“Very well,” said he; “I shall accompany you; and the adventure appears to me so wonderful, that I shall carry the torch myself.” And saying these words, he girded on a short sword, placed a pistol in his belt, disclosing in this movement, which opened his doublet a little, the fine rings of a coat of mail, destined to protect him from the first dagger-thrust of an assassin. After which he took a Scottish dirk in his left hand, and then turning to Athos, “Are you ready, Monsieur?” said he.
“I am.”
Athos, as if in opposition to what Monck had done, unfastened his poniard, which he placed upon the table; unhooked his sword-belt, which he laid close to his poniard; and, without affectation, opening his doublet as if to look for his handkerchief, showed beneath his fine cambric shirt his naked breast, without weapons either offensive or defensive.
“This is truly a singular man,” said Monck; “he is without any arms; he has an ambuscade placed somewhere yonder.”
“General,” said he, as if he had divined Monck’s thought, “you wish we should be alone; that is very right, but a great captain ought never to expose himself with temerity. It is night, the passage of the marsh may present dangers; be accompanied.”
“You are right,” replied he, calling Digby. The aid-de-camp appeared. “Fifty men with swords and muskets,” said he, looking at Athos.
“That is too few if there is danger, too many if there is not.”
“I will go alone,” said Monck; “I want nobody. Come, Monsieur.”
25
The Marsh
Athos and Monck passed over, in going from the camp towards the Tweed, that part of the ground which Digby had traversed with the fishermen coming from the Tweed to the camp. The aspect of this place, the aspect of the changes man had wrought in it, was of a nature to produce a great effect upon a lively and delicate imagination like that of Athos. Athos looked at nothing but these desolate spots; Monck looked at nothing but Athos—at Athos, who, with his eyes sometimes directed towards heaven, and sometimes towards the earth, sought, thought, and sighed.
Digby, whom the last orders of the general, and particularly the accent with which he had given them, had at first a little excited, Digby followed the pair at about twenty paces, but the general having turned round as if astonished to find his orders had not been obeyed, the aid-de-camp perceived his indiscretion, and returned to his tent.
He supposed that the general wished to make, incognito, one of those reviews of vigilance which every experienced captain never fails to make on the eve of a decisive engagement: he explained to himself the presence of Athos in this case as an inferior explains all that is mysterious on the part of his leader. Athos might be, and, indeed, in the eyes of Digby, must be, a spy, whose information was to enlighten the general.
At the end of a walk of about ten minutes among the tents and posts, which were closer together near the headquarters, Monck entered upon a little causeway which diverged into three branches. That on the left led to the river, that in the middle to Newcastle Abbey on the marsh, that on the right crossed the first lines of Monck’s camp; that is to say, the lines nearest to Lambert’s army. Beyond the river was an advanced post, belonging to Monck’s army, which watched the enemy; it was composed of one hundred and fifty Scots. They had swum across the Tweed, and, in case of attack, were to recross it in the same manner, giving the alarm; but as there was no post at that spot, and as Lambert’s soldiers were not so prompt at taking to the water as Monck’s were, the latter appeared not to have as much uneasiness on that side. On this side of the river, at about five hundred paces from the old abbey, the fishermen had taken up their abode amidst a crowd of small tents raised by soldiers of the neighboring clans, who had with them their wives and children. All this confusion, seen by the moon’s light, presented a striking coup d’oeil; the half shadow enlarged every detail, and the light, that flatterer which only attaches itself to the polished side of things, courted upon each rusty musket the point still left intact, and upon every rag of canvas the whitest and least sullied part.
Monck arrived then with Athos, crossing this spot, illumined with a double light, the silver splendor of the moon, and the red blaze of the fires at the meeting of the three causeways; there he stopped, and addressing his companion—“Monsieur,” said he, “do you know your road?”
“General, if I am not mistaken, the middle causeway leads straight to the abbey.”
“That is right; but we shall want lights to guide us in the vaults.” Monck turned round.
“Ah! I thought Digby was following us!” said he. “So much the better; he will procure us what we want.”
“Yes, general, there is a man yonder who has been walking behind us for some time.”
“Digby!” cried Monck. “Digby! come here, if you please.”
But instead of obeying, the shadow made a motion of surprise, and, retreating instead of advancing, it bent down and disappeared along the jetty on the left, directing its course towards the lodging of the fishermen.
“It appears not to be Digby,” said Monck.
Both had followed the shadow which had vanished. But it was not so rare a thing for a man to be wandering about at eleven o’clock at night, in a camp in which are reposing ten or eleven thousand men, as to give Monck and Athos any alarm at his disappearance.
“As
