Percival Keene

We arrived safe; stated who we were to the authorities, and were well received; but we had not been there more than two days, when the rejoicings and braggings of the town’s-people, on account of the late victory over the French garrison, were turned to consternation by the intelligence that General Moraud was advancing with a considerable force to re-take the town. The panic was so great, that all idea of defence was in vain; and at the very time that I was entreating them to make a stand, the French troops poured in, and two cuirassiers galloped up, and seized upon Cross and me. A few minutes afterwards, General Moraud came up, and inquired, in a rough tone, who we were. I replied in French, that we were English officers.

“Take them away,” said he, “and secure them well; I’ll make an example here that shan’t be forgotten.”

We were taken to the guard-room, where we remained shut up for the night. The next morning one of the cuirassiers looked into our cell. I asked him whether we could not have something to eat.

“Cela ne vaut pas la peine. Mon ami, vous n’aurez pas le temps pour la digestion; dans une demie-heure vous serez fusillés.”

“May I ask the English of that, Captain Keene?” replied Cross.

“Yes, it is very pleasant. He says that it’s not worth while eating anything, as we shall be shot in half an hour.”

“Well, I suppose they’ll shoot us first, and try us afterwards,” replied Cross. “Won’t they give us a reason?”

“I suspect not, Cross. I am sorry that I have got you into this scrape; as for myself, I care little about it.”

“I am sorry for poor Jane, sir,” replied Cross; “but we all owe Heaven a death; and, after all, it’s not worth making a fuss about.”

Our conversation was here interrupted by a party of French soldiers, who opened the door and ordered us to follow them. We had not far to go, for we were led out to the Grand Place, before the prison, where we found the French troops drawn up, and General Moraud, with his officers round him, standing in the centre. At twenty yards’ distance, and surrounded by the troops, which did not amount to more than three hundred, were thirty of the principal inhabitants of the town, pinioned, and handkerchiefs tied over their eyes, preparatory to their being shot; this being the terrible example that the governor had threatened.

“Look, Cross,” said I, “what a handful of men these Frenchmen have retaken the town with. Why, if we had resisted, we might have laughed at them.”

“They won’t laugh any more, I expect,” replied Bob.

“Allons,” said the corporal to me.

“Where?” replied I.

“To your friends, there,” replied he, pointing to the town’s-people, who were about to be shot.

“I wish to speak to the general,” replied I, resisting.

“No, no: you must go.”

“I will speak to the general,” replied I, pushing the corporal on one side, and walking to where the general was standing.

“Well,” said the general, fiercely.

“I wish to know, sir,” replied I, “by what law you are guided in shooting us. We are English officers, here on duty to assist against the French, and at the most can only be prisoners of war. Upon what grounds do you order us to be shot?”

“As spies,” replied the general.

“I am no spy, sir; I am a post-captain in the English navy, who joined with the seamen saved from the wreck of my frigate in the attack upon Cuxhaven, and there is my boatswain, who came up with me to go to Hamburg. At all events, I am fully justified in siding against the French: and to shoot us will be a murder, which will not fail to be revenged.”

“You may pass yourself off as the captain of a frigate, but your dress disproves it, and I have better information. You are two spies, and smugglers, and therefore you will be shot.”

“I tell you before all your officers that I am Captain Keene, of the Circe frigate, belonging to His Britannic Majesty, and no spy; if you choose to shoot me now, I leave my death to be revenged by my country.”

At this moment an officer in naval uniform stepped forward and looked me in the face.

“General Moraud,” said he, “what that officer says is true: he is Captain Keene, and I was prisoner on board of his vessel; and I also know the other man as well.”

“Captain Vangilt, I do not request your interference,” replied the general.

“But general, as an officer in the marine of the emperor, it is my duty to state to you, that you are deceived, and that this officer is the person that he states himself to be. Messieurs,” continued Captain Vangilt, addressing those about the general, “I assure you it is true, and I am under the greatest obligation to this officer for his kindness and humanity when I was his prisoner.”

“I recognise you now, Mr Vangilt,” replied I; “and I thank you for your evidence.”

“You see, general, he knows me by name: I must demand the life of this British officer.”

The other officers then spoke to the general, who heard all they had to say, and then, with a sardonic grin, replied,—“Gentlemen, he may be an officer, but still he is a spy.” At that moment an orderly came up on horseback, and, dismounting, gave a note to the general.

“Sacré bleu!” cried he; “then we’ll have our revenge first at all events. Soldiers, take these two men, and put them in the centre, with the others.”

Vangilt pleaded and entreated in vain: at last, in his rage, he called the general “a coward and a madman.”

“Captain Vangilt, you will answer that at some other time,” replied the general; “at present we will carry our will into execution. Lead them away.”

Vangilt then covered his face with his hands, and all the other officers showed signs of great disgust.

“Farewell, Vangilt,” said I in French; “I thank you for your interference, although you have not succeeded with the scoundrel.”

“Take them away!” roared the general.

At that moment the report of musketry was heard in dropping shots.

“Well, if ever I saw such a bloody villain,” said Cross. “Take that, at all events;” continued Bob, shying his hat right into the general’s face. “I only wish it was a 32-pounder, you murdering thief.”

The rage of the general may easily be imagined. Once more he gave his orders, drawing his sword in a menacing way at his own soldiers, who now forced us towards the part of the square where the other victims were collected. As soon as we were there, they wanted to blind our eyes, but that both I and Bob positively refused, and a delay was created by our resistance. The musketry was now approaching much nearer; and a few seconds afterwards the general gave the order for the party to advance who were to execute the sentence.

The other prisoners kneeled down; but I and Cross would not; and while we were resisting, the general repeated his order to fire; but the men were confused with the advance of the enemy, and the impossibility to fire while Cross and I not only resisted the soldiers, but held them so fast, that had the party fired they must have shot them as well as us. A cry “To arms” was given, and the troops all wheeled round in front to repel the enemy. A loud hurrah was followed by an inpouring of some hundred Cossacks, with their long spears who, in a few seconds charged and routed the French, who retreated in the greatest confusion by the different streets which led into the Grand Place.

“Hurrah! we are saved,” cried Cross, snatching up a musket that had been dropped by a soldier. I did the same, and pursued the retreating French, till a bullet through my leg put a stop to my progress. I called to Cross, who came to my assistance, and he helped me back to the Grand Place, which was now clear of troops.

Chapter Forty Four

The Cossacks having divided, and gone in pursuit of the French, I pointed out to Cross a hotel, and requested him to help me there. As we crossed the square, strewed with the dead and wounded, we passed close to General Moraud, who was breathing his last.

“See, Cross,” said I, “there is retribution. He intended that we should fall where he now lies.”

The general recognised us, gave a heavy groan, and, turning on his back, fell dead.

As soon as I gained the hotel, I was taken up into a room, and made as comfortable as I could be until my wound could be dressed.

“We’re well out of it this time, sir,” said Cross.

“Yes, indeed, Bob; this has indeed been a miraculous preservation, and we ought to thank Heaven for it.”

“Why, Captain Keene, I thought just now you did not care whether you lived or died.”

“No more I did at that time, Cross; but when we are so wonderfully preserved, we cannot think but that we are preserved for better things; and as Providence has interfered, it points out to us that it is our duty to live.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you say that, sir. There’s all the troops coming back. What queer-looking chaps they are, with their long lances and long beards!”

“Yes; they are Cossacks—Russian irregular cavalry.”

“Irregular enough I don’t doubt; but they spitted the French men nicely. They look exactly what I thought the Pope of Rome was like.”

“Cross, call the master of the hotel, and tell him to come here.” When the man came, I desired him to let the commander of the allied troops know that an English captain was wounded, and required surgical assistance. The master of the hotel went to the burgomaster, who was one of those who had been ordered to be shot; and the burgomaster, who was now in company with the Russian commander, made known what I required. In about an hour a surgeon came, and my wound was dressed. The burgomaster called soon afterwards, and expressed his obligation to me. “For,” said he, “if you had not created the delay—which you did by your resistance—it would have been all over with us by this time.”

“You have to thank a Dutch naval officer of the name of Vangilt,” replied I; “it is he who saved us all; and if he is not hurt, you must be kind to him, and bring him to me. I will get him his parole, if he is a prisoner. Will you see to it, burgomaster?”

“I will,” replied he, “as soon as we are a little more tranquil; but, what with fright and confusion, none of us know what we are about. You were right, sir, in persuading us to defend ourselves. We might easily have beaten off the small force of General Moraud; but we thought he had ten thousand men, at least. We will do better another time; but the French are now in full retreat everywhere.”

That night, after dusk, Captain Vangilt came into my room: he had been a prisoner; but the burgomaster made inquiries, and let him out, which, as chief magistrate, he had the power to do. Vangilt embraced me with much warmth, and expressed his regret that he could not persuade that wretch, Moraud, from his murderous intentions.

“It came to the same thing, Vangilt. I owe you my life; for if you had not created the delay, we should have been shot.”

“That’s true,” replied he. “How fortunate it was, that, as my squadron of gun-boats were destroyed, I consented to join Moraud with what men I could collect, to surprise the town. Are you badly wounded?”

“No, not seriously, I believe; I hope to be able to get to Hamburg in a few days.”

“There is more than one there who will be delighted to see you.”

“Is Mr Vanderwelt alive and well?”

“Oh yes; and Minnie, my pretty cousin, is still unmarried.” Vangilt smiled as he made this reply.

“I must ask for your parole, Vangilt, and then you can go to Hamburg with us.”

“With all my heart,” replied he; “for we are tired of war, and as I am a Dutchman and not a Frenchman, I care little for the reverses we have met with; all I hope is, that Holland may become a kingdom again, and not a French state, as it is now.”

The next day, I was visited by the Russian commandant, who very willingly granted me the parole of Vangilt. In a week I was well enough to travel by slow journeys to Hamburg, lying on mattresses in a small covered waggon, and escorted by Cross and Vangilt. A few hours before my arrival, Vangilt went ahead to give notice of my coming, and on the evening of the second day I found myself in a luxurious chamber, with every comfort, in the company of Mr Vanderwelt, and with the beaming eyes of Minnie watching over me.

The report of Minnie’s beauty was fully warranted. When she first made her appearance, the effect upon me was quite electrical: her style was radiant, and almost dazzling—a something you did not expect to find in the human countenance. Their reception of me was all that I could desire; their affection shown towards me, their anxiety about my wound, and joy at once more having me under their roof, proved that I had not been forgotten. After a short time, Vangilt left the room, and I remained on the sofa, one hand in the grasp of Mr Vanderwelt, the other holding the not unwilling one of Minnie. That evening I made known to them all that had taken place since I last wrote to them, winding up with the loss of my frigate, the death of Lord de Versely, and my subsequent capture and rescue.

“And so it was in attempting to come and see us that you were wounded and nearly murdered?”

“Yes, Minnie; I had long been anxious to see you, and could not help availing myself of the first opportunity.”

“Thank God you are here at last,” said Mr Vanderwelt, “and that there is now every prospect of a conclusion to the war.”

“And you won’t go to sea any more—will you, Percival?” said Minnie.

“They won’t give me a ship, Minnie, after having lost the one I commanded; to be unfortunate is to be guilty, in those who have no interest.”

“I’m very glad to hear it; then you’ll remain quietly on shore, and you will come and see us.”

As I had been rendered feverish by travelling, and my wound was a little angry, as soon as it was dressed for the night, they left me to repose; but that I could not—the form of Minnie haunted me; to sleep was impossible, and I lay thinking of her till day dawned. The fact was, that I was for the first time in love, and that in no small degree—before morning I was desperately so. Indeed, there was excuse sufficient, for Minnie was as winning in her manners as she was lovely in her person, and I was not at all surprised at hearing from Vangilt of the numerous suitors for her hand.

Chapter Forty Five

The next morning I was pale and feverish, which they observed with concern, Minnie was sitting by me, and Mr Vanderwelt had left the room, when she said, “How very pale you are, and your hand is so hot; I wish the doctor would come.”

“I could not sleep last night, Minnie—and it was all your fault.”

“My fault!”

“Yes, your fault; for I could not sleep for thinking of you; I thought you were looking at me as you do now the whole night.”

Minnie blushed, and I kissed her hand.

As soon as my wound was dressed, I requested writing materials, and wrote to the Admiralty, giving an account of what had occurred since I quitted Heligoland. (I had written to inform them of the loss of the frigate when I was on the island). I stated in my despatches that my wound would probably confine me for some weeks; but as soon as I was able to be moved, I should return to England to await their orders. I also wrote to my mother and Mr Warden. I informed the latter of what had passed, and the delay which would be occasioned by my wound, and requested him to write to me more fully as to the death of Lord de Versely, and any other particulars which might interest me.

Having sealed these despatches, and entrusted them to the care of Mr Vanderwelt, my mind was relieved, and I had nothing to do but to think of and talk to Minnie. That my progress in her affections was rapid, was not to be wondered at, her attachment to me having commenced so early; and as her father was evidently pleased at our increasing intimacy, in a fortnight after my arrival at Hamburg, Minnie had consented to be mine, and her father had joined our hands, and given us his blessing.

As I now had no secrets from them, I detailed my whole history, the cause of Lord de Versely’s patronage, and the mystery of my birth. I opened the seal-skin pouch to show them Lord de Versely’s letter to my mother, and stated what had been the object of my ambition through life, and how great was my disappointment at my hopes being overthrown by the death of his lordship.

“My dear Percival,” said old Mr Vanderwelt, after I had concluded my narrative, “you have been pursuing a shadow, although the pursuit has called forth all your energies, and led to your advancement. You have the substance. You have wealth more than sufficient, for you know how rich I am. You have reputation, which is better than wealth, and you have now, I trust, a fair prospect of domestic happiness; for Minnie will be as good a wife as she has been a daughter. What, then, do you desire? A name. And what is that? Nothing. If you do not like your present name, from its association with your putative father of low origin, change it to mine. You will receive the fortune of an heiress, which will fully warrant your so doing. At all events, let not your pride stand in the way of your happiness. We cannot expect everything in this world. You have much to be thankful to Heaven for, and you must not repine because you cannot obtain all.”

“I have so ardently desired it all my life; it has been the sole object of my ambition,” replied I, “and I cannot but severely feel the disappointment.”

“Granted; but you must bear the disappointment, or rather you must forget it; regret for what cannot be obtained is not only unavailing, but, I may say, it is sinful. You have much to thank God for.”

“I have indeed, sir,” replied I, as I kissed his daughter; “and I will not repine. I will take your name when you give me Minnie, and I will think no more about that of Delmar.”

After this conversation, the subject was not renewed. I felt too happy with Minnie’s love to care much about anything else; my ambition melted away before it, and I looked forward to the time when I might embrace her as my own.

My wound healed rapidly; I had been a month at Hamburg, and was able to limp about a little, when one day Cross came in with a packet of letters from England.

There was one from the Admiralty, acknowledging the receipt of my two letters, one announcing the loss of the Circe, and the other my subsequent adventures, desiring me to come home as soon as my wound would permit me, to have the cause of the loss of the Circe investigated by a court-martial; that of course: one from my mother, thanking Heaven that I had escaped so many dangers with only a bullet in my leg, and stating her intention of going up to town to see me as soon as she heard of my arrival; the third was a voluminous epistle from Mr Warden, which I shall give to the reader in his own words.

“My dear Captain Keene:—

“I received your two letters, the first, acquainting me with your miraculous preservation after the loss of your frigate, and the other with your subsequent adventures on terra firma. You appear to me to have a charmed life! and as there is now every prospect of a speedy termination to this long and devastating war, I hope you will live many days. I did not enter into many particulars as to Lord de Versely’s death, as it was so sudden; the property left you is not perhaps of so much value in itself, as it is as a mark of his regard and esteem. Nevertheless, if ever you sit down quietly and take a wife, you will find that it will save you a few thousands in furnishing and decorating; the plate, pictures, and objects de vertu, as they are termed, are really valuable, and I know that you will not part with them, bequeathed as they have been by your friend and patron.

“I must now refer to particulars of more consequence. You know that, as a legal adviser, my lips are supposed to be sealed, and they would have remained so now, had it not been that circumstances have occurred which warrant my disclosure; indeed, I may say that I have permission to speak plainly, as you have to repel charges against you which, if not disproved, may seriously affect your future interests. Know then, that when you were last at Madeline Hall, I was sent for to draw up the will of the Honourable Miss Delmar, and I then discovered that the will which had been made in favour of Lord de Versely, to whom Miss Delmar had left everything, was by his express desire to be altered in your favour; and at the same time the secret of your birth was confided to me. You will see, therefore, that Lord de Versely did not neglect your interests. The de Versely property he could not leave you, but he did what he could in your favour. This will was signed, sealed, and attested, and is now in my possession; and as the old lady is very shakey, and something approaching to imbecile, I considered that in a short time I should have to congratulate you upon your succession to this fine property, which is a clear 8,000 pounds per annum.

“You must also know, that Colonel Delmar, whom you also met here, and who accompanied you to Portsmouth, has always hoped that he would be the heir of the old lady; and, indeed, had you not stepped in, I have no doubt but eventually such would have been the case. It appears that he has, by some means, discovered that you have ousted him, and since you sailed he has returned to Madeline Hall, and has so unsettled the old lady, by reporting that you are an impostor, and no relation by blood, that she has given me instructions to make a new will in his favour. By what means he has prevailed upon her I cannot tell: the chief support of his assertion rests upon some letters, which he has either surreptitiously obtained or forged, written by your mother and addressed to you. Now that your mother has been supposed to be dead many years I knew well for Lord de Versely told me so. The old lady has shown me these letters, which certainly appear authentic; and she says, that if you have deceived her and Lord de Versely as to your mother’s death, you have deceived them in everything else, and that she does not now believe that you are the son of her nephew. As I hinted before, the old lady is almost in her dotage, and cannot well be reasoned with, for she is very positive. I argued as long as I could with her, but in vain. At last she consented to stop proceedings until I heard from you, saying, ‘If I can have any proof under my nephew’s own hand that Percival is his son, I will be content; but without that I sign the new will.’

“Such is the state of affairs, that you have little chance if such a document cannot be produced, I feel certain; at all events, I have gained delay which we lawyers always aim at. I only wish the old lady would take a sudden departure, and leave the question as unsettled as it is. Had Lord de Versely not been so suddenly called away, this would never have happened; as it is, we must make the best fight we can. At present the colonel has it all his own way. Pray write immediately, and explain as much as you can of this strange affair and let me know what steps you think it advisable to be taken.—Yours very truly,

“F. Warden.”

Chapter Forty Six

The receipt of this letter was extremely mortifying to me. I could not help feeling that if I lost the fine property which had been intended for me, I lost it chiefly by the deceit practised relative to my mother’s supposed death, and that if I did lose the estate in consequence, it was a proper punishment. At the same time, I felt not a little indignant at the conduct of Colonel Delmar. I now understood why it was that he was talking with Mr Warden’s clerk when I passed by them; and I also felt certain that he must have taken advantage of my situation at Portsmouth, and have opened my desk and stolen the letters from my mother. For this I resolved to call him to account, under any circumstances (that is, whether he or I became the heir to the old lady), as soon as I could fall in with him. Although I was far from despising the property which I was now likely to lose, yet I was more actuated in my wish to regain it by my enmity towards him, and I immediately resolved upon what I would do.

As I was still unfit to travel, and, moreover, was resolved not to leave Hamburg without Minnie as my wife, I sent for Cross, and telling him in few words, what had taken place, asked him if he would immediately start for England, which he gladly consented to do. “The old lady requires, it seems, proof from Lord de Versely’s own hand that I am his son; fortunately, that is in my power to give; so do you take this, and as soon as you arrive in England make all haste to Mr Warden’s and put it into his own hands.” I then took off the seal-skin pouch containing Lord de Versely’s letter to my mother, and confided it to his care. At the same time I wrote a long letter to Mr Warden explaining as far as I could the means which the colonel had used to get possession of the letters, and the reason which induced me to make his lordship believe that my mother was dead. I did not attempt to extenuate my conduct; on the contrary, I severely blamed myself for my deception, and acknowledged that if I lost the estate it was nothing more than I deserved.