ** and third-
e Ocean world.
Flora's Feast. A Masque of Flowers. Penned and Pictured by WAlter
CRANE. With 40 pages in Colours. 5s.
Flower Painting, Elementary. With Eight Coloured Plates.
Flowers, and How to Paint Them. By MAUD NAFTEL. with Coloured Plates,
Franco-German, War, Cassell's History of the Complete in Two V
containing about so? Illustrations. Cheap Edition, 6s. each. -
Fruit Growing, Pictorial
Practical. Illustrated.
1s. ; also. Is. 6d.
|


Selections from Cassell & Company's Publications.
Garden Flowers, Familiar. By Prof. F. Edward HULME, F.L.S., F.S.A.
With 2co Full-page Coloured Plates, and Descriptive Text by Shirley Hieskro.
Cheap Edition. In Five Vols., 3s. 6d. each.
Gardener, The Yearly Volume. Profusely Illustrated. 7s.6d.
Gazetteer of Great Britain and Ireland, Cassell's. With Numerous Illus-
trations and 6o Maps. 6 Vols., 5s, each.
Gladstone, William Ewart, The Life of. Edited by Sir WEMyss Reid.
Profusely Illustrated. 7s.6d. ; in 2 Vols., 9s.
Gleanings from Popular Authors. Cheap Edition, 3s.6d.
Gun and its Development, The. By W. W. GREENER. Illustrated. Ios. 6d.
Health, The Book of. By Eminent Physicians and Surgeons. Cloth, 21s.
Heavens, The Story of the. By Sir Robert BALL, LL.D., &c. With
Coloured Plates and Wood Engravings. ros. 6d. -
Heroes of Britain in Peace and War. With 300 Original Illustrations. One
Vol., 3s. 6d.
History, A Foot-note to. Eightyears of Trouble in Samoa. By R. L. Stevenson.6s.
Home Life of the Ancient Greeks, The Translated by Alice ZIMMERN. 5s.
Horses and Dogs. By O. EERELMAN. With Descriptive Text. Translated
from the Dutch by CLARA BELL. With 15 Full-page and other Illustrations. 255. net.
Houghton, Lord : The Life, Letters, and Friendships of Richard Monckton
Milnes, First Lord Houghton. By Sir WEMyss Reid. Two Vols. 32s.
Hygiene and Public Health. By B. Arthur Whitelegge, M.D. Illustrated.
AWew and Revised Edition, 7s.6d.
In a Conning Tower; or, How I Took H.M.S. "Majestic" into Action. By
H. O. Arnold-Forster. M.A. Cheap Badition. Illustrated. 6d. Cloth 1s.
India, Cassell's History of. In One Vol. Cheap Edition, 7s. 6d.
Khiva, A Ride to. By Col. FRED BURNABY. New Edition. Illustrated. 3s.6d.
Kilogram, The Coming of the ; or, The Battle of the Standards. By H. O
ArNold-ForstER, M.A. Illustrated. Cheap Edition, 6d.
Kronstadt. By MAx PEMBERTON. With 8 Full-page Plates. 6s.
Ladies' Physician, The. By A London Physician. Cheap Edition, 3s.6d.
Lady's Dressing-Room, The. Translated from the French by Lady Colin
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Landels, William, D.D.: A Memoir. By his Son, the Rev. Thomas D.
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Landscape Painting in Water Colours. By J. MAcwhirter, R.A. With
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Letts's Diaries and other Time-saving Publications are now published exclu-
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London, Cassell's Guide to. Illustrated. New Edition, 6d. Cloth, 1s.
London, Greater. ... By Epward WALFord. Two Vols. With about 400
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London, Old and New. By WAlter THORNBURY and Edward WALFORD.
Six Vols., with about 1,200 Illustrations. Cheaf Edition, 4s. 6d. each.
Marine Painting in Water Colour. By W. L. Wyllie, A.R.A. With
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Masque of Days, A. From the last Essays of Elia. By WAlter CRANE,
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Medical Handbook of Life Assurance. By JAMEs Edward Pollock, M.D.,
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Medicine, Manuals for Students of. (A List forwarded post free on application.)
Mesdag, H. W., the Painter of the North Sea. With Etchings and Descriptive
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Modern Europe, A History of. By C. A. FYFFE, M.A. Cheap Edition in One
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National Gallery Catalogue. Illustrated. 6d. net.
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Selections from Cassell & Company's Publications.
Picturesque Canada. With about 600 Original Illustrations. 2 Vols. A 9 9s. the set.
Picturesque Europe. PopULAR Edition. In Five Vols. Each containing 13
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Picturesque Mediterranean, The. With a Series of Magnificent Illustrations
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Pigeons, Fulton's Book of Edited by Lewis WRight. ... Revised, Enlarged,
and Supplemented by the Rev. W. F. Lumley. With 50 Full-page Illustrations.
Popular Edition. In One Vol., 1os. 6d. Original Edition, with 50 Coloured Plates
and numerous Wood Engravings, 21s.
Planet, The Story of Our. By Prof. Bonney, F.R.S. With Coloured
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Playfair, Lyon, Memoirs and Correspondence of, First Lord Playfair of St.
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Police and Crime, Mysteries of A General Survey of Wrong-doing and
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Polytechnic Series, The Practical Illustrated Manuals. (A List will be
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Poultry, The Book of. By Lewis WRIGHT. Popular Edition. Illustrated. Ios. 6d.
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Poultry Keeper, The Practical. By Lewis WRIGHT. With Eight Coloured
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Practical Nursing of Infants and Children. By F. C. MADDEN. 3s.6d.
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IMechanics for Young Beginners. By the Rev. J. G. EASTON, M.A. Cheap
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IMechanics and Machine Design, Numerical Examples in Practical. B
R. G. BLAINE, M. E. Wew Edition, Revised and Enlarged. With 79 Illus. 2s.
IMetric Charts, Cassell's Approved. Two Coloured Sheets, 42 in. by 22% in.,
illustrating by Designs and Explanations, the Metric System. 1s. each. Mounted
with Rollers, 3s. each. The two in one, with Rollers, 5s.
IModels and Common Objects, How to Draw from. By W. E. SPARKEs.
Illustrated. 3s.
Biodels, Common Objects, and Casts of Ornament, How to Shade from. By
W. E. SPARKEs. With 25 Plates by the Author. 3s.
Natural History Coloured Wall Sheets, Cassell's New. Consisting of 16
subjects. Size, 39 by 31 in. Mounted on rollers and varnished. 3s. each.
Object Lessons from Nature. By Prof. L. C. MIALL, F.L.S., F.G.S. Fully
Illustrated. New and Enlarged Edition. Two Vols. 1s. 6d. each.
Physiology for Schools. By AlFRED T. Schofield, M.D., M.R.C.S., &c.
Illustrated. 1s. 9d. Three Parts, paper covers, 5d. each; or cloth limp, 6d. each.
rosty for ºn, Cassell's. 6 Books, Id, each ; or complete in One Vol.,
imp cloth, 6d.
Popular Educator, Cassell's. With Illustrations, Coloured Plates, and Maps
in Colours. Cheap Edition. In Eight Vols., 5s. each.
Readers, Cassell’s “Belle Sauvage.” An Entirely New Series. Fully Illus-
trated. Strongly bound in cloth. (List on application.)
Reader, The Citizen. By H. O. ARNoLD-ForsTER, M.A. Cloth, 1s. 6d. ; also a
Scottish Edition, cloth, 1s. 6d.
Readers, Cassell's Classical. Vol. I., Is. 8d.: Vol. II., 2s. 6d.
Reader, The Temperance. By J. DENNIs HIRD. 1s or 1s. 6d.
Readers, Cassell's “Higher Class." (List on application.)
Readers, Cassell's Readable. Illustrated. (List on application.)
Readers for Infant Schools, Coloured. Three Books. 4d. each.
Readers, Geographical, Cassell's New. Illustrated. (List on application.)
Readers, The Modern Geographical Illustrated throughout. (List on application.)
Readers, The Modern School Illustrated. (List on application.)
Rolit. An entirely novel system of learning French. By J. J. TYLOR. 3s.
Round the Empire. By G. R. PARKIN. With a Preface by the Rt. Hon. the
EARL of Rosebery, K.G. Fully Illustrated. 1s 6d.
R. H. S. Curves. By Prof. R. H. Smith. Set of 23 Scaled Curve Templates.
1os. 6d. per set.
Sculpture, A Primer of. By E. Roscoe MULLINS. Illustrated. 2s. 6d.
Shakspere's Plays for School Use. Illustrated. 6d. each.
spelling, A Complete Manual of. By J. D. MoRELL, LL.D. Cloth, 1s. Cheap
Edition, stiff cloth, 6d.
Technical Educator, Cassell's. A New Cyclopædia, of Technical Education,
with Coloured Plates and Engravings. Complete in Six Vols., 3s.6d. each.
Technical Manuals, Cassell's. Illustrated throughout 16 Vols., from 2s. to 4s. 6d.
(List free on application.)
Technology, Manuals of Edited by Prof. AYRTON, F.R.S., and Richard
Worm ELL, D.Sc., M.A. Illustrated throughout (J.ist on application.)
Things New and old; or, Stories from English History. By H. O. ARNOLD-
Forster, M.A. Illustrated. Cloth. Seven Books, from 9d. to 1s. 8d.
Troubadour, The. Selections from English Verse. Edited and Annotated by
Philip Gibbs. 1s. 6d.
World of ours, This. By H. O. ARNOLD-Forster, M.A. Fully Illustrated. Cheap
Edition, 2s. 6d.
Young Citizen, The; or, Lessons in our Laws. By H. F. LESTER, B.A. Fully
illustrated. 2s. 6d. Also issued in Two Parts under the title of “Lessons in Our
Laws." 1s. 6d. each.


Selections from Cassell & Company's Publications.
One Shilling Story Books.
A Pair cf Primroses.
Ella's Golden Year.
Thºrºs. of Wyvern Their Road to Portune.
ourt.
Little Queen Mab. Won by Gentleness.
Cassell's Standard Library. Cloth gilt, 1s. each net.
Adam Be e. Hy GEoRc5 Eliot. The Last of the Mohicans. By FENixose
Westward Ho! By CHARLEs KINGSLEY. Coope R.
The Old Curiosity S-op. By Chi ARLES American Hurnour. Selected. -
dick ENs. Jane Eyre. By CHARLorre Broxtrº-
Ivanhoe. By Sir WALTER SCOTT. Handy Andy. By SAMUEL LovE R.
The Last in ays of Pompeii. By Lord
LYTTon. -
Pride and Prejudice.
ung: Tom's Cabin. By HARRIET BEECHER
row E
The Prince of the House of David. By the
By JANE AUSTEN.
Rev.J. H INGRAHAM.
The World's Workers. A Series of New and Original Volumes by Popular
Authors. With Portraits printed on a tint as Frontispiece. 1s each.
John Cassell. By G. Holden Pike. Sir Titus Salt and George Moore,
Richard Cobden. George and Robert Stephenson.
Charles Haddon Spurgeon. By G. Holden -
Pike. Charles Dickens.
al d - Handel.
general Gordon. Turner the Artist.
David Livingstone.
The Earl of Shaftesbury. sº Robinson, Agnes Weston, and Mrs.
Dr. Guthrie, Father Mathew, Elihu Bur- eredith.
ritt, Joseph Livesey, Mrs. Somerville and Mary Carpenter
George Müller and Andrew Reed. At 1 r. evºy.
*** The above Pºrks can also be had Three in one Pol., clerk. Fºr edges, 31.
Illustrated Books for the Little Ones. Containing interesting Stories. All
Illustrated. 9d. each.
Bright Tales and Funny
Bible Pictures for Boys
Some Pretty Pets.
Pictures. and Girls. Some Farin Friends.
Merry Little Tales. Firelight Stories. Those Golden Sands.
*...* for Little Sunlight and Shade. Our School day Hours.
- Rub-a-dub Tales. Creatures Tarne
ttle People and Their -
Li #: ple Fine Feathers and Fluffy Creatures wild.
Tales Told for Sunday,
Sunday Stories for Small
Fur.
Scrambles and Scrapes.
Up and Down the Garden.
All Sorts of Adventures.
People. Tittle Tattle Tales. Wanderin
- - - g Ways.
stoº: º Pictures for . Dumb Friends. The Cost of Revenge.
Thorns and Tangles.
The Cuckoo in the Bobin's
Nest.
Cassell's Picture Story Books. Each containing 60
Auntie's 8tories.
Birdie's Story Book.
Surly Bob.
The Giant's Cradle,
Shag and Doll.
Good-Night Stories.
Little Chimes.
Books for the Little Ones. Fully Illustrated.
The Album for Home, School, and Play.
My Own Album of Animals.
The Sunday Scrap Book.
Illustrations. Cloth, 3s 6d.
With Several
Hundred illustrations. Boards, 3s. 6d.
Cassell’s Robinson Crusoe.
trations.
With too
The old Fat
Cassell’s Swiss Family
trated. Cloth. 3s. &i.; gilt edges, 5s.
The New “Little Folks” Painting Book.
Clever Frank.
The Ferryman of Brill.
pages. 6d. each.
Dewdrop Stories.
Tales. With Original luus.
is.
Robinson. Illus-
Containing nearly 35° Outline Illustrations suit-
able for Colouring. Is.
Cassell's Pictorial Scrap Book. 6d. each.
CASSELL dº COA/PAA Y, Limited, Ludgate Hill, London;
Aaras, New York & Melbourne.


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