THE WHITE GAUNTLET.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 15141, 4 November 1912, Page 4

THE WHITE GAUNTLET.

PUBLISHED BV SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY PERCY JAMES BREBNER, Author of " The Brown Mask," " A Royal VCar "A Gcnt.'eman of Virginia," "Princess Marilza," etc , pic COPTBIOHT. CHAPTER XIII. OCDENARDE. It is one thing to refuse a promise secrecy: it is another matter to betr; the secret. Except to prevent some gre villainy, most gentlemen shrink from bca ins; tales against their fellow*, and lb Paul Sauveron had dealings with St. Ge mains was no great villainy—scores wl wore the Queen's colours were doing tl same. There was no treason against II Majesty, and to plot against the Hon: of Hanover—which, more than like"; would never have anything to do wit England— of no great consequence. £ Seymour argued, and knew that, althoug no* promise had been given. Sauveron w; confident that,their conversation would in be repeated unless seme grave necessit should arise. After being decoyed and attacked i such a manner. Seymour had been pri pared to disbelieve any explanatio Sauveron might offer: but it- was impoi sibie not to believe the open confession h had made. True, he had shown some ill-wi towards the Duke of Marlborough, but h was only one of many who chose to be J-cve idle gossip which could do the Duk little ham:, and that he did not scrupi to express hi; opinion 10 one lie believer more deeniv in the Duke's confidence- thai um actual)v the awe. went far to nrov. ids hoiiestr'o! purpose. But beyond al other con.v.ueraLions in Seymour's min< was the liiousul of Diane de Moriiay. T< -n-\ik .vain;;," Paid Sanveron would be t< injure j.ci— i! not directly, indirectly, siuci shelved him. , . . 'J hat mademoiselle should beenthusia*.lifor li'r mvi: land, prepared to scheme am even run unite* r.-saiy nsks for her country Sevmour ixuld understand : it was charac tens', ic id a warm-hearted woman: it was r.o nvn-i: tliMu might. be expect-".! of her Hut steel v it was' not like, her to stoop t< the wv*ret" mcannws: to the betrayal ami sacrifice of a fiiend? Vet it was against this danger Sauveion had warned him. making excuses for the woman, yet. very firm and precise hi hi- warning, even tc offering hint mademoiselle's letter to lead. Doubtless it contained more than Sauveron would say. Had she- told him that the bearer of the letter carried despatches to Brussels which might result in disaster to her country' Sauveron had read the postscript aloud, but had he. read the who!« of it: Had .die given her cousin the. chance of lobbing the messenger, and urged hiui to do it? It was a horribla suspicion to have against- the woman who had looked back and smiled at him as >he went along the alley at Windsor, but there was no argument to destroy the suspicion. It seemed that she was ready to sacrifice him* without- a qualm of conscience, and yet in the same moment could smile and promise to be gracious to her victim when he returned, knowing, full well that by her will he never would return. Better far to have done with the world altogether, Seymour thought, than live to know such a "woman could stoop so low. It- was well for his peace of mind that he was given little leisure to dwell on such thoughts. There was work in plenty for Seymour when he presented himself before the Duke next morning. On reading the despatch Marlborough had (prickly decided that hi* plans must be altered, and a few hours lound him moving out of Brussels in a direction he had not originally intended to take. There was to be no further delay. The enemy were to lie given no time to discover how the position hail altered, and by the time the Due do Vendome heard any word of the change the cannons were roaring from the direction of Oudenarde. Seymour had ridden hither and thither all the morning, bearing orders first to one general, then to another. It was his first experience of war, and, being in that state of mind in which a man sets little store upon the future, he did not greatly caro how the day might end for him. He would gladly have* been with his regiment, which formed pari of General West's command, and was in the thick of the fighting, maintaining a position which was being more hotly assaulted every moment. It was upon this point that- Marlborough's keen and watchful eyes were fixed for a long time. " You will ride to General Shaw and tell him to fall back slowly from the hill yonder," he said, turning to an aide-de-camp beside him." " Slowly, tell him : so that ho may draw the enemy after him. That body of waiting cavalry is dangerous so long as it is kept in reserve and unemployed." The officer was gone in a moment, spurring fiercely towards the hill. " Go to General West." said the Duke, turning sharply to Seymour, yet apparently without, knowledge who trie aide-de-camp beside him was. " Tell him ho must stay where he is at all costs. I am reinforcing him." Away went Seymour at the gallop, his # body- low on his horse's neck as a man who rides,in a race. Excitement was in his blood, the tingle of it in every nerve, but no thought of danger. Indeed, for a space the danger was smalL Then a cannot shot came hustling through the air above him, murmuring death and destruction to seme, position on his right. and a strange singing assailed his ears as a musket-ball cut through the air. For art instant he wondered at'the sound ; but his horse knew it, and trembled. It came again and again, now too soon to strike. him, now a moment too late. Whether they were balls ill-aimed or fired with intent at the galloping horseman, they missed their mark, and Seymour speculated neither one way nor the other. He came, to General West unhurtto his own regimentand delivered his message. "Wo shall want reinforcing quickly." was the answer. "Tell the Duke therewill be cavalry breaking out lines difly.'' So Marlborough had foreseen." gauging l what was in his enemy's mind, and moving, to mask his own intentions, as a chess? player moves, a, piece on the board to mislead his adversary. Seymour was but a .piece in the game, an insignificant piece, j and back he went, ready to be moved again by the master hand.

The singing of the musket-balls in his ears was more constant now. and the horse raced madly as though taken with a sudden fear. Too. soon and too late they came, but so nearly true to the mark there could he no question of their being stray balls. The galloping horseman carried a messago which should not he delivered if the enemy could help it. And even as the danger zone was being left behind, one ball was well timed. Tt struck the horse in tho head : the animal's forelegs crumpled under him as though there were no more stamina in them than in twisted papsr, and tho lidt.i- came heavily to the ground. Hoi was dazed for a moment, hut struggled to his feet,, and in a vague- way looked about him as one may when finding himself in a strange place. It was'an absurd idea to get—possibly it came only because much of the sense had been knocked 01117 ••« Ins head by his fall-but that hall had seemed, to com c in exactly an onuosito direction to all the others. ' A riderless i™; With head ~. ~ ™iscd as though looking for some place of safety, came by hnn. close enough for him to seize, tho loose bridle and in a moment he had thrown himself into the saddle Only a. horse shot under him, after all - 110 great matter— small thing i n war ' "A near thing," said another aide-de-camp, as Seymour reached the rising ground where. ..Marlborough and his .staff stood. "Is it only a torn coat-sleeve?" ... Seymour had not even noticed that his sleeve was torn.

"Only that," he answered. But in another moment a sudden turn of his arm made him wince with pain, and warm blood was running on to his hand. It was nothing. Perchance another ball had torn tho flesh as he fell, or he had gashed his arm upon a stone. "It's nothing," he said. to a man beside him and a handkerchief bound tiffhtly

round the arm stopped the blood running on to his hand. Marlborough, as calm and unmoved as though ho rode in an English lane, and death were not busy around him, watched the results of his moves. Here everything happened as he desired, and yonder there was little doubt of success. The retreat, of Shaw brigade from the hill was drawing the enemy, but there was no sign of any slacking in the fierce struggle for West's position. A strong reinforcement was moving to support the General, but Vendoiao had seen the danger, and was strengthening the attack. Marlborough had not succeeded in masking ail- his moves. „ .. Sharp orders seat one officer after another galloping to different points of the compass. West held the key of the whole position. Tho French once driven back there, tho day was won. Th» enemy appeared to ho fully aware of this, and came steadilv and persistently to the attack. Depleted ranks were quickly filled, and a shattered regiment only parted to let another of full strength take its place. For I an instant the Duke's calmness almost forI sook him. He made a gesture of impatience, as if he would drive his own spirit into even- single man fighting then?. _ " Thev* must advance." he said. '" It is time. Hide to General West, and ■"• Seymour moved closer to take the order. " You're hurt, man. Someone else— quickly."' „ There is no one else for the moment. " You, Sir Anthony 1" " Yes, your Grace. I am to ride to General West, and tell him—"' "To advance. The enemy's strength is breaking. What's your hurt

■' Nothing." For an instant the Duke looked into ins face ; then glanced to right and left of him. It was true; there was no other aide-de-camp at hand, and General West must advance forthwith. " You have your chance," said the j Duke. ' , , I The riderless horse which Seymour had captured had mettle, and was an old war- j rior. knowing the smell of powder, not i free from scars caught in » melee. He j knew his rider for a horseman worthy of ■. him. and with ears laid back he galloped j without any need of spur. _ j It was a worse journey this time. The

Rinsing musket-balls were constant, and the" field-guns threw hurtling death orer- ) head. It was well that the horse knew I such sounds and was not- afraid, for one I of Seymour's arms hung loose and help- | lea's beside him, and exertion had caused : the blood to flow again until his hand was wet and sticky. Through it all horse and rider came untouched, and delivered the message. " A'.vunce. The enemy's strength is breaking." The General made no answer. He. too was a piece in the great game, seeing only one part, of the board. In a moment lie was roaring his orders, and shouting came from hot and dusty throats in return. "Who's for hell's mouth?" cried a huge pikemau: and the next moment he was spitting blood, then cursed as he staggered forward, and fell on his face, not a hand stretched out to save himself. j It was only erne voice silenced, and lessened not a- whit tho roar of the shouting-. There came a rush over the ditch— a line upon the great board on which this awful game was being played—the wild rush of a. howling mass hurling itself upon I the' pikeman. beating down the weapons, j strong and mighty enough, it seemed, to carry everything before it. For a few j momenta it- was difficult to tell friend from foe. Then came a pause, and after that a great heaving backwards, as a wave that has lashed furiously and split itself upon some unyielding sea-wall. Quickly the ditch was* filled as winter tempests never filled it—with writhing men, covered with mire and blood and sweat, cursing and groaning horribly; with staring men lying quite still and flung in strange posttires ; and over them all, over living and

dead, went. West's brigade. For a moment it seemed to Seymour that he was left- absolutely alone. The shouting receded from him. A hoarse roar seemed strangely hushed to a murmur, and he was suddenly as a tired child. What more was there to do but let his head drop upon his breast and sleep ''. Then a ball striking the earth close in front of him roused him. He was the Duke's last aide-de-camp, and would be wanted acrain. The battle had shifted. Few bullets sang about him now. but the spits of earth to the right of him showed where [they fell short. To his left were regiments rapidly advancing, the allies rushing forward to the final rout. Surely it was time to sleep. Surely the long" hours of burning heat and riot of sound were over. The horse stumbled—or Seymour thought so—and then the world turned red, and from red to black, then to red again— blood-red. Somewhere ho was conscious of pain, and the thought came to him that he was being mistaken for an enemy. He was near the «pot where his horse had been shot under him before. Strange— and the world turning red. Shouting to right and to left of him. wild shouting and the quick beating of galloping horses; blood-coloured shadows, fantastic and wild, flashing across a background of blackened sky and land ; cries were about him—cries of victory! From every side they came: from beyond the ditch, from yonder where, heavy smoke hid the shouters, from the rising ground i where the master victor was. The battle was over. The day was ended. Oudenarde had been fought and won. It was time for sleep and to get ease from pain. Once more the horse, with his head high, a warrior untouched by ball or sabrethrust this glorious day, went riderless ; and Seymour lay with his face to the I earth. i 'To be continued daily.) j