CHAPTER XXXI.
Three sides are sure inbarred with craggs and hills,
The rest is easy, scarce to rise espy'd;
But mighty bulwarks fence the plainer part:
So art helps nature, nature strengtheneth art.--Fairfax.
Sir knight, if knight thou be,
Abandon this forestalled place as erst,
For fear of farther harm.--Fairy Queen.
It may well be supposed, that under the circumstances in which we last left Sir Osborne, his feelings could not be of the most tranquil or gratifying nature, when, after having heard all that passed upon deck, he distinguished the steps of the officer sent to arrest him coming down the ladder. Longpole, for his part, looked very much as if he would have liked to display cold iron upon the occasion; but the knight made him a sign to forbear, and in a moment after, a gentleman splendidly dressed, as one high in military command, entered the cabin, followed by two or three armed attendants.
"Well, sir," said the knight, not very well distinguishing the stranger's features by the light in which he stood, "I suppose----" But he had not time to finish his sentence, for the officer grasped him heartily by the hand, exclaiming, "Now heaven bless us! Lord Darnley, my dear fellow in arms! how goes it with you these two years?"
"Excellent well, good Sir Henry Talbot," replied the knight, frankly shaking the hand of his old companion. "But say, does your business lie with me?"
"No, no, good faith!" replied Sir Henry; "I came upon a very different errand. Since I was with Sir Thomas Peechy and yourself in Flanders, by my good Lord Surrey's favour I have obtained the command of one of the king's great ships, and as I lay last night off the mouth of the river, a pursuivant came down from London, with orders to stop every vessel that I saw, and search for a traitor who is endeavouring to make his escape to the Continent."
The knight's cheek burned, and for a moment he hesitated whether to avow himself at once, and repel the opprobrious epithet thus attached to the name he had assumed, and under which, he felt full sure, he had never merited aught but honour. A moment's thought, however, showed him the madness of such a proceeding, and he replied, "I believe you will find no greater traitor here, Sir Henry, than myself."
The officer smiled. "If that be the case," replied he, "I may as well row back to the ship. Perhaps he may be in the other vessel that lies-to there, about a mile to windward. But come, Darnley, leave this filthy Dutch tub, come with me aboard, and after we have searched the other, I will land you in any port to which you are going, if it be between Middlebourg and Boulogne."
Although the knight did not feel himself bound, even by the most chivalrous principles of honour, to betray his own secret to Sir Henry Talbot, yet he did not consider himself at liberty to take advantage of his offer, and thus make one of the king's own ships the means of conveying him away from pursuit. He therefore replied, that as he was going to Dunkirk in some haste, and the Dutchman was steering straight thither, he thought it would be best to proceed without changing his ship, though he felt extremely obliged by the offer.
The officer received his excuses in good part, and bidding him farewell with many hearty wishes for his future prosperity, he mounted again to the deck, called his men together, abused the Dutchman vigorously for a few minutes, and getting into the boat, rowed away for his own vessel.
It is hardly necessary here to inform the reader, that the distinction which at present exists between the naval and military services has not been known above a hundred and fifty years; and that, consequently, the fact of Sir Henry Talbot's having distinguished himself on land, so far from being a disqualification, was one of the highest recommendations to him in the sea service! Vonderbrugius takes no notice of the circumstance, as probably the same practice existed in his time, although the latest instance that I can call to mind is that of General Monk, who, after having lived on land all his life, grew amphibious at the age of fifty.
However that may be, deceiving himself as we have seen, Sir Henry Talbot left the young knight to meditate over the conduct of Wolsey, who would indeed have committed an egregious piece of folly in sending to arrest him by the name of Sir Osborne Maurice alone, if he had known him to be Lord Darnley, as Sir Osborne thought. Attributing it, however, to one of those accidental omissions which often disconcert the best-arranged proceedings, the knight was congratulating himself on his good fortune, when Master Skippenhausen descended to offer his felicitations also, exclaiming, "My Cot! where did you hide yourself? Under that pile of hammocks, I'll warrant."
"No, you man of salt herrings! No, you cousin-german to a tub of butter!" exclaimed Longpole, whose indignation at the captain for having by his delay of the night before put them in such jeopardy now broke forth irresistibly. "No, you dyke-begotten son of a swamp and a canal! If it had not been for you we should never have run any risk, and don't flatter yourself that either you or your dirty hammocks either had any hand in saving us."
"How did I make you run any risk, pray?" exclaimed the master. "You would have made me and my ship run a risk if you had been found in it; but I made you run none."
"Stockfish, you lie!" cried the custrel. "Did you not lie in the mouth of the river all last night, when, if the blood in your veins had been anything but muddy Dutch puddle, of the heaviest quality, you would have had us over to Dunkirk by this time? Deny it if you dare, Dutchman, and I will prove it upon your body, till I leave you no more shape than one of your own cheeses."
The Dutchman bore the insolence of Longpole with all that calm magnanimity for which his nation is famed (says Vonderbrugius). However, Sir Osborne desired his attendant to be silent, and merely begging Master Skippenhausen to carry them to their destination as soon as possible, the matter ended.
It was night before they arrived at Dunkirk; and, without troubling the reader with all the details of their disembarkation, we shall merely beg him to look into the little hall of the Flemish inn, and see the knight and Longpole seated at the same table, according to the custom of the day, which we have before alluded to, while the host, standing behind the chair of Sir Osborne, answers the various questions which from time to time are addressed to him; and that black-eyed, smooth-faced, dingy serving-boy, who one might swear was a true sun of Hans Holbein, filches away the half-finished tankard of raspis from Longpole's elbow, and supplies its place with an empty one.
"And is Sir Albert of Koënigstein gone to Ratisbon too?" demanded Sir Osborne, pursuing the inquiries which he was engaged in making concerning his old comrades, amongst whom a sad dispersion had taken place during his absence.
"Indeed I cannot tell, sir knight," replied the landlord; "but very likely he is with the Count of Shoenvelt, at Cassel."
"What does Shoenvelt at Cassel?" asked the knight thoughtfully.
"He is collecting adventurers, they say, sir, under a commission from the emperor," replied the host. "Some think, to go against the Moors; but most people judge, to protect the frontier against Robert de la Mark."
"But Koënigstein would not serve under him," said Sir Osborne, meditating over what he heard. "He is a better captain a thousand times, and a nobler spirit."
"Well, sir," answered the landlord, "I tell you only what I heard. Somebody told me so, I am sure. Perhaps they command together. Boy, give his worship another tankard; don't you see that is out?"
"Odds fish!" cried Longpole; "what! all gone? Your measures, mine host, are not like that certain knight's purse that was no sooner empty than full again. It seems to me they are no sooner full than empty."
"At Cassel did you say he is?" demanded Sir Osborne.
"Not exactly at Cassel, sir knight," replied the host, glad to pass away from the subject of the tankard; "but you know Mount St. Hubert, about a league from Cassel. Your worship will find him there."
Sir Osborne made no reply; and, after a while, the host and his legion cleared the table of its encumbrances, and left the knight and his follower to pursue their own thoughts undisturbed. We can hardly wonder that, though now free from all danger of pursuit, the heart of the young knight was sad, and that his brow was clouded with many melancholy imaginings. It may be said, indeed, that he was not now worse in situation than when he was formerly in Flanders, at which time he had been happy and cheerful; but he was far worse, inasmuch as he had since entertained hopes and expectations which were now broken and passed away; inasmuch as he had known scenes, and tasted joys, that he had now lost, and which might never be his again. Every enjoyment of the human heart is like a tree planted deeply in the soil, which, when rooted out, leaves not the earth as it was before, but tears it up and scatters it abroad, and makes a yearning void, difficult to be filled again.
However, there was one thing which he had gained: an object in life. Formerly his natural disposition, the chivalrous spirit of the age, the ardour of high health, and the strong impulsive bias given by early associations, had impelled him onward on the only path of renown then open to a daring spirit. But now he had a still more inspiring motive, a more individual incitement, to press forward to the goal of fame. Constance de Grey was ever present to his thoughts, furnished the spring of all his actions, and directed his every endeavour. Renown in arms was his already; but fortune, station, he felt he must gain at the sword's point, and he only sought a good cause wherein to draw it.
The report that Albert of Koënigstein, his old friend and companion in arms, had joined the adventurers which the Count of Shoenvelt was collecting at Cassel, led him to imagine that the cause in which they would be engaged was one that he could himself embrace with honour, although Shoenvelt's name had not been hitherto very famous for the better qualities of chivalry. He doubted not, also, from the high station which he himself had filled in the armies of Burgundy, he should easily obtain that rank and command which he was entitled to expect amongst the troops thus assembled.
The history of the various bands of adventurers of that day offers us some of the most curious and interesting particulars of a curious and interesting age. These companies, totally distinct from the regular armies of the time (if regular armies they might be called), were generally levied by some enterprising feudal lord; and commencing, most frequently, amongst his own vassals, afterwards swelled out into very formidable bodies by a junction with other bands, and by the continual accession of brave and veteran soldiers, cast upon the world by the sovereigns they had served, when peace rendered their swords no longer necessary. Of course, the numbers in these companies varied very much according to circumstances, as well as their regulations and deportment. Sometimes they consisted of thousands, sometimes of simple tens. Sometimes, with the strictest discipline and the most unshrinking valour, they entered into the service of kings, and decided the fate of empires; sometimes they were little better than roving bands of robbers, that lived by rapine and hardly acknowledged law. Most frequently, however, in the age of which we treat, they volunteered their support to the armies of their own sovereign or his own allies, and often proved more active than the body they came to aid.
However, if Theseus had played at pitch-and-toss with Ariadne's clue, he would never have slain the Minotaur; and, therefore, we must go on with the thread of our own story, notwithstanding a strong inclination to pause and sport with the subject of the adventurers. Nevertheless, thus much we will say: if our readers wish a treat, let them read the delightful old Mémoires of Fleuranges--"L'Aventurier," as he calls himself--which for simplicity, and, if I may use the term, bonhommie of style, for curious incident and romantic adventure, is far superior to any romance that ever was written. Many curious particulars, also, concerning the appearance and conduct of the adventurers, may be found in the letters of Clement Marot to Marguerite de Valois.
But to proceed. The next morning, by day-break, Sir Osborne and his companion were once more on horseback, and on their way to Mount Cassel, the knight having determined to learn, in the first place, the views of Shoenvelt, and to examine the real state of his troops, before he offered himself as a companion in the adventure. In case he found their object such as he could not himself seek, his mind was hardly made up whether to offer his services to the emperor, or to Francis King of France. His old habits, indeed, tended to make him prefer the imperial army; but, from all he had heard of the new chief of the German confederacy, there was a sort of cold-blooded, calculating policy in his every action, that little accorded with the warm and chivalrous feelings of the young knight; while, at the same time, there was in the whole conduct of Francis a noble, candid generosity of heart: a wild, enthusiastic spirit of daring and adventure, that wonderfully attracted Sir Osborne towards him.
Journeying on with a quick pace, Mount Cassel soon rose to the traveller's sight, starting out of the vast plains in which it stands, like some high spirit towering above the flat multitude.
Sweeping round its base, the knight turned his horse towards a lesser hill, at about two miles' distance, the top of which was in that day crowned by the castle of Shoenvelt. From the plain below, as the eye wandered up the side of the mountain, amidst the wood and broom that covered the rock in large masses, might be seen peeping forth wall, and bastion, and outwork, while higher up, in zigzag lines upon the clear background of the sky, appeared the towers and battlements of the castle, with the tall donjon rising above them all, and the banner of Shoenvelt, bearing sable a saltier gules, floating in the sunshine.
A broad, fair road offered itself for the travellers' horses, winding along a narrow rocky ridge, which was the only part that, slowly descending, joined the hill gradually to the plain. All the rest was steep and precipitous, and too well guarded by nature to be liable to attack; while overhanging this sole approach might be seen on every side many a frowning defence, well prepared against any hostile footstep. Gradually, as the road wound upwards, it grew narrower and more narrow, confined between two high banks, commanded by the towers of the castle, while the road itself was completely raked by the guns of the barbican.
Sir Osborne remarked it all with a soldier's eye, looking on it as a mechanist does on some fine piece of art, and observing the purpose of every different part. Pressing on, however, he soon arrived at the gate, and demanded if Sir Albert of Koënigstein was in the castle.
Though it was a time of peace, no gate was opened, and the sole response of the soldier to whom he spoke was, "Who are you?" uttered through the grille of the barbican. The knight gave his name, and the man retired without making any further answer.
"This looks like precaution, Longpole," said the knight. "Methinks they would run no great danger in letting two men pass the gate, though they may be armed at all points."
"I suppose the custom of this castle is like the custom of a rat-hole," replied Longpole, "to let but one in at a time. But I hope you won't stay here, my lord. I have an invincible hatred at being built up. As much of the camp and fair field as you like, but Lord deliver me from stone and mortar! Besides, this place smacks marvellously of a den of free companions. Look at that fellow with the pike on his shoulder; neither his morion nor his corslet has known sand and the rubbing-stick since his great ancestor was drowned with Pharaoh; and 'twas then his harness got so rusty, depend on it."
"In a Red Sea, I am afraid," said Sir Osborne. "But here comes the janitor."
As he spoke, the guardian of the gate approached with a bunch of keys, and soon gave the knight the means of entrance. Sir Osborne, however, still held his bridle in, and demanded once more if Sir Albert of Koënigstein was in the castle.
"I cannot tell you, sir," replied the soldier. "I know not the titles of all the knights here. All I can say is, that I gave your name and errand to my lord, who sits at table in the great hall, and that he greets you heartily and invites you in."
At this moment a group of gentlemen appeared, coming through the gate of the inner ballium, and Sir Osborne, not doubting that they had been sent by the count to conduct him to the hall, saw that he could not now avoid entering, whether the officer he sought was there or not. Riding through the gate, then, he dismounted, and giving his horse to Longpole, met the party he had seen advancing, the principal of whom, with much reverence and courtesy, prayed the Sire de Darnley, on the part of Count Shoenvelt, to enter and quaff a cup of wine with him. Sir Osborne expressed his willingness to do so in the same strain, and then repeated his inquiry for his friend.
"We are unhappy in not having his company," replied the gentleman; "but I believe the count expects him here in a few days."
He was a young man who spoke, and there was a sort of flush came over his cheek, as he announced the probable coming of Koënigstein, which induced Sir Osborne to imagine that his report was not very correct; and fixing his eye upon him, he merely said, "Does he?" with a slight degree of emphasis.
"Yes, sir, he does," said the youth, colouring still more highly. "Do you mean to say he does not?"
"Not in the least," said Sir Osborne, "as you may see by my seeking him here; and I am sure that so gallant a squire as yourself would never swerve from truth."
The young man bent down his eyes, and began playing with his sword-knot, while Sir Osborne, now perfectly convinced that the whole tale was a falsehood, followed on in silence, prepared to act according to this opinion. In a few minutes they passed through the portal of the keep, and entered at once into the great hall, up the midst of which was placed a long table, surrounded by the chief of Shoenvelt's adventurers, with various pages and varlets, serving the meats and pouring out the wine. Round upon the walls hung the arms of the various guests, cumbering every hook or peg that could be found; and where these had been scanty, they were cast upon the ground behind the owners' seats, together with saddles and bards, and other horse caparisons; while in the corner leaned several scores of lances, mingled amongst which were one or two knightly pennons, and many a sheaf of arrows, jostled by the upstart weapons destined in the end to banish them from the stage, such as hackbuts, hand-guns, and other newly-invented fire-arms.
At the farther end of the table, digging deeply with his dagger in a chine of wild-boar pork, which had been just placed before him, sat the Count of Shoenvelt himself, tall, strong-limbed, and grisly, with a long, drooping, hooked nose, depressed at the point, as if some one had set his thumb on it, at the same time squeezing it down, and rather twisting it on one side. This feature was flanked, if one may use the term, by a pair of small, keen, hawk's eyes, which expressed more active cunning than vigorous thought; while a couple of immense ears, sticking out on each side of his head, and worn into various irregular callosities by the pressure of his helmet, gave a singular and brute-like appearance to his whole visage, not easy to be described. He was dressed in a hacqueton, or close jacket of buff leather, laced with gold, on which might be seen, especially towards the arms, sundry daubs and stains, to the number of which he had just added another, by dashing all the gravy over his sleeve, in his furious hacking of the large and stubborn piece of meat before him. This accident had called into his face not the most angelic expression, and as he sat he would have made a good picture of an inferior sort of devil; the whole effect being heightened by a strong ray of light passing through a purple pane of the stained glass window, and falling with a ghastly lustre upon his dark, ferocious countenance.
The moment, however, that he perceived Sir Osborne, his brow was smoothed, and rising from his seat, he advanced towards him with great expression of joy. "My dear Lord of Darnley!" cried he, taking him in his arms and pressing him to his bosom with a hug that the knight would willingly have dispensed with; "welcome! a thousand times welcome to St. Hubert's Castle! Whether you come to stay with us as a companion, or whether you are but a passing guest, your visit is an honour and a delight to all within these walls. Knights and gentlemen," continued he, "pledge me all a cup to the health of the Sire de Darnley."
To the party by whom he was surrounded, such a proposal was what nobody felt at all inclined to reject, and consequently there was instantly a loud rattling of cups and tankards, and no one complained that his bowl was too full. All pledged Lord Darnley, and he could not refuse to do them justice in a cup of wine. After which, taking the seat that Shoenvelt assigned him by his side, the knight gazed over the various grim and war-worn faces which were gathered round the table, some of which he knew merely by sight, and some who, having exchanged a word or two with him in the various reciprocations of military service, now looked as if they claimed some mark of recognition. Sir Osborne was not the man to reject such appeal, and he gave the expected bow to each, though amongst them all he saw no one who had greatly distinguished himself for those high feelings and generous virtues that ever marked the true knight.
Many were the questions that were asked him; many the conjectures that were propounded to him for confirmation, respecting the designs of France and England, and of Germany; and it was some time before he could cut them short, by informing his interrogators that he had been for the last three months in his own country, so deeply occupied by his private affairs that he had given no attention to the passing politics of the day. The whole party seemed greatly disappointed, entertaining apparently a much more violent thirst for news than even that which is commonly to be met with in all small communities, cut off from general information, and unoccupied by greater or better subjects of contemplation.
As soon as the meal, which was drawing towards its end when Sir Osborne entered, was completely concluded, Shoenvelt rose, and begged to entertain him for a few minutes in private; which being agreed to, he led him forth into a small space enclosed with walls, wherein the provident chatelain had contrived to lay up, against the hour of need, a very sufficient store of cabbages, turnips, carrots, and other canaille of the vegetable kingdom, which might be very serviceable in case of siege. Here, walking up and down a long path that bordered the beds, with Sir Osborne on his right, and a knight named Wilsten (whom he had invited to the conference) on his left, Shoenvelt addressed Lord Darnley somewhat to the following effect; generally, while he did so, fixing his eyes upon vacancy, as a man does who recites awkwardly a set speech, but still from time to time giving a quick sharp glance towards the knight's countenance, to see the impression he produced:--
"Valiant and worthy knight--ahem! ahem!" said Shoenvelt. "Every one, whether in Germany or France, England or Spain, or even here in our poor duchy of Burgundy--ahem! ahem! Every one, I say, has heard of your valorous feats and courageous deeds of arms; wherefore it cannot be matter of astonishment to you, that wherever there is a captain who, having gathered together a few hardy troops--ahem! ahem! is desirous of signalizing himself in the service of his country--ahem!--wherever there is such a one, I say, you cannot be surprised that he wishes to gain you to his aid." Here Shoenvelt gave a glance at Wilsten, to see if he approved his proem; after which he again proceeded:--"Now you must know, worthy knight, that I have here in my poor castle, which is a strong one, as you may perceive--ahem!--no less than five hundred as good spearmen as ever crossed a horse, which I have gathered together for no mean purpose. A purpose," he continued, mysteriously, "which, if effected, will not only enrich all persons who contribute their aid thereto, but will gain them the eternal thanks of our good and noble emperor--ahem! ahem! I could say more--ahem!"
"Tonder, man! tell him all," cried Wilsten, who had served with Sir Osborne, and had the reputation of being a brave and gallant knight, though somewhat addicted to plunder; "or let me tell him, for your bedevilled 'hems' take more time than it would to storm a fort. This is the case, sir knight. A great meeting is to take place between the King of France and the King of England at the border, and all the nobility of France are in motion through Picardy and the frontier provinces, covered with more gold than they ever had in their lives before. Even Francis himself, like a mad fool, is running from castle to castle, along the frontier, sometimes with not more than half-a-dozen followers. Now, then, fancy what a rich picking may be had amidst these gay French gallants; and if Francis himself were to fall into our hands, we might command half a kingdom for his ransom."
"But I thought that the two countries were at peace," said the knight, with a coldness of manner sufficiently marked, as he thought, to prevent any further communication of the kind.
Wilsten, however, was not to be stopped, and replied, "Ay, a sort of peace; a peace that is no peace on the frontiers. Don't let that frighten you: we can prove that they were the first aggressors. Why, did not they, less than ten days ago, attack the garrison of St. Omers, and kill three men in trying to force the gate? Have they not ravaged half Hainault? But, however, as I said, be not startled at that. Shoenvelt saw the emperor about two months ago, who gave him to understand that we could not do him a better service than either to take Francis alive or give him a stroke with a lance. And fear not that our plans are well laid: we have already two hundred men scattered over the frontier; every forest, every village, has its ten or twelve, ready to join at a moment's notice, when we sound to the standard: two hundred more follow to-night, and Shoenvelt and I to-morrow, in small parties, so as not to be suspected. Already we have taken a rich burgher of Beauvais, with velvets and cloths of gold worth a hundred thousand florins. But that is nothing: the king is our great object, and him we shall have, unless some cursed accident prevents it; for we do not hunt him by report only: we have our gaze-hound upon him, who never loses sight. What think you of that, sir knight? Count William of Firstenberg, Shoenvelt's cousin, who is constantly with Francis, ay, and well-beloved of him, is our sworn companion, and gives us notice of all his doings. What think you of that, sir knight--ha?"
"I think him a most infernal villain!" cried Sir Osborne, his indignation breaking forth in spite of his better judgment. "By heaven! before I would colleague with such a traitor, I'd have my hand struck off."
"Ha!" cried Shoenvelt, who had marked the knight's coldness all along, and now burst into fury. "A traitor! Sir knight, you lie! Ho! shut the gates there! By heaven! he will betray us, Wilsten! Call Marquard's guard; down with him to a dungeon!" and laying his hand upon his sword, he prepared to stop the knight, who now strode rapidly towards the gate. "Nay, nay," cried Wilsten, holding his companion's arm. "Remember, Shoenvelt, 'tis your own hold. He must not be hurt here; nay, by my faith he shall not. We will find a more fitting place: hold, I say!"
While Shoenvelt, still furious, strove to free himself from Wilsten, Sir Osborne passed the gate of the garden, and entered the space of the outer ballium, where Longpole had pertinaciously remained with the two horses, as close to the barbican, the gate of which had been left open when they entered, as possible, seeming to have had a sort of presentiment that it might be necessary to secure possession of the bridge.
The moment the knight appeared without any conductors, the shrewd custrel conceived at once that something had gone wrong, sprang upon his own horse, gave a glance round the court to see that his retreat could not be cut off, and perceiving that almost all the soldiers were near the inner wall, he led forward his lord's charger to meet him.
Sir Osborne had his foot in the stirrup when Shoenvelt, now broken away from Wilsten, rushed forth from the garden, vociferating to his men to shut the gate and to raise the drawbridge; but in a moment the knight was in the saddle; and spurring on, with one buffet of his hand in passing, he felled a soldier who had started forward to drop the portcullis, and darted over the bridge.
"On to the other gate, Longpole!" cried he. "Quick! Make sure of it;" and turning his own horse, he faced Shoenvelt, who now seeing him gone beyond his power, stood foaming under the arch. "Count of Shoenvelt!" cried he, drawing off his glove, "thou art a liar, a traitor, and a villain, which, when you will, I will prove upon your body. There lies my gage!" and casting down his gauntlet, he galloped after Longpole, who stood with his sword drawn in a small outer gate, which had been thrown forward even beyond the barbican.
"Up! archers, up!" cried Shoenvelt, storming with passion; "up, lazy villains! A hundred crowns to him who sends me an arrow through his heart. Draw! draw, slaves! Draw, I say!"
In a moment an arrow stuck in Sir Osborne's surcoat, and another lighted on his casquet; but, luckily, as we have seen, the more easily to carry his harness or armour, he rode completely armed, and the missiles from the castle fell in vain.
However, lest his horse should suffer, which, not being sufficiently covered by its bard to insure it from a chance arrow, might have been disabled at the very moment he needed it most, the knight spurred on as fast as possible, and having joined Longpole, descended the narrow way by which they had mounted.
Still for some way the arrows continued to fall about them, though with less assured aim and exhausted force; so that the only danger that remained might be apprehended either from the guns of the castle being fired upon them, or from Shoenvelt sending out a body of spearmen in their pursuit. Neither of these, however, took place, the inhabitants of the country round, and the commander of Cassel, being too jealous and suspicious of Shoenvelt already for him to do anything which might more particularly attract their attention; and to this cause, and this cause only, was Sir Osborne indebted for his unpursued escape.