Part 4

John had his heavy iron-bound chest taken to one of the best inns in the town and there he settled himself comfortably to interested contemplation of the bustle and movement about him. Although he makes no mention of being conscious of the trait, John Smith evidently had the habit of awaiting events when circumstances failed to supply him with a basis for a reasonable plan of action. When we can not see our way clearly ahead, generally the wisest thing we can do is to do nothing, as Handy Andy might have said. We seldom force a situation without making a mess of it. It did not often happen to John, in the course of his eventful life, that he had long to wait for something to turn up, and the present occasion was no exception to the rule.

He was seated in the common room of the inn one day when he was forced to overhear a conversation in French, with which language he had become tolerably familiar. The speakers were four men who had the appearance of being soldiers in good circumstances. One of them, in particular, was richly dressed and seemed to be of superior station to the others, who were receiving his directions for the voyage to France, which was to be the first stage in a journey to Hungary, where they proposed taking part in the campaign against the Turks. John heard this with delight, for it seemed to afford the very opportunity for which he had been longing.

Presently the three subordinates went out, and no sooner were they alone than John eagerly approached the remaining Frenchman. After apologizing for overhearing the conversation, which, in truth, was intended for his ears, the young soldier stated his circumstances and ventured to express a hope that the gentleman, whom he surmised to be a nobleman, might find a place for him in his train. The Frenchman, who stated his name and style to be Lord de Preau, at first affected to be annoyed at the discussion of his private affairs, but as John proceeded with his story the supposed nobleman relaxed, and at its conclusion with amiable condescension invited our hero to be seated and join him in a bottle of wine.

“I may be able to further your design,” said “Lord de Preau” with thoughtful deliberation, whilst John hung eagerly upon his every word. “It is in my mind to help you, for a more likely young gallant I have never met. But I have not the means, as you seem to think, of supporting a large train.”

Here his “lordship” broke off to raise his goblet to his lips, and John’s heart sank as he imagined that he saw an objection in prospect. The “nobleman” noted the look of disappointment on the young man’s mobile countenance and smiled encouragingly as he continued:

“It may be contrived I ween and thus. The Duc de Mercœur--as is doubtless beknown to you--is now at the seat of war with a company raised in France. I have letters to the Duc’s good lady who will, I doubt not, furnish me with the means to continue my journey and also commend me to the favor of her lord.”

“And the Duchesse? Where may she be?” asked John.

“The Duchesse de Mercœur sojourns with her father, Monsieur Bellecourt, whose lands adjoin my own poor estate in Picardy,” replied the pretended nobleman, “so that first we repair to my _chateau_ and there lay our plans for the future. It is agreed?”

Agreed! Why John was fairly ready to fall on “Lord de Preau’s” neck and embrace him in the ecstasy of his delight. That accommodating individual undertook that one of his attendants should make all the preparations for departure and notify our hero when everything should be in readiness.

At noon the following day the three retainers of the French “nobleman” appeared and announced the approaching departure of the vessel upon which they were to embark. They gave their names as Courcelles, Nelie and Montferrat, and each expressed his satisfaction at the prospect of having the young Englishman as a companion in arms in the coming campaign. Preceded by four colporteurs, carrying John’s baggage, they went on board and, De Preau shortly after joining them, the master weighed anchor and sailed out of port.

The vessel on which John shipped with such great expectations was one of the small coasting luggers, common at the time, which bore doubtful reputations because they were as often engaged in smuggling, or other illegal venture, as in honest trade. Upon this particular occasion the craft was full to the point of overcrowding with passengers bound for various points upon the coast of France.

Night had set in when the ship cast anchor in a rough sea off the coast of Picardy. The landing was to be made at St. Valèry, where the inlet is too shallow to permit the entry of any vessels larger than fishing smacks. There was but one small boat available for taking the passengers ashore, and this the master placed first at the disposal of “Lord de Preau.” The baggage of the entire party was lowered into it and then they began to descend, the supposed nobleman in the lead. When the three retainers had followed their master, the captain, who with the aid of a seaman was going to row the boat to land, declared that it was already laden to its utmost capacity and, promising to return immediately for John, he pushed off into the darkness.

Hour followed hour without bringing any sight of the ship’s boat to our hero impatiently pacing the deck, nor did the return of day afford any sign of the captain and his craft. By this time John’s anxiety had reached a painful pitch. With the exception of his small sword and the clothes upon his back everything he possessed had left the ship in the boat, which he began to fear had foundered in the storm that was not yet exhausted. If this were true his plight was a sorry one, indeed. With straining eyes he spent the day gazing across the mile of water that lay between the ship and the little village of St. Valèry. The waves gradually subsided as the day wore on, and when evening approached the sea was running in a long heavy swell. John felt that he could not abide another night of uncertainty and was seriously debating in his mind the chances of safely reaching the shore by swimming, when he perceived a boat putting out from the port.

A very angry set of passengers greeted the master as he came over the side of his vessel and they were not altogether appeased by his explanation that the boat had been damaged on the outward trip, and he dared not entrust himself to it for the return until after the water and wind went down. He reassured John by the statement that his friends had gone forward to Amiens to avoid the poor accommodation at St. Valèry, and would there await him. Having made his excuses, the master proceeded to get his passengers ashore as quickly as possible and offered John a seat in the first boat which he was only too glad to accept, for, though his mind was somewhat easier, he felt impatient to rejoin his new patron--and his chest.

John’s first thought on landing was to procure a horse to carry him to Amiens, but when he thrust his hand into his pocket he discovered that he had not a single penny--even his purse was with his baggage. He might walk, but Amiens was nearly forty miles distant and it would take him two days to cover the ground on foot. Moreover, he would need food on the way and was already hungry and faint, having in his anxiety of the previous hours neglected to eat. Clearly he must get some money, and the readiest way to do so seemed to lie in selling his cloak, which was a very good one. He disposed of it to the innkeeper at a fair price, ate a hurried supper, and was in the act of arranging for the hire of a horse, when one of his fellow passengers entered the tavern and expressed a desire to speak with him privately.

The man who thus claimed John’s attention was a soldier of middle age with an honest and weather-beaten countenance. He had arrived on one of the last boat trips but had sought our hero with as little delay as possible. He now expressed his belief that John was the victim of a plot to deprive him of his money and belongings. De Preau he said was slightly known to him as the son of a notary of Mortagne, and he believed the other rascals to be natives of that town. He had not suspected any mischief until he heard the master on his return from shore refer to De Preau as a nobleman. He doubted not the ship captain had connived at the swindle, but nothing could have been proved against him in the absence of the chief culprits.

John was at first disposed to be angry with Curzianvere, as the soldier was named, for not having spoken sooner and denounced the master on the spot. He readily excused the other, however, when he explained that he was an outlaw from the country on account of a political offence and now secretly visiting his home at great risk. It was natural that he should have hesitated to get mixed up in a scrape that would necessitate his appearing before a magistrate at the hazard of being recognized. By divulging this much about himself he had confided in the honor of a stranger, but so great was the confidence with which John’s frank demeanor inspired him that he would go still farther and, as his road lay past Mortagne, would guide him thither. He warned John, however, that he could not venture to enter any large town in Picardy or Brittany, much less appear as a witness against De Preau and his companions, should they be found.

With this understanding the two soldiers set out together, and after several weeks’ tramping, during which Curzianvere had shared his slender purse with John, they arrived at Mortagne. Here the outlaw, perhaps fearing complications that might arise from his companion’s errand, decided to continue his journey. Before parting with the young wayfarer, however, he gave him letters to some friends residing in the neighborhood from whom he might expect hospitable treatment.

John entered the town, and so far as the first step in his quest was concerned, met with immediate success. Almost at once he encountered De Preau and Courcelles sauntering along the main street. John’s bile rose as he perceived that both were tricked out in finery abstracted from his chest. He strode up to them and in angry tones charged them with deception and the theft of his goods. The sudden encounter confused the rogues, but De Preau quickly regained his composure.

“Does Monsieur honor you with his acquaintance?” he asked of Courcelles with a significant look.

“Had I ever seen that striking face before I must have remembered it,” replied the other, taking the cue from his leader.

John was aghast at their effrontery, and turning to a knot of townsmen who gathered around, he cried:

“These men have robbed me of my possessions. Even now they wear my garments upon their backs. If there be justice----” but speech failed him at sight of the unsympathetic faces of the bystanders.

“Mon Dieu! But the fellow is a superb actor,” drawled De Preau.

“Most like some knave who would draw us into a quarrel,” added Courcelles.

The onlookers, too, began to make menacing remarks, and poor John realized the hopelessness of his position. He was a foreigner without a friend, and he suddenly remembered that to be locked up and found with Curzianvere’s letters upon him would not mend matters. He could not support a single word of his story with proof. He was cloakless and his clothing worn and travel-stained. Who could be expected to believe that he ever owned a purse filled with gold and a chest of rich raiment? He was quivering with just rage, but he had sense enough to see that his wisest course lay in retreat. So without another word he turned his back on the two villains and walked rapidly out of the town.

A few miles from Mortagne John found the friends to whose kind offices the letters of Curzianvere recommended him. He met with a cordial reception and sincere sympathy when he had told his tale, but these good people were obliged to admit that he had no chance of recovering his property or causing the punishment of the thieves. Being thus fully convinced that the matter was beyond remedy, John determined to put it behind him and seek relief for his feelings in action. He declined the invitation of Curzianvere’s friends to prolong his visit but, accepting a small sum of money and a cloak from them, set out to retrace his steps to the coast, in the hope that he might secure employment upon a ship of war.

V.

A DUEL WITH A DASTARD

John reaches Havre after a long dreary tramp in mid-winter--Fails to find a ship going to the East and turns south along the coast--Falls exhausted by the roadside and is picked up by a good farmer--Regains his strength and resumes his journey--Encounters Courcelles, one of the Frenchmen who had robbed him--They draw swords and fall to--John completely overcomes his antagonist, punishes him and leaves him repentant--An unlooked for meeting with an old friend--John is set upon his feet again--Goes to Marseilles and takes ship for Italy--Is thrown overboard in a storm by the fanatical passengers--Swims to a desert island.

It must not be supposed that John had abandoned his project of going to fight the Turks. His was not the temperament to be easily discouraged or diverted from a purpose. He was not now in a position to pursue any very definite plan, but he walked coastward in the hope that some favorable opportunity for going farther might present itself. If he should find some ship of war or large merchantman bound for a Mediterranean port he would be willing to work his way on her in any capacity. Honfleur and Havre being the most likely places thereabouts in which to find such a vessel as he sought, he made his way northward and visited each of those ports in turn without success. It was winter, and peace prevailed in western Europe for the time being. There was little movement among the large ships but smaller vessels, in considerable numbers, were plying between the Continent and England. John might readily have secured passage to England, and no doubt his wisest course would have been to return home and procure a fresh supply of clothing and money. But John could not brook the thought of appearing at home tattered and torn and confessing to his guardian that he had been duped and robbed.

The shipping men of Havre advised the anxious inquirer to try St. Malo, and so he turned back over the ground he had already twice traversed and faced several more weeks of weary travel with a purse now nearly empty and clothing almost reduced to rags. Coming up from Mortagne he had selected the poorest inns for resting places; now even these were beyond his means, and he had to depend upon the charity of the country people for a night’s lodging or a meal. Occasionally his way led past a monastery, when he was always sure of simple hospitality for, to their credit be it said, the fact that John was an Englishman and a heretic never caused the good monks to turn him from their doors.

When at length he arrived in the neighborhood of Pontorson in Brittany it was in a condition bordering on collapse from the effects of the exposure and hardship of the preceding weeks. St. Malo was but a short two days’ journey away, but it did not seem possible that he could hold out until that port should be reached. He staggered on for a few more miles but at last his strength utterly gave out and he sank unconscious to the ground by the roadside. Here John Smith’s career well nigh wound up in an inglorious end, for had he lain neglected for a few hours he must have frozen to death. Fate directed otherwise, however. A kind farmer chancing by in his wagon picked up the exhausted lad and carried him to his house. There he was nursed and fed and, some weeks later, when he resumed his journey it was with a show of his natural vigor.

John left the farmhouse with a wallet sufficiently stocked to stay his stomach until he should arrive at St. Malo--money he had refused to accept from the good farmer. The air was mild. It was one of those sunny days in late winter that give early promise of spring. Under the influence of the cheery weather our hero’s spirits rose, and he had a feeling that the tide in his affairs was about to turn. This presentiment was strengthened by an adventure that immediately befell him and which will not so greatly surprise us if we remember that he was once again in the vicinity of Mortagne, having gone forth and back in his long tramp.

John had been following a short cut through a wood and had just emerged into the open when he came suddenly face to face with a traveler who was pursuing the same path in opposite direction. Each recognized the other immediately, and on the instant their swords flashed from the scabbard. They flung aside their cloaks and engaged without a word. Furious anger surged in John’s breast as he confronted Courcelles, one of the four French robbers to whose perfidy he owed his present plight and all the misery of the past months. For a moment he was tempted to rush upon the rascal and run him through, but that caution and coolness that ever characterized our hero in the presence of danger, soon took possession of his reason and prompted him to assume the defensive.

Courcelles was no mean swordsman, and he saw before him a bareface boy whom he could not suppose to be a master of fence. Moreover, he was moved by the hatred which mean souls so often feel for those whom they have wronged. He made a furious attack upon the stripling intending to end the affair in short order.

John calmly maintained his guard under the onslaught with his weapon presented constantly at the other’s breast. With a slight movement of the wrist he turned aside Courcelles’ thrusts and stepped back nimbly when the Frenchman lunged. The latter, meeting with no counter-attack, became more confident and pressed his adversary hard. But the skill with which his assault was met soon dawned upon Courcelles. He checked the impetuosity that had already told upon his nerves and muscles and resorted to the many tricks of fence of which, like most French swordsmen, he was an adept. He changed the engagement; he feinted and feigned to fumble his weapon; he shifted his guard suddenly; he pretended to slip and lose his footing; he endeavored to disengage; but John could not be tempted from his attitude of alert defence. Courcelles beat the _appel_ with his foot but John’s eyes remained steadfastly fixed upon his and the firm blade was ever there lightly but surely feeling his. Courcelles tapped the other’s sword sharply but John only smiled with grim satisfaction as he remembered how Signor Polaloga had schooled him to meet such disconcerting manœuvres as these.

Courcelles was growing desperate and determined as a last hope of overcoming his antagonist to try the _coup de Marsac_. This consisted in beating up the adversary’s weapon by sheer force and lunging under his upthrown arm. Gathering himself together for the effort, the Frenchman struck John’s sword with all the strength he could command, but the act was anticipated by our hero, whose rapier yielded but a few inches to the blow. The next instant the point of it had rapidly described a semi-circle around and under Courcelles’ blade, throwing it out of the line of his opponent’s body.

It was a last effort. Chill fear seized the Frenchman’s heart as with the waning of his strength he realized that he was at the mercy of the youth he had so heartlessly robbed. With difficulty he maintained a feeble guard whilst he felt a menacing pressure from the other’s weapon. John advanced leisurely upon the older man, whose eyes plainly betrayed his growing terror. He was as helpless as a child and might have been spitted like a fowl without resistance, but although our hero was made of stern stuff there was nothing cruel in his composition and he began to pity the cringing wretch who retreated before him. He had no thought, however, of letting the rascal off without a reminder that might furnish a lesson to him.

With that thought he pricked Courcelles upon the breast accompanying the thrust with the remark:

“That for your friend Nelie, if you please!”

Almost immediately he repeated the action, saying:

“And that for your friend Montferrat!”

“For your master, the Lord De Preau, I beg your acceptance of that,” continued John, running his rapier through the fleshy part of the other’s shoulder.

The terrified Frenchman dropped his sword and fell upon his knees with upraised hands.

“Mercy for the love of heaven!” he cried. “Slay me not unshriven with my sins upon my head.”

“Maybe we can find a priest to prepare thee for the journey to a better land,” replied John, not unwilling that the robber should suffer a little more. “Ho, there!” to a group of rustics who had been attracted by the sounds of the conflict. “Know’st any holy father confessor living in these parts?”

The peasants declared that a priest resided within a mile of the spot and one of them departed in haste to fetch him to the scene.

As we know, John had no intention of killing Courcelles, nor did he desire to await the return of the shriver, so finding that the Frenchman had no means of making restitution for the theft of his goods, he left him. But before doing so, he extorted from the apparently repentant man a promise to live an honest life in future.

The encounter with Courcelles had a stimulating effect upon John and he entered St. Malo the following morning, feeling better pleased with himself than he had for many a day. He at once set about making enquiries as to the vessels in port and was engaged in conversation with a sailor on the quay when he became aware of the scrutiny of a well-dressed young man standing nearby. The face of the inquisitive stranger seemed to awake a dim memory in John’s mind but he could not remember to have met him before. The other soon put an end to his perplexity by coming forward with outstretched hands.

“Certes, it is my old playmate Jack Smith of Willoughby! Thou hast not so soon forgot Philip, Jack?”

John instantly recollected the young son of Count Ployer who, as you will recall, had passed several months at the castle as the guest of Lady Willoughby. The young men repaired to a neighboring tavern where, over a grateful draught of wine, John recounted his adventures. When John spoke of his wanderings in Brittany Philip listened with a puzzled expression, and when his friend had finished said:

“But why didst thou shun me and my father’s house? Surely not in doubt of a welcome? It was known to you that the Count Ployer possesses the castle and estates of Tonquedec.”

“Truly,” replied John, “but where is Tonquedec?”

Philip lay back in his chair and laughed long and heartily. When his merriment had somewhat subsided he silently beckoned his new-found friend to the window. St. Malo lies at the entrance to a long narrow inlet. Extending a finger Philip pointed across this bay. Upon the opposite shore John saw the gray walls of a large battlemented castle.

“Behold Tonquedec!” said Philip with a quizzical smile.

By the Count, John was received at the castle with the most hearty welcome. That nobleman was, as his son had been, moved to immoderate amusement at the thought of Jack--as Philip persisted in calling him--having been in the neighborhood of the castle so long without knowing it.

“Your friend is doubtless a gallant soldier,” he said to his son, “but a sorry geographer I fear.”