For Love of a Bedouin Maid

The twilight deepened and glided into night, and then, wearied out, he fell asleep. Hour succeeded hour, until the night was nearly spent and dawn approached.

He did not hear a carriage pull up before the house, but, almost immediately afterwards, he felt himself roughly shaken. Opening his eyes, he saw a servant standing over him with a candle in his hand.

Without speaking, the man put into his hand a note, which ran as follows:

"Accompany the bearers whither they take you, without fear. Halima."

"Where is Madame?" he asked the servant.

"I do not know, Sir," the man replied respectfully, "she left home some hours ago, and has not yet returned."

Then he added, "The messengers await you, Sir, in a coach below."

Wondering, half sleepily, what would happen next, and caring little, for he had lost all hope, St. Just followed the servant to the door and stepped into the carriage, which, the rapid glance he gave it showed him, was a private one. Two Bow Street runners got in after him, and immediately the coach was driven off at a rapid trot. In a quarter of an hour, they reached the toll bar at Hyde Park Corner. The gate was opened at their approach, the coachman shouted something, and, without stopping they drove through. Ten minutes later, the carriage drew up before a house in Downing Street. St. Just was requested to get out, and his companions in his drive each thrust an arm through one of his and led him up the steps in front of the house, then up a flight of stairs and into a square room on the first floor. It was dimly lighted, for only one candle was burning on a table; so that St. Just could not see much of his surroundings; but he could distinguish folding doors on the side of the room that faced him.

The men asked him to be seated; then took their stand between him and the door. From beyond the folding doors, he could hear the hum of conversation and, amongst the voices, he fancied he could distinguish Halima's. He strained his ears and was now sure of it. Then, at any rate, no harm was meant to him.

Presently he heard the clock of the neighboring Horse Guards strike the fourth quarter, and then One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. He must have slept for many hours, then, at the house at Earl's Court.

Hardly had the last stroke died away, when the folding doors were opened, and Mr. Pitt, the Prime Minister, the Prince Regent, and, to St. Just's surprise, Halima entered the apartment. They were followed by a secretary. Plainly the Prince had not been to bed, for he was still habited in the uniform he had worn at dinner the night before; he still looked as if he had dined—or drunk "not wisely, but too well."

He ogled Halima, who gave him back a saucy glance; then he whispered something in the ear of Mr. Pitt, who told the "runners" to withdraw and wait outside the door.

Then Mr. Pitt, in a pleasant tone and courteous manner, asked St. Just to draw up to them and take a seat. The Regent seated himself on one side of a long table near the end, and Halima took a chair that faced him, the Premier placing himself at the top. The secretary took a place a little lower down, away from them.

"Mons. St. Just," said Mr. Pitt, addressing him, "your action in this matter does you credit. Madame, your wife, has informed me of your scruples in giving up the papers entrusted to you by your Government. In the circumstances they were natural; but I think you will find it to your advantage—in fact it seems to me your only course—now to follow our instructions and advice."

"Quite the only course; very much to your advantage; much obleeged to you," hiccoughed the Regent, at this point, with a hazy idea that he was forwarding the proceedings.

Mr. Pitt glanced at him contemptuously and went on: "The letters you sent us by Madame," and he pointed to a packet on the table, "have been copied. They will be duly delivered at their destination—Mr. Perry's—by Madame's servant"—he meant Mahmoud—"whom, we understand, Mr. Perry knows; therefore no suspicion will be aroused. The copies that have been made of them you will deliver in person to our Admiral, Lord Nelson. With that object you will be shipped on board H.M.S. La France"—seeing the look of surprise on St. Just's face—"a French vessel recently captured in the channel. You will have to run the gauntlet of whatever French ships may be found between here and Gibraltar, not far from which, I fancy, Lord Nelson will be met with. You may wonder why you have been selected for this mission, so I will satisfy you. We believe the despatches you brought from Paris to be genuine, to mean what they say. But, sometimes, such documents are penned and despatched in order that they may be seized by the enemy and so mislead him—to lead him into a trap. It, therefore, seems desirable to make you the messenger to Lord Nelson. If the information given here"—and he tapped the packet with his finger—"should be false, the Admiral will know how to deal with you."

This was pleasant hearing for St. Just. It seemed possible that he had escaped being shot as a traitor by French bullets, only to swing from a British yard-arm as a spy. But, for the moment, he said nothing; Mr. Pitt proceeded, "To be frank with you, you will be a hostage for the genuineness of your despatch. Now that you realize the position, perhaps you would like to express your opinion of the reliability of these documents. It might save us anxiety and yourself this voyage—and, perhaps—your neck, for the Admiral is a strict disciplinarian."

St. Just did realize the position; it was as clear as daylight.

"I can only say in reply to that," rejoined St. Just, "that I have not an idea what the despatch contains, nor whether it was written to mislead, or not. For the last eighteen months I have been imprisoned at Vincennes, and not a word of what took place in Europe during the whole time reached my ears. Three days ago I was released and sent here with these papers, and ordered to remain in England, awaiting fresh instructions. I know no more."

"I thoroughly believe you, Mons. St. Just," replied the Premier. "For all that, we like to be on the safe side; and I fear you will have to take this voyage. The papers are ready for Mons. St. Just, Mr. Sidney?" he wound up interrogatively to the Secretary.

"They are, Sir," was the reply.

St. Just sat sad and stupefied. Once more, he had no sooner rejoined his wife than he was to be torn away from her. Fate was indeed cruel to him.

Now Halima had so represented matters as to make it appear that he had betrayed his trust and voluntarily handed over the papers to the English Government; but with a show of opposition to protect himself from Napoleon's vengeance, should it come to his ears, and he, St. Just, fall into the Emperor's hands. But he had no mind to lie under such an imputation, and was on the point of making a vehement protest, and explaining that he was no party to Mr. Pitt's being in possession of the papers; that he had been robbed of them; when Halima, reading his intention in his face, first silenced him with a look, and, then getting up, went round to him. "Henri!" she murmured cooingly. Her accents brought back to him the memory of days of love and dalliance spent together in the luxurious house at Cairo; of nights out in the desert under the starlit sky; of moments when they had been in peril of their lives, and they two had been all in all to one another. His name, now uttered by her in her softest tones, that breathed of love, thrilled him from head to foot, and sent the blood leaping through his veins. The words he had meant to utter remained unspoken.

"Henri," she laid her hand gently on his arm, "be silent, if you love me. I read your thoughts. You would tell them how the papers reached their hands; that you had no part in the transaction. If you value your liberty, your life—and mine, for your death would be also mine—say nothing. It will not alter their resolve to send you. At present, they have trust in you; do nothing to destroy that trust. Even as it is, they have some little doubt, though I have worked hard for you.

"I pray that Buonaparte, in making you the bearer of despatches to his agents, has not played you false; for if aught is wrong, and they are a mere ruse, the English will shoot you like a dog. So be warned by me, chéri, for my sake, if you care not for yourself; for I cannot lose you. But there is no time for more. Farewell, my dearest. May Allah bring you safely to me again."

During this short murmured conversation, the others had withdrawn somewhat from St. Just and Halima, and were discussing something in low tones together, and signing papers. Halima glanced at them, and, seeing that she was unobserved, bent forward swiftly, and kissed him lightly and noiselessly on the cheek; then slid back rapidly to her seat.

St. Just sat motionless. He felt like one suddenly launched into the middle of a dream, in which all sorts of impossibilities and incongruities and anachronisms are jumbled up together, and yet, to the dreamer, have the semblance of reality and rationality. His brain was in a whirl. All the resolutions and fidelity to Napoleon, formulated in his cell at Vincennes, had taken wing, at the touch of a woman's hand, at the music of a woman's voice, at the imprint of a woman's lips. He scarcely knew what was going on about him.

He was roused from his reverie by the opening of one of the folding doors and the entrance of a young officer in the uniform of a Hussar. The young man bowed respectfully, but without servility, to the company; then, bringing his spurred heels sharply to attention, he stood erect awaiting orders. The Prime Minister addressed him in a clear, incisive tone, "Captain Anson, you will convey this gentleman," indicating St. Just, "and the papers with which you will be entrusted to Commander Fergusson of H.M.S. La France, now lying off Shoreham. You will travel as fast as your escort can cover the ground, for it is imperative that you reach the ship before twelve o'clock, at which hour she is to sail. It is vital that Mons. St. Just shall embark in her. You will, therefore, guard him carefully and hand him over with these papers to Captain Fergusson."

The officer bowed, and Mr. Pitt went on:—"The Regent has placed at your disposal one of his private traveling carriages. You will show this," handing him a paper, which he and the Regent had signed and stamped with the Royal Arms, "to all postmasters and others, so that you may take precedence of every one in the choice of horses.

"What escort did you bring?"

"Twenty men, Sir, in accordance with the instructions in your letter to the Colonel. I received his orders soon after six this morning, and I left Hounslow almost immediately."

"Egad, Sir, that is not bad work," put in the Regent, who, all this time, had been whispering to Halima.

"Take every care of Mons. St. Just," resumed the Premier. "Treat him with all courtesy and instruct Captain Fergusson to do the same. You will ride in the carriage with him, and will not permit him, on any pretext, to communicate with any one on the way. I have nothing more to add."

He bowed to Captain Anson; then leaned back in his chair.

The Regent pulled out his watch. "Damnation!" he exclaimed, "it's close on eight o'clock. Ah! I thought so." At that moment the Horse Guards clock began to strike that hour. "You must ride hard, gentlemen. You've sixty-two miles to cover in four hours. Come, I've done Brighton in the time; and you won't be stopped—except by highwaymen; but those gentlemen mostly work by night."

He laughed, and, leaning forward, began to recount an adventure of his own, in which a highwayman had figured, when he had been stopped upon the Brighton Road. But, while he was talking, the Hussar, bowing comprehensively all round, had led his prisoner from the room; the last thing they heard, as they paced the corridor, being the coarse laugh of the Regent and the words, "Damnation, impudent, eh, Pitt? Truth, upon honor; egad what impudent–"

The words died away, and, in a few seconds, St. Just found himself in the traveling carriage—a royal one. It was beautifully padded and with springs so carefully adjusted that, even on the roughest road, the jolting was almost imperceptible. Four horses were harnessed to it.

The royal-liveried postilions glanced curiously at their unusual "fares," the door was banged to, the escort surrounded the carriage, and then, at a word from the grizzled sergeant in command, the cavalcade set out.

CHAPTER II

Headed by a portion of their escort, they started at a rapid trot, wheeled round the corner of Downing Street, then past the Houses of Parliament and across Westminster Bridge, and on to where the Brighton Road begins.

Soon they had passed the outskirts of the metropolis and were in the open country. Then they put on a spanking pace, over hill and down dale, the horses galloping on every level stretch of road and down all safe descents, and even up gentle rises. The carriage oscillated from side to side, with the speed at which they were traveling, but there was little jolting, for in those days the Brighton Road was famous for its high condition, and was as smooth almost as a billiard table.

Their first halting place was the White Hart at Reigate, where they stopped for a change of horses. Here Captain Anson left the carriage and, after placing a soldier at each door with orders to prevent St. Just from leaving the carriage or speaking to any one, returned almost immediately, followed by the obsequious landlord with a basket, a welcome sight to the prisoner in the carriage, who was famishing.

The escort were, after resting their horses, to return to their barracks at Hounslow, for it would have been impossible for the men, without remounts, to accompany the carriage all the way. Captain Anson ordered two of the troopers to mount to the box; then, all being ready, they rattled off again with their fresh team.

There was a bottle of wine in the basket, and certain appetizing viands, and, under their influence, the tongues of both the occupants of the carriage became unloosed; for, up to this time, there had been little conversation. But now Captain Anson, in particular, became quite talkative, relating many amusing anecdotes and giving St. Just an insight into fashionable life in London in the Regency. Thus the time occupied between Reigate and Crawley sped by without their noticing it, so that they reached the latter village when they thought that they had but just cleared the outskirts of Red Hill.

When they drew up before the George, the officer frowned, for, just in front of them, was another post-chaise; while, from the inn yard, some fresh horses were being led out.

Then St. Just heard the sound of angry voices in altercation. "Ah!" thought he, "a dispute about the horses, no doubt;" and in this he was correct. Next, some one tried to approach the carriage, but this the two troopers placed on guard prevented. The fresh team was quickly harnessed, and the carriage moved on again. In passing the inn door, St. Just noticed on the doorstep a swearing, gesticulating figure he well knew. It was Perry, the hosier of the Strand. For the first time since the commencement of his journey St. Just was glad to get away, for he had no wish to be recognized by his London friend; the circumstance would certainly have been communicated to Paris.

"Poor old chap," laughed Anson, while they were making the steep ascent leading to Hand Cross village, "I'm afraid we've upset him vastly, in borrowing his horses. He made no end of a hubbub and swore I should not have them, without your personal command."

"Mine?" asked the other in surprise; "What did he know about me?"

"Why?" laughed Captain Anson; "seeing the Royal carriage and liveries he thought the Regent was inside; the more so when I showed him my authority. It was all I could do to keep him from coming to the carriage to pay his respects to the Prince, whom, he said, he knew. I had to tell him that his Royal Highness was asleep, and that I would not permit him to be disturbed. I don't know who the fellow is, but he said he had important business with one Stephen Dumbell at Bolney, and that he must see him before noon; that all sorts of awful things would happen, if he didn't. I'm afraid Stephen Dumbell will have to possess his soul in patience, until his friend procures another team."

St. Just laughed too, but only in a half-hearted way, for Perry's appearance had filled him with uneasy thoughts. Again it came to him what an egregious act of folly it had been, his not having delivered his despatch before seeing Halima. Then all that had since happened, and his present predicament would have been avoided. It was possible, nay probable, that his dereliction of duty would have wide-spreading consequences; might even change the whole current of affairs in Europe. And why should Perry be leaving England so suddenly, for that he, like them, was making his way to Shoreham, St. Just felt certain.

He was glad to learn that Perry was unknown to Captain Anson, and he kept his own knowledge of him to himself.

Meanwhile the carriage rattled on; now descending at a breakneck pace the long decline that led to the pretty little hamlet of Bolney; then on past the Cross Roads, leaving on the right the road to sleepy Cowfold and the more active and larger, but hardly less old-fashioned Horsham.

On they dashed, past the grand old mansion of Hickstead, at that time approached, as was that of Cuckfield, by a fine avenue of trees, most of which have long disappeared, together with the monks who planted them.

On, on, on, and now it was in verity a race with time. Captain Anson thrust his head out of the carriage window. "Faster, faster!" he cried to the postillions. "A guinea each, if we arrive in time."

And, in answer to his appeal, the men plied vigorously whip and spur to the panting, sweating horses; and soon they were tearing long as fast as they could gallop over the bridge that spans the river Arun hard by Lancing. On, on, they sped and, at last, Shoreham loomed in view.

Then, when their goal was all but reached and Captain Anson, after consulting his watch, had fallen back to his corner with a sigh of relief and a smile of satisfaction, for he saw that he would be in time; a serious mishap occurred. With a sudden jerk, the carriage came to a stop, and the occupants found themselves violently thrown forward and involuntarily jostling one another. In an instant, Anson was on his feet and shouting to the postilions from the window. But a glance sufficed to show him what had happened; the two leaders were down; they had fallen from sheer exhaustion—galloped to a standstill. The two that remained upon their legs were trembling in every limb, and so bathed in sweat that they might have been swimming a river.

Captain Anson was terribly upset; it looked as though, just when success seemed within his reach, he was to be foiled. But he was a man of energy and not easily daunted; he would use every means to discharge his trust—so much depended on it; not only to his country, but to himself.

"Two of the horses are down," he said to his companion. "I must ask you to get out, Mons. St. Just." He had already decided what to do.

St. Just at once did as requested.

Then, issuing his orders with decision, the officer told the two soldiers on the box to descend and guard St. Just. The postilions were already on their feet. These he told to unharness the two shaft horses, and to remove the riding saddle and bridle from one of the leaders that had fallen, but were now once more on their legs, and replace them on the shaft horse that was without them. All this was done almost by the time he had given his orders. Then he carefully examined the two saddled horses to see which, in his judgment, was the stronger and swifter of the two. Indicating the other, he addressed St. Just. "Kindly mount, Mons. St. Just," he said. "We shall have to complete our journey on horseback. Excuse my want of ceremony, but time is pressing."

The Frenchman made no difficulty; he realized the futility of opposition; so he placed his foot in the stirrup with alacrity, and, the next instant, was in the saddle. Captain Anson had been watching him, and saw at a glance, that he was quite at home on horseback.

"You are used to riding, Mons. St. Just," he said pleasantly.

"I have had plenty of practice as an aide-de-camp under General Buonaparte," was the reply.

Captain Anson then rapidly gave instructions to the postilions and soldiers to follow on to Shoreham with the post-chaise so soon as the two horses should have rested sufficiently to be harnessed to it. Then he turned again to St. Just.

"Plain speaking between soldiers is the best, Monsieur," he said. "Let me call your attention, therefore, to the fact that I am better mounted than yourself and that I carry a brace of loaded pistols. Should you attempt to make your escape, I will shoot you without the least demur. I trust you will not impose so painful a duty on me."

St. Just laughed. "You will not require to use your pistol, Captain Anson. I am not absolutely devoid of sense. I am at your service."

They gave their horses rein and started at a brisk trot, but soon warmed up into a canter.

It was ten minutes to the hour when they sighted the cruiser, which was anchored just outside the harbor mouth. They were now almost alongside the harbor, and Captain Anson was looking anxiously about for a means of reaching the La France; and luck befriended him. A fishing boat, within hail, was floating lazily with the tide towards the harbor mouth.

"Boat ahoy!" cried Anson.

"Aye, aye, Sir," came the cheery answer.

"In the King's name. Five guineas, if you put us on board yonder cruiser before she sails."

"Done!" shouted the hardy fisherman, who was at the tiller, and he soon brought the little craft alongside where the two men stood, for by this time they had dismounted.

The horses were given in charge of a custom house official, with instructions to await the officer's return, and then they stepped aboard the boat.

"Look alive, man," said Captain Anson; "put in all you know; that vessel must not sail before we board her."

"Never fear, we'll do it, Sir," replied the sturdy boatman, and he and his two mates quickly put the boat about. There was a stiff nor'wester blowing, and the tide was with them, so that the clumsy craft began to make fair way; but every now and then she dipped her nose into the surf-capped rollers that marked the harbor bar, sending showers of brackish spray into the faces of the passengers, and, in fact, all over them, so that they soon were drenched to the skin. But little recked one of them of this; all that he cared for was to reach the vessel.

Nearer and nearer they approached her, and now were almost close upon her. They could hear the sharp tones of the officers shouting their commands; could hear even the creaking of the capstan, as inch by inch the anchor was being dragged up from its muddy depths; and also the voice of the musical Jack who was singing to give the men the time, which he himself took from the notes of an indifferently played fiddle.

Captain Anson placed his hands to his mouth and bawled, "Ship ahoy! Despatches!" Then suddenly he removed them. "By God, she is moving," his voice rising almost to a shriek; "she is under weigh."

And indeed she was, her sails beginning to belly out in the freshening breeze.

"Aye, aye," muttered the old boatman at the helm, quite calmly, "but she'll tack yet, to let the wind take her down channel. You'll see, Sir, we shall manage it."

He put the helm hard over, and the fishing vessel, answering, swung round and was brought up by the side almost under the cruiser's bows.

"Ship ahoy!" yelled the fisherman.

"In the King's name, despatches," shouted Anson, springing to his feet and waving the papers above his head, and almost falling overboard in his excitement.

"All right," was shouted in reply; "Come on board as sharp as you can." A tow rope was flung over the craft, and deftly caught and made fast to her by the fisherman, who then pulled her alongside the cruiser.

St. Just waited for a second or two, when the heave of the sea, that lifted him almost to the shrouds, gave him his opportunity. Quickly grabbing a second rope, he clambered up hand over hand and landed safely upon the cruiser's deck.

Not so the debonair Hussar. Unused to the position, he made his leap just a shade too late, and got drenched to his skin in consequence.