The Cornet of Horse: A Tale of Marlborough's Wars by G. A. Henty (polar express read aloud .TXT) 📖

no reinforcements could reach them from Venloo, and that the original 800 garrisoning the fort were alone in their defence. As it was, the place was stormed, 200 of the French made prisoners, and the rest either killed or drowned in endeavouring to cross the river.

The French in Venloo, upon finding that the fort had fallen, broke up the rest of the bridge; and although there was some surprise in the British camp that no reinforcements had been sent over to aid the garrison, none knew that the bridge had been broken at the commencement of the attack, consequently there were neither talk nor inquiries; and those concerned congratulated themselves that their adventure had been successful, and that, as no one knew anything of it, they could, should occasion offer, again undertake an expedition on their own account.

The day after the capture of Saint Michael's, strong fatigue parties were set to work, erecting batteries to play across the river on the town. These were soon opened, and after a few days' further resistance, the place surrendered, on the condition of the garrison being free to march to Antwerp, then in French possession.

The towns of Ruremond and Stevenswort were now invested, and surrendered after a short resistance; and thus the Maas was opened as a waterway for the supplies for the army.

The Dutch Government, satisfied with the successes so far, would have now had the army go into winter quarters; but Marlborough, with great difficulty, persuaded them to consent to his undertaking the siege of Liege, a most important town and fortress, whose possession would give to the allies the command of the Meuse--or Maas--into the very heart of Flanders.

Marshal Boufflers, ever watching the movements of Marlborough, suspected that Liege would be his next object of attack, and accordingly reconnoitred the ground round that city, and fixed on a position which would, he thought, serve admirably for the establishment of a permanent camp.

The news was, however, brought to Marlborough, who broke up his camp the same night; and when the French army approached Liege, they found the allies established on the very ground which the Marshal had selected for their camp. All unsuspecting the presence of the English, the French came on in order of march until within cannon shot of the allies, and another splendid opportunity was thus given to Marlborough to attack the main body of the enemy under most advantageous circumstances.

The Dutch deputies again interposed their veto, and the English had the mortification of seeing the enemy again escape from their hands.

However, there was now nothing to prevent their undertaking the siege of Liege, and on the 20th of October the regular investment of the place was formed.

The strength of Liege consisted in its citadel and the Fort of Chatreuse, both strongly fortified. The town itself, a wealthy city, and so abounding in churches that it was called "Little Rome," was defended only by a single wall. It could clearly offer no defence against the besiegers, and therefore surrendered at the first summons, the garrison, 5000 strong, retiring to the citadel and Fort Saint Chatreuse, which mounted fifty guns. Siege was at once laid to the citadel, and with such extraordinary vigour was the attack pushed forward, under the direction of General Cohorn, that upon the 23rd of October, three days only after the investment commenced, the breaches in the counter-scarp were pronounced practicable, and an assault was immediately ordered. The allies attacked with extreme bravery, and the citadel was carried by storm--here as at Venloo, the British troops being the first who scaled the breach. Thus 2000 prisoners were taken; and the garrison of Fort Chatreuse were so disheartened at the speedy fall of the citadel, that they capitulated a few days later.

This brought the first campaign of the war to an end. It had been very short, but its effect had been great. Kaiserwerth had been taken, and the Lower Rhine opened; four fortified places on the Meuse had been captured; the enemy had been driven back from the borders of Holland; and the allied army had, in the possession of Liege, an advanced post in the heart of Flanders for the recommencement of the campaign in the spring. And all this had been done in the face of a large French army, which had never ventured to give battle even to save the beleaguered fortresses.

The army now went into winter quarters, and Marlborough returned at once to England.

Upon the voyage down the Meuse, in company with the Dutch commissioners, he had a very narrow escape. The boat was captured by a French partisan leader, who had made an incursion to the river. The earl had with him an old servant named Gill, who, with great presence of mind, slipped into his master's hand an old passport made out in the name of General Churchill. The French, intent only upon plunder, and not recognizing under the name of Churchill their great opponent Marlborough, seized all the plate and valuables in the boat, made prisoners of the small detachment of soldiers on board, but suffered the rest of the passengers, including the earl and the Dutch commissioners, to pass unmolested.

Thus, had it not been for the presence of mind of an old servant, the Earl of Marlborough would have been taken a prisoner to France; and since it was his genius and diplomatic power alone which kept the alliance together, and secured victory for their arms, the whole issue of the war, the whole future of Europe, would have been changed.

Chapter 8: The Old Mill.

A considerable portion of the allied army were quartered in the barracks and forts of Liege, in large convents requisitioned for the purpose, and in outlying villages. The 5th dragoons had assigned to them a convent some two miles from the town. The monks had moved out, and gone to an establishment of the same order in the town, and the soldiers were therefore left to make the best they could of their quarters. There was plenty of room for the men, but for the horses there was some difficulty. The cloisters were very large, and these were transformed into stables, and boards were fastened up on the open faces to keep out the cold; others were stalled in sheds and outbuildings; and the great refectory, or dining hall, was also strewn thick with straw, and filled with four rows of horses.

In the afternoon the officers generally rode or walked down into the town. One day, Rupert Holliday with Pat Dillon had met their friends Lord Fairholm and Sir John Loveday, whose regiment was quartered in the town, at the principal wine shop, a large establishment, which was the great gathering place of the officers of the garrison. There an immense variety of bright uniforms were to be seen; English, German, and Dutch, horse, foot, and artillery; while the serving men hurried about through the throng with trays piled with beer mugs, or with wine and glasses.

"Who is that officer," Dillon asked, "in the Hessian cavalry uniform? Methinks he eyes you with no friendly look."

Rupert and his friends glanced at the officer pointed out.

"It is that fellow Fulke," Sir John said. "I heard he had managed to obtain a commission in the army of the Landgrave of Hesse. You must keep a smart lookout, Master Rupert, for his presence bodes you no good. He is in fitting company; that big German officer next to him is the Graff Muller, a turbulent swashbuckler, but a famous swordsman--a fellow who would as soon run you through as look at you, and who is a disgrace to the Margrave's army, in which I wonder much that he is allowed to stay."

"Who is the fellow you are speaking of?" Dillon asked.

"A gentleman with whom our friend Rupert had a difference of opinion," Sir John Loveday laughed. "There is a blood feud between them. Seriously, the fellow has a grudge against our friend, and as he is the sort of man to gratify himself without caring much as to the means he uses, I should advise Master Holliday not to trust himself out alone after dark. There are plenty of ruined men in these German regiments who would willingly cut a throat for a guinea, especially if offered them by one of their own officers."

"The scoundrel is trying to get Muller to take up his quarrel, or I am mistaken," Lord Fairholm, who had been watching the pair closely, said. "They are glancing this way, and Fulke has been talking earnestly. But ruffian as he is, Muller is of opinion that for a notorious swordsman like him to pick a quarrel with a lad like our friend would be too rank, and would, if he killed him, look so much like murder that even he dare not face it; he has shaken his head very positively."

"But why should not this Fulke take the quarrel in his own hands?" Dillon asked, surprised. "Unless he is the rankest of cowards he might surely consider himself a match for our little cornet?"

"Our little cornet has a neat hand with the foils," Lord Fairholm said drily, "and Master Fulke is not unacquainted with the fact."

"Why, Rupert," Dillon said, turning to him, "you have never said that you ever had a foil in your hand!"

"You never asked me," Rupert said, smiling. "But I have practised somewhat with the colonel my grandfather. And now it is time to be off, Dillon; we have to walk back."

Four days later, as Rupert Holliday was standing in the barrack yard, his troop having just been dismissed drill, a trooper of the 1st dragoons rode into the yard, and after asking a question of one of the men, rode up to him and handed him a note.

Somewhat surprised he opened it, and read as follows:

"My dear Master Holliday--Sir John Loveday and myself are engaged in an adventure which promises some entertainment, albeit it is not without a spice of danger. We need a good comrade who can on occasion use his sword, and we know that we can rely on you. On receipt of this, please mount your horse and ride to the old mill which lies back from the road in the valley beyond Dettinheim. There you will find your sincere friend, Fairholm.

"P.S. It would be as well not to mention whither you are going to ride."

It was the first note that Rupert had received from Lord Fairholm, and delighted at the thought of an adventure, he called Hugh, and bade him saddle his horse.

"Shall I go with you, Master Rupert?" Hugh asked, for he generally rode behind Rupert as his orderly.

Rupert did not answer for a moment. Lord Fairholm had asked him to tell no one; but he meant, no doubt, that he should tell none of his brother officers. On Hugh's silence, whatever happened, he could rely, and he would be useful to hold the horses. At any rate, if not wanted, he could return.

"Ay, Hugh, you can come; and look you, slip a brace of pistols quietly into each of our holsters."

With a momentary look of surprise, Hugh withdrew to carry out his instructions; and ten minutes later, Rupert, followed by his orderly, rode out of the convent.

The mill in question lay some three miles distant, and about half a mile beyond the little hamlet of Dettinheim. It stood some distance from the road, up a quiet valley, and was half hidden in trees. It had been worked by a stream that ran down the valley. It was a dark, gloomy-looking structure; and the long green weeds that hung from the great wheel, where the water from the overshot trough splashed and tumbled over it, showed that it had been for some time abandoned. These things had been noticed by Rupert when riding past it some time before, for, struck with the appearance of the mill, he had ridden up the valley to inspect it.

On his ride to Lord Fairholm's rendezvous, he wondered much what could be the nature of the adventure in which they were about to embark. He knew that both his friends were full of life and high spirits, and his thoughts wandered between some wild attempt to carry off a French officer of importance, or an expedition to rescue a lovely damsel in distress. Hugh, equally wondering, but still more ignorant of the nature of the expedition, rode quietly on behind.

The road was an unfrequented one, and during the last two miles' ride they did not meet a single person upon it. The hamlet of Dettinheim contained four or five houses only, and no one seemed about. Another five minutes' riding took them to the entrance to the little valley in which the mill stood. They rode up to it, and then dismounted.

"It's a lonesome dismal-looking place, Master Rupert. It doesn't seem to bode good. Of course you know what you're come for, sir; but I don't like the look of the place, nohow."

"It does not look cheerful, Hugh; but I am to