Chapter XI The Battle of Lindendaal
A Hitch—A Charge in Flank—Irregular Warfare—Called Off—A Suggestion—Compliments—Thanks—Adieux—Luck—After the Fair—A Triumph
To his credit, Colonel the Baron von Schummelpincken did his best to put a good face on the predicament in which he found himself. He rode back to his men to inform them of the arrangement. The moment he had gone, Adèle de Vaudrey came out, her face aglow with excitement.
“Monsieur,” she said, “General van Santen asks what the uproar, the firing, means; shall I tell him?”
“As you please, Mademoiselle.”
“It is as you please, Monsieur.”
“The day is not ended yet, Mademoiselle.”
“I will say nothing, Monsieur.” She went into the house.
The sergeant had spurred across the meadow behind, through a gate in the wall, into the orchard and wood. In a few minutes he reappeared with his comrades, who came at a trot towards the house. Their pace was leisurely, but a keener observer than the colonel, who at this moment was half-way up the avenue at the head of his troops, might have noticed that the horses’ flanks were heaving violently. The men had in fact galloped at full speed from the horns of the position in obedience to the sergeant’s signals, and only checked the pace in response to a suggestion of Sherebiah, who had made the best of his way after them. Harry ordered the ten dragoons to draw up in line at right angles to the house.
“Sherry,” he said, as the man came up puffing, “bring me one of the dragoons’ horses.”
He mounted just as the colonel emerged from the avenue. Sherry stood by his side at the nearer end of the line of dragoons.
The colonel, some dozen yards ahead of his men, came to Harry and handed him his sword. Harry politely returned it, a compliment which the officer courteously acknowledged.
“Monsieur,” said Harry, “we understand the arrangement? Your men will pile arms in front of the house, file off to right and left, tie their horses to the palings, then pass round on foot to the rear of the house.”
“Certainly, Monsieur.”
Harry watched eagerly as the troopers came two by two up the drive and did his bidding with the precision of automata. Events had crowded so thickly that he had scarcely had time to think; but now he could hardly sit still on his horse, so intense was his anxiety to get the whole scene over. Everything appeared to be answering to his wishes; his arrangement for the French dragoons to file off in opposite directions was a precaution to divide the force; they began to pass behind the house one by one. About half of the troop had thus piled their arms and fastened their horses; the clock in the belfry-tower struck the first note of noon, and Harry was already congratulating himself that almost by the time the last of the leisurely Dutch chimes was ended his ruse would have been completely successful, when a loud voice was heard from the road.
“Mon Colonel! mon Colonel! they are only peasants and burghers. It is a trick, a trick!”
There was an instant halt. Harry’s heart was in his mouth; Sherebiah muttered, “Zooks! ’tis hot ’taties now!” The colonel, his face aflame, spurred his horse from the pillar at the end of the avenue, and, drawing his sword, vociferated:
“A moi! à moi!”
For a moment Harry felt that all was lost. But only for a moment, for in that instant he saw that with his handful of men in line he had the advantage of the troopers debouching two by two from the balustraded drive. Turning to the dragoons at his side he shouted “Charge!” and dashed straight at the enemy. It was in the nick of time. A few seconds later they would have been ready; at this precise moment they were awkwardly placed. Half a dozen men of the nearer file were leading their horses towards the palings; beyond them the armed and mounted men were approaching from the drive, and eight files presented their flank to Harry’s little force of ten. As he charged, the dismounted men scattered like hares before him, and the sixteen armed troopers had barely time to wheel round to meet the onslaught before Harry and his Dutchmen were upon them. All the advantage of impetus and direct attack was with the Dutch. Harry, grasping his sword, came full tilt upon a burly Alsatian. Almost before he had realized it he had passed over the dragoon and his horse, and, parrying a swinging cut from the man behind, had shortened his arm and thrust him through the shoulder. The man dropped his sabre and fell from his horse, which wheeled round and plunged madly through the dismounted men on the farther side.
In a trice Harry was through the mellay, and bringing his horse up on its haunches, wrenched it round so that he might take stock of the new situation. He found that the majority of his Dutch troopers had stuck close to him, and with the readiness of old campaigners were already wheeling round to face the discomfited enemy. A dozen men were on the ground, including the portly colonel; several horses were careering wildly through the small open space, impeding the movements of the dismounted men who had made a dash for the piles of arms in front of the porch. The French troopers were still filing up the drive, but the sudden uproar had startled the horses. The riders were too much occupied with their steeds and too closely packed to make effective use of their pistols; the one or two who fired aimed erratically, and no one was hurt. But Harry saw that the only course open to him was to charge again and again until the peasants, summoned by the noise of the fray, could come to his assistance. It was fortunate that the remainder of the enemy’s troop could only debouch two by two from the drive; the stone balustrade on each side of it prevented them from deploying until they entered the open space in front of the house. Two horses that had been rolled over near the entrance to the drive were plunging and kicking, hindering the advance of the leading troopers, who were now being pressed by the men behind. Once more the little band of Dutchmen hurled themselves at the head of the enemy’s force, and with the same result, though Harry was instinctively aware, when he again emerged from the mellay, that his followers were fewer in number. Among them, however, he noticed Sherebiah, who had possessed himself of a sword and pistol from the stand of arms and a horse from the palings, and was comporting himself as though, so far from being a man of peace, he had as much experience of warfare as any trooper present. Two of Madame de Vaudrey’s gardeners also had appropriated weapons, and were holding at bay a group of the disarmed enemy who hovered round, trying to dash in and recover their arms.
Harry saw little of this, however. He wheeled his horse once more to repeat the charge. He was followed now by only six men; at least a dozen fresh troopers had debouched from the drive, but, like their comrades, they had not time to form before the dauntless seven were upon them. The odds were heavier now; only two succeeded in getting through; the rest were checked. Then ensued a series of fierce duels, the little group of Dutch being broken up and driven back by the weight of the files pressing through as rapidly as they might into the open space. Harry, engaged with a stout trooper, felt with a sinking heart that the game was up; his arm was wrung with hacking and thrusting; his opponent, fresh to the fight, closed with him, leant over his saddle, and tried to grip him by the throat. At this moment there was a fierce shout, followed by a perfect babel of cries. The trooper fell from his horse, transfixed in the nick of time by Sherebiah’s sword; and when Harry after a few seconds was able once more to take in what was happening, he saw the place thick with burghers and peasants who were falling upon the enemy from both balustrades. Some had leapt on to the coping and were dealing heavy blows at the dragoons and their horses with sticks, hooks, scythes, and all kinds of strange implements; others were jabbing through the interstices of the balustrades; all were shouting, smiting, felling with a fierce vehemence that brooked no resistance. A panic seized upon the enemy; the unarmed men bolted to the stables behind the house and barricaded themselves there; the last files of the dragoons threw down their arms and begged for quarter; and, turning to Sherebiah, Harry bade him cry to the peasants, with the full force of his lungs, to hold their hands.
A lull succeeded the turmoil. A crowd of the Dutch were hastening towards the stables to burst open the doors and make short work of the men sheltered there. To them Harry galloped up.
“Men,” he said, “halt! in the name of General van Santen. The victory is ours. We must await the general’s orders.”
The mob hesitated, then, with obedience compelled by their young leader’s mien, stood in sullen silence. Harry rode back to the opening of the drive, stationed two of the Dutch dragoons there, and addressed the colonel, who, with a lacerated cheek and contused shoulder, leant against the palings, a picture of chagrin, pain, and baffled rage.
“Monsieur, ’twas not well done. Your parole was given. But you are hurt; go to the house—you will find tendance there.”
At this moment another horseman suddenly appeared on the scene, galloping up from behind the house. Wheeling his horse in some surprise, Harry found himself face to face with Madame de Vaudrey’s neighbour, Monsieur de Polignac. He looked greatly perturbed; his mouth was twitching; the air of cynical detachment he had worn in Madame de Vaudrey’s drawing-room had quite disappeared.
“Monsieur, what is this, what is this?” he cried.
“As you see, Monsieur—a skirmish,” replied Harry. “We have captured a raiding-party—and doubtless saved your house from the flames.”
“But—but—do you not see your peril? You are not a soldier; these men are not soldiers, the most of them; to wage war is for you quite irregular; if caught by the French—and I hear, Monsieur, rumours of a general advance in this direction—you will all be hanged.”
“I will take my chance of that,” said Harry. “I thank you, nevertheless, for your warning, Monsieur.”
“Bah! I counsel you to release your prisoners—without arms, it is understood—and send them back to their lines.”
“That is a matter for General van Santen, Monsieur. Would you care to repeat your advice to him?”
Polignac gave him a savage look, opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and, setting spurs to his horse, galloped away.
The scene of this tempestuous little fight differed greatly from its appearance a short half-hour before. Thirty men, of whom twenty-four were French, lay killed or wounded, with a few horses. The stone balustrades were broken in several places; the flower-beds were trampled; the gravel was ploughed up; shattered muskets, swords, scabbards, pistols, hats, cloaks, strewed the ground.
“Carry the dead to the garden,” said Harry. “Take the wounded to the outbuildings and attend to them; there is a doctor in the house. A dozen of you take arms from the pile there and guard the prisoners; lock them up in the stables. Sherebiah, I leave you in charge.”
Then, hot, weary, hatless, his coat showing several rents, Harry followed the wounded colonel into the house.
“Monsieur,” said Adèle, meeting him, “the general insists on seeing you. He was with difficulty restrained from rising and taking part in the fray. You are weary; a cup of wine will refresh you.”
Harry gladly quaffed at the cup she presented to him. Then he followed her into the dining-room. The general frowned when he saw him.
“I want to see the leader,” he exclaimed testily.
“This is he, Monsieur,” said Ad<ble.
“You, Monsieur!—Mademoiselle, a youth, a boy—absurd!”
“It has been my good fortune, Monsieur,” said Harry.
The general looked blank with astonishment. He half-raised himself on his cushions, sinking back with a groan.
“They would tell me nothing, save that the French were discomfited. Explain, from the beginning.”
Harry gave a rapid narrative of the late events. He spoke always of “we”, seeming to include Adèle, the general himself, and even Madame de Vaudrey, who had joined them, among those who had planned the ruse. Every now and then the general broke into his story with exclamations of surprise and pleasure and praise.
“A daring, a clever scheme,” he said as Harry concluded. “You are an Englishman, they tell me; a soldier, I presume?”
“No, Monsieur le General, I have not that honour.”
“That is the army’s loss. You have shown great quickness, great skill, and no less courage. I compliment you, Monsieur.”
“I did what I could, of course, Monsieur; but things would have ended very differently but for the peasants’ bold attack at the last.”
“Bah! I know them; they would have done nothing without a leader, but with a leader they will fight—yes, and well. I doubt whether, in point of military honour, the French colonel—whom I will tax on the subject presently—did right to reassume command after he had yielded his sword; still, much may be forgiven him; naturally he was chagrined and perturbed; and he is moreover wounded, as I hear.”
The general spoke with difficulty; he was very weak.
“You have saved your convoy; that is well. You will wish to take it to Breda. I fear I cannot move. Madame la Comtesse, I shall be your patient for a time——”
“Monsieur, I am honoured,” said the lady.
“But the prisoners must be carried to Breda also. Monsieur, that duty—that honour—must be yours. You have laid many under an obligation: Mynheer Grootz, your excellent employer; the garrison at Breda; Madame la Comtesse, whose house you have saved; and myself—especially myself, for without doubt you preserved me from capture, and in my wounded state capture might very well have finished me.”
“I hope for your speedy recovery, Monsieur.”
“I thank you. Now, you will take six of my troopers with you; armed burghers will serve for the remainder of your escort. I marvel that help has not ere this reached us from Breda; you will report to my aide-de-camp, whom you will doubtless meet there or on the road. Your name, Monsieur, is——”
“Harry Rochester, Monsieur.”
“Mademoiselle will note it down for me. My friend Mynheer Grootz will have a visit from me. I am fatigued; Mademoiselle, a little cordial from your fair hand. Monsieur, I bid you farewell.”
Harry bowed and left the room, tingling with pleasure at the general’s praise. He went to the reception-room and gladly stretched his weary limbs on a low couch there. Madame de Vaudrey followed him.
“How can I thank you!” she exclaimed. “I do thank you, from my heart, a thousand times. How brave! I trembled, I wept when I heard the horrid sounds; I could not look; Adèle looked and told me; I thought you would be killed; I was overcome, I could only pray. Oh! Monsieur, what can I say? I can say nothing; I can only—yes; tiens! I kiss you.”
At another time Harry might have been embarrassed; he was now so tired that he could but accept passively all the motherly cares lavished on him by the comtesse. She brought him food with her own hands, smoothed his hair, begged him vainly to accept a ring as a token of her admiration and gratitude; offered to give him a coat of her late husband’s to replace his own torn garment. Harry stood it all as long as he could; at last, parrying another kiss, he sprang up and declared it was time he set off with his prisoners and the convoy.
The prisoners capable of marching numbered eighty-five. The remainder were too badly wounded to be moved. Gathering his escort, he had the stable door unlocked and the prisoners paraded, and sent Sherebiah to marshal the convoy. All was at length ready. It was half-past one when he stood at the door to take leave of Madame de Vaudrey.
“Adieu, Monsieur Harry!” she said. “Au revoir!—that is what I mean. You will come and see us again?”
“Nothing would delight me more, Madame.”
“And stay; convey my thanks to Mynheer Grootz for the tulip bulb; you will remember that? and yourself take the thanks of a mother and daughter. Adèle!” she called, “Monsieur Rochestair is departing. Come and bid him farewell.”
“Adieu, Monsieur!” said Adèle, coming forward. “I add my thanks to Mamma’s for the great service you have done us.”
“I could have done little, Mademoiselle, without your aid.”
A flicker of pleasure passed over the girl’s face; then, with a return to her wonted coldness, she said:
“You are pleased to flatter, Monsieur. But I see there are still knights-errant in the world. Adieu!”
There were tears in Madame de Vaudrey’s eyes as she put her arms up and kissed Harry on the cheek. He bowed over her hand, then sprang on to the horse of one of the captured dragoons, and cantered after the line of wagons and men already moving up the road. As he reached them he had the impulse to turn for a last look at the chateau. The turret was just visible above the tree-tops, and upon it he saw a female figure motionless.
“One of the maids hauling down the flag, I suppose,” he thought.
Then he set his face towards Breda; it was Adèle who stood there watching until he was out of sight.
“What a lucky dog I am, Sherry!” he remarked to his sturdy henchman as they rode side by side.
“Ay sure, Master Harry, ’tis better to be born lucky nor rich. But speaken for myself, I doan’t zackly see there be much luck about it.”
“Oh yes! there is. ’Twas merely luck that Mynheer Grootz had to send me this way; mere luck that he had promised Madame de Vaudrey a tulip; mere luck that the French chose that very day to come raiding; mere luck that the place lent itself so easily to a trick——”
“Ay, and mere luck that ’ee happened to be born wi’ a headpiece; mere luck that ’ee can handle a sword and sit a horse; mere luck that ’ee’ve got sojer’s blood a-rompen through your veins. Daze me, if all that be luck—well, Them above med as well ha’ no finger in poor mortal pies at all.”
“Well, well, Sherry! But confess, ’twas odd to come upon Captain Aglionby again, and in that house; what do you say to that?”
“Say! I say ’tis old Satan hisself playen pranks, and we’ll ha’ to keep an eye on the villain.”
“I laughed to see their heads in chancery; ’twas well done, Sherry, to haul them down the stairs as you did. What has become of the captain to-day, I wonder?”
“Trust me, he be doen mischief somewheres. I knows Cap’n, ay, I do.”
From the stout Baron von Schummelpincken downwards the prisoners wore a crest-fallen air. Save for the colonel and his subalterns they all marched on foot, the horses being tied head to tail as Harry had often seen at English country fairs. They had been marching for about an hour when the head of the convoy met General van Santen’s aide-de-camp galloping at breakneck speed. He reined up when he noticed soldiers among the men. Harry cantered to his side. Explanations were rapidly exchanged. The Dutchman laughed heartily when he heard how the enemy had been fooled.
“To tell the truth,” he said, “I should never have thought the general capable of such a stratagem.”
“Indeed!” said Harry.
“I wish I had been there. It would have been more fitting that I should take the prisoners to Breda than you, a sutler, I suppose you call yourself.”
“I don’t think it necessary to call anybody names, Mynheer, myself least of all. The general expected assistance; why has it not accompanied you, Mynheer?”
The officer explained that on reaching Breda he had found that practically the whole garrison was engaged in a reconnaissance in force towards Antwerp, where General de Bedmar was showing signs of activity that gave the confederate generals some concern. Only two troops of horse had been retained in the town, and these had strict orders not to leave the place. Infantry would be of little use against the French raiders, and indeed it was impossible that they should reach Madame de Vaudrey’s house in time. The aide-de-camp had been accordingly provided with a fresh mount and sent on to the main body, from which a squadron had at once been detached. But the corps, when he overtook it, was a good ten miles beyond Breda, and the relief squadron could not start for the Helmund road until the afternoon. It was now some twenty minutes behind the aide-de-camp, who had ridden forward to convey to the general the news of the coming reinforcement.
He continued his journey, and Harry cantered on to overtake the convoy, which had moved on while the conversation took place. Some minutes later a cloud of dust in the distance heralded the approaching force. When the two bodies met, Harry had reluctantly to tell his story over again. The commander of the squadron pressed him for more details than the general’s aide-de-camp had done, and being a shrewd man he soon put two and two together.
“The honour of the day is yours, my friend,” he said to Harry, “and by my soul you shall ride into Breda at the head of the column.”
Harry protested; he did not relish the idea of heading a sort of circus procession. But the Dutchman insisted; General van Santen had laid the duty upon Harry, and he saw no reason to relieve him of it. He sent a couple of his troopers on in advance to announce the event. Thus it happened that when, in the dusk, Harry headed his convoy through the gates, he was met by a great concourse of the populace, men, women, and children huzzaing and waving hats and kerchiefs with vast enthusiasm. All the pretty girls of the town, in their quaint bonnets and short skirts, pressed around the horse to see the young Englishman, and a comical little Dutch boy, with a toy drum slung over his shoulder, placed himself in front of Harry’s horse and proudly tattooed him through the streets to the burgomaster’s house. The burgomaster himself made a very flowery speech of congratulation, to which Harry returned the best acknowledgment he could; and he was heartily glad when the tide of compliments ebbed and he had leisure to make formal delivery of his prisoners.
He had not yet escaped, however. He was resting in his inn when a messenger entered with an invitation to an impromptu banquet organized at the burgomaster’s. In vain Harry pleaded that he was in no trim for fine company. The burgomaster’s own tailor undertook to make him presentable; he had to sit through a long Dutch feast and respond to the toast of his health. Even then his labours were not ended. After the banquet the company adjourned to the council chamber, where all the beauty of the town was assembled. Harry had to lead off the dance with the burgomaster’s wife, a stout vrouw of forty-five years and fifteen stone. He did his duty manfully, dancing the stately dances of the day with unflagging spirit, and winning universal praise by the modesty with which he wore his honours. The assembly broke up at a late hour; Harry was dog-tired, and went to bed convinced that it was mighty hard work to be a popular hero.