France -- History -- Louis XIV, 1643-1715 -- Fiction
“If there should be a battle, keep at a distance from it, I beseech
you. I know the French delight in such amusements,—you might take a
fancy to see how we fight, and you might receive some chance shot. Our
Scotchmen are very bad marksmen, and I do not wish that a worthy
gentleman like you should return to France wounded. Nor should I like
to be obliged myself, to send to your prince his million left here by
you, for then it would be said, and with some reason, that I paid the
Pretender to enable him to make war against the parliament. Go, then,
monsieur, and let it be done as has been agreed upon.”
“Ah, my lord,” said Athos, “what joy it would give me to be the first
that penetrated to the noble heart which beats beneath that cloak!”
“You think, then, that I have secrets,” said Monk, without changing the
half cheerful expression of his countenance. “Why, monsieur, what
secret can you expect to find in the hollow head of a soldier? But it
is getting late, and our torch is almost out; let us call our man.”
“Hola!” cried Monk in French, approaching the stairs; “hola!
fisherman!”
The fisherman, benumbed by the cold night air, replied in a hoarse
voice, asking what they wanted of him.
“Go to the post,” said Monk, “and order a sergeant, in the name of
General Monk, to come here immediately.”
This was a commission easily performed; for the sergeant, uneasy at the
general’s being in that desolate abbey, had drawn nearer by degrees,
and was not much further off than the fisherman. The general’s order
was therefore heard by him, and he hastened to obey it.
“Get a horse and two men,” said Monk.
“A horse and two men?” repeated the sergeant.
“Yes,” replied Monk. “Have you any means of getting a horse with a
pack-saddle or two paniers?”
“No doubt, at a hundred paces off, in the Scotch camp.”
“Very well.”
“What shall I do with the horse, general?”
“Look here.”
The sergeant descended the three steps which separated him from Monk,
and came into the vault.
“You see,” said Monk, “that gentleman yonder?”
“Yes, general.”
“And you see these two casks?”
“Perfectly.”
“They are two casks, one containing powder, and the other balls; I wish
these casks to be transported to the little hamlet at the mouth of the
river, and which I intend to occupy to-morrow with two hundred muskets.
You understand that the commission is a secret one, for it is a
movement that may decide the fate of the battle.”
“Oh, general!” murmured the sergeant.
“Mind, then! Let these casks be fastened on to the horse, and let them
be escorted by two men and you to the residence of this gentleman, who
is my friend. But take care that nobody knows it.”
“I would go by the marsh if I knew the road,” said the sergeant.
“I know one myself,” said Athos; “it is not wide, but it is solid,
having been made upon piles; and with care we shall get over safely
enough.”
“Do everything this gentleman shall order you to do.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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