Won By the Sword : a tale of the Thirty Years' War by G. A. Henty (list of e readers txt) 📖

I was glad to do, for, indeed, had it not been for his kind offer my daughter and I would scarcely have known whither to go, as my husband expended his last crown in equipping a force for the service of the duke.”

At this moment Macpherson exclaimed:

“I see the head of a company mounting the slope, colonel.”

“Yes, and there is Captain Mieville. Ah! he has halted the men, and is riding forward alone to take in the situation. I hope that the peasants won't catch sight of him.” When Mieville reached a point where he could obtain a view of the front of the chateau he checked his horse, and after surveying the scene for a minute rode back to the company. A movement was at once visible.

“He is extending them on each side,” Hector said. “That is good. He is going to inclose the peasants, and as from the slope in the ground they cannot see the troops until they are within a hundred yards, he will catch them in a trap.”

The company moved round, in fact, until they had formed almost a semicircle, then they advanced, closing in as they neared the house. When they reached the spot where they could be seen by the peasants a trumpet sounded and they ran in. The peasants, bewildered at seeing the line of soldiers closing in around them, hesitated. Some were already too drunk to rise from the ground on which they had thrown themselves, the others caught up their arms and ran together. Retreat was impossible, for behind them was the burning house. Suddenly a stream of fire burst from the semicircle of troops. Some thirty of the insurgents fell, the others threw down their arms and fell upon their knees crying for mercy. The troops were rushing forward to finish their work, when Hector shouted “Halt!”

“De Mieville,” he said, as the officer rode up towards the tower, “do not shed more blood. Thirty at least have fallen in their attack on this turret, besides those who have been killed by your fire. Take the rest, disarm them all, let the men cut some stout switches and give every man twenty blows well laid on the back, and then let them go. Before you do so, send a dozen of them to clear the staircase and to draw some buckets of water from the well and sluice the steps down. Paolo, do you run down and find a vessel of some sort and a goblet or horn, and bring up some wine from one of those barrels. The ladies sorely need something after what they have gone through, and I myself shall be all the better for it, for the loss of blood has given me a raging thirst.”

Paolo had no difficulty in carrying out the order. The rioters had brought out several pails for holding the wine, a score of silver cups and other vessels lay where they had been dropped when the soldiers appeared, and the officer had placed two men on guard over them. Paolo thoughtfully brought up a pail of water as well as of wine. The ladies drank a little wine and water, while Hector took a long draught, and made the two retainers who had fought so stoutly, and his own men, do the same. In half an hour the staircase was cleared and washed down, and the party then descended. The baroness had told Hector that for the present at any rate she would go to Nancy, and would report to the new lord's agents there what had happened, and doubtless he would send a man to take charge of the place.

“These cups,” she said, “were all the personal property of my husband, and I am therefore free to take them. Many of them have been in his family for a very long time. Their sale will enable me to live until I can form some plans for the future.”

The several silver vessels were collected and wrapped up ready for transport in some of the hangings that the rioters had torn down. An outhouse adjoining the keep was cleared out and thickly spread with rushes for the accommodation of the baroness and her daughter. The troops had already had a very long march, and it was out of the question that they could return to Nancy that night. Fires were lighted in front of the house, and the soldiers prepared to bivouac there. Three of the troopers were sent off with orders to the captains of the other three companies to concentrate the next morning at a village on the line that would be taken on their return march. Some men were sent down to the little town of Blenfoix to purchase bread and meat, together with torches and other necessaries. At nightfall Hector posted sentinels, as he considered it quite possible that the peasants would raise the country for some distance round and try to take vengeance for the loss they had suffered. When Paolo took some supper round to the two ladies, he returned with a message that they hoped Colonel Campbell would join them in their meal.

“See that the sentries are on the alert, Mieville,” he said as he got up from the fire round which he and the three officers were sitting; “you must remember that these poor fellows are desperate. Of course you and I know that they can do themselves no good by attacking castles and burning chateaux, but were we in their place—famished, despairing, and ignorant—we should doubtless do the same. And although, with men as well disciplined as ours, there would be little chance of the peasants overpowering us, they may trust in their numbers, and would believe that if they could destroy us, the whole country might well rise and join them. Should there be any sign of trouble, call me instantly.”

Two sentries had been placed at the door of the outhouse, and as he entered Hector said, “Keep good watch, men, and if you hear any noise that might betoken the approach of a body of men, warn me at once.”

“I heard what you said to the sentries, Colonel Campbell; do you think that there is any danger?”

“No danger, I trust, madam, for I am convinced that we could beat off any number. Still, I do think that there is a possibility of our being attacked. The peasants know that we are but a company. They may send to all the villages round and call on them to come and revenge those who have been slain. The people of the hills are strong fellows—wood cutters, charcoal burners, and shepherds—and there can be no doubt that they suffer terribly from the enormous taxation. I have seen it on my own estate in Poitou, and can make every allowance for them. In many cases the amounts they are adjudged to pay are absolutely greater than their whole income. They are forced to live upon bread made of bran and sawdust, to eat acorns and beechnuts; they are gaunt with hunger; they see their children dying before their eyes. They know not how their sufferings arise, they only know that they suffer, and in their despair they turn like hungry wolves against all who are better off than themselves.”

“And your people, are they suffering as much as these, monsieur?”

“Not quite so much, perhaps, but they are suffering. I have spent but a fortnight on my estates, of which I have only been master for a year.”

“And could you do nothing for them, monsieur?” the girl asked.

“I did what I could, mademoiselle. I remitted half their rents, which was in fact but a small thing, seeing that I knew positively they could not have paid them. Still it was no doubt some alleviation to know that the arrears were not being