The King's Men: A Tale of To-morrow

by Nathan Schachner

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE RAISING OF THE FLAG.

  Mr. Windsor's guests had all departed, the lights were out in the roomsso lately filled with the pleasant discord of animated voices, and thekindly old American host had gone to his rest with the satisfaction ofbelieving that his last night in England would be enjoyably rememberedby his new friends when he and his daughter were far on their voyagehome.

  But Mr. Windsor knew, a few weeks later, that beneath the smooth surfaceof his farewell party, as he had seen it, ran a secret current of fatalforce and purpose. He had entertained unaware on that night nearly allthe Royalist leaders, who had taken advantage of his invitation to meetin a place where suspicion of their movements could not follow.

  The gentlemen left Mr. Windsor's house not in groups or even pairs, butsingly. It was remarkable that none of them had a carriage, and thatafter leaving the house every one turned and walked in the samedirection.

  About an hour after the last guest had gone, in a large house belongingto a banished earl, where Featherstone had resided for the past twoweeks, there was a full meeting of the Royalist chiefs, including thosewho had been at Mr. Windsor's, and many more. They had come singly frommany quarters, but all on foot, and they had entered by a door on aquiet side street. There were perhaps forty men in all.

  Here were old and dignified noblemen, more than one of whom worethreadbare coats and other signs of actual poverty; and here were youngspirits aflame with the hope of action. Here a lot of antiquatedbaronet-squires flock together, and yonder stands a knot of grizzledcolonels with the professional air of men awaiting orders. Here is theold Duke of Bayswater, listening through his eyeglasses, while GeoffreyRipon and Featherstone have a quiet jest with Mr. Sydney.

  Shortly after midnight--at about the same moment that Mrs. Oswald Careyreceived the bank-notes from Mr. Bugbee--the hum of conversation ceasedin this meeting of the Royalists, and all eyes were turned toward atable in the centre of the long drawing-room, where stood John Dacre,who had just entered the room, his hands filled with papers.

  Dacre was in the uniform of a staff officer, and on his breast he worethe battle-cross he had won in his first campaign, and also some gaudierhonors awarded him for loyalty and devotion to the cause of the King.

  The strong light of the chandelier showed the tense lines of hisfinely-cut face, which was white with excitement, and his eyes burnedbeneath his brows with a flame too strong to be subdued by any outerlight.

  Before he had uttered a word he had in some way imparted to many ofthose around him something of his own exaltation and intensity ofspirit. He laid on the table the papers he had carried, and lookedround the room with his face proudly raised.

  "Gentlemen!" he said, holding his voice from an exulting cry, "ourcampaign has begun. We are no longer without a leader. Our monarch hascome to claim his throne, and, if necessary, to win it by the sword.This night King George sleeps in London. To-morrow he will sit upon thethrone of England. GOD SAVE THE KING!"

  But, though death might be the consequence, a brave cheer burst from thehearts of some of those who heard--some, but only a few, and among thesewere Geoffrey, Featherstone, and the grizzled colonels.

  To many others that cheer seemed as deadly an outburst as the roar ofartillery. For a moment all stood as before; then they broke andmingled, talking excitedly, and a goodly number edged toward the door,and soon made their way out of the house.

  But at least twenty men remained, while Dacre issued orders, handedinstructions already written, or verbally repeated important words tothe officers who should the next day head the revolution.

  "Colonel Arundel," said Dacre, addressing a white-haired but erect manof sixty years, "to you belongs the first word of the restoration."

  The old colonel walked to the table opposite Dacre and bowed, as ifawaiting instructions.

  "At the hour of noon to-morrow," continued Dacre, speaking to ColonelArundel, "the King's banner will be raised at Aldershot, and at thathour you will proclaim to the brigade under your command the restorationof the Monarchy and his Majesty's presence in the camp." The veteranwithdrew with a proud smile.

  "Colonel Featherstone, Sir James Singleton, Lord Arthur Towneley, Mr.Blaney Balfour;" as Dacre read from a list, the gentlemen named drewnear the table. "You are of the royal escort; you will await the arrivalof the King at Aldershot and accompany him to the camp."

  When Dacre had issued all the prepared orders for the outbreak, themeeting broke up.

  As Geoffrey walked with Dacre to their quarters, the streets of Londonwere deserted and quiet, as if no danger lay hid in the clouds of themorrow. Dacre was filled, body and soul, with the assurance of aglorious success; but cool-headed Geoffrey felt none of his enthusiasm,though his step was light and his voice as full of cheer as his friend'smood required. But when they met a burly, quiet policeman on his beat,who placidly wished them, "Good-morning, gentlemen," Geoffrey could notrestrain a burst of hearty laughter--which, however, he did not explainto Dacre.

  Geoffrey slept soundly for a few hours, and was up early to keep hisappointment with Dacre. He could scarcely credit his senses to findhimself on such an errand, as he strode through the already busystreets, meeting the quiet folk at their early occupations, while he wasbent on civil war in two hours' time, with his overcoat pockets heavywith loaded pistols!

  Dacre and he breakfasted in a private room at the old Army and Navy Clubalmost in silence. They had met at the door, coming from oppositedirections, and greeted each other with a firm grip of the hand. Under alarge overcoat Dacre wore his old staff uniform, and he smiled proudlyas Geoffrey took off his outer coat and showed his ancestors'silver-hilted sword buckled high round his body, so that it should notstrike the ground or be seen below the coat.

  As they drove to the railway station it was a dull, drizzling morning.At the station they saw many of those who had attended the meeting theprevious night; but, by arrangement, the conspirators did not recognizeeach other, even by a sign. When they arrived at the Aldershot Stationthere was no indication of anything unusual. A few orderlies from thecamp came and went, but this was an every-day sight.

  The Royalists dispersed at once, some walking, some in the common campomnibuses, and some in cabs. The point of assembly was in the officers'lines of the infantry camp, where Colonel Arundel, who was actingbrigadier, had provided a large mess tent for their reception--and onthis morning, by his arrangement and for their guidance, no other tentbut this in the camp was marked by a flag.

  On arriving at the tent, Dacre and Geoffrey found only two of theirfellow-conspirators, both youths, awaiting them. But it was very early,not 9.30, and the hour of meeting was 11. The next man to arrive was Mr.Sydney, who, fearing a shot from his old enemy, the gout, more than abullet from a Republican rifle, stepped gingerly from the omnibus thatdropped him near the lines. As Geoffrey shook his hand, a pang wentthrough his conscience for ever having made a jest of so simple andbrave a heart.

  By ones and twos, as the hours passed, the Royalists came to therendezvous. Not once had they met with question or opposition. Thesentries, as they passed, stood to "attention," evidently regarding themas officers belonging to the camp.

  The mess tent was well removed from the regular roads of the camp, andonly a few soldiers passed near it all the morning.

  Once, while Geoffrey stood at the open door, a mounted artillery officerrode past. He was a young man, with a strongly-marked, stern face, andas he passed the tent it seemed to Geoffrey that he cast a sudden, keenglance within. At first, Geoffrey was so convinced of this that heturned to speak to Dacre; but glancing after the officer, he saw himstop and speak to a man who was coming toward the tent, and whomGeoffrey recognized as one of the military men of the previous night'smeeting. After a few words they saluted like friends and separated.

  "You know that officer, sir?" asked Geoffrey, as the old soldier came tothe tent door. "I thought he looked this way in an odd manner as hepassed."

  "Oh, yes," answered
the other; "that is young Devereux, the cleverfellow who has invented the tremendous gun, you know, and revolutionizedthe old tactics. An able fellow, sir--and a colonel at thirty-six. Iknew his father forty years ago at Woolwich, when we were cadets."

  "You think I was mistaken, then, in fancying that he looked this way?"asked Geoffrey.

  "I should say so--bless my soul! I should hope so, too. That's thecleverest fellow in the whole service; and we don't want to meet him atthe very start."

  "Perhaps he may be with us?" suggested Geoffrey.

  "No; it isn't likely. Devereux is with nothing but science anddiscipline. But if he were with us he would be better than twentyregiments."

  "And against us?"

  "Ah! there are circumstances that alter cases. With us he would be freeto act on his own devising, for we should make him commander of theforces. Against us he is only a subordinate, controlled by some stupidmajor-general."

  Eleven o'clock came, and there were twenty-seven men in the tent.Besides these were the several officers of the regiment in camp, whowere in their quarters ready for the signal.

  At the door of the mess tent rose a tall flag-pole, with halyardsattached, which entered the tent. To these, by the hands of Dacre, wasfastened the Royal Standard of England, to be given to the breeze at thesound of the noonday gun.

  At half-past eleven the bugles of the infantry regiments were heardsounding for a general parade; and in a few minutes the scarlet lineswere seen on the parade ground, forming, wheeling, and marching intobrigade formation.

  The commanding officer and the colonels of six out of seven regimentswould call on the troops to cheer for King George when they saw theroyal banner at the mast. Inside the mess tent there was a scene ofquiet preparation, which had its ludicrous as well as pathetic features.Many of the Royalists had come in military uniforms of various kinds andcountries. As the hour drew near they laid aside their overcoats, andcomposed an odd group for a military critic. The Duke of Bayswater worean old red tunic of the yeomanry cavalry, which he had commanded in hiscounty half a century before; Mr. Sydney a lancer's fatigue jacket,which he had worn as a lieutenant in King Edward's time; there was onein the tunic of a captain of French artillery, and several others worecontinental uniforms. Every one was armed in some way or other.

  As the infantry brigade wheeled into line on the parade-ground a distanttrumpet sounded far in the rear.

  "Dacre, what is that trumpet?" asked Geoffrey, in a low tone.

  Dacre looked at his watch as he listened. He did not reply, but shookhis head and smiled at Geoffrey.

  "That is an artillery trumpet," said the old officer to whom Geoffreyhad spoken before, and who now came quietly to Dacre. "It came from thedirection of Colonel Devereux's battery--though I remember distinctly hetold me that this was not a field day."

  It was clear to Geoffrey's eye that Dacre was suffering under some heavyfear or despondency that quelled his excitement. There was a look in hisface of tense expectancy that was pitiful to his friend.

  "The King was to have been here at eleven," said Geoffrey to him atlast. "It is now twenty minutes to twelve. Can anything have happened,Dacre?"

  Dacre looked at him reproachfully; but only shook his head, without asmile. Geoffrey walked to the door, and turned suddenly, almost with ashout.

  "Here's Featherstone!" he cried. "He was in the King's escort; he hasnews."

  The Royalists crowded around Featherstone as he entered, but their eagereyes found no reassurance in his face, which was pale, and, still moreunlike Featherstone, full of anger and gloom.

  He did not reply to the hail of questions which met him, but lookedaround for Dacre, and went to him.

  "The King?" asked Dacre, sternly.

  "The King has disappeared," answered Featherstone, "and no one knowswhere he has gone."

  There was a dead silence in the tent; not a man moved. Dacre looked athis watch. It was ten minutes to twelve.

  "He may be on the way here by another route," suggested the old Duke.

  "What have you done to obtain information?" asked Dacre.

  "At eleven o'clock the escort waiting at the station in Londontelephoned us that the train had gone and the King had not arrived. Wewaited ten minutes and then I telephoned direct to the house of theKing's banker and received in answer these words: 'The King left here attwo o'clock this morning to go on board his steam-yacht. He has sailedfor America.' In reply to my questions, no reason was given for hisgoing, as no one there knew, and Bugbee had not returned since theKing's departure."

  Featherstone folded his arms and looked at Dacre, on whom again all eyesturned. He held in one hand the royal banner, fast to the halyards, andin the other hand his watch.

  At this moment the artillery trumpet heard before sounded much nearer,and it was answered, apparently, by other trumpets at different pointsof the camp.

  "Gentlemen," said Dacre, drawing up his tall figure with superb pride,and looking calmly round the tent, "in two minutes it will be noon--thehour of our movement. Yonder rides the brave man who will proclaim theMonarchy, and it is too late now to warn him or his fellow-officers andpatriots. We may draw back; but they will go on. The world will be thewitness. If the King has been false to us--and we do not know that hehas--we shall be true to our cause and to ourselves."

  There was a pause. Dacre's eyes were on the dial in his hand.

  "Gentlemen!" he cried, as he placed the watch in his pocket, "it istwelve o'clock! Shall I raise the King's flag?"

  "Ay! Up with it!" rang out the brave shout.

  At that instant the noonday gun boomed, and had the Royalists listenedthey might have heard the rumble of artillery and the rattling ofcavalry surrounding them in a vast circle. But had they heard it theywould not have been stayed. To withdraw now, to sneak away from the verybrink of danger, would be worse than death. They must go on to the end.The world's eyes were on them, or would be to-morrow; the world isalways looking at yesterday.

  Like bees from a hive they swarmed, a handful of men, from the door ofthe mess-tent, drawing their swords to conquer a kingdom for a king whohad run away. There was a noble despair in their hearts.

  "Up with the King's banner!" shouted Featherstone, and Dacre went to themast and drew up the flag.

  "God save the King!" shouted every throat, as the heavy folds wentupward.

  But there was a hitch in the halyards, and Dacre's excitement did notallow him to remove it quickly. The royal banner stopped on its wayaloft--stopped at the half mast--and there ominously remained for a fullhalf minute before the lines were cleared and it soared to the masthead.

  On the parade-ground seven regiments of infantry had wheeled into line,and presented arms as the commander rode to the front of the brigade.When the noonday gun boomed, a thrill went through the scarlet ranks,for even the linesmen knew that a tragedy was about to be enacted. Theword had been passed through the camp that the Royalist traitors wouldat that hour declare themselves.

  Never was drama seen upon the stage in which the actors approached thetragic ending so fatuously, so deliberately.

  Colonel Arundel, riding in front of the staff, halted and faced thebrigade. The troops presented arms; the band played the national anthem,"God Save the People!" When the music had ceased the eyes of ColonelArundel were turned to the flag-pole at the mess-tent. His heart leapedwithin him when he saw the lines shake, and then, true to the moment oftime, up went the flag of the King.

  "Soldiers!" shouted the old commander, baring his white head andpointing to the royal banner; "behold the flag of your King and country!King George has come to claim his own again, and he is now in personalcommand of this camp. God save the King!"

  The whole brigade stared at the flagstaff where the big banner of KingGeorge had stopped at the half-mast like a mourning emblem. A round ofsuppressed laughter came from the troops--a sound that sent a shudderthrough the old colonel's heart, which no violent outcry could havedone.

  The vibration of the commander's voic
e was still in the air when ahorseman dashed down to the head of the brigade, a man with a face ofterrible power and purpose. It was Colonel Devereux. He faced thebrigade like a man cast in iron, so still he sat for half a minute. Hewas an electric centre, reaching the eyes and nerves of every man in thebrigade.

  "Present--arms!" and the brigade sprang into motion beneath histhrilling voice.

  "Men!" he said slowly, but with a force that sent his voice to bothflanks of the brigade, "the command of this camp has this day been givento me by the only power on earth able to give it--the President of theBritish Republic."

  "And I, sir--what am I?" indignantly demanded Colonel Arundel, but in avoice too low to reach the soldiers' ears. Insulted as he was he wouldhave no altercation in front of the troops.

  "You, sir!" answered Colonel Devereux, and his voice rang like atrumpet, "you are a traitor to the people!"

  While this scene was in action, an insignificant movement took place onthe inner flank of one regiment in the brigade. A sergeant and six menwere detached, and the squad marched at a quick step along the rear tillthey came to the centre, when they wheeled to the front, passed throughthe formation, and halted directly in front of Colonel Arundel. Thegrounding of their arms completed the terrible charge of the newcommander.

  "Soldiers," cried Colonel Devereux, turning to the brigade, "behold thedeath of a traitor!"

  The sergeant gave the word to his men in a low voice, and seven rifleswere levelled at Colonel Arundel, who sat still in his saddle, hat inhand, as he had saluted the King's flag. One swift turn of his head nowand he saw the great emblazoned banner in the air; the next moment hisbreast was torn to pieces, and the old man fell forward as his horseswerved, and then the body tumbled from the saddle and lay in front ofthe brigade.

  "Colonel Gardener, take command here," said Devereux to an officer inthe horror-struck staff; "and you, gentlemen," designating three or fourof the staff by a motion of his hand, "follow me." He wheeled his horseand rode straight for the mess-tent, where the royal banner was flying.

  A young artillery officer, with one Gatling gun and a dozen troopers,were galloping toward the place from another direction. They reached thetent at the same moment as Colonel Devereux.

  "Halt!" he shouted to the gunners, and the mounted party stopped as ifturned to stone.

  "Haul down that flag!" he ordered Dacre, pointing with his naked sword.

  "Never!" answered Dacre, standing at the foot of the mast.

  Colonel Devereux gave a stern command to the officer of the gun; thepiece was trained on the flagstaff, and next instant, with a hellishroar, its sixty bullets tore the flag-pole into shreds, and the enormousbanner cumbered the wet earth.

  Before the discharge Geoffrey had bodily seized Dacre and dragged himout of range. Better, perhaps, had he left him to his fate, for death atthat moment, with his duty done, his sword in hand and his flag abovehim, would have saved him the deeper agony of shame and disappointment,which walked with him like shadows henceforward to the grave.

  The officer in charge of the gun ordered his troopers and drivers toride across the fallen banner; and the hoofs and muddy wheels rent it topieces and befouled it in the mire.

  "You are a coward!" cried Dacre, and rushing to the front he crossedswords with the mounted officer, wounding him in the arm. Next moment hewas stretched senseless on the ill-fated flag, a gunner having struckhim down with the stock of his carbine.

  The others yielded without a word. The artillery officer, his handdripping blood, took their swords one by one and flung themcontemptuously on the flag, beside John Dacre's senseless body.

  As they were marched off, surrounded by a cavalry guard, to be taken toLondon, Mr. Sydney, seeing that the Duke of Bayswater could hardly keepup, gave his arm to the infirm old man.

  "This is a grim joke," said Sydney; "I wonder what they will do with ourfriend Dacre."

  "Thanks," said the poor old fellow, leaning heavily on Sydney, andputting up his collar to keep out the rain. Then he turned a last lookat Dacre, still lying as he had fallen. "If he is dead, I suppose theywill bury him like a Christian gentleman, as he was." And, raising hishat, the courtly old man saluted the fallen soldier.

  Featherstone handed Geoffrey a cigar, and lighted one himself as theprocession started.

  "I wonder where King George the Fifth is about this time," he said, witha forlorn smile.

  "No matter where he is," answered Geoffrey, in a voice of settledbelief; "one thing is certain: Monarchy is dead forever in England--andit is time!"