John returns to the Netherlands—Determines to go east and fight the Turks—Meets a bogus French nobleman and his attendants—Goes to France with them—They steal all his belongings and with the assistance of the ship-master decamp—John sells his cloak and pursues the thieves—A friend in need—Finds the robbers but can get no redress—Alone in a strange land without cloak or purse—Secures some clothes and money and turns back to the coast—Still determined to get to the Turkish war by some means.

John entered upon his second campaign in the Netherlands under more promising circumstances than at first. He was furnished with good arms and accoutrements, an ample supply of fine clothing and a considerable sum of money. Moreover, he was no longer a greenhorn. It is true that he could not boast of much actual experience of warfare, but he had learned to handle his weapons with unusual dexterity and was prepared to give a good account of himself. He had, however, few opportunities for display of his skill before the winter put an end to hostilities for the time.

When the camps began to break up, John followed the stream of travel towards the coast without any definite plan for his future movements. He was beginning to tire of service in Holland, which had disappointed his expectations, and was anxious to find a fresh field for adventure. Rudolph the Second, Emperor of Germany, was waging war against the Turks in Hungary and Transylvania. Here was an avenue to new scenes and experiences, but the seat of war was on the other side of Europe and the journey thence a long and expensive one. For that reason he could find none among his late companions in arms who was going to the Turkish war. Still he continued his journey to Rotterdam, hoping that he might there fall in with some nobleman bound for the East, to whose train he might attach himself. He allowed his desire to become known as widely as possible, thinking that it might come to the ears of some leader willing to engage his services.

The port was full of soldiers, real and pretended, waiting to take ship in various directions. There were veterans seeking their homes for a spell of rest after hard fighting or returning to recover from severe wounds. There were others to whom the sole attraction presented by the scene of war was the prospect of loot. There were traders and camp followers innumerable, desperadoes and outlaws, gamblers who used loaded dice and sharpers of all sorts. John was fated to fall into the hands of some of those smooth but dishonest characters who, like vultures, hung in the rear of every army and preyed on the soldiers returning from a campaign rich with pay and plunder. Our hero was an easy victim, for, whilst his common sense rendered him sufficiently cautious where an open enemy was concerned, his frank and generous disposition prevented his suspecting the good faith of a pretended friend.

John had his heavy iron-bound chest taken to one of the best inns in the town and there he settled himself comfortably to interested contemplation of the bustle and movement about him. Although he makes no mention of being conscious of the trait, John Smith evidently had the habit of awaiting events when circumstances failed to supply him with a basis for a reasonable plan of action. When we can not see our way clearly ahead, generally the wisest thing we can do is to do nothing, as Handy Andy might have said. We seldom force a situation without making a mess of it. It did not often happen to John, in the course of his eventful life, that he had long to wait for something to turn up, and the present occasion was no exception to the rule.

He was seated in the common room of the inn one day when he was forced to overhear a conversation in French, with which language he had become tolerably familiar. The speakers were four men who had the appearance of being soldiers in good circumstances. One of them, in particular, was richly dressed and seemed to be of superior station to the others, who were receiving his directions for the voyage to France, which was to be the first stage in a journey to Hungary, where they proposed taking part in the campaign against the Turks. John heard this with delight, for it seemed to afford the very opportunity for which he had been longing.

Presently the three subordinates went out, and no sooner were they alone than John eagerly approached the remaining Frenchman. After apologizing for overhearing the conversation, which, in truth, was intended for his ears, the young soldier stated his circumstances and ventured to express a hope that the gentleman, whom he surmised to be a nobleman, might find a place for him in his train. The Frenchman, who stated his name and style to be Lord de Preau, at first affected to be annoyed at the discussion of his private affairs, but as John proceeded with his story the supposed nobleman relaxed, and at its conclusion with amiable condescension invited our hero to be seated and join him in a bottle of wine.

“I may be able to further your design,” said “Lord de Preau” with thoughtful deliberation, whilst John hung eagerly upon his every word. “It is in my mind to help you, for a more likely young gallant I have never met. But I have not the means, as you seem to think, of supporting a large train.”

Here his “lordship” broke off to raise his goblet to his lips, and John’s heart sank as he imagined that he saw an objection in prospect. The “nobleman” noted the look of disappointment on the young man’s mobile countenance and smiled encouragingly as he continued:

“It may be contrived I ween and thus. The Duc de Mercoeur—as is doubtless beknown to you—is now at the seat of war with a company raised in France. I have letters to the Duc’s good lady who will, I doubt not, furnish me with the means to continue my journey and also commend me to the favor of her lord.”

“And the Duchesse? Where may she be?” asked John.

“The Duchesse de Mercoeur sojourns with her father, Monsieur Bellecourt, whose lands adjoin my own poor estate in Picardy,” replied the pretended nobleman, “so that first we repair to my chateau and there lay our plans for the future. It is agreed?”

Agreed! Why John was fairly ready to fall on “Lord de Preau’s” neck and embrace him in the ecstasy of his delight. That accommodating individual undertook that one of his attendants should make all the preparations for departure and notify our hero when everything should be in readiness.

At noon the following day the three retainers of the French “nobleman” appeared and announced the approaching departure of the vessel upon which they were to embark. They gave their names as Courcelles, Nelie and Montferrat, and each expressed his satisfaction at the prospect of having the young Englishman as a companion in arms in the coming campaign. Preceded by four colporteurs, carrying John’s baggage, they went on board and, De Preau shortly after joining them, the master weighed anchor and sailed out of port.

The vessel on which John shipped with such great expectations was one of the small coasting luggers, common at the time, which bore doubtful reputations because they were as often engaged in smuggling, or other illegal venture, as in honest trade. Upon this particular occasion the craft was full to the point of overcrowding with passengers bound for various points upon the coast of France.

Night had set in when the ship cast anchor in a rough sea off the coast of Picardy. The landing was to be made at St. ValÈry, where the inlet is too shallow to permit the entry of any vessels larger than fishing smacks. There was but one small boat available for taking the passengers ashore, and this the master placed first at the disposal of “Lord de Preau.” The baggage of the entire party was lowered into it and then they began to descend, the supposed nobleman in the lead. When the three retainers had followed their master, the captain, who with the aid of a seaman was going to row the boat to land, declared that it was already laden to its utmost capacity and, promising to return immediately for John, he pushed off into the darkness.

Hour followed hour without bringing any sight of the ship’s boat to our hero impatiently pacing the deck, nor did the return of day afford any sign of the captain and his craft. By this time John’s anxiety had reached a painful pitch. With the exception of his small sword and the clothes upon his back everything he possessed had left the ship in the boat, which he began to fear had foundered in the storm that was not yet exhausted. If this were true his plight was a sorry one, indeed. With straining eyes he spent the day gazing across the mile of water that lay between the ship and the little village of St. ValÈry. The waves gradually subsided as the day wore on, and when evening approached the sea was running in a long heavy swell. John felt that he could not abide another night of uncertainty and was seriously debating in his mind the chances of safely reaching the shore by swimming, when he perceived a boat putting out from the port.

A very angry set of passengers greeted the master as he came over the side of his vessel and they were not altogether appeased by his explanation that the boat had been damaged on the outward trip, and he dared not entrust himself to it for the return until after the water and wind went down. He reassured John by the statement that his friends had gone forward to Amiens to avoid the poor accommodation at St. ValÈry, and would there await him. Having made his excuses, the master proceeded to get his passengers ashore as quickly as possible and offered John a seat in the first boat which he was only too glad to accept, for, though his mind was somewhat easier, he felt impatient to rejoin his new patron—and his chest.

John’s first thought on landing was to procure a horse to carry him to Amiens, but when he thrust his hand into his pocket he discovered that he had not a single penny—even his purse was with his baggage. He might walk, but Amiens was nearly forty miles distant and it would take him two days to cover the ground on foot. Moreover, he would need food on the way and was already hungry and faint, having in his anxiety of the previous hours neglected to eat. Clearly he must get some money, and the readiest way to do so seemed to lie in selling his cloak, which was a very good one. He disposed of it to the innkeeper at a fair price, ate a hurried supper, and was in the act of arranging for the hire of a horse, when one of his fellow passengers entered the tavern and expressed a desire to speak with him privately.

The man who thus claimed John’s attention was a soldier of middle age with an honest and weather-beaten countenance. He had arrived on one of the last boat trips but had sought our hero with as little delay as possible. He now expressed his belief that John was the victim of a plot to deprive him of his money and belongings. De Preau he said was slightly known to him as the son of a notary of Mortagne, and he believed the other rascals to be natives of that town. He had not suspected any mischief until he heard the master on his return from shore refer to De Preau as a nobleman. He doubted not the ship captain had connived at the swindle, but nothing could have been proved against him in the absence of the chief culprits.

John was at first disposed to be angry with Curzianvere, as the soldier was named, for not having spoken sooner and denounced the master on the spot. He readily excused the other, however, when he explained that he was an outlaw from the country on account of a political offence and now secretly visiting his home at great risk. It was natural that he should have hesitated to get mixed up in a scrape that would necessitate his appearing before a magistrate at the hazard of being recognized. By divulging this much about himself he had confided in the honor of a stranger, but so great was the confidence with which John’s frank demeanor inspired him that he would go still farther and, as his road lay past Mortagne, would guide him thither. He warned John, however, that he could not venture to enter any large town in Picardy or Brittany, much less appear as a witness against De Preau and his companions, should they be found.

With this understanding the two soldiers set out together, and after several weeks’ tramping, during which Curzianvere had shared his slender purse with John, they arrived at Mortagne. Here the outlaw, perhaps fearing complications that might arise from his companion’s errand, decided to continue his journey. Before parting with the young wayfarer, however, he gave him letters to some friends residing in the neighborhood from whom he might expect hospitable treatment.

John entered the town, and so far as the first step in his quest was concerned, met with immediate success. Almost at once he encountered De Preau and Courcelles sauntering along the main street. John’s bile rose as he perceived that both were tricked out in finery abstracted from his chest. He strode up to them and in angry tones charged them with deception and the theft of his goods. The sudden encounter confused the rogues, but De Preau quickly regained his composure.

“Does Monsieur honor you with his acquaintance?” he asked of Courcelles with a significant look.

“Had I ever seen that striking face before I must have remembered it,” replied the other, taking the cue from his leader.

John was aghast at their effrontery, and turning to a knot of townsmen who gathered around, he cried:

“These men have robbed me of my possessions. Even now they wear my garments upon their backs. If there be justice——” but speech failed him at sight of the unsympathetic faces of the bystanders.

“Mon Dieu! But the fellow is a superb actor,” drawled De Preau.

“Most like some knave who would draw us into a quarrel,” added Courcelles.

The onlookers, too, began to make menacing remarks, and poor John realized the hopelessness of his position. He was a foreigner without a friend, and he suddenly remembered that to be locked up and found with Curzianvere’s letters upon him would not mend matters. He could not support a single word of his story with proof. He was cloakless and his clothing worn and travel-stained. Who could be expected to believe that he ever owned a purse filled with gold and a chest of rich raiment? He was quivering with just rage, but he had sense enough to see that his wisest course lay in retreat. So without another word he turned his back on the two villains and walked rapidly out of the town.

A few miles from Mortagne John found the friends to whose kind offices the letters of Curzianvere recommended him. He met with a cordial reception and sincere sympathy when he had told his tale, but these good people were obliged to admit that he had no chance of recovering his property or causing the punishment of the thieves. Being thus fully convinced that the matter was beyond remedy, John determined to put it behind him and seek relief for his feelings in action. He declined the invitation of Curzianvere’s friends to prolong his visit but, accepting a small sum of money and a cloak from them, set out to retrace his steps to the coast, in the hope that he might secure employment upon a ship of war.