they were to carry off, and had little curiosity as to the point,
as they regarded this but a small adventure in comparison to the
lucrative schemes in which they were afterwards to be sharers.

These arrangements made, Gerald and Geoffrey returned to Seville,
and reached that city on the eve of the commencement of the festa,
and took up their abode at the lodging they had hired. On the
following morning they posted themselves in the street by which
the party they expected would arrive. Both were attired in quiet
citizen dress, and Gerald retained his formidable moustachios and
bushy eyebrows.

In two or three hours a coach accompanied by four lackeys on horseback
came up the street, and they saw that it contained the Marquis of
Ribaldo, his daughter, and her duenna. They followed a short distance
behind it until it entered the courtyard of a stately mansion,
which they learnt on inquiry from a passerby belonged to the Duke
of Sottomayor. The streets were already crowded with people in holiday
attire, the church bells were ringing, and flags and decorations
of all kinds waved along the route that was to be followed by the
great procession. The house did not stand on this line, and it
was necessary therefore for its inmates to pass through the crowd
either to the cathedral or to the balcony of the house from which
they might intend to view the procession pass.

Half an hour after the arrival of the coach, the marquis and his
daughter, accompanied by Don Philip de Sottomayor, sallied out,
escorted by six armed lackeys, and took their way towards the
cathedral. They had, however, arrived very late, and the crowd had
already gathered so densely that even the efforts of the lackeys and
the angry commands of the marquis and Don Philip failed to enable
them to make a passage. Very slowly indeed they advanced some
distance into the crowd, but each moment their progress became
slower. Gerald and Geoffrey had fallen in behind them and advanced
with them as they worked themselves in the crowd.

Angry at what they considered the impertinence of the people
for refusing to make way for them, the nobles pressed forward and
engaged in an angry controversy with those in front, who urged,
and truly, that it was simply impossible for them to make way, so
wedged in were they by the people on all sides. The crowd, neither
knowing nor caring who were those who thus wished to take precedence
of the first comers, began to jeer and laugh at the angry nobles,
and when these threatened to use force threatened in return.

As soon as her father had left her side, Gerald, who was immediately
behind Inez, whispered in her ear, "Now is the time, Inez. Go with
my friend; I will occupy the old woman."

"Keep close to me, senora, and pretend that you are ill," Geoffrey
said, to her, and without hesitation Inez turned and followed him,
drawing her mantilla more closely over her face.

"Let us pass, friends," Geoffrey said as he elbowed his way through
those standing behind them, "the lady needs air," and by vigorous
efforts he presently arrived at the outskirts of the crowd,
and struck off with his charge in the direction of their lodging.
"Gerald Burke will follow us as soon as he can get out," he said.
"Everything is prepared for you, senora, and all arrangements made."

"Who are you, sir?" the girl asked. "I do not recall your face,
and yet I seem to have seen it before."

"I am English, senora, and am a friend of Gerald Burke's. When in
Madrid I was disguised as his servant; for as an Englishman and a
heretic it would have gone hard with me had I been detected."

There were but few people in the streets through which they passed,
the whole population having flocked either to the streets through
which the procession was to pass, or to the cathedral or churches
it was to visit on its way. Gerald had told Inez at their interview
that, although he had made arrangements for carrying her off by
force on the journey to or from Seville, he should, if possible, take
advantage of the crowd at the function to draw her away from her
companions. She had, therefore, put on her thickest lace mantilla,
and this now completely covered her face from the view of passersby.
Several times she glanced back.

"Do not be uneasy about him, senora," Geoffrey said. "He will not
try to extricate himself from the crowd until you are discovered
to be missing, as to do so would be to attract attention. As soon
as your loss is discovered he will make his way out, and will then
come on at the top of his speed to the place whither I am conducting
you, and I expect that we shall find him at the door awaiting us."

A quarter of an hour's walk took them to the lodging, and Inez gave
a little cry of joy as the door was opened to them by Gerald himself.

"The people of the house are all out," he said, after their first
greeting. "In that room you will find a peasant girl's dress. Dress
yourself as quickly as you can; we shall be ready for you in attire
to match. You had best do up your own things into a bundle, which
I will carry. If they were left here they might, when the news of
your being missing gets abroad, afford a clue to the manner of your
escape. I will tell you all about the arrangements we have made as
we go along."

"Have you arranged--" and she hesitated.

"Yes, an Irish priest, who is an old friend of mine, will perform
the ceremony this evening."

A few minutes later two seeming peasants and a peasant girl issued
out from the lodging. The two men carried stout sticks with bundles
slung over them.

"Be careful of that bundle," Inez said, "for there are all my jewels
in it. After what you had said I concealed them all about me. They
are my fortune, you know. Now, tell me how you got on in the crowd."

"I first pushed rather roughly against the duenna, and then made the
most profuse apologies, saying that it was shameful people should
crowd so, and that they ought at once to make way for a lady who
was evidently of high rank. This mollified her, and we talked for
three or four minutes; and in the meantime the row in front, caused
by your father and the lackeys quarrelling with the people, grew
louder and louder. The old lady became much alarmed, and indeed
the crowd swayed about so that she clung to my arm. Suddenly she
thought of you, and turning round gave a scream when she found you
were missing. 'What is the matter?' I asked anxiously. 'The young
lady with me! She was here but an instant ago!' (She had forgotten
you for fully five minutes.) 'What can have become of her?'

"I suggested that no doubt you were close by, but had got separated
from her by the pressure of the crowd. However, she began to
squall so loudly that the marquis looked round. He was already in
a towering rage, and he asked angrily, 'What are you making all this
noise about?' and then looking round exclaimed, 'Where is Inez?'
'She was here a moment since!' the old lady exclaimed, 'and now
she has got separated from me.' Your father looked in vain among
the crowd, and demanded whether anyone had seen you. Someone said
that a lady who was fainting had made her way out five minutes
before. The marquis used some strong language to the old lady, and
then informed Don Philip what had happened, and made his way back
out of the crowd with the aid of the lackeys, and is no doubt
inquiring for you in all the houses near; but, as you may imagine,
I did not wait. I followed close behind them until they were out
of the crowd, and then slipped away, and once round the corner took
to my heels and made my way back, and got in two or three minutes
before you arrived."

The two young men talked almost continuously during their walk to
the village in order to keep up the spirits of Donna Inez, and to
prevent her from thinking of the strangeness of her position and
the perils that lay before them before safety could be obtained.
Only once she spoke of the future.

"Is it true, Gerald, that there are always storms and rain in your
country, and that you never see the sun, for so some of those who
were in the Armada have told me?"

"It rains there sometimes, Inez, I am bound to admit; but it
is often fine, and the sun never burns one up as it does here. I
promise you you will like it, dear, when you once become accustomed
to it."

"I do not think I shall," she said, shaking her head; "I am accustomed
to the sun, you know. But I would rather be with you even in such
an island as they told me of than in Spain with Don Philip."

The village seemed absolutely deserted when they arrived there,
the whole population having gone over to Seville to take part in
the great fete. Father Denis received his fair visitor with the
greatest kindness. "Here, Catherine," he cried to his old servant,
"here are the visitors I told you I expected. It is well that
we have the chambers prepared, and that we killed that capon this
morning."

That evening Gerald Burke and Inez de Ribaldo were married in the
little church, Geoffrey Vickars being the only witness. The next
morning there was a long consultation over their plans. "I could
buy you a cart in the village and a pair of oxen, and you could
drive to Malaga," the priest said, "but there would be a difficulty
about changing your disguises after you had entered the town. I
think that the boldest plan will be the safest one. I should propose
that you should ride as a well to do trader to Malaga, with your
wife behind you on a pillion, and your friend here as your servant.
Lost as your wife was in the crowd at the fete, it will be a long
time before the fact that she has fled will be realized. For a day
or two the search will be conducted secretly, and only when the
house of every friend whom she might have visited has been searched
will the aid of the authorities be called in, and the poorer quarters,
where she might have been carried by two or three ruffians who may
have met her as she emerged in a fainting condition, as is supposed,
from the crowd, be ransacked. I do not imagine that any search will
be made throughout the country round for a week at least, by which
time you will have reached Malaga, and, if you have good fortune,
be on board a ship."

This plan was finally agreed to. Gerald and his friend at once went
over to Seville and purchased the necessary dresses, together with
two strong horses and equipments. It was evening before their return
to the village. Instead of entering it at once they rode on a mile
further, and fastened the horses up in a wood. Gerald would have
left them there alone, but Geoffrey insisted on staying with them
for the night.

"I care nothing about sleeping in the open air, Gerald, and it would
be folly to risk the success of our enterprise upon the chance of
no one happening to come through the wood, and finding the animals
before you return in the morning. We had a hearty meal at Seville,
and I shall do very well until morning."

Gerald and his wife took leave of the friendly priest at daybreak
the next morning, with the hope that they would very shortly meet
in Ireland. They left the village before anyone was stirring.

The peasant clothes had been left behind them. Gerald carried two
valises, the one containing the garments in which Inez had fled,
the other his own attire--Geoffrey having resumed the dress he
had formerly worn as his servant.

On arriving at the wood the party mounted, and at once proceeded on
their journey. Four days' travel took them to Malaga, where they
arrived without any adventure whatever. Once or twice they met
parties of rough looking men; but travelling as they did without
baggage animals, they did not appear promising subjects for robbery,
and the determined appearance of master and man, each armed with
sword and pistols, deterred the fellows from an attempt which
promised more hard knocks than plunder.

After putting up at an inn in Malaga, Gerald went down at once to
the port to inquire for a vessel bound for Italy. There were three
or four such vessels in the harbour, and he had no difficulty in
arranging for a passage to Naples for himself, his wife, and servant.
The vessel was to sail on the following morning, and it was with
a deep feeling of satisfaction and relief that they went on board
her, and an hour later were outside the port.

"It seems marvellous to me," Gerald said, as he looked back upon
the slowly receding town, "that I have managed to carry off my
prize with so little difficulty. I had expected to meet with all
sorts of dangers, and had I been the peaceful trader I looked, our
journey could not be more uneventful."

"Perhaps you are beginning to think that the prize is not so very
valuable after all," Inez said, "since you have won it so easily."

"I have not begun to think so yet," Gerald laughed happily. "At any
rate I shall wait until I get you home before such ideas begin to
occur to me."

"Directly I get to Ireland," Inez said, "I shall write to my father
and tell him that I am married to you, and that I should never
have run away had he not insisted on my marrying a man I hated. I
shall, of course, beg him to forgive me; but I fear he never will."

"We must hope that he will, Inez, and that he will ask you to come
back to Spain sometimes. I do not care for myself, you know, for
as I have told you my estate in Ireland is amply large enough for
my wants; but I shall be glad, for your sake, that you should be
reconciled to him."

Inez shook her head.

"You do not know my father, Gerald. I would never go back to Spain
again--not if he promised to give me his whole fortune. My father
never forgives; and were he to entice me back to Spain, it would be
only to shut me up and to obtain a dispensation from Rome annulling
the marriage, which he would have no difficulty in doing. No, you
have got me, and will have to keep me for good. I shall never return
to Spain, never. Possibly when my father hears from me he may send
me over money to make me think he has forgiven me, and to induce
me some day or other to come back to visit him, and so get me into
his power again; but that, Gerald, he shall never do."

CHAPTER XIV

THE SURPRISE OF BREDA

Lionel Vickars had, by the beginning of 1590, come to speak the
Dutch language well and fluently. Including his first stay in Holland
he had now been there eighteen months, and as he was in constant
communications with the Dutch officers and with the population,
he had constant occasion for speaking Dutch, a language much more
akin to English than any other continental tongue, and indeed so
closely allied to the dialect of the eastern counties of England,
that the fishermen of our eastern ports had in those days little
difficulty in conversing with the Hollanders.

He was one day supping with Sir Francis Vere when Prince Maurice
and several of his officers were also there. The conversation turned
upon the prospects of the campaign of the ensuing spring. Lionel,
of course, took no part in it, but listened attentively to what
was being said and was very pleased to find that the period of
inactivity was drawing to an end, and that their commanders considered
that they had now gathered a force of sufficient strength to assume
the offensive.

"I would," Prince Maurice said, "that we could gain Breda. The
city stands like a great sentinel against every movement towards
Flanders, and enables the Spaniards to penetrate at all times towards
the heart of our country; but I fear that it is altogether beyond
our means. It is one of the strongest cities in the Netherlands,
and my ancestors, who were its lords, little thought that they were
fortifying and strengthening it in order that it might be a thorn
in the side of their country. I would give much, indeed, to be
able to wrest it from the enemy; but I fear it will be long before
we can even hope for that. It could withstand a regular siege by
a well provided army for months; and as to surprise, it is out of
the question, for I hear that the utmost vigilance is unceasingly
maintained."

A few days after this Lionel was talking with Captain de Heraugiere,
who had also been at the supper. He had taken part in the defence
of Sluys and was one of the officers with whom Lionel was most
intimate.

"It would be a rare enterprise to surprise Breda," Captain
de Heraugiere said; "but I fear it is hopeless to think of such a
thing."

"I do not see why it should be," Lionel said. "I was reading when
I was last at home about our wars with the Scotch, and there were
several cases in which very strong places that could not have been
carried by assault were captured suddenly by small parties of men
who disguised themselves as waggoners, and hiding a score or two
of their comrades in a wagon covered with firewood, or sacks of
grain, boldly went up to the gates. When there they cut the traces
of their horses so that the gates could not be closed, or the
portcullis lowered, and then falling upon the guards, kept them at
bay until a force, hidden near the gates, ran up and entered the
town. I see not why a similar enterprise should not be attempted
at Breda."

"Nor do I," Captain Heraugiere said; "the question is how to set
about such a scheme."

"That one could not say without seeing the place," Lionel remarked.
"I should say that a plan of this sort could only be successful
after those who attempted it had made themselves masters of all
particulars of the place and its ways. Everything would depend upon
all going smoothly and without hitches of any kind. If you really
think of undertaking such an adventure, Captain Heraugiere, I
should be very glad to act under you if Sir Francis Vere will give
me leave to do so; but I would suggest that the first step should
be for us to go into Breda in disguise. We might take in a wagon
load of grain for sale, or merely carry on our backs baskets with
country produce, or we could row up in a boat with fish."

"The plan is certainly worth thinking of," Captain Heraugiere said.
"I will turn it over in my mind for a day, and will then talk to
you again. It would be a grand stroke, and there would be great
honour to be obtained; but it will not do for me to go to Prince
Maurice and lay it before him until we have a plan completely worked
out, otherwise we are more likely to meet with ridicule than praise."

The following day Captain Heraugiere called at Lionel's lodgings.
"I have lain awake all night thinking of our scheme," he said,
"and have resolved to carry out at least the first part of it--to
enter Breda and see what are the prospects of success, and the
manner in which the matter had best be set about. I propose that
we two disguise ourselves as fishermen, and going down to the river
between Breda and Willemstad bargain with some fishermen going up
to Breda with their catch for the use of their boat. While they are
selling the fish we can survey the town and see what is the best
method of introducing a force into it. When our plan is completed
we will go to Voorne, whither Prince Maurice starts tomorrow, and
lay the matter before him."

"I will gladly go with you to Breda," Lionel said, "and, as far
as I can, aid you there; but I think that it would be best that
you only should appear in the matter afterwards. I am but a young
volunteer, and it would be well that I did not appear at all in
the matter, which you had best make entirely your own. But I hope,
Captain Heraugiere, that should the prince decide to adopt any plan
you may form, and intrust the matter to you, that you will take me
with you in your following."

"That I will assuredly," Captain Heraugiere said, "and will take care
that if it should turn out successful your share in the enterprise
shall be known."

"When do you think of setting about it?" Lionel asked.

"Instantly. My company is at Voorne, and I should return thither
with the prince today. I will at once go to him and ask for leave
to be absent on urgent affairs for a week. Do you go to Sir Francis
Vere and ask for a similar time. Do not tell him, if you can help
it, the exact nature of your enterprise. But if you cannot obtain
leave otherwise, of course you must do so. I will be back here in
two hours' time. We can then at once get our disguises, and hire
a craft to take us to Willemstad."

Lionel at once went across to the quarters of Sir Francis Vere.

"I have come, Sir Francis, to ask for a week's leave of absence."

"That you can have, Lionel. Where are you going--shooting ducks
on the frozen meres?"

"No, Sir Francis. I am going on a little expedition with Captain
Heraugiere, who has invited me to accompany him. We have an idea in
our heads that may perhaps be altogether useless, but may possibly
bear fruit. In the first case we would say nothing about it, in
the second we will lay it before you on our return."

"Very well," Sir Francis said with a smile. "You showed that you
could think at Sluys, and I hope something may come of this idea
of yours, whatever it may be."

At the appointed time Captain Heraugiere returned, having obtained
leave of absence from the prince. They at once went out into the
town and bought the clothes necessary for their disguise. They
returned with these to their lodgings, and having put them on went
down to the wharf, where they had no difficulty in bargaining with
the master of a small craft to take them to Willemstad, as the
Spaniards had no ships whatever on the water between Rotterdam and
Bergen op Zoom. The boat was to wait three days for them at that
town, and to bring them back to Rotterdam. As there was no reason
for delay they at once went on board and cast off. The distance
was but thirty miles, and just at nightfall they stepped ashore at
the town of Willemstad.

The next morning they had no difficulty in arranging with a fisherman
who was going up to Breda with a cargo of fish to take the place
of two of his boatmen at the oars.

"We want to spend a few hours there," Captain Heraugiere said, "and
will give you five crowns if you will leave two of your men here
and let us take their places."

"That is a bargain," the man said at once; "that is, if you can
row, for we shall scarce take the tide up to the town, and must
keep on rowing to get there before the ebb begins."

"We can row, though perhaps not so well as your own men. You are,
I suppose, in the habit of going there, and are known to the guards
at the port? They are not likely, I should think, to notice that
you haven't got the same crew as usual?"

"There is no fear of that, and if they did I could easily say that
two of my men were unable to accompany me today, and that I have
hired fresh hands in their places."

Two of the men got out. Captain Heraugiere and Lionel Vickars took
their places, and the boat proceeded up the river. The oars were
heavy and clumsy, and the newcomers were by no means sorry when,
after a row of twelve miles, they neared Breda.

"What are the regulations for entering Breda?" Captain Heraugiere
asked as they approached the town.

"There are no particular regulations," the master of the boat said,
"save that on entering the port the boat is searched to see that
it contains nothing but fish. None are allowed to enter the gates
of the town without giving their names, and satisfying the officer
on guard that they have business in the place."

An officer came on board as the boat ran up alongside the quay and
asked a few questions. After assisting in getting the basket of
fish on shore Captain Heraugiere and Lionel sauntered away along
the quay, leaving the fishermen to dispose of their catch to the
townspeople, who had already begun to bargain for them.

The river Mark flowed through the town, supplying its moats with
water. Where it left the town on the western side was the old
castle, with a moat of its own and strong fortified lines. Within
was the quay, with an open place called the fish market leading
to the gates of the new castle. There were 600 Spanish infantry in
the town and 100 in the castle, and 100 cavalry. The governor of
Breda, Edward Lanzavecchia, was absent superintending the erection
of new fortifications at Gertruydenberg, and in his absence the
town was under the command of his son Paolo.

Great vigilance was exercised. All vessels entering port were
strictly examined, and there was a guard house on the quay. Lying
by one of the wharves was a large boat laden with peat, which was
being rapidly unloaded, the peat being sold as soon as landed, as
fuel was very short in the city.

"It seems to me," Lionel said as they stood for a minute looking
on, "that this would be just the thing for us. If we could make an
arrangement with the captain of one of these peat boats we might
hide a number of men in the hold and cover them with peat. A place
might be built large enough, I should think, to hold seventy or
eighty men, and yet be room for a quantity of peat to be stowed
over them."

"A capital idea," Captain Heraugiere said. "The peat comes from
above the town. We must find out where the barges are loaded, and
try to get at one of the captains."

After a short walk through the town they returned to the boat. The
fisherman had already sold out his stock, and was glad at seeing
his passengers return earlier than he expected; but as the guard
was standing by he rated them severely for keeping him waiting so
long, and with a muttered excuse they took their places in the boat
and rowed down the river.

"I want you to put us ashore on the left bank as soon as we are
our of sight of the town," Captain Heraugiere said. "As it will
be heavy work getting your boat back with only two of you, I will
give you a couple of crowns beyond the amount I bargained with you
for."

"That will do well enough," the man said. "We have got the tide
with us, and can drop down at our leisure."

As soon as they were landed they made a wide detour to avoid the
town, and coming down again upon the river above it, followed its
banks for three miles, when they put up at a little inn in the small
village of Leur on its bank. They had scarcely sat down to a meal
when a man came in and called for supper. The landlord placed
another plate at the table near them, and the man at once got into
conversation with them, and they learnt that he was master of a
peat boat that had that morning left Breda empty.

"We were in Breda ourselves this morning," Captain Heraugiere said,
"and saw a peat boat unloading there. There seemed to be a brisk
demand for the fuel."

"Yes; it is a good trade at present," the man said. "There are only
six of us who have permits to enter the port, and it is as much as
we can do to keep the town supplied with fuel; for, you see, at any
moment the river may be frozen up, so the citizens need to keep
a good stock in hand. I ought not to grumble, since I reap the
benefit of the Spanish regulations; but all these restrictions on
trade come mighty hard upon the people of Breda. It was not so in
the old time."

After supper was over Captain Heraugiere ordered a couple of flasks
of spirits, and presently learned from the boatman that his name
was Adrian Van de Berg, and that he had been at one time a servant
in the household of William of Orange. Little by little Captain
Heraugiere felt his way, and soon found that the boatman was an
enthusiastic patriot. He then confided to him that he himself was
an officer in the State's service, and had come to Breda to ascertain
whether there was any possibility of capturing the town by surprise.

"We hit on a plan today," he said, "which promises a chance of
success; but it needs the assistance of one ready to risk his life."

"I am ready to risk my life in any enterprise that has a fair
chance of success," the boatman said, "but I do not see how I can
be of much assistance."

"You can be of the greatest assistance if you will, and will render
the greatest service to your country if you will join in our plan.
What we propose is, that we should construct a shelter of boards
four feet high in the bottom of your boat, leading from your little
cabin aft right up to the bow. In this I calculate we could stow
seventy men; then the peat could be piled over it, and if you
entered the port somewhat late in the afternoon you could manage
that it was not unladen so as to uncover the roof of our shelter
before work ceased for the night. Then we could sally out, overpower
the guard on the quay, make for one of the gates, master the guard
there, and open it to our friends without."

"It is a bold plan and a good one," Van de Berg said, "and I am
ready to run my share of the risk with you. I am so well known in
Breda that they do not search the cargo very closely when I arrive,
and I see no reason why the party hidden below should not escape
observation. I will undertake my share of the business if you
decide to carry it out. I served the prince for fifteen years, and
am ready to serve his son. There are plenty of planks to be obtained
at a place three miles above here, and it would not take many hours
to construct the false deck. If you send a messenger here giving
me two days' notice, it shall be built and the peat stowed on it
by the time you arrive."

It was late at night before the conversation was concluded, and
the next morning Captain Heraugiere and Lionel started on their
return, struck the river some miles below Breda, obtained a passage
over the river in a passing boat late in the afternoon, and, sleeping
at Willemstad, went on board their boat next morning and returned
to Rotterdam. It was arranged that Lionel should say nothing about
their journey until Captain Heraugiere had opened the subject to
Prince Maurice.

"You are back before your time," Sir Francis Vere said when Lionel
reported himself for duty. "Has anything come of this project of
yours, whatever it may be?"

"We hope so, sir, Captain Heraugiere will make his report to Prince
Maurice. He is the leader of the party, and therefore he thought
it best that he should report to Prince Maurice, who, if he thinks
well of it, will of course communicate with you."

The next day a message arrived from Voorne requesting Sir Francis
Vere to proceed thither to discuss with the prince a matter of
importance. He returned after two days' absence, and presently sent
for Lionel.

"This is a rare enterprise that Captain Heraugiere has proposed to
the prince," he said, "and promises well for success. It is to be
kept a profound secret, and a few only will know aught of it until
it is executed. Heraugiere is of course to have command of the party
which is to be hidden in the barge, and is to pick out eighty men
from the garrisons of Gorcum and Lowesteyn. He has begged that you
shall be of the party, as he says that the whole matter was in the
first case suggested to him by you. The rest of the men and officers
will be Dutch."

A fortnight later, on the 22nd of February, Sir Francis Vere on his
return from the Hague, where Prince Maurice now was, told Lionel
that all was arranged. The message had come down from Van de Berg
that the hiding place was constructed. They were to join Heraugiere
the next day.

On the 24th of February the little party starred. Heraugiere had
chosen young, active, and daring men. With him were Captains Logier
and Fervet, and Lieutenant Held. They embarked on board a vessel,
and were landed near the mouth of the Mark, as De Berg was this
time going to carry the peat up the river instead of down, fearing
that the passage of seventy men through the country would attract
attention. The same night Prince Maurice, Sir Francis Vere, Count
Hohenlohe, and other officers sailed to Willemstad, their destination
having been kept a strict secret from all but those engaged in the
enterprise. Six hundred English troops, eight hundred Dutch, and
three hundred cavalry had been drawn from different garrisons, and
were also to land at Willemstad.

When Heraugiere's party arrived at the point agreed on at eleven
o'clock at night, Van de Berg was not there, nor was the barge;
and angry and alarmed at his absence they searched about for him
for hours, and at last found him in the village of Terheyde. He made
the excuse that he had overslept himself, and that he was afraid
the plot had been discovered. As everything depended upon his
cooperation, Heraugiere abstained from the angry reproaches which
the strange conduct of the man had excited; and as it was now
too late to do anything that night, a meeting was arranged for
the following evening, and a message was despatched to the prince
telling him that the expedition was postponed for a day. On their
return, the men all gave free vent to their indignation.

"I have no doubt," Heraugiere said, "that the fellow has turned
coward now that the time has come to face the danger. It is one
thing to talk about a matter as long as it is far distant, but
another to look it in the face when it is close at hand. I do not
believe that he will come tomorrow.

"If he does not he will deserve hanging," Captain Logier said;
"after all the trouble he has given in getting the troops together,
and after bringing the prince himself over."

"It will go very near hanging if not quite," Heraugiere muttered.
"If he thinks that he is going to fool us with impunity, he is
mightily mistaken. If he is a wise man he will start at daybreak,
and get as far away as he can before nightfall if he does not mean
to come."

The next day the party remained in hiding in a barn, and in the
evening again went down to the river. There was a barge lying there
laden high with turf. A general exclamation of satisfaction broke
from all when they saw it. There were two men on it. One landed
and came to meet them.

"Where is Van de Berg?" Captain Heraugiere asked as he came up.

"He is ill and unable to come, but has sent you this letter. My
brother and myself have undertaken the business."

The letter merely said that the writer was too ill to come, but
had sent in his place his two nephews, one or other of whom always
accompanied him, and who could be trusted thoroughly to carry out
the plan. The party at once went on board the vessel, descended
into the little cabin aft, and then passed through a hole made by
the removal of two planks into the hold that had been prepared for
them. Heraugiere remained on deck, and from time to time descended
to inform those below of the progress being made. It was slow
indeed, for a strong wind laden with sleet blew directly down the
river. Huge blocks of ice floated down, and the two boatmen with
their poles had the greatest difficulty in keeping the boat's head
up the stream.

At last the wind so increased that navigation became impossible,
and the barge was made fast against the bank. From Monday night
until Thursday morning the gale continued. Progress was impossible,
and the party cramped up in the hold suffered greatly from hunger
and thirst. On Thursday evening they could sustain it no longer and
landed. They were for a time scarce able to walk, so cramped were
their limbs by their long confinement, and made their way up painfully
to a fortified building called Nordand, standing far from any other
habitations. Here they obtained food and drink, and remained until
eleven at night. One of the boatmen came to them with news that the
wind had changed, and was now blowing in from the sea. They again
took their places on board, but the water was low in the river, and
it was difficult work passing the shallows, and it was not until
Saturday afternoon that they passed the boom below the town and
entered the inner harbour.

An officer of the guard came off in a boat and boarded the barge.
The weather was so bitterly cold that he at once went into the
little cabin and there chatted with the two boatmen. Those in the
hold could hear every word that was said, and they almost held their
breath, for the slightest noise would betray them. After a while
the officer got into his boat again, saying he would send some
men off to warp the vessel into the castle dock, as the fuel was
required by the garrison there. As the barge was making its way
towards the watergate, it struck upon a hidden obstruction in the
river and began to leak rapidly. The situation of those in the hold
was now terrible, for in a few minutes the water rose to their
knees, and the choice seemed to be presented to them of being
drowned like rats there, or leaping overboard, in which case they
would be captured and hung without mercy. The boatmen plied the
pumps vigorously, and in a short time a party of Italian soldiers
arrived from the shore and towed the vessel into the inner harbour,
and made her fast close to the guard house of the castle. A party
of labourers at once came on board and began to unload the turf;
the need of fuel both in the town and castle being great, for the
weather had been for some time bitterly cold.

A fresh danger now arose. The sudden immersion in the icy water
in the close cabin brought on a sudden inclination to sneeze and
cough. Lieutenant Held, finding himself unable to repress his cough,
handed his dagger to Lionel Vickars, who happened to be sitting
next to him, and implored him to stab him to the heart lest his
cough might betray the whole party; but one of the boatmen who was
standing close to the cabin heard the sounds, and bade his companion
go on pumping with as much noise and clatter as possible, while he
himself did the same, telling those standing on the wharf alongside
that the boat was almost full of water. The boatmen behaved with
admirable calmness and coolness, exchanging jokes with acquaintances
on the quay, keeping up a lively talk, asking high prices for their
peat, and engaging in long and animated bargains so as to prevent
the turf from being taken too rapidly ashore.

At last, when but a few layers of turf remained over the roof
of the hold, the elder brother told the men unloading that it was
getting too dark, and he himself was too tired and worn out to
attend to things any longer. He therefore gave the man some money
and told them to go to the nearest public house to drink his health,
and to return the first thing in the morning to finish unloading.
The younger of the two brothers had already left the boat. He made
his way through the town, and started at full speed to carry the
news to Prince Maurice that the barge had arrived safely in the
town, and the attempt would be made at midnight; also of the fact
they had learned from those on the wharf, that the governor had
heard a rumour that a force had landed somewhere on the coast, and
had gone off again to Gertruydenberg in all haste, believing that
some design was on foot against that town. His son Paolo was again
in command of the garrison.

A little before midnight Captain Heraugiere told his comrades that
the hour had arrived, and that only by the most desperate bravery
could they hope to succeed, while death was the certain consequence
of failure. The band were divided into two companies. He himself
with one was to attack the main guard house; the other, under
Fervet, was to seize the arsenal of the fortress. Noiselessly they
stole out from their hiding place, and formed upon the wharf within
the inclosure of the castle. Heraugiere moved straight upon the
guard house. The sentry was secured instantly; but the slight noise
was heard, and the captain of the watch ran out, but was instantly
cut down.

Others came out with torches, but after a brief fight were driven
into the guard house; when all were shot down through the doors
and windows. Captain Ferver and his band had done equally well. The
magazine of the castle was seized, and its defenders slain. Paolo
Lanzavecchia made a sally from the palace with a few of his adherents,
but was wounded and driven back; and the rest of the garrison of
the castle, ignorant of the strength of the force that had thus
risen as it were from the earth upon them, fled panic stricken,
not even pausing to destroy the bridge between the castle and the
town.

Young Paolo Lanzavecchia now began a parley with the assailants;
but while the negotiations were going on Hohenlohe with his cavalry
came up--having been apprised by the boatman that the attempt was
about to be made--battered down the palisade near the watergate,
and entered the castle. A short time afterwards Prince Maurice,
Sir Francis Vere, and other officers arrived with the main body of
the troops. But the fight was over before even Hohenlohe arrived;
forty of the garrison being killed, and not a single man of the
seventy assailants. The burgomaster, finding that the castle had
fallen, and that a strong force had arrived, then sent a trumpeter
to the castle to arrange for the capitulation of the town, which
was settled on the following terms:-- All plundering was commuted
for the payment of two months' pay to every soldier engaged in the
affair. All who chose might leave the city, with full protection
to life and property. Those who were willing to remain were not
to be molested in their consciences or households with regard to
religion.

The news of the capture of Breda was received with immense enthusiasm
throughout Holland. It was the first offensive operation that had
been successfully undertaken, and gave new hope to the patriots.

Parma was furious at the cowardice with which five companies of
foot and one of horse--all picked troops--had fled before the
attack of seventy Hollanders. Three captains were publicly beheaded
in Brussels and a fourth degraded to the ranks, while Lanzavecchia
was deprived of the command of Gertruydenberg.

For some months before the assault upon Breda the army of Holland
had been gaining vastly in strength and organization. Prince Maurice,
aided by his cousin Lewis William, stadholder of Friesland, had been
hard at work getting it into a state of efficiency. Lewis William,
a man of great energy and military talent, saw that the use of
solid masses of men in the field was no longer fitted to a state of
things when the improvements in firearms of all sorts had entirely
changed the condition of war. He therefore reverted to the old
Roman methods, and drilled his soldiers in small bodies; teaching
them to turn and wheel, advance or retreat, and perform all sorts
of manoeuvres with regularity and order. Prince Maurice adopted
the same plan in Holland, and the tactics so introduced proved so
efficient that they were sooner or later adopted by all civilized
nations.

At the time when William of Orange tried to relieve the hard pressed
city of Haarlem, he could with the greatest difficulty muster three
or four thousand men for the purpose. The army of the Netherlands
was now 22,000 strong, of whom 2000 were cavalry. It was well
disciplined, well equipped, and regularly paid, and was soon to
prove that the pains bestowed upon it had not been thrown away.
In the course of eighteen years that had followed the capture of
Brill and the commencement of the struggle with Spain, the wealth
and prosperity of Holland had enormously increased. The Dutch were
masters of the sea coast, the ships of the Zeelanders closed every
avenue to the interior, and while the commerce of Antwerp, Ghent,
Bruges, and the other cities of the provinces that remained in
the hands of the Spaniards was for the time destroyed, and their
population fell off by a half, Holland benefited in proportion.

From all the Spanish provinces men of energy and wealth passed
over in immense numbers to Holland, where they could pursue their
commerce and industries--free from the exactions and cruelty under
which they had for so many years groaned. The result was that the
cities of Holland increased vastly in wealth and population, and
the resources at the disposal of Prince Maurice enormously exceeded
those with which his father had for so many years sustained the
struggle.

For a while after the capture of Breda there was breathing time
in Holland, and Maurice was busy in increasing and improving his
army. Parma was fettered by the imperious commands of Philip, who
had completely crippled him by withdrawing a considerable number of
his troops for service in the war which he was waging with France.
But above all, the destruction of the Armada, and with it of the
naval supremacy of Spain, had changed the situation.

Holland was free to carry on her enterprises by sea, and had free
communication and commerce with her English ally; while communication
between Spain and the Netherlands was difficult. Reinforcements
could no longer be sent by sea, and had to be sent across Europe
from Italy. Parma was worn out by exertions, disappointment, and
annoyance, and his health was seriously failing; while opposed
to him were three young commanders--Maurice, Lewis William, and
Francis Vere--all men of military genius and full of confidence
and energy.

CHAPTER XV

A SLAVE IN BARBARY

The Terifa had left port but a few hours when a strong wind rose
from the north, and rapidly increased in violence until it was
blowing a gale. "Inez is terribly ill," Gerald said when he met
Geoffrey on deck the following morning.

"I believe at the present moment she would face her father and risk
everything if she could but be put on shore."

"I can well imagine that. However, she will think otherwise tomorrow
or next day. I believe these Mediterranean storms do not last long.
There is no fear of six weeks of bad weather such as we had when
we were last afloat together."

"No. I have just been speaking to the captain. He says they generally
blow themselves out in two or three days; but still, even that is
not a pleasant lookout. These vessels are not like your English
craft, which seem to be able to sail almost in the eye of the wind.
They are lubberly craft, and badly handled; and if this gale lasts
for three days we shall be down on the Barbary coast, and I would
rather risk another journey through Spain than get down so near
the country of the Moors."

"I can understand that," Geoffrey agreed. "However, I see there
are some thirty soldiers forward on their way to join one of the
regiments in Naples, so we ought to be able to beat off any corsair
that might come near us."

"Yes; but if we got down on their coast we might be attacked by
half a dozen of them," Gerald said. "However, one need not begin to
worry one's self at present; the gale may abate within a few hours."

At the end of the second day the wind went down suddenly; and
through the night the vessel rolled heavily, for the sea was still
high, and there was not a breath of wind to fill her sails and steady
her. By the morning the sea had gone down, but there was still an
absence of wind.

"We have had a horrible night," Gerald remarked, "but we may think
ourselves fortunate indeed," and he pointed to the south, where
the land was plainly visible at a distance of nine or ten miles.
"If the gale had continued to blow until now we should have been
on shore long before this."

"We are too near to be pleasant," Geoffrey said, "for they can
see us as plainly as we can see the land. It is to be hoped that
a breeze may spring up from the south before long and enable us
to creep off the land. Unless I am greatly mistaken I can see the
masts of some craft or other in a line with those white houses over
there."

"I don't see them," Gerald replied, gazing intently in the direction
in which Geoffrey pointed.

"Let us go up to the top, Gerald; we shall see her hull from there
plainly enough."

On reaching the top Gerald saw at once that his friend's eyes had
not deceived him.

"Yes, there is a vessel there sure enough, Geoffrey. I cannot see
whether she has one or two masts, for her head is in this direction."

"That is not the worst of it," Geoffrey said, shading his eyes and
gazing intently on the distant object. "She is rowing; I can see
the light flash on her oars every stroke. That is a Moorish galley,
and she is coming out towards us."

"I believe you are right," Gerald replied after gazing earnestly
for some time. "Yes, I saw the flash of the oars then distinctly."

They at once descended to the deck and informed the captain of what
they had seen. He hastily mounted to the top.

"There is no mistake about it," he said after looking intently for
a short time; "it is one of the Barbary corsairs, and she is making
out towards us. The holy saints preserve us from these bloodthirsty
infidels."

"The saints will do their work if we do ours," Gerald remarked; "and
we had best do as large a share as possible. What is the number of
your crew, captain?"

"Nineteen men altogether."

"And there are thirty soldiers, and six male passengers in the
cabin," Gerald said; "so we muster fifty-four. That ought to be
enough to beat off the corsair."

On returning to the deck the captain informed the officer in charge of
the troops on board that a Moorish pirate was putting off towards
them, and that unless the wind came to their aid there was no chance
of escaping a conflict with her.

"Then we must fight her, captain," the officer, who was still a
youth, said cheerfully. "I have thirty men, of whom at least half
are veterans. You have four cannon on board, and there are the crew
and passengers.

"Fifty-four in all," Gerald said. "We ought to be able to make a
good fight of it."

Orders were at once given, soldiers and crew were mustered and
informed of the approaching danger.

"We have got to fight, men, and to fight hard," the young officer
said; "for if we are beaten you know the result--either our throats
will be cut or we shall have to row in their galleys for the rest
of our lives. So there is not much choice."

In an hour the corsair was halfway between the coast and the vessel.
By this time every preparation had been made for her reception. Arms
had been distributed among the crew and such of the passengers as
were not already provided, the guns had been cast loose and ammunition
brought up, cauldrons of pitch were ranged along the bulwarks and
fires lighted on slabs of stone placed beneath them. The coppers
in the galley were already boiling.

"Now, captain," the young officer said, "do you and your sailors
work the guns and ladle out the pitch and boiling water, and be in
readiness to catch up their pikes and axes and aid in the defence
if the villains gain a footing on the deck. I and my men and the
passengers will do our best to keep them from climbing up."

The vessel was provided with sweeps, and the captain had in
the first place proposed to man them; but Gerald pointed out that
the corsair would row three feet to their one, and that it was
important that all should be fresh and vigorous when the pirates
came alongside. The idea had consequently been abandoned, and the
vessel lay motionless in the water while the corsair was approaching.
Inez, who felt better now that the motion had subsided, came on
deck as the preparations were being made. Gerald told her of the
danger that was approaching. She turned pale.

"This is dreadful, Gerald, I would rather face death a thousand
times than be captured by the Moors."

"We shall beat them off, dear, never fear. They will not reckon
upon the soldiers we have on board, and will expect an easy prize.
I do not suppose that, apart from the galley slaves, they have more
men on board than we have, and fighting as we do for liberty, each
of us ought to be equal to a couple of these Moorish dogs. When
the conflict begins you must go below."

"I shall not do that," Inez said firmly. "We will share the same
fate whatever it may be, Gerald; and remember that whatever happens
I will not live to be carried captive among them, I will stab myself
to the heart if I see that all is lost."

"You shall come on deck if you will, Inez, when they get close
alongside. I do not suppose there will be many shots fired--they
will be in too great a hurry to board; but as long as they are
shooting you must keep below. After that come up if you will. It
would make a coward of me did I know that a chance shot might strike
you."

"Very well, then, Gerald, to please you I will go down until they
come alongside, then come what will I shall be on deck."

As the general opinion on board was that the corsairs would not
greatly outnumber them, while they would be at a great disadvantage
from the lowness of their vessel in the water, there was a general
feeling of confidence, and the approach of the enemy was watched
with calmness. When half a mile distant two puffs of smoke burst
out from the corsair's bows. A moment later a shot struck the ship,
and another threw up the water close to her stern. The four guns
of the Tarifa had been brought over to the side on which the enemy
was approaching, and these were now discharged. One of the shots
carried away some oars on the starboard side of the galley, another
struck her in the bow. There was a slight confusion on board; two
or three oars were shifted over from the port to the starboard
side, and, she continued her way.

The guns were loaded again, bags of bullets being this time inserted
instead of balls. The corsairs fired once more, but their shots
were unanswered; and with wild yells and shouts they approached
the motionless Spanish vessel.

"She is crowded with men," Gerald remarked to Geoffrey. "She has
far more on board than we reckoned on."

"We have not given them a close volley yet," Geoffrey replied. "If
the guns are well aimed they will make matters equal."

The corsair was little more than her own length away when the captain
gave the order, and the four guns poured their contents upon her
crowded decks. The effect was terrible. The mass of men gathered
in her bow in readiness to board as soon as she touched the Tarifa
were literally swept away. Another half minute she was alongside
the Spaniard, and the Moors with wild shouts of vengeance tried to
clamber on board.

But they had not reckoned upon meeting with more than the ordinary
crew of a merchant ship. The soldiers discharged their arquebuses,
and then with pike and sword opposed an impenetrable barrier to the
assailants, while the sailors from behind ladled over the boiling
pitch and water through intervals purposely left in the line of the
defenders. The conflict lasted but a few minutes. Well nigh half
the Moors had been swept away by the discharge of the cannon, and
the rest, but little superior in numbers to the Spaniards, were
not long before they lost heart, their efforts relaxed, and shouts
arose to the galley slaves to row astern.

"Now, it is our turn!" the young officer cried. "Follow me, my
men; we will teach the dogs a lesson." As he spoke he sprang from
the bulwark down upon the deck of the corsair. Geoffrey, who was
standing next to him, followed his example, as did five or six
soldiers. They were instantly engaged in a hand to hand fight with
the Moors. In the din and confusion they heard not the shouts of
their comrades. After a minute's fierce fighting, Geoffrey, finding
that he and his companions were being pressed back, glanced round
to see why support did not arrive, and saw that there were already
thirty feet of water between the two vessels. He was about to
spring overboard, when the Moors made a desperate rush, his guard
was beaten down, a blow from a Moorish scimitar fell on his head,
and he lost consciousness.

It was a long time before he recovered. The first sound he was
aware of was the creaking of the oars. He lay dreamily listening to
this, and wondering what it meant until the truth suddenly flashed
across him. He opened his eyes and looked round. A heavy weight lay
across his legs, and he saw the young Spanish officer lying dead
there. Several other Spaniards lay close by, while the deck was
strewn with the corpses of the Moors. He understood at once what had
happened. The vessels had drifted apart just as he sprang on board,
cutting off those who had boarded the corsair from all assistance
from their friends, and as soon as they had been overpowered the
galley had started on her return to the port from which she had
come out.

"At any rate," he said to himself, "Gerald and Inez are safe; that
is a comfort, whatever comes of it."

It was not until the corsair dropped anchor near the shore that
the dispirited Moors paid any attention to those by whom their deck
was cumbered. Then the Spaniards were first examined. Four, who
were dead, were at once tossed overboard. Geoffrey and two others
who showed signs of life were left for the present, a bucket of
water being thrown over each to revive them. The Moorish wounded
and the dead were then lowered into boats and taken on shore for
care or burial. Then Geoffrey and the two Spaniards were ordered
to rise.

All three were able to do so with some difficulty, and were rowed
ashore. They were received when they landed by the curses and
execrations of the people of the little town, who would have torn
them to pieces had not their captors marched them to the prison
occupied by the galley slaves when on shore, and left them there.
Most of the galley slaves were far too exhausted by their long row,
and too indifferent to aught but their own sufferings, to pay any
attention to the newcomers. Two or three, however, came up to them
and offered to assist in bandaging their wounds. Their doublets
had already been taken by their captors; but they now tore strips
off their shirts, and with these staunched the bleeding of their
wounds.

"It was lucky for you that five or six of our number were killed by
that discharge of grape you gave us," one of them said, "or they
would have thrown you overboard at once. Although, after all, death
is almost preferable to such a life as ours."

"How long have you been here?" Geoffrey asked.

"I hardly know," the other replied; "one almost loses count of time
here. But it is somewhere about ten years. I am sturdy, you see.
Three years at most is the average of our life in the galleys, though
there are plenty die before as many months have passed. I come of
a hardy race. I am not a Spaniard. I was captured in an attack on
a town in the West Indies, and had three years on board one of your
galleys at Cadiz. Then she was captured by the Moors, and here I
have been ever since."

"Then you must be an Englishman!" Geoffrey exclaimed in that
language.

The man stared at him stupidly for a minute, and then burst into
tears. "I have never thought to hear my own tongue again, lad,"
he said, holding out his hand. "Aye, I am English, and was one
of Hawkins' men. But how come you to be in a Spanish ship? I have
heard our masters say, when talking together, that there is war
now between the English and Spaniards; that is, war at home. There
has always been war out on the Spanish Main, but they know nothing
of that."

"I was made prisoner in a fight we had with the great Spanish Armada
off Gravelines," Geoffrey said.

"We heard a year ago from some Spaniards they captured that a great
fleet was being prepared to conquer England; but no news has come
to us since. We are the only galley here, and as our benches were
full, the prisoners they have taken since were sent off at once to
Algiers or other ports, so we have heard nothing. But I told the
Spaniards that if Drake and Hawkins were in England when their
great fleet got there, they were not likely to have it all their
own way. Tell me all about it, lad. You do not know how hungry I
am for news from home."

Geoffrey related to the sailor the tale of the overthrow and destruction
of the Armada, which threw him into an ecstasy of satisfaction.

"These fellows," he said, pointing to the other galley slaves,
"have for the last year been telling me that I need not call myself
an Englishman any more, for that England was only a part of Spain
now. I will open their eyes a bit in the morning. But I won't ask
you any more questions now; it is a shame to have made you talk so
much after such a clip as you have had on the head."

Geoffrey turned round on the sand that formed their only bed, and
was soon asleep, the last sound he heard being the chuckling of
his companion over the discomfiture of the Armada.

In the morning the guard came in with a great dish filled with a
sort of porridge of coarsely ground grain, boiled with water. In
a corner of the yard were a number of calabashes, each composed of
half a gourd. The slaves each dipped one of these into the vessel,
and so ate their breakfast. Before beginning Geoffrey went to
a trough, into which a jet of water was constantly falling from a
small pipe, bathed his head and face, and took a long drink.

"We may be thankful," the sailor, who had already told him that
his name was Stephen Boldero, said, "that someone in the old times
laid on that water. If it had not been for that I do not know what
we should have done, and a drink of muddy stuff once or twice a
day is all we should have got. That there pure water is just the
saving of us."

"What are we going to do now?" Geoffrey asked. "Does the galley go
out every day?"

"Bless you, no; sometimes not once a month; only when a sail is made
out in sight, and the wind is light enough to give us the chance
of capturing her. Sometimes we go out on a cruise for a month at a
time; but that is not often. At other times we do the work of the
town, mend the roads, sweep up the filth, repair the quays; do
anything, in fact, that wants doing. The work, except in the galleys,
is not above a man's strength. Some men die under it, because the
Spaniards lose heart and turn sullen, and then down comes the whip
on their backs, and they break their hearts over it; but a man as
does his best, and is cheerful and willing, gets on well enough
except in the galleys.

"That is work that is. There is a chap walks up and down with a
whip, and when they are chasing he lets it fall promiscuous, and
even if you are rowing fit to kill yourself you do not escape it;
but on shore here if you keep up your spirits things ain't altogether
so bad. Now I have got you here to talk to in my own lingo I feel
quite a different man. For although I have been here ten years, and
can jabber in Spanish, I have never got on with these fellows; as
is only natural, seeing that I am an Englishman and know all about
their doings in the Spanish Main, and hate them worse than poison.
Well, our time is up, so I am off. I do not expect they will make
you work till your wounds are healed a bit."

This supposition turned out correct, and for the next week Geoffrey
was allowed to remain quietly in the yard when the gang went out
to their work. At the end of that time his wound had closed, and
being heartily sick of the monotony of his life, he voluntarily
fell in by the side of Boldero when the gang was called to work.
The overseer was apparently pleased at this evidence of willingness
on the part of the young captive, and said something to him in his
own tongue. This his companion translated as being an order that
he was not to work too hard for the present.

"I am bound to say, mate, that these Moors are, as a rule, much
better masters than the Spaniards. I have tried them both, and I
would rather be in a Moorish galley than a Spanish one by a long
way; except just when they are chasing a ship, and are half wild
with excitement. These Moors are not half bad fellows, while it don't
seem to me that a Spaniard has got a heart in him. Then again, I
do not think they are quite so hard on Englishmen as they are on
Spaniards; for they hate the Spaniards because they drove them out
of their country. Once or twice I have had a talk with the overseer
when he has been in a special good humour, and he knows we hate
the Spaniards as much as they do, and that though they call us
all Christian dogs, our Christianity ain't a bit like that of the
Spaniards. I shall let him know the first chance I have that you
are English too, and I shall ask him to let you always work by the
side of me."

As Stephen Boldero had foretold, Geoffrey did not find his work
on shore oppressively hard. He did his best, and, as he and his
companion always performed a far larger share of work than that
done by any two of the Spaniards, they gained the goodwill of their
overlooker, who, when a fortnight later the principal bey of the
place sent down a request for two slaves to do some rough work in
his garden, selected them for the work.

"Now we will just buckle to, lad," Stephen Boldero said. "This bey
is the captain of the corsair, and he can make things a deal easier
for us if he chooses; so we will not spare ourselves. He had one
of the men up there two years ago, and kept him for some months,
and the fellow found it so hard when he came back here again that
he pined and died off in no time."

A guard took them to the bey's house, which stood on high ground
behind the town. The bey came out to examine the men chosen for
his work.

"I hear," he said, "that you are both English, and hate the Spaniards
as much as we do. Well, if I find you work well, you will be well
treated; if not, you will be sent back at once. Now, come with me,
and I shall show you what you have to do."

The high wall at the back of the garden had been pulled down, and
the bey intended to enlarge the inclosure considerably.

"You are first," he said, "to dig a foundation for the new wall
along that line marked out by stakes. When that is done you will
supply the masons with stone and mortar. When the wall is finished
the new ground will all have to be dug deeply and planted with
shrubs, under the superintendence of my gardener. While you are
working here you will not return to the prison, but will sleep in
that out house in the garden."

"You shall have no reason to complain of our work," Boldero said.
"We Englishmen are no sluggards, and we do not want a man always
looking after us as those lazy Spaniards do."

As soon as they were supplied with tools Geoffrey and his companion
set to work. The trench for the foundations had to be dug three
feet deep; and though the sun blazed fiercely down upon them, they
worked unflinchingly. From time to time the bey's head servant came
down to examine their progress, and occasionally watched them from
among the trees. At noon he bade them lay aside their tools and
come into the shed, and a slave boy brought them out a large dish
of vegetables, with small pieces of meat in it.

"This is something like food," Stephen said as he sat down to it.
"It is ten years since such a mess as this has passed my lips. I
do not wonder that chap fell ill when he got back to prison if this
is the sort of way they fed him here."

That evening the Moorish overseer reported to the bey that the two
slaves had done in the course of the day as much work as six of
the best native labourers could have performed, and that without
his standing over them or paying them any attention whatever. Moved
by the report, the bey himself went down to the end of the garden.

"It is wonderful," he said, stroking his beard. "Truly these
Englishmen are men of sinews. Never have I seen so much work done
by two men in a day. Take care of them, Mahmoud, and see that they
are well fed; the willing servant should be well cared for."

The work went steadily on until the wall was raised, the ground
dug, and the shrubs planted. It was some months before all this
was done, and the two slaves continued to attract the observation
and goodwill of the bey by their steady and cheerful labour. Their
work began soon after sunrise, and continued until noon. Then they
had three hours to themselves to eat their midday meal and doze in
the shed, and then worked again until sunset. The bey often strolled
down to the edge of the trees to watch them, and sometimes even took
guests to admire the way in which these two Englishmen, although
ignorant that any eyes were upon them, performed their work.

His satisfaction was evinced by the abundance of food supplied
them, their meal being frequently supplemented by fruit and other
little luxuries. Severely as they laboured, Geoffrey and his
companion were comparatively happy. Short as was the time that the
former had worked with the gang, he appreciated the liberty he now
enjoyed, and especially congratulated himself upon being spared the
painful life of a galley slave at sea. As to Boldero, the change
from the prison with the companions he hated, its degrading work,
and coarse and scanty food, made a new man of him.

He had been but two-and-twenty when captured by the Spaniards,
and was now in the prime of life and strength. The work, which had
seemed very hard to Geoffrey at first, was to him but as play, while
the companionship of his countryman, his freedom from constant
surveillance, the absence of all care, and the abundance and
excellence of his food, filled him with new life; and the ladies
of the bey's household often sat and listened to the strange songs
that rose from the slaves toiling in the garden.

As the work approached its conclusion Geoffrey and his companion
had many a talk over what would next befall them. There was one
reason only that weighed in favour of the life with the slave gang.
In their present position there was no possibility whatever, so
far as they could discern, of effecting their escape; whereas, as
slaves, should the galley in which they rowed be overpowered by
any ship it attacked, they would obtain their freedom. The chance
of this, however, was remote, as the fast-rowing galleys could
almost always make their escape should the vessel they attacked
prove too strong to be captured.

When the last bed had been levelled and the last shrub planted the
superintendent told them to follow him into the house, as the bey
was desirous of speaking with them. They found him seated on a
divan.

"Christians," he said, "I have watched you while you have been at
work, and truly you have not spared yourselves in my service, but
have laboured for me with all your strength, well and willingly. I
see now that it is true that the people of your nation differ much
from the Spaniards, who are dogs.

"I see that trust is to be placed in you, and were you but true
believers I would appoint you to a position where you could win
credit and honour. As it is, I cannot place you over believers in
the prophet; but neither am I willing that you should return to
the gang from which I took you. I will, therefore, leave you free
to work for yourselves. There are many of my friends who have seen
you labouring, and will give you employment. It will be known in
the place that you are under my protection, and that any who insult
or ill treat you will be severely punished. Should you have any
complaint to make, come freely to me and I will see that justice
is done you.

"This evening a crier will go through the place proclaiming that
the two English galley slaves have been given their freedom by
me, and will henceforth live in the town without molestation from
anyone, carrying on their work and selling their labour like true
believers. The crier will inform the people that the nation to which
you belong is at war with our enemies the Spaniards, and that, save
as to the matter of your religion, you are worthy of being regarded
as friends by all good Moslems. My superintendent will go down with
you in the morning. I have ordered him to hire a little house for
you and furnish it with what is needful, to recommend you to your
neighbours, and to give you a purse of piastres with which to
maintain yourselves until work comes to you."

Stephen Boldero expressed the warmest gratitude, on the part of
his companion and himself, to the bey for his kindness.

"I have done but simple justice," the bey said, "and no thanks are
necessary. Faithful work should have its reward, and as you have
done to me so I do to you."

The next morning as they were leaving, a female slave presented them
with a purse of silver, the gift of the bey's wife and daughters,
who had often derived much pleasure from the songs of the two
captives. The superintendent conducted them to a small hut facing
the sea. It was furnished with the few articles that were, according
to native ideas, necessary for comfort. There were cushions on
the divan of baked clay raised about a foot above the floor, which
served as a sofa during the day and as a bed at night. There was a
small piece of carpet on the floor and a few cooking utensils on a
shelf, and some dishes of burnt clay; and nothing more was required.
There was, however, a small chest, in which, after the superintendent
had left, they found two sets of garments as worn by the natives.

"This is a comfort indeed," Geoffrey said. "My clothes are all in
rags, and as for yours the less we say about them the better. I
shall feel like a new man in these things."

"I shall be glad myself," Stephen agreed, "for the clothes they
give the galley slaves are scarce decent for a Christian man to
wear. My consolation has been that if they had been shocked by our
appearance they would have given us more clothes; but as they did
not mind it there was no reason why I should. Still it would be a
comfort to be clean and decent again."

For the first few days the natives of the place looked askance
at these Christians in their midst, but the bey's orders had been
peremptory that no insults should be offered to them. Two days after
their liberation one of the principal men of the place sent for them
and employed them in digging the foundations for a fountain, and a
deep trench of some hundred yards in length for the pipe bringing
water to it. After that they had many similar jobs, receiving always
the wages paid to regular workmen, and giving great satisfaction by
their steady toil. Sometimes when not otherwise engaged they went
out in boats with fishermen, receiving a portion of the catch in
payment for their labours.

So some months passed away. Very frequently they talked over methods
of escape. The only plan that seemed at all possible was to take a
boat and make out to sea; but they knew that they would be pursued,
and if overtaken would revert to their former life at the galleys,
a change which would be a terrible one indeed after the present
life of freedom and independence. They knew, too, that they might
be days before meeting with a ship, for all traders in the Mediterranean
hugged the northern shores as much as possible in order to avoid the
dreaded corsairs, and there would be a far greater chance of their
being recaptured by one of the Moorish cruisers than of lighting
upon a Christian trader.

"It is a question of chance," Stephen said, "and when the chance
comes we will seize it; but it is no use our giving up a life against
which there is not much to be said, unless some fair prospect of
escape offers itself to us."

CHAPTER XVI

THE ESCAPE

"In one respect," Geoffrey said, as they were talking over their
chance of escape, "I am sorry that the bey has behaved so kindly
to us."

"What is that?" Stephen Boldero asked in surprise.

"Well, I was thinking that were it not for that we might manage
to contrive some plan of escape in concert with the galley slaves,
get them down to the shore here, row off to the galley, overpower
the three or four men who live on board her, and make off with her.
Of course we should have had to accumulate beforehand a quantity
of food and some barrels of water, for I have noticed that when
they go out they always take their stores on board with them, and
bring on shore on their return what has not been consumed. Still,
I suppose that could be managed. However, it seems to me that our
hands are tied in that direction by the kindness of the bey. After
his conduct to us it would be ungrateful in the extreme for us to
carry off his galley."

"So it would, Geoffrey. Besides I doubt whether the plan would
succeed. You may be sure the Spaniards are as jealous as can be
of the good fortune that we have met with, and were we to propose
such a scheme to them the chances are strongly in favour of one of
them trying to better his own position by denouncing us. I would
only trust them as far as I can see them. No, if we ever do anything
it must be done by ourselves. There is no doubt that if some night
when there is a strong wind blowing from the southeast we were
to get on board one of these fishing boats, hoist a sail, and run
before it, we should not be far off from the coast of Spain before
they started to look for us. But what better should we be there?
We can both talk Spanish well enough, but we could not pass as
Spaniards. Besides, they would find out soon enough that we were
not Catholics, and where should we be then? Either sent to row
in their galleys or clapped into the dungeons of the Inquisition,
and like enough burnt alive at the stake. That would be out of the
frying pan into the fire with vengeance."

"I think we might pass as Spaniards," Geoffrey said; "for there is
a great deal of difference between the dialects of the different
provinces, and confined as you have been for the last ten years with
Spanish sailors you must have caught their way of talking. Still,
I agree with you it will be better to wait for a bit longer for
any chance that may occur rather than risk landing in Spain again,
where even if we passed as natives we should have as hard work to
get our living as we have here, and with no greater chance of making
our way home again."

During the time that they had been captives some three or four
vessels had been brought in by the corsair. The men composing
the crews had been either sold as slaves to Moors or Arabs in the
interior or sent to Algiers, which town lay over a hundred miles
to the east. They were of various nationalities, Spanish, French,
and Italian, as the two friends learned from the talk of the
natives, for they always abstained from going near the point where
the prisoners were landed, as they were powerless to assist the
unfortunate captives in any way, and the sight of their distress
was very painful to them.

One day, however, they learned from the people who were running
down to the shore to see the captives landed from a ship that had
been brought in by the corsair during the night, that there were
two or three women among the captives. This was the first time that
any females had been captured since their arrival at the place, for
women seldom travelled far from their homes in those days, except
the wives of high officials journeying in great ships that were
safe from the attack of the Moorish corsairs.

"Let us go down and see them," Boldero said. "I have not seen the
face of a white woman for nine years."

"I will go if you like," Geoffrey said. "They will not guess that
we are Europeans, for we are burnt as dark as the Moors."

They went down to the landing place. Eight men and two women were
landed from the boat. These were the sole survivors of the crew.

"They are Spaniards," Boldero said. "I pity that poor girl. I
suppose the other woman is her servant."

The girl, who was about sixteen years of age, was very pale, and
had evidently been crying terribly. She did not seem to heed the
cries and threats with which the townspeople as usual assailed the
newly arrived captives, but kept her eyes fixed upon one of the
captives who walked before her.

"That is her father, no doubt," Geoffrey said. "It is probably her
last look at him. Come away, Stephen; I am awfully sorry we came
here. I shall not be able to get that girl's face out of my mind
for I don't know how long."

Without a word they went back to their hut. They had no particular
work that day. Geoffrey went restlessly in and out, sometimes pacing
along the strand, sometimes coming in and throwing himself on the
divan. Stephen Boldero went on quietly mending a net that had been
damaged the night before, saying nothing, but glancing occasionally
with an amused look at his companion's restless movements. Late in
the afternoon Geoffrey burst out suddenly: "Stephen, we must try
and rescue that girl somehow from her fate."

"I supposed that was what it was coming to," Boldero said quietly.
"Well, let me hear all about it. I know you have been thinking it
over ever since morning. What are your ideas?"

"I do not know that I have any ideas beyond getting her and her
father down to a boat and making off."

"Well, you certainly have not done much if you haven't got farther
than that," Stephen said drily. "Now, if you had spent the day
talking it over with me instead of wandering about like one out
of his mind, we should have got a great deal further than that by
this time. However, I have been thinking for you. I know what you
young fellows are. As soon as I saw that girl's face and looked
at you I was dead certain there was an end of peace and quietness,
and that you would be bent upon some plan of getting her off.
It did not need five minutes to show that I was right; and I have
been spending my time thinking, while you have thrown yours away
in fidgeting.

"Well, I think it is worth trying. Of course it will be a vastly
more difficult job getting the girl and her father away than just
taking a boat and sailing off as we have often talked of doing.
Then, on the other hand, it would altogether alter our position
afterwards. By his appearance and hers I have no doubt he is a
well to do trader, perhaps a wealthy one. He walked with his head
upright when the crowd were yelling and cursing, and is evidently
a man of courage and determination. Now, if we had reached the
Spanish coast by ourselves we should have been questioned right
and left, and, as I have said all along, they would soon have found
that we were not Spaniards, for we could not have said where we
came from, or given our past history, or said where our families
lived. But it would be altogether different if we landed with
them. Every one would be interested about them. We should only be
two poor devils of sailors who had escaped with them, and he would
help to pass it off and get us employment; so that the difficulty
that has hitherto prevented us from trying to escape is very greatly
diminished. Now, as to getting them away. Of course she has been
taken up to the bey's, and no doubt he will send her as a present
to the bey of Algiers. I know that is what has been done several
times before when young women have been captured.

"I have been thinking it over, and I do not see a possibility of
getting to speak to her as long as she is at the bey's. I do not
see that it can be done anyhow. She will be indoors most of the
time, and if she should go into the garden there would be other women
with her. Our only plan, as far as I can see at present, would be
to carry her off from her escort on the journey. I do not suppose
she will have more than two, or at most three, mounted men with
her, and we ought to be able to dispose of them. As to her father,
the matter is comparatively easy. We know the ways of the prison,
and I have no doubt we can get him out somehow; only there is the
trouble of the question of time. She has got to be rescued and
brought back and hidden somewhere till nightfall, he has got to be
set free the same evening, and we have to embark early enough to
be well out of sight before daylight; and maybe there will not be
a breath of wind stirring. It is a tough job, Geoffrey, look at it
which way you will."

"It is a tough job," Geoffrey agreed. "I am afraid the escort
would be stronger than you think. A present of this kind to the bey
is regarded as important, and I should say half a dozen horsemen
at least will be sent with her. In that case an attempt at rescue
would be hopeless. We have no arms, and if we had we could not kill
six mounted men; and if even one escaped, our plans would be all
defeated. The question is, would they send her by land? It seems
to me quite as likely that they might send her by water."

"Yes, that is likely enough, Geoffrey. In that case everything would
depend upon the vessel he sent her in. If it is the great galley
there is an end of it; if it is one of their little coasters it
might be managed. We are sure to learn that before long. The bey
might keep her for a fortnight or so, perhaps longer, for her to
recover somewhat from the trouble and get up her good looks again,
so as to add to the value of the present. If she were well and
bright she would be pretty enough for anything. In the meantime we
can arrange our plans for getting her father away. Of course if she
goes with a big escort on horseback, or if she goes in the galley,
there is an end of our plans. I am ready to help you, Geoffrey, if
there is a chance of success; but I am not going to throw away my
life if there is not, and unless she goes down in a coaster there
is an end of the scheme."

"I quite agree to that," Geoffrey replied; "we cannot accomplish
impossibilities."

They learned upon the following day that three of the newly arrived
captives were to take the places of the galley slaves who had
been killed in the capture of the Spanish ship, which had defended
itself stoutly, and that the others were to be sold for work in
the interior.

"It is pretty certain," Boldero said, "that the trader will not be
one of the three chosen for the galley. The work would break him
down in a month. That makes that part of the business easier, for
we can get him away on the journey inland, and hide him up here
until his daughter is sent off."

Geoffrey looked round the bare room.

"Well, I do not say as how we could hide him here," Boldero said
in answer to the look, "but we might hide him somewhere among the
sand hills outside the place, and take him food at night."

"Yes, we might do that," Geoffrey agreed. "That could be managed
easily enough, I should think, for there are clumps of bushes
scattered all over the sand hills half a mile back from the sea.
The trouble will be if we get him here, and find after all that we
cannot rescue his daughter."

"That will make no difference," Boldero said. "In that case we
will make off with him alone. Everything else will go on just the
same. Of course, I should be very sorry not to save the girl; but,
as far as we are concerned, if we save the father it will answer
our purpose."

Geoffrey made no reply. Just at that moment his own future was a
very secondary matter, in comparison, to the rescue of this unhappy
Spanish girl.

Geoffrey and his companion had been in the habit of going up
occasionally to the prison. They had won over the guard by small
presents, and were permitted to go in and out with fruit and other
little luxuries for the galley slaves. They now abstained from
going near the place, in order that no suspicion might fall upon
them after his escape of having had any communication with the
Spanish trader.

Shortly after the arrival of the captives two merchants from the
interior came down, and Geoffrey learned that they had visited the
prison, and had made a bargain with the bey for all the captives
except those transferred to the galley. The two companions had
talked the matter over frequently, and had concluded it was best
that only one of them should be engaged in the adventure, for the
absence of both might be noticed. After some discussion it was
agreed that Geoffrey should undertake the task, and that Boldero
should go alone to the house where they were now at work, and should
mention that his friend was unwell, and was obliged to remain at
home for the day.

As they knew the direction in which the captives would be taken
Geoffrey started before daybreak, and kept steadily along until he
reached a spot where it was probable they would halt for the night.
It was twenty miles away, and there was here a well of water and a
grove of trees. Late in the afternoon he saw the party approaching.
It consisted of the merchants, two armed Arabs, and the five
captives, all of whom were carrying burdens. They were crawling
painfully along, overpowered by the heat of the sun, by the length
of the journey, and by the weight they carried. Several times the
Arabs struck them heavily with their sticks to force them to keep
up.

Geoffrey retired from the other side of the clump of trees, and
lay down in a depression of the sand hills until darkness came on,
when he again entered the grove, and crawling cautiously forward
made his way close up to the party. A fire was blazing, and a meal
had been already cooked and eaten. The traders and the two Arabs
were sitting by the fire; the captives were lying extended on the
ground. Presently, at the command of one of the Arabs, they rose
to their feet and proceeded to collect some more pieces of wood
for the fire. As they returned the light fell on the gray hair of
the man upon whom Geoffrey had noticed that the girl's eyes were
fixed.

He noted the place where he lay down, and had nothing to do now
but to wait until the party were asleep. He felt sure that no guard
would be set, for any attempt on the part of the captives to escape
would be nothing short of madness. There was nowhere for them to
go, and they would simply wander about until they died of hunger
and exhaustion, or until they were recaptured, in which case they
would be almost beaten to death. In an hour's time the traders and
their men lay down by the fire, and all was quiet. Geoffrey crawled
round until he was close to the Spaniard. He waited until he felt
sure that the Arabs were asleep, and then crawled up to him. The
man started as he touched him.

"Silence, senor," Geoffrey whispered in Spanish; "I am a friend,
and have come to rescue you."

"I care not for life; a few days of this work will kill me, and
the sooner the better. I have nothing to live for. They killed my
wife the other day, and my daughter is a captive in their hands.
I thank you, whoever you are, but I will not go."

"We are going to try to save your daughter too," Geoffrey whispered;
"we have a plan for carrying you both off."

The words gave new life to the Spaniard. "In that case, sir, I am
ready. Whoever you are whom God has sent to my aid I will follow
you blindly, whatever comes of it."

Geoffrey crawled away a short distance, followed by the Spaniard.
As soon as they were well beyond the faint light now given out by
the expiring fire they rose to their feet, and gaining the track
took their way on the backward road. As soon as they were fairly
away, Geoffrey explained to the Spaniard who he was, and how he
had undertaken to endeavour to rescue him. The joy and gratitude
of the Spaniard were too deep for words, and he uttered his thanks
in broken tones. When they had walked about a mile Geoffrey halted.

"Sit down here," he said. "I have some meat and fruit here and a
small skin of water. We have a long journey before us, for we must
get near the town you left this morning before daybreak, and you
must eat to keep up your strength."

"I did not think," the Spaniard said, "when we arrived at the well,
that I could have walked another mile had my life depended upon
it. Now I feel a new man, after the fresh hope you have given me.
I no longer feel the pain of my bare feet or the blisters the sun
has raised on my naked back. I am struggling now for more than
life--for my daughter. You shall not find me to fail, sir."

All night they toiled on. The Spaniard kept his promise, and utterly
exhausted as he was, and great as was the pain in his limbs, held
on bravely. With the first dawn of morning they saw the line of
the sea before them. They now turned off from the track, and in
another half hour the Spaniard took shelter in a clump of bushes
in a hollow, while Geoffrey, having left with him the remainder
of the supply of provisions and water, pursued his way and reached
the hut just as the sun was shining in the east, and without having
encountered a single person.

"Well, have you succeeded?" Boldero asked eagerly, as he entered.

"Yes; I have got him away. He is in hiding within a mile of this
place. He kept on like a hero. I was utterly tired myself, and how
he managed to walk the distance after what he had gone through in
the day is more than I can tell. His name is Mendez. He is a trader
in Cadiz, and owns many vessels. He was on his way to Italy, with
his wife and daughter, in one of his own ships, in order to gratify
the desire of his wife to visit the holy places at Rome. She was
killed by a cannon shot during the fight, and his whole heart is
now wrapped up in his daughter. And now, Stephen, I must lie down
and sleep. You will have to go to work alone today again, and can
truly say that I am still unfit for labour."

Four days later it became known in the little town that a messenger
had arrived from the merchant who bought the slaves from the bey,
saying that one of them had made his escape from their first halting
place.

"The dog will doubtless die in the desert," the merchant wrote;
"but if he should find his way down, or you should hear of him as
arriving at any of the villages, I pray you to send him up to me
with a guard. I will so treat him that it will be a lesson to my
other slaves not to follow his example."

Every evening after dark Geoffrey went out with a supply of food
and water to the fugitive. For a week he had no news to give him
as to his daughter; but on the eighth night he said that he and
his companion had that morning been sent by the bey on board the
largest of the coasting vessels in the port, with orders to paint
the cabins and put them in a fit state for the reception of a
personage of importance.

"This is fortunate, indeed," Geoffrey went on. "No doubt she is
intended for the transport of your daughter. Her crew consists of
a captain and five men, but at present they are living ashore; and
as we shall be going backwards and forwards to her, we ought to
have little difficulty in getting on board and hiding away in the
hold before she starts. I think everything promises well for the
success of our scheme."

The bey's superintendent came down the next day to see how matters
were going on on board the vessel. The painting was finished that
evening, and the next day two slaves brought down a quantity of
hangings and cushions, which Geoffrey and his companion assisted
the superintendent to hang up and place in order. Provisions and
water had already been taken on board, and they learnt that the
party who were to sail in her would come off early the next morning.

At midnight Geoffrey, Boldero, and the Spaniard came down to the
little port, embarked in a fisherman's boat moored at the stairs,
and noiselessly rowed off to the vessel. They mounted on to her
deck barefooted. Boldero was the last to leave the boat, giving her
a vigorous push with his foot in the direction of the shore, from
which the vessel was but some forty yards away. They descended
into the hold, where they remained perfectly quiet until the first
light of dawn enabled them to see what they were doing, and then
moved some baskets full of vegetables, and concealed themselves
behind them.

A quarter of an hour later they heard a boat come alongside, and
the voices of the sailors. Then they heard the creaking of cordage
as the sails were let fall in readiness for a start. Half an hour
later another boat came alongside. There was a trampling of feet
on the deck above them, and the bey's voice giving orders. A few
minutes later the anchor was raised, there was more talking on
deck, and then they heard a boat push off, and knew by the rustle
of water against the planks beside them that the vessel was under
way.

The wind was light and the sea perfectly calm, and beyond the
slight murmur of the water, those below would not have known that
the ship was in motion. It was very hot down in the hold, but
fortunately the crew had not taken the trouble to put on the hatches,
and at times a faint breath of air could be felt below. Geoffrey
and his companion talked occasionally in low tones; but the Spaniard
was so absorbed by his anxiety as to the approaching struggle, and
the thought that he might soon clasp his daughter to his arms, that
he seldom spoke.

No plans could be formed as to the course they were to take, for
they could not tell whether those of the crew off duty would retire
to sleep in the little forecastle or would lie down on deck. Then,
too, they were ignorant as to the number of men who had come on
board with the captive. The overseer had mentioned the day before
that he was going, and it was probable that three or four others
would accompany him. Therefore they had to reckon upon ten opponents.
Their only weapons were three heavy iron bolts, some two feet
long. These Boldero had purchased in exchange for a few fish, when
a prize brought in was broken up as being useless for the purposes
of the Moors.

"What I reckon is," he said, "that you and I ought to be able to
settle two apiece of these fellows before they fairly know what is
happening. The Don ought very well to account for another. So that
only leaves five of them; and five against three are no odds worth
speaking of, especially when the five are woke up by a sudden
attack, and ain't sure how many there are against them. I don't
expect much trouble over the affair."

"I don't want to kill more of the poor fellows than I can help,"
Geoffrey said.

"No more do I; but you see it's got to be either killing or being
killed, and I am perfectly certain which I prefer. Still, as you
say, if the beggars are at all reasonable I ain't for hurting them,
but the first few we have got to hit hard. When we get matters a
little even, we can speak them fair."

The day passed slowly, and in spite of their bent and cramped position
Geoffrey and Stephen Boldero dozed frequently. The Spaniard never
closed an eye. He was quite prepared to take his part in the
struggle; and as he was not yet fifty years of age, his assistance
was not to be despised. But the light hearted carelessness of
his companions, who joked under their breath, and laughed and ate
unconcernedly with a life and death struggle against heavy odds
before them, surprised him much.

As darkness came on the party below became wakeful. Their time was
coming now, and they had no doubt whatever as to the result. Their
most formidable opponents would be the men who had come on board
with the bey's superintendent, as these, no doubt, would be fully
armed. As for the sailors, they might have arms on board, but these
would not be ready to hand, and it was really only with the guards
they would have to deal.

"I tell you what I think would be a good plan, Stephen," Geoffrey
said suddenly. "You see, there is plenty of spare line down here;
if we wait until they are all asleep we can go round and tie their
legs together, or put ropes round their ankles and fasten them to
ring bolts. If we could manage that without waking them, we might
capture the craft without shedding any blood, and might get them
down into the hold one after the other."

"I think that is a very good plan," Stephen agreed. "I do not like
the thought of knocking sleeping men on the head any more than you
do; and if we are careful, we might get them all tied up before
an alarm is given. There, the anchor has gone down. I thought very
likely they would not sail at night. That is capital. You may be
sure that they will be pretty close inshore, and they probably will
have only one man on watch; and as likely as not even one, for they
will not dream of any possible danger."

For another two hours the sound of talk on deck went on, but at
last all became perfectly quiet. The party below waited for another
half hour, and then noiselessly ascended the ladder to the deck,
holding in one hand a cudgel, in the other a number of lengths of
line cut about six feet long. Each as he reached the deck lay down
flat. The Spaniard had been told to remain perfectly quiet while
the other two went about their task.

First they crawled aft, for the bey's guards would, they knew,
be sleeping at that end, and working together they tied the legs
of these men without rousing them. The ropes could not be tightly
pulled, as this would at once have disturbed them. They were therefore
fastened somewhat in the fashion of manacles, so that although the
men might rise to their feet they would fall headlong the moment
they tried to walk. In addition other ropes were fastened to these
and taken from one man to another. Then their swords were drawn
from the sheaths and their knives from their sashes.

The operation was a long one, as it had to be conducted with the
greatest care and caution. They then crept back to the hatchway and
told the Spaniard that the most formidable enemies had been made
safe.

"Here are a sword and a knife for you, senor; and now as we are
all armed I consider the ship as good as won, for the sailors are
not likely to make much resistance by themselves. However, we will
secure some of them. The moon will be up in half an hour, and that
will be an advantage to us.

The captain and three of the sailors were soon tied up like the
others. Two men were standing in the bow of the vessel leaning
against the bulwarks, and when the moon rose it could be seen by
their attitude that both were asleep.

"Now, we may as well begin," Geoffrey said. "Let us take those two
fellows in the bow by surprise. Hold a knife to their throats, and
tell them if they utter the least sound we will kill them. Then we
will make them go down into the forecastle and fasten them there."

"I am ready," Stephen said, and they stole forward to the two
sleeping men. They grasped them suddenly by the throat and held a
knife before their eyes, Boldero telling them in a stern whisper
that if they uttered a cry they would be stabbed to the heart.
Paralysed by the sudden attack they did not make the slightest
struggle, but accompanied their unknown assailants to the forecastle
and were there fastened in. Joined now by the Spaniard, Geoffrey
and his companion went aft and roused one of the sleepers there
with a threat similar to that which had silenced the sailors.

He was, however, a man of different stuff. He gave a loud shout and
grappled with Boldero, who struck him a heavy blow with his fist in
the face, and this for a moment silenced him; but the alarm being
given, the superintendent and the two men struggled to their feet,
only however to fall prostrate as soon as they tried to walk.

"Lie quiet and keep silence!" Boldero shouted in a threatening
voice.

"You are unarmed and at our mercy. Your feet are bound and you are
perfectly helpless. We do not wish to take your lives, but unless
you are quiet we shall be compelled to do so."

The men had discovered by this time that their arms had gone, and
were utterly disconcerted by the heavy and unexpected fall they
had just had. Feeling that they were indeed at the mercy of their
captors, they lay quiet.

"Now then," Boldero went on, "one at a time. Keep quiet, you rascals
there!" he broke off shouting to the sailors who were rolling and
tumbling on the deck forward, "or I will cut all your throats for
you. Now then, Geoffrey, do you and the senor cut the rope that
fastens that man on the port side to his comrades. March him to
the hatchway and make him go down into the hold. Keep your knives
ready and kill him at once if he offers the slightest resistance."

One by one the superintendent, the three guards, the captain and
sailors were all made to descend into the hold, and the hatches
were put over it and fastened down.

"Now, senor," Geoffrey said, "we can spare you."

The Spaniard hurried to the cabin, opened the door, and called
out his daughter's name. There was a scream of delight within as
Dolores Mendez, who had been awakened by the tumult, recognized her
father's voice, and leaping up from her couch threw herself into
his arms. Geoffrey and his companion now opened the door of the
forecastle and called the two sailors out.

"Now," Boldero said, "if you want to save your lives you have got to
obey our orders. First of all fall to work and get up the anchor,
and then shake out the sails again. I will take the helm, Geoffrey,
and do you keep your eye on these two fellows. There is no fear of
their playing any tricks now that they see they are alone on deck,
but they might, if your back were turned, unfasten the hatches.
However, I do not think we need fear trouble that way, as for aught
they know we may have cut the throats of all the others."

A few minutes later the vessel was moving slowly through the water
with her head to the northwest.

"We must be out of sight of land if we can by the morning," Stephen
said, when Geoffrey two hours later came to take his place at the
helm; "at any rate until we have passed the place we started from.
Once beyond that it does not matter much; but it will be best either
to keep out of sight of land altogether, or else to sail pretty
close to it, so that they can see the boat is one of their own
craft. We can choose which we will do when we see which way the
breeze sets in in the morning."

It came strongly from the south, and they therefore determined to
sail direct for Carthagena.

CHAPTER XVII

A SPANISH MERCHANT

As soon as the sails had been set, and the vessel was under way,
the Spaniard came out from the cabin.

"My daughter is attiring herself, senor," he said to Stephen Boldero,
for Geoffrey was at the time at the helm. "She is longing to see
you, and to thank you for the inestimable services you have rendered
to us both. But for you I should now be dying or dead, my daughter
a slave for life in the palace of the bey. What astonishes us both
is that such noble service should have been rendered to us by two
absolute strangers, and not strangers only, but by Englishmen--a
people with whom Spain is at war--and who assuredly can have
no reason to love us. How came you first to think of interesting
yourself on our behalf?"

"To tell you the truth, senor," Stephen Boldero said bluntly, "it
was the sight of your daughter and not of yourself that made us
resolve to save you if possible, or rather, I should say, made my
friend Geoffrey do so. After ten years in the galleys one's heart
gets pretty rough, and although even I felt a deep pity for your
daughter, I own it would never have entered my mind to risk my
neck in order to save her. But Geoffrey is younger and more easily
touched, and when he saw her as she landed pale and white and grief
stricken, and yet looking as if her own fate touched her less than
the parting from you, my good friend Geoffrey Vickars was well nigh
mad, and declared that in some way or other, and at whatever risk
to ourselves, you must both be saved. In this matter I have been
but a passive instrument in his hands; as indeed it was only right
that I should be, seeing that he is of gentle blood and an esquire
serving under Captain Vere in the army of the queen, while I am
but a rough sailor. What I have done I have done partly because his
heart was in the matter, partly because the adventure promised, if
successful, to restore me to freedom, and partly also, senor, for
the sake of your brave young daughter."

"You are modest, sir," the Spaniard said. "You are one of those
who belittle your own good deeds. I feel indeed more grateful than
I can express to you as well as to your friend."

The merchant's daughter now appeared at the door of the cabin. Her
father took her hand and led her up to Boldero. "This, Dolores,
is one of the two Englishmen who have at the risk of their lives
saved me from death and you from worse than death. Thank him, my
child, and to the end of your life never cease to remember him in
your prayers."

"I am glad to have been of assistance, senora," Boldero said as the
girl began to speak; "but as I have just been telling your father,
I have played but a small part in the business, it is my friend
Don Geoffrey Vickars who has been the leader in the matter. He saw
you as you landed at the boat, and then and there swore to save
you, and all that has been done has been under his direction. It
was he who followed and rescued your father, and I have really had
nothing to do with the affair beyond hiding myself in the hole and
helping to tie up your Moors."

"Ah, sir," the girl said, laying her hands earnestly upon the sailor's
shoulder, "it is useless for you to try to lessen the services you
have rendered us. Think of what I was but an hour since--a captive
with the most horrible of all fates before me, and with the belief
that my father was dying by inches in the hands of some cruel
taskmaster, and now he is beside me and I am free. This has been
done by two strangers, men of a nation which I have been taught to
regard as an enemy. It seems to me that no words that I can speak
could tell you even faintly what I feel, and it is God alone who
can reward you for what you have done."

Leaving Boldero the Spaniard and his daughter went to the stern,
where Geoffrey was standing at the helm.

"My daughter and I have come to thank you, senor, for having saved
us from the worst of fates and restored us to each other. Your
friend tells me that it is to you it is chiefly due that this has
come about, for that you were so moved to pity at the sight of my
daughter when we first landed, that you declared at once that you
would save her from her fate at whatever risk to yourself, and that
since then he has been but following your directions."

"Then if he says that, senor, he belies himself. I was, it is true,
the first to declare that we must save your daughter at any cost
if it were possible to do so; but had I not said so, I doubt not
he would have announced the same resolution. Since then we have
planned everything together; and as he is older and more experienced
than I am, it was upon his opinion that we principally acted. We
had long made up our minds to escape when the opportunity came.
Had it not been that we were stirred into action by seeing your
daughter in the hands of the Moors, it might have been years before
we decided to run the risks. Therefore if you owe your freedom to
us, to some extent we owe ours to you; and if we have been your
protectors so far, we hope that when we arrive in Spain you will
be our protectors there, for to us Spain is as much an enemy's
country as Barbary."

"That you can assuredly rely upon," the trader replied. "All that
I have is at your disposal."

For an hour they stood talking. Dolores said but little. She had
felt no shyness with the stalwart sailor, but to this youth who had
done her such signal service she felt unable so frankly to express
her feelings of thankfulness.

By morning the coast of Africa was but a faint line on the horizon,
and the ship was headed west. Except when any alteration of the
sails was required, the two Moors who acted as the crew were made
to retire into the forecastle, and were there fastened in, Geoffrey
and Boldero sleeping by turns.

After breakfast the little party gathered round the helm, and at
the request of Juan Mendez, Geoffrey and Stephen both related how
it befell that they had become slaves to the Moors.

"Your adventures are both singular," the trader said when they had
finished. "Yours, Don Geoffrey, are extraordinary. It is marvellous
that you should have been picked up in that terrible fight, and
should have shared in all the perils of that awful voyage back
to Spain without its being ever suspected that you were English.
Once landed in the service as you say of Senor Burke, it is not
so surprising that you should have gone freely about Spain. But
your other adventures are wonderful, and you and your friend were
fortunate indeed in succeeding as you did in carrying off the lady
he loved; and deeply they must have mourned your supposed death
on the deck of the Moorish galley. And now tell me what are your
plans when you arrive in Spain?"

"We have no fixed plans, save that we hope some day to be able to
return home," Geoffrey said. "Stephen here could pass well enough
as a Spaniard when once ashore without being questioned, and his
idea is, if there is no possibility of getting on board an English
or Dutch ship at Cadiz, to ship on board a Spaniard, and to take
his chance of leaving her at some port at which she may touch. As
for myself, although I speak Spanish fluently, my accent would at
once betray me to be a foreigner. But if you will take me into your
house for a time until I can see a chance of escaping, my past need
not be inquired into. You could of course mention, were it asked,
that I was English by birth, but had sailed in the Armada with my
patron, Mr. Burke, and it would be naturally supposed that I was
an exile from England."

"That can certainly be managed," the trader said. "I fear that it
will be difficult to get you on board a ship either of your countrymen
or of the Hollanders; these are most closely watched lest fugitives
from the law or from the Inquisition should escape on board them.
Still, some opportunity may sooner or later occur; and the later
the better pleased shall I be, for it will indeed be a pleasure to
me to have you with me."

In the afternoon Geoffrey said to Stephen, "I have been thinking,
Stephen, about the men in the hold, and I should be glad for them
to return to their homes. If they go with us to Spain they will be
made galley slaves, and this I should not like, especially in the
case of the bey's superintendent. The bey was most kind to us, and
this man himself always spoke in our favour to him, and behaved
well to us. I think, therefore, that out of gratitude to the bey
we should let them go. The wind is fair, and there are, so far as
I can see, no signs of any change of weather. By tomorrow night
the coast of Spain will be in sight. I see no reason, therefore,
why we should not be able to navigate her until we get near the
land, when Mendez can engage the crew of some fishing boat to take
us into a port. If we put them into the boat with plenty of water
and provisions, they will make the coast by morning; and as I
should guess that we must at present be somewhere abreast of the
port from which we started, they will not be very far from home
when they land."

"I have no objection whatever, Geoffrey. As you say we were not
treated badly, at any rate from the day when the bey had us up to
his house; and after ten years in the galleys, I do not wish my
worst enemies such a fate. We must, of course, be careful how we
get them into the boat."

"There will be three of us with swords and pistols, and they will
be unarmed," Geoffrey said. "We will put the two men now in the
forecastle into the boat first, and let the others come up one by
one and take their places. We will have a talk with the superintendent
first, and give him a message to the bey, saying that we are not
ungrateful for his kindness to us, but that of course we seized
the opportunity that presented itself of making our escape, as he
would himself have done in similar circumstances; nevertheless that
as a proof of our gratitude to him, we for his sake release the
whole party on board, and give them the means of safely returning."

An hour later the boat, pulled by four oars, left the side of the
ship with the crew, the superintendent and guards, and the two
women who had come on board to attend upon Dolores upon the voyage.

The next morning the vessel was within a few miles of the Spanish
coast. An hour later a fishing-boat was hailed, and an arrangement
made with the crew to take the vessel down to Carthagena, which
was, they learned, some fifty miles distant. The wind was now very
light, and it was not until the following day that they entered
the port. As it was at once perceived that the little vessel was
Moorish in rigging and appearance, a boat immediately came alongside
to inquire whence she came.

Juan Mendez had no difficulty in satisfying the officer as to his
identity, he being well known to several traders in the town. His
story of the attack upon his ship by Barbary pirates, its capture,
and his own escape and that of his daughter by the aid of two
Christian captives, excited great interest as soon as it became
known in the town; for it was rare, indeed, that a captive ever
succeeded in making his escape from the hands of the Moors. It
had already been arranged that, in telling his story, the trader
should make as little as possible of his companions' share in the
business, so that public attention should not be attracted towards
them. He himself with Dolores at once disembarked, but his companions
did not come ashore until after nightfall.

Stephen Boldero took a Spanish name, but Geoffrey retained his
own, as the story that he was travelling as servant with Mr. Burke,
a well known Irish gentleman who had accompanied the Armada, was
sufficient to account for his nationality. Under the plea that he
was anxious to return to Cadiz as soon as possible, Senor Mendez
arranged for horses and mules to start the next morning. He had
sent out two trunks of clothes to the ship an hour after he landed,
and the two Englishmen therefore escaped all observation, as they
wandered about for an hour or two after landing, and did not go
to the inn where Mendez was staying until it was time to retire to
bed.

The next morning the party started. The clothes that Geoffrey was
wearing were those suited to an employee in a house of business,
while those of Boldero were such as would be worn by the captain or
mate of a merchant vessel on shore. Both were supplied with arms,
for although the party had nothing to attract the cupidity of
robbers beyond the trunks containing the clothes purchased on the
preceding day, and the small amount of money necessary for their
travel on the road, the country was so infested by bands of robbers
that no one travelled unarmed. The journey to Cadiz was, however,
accomplished without adventure.

The house of Senor Mendez was a large and comfortable one. Upon
the ground floor were his offices and store rooms. He himself and
his family occupied the two next floors, while in those above his
clerks and employees lived. His unexpected return caused great
surprise, and in a few hours a number of acquaintances called to
hear the story of the adventures through which he had passed, and
to condole with him on the loss of his wife. At his own request
Stephen Boldero had been given in charge of the principal clerk,
and a room assigned to him in the upper story.

"I shall be much more comfortable," he said, "among your people,
Don Mendez. I am a rough sailor, and ten years in the galleys don't
improve any manners a man may have had. If I were among your friends
I would be out of place and uncomfortable, and should always have
to be bowing and scraping and exchanging compliments, and besides
they would soon find out that my Spanish was doubtful. I talk a
sailor's slang, but I doubt if I should understand pure Spanish.
Altogether, I should be very uncomfortable, and should make you
uncomfortable, and I would very much rather take my place among
the men that work for you until I can get on board a ship again."

Geoffrey was installed in the portion of the house occupied by the
merchant, and was introduced by him to his friends simply as the
English gentleman who had rescued him and his daughter from the
hands of the Moors, it being incidentally mentioned that he had
sailed in the Armada, and that he had fallen into the hands of the
corsairs in the course of a voyage made with his friend Mr. Burke
to Italy. He at once took his place as a friend and assistant of
the merchant; and as the latter had many dealings with Dutch and
English merchants, Geoffrey was able to be of considerable use to
him in his written communications to the captains of the various
vessels of those nationalities in the port.

"I think," the merchant said to him a fortnight after his arrival
in Cadiz, "that, if it would not go against your conscience, it
would be most advisable that you should accompany me sometimes to
church. Unless you do this, sooner or later suspicion is sure to
be roused, and you know that if you were once suspected of being
a heretic, the Inquisition would lay its hands upon you in no time."

"I have no objection whatever," Geoffrey said. "Were I questioned
I should at once acknowledge that I was a Protestant; but I see
no harm in going to a house of God to say my prayers there, while
others are saying theirs in a different manner. There is no church
of my own religion here, and I can see no harm whatever in doing
as you suggest."

"I am glad to hear that that is your opinion," Senor Mendez said,
"for it is the one point concerning which I was uneasy. I have
ordered a special mass at the church of St. Dominic tomorrow, in
thanksgiving for our safe escape from the hands of the Moors, and
it would be well that you should accompany us there."

"I will do so most willingly," Geoffrey said. "I have returned thanks
many times, but shall be glad to do so again in a house dedicated
to God's service."

Accordingly the next day Geoffrey accompanied Don Mendez and his
daughter to the church of St. Dominic, and as he knelt by them
wondered why men should hate each other because they differed as
to the ways and methods in which they should worship God. From that
time on he occasionally accompanied Senor Mendez to the church,
saying his prayers earnestly in his own fashion, and praying that
he might some day be restored to his home and friends.

He and the merchant had frequently talked over all possible plans
for his escape, but the extreme vigilance of the Spanish authorities
with reference to the English and Dutch trading ships seemed to
preclude any possibility of his being smuggled on board. Every bale
and package was closely examined on the quay before being sent off.
Spanish officials were on board from the arrival to the departure
of each ship, and no communication whatever was allowed between
the shore and these vessels, except in boats belonging to the
authorities, every paper and document passing first through their
hands for examination before being sent on board. The trade carried
on between England, Holland, and Spain at the time when these nations
were engaged in war was a singular one; but it was permitted by
all three countries, because the products of each were urgently
required by the others. It was kept within narrow limits, and
there were frequent angry complaints exchanged between the English
government and that of Holland, when either considered the other
to be going beyond that limit.

Geoffrey admitted to himself that he might again make the attempt
to return to England, by taking passage as before in a ship bound
for Italy, but he knew that Elizabeth was negotiating with Philip
for peace, and thought that he might as well await the result. He
was, indeed, very happy at Cadiz, and shrank from the thought of
leaving it.

Stephen Boldero soon became restless, and at his urgent request Juan
Mendez appointed him second mate on board one of his ships sailing
for the West Indies, his intention being to make his escape if an
opportunity offered; but if not, he preferred a life of activity
to wandering aimlessly about the streets of Cadiz. He was greatly
grieved to part from Geoffrey, and promised that, should he ever
reach England, he would at once journey down to Hedingham, and
report his safety to his father and mother.

"You will do very well here, Master Geoffrey," he said. "You are
quite at home with all the Spaniards, and it will not be very long
before you speak the language so well that, except for your name,
none would take you for a foreigner. You have found work to do, and
are really better off here than you would be starving and fighting
in Holland. Besides," he said with a sly wink, "there are other
attractions for you. Juan Mendez treats you as a son, and the
senorita knows that she owes everything to you. You might do worse
than settle here for life. Like enough you will see me back again
in six months' time, for if I see no chance of slipping off and
reaching one of the islands held by the buccaneers, I shall perforce
return in the ship I go out in."

At parting Senor Mendez bestowed a bag containing five hundred
gold pieces upon Stephen Boldero as a reward for the service he
had rendered him.

Geoffrey missed him greatly. For eighteen months they had been
constantly together, and it was the sailor's companionship and
cheerfulness that had lightened the first days of his captivity;
and had it not been for his advice and support he might now have
been tugging at an oar in the bey's corsair galley. Ever since they
had been at Cadiz he had daily spent an hour or two in his society;
for when work was done they generally went for a walk together on
the fortifications, and talked of England and discussed the possibility
of escape. After his departure he was thrown more than before into
the society of the merchant and his daughter. The feeling that
Dolores had, when he first saw her, excited within him had changed
its character. She was very pretty now that she had recovered her
life and spirits, and she made no secret of the deep feeling of
gratitude she entertained towards him. One day, three months after
Stephen's departure, Senor Mendez, when they were alone together,
broached the subject on which his thoughts had been turned so much
of late.

"Friend Geoffrey," he said, "I think that I am not mistaken in
supposing that you have an affection for Dolores. I have marked
its growth, and although I would naturally have rather bestowed
her upon a countryman, yet I feel that you have a right to her as
having saved her from the horrible fate that would have undoubtedly
befallen her, and that it is not for me, to whom you have restored
her, besides saving my own life, to offer any objection. As to her
feelings, I have no doubt whatever. Were you of my religion and
race, such a match would afford me the greatest happiness. As it
is I regret it only because I feel that some day or other it will
lead to a separation from me. It is natural that you should wish
to return to your own country, and as this war cannot go on for
ever, doubtless in time some opportunity for doing so will arrive.
This I foresee and must submit to, but if there is peace I shall be
able occasionally to visit her in her home in England. I naturally
hope that it will be long before I shall thus lose her. She is my
only child, and I shall give as her dower the half of my business,
and you will join me as an equal partner. When the war is over you
can, if you wish, establish yourself in London, and thence carry
on and enlarge the English and Dutch trade of our house. I may even
myself settle there. I have not thought this over at present, nor
is there any occasion to do so. I am a wealthy man and there is
no need for me to continue in business, and I am not sure when the
time comes I shall not prefer to abandon my country rather than
be separated from my daughter. At any rate for the present I offer
you her hand and a share in my business."

Geoffrey expressed in suitable terms the gratitude and delight he
felt at the offer. It was contrary to Spanish notions that he should
receive from Dolores in private any assurance that the proposal in
which she was so largely concerned was one to which she assented
willingly, but her father at once fetched her in and formally
presented her to Geoffrey as his promised wife, and a month later
the marriage was solemnized at the church of St. Dominic.

CHAPTER XVIII

IVRY

The day after the capture of Breda Sir Francis Vere sent for
Lionel Vickars to his quarters. Prince Maurice and several of his
principal officers were there, and the prince thanked him warmly
for the share he had taken in the capture of the town.

"Captain Heraugiere has told me," he said, "that the invention of
the scheme that has ended so well is due as much to you as to him,
that you accompanied him on the reconnoitring expedition and shared
in the dangers of the party in the barge. I trust Sir Francis Vere
will appoint you to the first ensigncy vacant in his companies, but
should there be likely to be any delay in this I will gladly give
you a commission in one of my own regiments."

"I have forestalled your wish, prince," Sir Francis said, "and
have this morning given orders that his appointment shall be made