A Jacobite Exile by G. A. Henty (best love story novels in english .TXT) 📖

"Then, even if I were known, in the city, to be in the Swedish service, there would be little danger, Stanislas?"

"I do not say that, at all," the man said gravely. "In the first place, Warsaw is held by Saxon soldiers, who would show you but scant mercy, were you known to be a Swedish officer; and, in the second place, the lower classes are ever ready to make tumults; and, if worked upon by the archbishop, or the nobles of the king's party, they would readily enough tear a stranger to pieces.

"Going as you do as a Scotchman, there is, I hope, little danger, especially if you are received into a Scottish household."

The journey passed without incident, until they were within a few miles of Warsaw, when Charlie, after formally thanking Baron Seckers for the protection his escort had afforded him, fell behind with his servant. Several parties of armed men had been met with, but they knew better than to interfere with the little body of Swedish cavalry; while, in the towns through which they passed, the baron was respectfully received as the envoy of the dreaded King of Sweden.

"Is there another gate to the city, on this side of the town, beside that by which the Swedes will enter? If so, it would be as well to use it, so that there should seem to be no connection between us and them," said Charlie.

There was another gate, and by this they rode into Warsaw, at that time a city of far greater importance than it is at present. The gate was unguarded, and they passed through without question. The citizens were talking excitedly in groups, evidently discussing the question of the arrival of the Swedish envoy, and the chances of peace; and no attention was paid to the travellers, whose appearance denoted them to be persons of no importance. Richly-attired nobles, in costumes of almost oriental magnificence, galloped through the streets on splendid horses, scattering the groups of citizens, and paying no attention whatever to the angry murmurs that followed them.

Charlie stopped at a small inn, and there the horses were put up. Stanislas made inquiries for the shop of Allan Ramsay, mentioning that his employer was a relation of the Scottish merchant, and had come out to be with him, until he had learned the language.

"The Scots know their business," the landlord grumbled. "They and the French and the Jews, together, have their hand in everyone's pocket. They buy the cattle and grain of the peasants, for what they choose to give for them, and send them out of the country, getting all the profits of the transaction; while, as to the nobles, there is scarce one who is not deep in their books."

"Still, you could not do without them," Stanislas said. "There must be somebody to buy and to sell, and as the nobles won't do it, and the peasants can't, I don't see that the foreigners are to be blamed for coming in and taking the trade."

"That is true enough," the landlord admitted reluctantly. "Still, there is no doubt the country is kept poor, while, between them, these men gather up the harvest."

"Better that than let it rot upon the ground," Stanislas said unconcernedly; and then, having obtained the name of the street where several of the Scottish traders had places of business, he and Charlie started on foot. They were not long in finding the shop with the sign of the merchant swinging over the door.

"You had better wait outside, Stanislas, while I go in and see the master. No; if he is not in the shop, his men will not understand me, so come in with me till you see that I have met him, and then go back to the inn for the night. Whether I join you there will depend upon the warmth of my welcome."

Two or three young Poles were in the shop. Stanislas asked them for Allan Ramsay, and they replied that he was taking his evening meal upstairs, whereupon Charlie produced the letter from Colonel Jamieson, and Stanislas requested one of them to take it up to the merchant. Three minutes later the inner door opened, and a tall man with a ruddy face and blue eyes entered, holding the open letter in his hand. Charlie took a step forward to meet him.

"So you are Sandy Anderson," he said heartily, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "my connection, it seems, and the friend of my dear classmate Jamieson? Come upstairs. Who is this Scotch-looking lad with you?"

"He is my servant and interpreter. His grandfather was a Swede, and to him he owes his fair hair and complexion. He is a Lithuanian. He is to be trusted, I hope, thoroughly. He was sent with me by--"

"Never mind names," the Scotchman said hastily. "We will talk about him afterwards. Now come upstairs. Your letter has thrown me quite into a flutter.

"Never say anything in English before those Poles," he said, as he left the shop; "the fellows pick up languages as easily as I can drink whisky, when I get the chance. One of them has been with me two years, and it is quite likely he understands, at any rate, something of what is said.

"Here we are."

He opened a door, and ushered Charlie into a large room, comfortably furnished. His wife, a boy eight years of age, and a girl a year older, were seated at the table.

"Janet," the merchant said, "this is Captain Carstairs, alias Sandy Anderson, a connection of ours, though I cannot say, for certain, of what degree."

"What are you talking of, Allan?" she asked in surprise; for her husband, after opening and partly reading the letter, had jumped up and run off without saying a word.

"What I say, wife. This gentleman is, for the present, Sandy Anderson, who has come out to learn the business and language, with the intent of some day entering into partnership with me; also, which is more to the point, he is a friend of my good friend Jock Jamieson, whom you remember well in the old days."

"I am very glad, indeed, to see any friend of Jock Jamieson," Janet Ramsay said warmly, holding out her hand to Charlie, "though I do not in the least understand what my husband is talking about, or what your name really is."

"My name is Carstairs, madam. I am a captain in the Swedish service, and am here on a mission for King Charles. Colonel Jamieson, for he is now colonel of the regiment to which I belong--"

"What!" the merchant exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that our Jock Jamieson is a colonel? Well, well, who would have thought he would have climbed the tree so quickly?"

"It is a regiment entirely of Scotch and Englishmen," Charlie said; "and he was promoted, to take its command, only a short time since."

"Well, please to sit down and join us," Mrs. Ramsay said. "It is bad manners, indeed, to keep you talking while the meat is getting cold on the table. When you have finished, it will be time enough to question you."

While the meal was going on, however, many questions were asked as to Colonel Jamieson, the regiment, and its officers.

"As soon as matters are more settled," the merchant said, "I will give myself a holiday, and Janet and I will go and spend a few days with Jock. Many of the names of the officers are well known to me, and two or three of the captains were at Glasgow College with Jock and myself. It will be like old times, to have four or five of us talking over the wild doings we had together."

The supper over, the children were sent off to bed. Allan Ramsay lit a long pipe. A bottle of wine and two glasses were placed on the table, and Mrs. Ramsay withdrew, to see after domestic matters, and prepare a room for Charlie.

"Now, lad, tell me all about it," Allan Ramsay said. "Jock tells me you are here on a mission, which he would leave it to yourself to explain; but it is no business of mine, and, if you would rather keep it to yourself, I will ask no questions."

"There is no secret about it, as far as you are concerned, Mr. Ramsay, for it is to you and to other merchants here that I have come to talk it over;" and he then went fully into the subject.

The Scotchman sat, smoking his pipe in silence, for some minutes after he had concluded.

"We do not much meddle with politics here. We have neither voice nor part in the making of kings or of laws, and, beyond that we like to have a peace-loving king, it matters little to us whom the diet may set up over us. If we were once to put the tips of our fingers into Polish affairs, we might give up all thought of trade. They are forever intriguing and plotting, except when they are fighting; and it would be weary work to keep touch with it all, much less to take part in it. It is our business to buy and to sell, and so that both parties come to us, it matters little; one's money is as good as the other. If I had one set of creditors deeper in my books than another, I might wish their party to gain the day, for it would, maybe, set them up in funds, and I might get my money; but, as it is, it matters little. There is not a customer I have but is in my debt. Money is always scarce with them; for they are reckless and extravagant, keeping a horde of idle loons about them, spending as much money on their own attire and that of their wives as would keep a whole Scotch clan in victuals. But, if they cannot pay in money, they can pay in corn or in cattle, in wine or in hides.

"I do not know which they are fondest of--plotting, or fighting, or feasting; and yet, reckless as they are, they are people to like. If they do sell their votes for money, it is not a Scotchman that should throw it in their teeth; for there is scarce a Scotch noble, since the days of Bruce, who has not been ready to sell himself for English gold. Our own Highlanders are as fond of fighting as the Poles, and their chiefs are as profuse in hospitality, and as reckless and spendthrift.

"But the Poles have their virtues. They love their country, and are ready to die for her. They are courteous, and even chivalrous, they are hospitable to an excess, they are good husbands and kindly masters, they are recklessly brave; and, if they are unduly fond of finery, I, who supply so many of them, should be the last to find fault with them on that score. They are proud, and look down upon us traders, but that does not hurt us; and, if they were to take to trading themselves, there would be no place for us here. But this has nothing to do with our present purpose.

"Certainly, if it was a question of Polish affairs, neither the foreign nor the Jewish merchants here would move a finger one way or the other. We have everything to lose, and nothing to gain. Suppose we took sides with one of the parties, and the other got the upper hand. Why, they might make ordinances hampering us in every way, laying heavy taxes on us, forbidding the export of cattle or horses, and making our lives burdensome. True, if they drove us out they would soon have to repeal the law, for all trade would be at an end. But that would be too late for many of us.

"However, I do not say that, at the present time, many would not be disposed to do what they could against Augustus of Saxony.