"It appears," said Cadogan, still laughing, "that they are on the road, but the colonel is learned in the art of war and is advancing by strategical moves."
"Sacrebleu! He must be one of Baden's men. That young countryman of yours, Colonel, must be saved."
"Yes, though he is a Dutchman now. Mr. Fanshawe, your friend's regiment is close by; you had better take a squadron and ride out at once. I suppose a troop or two of Dutch dragoons will be a match for the brigands?"
"Certainly, sir,—of the Anspach dragoons."
"Very well, lose no time. I will mention the matter to the duke, to whom you will, of course, report yourself at the earliest opportunity. Good luck to you!"
Fanshawe rode off, and within a quarter of an hour was leading some two hundred of Harry's troopers, Captain van der Werff at their head, and Sherebiah among them, along the shortest road to the castle of Rauhstein.
The winding staircase of the keep was ampler than in most castles of the kind. Two men could mount abreast, but it was only possible for one to find room for sword-play. The attackers soon adapted their tactics to the conditions. One man pushed to the front with sword and pistol; another just behind supported him with pistol and pike. Not long after Harry came upon the scene, Buckley, all but sinking under the strain, had to be assisted up the staircase. This gave the brigands a momentary advantage, for Harry was left with only one swordsman to stem the rush. There was no room for his companion by his side; he therefore sent him aloft to bring large stones to hurl upon the mob. Not for the first time he had reason to congratulate himself on the hours he had spent with Sherebiah and the Dutch instructor of his regiment in practising with sabre and rapier. His was the advantage of position, but the enemy were always two to one, and had they had patience to recharge their pistols after the failure of their first flurried snap-shots, or boldness enough to press forward regardless of the loss of the first few men, they could have borne him down with ease.
Only a few minutes had elapsed after Harry's arrival at the stairhead when he heard a well-known voice storming below. The enemy gave back for a moment, then Captain Aglionby pressed upward and engaged Harry hand to hand. Harry was sufficiently occupied in parrying the captain's vengeful attack without the necessity of guarding against the pike that threatened every moment to impale him. This he could only turn aside; he had no time for a sweeping cut to sever its head. Fortunately for him the captain and his supporter impeded each other on the stairway. Yet Harry saw that the struggle could not last long, and fervently hoped that the man he had sent for missiles would return in time. The clang of weapons and the shouts of men rang through the stone-walled spaces. Aglionby had learnt from the released prisoners of the trick that had been played upon him, and his fury found expression in the violence of his onslaught and the venom of the curses he hurled upon his nimble-wristed opponent. Harry said never a word, but kept his eye steadily upon the captain, turning aside stroke and thrust.
At length he heard a footstep behind him. A stone as large as a man's head struck the wall immediately below him on his left. Narrowly missing Aglionby, it rebounded from the curved surface and struck the pikeman below him with a terrible thud. With the steadiness of an old campaigner the captain did not so much as wince, but continued his attack with still more savage energy. When, however, another stone hurtled down the stairway, maiming two other men below him, the rest of his followers turned tail and fled helter-skelter to the foot. A third stone grazed Aglionby's arm; then, seeing himself deserted, he backed slowly down the stairs.
The attack having been thus for a time repulsed, Harry left two men on the stairs with pistols ready charged and a supply of stones, and hurried across to the other staircase to find how things had gone there. It was with unutterable relief he saw that the assault of the enemy on the entrance to the keep had so far been beaten off by the combined fire from the doorway and the hurling of heavy blocks of stone from the top of the building. But the enemy were preparing another move. Finding that they could not force the obstacle, nor approach near enough to tear it down, they were about to try the effect of an explosion. A keg of powder had been rolled to the entrance by a lucky rush between the falling of two of the dreaded stones from above; now, hugging the wall so as to avoid the fire of the defenders, they were laying a train.