A PERILOUS SPOT.
It's a dangerous place sometimes for those who don't know my nursery floor,
And I'd advise those who are timid at all to keep well outside the door;
There are lions at large, and bears and cows, and animals wild like that
Parading around most all the time, and a great big plooshy cat.
My Pa came into that room one day to see who was blowing the horn,
And before he looked where he walked he stepped on top of a unicorn;
And the fast express from old Bureauville—as fast as the wind it goes—
Came whistling over the carpet track, and ran right over his toes.
And when he jumped back to get out of the way a big man-of-war sailed by,
And clipped the end of his heel, it did, and a cannon-ball hit his eye,
A cannon-ball shot by General Zinc bombarding a Brownie band,
That peeped from the edge of the old soap-dish we keep on the oak wash-stand.
And once in the dark he tripped on the ark, and fell on the Ferris wheel,
And bumped his head on a wagon red, and broke off my steam-launch keel;
And when he got up to leave the room, the very first thing he knew
He got in the midst of some lead Arabs, and made a great hullaballoo.
And that's why I say it's a dangerous place for those who've not been there before,
With lions and boats and bears and carts strewn everywhere over the floor,
And unless I'm home when you visit me, there isn't a bit of a doubt,
Instead of a-venturing in there alone, you'd better by far keep out.
Carlyle Smith.
[TWO AGAINST A FLEET.]
Early in September, 1814, a British fleet sailed up the Penobscot River from Belfast to Bangor, robbing and destroying the farms and villages as they went along, and after they had caused great damage in Bangor, they turned about and sailed back again to the sea. Only once in this long and, from a British point of view, successful raid, did the Yankees get the better of their enemies, and this single instance was due to the bravery of one old man and his courageous wife.
The fleet was guided up the stream by a Tory pilot, and encountered no resistance until it reached the highlands of Cape Jellison, when a volley of musketry was discharged by a little band of Maine patriots, killing a number of sailors and soldiers who had been occupying conspicuous positions on the decks. The British replied with broadsides of grape-shot, riddling every house within striking distance, and silencing the flint-locks. But the incident had maddened the commander of the English squadron, and he gave orders to his gunners to take a shot at everything on shore as they proceeded. As a result many houses were struck and one cow was killed; the inhabitants, warned of the approaching fleet, having retired inland out of range.
Thus the Britishers had it all their own way until they came to a point called the Narrows, about a mile below Bucksport. Tall bluffs rise on both sides of the river here, and on the crest of one old David Grant lived in his little house with his wife. Grant was too old to go to the war, but he was not too old to resist the invaders. As soon as he saw the masts of the hostile ships coming around the bend, he got out his muskets and took up a good position in front of his house with a firm rest to aim on. From his point of vantage he could command the decks of the ships as they passed, and as soon as they came within gunshot he began to blaze away with his old shooting-irons, aiming at the officers who were gathered on the sterns of their vessels.
His wife stood by his side and loaded the guns as fast as she could. At the third shot fired by the old man, the defenders of the hill-top saw the man at the wheel of the foremost vessel throw up his hands and fall backward. Immediately the war-ship swung its nose around to the tide, and would have run ashore if the order had not been given to drop anchor. Grant had badly wounded the Tory, and the second vessel in the line had to take the lead of the fleet with a resident of the locality who sympathized with the British for pilot. During all this manœuvring, old David Grant was pouring buck-shot and bullets upon the ships, and both he and his wife shook their fists in defiance at the surprised Englishmen.
Presently a gun loaded with grape was run out on the deck of the flag-ship and fired at the house on the bluff, but the angle was too steep, and the charge lodged in the bank below. The British then began to clear away a boat, and a squad of marines gathered at the gangway to embark. Something went wrong with the davits, however, for the tackles did not seem to work easily, and Grant and his wife could see the officers storming about the deck, while the boat hung several feet above the river. When the old couple saw that they were about to be attacked in earnest they withdrew into their little house and closed the door. The house was built on the further side of a little field that sloped down to the edge of the bluff, and at the rear of the building and on both sides were thick clumps of trees. Shortly after Grant and his wife had retired from view, the British saw a man carrying a gun over his shoulder step out of the thicket on the north side and walk into the house through the front door. He had hardly gotten in when two more men fully armed stepped out of the trees from the other side and went into the house. After this, at intervals of a minute or less, one or two men came from the trees and went to Grant's assistance. All carried guns over their shoulders. The British officers from the ship watched the men as they came, and had counted fully fifty by the time the boat was ready to clear away. This caused them to hesitate about making an attack, for they realized that from the strong position on the bluff fifty armed patriots could hold a whole ship's crew at bay, and kill them off one by one as they struggled up the hill. The Commander, therefore, thought better of this plan, and ordered the marines aboard again, and, hoisting anchor, sailed off after the rest of the fleet up the river toward Bangor.
As the ship passed through the Narrows old David Grant and his brave wife ran along the bluff for almost a mile, shooting as fast as they could, and when they had no more gunpowder left, they shook their fists again at the invaders, and turned back toward their little home.
When the farmers gathered from all around to hear about the old couple's battle with the British, Grant told them how he went out of the house by the back door and skirted the clump of trees, and came out in front in sight of the enemy, and walked in at the front door. His wife dressed herself in some of her husband's clothes, and, taking a gun, performed the same trick, and sometimes they came separately, and sometimes they walked together; and sometimes they came from the north side, and sometimes they walked out from the trees on the south. It was this simple bit of strategy that saved the old couple and their home from the destructive attack of the British.
[THE TROLLEY SWIMMING TEACHER.]
BY WILLIAM HEMMINGWAY.
Swimming on a trolley-line sounds like an impossibility. It is a very real practical feat, nevertheless, and hundreds of New-Yorkers can tell you all about it from their own experience. No other way of learning how to swim is half so pleasant as the trolley-line plan. There is no fear of bobbing under and losing your breath and swallowing a quart of water. Once you buckle on your trolley belt, there you are, and there you stay, right on the surface of the water. It is as safe as sitting in a rocking-chair, and a thousand times more fun.
Fred L. Balmes, a young swimming-teacher, invented the trolley plan. He found that the usual scheme of putting a belt around the pupil's chest, running a line from the back of it to the end of a long pole, and then towing the pupil along like landing a big fish, was not apt to encourage learners. They always feared that the teacher would stub his toe, or look around suddenly, or in some other way forget to hold up the end of the pole. That, of course, meant a ducking; and a beginner in the gentle art of swimming would rather suffer ten beatings than one ducking. Nobody ever learned well by wearing an inflated rubber life-belt. The belt has too much floating power, and boys who wear one when beginning always kick too high thereafter, and send their feet splashing above the surface, which is very bad form. When I was a boy we used to go down to the Sandy Flats, where there was a long stretch of river only three feet deep. An expert (a boy who could swim about ten yards) upheld the pupil's chin on the palm of his hand, and yelled, "Now kick like a bull-frog!" If the pupil was too embarrassed to do this immediately and successfully, the expert always popped him under, and when he came up spluttering and shrieking, sent him down again for luck. The system was perfect—all but the cruel ducking.
HE MIGHT LIE THERE ALL DAY WITHOUT WETTING HIS MOUTH.
That sort of thing would not attract pupils to a swimming-school, so Fred Balmes tried to find the best substitute for the hand of the teacher under the chin of the taught. At last he hit upon the idea of running a wire along the pool two or three feet above the surface. Now, if there were only some way to hang the pupil to this wire so that he could move forward and backward and never be allowed to sink! A trolley was just the thing for that. Balmes bought a small metal wheel, with its rim deeply curved inward, so that it would not jump off the wire and become clogged. Hanging down from the axle of this wheel was a piece of brass that ended in a swivel. Balmes already had a broad canvas belt, with a ring at the upper part of it. He hooked the end of the swivel into the ring on the belt, and threw himself into the water. The trolley-line was a success. He splashed both hands and feet above the surface of the pool, but still he floated like thistle-down. Backward and forward he swam. The trolley rolled and creaked along the wire, and always held him up in precisely the right position. He might lie there all day if he chose without wetting his mouth. Not only can one learn to swim quickly by the trolley plan, but it is a fine way to learn how to float. Some of us are too thin ever to learn this branch of the art, but if any one possesses latent floating power, he may be sure that the trolley will develop it.
The inventor of this delightful way to learn swimming has not patented his trolley plan, so any one may use it. The wire can be rigged from side to side of any swimming-bath. It is best not to have the line more than fifty feet long, for a greater length than that will cause the wire to sag at the middle and let the pupil sink. In rigging the wire only one end should be wrapped fast around a post. The other end should be hitched to a stout rope and pulley-block. Before using the trolley the rope should be hauled as taut as possible and made fast securely. Then there will be a straight tight wire and no sagging.
If enough care is used, there is no reason why a trolley swimming line cannot be set up along a river-bank or the edge of a swimming-pond. In doing this, however, boys should not depend upon their own judgment. It is best by far to engage a competent man to set the posts and rig the wires. No matter how clever boys may be, they are not cautious enough to arrange against all the possibilities of danger. And it is necessary always to remember that in water is the most dangerous place to play.
A VIRGINIA CAVALIER.[2]
BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
CHAPTER V.
ou are asking me more, sir," said Lance, with something like a grim smile on his countenance, "than I could tell you in a month, or two months. But I can tell you how the Duke of Marlborough looked in battle, for I belonged to the foot-soldiers, and we were generally standing still for a time, until the cavalry had showed us where we were wanted, and we could see the generals riding over the field. The Duke, you must know, sir, was not so very young when I served under him, but he was still the handsomest man in the British army. They say, when he was a lieutenant, that all the great ladies fell in love with him, and the one he married, I have read in a book, he was much in love with, but a deal more afraid of her than ever he was of the Grand Monarque and all his armies. They say it was a joke in England that the great Duke obeyed his Duchess and trembled at her word. But I dare say he is not the only man who ever ruled men and then let his wife rule him. The Duke was a noble sight at parade, with his splendid chestnut charger, his uniform of red and gold, his chapeau with plumes, and his great periwig. But, to my mind, he was a finer sight when the French artillery-men were ploughing up the ground—the French are monstrous good gunners, Mr. Washington, and hang on to their batteries like the devil—and the musketry screaming around, and that old fox Marshal Villars was hammering us in a dozen places at once. Then the Duke was as calm as a May morning, and was full of jokes with his officers, and whistling to himself a queer kind of a tune with no tune to it. But old Villars never caught him napping, and was caught napping himself once. That was the time we took Bouchain."
"Oh yes—about Bouchain."
"Well, sir, in the spring of 1711 the great Duke arrived in the Low Countries, and glad enough were all to see him—for not only, we knew, we could lick the French and Bavarians if we were under him, but the army was always paid when the great Duke commanded, and fed and clothed too. I remember, when he came back that time, he brought us forty thousand woollen shirts. The kings and queens thought that we, the common soldiers, did not know what was going on, but we knew the stay-at-homes were trying to ruin the Duke at court, and that he had hardly been treated civilly when he got to England, and that three colonels—Meredith, Macartney, and Heywood—had been cashiered for drinking 'confusion to the enemies of the Duke of Marlborough.' It was while he was away that the allied army—as ours and our allies was called—had got a handsome drubbing at Almanza, in Spain, and I can't say that any of us cried over it; only we thought we might get drubbed ourselves if the Duke didn't come back. So you may be sure, Mr. Washington, that when the news came that the whole army was to rendezvous at Orchies, and the Duke had landed in Holland on his way to us, we felt better.
"Marshal Villars had been all the winter throwing up redoubts and all sorts of works along his lines, from Bouchain, on the Scheldt, which lay here"—Lance stooped down at this and drew an imaginary line on the floor, and George got off the bed, and taking the candle, sat down on the floor, the better to understand—"along the Sanset, which runs this way. Lord, Mr. Washington, I'll have to use the boot-jack to show you about Bouchain and Arras."
"And here are the snuffers," eagerly added George, "for Arras; and here is my pocket-rule and a piece of chalk."
Lance seized the chalk. "The very thing, sir!" And he drew a very fair map upon the floor, George watching him with bright, intelligent eyes, and afterwards taking the chalk, straightened up Lance's rude sketch.
"IT'S A PLEASURE TO SHOW A YOUNG GENTLEMAN LIKE YOU, SIR, HOW IT WAS DONE."
"That's right, sir," said Lance, getting down on the floor himself. "It's a pleasure to show a young gentleman like you, sir, how it was done, because you have the understanding of it, if I may make bold to say so.
"Old Villars, then, being a monstrous sharp general, said to himself, 'Aha! I'll beat the long roll on Marlborough now,' and he had the astonishing impudence to call his lines 'Marlborough's ne plus ultra,' whatever that is; I don't know myself, but it is some sort of impudence in French."
George laughed a little to himself at Lance's notion of the old Latin phrase, but he was too much interested in the story to interrupt.
"Marshal Villars had near sixty thousand men, and such a gang of ragamuffins, Mr. Washington, you never saw. But they'd rather fight than eat; and let an old soldier tell you, sir, whenever you meet the French, don't count on licking 'em because they are half starved and half naked; I believe they fight better the worse off they are for victuals and clothes. The Duke spent two or three weeks studying their works, and when he got through with it he knew more about them than Marshal Villars himself did. The summer had come, and the streams were no longer swollen, and the Duke begun to lay his plans to trap old Villars. The first thing he did was to have a lot of earth-works thrown up at the place where he did not intend to break through the French lines. The French, of course, got wind of this, and drew all their forces away from Vitry, where the Duke really meant to break through and cross the Sanset. All the Frenchmen were fooled, and Marshal Villars the worst of all. So when, one bright morning in July, the French scouts reported that Marlborough himself, with fifty squadrons of horse, was on the march for the earth-works he had made where he did not mean to cross, old Villars was cocksure he had him. The Duke with his fifty squadrons marched a good day's march away from Vitry, the French scampering off in his direction, and concentrating their troops just where the Duke wanted them. Meanwhile every mother's son of us was in marching order—the artillery ready, the pontoons ready, everybody and everything ready. About mid-day, seeing the French had been fooled, the order was given to march, and off we put for Vitry. As soon as we reached the river we laid the pontoons, and were drawn up on the bank just waiting for the word to cross. It was then late in the evening, but we had got news that the Duke had turned around, and was making for us as fast as the horses of his squadrons could lay their hoofs to the ground. About nine o'clock we saw the dust of the advance-guard down the highway; we heard the galloping of the horses long before. The instant the Duke appeared the crossing begun, and by sunrise thirty thousand men had crossed, and had joined General Hompesch's division of ten thousand between Oise and Estrum; and now we were within Villars's lines without striking a blow. 'Twas one of the greatest marches that ever was, Mr. Washington—ten leagues between nine in the evening and ten the next morning—thirty thousand infantry, artillery, cavalry, miners, and sappers.
"Villars found out what was in the wind about midnight, and at two o'clock in the morning he turned around, and the whole French army came in pursuit of us; and if you will believe it, sir, they marched better than we did, and by eleven o'clock in the morning the beggars were as near Bouchain as we; for Bouchain was what we were after. 'Twas a strong fortress, and the key to that part of France; and if we could get it we could walk to the heart of France any day we liked.
"Old Villars wanted to bring us to fight, but the Duke was too wary for him. He sat down before Bouchain, that had a large garrison of picked men, commanded by the bravest officers in the French army, with stores, guns, and ammunition in plenty. The Duke had to make a causeway over a morass before he could get at 'em at all, and there was Villars behind us, ready to cut us to pieces, and that stubborn fortress in front. It was the hardest siege I ever knew, though it was not the longest. The people at home were clamoring for the Duke to fight Villars instead of taking Bouchain; but the Duke knew that if he could get the fortress he would have the control of three great rivers—the Scheldt, the Meuse, and the Lys—and then we could cut off any army the Grand Monarque could send against us. 'Tis a deal harder, sir, to keep men's spirits up in a siege than in a battle. The army would rather have been fighting Villars any day; but there we were, laying trenches, mounting our guns, and every day closing in on that town. The Duke was very anxious after a while to know what the condition of the town was within the bastions, and every young cornet and ensign in the army wanted to risk his skin by sneaking in and finding out. But while the Duke was turning this over in his mind it happened that the enemy sent us a flag of truce in regard to an armistice. The Duke did not want an armistice, but he wanted mightily to know how things were looking inside, so he agreed to send a flag of truce back. The French, though, are not to be easily outwitted, and they made it a condition that the officers sent with the flag be blindfolded. Three officers went in; but they had their sashes tied around their eyes, and the only thing they saw when they had been led blindfolded for a half-mile through the town and into the citadel was a very handsome room in which the commandant received them. They talked awhile, but did not come to any terms; and then the commandant very politely invited them to take some refreshment, and a regular feast was set out for them—just to make them think that provisions were plenty—and the French officers who dined with them ate scarcely anything. But they looked gaunt and hollow-eyed enough, and I warrant they fell to as soon as the English officers left. So, after all, Lord Fairfax was the one to get in."
"Was anybody with him?" asked George.
"Well, sir—the fact is, sir—I was with him."
George jumped up off the floor, and seizing Lance's hand, wrung it hard in his enthusiasm. Lance smiled one of his grim smiles.
"Young gentlemen are apt to think more of a little thing like that than it's worth," was the old soldier's commentary on this, as George again seated himself on the floor, and with eloquent and shining eyes besought Lance to tell him of his entrance into the besieged fortress.
"It was about a week after that, when one night, as I was toasting a piece of cheese on a ramrod over the fire, up comes quite a nice-looking young woman and begins to jabber to me in French. She had on a red petticoat and a blue bodice, like the peasant women in those parts wear, and a shawl around her, and a cap on her head; but she did not look like a peasant, but rather like a town milliner. She had a basket of eggs in her hand, as the people sometimes brought us to sell, though, poor things, they had very few eggs or chickens, or anything else. Now I could speak the French lingo tolerably, for I had served so many years where it was spoke, so we begun bargaining for the eggs, and she kept up a terrible chattering. At last we agreed on two pistoles for the lot, and I handed out the money, when suddenly she flew into a rage, threw the money in my face, and, what was worse, began to pelt me with sticks and stones, and even the eggs. That brought some of my comrades around, and, to my surprise, she begun to talk in a queer sort of French-English, saying I had cheated her, and a lot more stuff, and stamping on the ground, demanded to be taken to an officer. Just then two young officers happened to be passing, and they stopped to ask what the row was about. The young woman then poured forth her story, and I was in an ace of being put in the guard-house, when she whispered something to one of them, and he started as if he had been shot. Then he whispered it to the other one, and presently all three—the young woman and the two officers—begun to laugh as if they would crack their sides. This was not very pleasant for me, standing there like a post, with rage in my heart; the more so, when one of the officers, laughing still, told me it was all right, and I could go back to my cheese and ramrod, and they went off in one direction in the darkness and the young woman in another. They were hardly out of sight when back comes the young woman again. As you may think, I never wanted to clap my eyes on her again; but she slapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Lance, my man, don't you know me?' and it was—it was—"
George was so eager at this point that he crawled on all fours up to Lance and gazed breathlessly into his face.
"It was Lord Fairfax dressed up as a woman! And he says, when I had come to myself a little, for I nearly dropped dead with surprise, 'If I can fool my own men and my own brother officers, I ought to be able to fool the Frenchmen into letting me into the town.' And sure enough, Mr. Washington, that was exactly what he did."
Lance paused to get the full dramatic effect of this. It was not wasted on his young listener, for George gave a gasp of astonishment that spoke volumes, and his first words, when speech returned to him, were,
"Go on—go on quick!"
"Well, sir, Lord Fairfax told me that he had a scheme to get in the town as a woman, and I was to go with him as his servant, because I could speak the lingo; and on the frontier there they have so many accents that they couldn't tell if you were a Dutchman or an Englishman or a Russian or a Prussian; and, besides, my lord said, my French had a High-Dutch twang that couldn't be excelled. He was a week thinking it over and practising in his tent. Of course he didn't tell but one or two persons what he was after; he meant it to be as secret as possible. So when he would send for me to his tent at night every crack and cranny would be stopped, and there would be just one or two young officers putting the Earl through his paces, as it were. He was a slim, handsome young man then, and when he got a woman's wig on, and a little rouge, and was dressed in the latest fashion, with a great hoop—for he meant to represent a lady, not a peasant woman—anybody would have taken him for a pretty young lady. The hoop and the sack and all the fallals a lady would wear were of real service to him, as he could wear his uniform under them, and so, if he should be found out and arrested, he would be entitled to be treated as a prisoner of war. If he had been caught in the French lines without his uniform, he would have been strung up in short order as a spy, according to the articles of war. I kept my uniform on too, but that was a simple matter, as I was only disguised by another suit of man's clothing put on over it.
"My lord had something else under his hoop besides his uniform—a good rapier, with a Toledo blade; and his lace neck-handkerchief was fastened with a jewelled dagger that was more than a toy. He was to be Madame Geoffroy in search of her husband, who was supposed to be in the garrison, and I was to be a great, stupid, faithful Alsacian servant, and my name was to be Jacques; and my name is Peter, sir. I had no arms, only a great stick; but there was a knob in that stick, and when I pulled out that knob I had a sword.
"We used to practise of a night in the tent. My lord had merriment in him then, and officers always like a lark; and it would have made you laugh, Mr. Washington, to have seen my lord, all dressed up as a woman, pretending to cry, and holding his handkerchief to his face while he rehearsed the story he was making up to the two young officers. It was a yarn all about the supposed Madame Geoffroy's travels in search of her husband, and her delight when she heard he was one of the officers of the Bouchain garrison; and of course she would be told by somebody that there was no such officer in the garrison, and then she was to give a screech and fall over, and I was to catch her and beg her to control herself. Oh, it was as good as play-acting! Often, when I have thought of that adventure, and have remembered how my lord looked then and how he looks now—so serious and grave, and as if he never played a prank in his life—I could hardly persuade myself it was the same man. Well, Mr. Washington, after we had got it all straight, one dark August night we ran the sentries—that is, we slipped past them in the dark. They thought we were deserters, although why anybody should desert from our camp, where we had both victuals and drink in plenty, to go to Bouchain, where they had neither, nobody could make out. However, we heard the shots cracking behind us as we managed to pick our way through the morass, and truly, sir, I think we were in more danger of our lives while crossing that morass in the dark between the English and French lines than at any other time. It was terrible work, but we managed to get to a solid piece of ground, covered with underbrush, where our outfit was concealed. Luckily we had to conceal our clothes, for we were covered with black mud, and we had a time scraping it off our hands and faces. At last, though, after half an hour's hard work there in the swamp, we were dressed. We then had to steal about a mile off, through the undergrowth, to the right of the French lines. This would have been easy enough for us except for my lord's toggery, but the little rents and stains we got upon us gave the more color to the story we had to tell of a long day's travel and many mishaps on the way.
"After a while, sir, we got out on the open highway, and then we took breath and made for the French sentries. I tied a white handkerchief on to my long stick, and we marched along until we got to the first outpost; and when the sentry levelled his piece and asked us 'Who goes there?' my lord advanced and said, in a woman's voice, 'A distressed lady.' The night was dark, but the sentry could see it was a lady, and then my lord said, 'I am Madame Geoffroy, the wife of a French officer, and I desire you to bring the officer of the guard to me at once.' That sounded straight enough, so the soldier took a little whistle from his belt and whistled, and pretty quickly a smart young lieutenant stepped up.
"The supposed Madame Geoffroy had then sunk upon the ground, pretending to be almost fainting with fatigue. And after this, Mr. Washington, I will make bold to call my lord Madame Geoffroy during the whole of this adventure; for nobody thought he was anything but a woman, and sometimes I had to rub my eyes and ask if I wasn't really named Jacques, and Madame Geoffroy and her big hoop and her lost husband weren't real.
"The Frenchmen are monstrous polite, as you know, sir, and when the lieutenant saw a lady sighing and moaning on the ground he took off his hat and bowed low, and asked what he could do for her.
"'Let me see the commandant of the garrison for only one moment!' cried Madame Geoffroy, clasping her hands. 'My husband—my poor, brave husband! Oh, sir, have some pity on a distracted woman, who has travelled nearly seven hundred leagues in search of her husband.'
"'Was your husband an officer in Marshal Villars's army, madame,' asked the lieutenant, bowing again.
"'He was—and is, I hope,' said madame. 'He was one of the King's Musketeers, but was taken prisoner at Oudenarde, and on being exchanged he joined Montbrasin's regiment because it was on the frontier; and since that day, a year ago, I have been unable to find any trace of him. I have strong hopes he is living, for I have no proof that he is dead; and knowing that Colonel Montbrasin is the commandant of the garrison of Bouchain, I have made my way here, with incredible difficulty, even through the English lines.' Now this was really a very clever speech, for the King's Musketeers was a crack regiment, being the Grand Monarque's own body-guard, and no man was admitted into it unless he was of the best blood of France. So the lieutenant thought Madame Geoffroy was a great lady.
"'Madame,' said he, 'it is not in my power to promise you an interview with the commandant, but I will conduct you with pleasure to my superior officer, who commands the main entrance to the town.'
"At that madame jumped up so sprightly and started to walk so fast that I was afraid the lieutenant would suspect her. But that is just like the French, Mr. Washington. One minute they are in the dolly dumps, so that you would think they could not live, and the next they are capering about and laughing and singing as if they never had the dolly dumps in their lives. Off we set for the main gate. We walked along the intrenchments, and I kept my eyes open, and in spite of the half-darkness I saw a good many things that they would rather we hadn't seen. Their works were in a bad way, and our siege-guns had done their duty.
"Arrived at the gate-house, the young lieutenant asked for the officer in command—Captain Saussier. So Captain Saussier came out, and madame went through all her story again. The captain ogled her, and it was all I could do to keep my countenance when I saw that the captain and the lieutenant were trying to cut one another out. They made no bones at all of taking her to see the commandant, particularly as she said she did not wish to stay, except until daylight the next morning; for in a besieged town they don't want any non-combatants to eat up the provender. But although they were willing enough for her to go in, they refused to let me. She made no objection to this, which surprised me; but in a moment she fell into one of those fits we had rehearsed for the commandant's benefit, when he should tell her, as we knew he would, that he had never seen or heard of her husband. I came forward then with smelling-salts, and presently she revived. That scared the officers a little, for the bravest officer in the world would rather be out of the way when a woman begins to cry and kick and scream. As soon as they led her towards the gate she had another fit, and as good a fit as I ever saw in my life, sir. Then I came running, of course, with the smelling-salts. The captain evidently did not want her on his hands entirely as long as she was in that condition, so he said perhaps—ahem!—it might be better to take her servant along.
"'Oh, my good faithful Jacques!' cried she. 'It would be a great comfort if I could have him with me in this trying time!' So they passed me in the gates along with her.
"She never stopped chattering for a moment while she was walking through the streets with the captain, telling a long rigmarole about her travels; but she used her eyes as well as I used mine. The town was horribly knocked to pieces—houses falling down, the streets encumbered with rubbish, and several breaches made in the walls. They had managed to repair the breaches after a fashion, for the French understand fortifications better than we do; but there was no doubt, from what we saw in that walk at nine o'clock at night, that the town and fortifications had suffered terribly. And there were no women or children to be seen, which showed that they had sent them all away; for some will remain in a besieged town as long as there is anything to feed them on.
"When we reached the citadel we noticed there were not near enough cannon to defend it; so we knew that they had been forced to take the guns to place on the ramparts. At last, after going through many long passages and winding stairs, we were ushered into the commandant's presence. He was a tall, soldierly-looking man, and he received madame very politely. The captain told the story of her tremendous efforts to get there and her trouble, madame all the time sighing and weeping. But here came in a frightful thing, sir. There had been a Captain Geoffroy, an officer in Marshal Villars's army, and I felt myself turning pale when the commandant offered to let madame remain in the town twenty-four hours, until he could find out something about this Geoffroy. But madame's wit saved her.
"'Pray,' said she, clasping her hands, 'what was this M. Geoffroy like?"
"'Tall,' said the commandant, 'with a swarthy skin and black hair.'
"'Ah,' cried she, muffling her face in her handkerchief, 'it could not have been my husband. He was short, and had light hair, and had lost a part of his right ear in a duel; it disfigured him very much.'
"'Then, madame,' answered the commandant, 'I can give you no further information, for that is the only Geoffroy in the army of whom I know anything, and from your description he cannot be your husband. I will make inquiries among my officers, but I can give you but little hope.'
"Madame sighed and groaned some more, and then said she would be ready to depart in the morning at daylight, to begin her search over again. The commandant offered her a room in the citadel, warning her that it would be necessary for her to get out before daybreak, as the English began their cannonading as soon as it was light enough to see the French lines. Madame agreed tearfully to this, and the commandant offered her some supper, smiling when he told her it was not exactly the kind of fare he was used to offering ladies. But she declined—we had not the heart to eat up anything from those poor devils. So she was shown to a room, and I lay down at the door and pretended to sleep; but you may depend upon it, sir, that neither one of us slept a wink. Towards daylight the captain of the guard came to waken us, and told us it was time to leave. The commandant was up to bid madame adieu, as they call it in the French lingo; and after thanking him for his politeness, madame was escorted to the gate, I following her, and thence as far as the picket-line. And here, after the officer had left us, for the first time we aroused suspicion. We were walking pretty fast, and something in the supposed lady's gait made the sentry suspect us. There was another soldier, not a sentry, with him, and this fellow called after us to stop. We were near the entrance to the bog then, and we knew the way across it, particularly as there was now daylight enough to see, so the only notice we took of him was to walk a little faster. The soldier followed us clear into the underbrush, when my lord—for so I will call him now—deliberately dropped his hoop and petticoat, revealing a pair of legs that evidently belonged to the British army, and a rapier, while from the waist up he wore a woman's sack, and had a hood on his head. The apparition dazed the soldier for a moment, when my lord made at him with the rapier, and he turned and ran—giving the alarm, however. We took to our heels and gained the causeway, when the French fired a regular fusillade after us, although not a shot struck; and our own people, seeing us running towards them, thought we were escaped prisoners, and we got within our own lines without trouble. My lord had some valuable information to give the Duke, and the adventure got out in the army and made a hero of him. The French kept monstrous quiet about it; you see, sir, we had taken the commandant himself in. My lord repaid his politeness, though, by sending him a box of wine, which we knew he needed for his sick; but the commandant was the most chagrined man in the French army. They made a sortie soon after that, but it did them no good, and within a week they surrendered. The Duke granted them all the honors of war, and the garrison marched out with drums beating and colors flying. They had made a gallant defence, and had not surrendered until they were starving. That was the end of my serving with the great Duke of Marlborough, for that was his last campaign. And soon after my lord left the army. And I'll be leaving his service by the toe of his boot if I don't go to him now, so good-night, sir, and excuse me if I have kept you out of bed too long."
With this Lance disappeared.
In a few minutes George was in bed, and for the first time a sudden shock of homesickness came to him. His mother would not come to him that night and kiss his forehead, as she always did. It almost drove away the story of the siege of Bouchain; but in a little while he had lapsed into a sleep, in which dreams came of Bouchain, and the Earl dressed up as Madame Geoffroy, and his mother sitting by the fire smiling, and Betty playing on the harpsichord, and then deep oblivion and the soundest of sleep.