by J. C. Snaith
CHAPTER XXXII
MORE ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS
We had no difficulty in reaching Middleham railway station, thatfamiliar rendezvous, at the appointed time. Even Lord Frederick, wholived farther afield than any of us, was able, by putting a powerfulcar to an illegal use, to arrive on the stroke of the hour.
It was to be remarked that the prevailing tone in our coupe was onewhich almost amounted to gaiety. Judged by the cold agnostic eye, thescheme was only a little this side of madness. But it had the sanctionof a high motive. Further, we were brothers in arms who had smeltpowder together upon a more dubious enterprise; we had faith in oneanother; and above all we were sustained, one might even saytranslated, by the epic quality of an incomparable leader.
Fitz smoked his cigar and cut in at a rubber of bridge with an air ofindulgent and serene content.
"It is lucky," he said, "that I know an old innkeeper on the frontierwho will be rather useful if we have to go without passports. He isabout a mile on the Milesian side, and will be able to provide us withhorses and smuggle us across in the darkness. He will also find for usa couple of guides over the mountains."
"You say we can get from the frontier to the Castle at Blaenau in sixhours?" inquired the gruff voice of the Chief Constable.
"Yes, unless there is a lot of snow in the passes."
"But if the country is in a state of revolution, aren't we likely to beheld up?"
"Perhaps; perhaps not. We shall find a way if we have to take anairship. Eh, Joe?"
The Man of Destiny gave my relation by marriage a fraternal punch inthe ribs.
"Ra-_ther_!" That hero was in the act of cutting an ace and winningthe deal.
"I shall arrange," said Fitz, "for a change of horses at Postovik,which is about half way. If all goes well we shall be at the foot ofthe Castle rock a little before midnight on Thursday. I am thinking,though, that we may have to swim the Maravina."
"Umph!" growled the Chief Constable, declaring an original spade, "amoderately cheerful prospect on a January night in Illyria."
"It may not come to that, of course. But all the bridges and ferriesare sure to be guarded. And even if they are, with a bit of luck wemay be able to rush them."
As our leader began to evolve his plan of campaign it could not be saidto forfeit any of its romance. But I think it would be neither fairnor gracious to Mr. Nevil Fitzwaren's corps of irregulars to say thatthis spice of adventure made less its glamour. We could all claim somelittle experience of war and that mimic sphere of action "that providesthe image of war without its guilt, and only thirty per cent. of itsdangers." Some of us had taken cover upon the veldt and others hadcrossed the Blakiston after a week's rain; and we all felt as we spedtowards the metropolis at the rate of sixty miles an hour, and at thesame time endeavoured to restrain the cards from slipping on to thefloor, that whatever Fate, that capricious mistress, had in store forus, our hazard was for as high a stake as any set of gamesters needwish to play.
Punctual to the minute, we came into the London terminus. As on theoccasion of that former adventure, we posted off to Long's quiet familyhotel, with the exception of Joseph Jocelyn De Vere Vane-Anstruther,who confided his kit-bag to the care of his man Kelly, and adjured himto see that a decent room was found for him, while he went "to rout outAlec at the Continental before they fired the beggar out."
"Tell him we leave Charing Cross at ten-forty in the morning," saidFitz. "That will give me time to see what can be done in the way ofpapers, although as far as Illyria is concerned, diplomatic relationsare pretty sure to have been suspended."
Driving again to Long's Hotel, I was regaled with the remembrance ofour former journey; of the incident of the cab which followed usthrough the November slush; of the weird sequel; of that long night ofalarums and excursions, which yet was no more than a prelude to achaotic vista of events.
I recalled the drive from Ward's with Coverdale; the slow-drawntragi-comedy of suspense; the waiting-room at the Embassy, the plungeup the stairs, the charming player of Schumann, the presentation to herRoyal Highness. I recalled the passages with the Ambassador and theirterrible issue; the drive with the Princess to the Savoy; the episodeof the pink satin at which I could now afford to laugh. Again Irecalled our _bizarre_ visit to Bryanston Square; our reception by myUncle Theodore, his "Fear nothing" and his still more curious previsionof that which was to come to pass. I recalled our dash for this sameGrand Central railway station and the merciful shattering of our hopesmidway. I recalled the Scotland Yard inspector with the lightmoustache, the hand of the Princess guiding me through the traffic, thecool-fingered doctor, the bowl of crimson water at which I did not careto look. Finally, in this panoramic jumble of wild occurrences, thememory of which I should carry to the grave, I recalled that noble,complex, misguided emblem of our species, the Victor of Rodova, theclear-sighted, subtle yet great-hearted hero of an epoch in the destinyof nations; the father of his people, whom his children had slain evenwhile the hand of death was already upon him.
I pictured him lying riddled with bullets on the steps of his palace atBlaenau, riddled with the bullets he had so often despised. Even fromthe brief account in the evening papers it was clear that the end ofthe Victor of Rodova had been heroic.
The smouldering volcano had burst into flame at last. A tax-gathererhad been slain in an outlying district. At the signal, a wholeprovince, at the back of one half-patriot, half-brigand, rose up,marched armed to the Capital, and called upon the King at his palace togrant a charter to the people. The King met them alone, as was hiscustom, on the steps of his palace, and having listened with kindnessand patience to their demands, made the reply "that he would take stepsto procure the charter for his people if the peccant son who had slaina faithful servant treacherously was rendered to justice."
Whether the King deliberately misread the temper of his subjects, orwhether he overestimated the personal power it was his custom to exert,was hard to determine, but in this reply which was so strangelydeficient in that high political wisdom in which no man of his ageexcelled him, lay his doom. The leader of the armed mob, who himselfhad slain the tax-gatherer, laughed in the King's, face, andimmediately riddled him with bullets. And as the King fell, theburghers of Blaenau poured in at the gates, the soldiers revoltedbecause their wages were over-due, possession was taken of the Castle;and the long-deferred republic was proclaimed.
"And where were the aristocracy and the supporters of the monarchywhile all this was happening?" I asked, as we sat in the lounge at thehotel having a final drink before turning in.
"Reading between the lines of the dispatch," said Fitz, "I should beinclined to say that they had conspired to throw Ferdinand over at thelast and to let in the people. I can reconcile the facts on no otherhypothesis."
"Why should they?"
"The aristocracy have always been jealous of his power. He has walkedtoo much alone."
"It is hard to believe that they would yield up their country to moblaw."
"They have their own safety to consider. A small and exclusive class,not accustomed to move very actively in public affairs, they havelittle control of events. And the army having joined with the people,their only hope is to sit on the fence and try to hold what they have."
"You are convinced of the Princess's danger?"
"There is no question of that. Having decided to make an end of theirrulers, the French Revolution is quite likely to be enacted over again.They are a semi-barbarous people, and few will deny that they havesuffered."
On the morrow Fitz was early abroad. The morning papers broughtconfirmation of the news from Illyria. The King was dead; the CrownPrincess was a close prisoner at Blaenau in the hands of theinsurgents; the Chancellor and other ministers had fled the country; anumber of regiments had massacred their officers; and it was expectedthat a Committee of the People would take over the government.
At Charing Cross we found Alexander O'Mulligan already waiting for us.He w
as in the pink of health and his grin was extraordinarilyexpansive. Fitz arrived with the necessary tickets for the wholeparty, but had only been able to procure passports as far as thefrontier. But, as he explained, this need not trouble us, as we shouldleave the train before we came there and make our way over themountains in the darkness.
As our train wound its way through suburbia we began more clearly torealise the promise of a crowded and glorious week. The motive wasadequate; and although the Chief Constable and myself had a sense ofthe profound rashness of the scheme, we shared the common faith in Fitz.
Our route was by way of Paris. It was more direct to go fromSouthampton, but there was very little difference in the point ofactual time.
When we reached Paris, soon after five that afternoon, we learned thatin spite of the representations of the Powers, the fate of the Princessstill hung in the balance. We stayed only an hour and then took trainagain.
All night we travelled and all through the next day; and then, as Fitzhad predicted, shortly after five o'clock in the evening of Thursday wehad come to the township of Orgov, a mile from the Illyrian frontier onthe borders of Milesia. Here we found a shrewd old peasant who hadacted as the friend of Fitz on a former occasion, and with whom he hadalready communicated by telegraph. The old fellow shook his head overthe state of affairs in the neighbouring kingdom, but provided us witha couple of trustworthy guides through the mountains and seventolerable horses, one apiece for each member of our party.
Fitz affirmed his intention of getting to Blaenau in six hours. Theinnkeeper, however, declared frankly that this was impossible. Thewinter had been severe; heavy drifts of snow lay in the passes, and inits present state the country itself was full of danger. Indeed, ourfriend the innkeeper was fain to declare that, unless God was very kindto us, we should never get to Blaenau at all.
However, we were a party of nine, stout fellows, well armed andtolerably mounted. And when we started from Orgov a little after sixin the evening, I do not think the sense of peril oppressed us much.Our mission was of the highest; each of us had faith in himself and inhis comrades. We were a small but mobile force in fairly hardcondition; and I think it may be claimed for each member of it that hehad a natural love of adventure.