A Gentleman-at-Arms: Being Passages in the Life of Sir Christopher Rudd, KnightStrang, Herbert
History
A Gentleman-at-Arms: Being Passages in the Life of Sir Christopher Rudd, Knight
Strang, Herbert
Adventure stories; Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Juvenile fiction
"Tush! Tell me true," she said. "Such fables are for children."
"Well then," said I, "since I may not be a bird, what say you to a
fish?"
"I cannot abide ’em, save broiled, and with sauce," she said.
"Then may the broiling I shall suffer this day, and the sauce of good
hard knocks, bring me to the top of your good favour," said I. "But,
indeed, I swim like a fish, and dive like a duck——"
"Or a goose?" she caught me up.
"But with no quackery," said I, "I heaved myself up to my window-sill—
"Then you should have been trussed," she said.
"Nay, madam, the trust is yours," said I; "and from the sill I leapt
into your lake, and so got myself, somewhat damp and muddied, to the
further shore."
"And without a wound?" she said, catching at her breath.
"Save in my heart," I said in a low voice.
"What! hath any Englishman a heart?" she said; and then as I glanced at
the frowning dame beside her, she cried right merrily—
"Oh, she knows no English!" and then with some confusion and haste she
asked me of the Queen and the Court, and led me insensibly to relate to
her some particulars of my past life, whereby the time sped away so
fast, and I had so far forgotten the posture of our affairs, that I
suffered a shock when Stubbs came running to me and said that the
Irishmen were setting across. I called myself an ass, snatched my
sword, and made to the door.
"God bless thee with perseverance!" said the maid softly, using the
Queen’s words in that brief epistle, which I had shown to her in our
discourse; and with those sweet tones making melody in my heart I went
forth to try a bout with Rory Mac Shane.
*VII*
When I came to the wall I beheld a half-score of the hide-boats being
propelled over the lake, and four or five of the new-made platforms,
each one pressed down by the burthen of men upon it. The number of our
assailants was, I suppose, above a hundred, and against them we had less
than a score. These by my appointment had taken post along the wall,
having, besides their weapons, fragments of rock gathered from the
ruinous battlements, stink-pots of homely device, and such other
missiles as the people had been able to prepare. Of firearms we had but
two old rusty pieces, my own pistol and the guns of my men having been
sent away the night before with the succours dispatched to Kedagh
O’Hagan. But I observed joyfully that our assaulters were in little
better case in that regard, for when their quaint, unsteady vessels had
come within shot of us, they discharged upon us only two or three
bullets, which did us no harm, so ill-directed were they. My man Stubbs
and another fellow gave them a shot apiece in reply, or rather they
would have done, had not Stubbs’ musket burst in his hand, one of the
fragments striking his brow and stunning him for some time. He bore the
mark of it to his dying day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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