THE LEAGUE OF THE ROSE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 19108, 28 June 1930, Page 22 (Supplement)

THE LEAGUE OF THE ROSE.

A Tale Ot The French Revolution.

(Written for the “ Star ” bu

H. ASHTON-WOLFE.)

The following tale was discovered by the merest chance. It had been classified in the secret police archives under the misleading title. “Attempt by Sydney Smith to destroy Le Havre.” Curiosity prompted me to learn how an English officer had hoped to accom ! plish such a feat, and hidden among the reports dealing with the J imprison ment and escape ot Captain Wright and Sir Sydney Smith of the King’s Navy, I found part of a diary compiled by one of Marat s spies, a man named Lafourche, but known in England as Tom Foster. The archivist Peuchet. who loved to reconstruct the past, and to disentangle from involved and tedious dossiers the stirring events they concealed, had rewritten the story, ad ding many details that patient search had enabled him to glean. It is certain, therefore, that the League of the Rose” did exist, and that it was formed by adventure-lov-ing chivalrous Englishmen who cheerfully risked their lives to assist the victims of the terrible French Revolution. The leader was Reginald de Nemours, a young man of great histrionic ability and exceptional courage, and his love for Mile. Christine de Lamark forms the pivot to the tale. The girl appears to have been received several times by King George 111., and also by his able Minister, Pitt. The dossiers d a . re a!so mentioned in file 3431, 8.E.4 in the National Archives but m such fashion that no hint is given of the fantastic tale to which they are the guiding thread. Reginald de Nemours must have been exceptionally skilled in the art of disguise since during the many months t«at he led his little band of heroes and, with incredible audacity, wrested many persecuted nobles and their fami lies from the very midst of the bloodthirsty revolutionary rabble, he passed unscathed through the network of spies polluting France. It seems strange, however, that Christine de Lamark, who from the .first was unconsciously dominated by his bold, fearl?ss. personality, should not earlier have divined who he really was. Captain Wright, who ably assis ed the young .man in his chivalrous underlyings, was a jovial, roistering comrade, as brave and reckless as his boon companion. Sir Sydney Smith. These two faithful allies had lived much in France and spoke the language perfc jtly, a-n accomplishment which sa\ ,rl their lives when they succeeded in escaping from the Temple prison by means of a forged order of transfer, a trick Sir Sydney had already employ ed with success on many occasions. Endowed with the keen wit and intrepid spirit so characteristic of the British Nav}% they were yet exact opposites in type. \V right was burly, muscular) and exuberant, while his friend for a little angular fellow, sparing of words with a great beak of a nose that wrinkled like that of an angry dog in moments of stress. Reginald de Nemours was of Huguenot stock, and to him, therefore, French w T as almost a mother tongue h ortunately for his fantastic schemes, l - ’ short, slender figure was inconspicuous, and gave no hint of the supjjle strength with which Nature had equipped him. His favourite disguise was that of a ragged, drunken sans-culotte, gramy of face, with hair dyed a flaming red. No doubt he adopted this repulsive appearance deliberately, because * n London, and also while flirting with the women whom Fouquier-Tin-ville and Robespierre had chosen as spies, he was able with consummate skill to transform himself into a fool ish, affected dandy, whose onlv thoughts appeared to be dress and dice. While on a secret mission Reginald de Nemours had seen Christine de Lamark at \ ersailles and fallen in love with Unfortunately for both, Christine s father, who was covertly negotiating with Austria on behalf of Marie Antoinette, had chosen as suitor for his daughter a young nobleman named Trancois de la Grange, probably because the man was a member of the National Assembly and reputed to have great influence with the leaders. The rumour of this betrothal came as a great shock to Reginald de Nemours, who know the nobleman to be a traitor and a sworn fee of the British. It was at Versailles in October, 1789 when a furious mob of men and women from Paris j>tormed the palace and forced the King and Marie Antoinette to surrender to the fanatics in the city, that Christine first beheld de Nemours! and at once enshrined him as her idol because of his superb fight against overwhelming odds. When the rabble, armed with clubs, scythes and muskets, attempted to force their way into the Queen’s private apartments, a young man with red hair, dressed in the uniform of the Royal Guard, suddenly appeared on the staircase armed with an iron bar, and flinging a barricade of tables and chairs across the entrance, hurled the attackers right and left as they tried to climb the obstruction. Christine, at an upper window watched the unequal contest with dilated eyes, her soul thrilling at the sight. Although stones and knives whistled and thudded about this soldier, it was net until a musket ball tore the weapon from his hand that, with a last ringing yell of defiance, he ducked and vanished behind the columns of the terrace. Then came the terrible days of the Revolution, when murder stalked openly in the streets, and the unhappy King and Queen were beheaded. Christine s father had been captured on his way to the coast by Marat’s men, and thrown into prison on a charge of treason; her mother and sister had only ' evaded the countless prowling spies by hiding in a lonely farmhouse; and Christine herself, half crazed by the horrors that each new day brought in its wake, had appealed to de la Grange for a safe conduct to England, where she hoped to persuade William Pitt, then at the height of his power, to intercede for her family with the leaders of the Revolution De la Grange had obtained the safe conduct, but in exchange he demanded that on her return she should at once become his wife, alleging that only thus would she be safe. By then, however, England was again at war with France, and Pitt was unable to help her. Christine had been the guest of Madame de Nemours on several former visits to London, and before setting out on her long and perilous return journey to Paris, she called to say good-bye. There she encountered Reginald de Nemours, posing as a foppish, simpering youth, and failed to recognise him as the valiant red-haired soldier whose courage she had so much admired. Madame de Nemours presented her son with evident pride, but the young man’s mincing speech and affectation awakened only distaste in the girl. Yet when he escorted her to the travelling chaise, his manner had subtly altered, nnd in a low voice free now from the isp t 1 iarred on her nerves he * wo i... Si oney Sm.th an-, 'aplain Wright will help you, mademoiselle. Be of good cheer—your father j shall be saved, but beware of Tom 'Foster, the spy. - ’ Then, before Chris-'

tine had recovered from her surprise, he was gone.

During the long drive to Dover she had pondered these strange words, try ing in vain to understand why they had produced such a sudden thrill, as though calling to dormant memories deep down in her heart. The mention of a spy had come as a shock; until then she had felt so safe in England, and several times, when the coachman had been forced to lead his horses ovei dangerous spots on the highway, ithad seemed to her that indeed faini hoof-beats had sounded behind them She was thoroughly glad, therefore when at last, with the dawn, they clattered into the yard of the inn where she was wont to alight. The cheerful fire and pleasant room, and the welcome sight of a meal al ready prepared, did much to dispel her anxiety, but hardly had she thrown off her travelling cloak when the landlord ushered in the captain of the ship on which she intended to cross to France, a seaman named Jacques Terreneuve. She knew him to be a notorious smuggler, with little love for a revolution that greatly increased the risks of his trade, and she trusted him implicitly. He knew where to land her so that her advent would pass un noticed, and his schooner, the Maid of Orleans, had carried many a fugitive to England. She sensed that his visit at that early hour foreboded evil. A moment he fumbled awkwardly with his cap, shuffling his feet, then he said quickly: “We shall not sail until the evening ebb-tide, mademoiselle, so you may rest until late. I came to tell you that —and to warn you to keep your eyes open for a red-faced man who dresses like a farmer. He goes by the name of Tom Foster, but he is no more English than I am. I think that his true name is Lafourche, and his mission is to report on all who come and go this side of the Channel. Those red-handed butchers in Paris know why you are here.” “How can they know that—l told no one except the man who gave me a safe conduct." “Then be sure he is a traitor." At the words, Christine sprang to her feet,_ white with rage. “You are speaking of my future hus band, Jacques. If we were not such old friends I would never forgive you for that.” Jacques Terreneuve shook his head like an angry dog. “I’m only a sailor—a smuggler at that—but—well, you’ll see, mademoiselle. I have a message for you also. As soon, as you reach Paris you must go to a house in the rue St. Denis, you’ll know it by a rose fastened to the gates. But go at night, and make sure you are not followed. There you will meet two Englishmen. One is Sir Sydney Smith, the other Captain Wright They are officers of King George’s Navy. That means you can trust them blindly. They will help you in every way. Tell no one of this—no one, or y'ou will cause the death of many brave men,” and with a curt nod the fellow slipped through the door. The captain’s warning, emphasising as it did what de Nemours had said, made Christine very uneasy, and when sbe had finished her meal, she went to her room as swiftly and silently as possible. As she turned the corner of the upper landing she caught sight of a man such as the smuggler had described, fumbling at her door with a key. He straightened up at her unexpected appearance, and with wellsimulated concern exclaimed: “I hope I have made no mistake, madame ; The key doesn’t fit, but it seems to me that this is the room in which I slept.” “You are mistaken, sir, that is my room.” she cried sharply, then in the hope of sounding the fellow, she added, less haughtily, “But, of course, in a strange house such an error is pardonable. I am familiar with the inn because I often stay here when on my way to London.” While she was speaking the man's gaze had flickered over her with uncanny swiftness, taking in every detail of her dress. But he feigned to be relieved by her friendly tone, and answered: “No doubt you are used to travelling, madam. I rarely stir from my farm except when business compels me to come to Dover. My name is Foster— Tom Foster. The landlord knows we well. 1 fear the Channel will be rough to-night.” “No doubt, sir, but that does not concern me,” and with a nod Christine entered her chamber and quickly shut and locked the door, for she had caught a glimpse of a face peering round the corner by the stairs, and realised that she was indeed being watched by creeping, furtive spies, who would probably cause her to be arrested the moment she arrived in Paris. Yet so long as hope remained that she could save her father from the guillotine, she faced this risk inflinchingly, and when dusk had come, hurried to the harbour, where Jacques Terreneuve was wait-, ing. His face set grimly when she related the meeting at the inn, and I clenching his huge fists, he cried: “This is not France, thank Heaven! I’ll show the scoundrel he cannot do as he likes. Wait for me here. There are members of the ‘League of the Rose’ in Dover The fellow shall cool his heels in a police cell before we sail. If he has a boat hidden on the coast the excise men will find it. Some of them are my friends. I’ll see to it that he gets no message across the Channel,” and without further ado the sailor dashed away. An anxious hour passed, then the rattle and bump of the gangway and the sound of running feet and hoarse commands, warned her the ship was getting under way. She immediately went on deck and found the captain in earnest conversation with a sturdy, red-haired seaman whose voice seemed strongely familiar, althotigh the fitful light from the galley made it difficult to obtain more than a vague glimpse of his face. When she approached, the fellow turned quickly and walked away, but Jacques Terreneuve grinned broadly and cried: “We found the boat and one of Tom Foster’s cronies asleep on a locker. Both have been seized, and I don't think the spy will dare to show himself now. If he does, he’ll be sent to prison. You are safe for a week at least. Time enough to rescue monsieur your father.” He chuckled as the girl backed away in dismay. “It’s all right, I know what’s going on, I’m ordered to stand by and carry you all across. Trust Sir Sydney and his friends to manage these things.” “But what is this ‘league of the rose’?” Christine cried. “And who was that man to whom you were speaking just now?” “As for the league, well, you’ll know all about it soon A more reckless set of dare devils I never met Only the sea can breed them That man is- is ■»e of mv < .fficers: he'll drive vpu to Paris.” (Another thrilling instalment will appear on Monday.)