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
Rosny began to draw the bolts, but at the same instant there was a
marvellous heavy thud upon the back door, whose timbers groaned and
creaked, and as Raoul and I ran to it to see whether its fastenings
would hold we heard a shot, and immediately afterwards the slamming of
the shutter of the porter’s wicket, and some one cried that Lameray had
fired at Rosny, who, however, expecting something of the sort, had kept
himself out of harm’s way and was not touched. ’Twas plain that Lameray
and his ruffians were resolved to put all to the hazard, and I doubt not
that the Duke of Mayenne had promised them a very great reward if they
should either kill the King or take him alive. And I own I quaked with
fear lest they should accomplish their purpose, for we were but eleven,
and they sixty or more, and the defences of the place were so paltry
that it would be nothing short of a miracle if we kept them out.
By this time the shutters of the front windows had been closed and
fastened again, so that the house was in darkness save for a little
light that came from the upper floor. While some of our party were
hasting to pile barricadoes against the doors leading into the hall,
their work being greatly incommoded by the presence of the horses, I
bethought me that we might do some damage among the enemy by firing at
them out of an upper window. Accordingly I ran up the stairs by myself,
and found that there was but one window opening on the back of the
house, where the attack was being made, Lameray knowing very well that
this side was not able to withstand a stout assault. I stood at the
window for a little to comprehend what was proceeding beneath, and saw a
crowd of men gathered about the door, and others entering the window
into the room I had crossed on my way to the hall. Then, bending
forward, I fired my pistol into the midst of the throng, which instantly
fell apart, one man dropping to the ground, and Lameray shouting to the
rest to save themselves and enter by the window. They did his bidding,
but very soon I saw some issue forth and seize upon one of the broken
statues that strewed the garden, and this they proceeded to carry
through the window into the room, designing, as I guessed, to employ it
as a battering ram against the inner door. I had charged my pistol
again, and firing just as the last of the men entered, I was lucky
enough to hit his right arm, which fell useless at his side.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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