As I spoke I thrust the oars into his hands, and with a powerful heave I sent the little boat dancing out upon the water. And the final impression I had of it was of the bewildered face of the steward as he pondered upon my last words, of which I could see he had not grasped the meaning. But turning on my heel, I strode back up the beach to the scene of our late encounter, and swiftly donned the earl’s bedecorated coat, peruke and hat. This done, I picked up his richly jewelled sword and thrust it into the sheath. Then I turned to look at the boat.
Already it had passed beyond the point of rock at the head of the little bay, and nothing met my eyes but the empty waste of waters. Slowly I returned to the water’s edge and pondered upon my next move. So far everything had succeeded as I had planned, and there but remained for me to play the final part. How still was the night! How lonely the spot! Overhead, a myriad stars studded the dark vault of heaven and were reflected in the placid water beneath. The moon looked down upon me and threw my shadow black upon the beach. The ripple of the waves amongst the pebbles at my feet was as some soul-inspiring melody guiding and beckoning me upward along the path of honour. I had turned, with the intention of again seeking the gardens, when a shout from above caused me to raise my head. I saw at a glance that all further initiative was taken from my hands. Here and there lanterns flashed upon the cliffs, and in their light I caught the glint of steel. The cry was quickly caught up and answered from different directions, and a moment later several dark figures appeared upon the path. I came to a standstill and awaited their approach, for it occurred to me that the longer I could possibly delay them, the better would be the earl’s chance of escape. So I drew my sword and stood out full in the moonlight, a noble-looking figure, I make no doubt, in my rich dress, beneath which, nevertheless, my heart was beating painfully. At a nearer approach I recognised the blue coats and white facings of William’s Dutch dragoons. They were part of the troops I imagined that had been hastily sent for from The Hague at the commencement of the present crisis, when James’s landing in Ireland had thrown the nation into a state of panic. That they did not relish the pathway down which they must come was apparent to me; nevertheless, a tall officer, followed by some half dozen troopers, slowly made their way to the beach. At the foot of the path he halted for a moment until his men had spread out in a half circle behind him. Then he advanced towards me.
“Surrender!” he cried in English, though with a strong foreign accent.
“It would appear, sir,” I replied in his own language, of which I had gained a fair knowledge in my campaigns in Flanders, “that there is no other choice left to me.”
At my words his face was almost ludicrous in its surprise. He was a tall man, as I have said, and of a most melancholy countenance. I took him to be one of those unfortunates whom promotion persistently passes over.
“How?” he cried. “Your lordship speaks Dutch?”
I made him a low bow by way of answer. It was as well to sustain my part.
“As you hear for yourself, sir,” I replied.
“Then,” he answered, dropping his English, and taking a step nearer to me, “I have the honour to arrest you, my lord, in the name of his Majesty, King William!”
I raised my hand in deprecation.