Across the Salt Seas

"See," I said to Juana, as now we rode close to it, so that at this time our horses' feet were laved by its overflow, "see how it bears down with it great trees from far inland, from where we have come; also other things, the wooden roof of some peasant's hut, some household goods too. I fear it has swept over the country, has burst in places from its narrow frost-bound sides."

'Twas true-such must have happened-for even as I spoke, there went by the body of a horse-the creature's sides all torn and lacerated, doubtless by some narrow passage in which the spears of ice would be as sharp as swords' points; then, next-oh! piteous sight! – a little dead babe rolled over and over as the waves bore it along in their swift flight.

"Look, look," she murmured, pointing forward to where the river broadened, but out into the breadth of which there projected a spur, or tongue of land; "look! that catches much of what comes down-see! the dead horse's progress is stopped upon it-and Mervan, the little babe is also rolled on to that slip of land while there are many other things besides; more bodies of both men and animals."

There were, in solemn truth. As we rode nearer to that jutting promontory, we saw that much of what the Douro had brought down was stopped by it; upon the frozen tongue of land protruding were mixed in confusion many things. The dead horse and another which had preceded it; some poor sheep, a dog, the little babe which had just passed before our eyes, and two or three dead men; some on their backs, their arms extended on that frozen refuge-one on his face.

Mostly they were peasants; their garb told that, also their rough, coarse hands, which showed black against the leper whiteness of the ice and snow beneath them. But he who lay upon his face was none such, his scarlet coat, guarded with galloon, had never graced a peasant's back, no more than any peasant had worn that sword (with now both blade and scabbard broken) that was by his side.

And halting upon the little ridge which made the summit of that promontory and gazing upon that man, I knew as well as if I could see his down-turned face, whose body it was stretched out there upon its icy bier.

Also I saw that she knew, too. Neither scarlet coat nor battered weapon was strange to her.

"I will descend," I said, speaking in a low voice, such as those assume who stand in presence of the dead. "I will descend and make sure," whereupon she bowed her head in reply, making no demur. At that moment she, perhaps, thought it best to make sure that he who had sought her soul's degradation would never traffic with another woman's honour.

But as I went down on foot now to that tongue of land on which the drowned reposed, I had another reason besides this of making sure that the body was that of her tempter, the Alcáide. I desired to discover if 'twas by the river alone that he had come to his death (borne down and into it by some streamlet nearer the Spanish border), and not by the avenging weapon of him who said that I should never have spared him, have never let him quit my side with life. For they might have met, I knew; the one who went first might have been belated on his road-snowbound; the second might have overtaken him, his vengeance have been swift and sure.

Stepping across the bodies of the drowned animals, avoiding those of the peasants, and putting gently aside that of the little babe, I reached him, recognising as I did so the coal black hair flecked and streaked with grey, the rings upon the hands stretched out, backs upward. Then I turned him over, seeing that the face was torn and cut by the jagged ice through which he had been hurried, also bruised and discoloured. But in all the body no sign of rapier wound, nor pistol shot, nor of avenging finger marks upon the throat.

So I went back to her and took my reins from her hands and once more we set out upon our way.

But the dark, lustrous eyes as they gazed into mine asked silent and unworded questions-so that I guessed my thoughts had been in her mind, too! – and when I answered with as equal a silence I knew that I had brought comfort to her heart.

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE END

The early part of September, 1704, had been stormy and wet and very dismal, so that all in London feared that the great spectacle, which had been arranged with much pains and forethought for the seventh of that month, must be impaired if not totally ruined by the inclemency of the weather. And many there were who, during the night that passed away and when the dawn came, rose from their beds to peer out and see what the day promised.

Yet by great good fortune none were doomed to disappointment. For from away over the river, down by where the great ships were all a-lying dressed with flags, the sun came up in great magnificence and splendour; the clouds turned from purple to a fair pure daffodil; a sweeter autumn morning none had ever seen nor could hope to see.

And now from very early in the morning the crowd came in from far and wide, from north and south and east and west, from the villages along the river as far away as sylvan Richmond on one side, or Hampstead on another; while the gentry drove in from their country seats at Clapham or Kensington and on the road that leads to Fulham. Also those regiments at Hounslow, and the foot guards at Kensington, as well as the city militia from the east side, were all making their way into the town, with drums a-beating and flags streaming out to the fresh morning air and trumpets braying, while in the city itself my Lord Mayor was getting ready to proceed to Temple Bar, there to receive the queen and court.

For this day, the seventh of September, had been fixed for the thanksgiving for the victory of Blenheim which the Duke of Marlborough had recently won. The pity only being that, of those who were to take part in the great ceremony, my Lord Duke could not be there, he being still engaged on the Continent.

Nevertheless, from St. James' there set out so great a company for St. Paul's that 'tis never likely any one then alive could expect to witness a more noble and imposing sight. For there were all the great officers of state, with, amidst them, the queen in a sumptuous coach drawn by eight horses, Her Majesty being ablaze with jewels. Alone she went in that coach excepting one companion, a lady dressed as quietly and simply as could be any lady in the land, there being neither at neck or bosom or throat, or in her hair, any single trinket to be seen.

Yet, I think, she was that day the proudest woman in all England, not even excepting great Anna, since she was the wife of the conqueror who had trampled Louis and his armies under foot; was Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough. Could any female heart have desired to be more!

In front of, as well as behind, and on either side of that chariot of state, there rode the Queen's Guards; yet ahead of those who rode behind-he being nearest to the back of the carriage-was one who yielded to none in thankfulness and gratitude for all which Providence had seen fit to do for him. An officer this, one handed, his left arm bound up-it having been nearly lopped off at Blenheim by one of the Elector of Bavaria's huge dragoons, whom that officer slew a moment later with his right hand-whose scarf, sword knot, richly laced scarlet coat and gold cockade proclaimed him a colonel of horse-myself.

From where we entered the Strand-by the cross set up here-we saw that all the shops were boarded up and scaffolded, partly to resist the crowd and partly to furnish benches on which sight-seers might sit. On those benches, also in the shop windows, on the bulks and at the windows of the tradesmen's parlours above, was a noble and splendid company, the ladies of which had all adorned themselves with their choicest dresses and ribbons and laces, the more to do honour to those other two ladies in the great coach. Then, behind, came the lords of Parliament and the gentlemen of the Commons, also the Bishops in their wigs and lawn-each and all in coaches drawn by six horses-as well as many others of the nobility; while from the churches along the route, St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, St. Mary's in the Strand and St. Clement's Danes, the bells clashed and clanged, and, inside, the organs blew and anthems pealed.

At Temple Bar there was a great halt, since the gates were shut, yet opened as the queen came to them, whereon my Lord Mayor, surrounded by the aldermen and sheriffs, in their red robes and on horses richly caparisoned, received Her Majesty, the former handing to her the sword of the city, which she at once returned; after which we progressed once more toward St. Paul's, where, later, the dean preached a moving sermon.

And now my eyes were fixed and searching for a face-two faces-at a window beyond the Church of St. Dunstan's in Fleet street-which was all hung with banners and adornments stretched across from side to side-and presently I saw that which I sought for-a lady on a balcony holding up a little wee child in her arms, a lady dark and beautiful and dressed all in her best, her robe a rich brocade, with, at her breast, a knot of ribbons, the colours of the Fourth Horse-the woman who has ever been in my eyes the fairest, most lovely of her sex, my loved and honoured wife. And she stood there seeking for me, leaning over the balcony to wave and kiss her hand, took, also, our babe's little one in her arms and caused it to wave, too.

Riding by, I looked up and saw them, and blessed God-blessed God and praised His name, because He had seen fit to bring us safe through all the dangers we had encountered together, because He had seen fit to give to me for wife the sweetest woman the world held, and to bring us safe into haven at last.

For that, as well as all else, I blessed and praised His name, even as from roofs of houses and taverns the salvos roared forth, the bells pealed from the steeples, and we progressed through the city; companies ranged 'neath their banners, and, between the lines kept by the militia, the queen bowing from her side of the coach, the great, stately duchess from hers, the people shouting all the time, and crying but two names, "Anne" and "Marlborough," and women holding up their children, so that, in the days to come, when those children were old, they might say they had gazed on the wife of the greatest soldier in the world. And thus, at last, we came to St. Paul's and gave thanksgiving.

It was when night had fallen after Blenheim that my Lord Duke sent for me to his room in the inn, where he and the Marshal Tallard-who had led the French, and been defeated that day, and was now an honoured and well-cared-for prisoner of his Grace-were quartered, and spoke to me as follows:

"Colonel Crespin-for such you will be when the next gazette is published-if it were not that others have a prior claim, it should be you to whom I would confide my message to the queen and lords. For," and he smiled sweetly, as usual, though, to-night, a little wearily, "I have a recollection of your value as a bearer of despatches; yet, all the same, you shall go to England. You have a wife and child there, I know."

And again he smiled as I bowed before him.

"For which you have to thank me. By St. George, I never thought when I sent you on that journey you were going sweetheart hunting, too."

Whereby you will perceive that his Grace knew very well all that had befallen me two years before, when I set out for Spain to find, if might be, the English fleet. It would be strange, indeed, if he had not known it, for my story had been told all over the forces from the moment I returned and joined my regiment; nay, more than once, I had told it to Marlborough himself.

"I shall not be far behind you," he continued, "the New Year should see me home, too. Yet I have messages for the queen and my own wife. You shall bear them. It will give you an opportunity of seeing your own wife. She is, I hear, vastly beautiful."

"In my eyes, my lord Duke, the most beautiful woman in the world."

"That is as it should be. So," he continued simply, "I think of mine. But, also, you must see the queen. She has heard of your adventures, wishes she had seen you when you were on leave in England. Tell her all-tell her as bravely in words as you can be brave in action-and you will not stop at the command of a regiment of horse. See also my wife; her influence is extreme-our enemies say 'tis a bad influence-yet she will help you."

And I did see the queen on my arrival in England, also the great duchess, Sarah, on the night before we went to St. Paul's; after which I wondered no more how every one loved the former, spoke of her, indeed, as the "Good" Queen-a title, I think, as dear and precious as that of "Great," which Elizabeth had worn. She was very ruddy, I noticed when I stood before her, her beautiful red-brown hair bound most matronly above her brow, while her arms-which were bare, to show, as I have heard, their extreme beauty-were most marvellous to behold, as well as her hands. Yet, queen as she was, and a well favoured one, too, it was more on the other lady who stood behind her that my eyes rested; for she was beautiful beyond all I had imagined, so that I wondered not that report said the duke loved her as fondly as when they were boy and girl together, she only a maid of honour, and he an ensign. Yet, also, I thought that beauty marred by an imperious haughtiness which made her seem the queen and the real queen seem her subject.

"So, Colonel Crespin," Her Majesty said to me, "I set eyes on you at last-you of whom I have heard so much. Well, I am vastly proud to know so brave a gentleman. Later, I must also know your wife-whom I hear you wooed and won in a strange fashion." Then changing the subject swiftly, while her kindly eyes rested on me, she said: "Your father must be very proud of you."

Not knowing what reply to make to such a compliment, I could but bow again, whereon she continued:

"Your arm is bound up, I see-I hear you got the wound at Blenheim. 'Tis very well. In after years it will be as great a distinction to have had that wound as any honours or titles that may come to you. It does not prevent your riding?"

I murmured that it inconvenienced me but very little, whereon Her Majesty said:

"That is also well. To-morrow I desire you follow my coach to St. Paul's. I love my people to see those who have served me bravely," whereon, with a gracious inclination of her head, accompanied by a sweet smile upon her honest, kindly face, she turned and left the apartment, the duchess bowing too, though somewhat more haughtily than the queen had done. Yet she whispered a word in my ear as she passed out; a word appropriate enough to one as proud as she.

"You have served him well," she said. "Those who do that are my friends forever."

And now the rejoicings for our victory at Blenheim were over-the siege and taking of Gibraltar three weeks before, by my other friend, Sir George Rooke, being not forgotten-the crowds had dispersed, the great banquet to be given by the city was near at hand and the illuminations of London were beginning.

Yet I had no desire to be feasting in the midst of that great company-instead, I was seated in the room from the balcony of which I had seen my wife that morning; her head upon my shoulder, her lips murmuring words of love inexpressible in my ear; words in which, amongst the rest, I caught those that told me how proud she was to have won me from all other women, how proud and happy in knowing that we were each other's forever in this world.

* * * * * * * * *

What need to set down more-what more have I to say?

Only this. That never would she hear of redeeming any of that second fortune which her unhappy father had left in the custody of the priest in the Indies who had once been as he himself was; and consequently, that from the time we became man and wife no further intercourse was ever held between us and those far-off islands from which she came. Nor was that fortune wanted-God has ever been good to us; I have prospered exceedingly in my soldier's calling; all is very well.

Of him, Gramont, we have never heard more. Yet that, somewhere, he is, if still alive, expiating his past I have never doubted. The truth was in the man's eyes as he spoke to me on that morning when he went forth broken-hearted from the house which held his child; the truth, and a firm determination to atone by suffering and hardship for all that he had done. And what stronger or more stern resolve could any sinner have taken than that of his? The determination to tear himself away forever from the companionship of his newly found daughter, and to remove thereby from her forever the shame of his presence.

"Come, Mervan," she said to me, as now the autumn evening turned to night, and from every house in Fleet street the illuminations began to glisten. "Come, you must prepare for the city banquet."

"Nay," I said, "nay. I need no banquets, would prefer to stay here by your side."

"And so I would you should do. Yet you must go. I will not have you absent from so great a thing. You! my hero-my king. And while you are gone I will watch over our child, or solace myself with this."

And as she spoke she went over to where the spinet was, and touched a smaller instrument that lay upon it-the little viol d'amore from which we have never parted, and never will.

THE END