University of Virginia Library

THE MYSTERY OF THE BRAZEN NOSE;
OR, THE MAIDEN'S REVENGE.

[ILLUSTRATION] [Description: 677EAF. Page 331. In-line Illustration. Image of a man lying on the floor holding his head, which is propped up on a chair. His feet are also propped up on a chair. A man seems to be bringing a third chair.]

1. CHAPTER I
THE HERO OF THE STORY.

NIGHT closed around
the field of Agincourt.
Sir Hildebrand
Hellytisplit,
who had been
watching its approach
for an hour,
from a neighboring
hill, with a spy-glass,
turned his
horse's head towards
his quarters,
with a sad heart;
for the day had been destructive to horse-flesh, and
thousands of the French and Norman chivalry bit the
mud (not dust) of Agincourt. He sought his tent. His
brow was dark and gloomy, as could be plainly seen
through his iron helmet; and an unevenness of gait, as
he strode along, betrayed great agitation of the nervous
system.

“Walter de Coursey Stubbs,” said he, hoarsely, to his
squire in attendance, “hang up my horse, and give my

casque some oats and water. And, hark ye! disturb me
not until the Connecticut wooden horologe in the vestibule
striketh the hour of seving. Now, away.”

Sir Hildebrand Hellytisplit slowly divested himself of
his armor, which clanged upon the stillness of the night
like a tin kitchen, and then taking a match from his vest
pocket, he lighted a three-cent regalia, and puffed away
at it in moody silence. He stretched himself upon
three chairs, with a bundle of old newspapers under his
head, and dropped asleep, and then caught a nap. But
his sleep was troubled. Anon he started, and shouted,
“St. Dennis for France! give 'em fits!” Again a
clammy sweat covered his brow, and he muttered, “Ha!
thrice to-day hath the brazen nose gleamed upon me in
the battle-field. Down, old copper-head, down!”

But soon his slumbers grew calm, and not a sound
disturbed the silence, save the man-at-arms, who sat
whetting his jackknife on a brick in the entry, and indulging
in whistling some old familiar psalm-tunes, as if
his mind were elsewhere; for that man-at-arms had a
heart, he had.

2. CHAPTER II.
THE BRAZEN NOSE.

It was midnight, within about ten minutes, and Sir
Hildebrand Hellytisplit still slept. At this moment a
slight noise was heard at the door, and, bearing in his
hand a tin lantern, a knight of gigantic size, — some five
feet six in height, — in complete armor, strode into the
tent. He gazed intently upon the sleeper, and then, in

a suppressed voice, of great anguish, sighed out, “Ah!
oh! um!” and sank into a seat, like a cooking-stove.
His face could not be seen, but there was a dignity about
the strange knight that betokened a genteel bringing-up,
which had won the respect of the man-at-arms, who had
been bribed by a ninepence to admit him to the tent, on
the plea of “special business.”

His armor was of complete black, with no distinguishing
mark, save a huge nose of brass, borne upon the
casque, which gleamed in the light of the lantern like a
quart pot. Taking a pencil from one pocket, and a card
from another, he wrote a few hurried lines; when, whispering
to the man-at-arms for an envelope and a wafer, he
sealed the missive, and deposited it by the side of the
sleeping Sir Hildebrand, saying to the admiring attendant,
“No trouble, sirrah, about mailing letters here;
we can mail them with our own mailed hands, eh!” It
were better he had not uttered this; for the man, who
hoped for further largess, laughed loudly at the pleasantry.

The light in the lantern disappeared, as Sir Hildebrand
Hellytisplit awoke, and, starting upon his elbow, he cried
aloud, “What, ho! without there? What 'n thunder 's
all that noise about?” The men-at-arms and squires
came rushing in, rubbing their eyes. None had heard
the noise, and, at the suggestion of Walter de Coursey
Stubbs, that he had been awakened by his own snoring,
Sir Hildebrand turned over and went to sleep again.

“Keep shady,” was the parting word of the stranger
knight, as he placed a quarter in the hand of Walter, and
strode forth from the tent. Mystery crowned the hour.

3. CHAPTER III.
THE GAME IS UP!

Scarcely had the wooden clock done striking the hour
of seven, the next morning, when Walter de Coursey
Stubbs stood by his master's side to awake him from his
slumbers, which he accomplished by pulling one of the
chairs from beneath him. Sir Hildebrand Hellytisplit
wiped his eyes with his hand, and combed his hair with
his fingers, and then, as was his wont, commenced pommelling
his attendant by way of gentle exercise, after
which he proceeded to dress himself in the panoply of
war. Stooping to pick up one of the stove-pipes that
encased his legs, Sir Hildebrand espied the letter left by
the stranger, lying upon the ground. He gazed upon
the writing, and a mortal paleness covered his face. His
limbs trembled in every joint and rivet, and his teeth,
which were not metallic, shook like a set of props. He
read —

Sir Hildebrand Hellytisplit drank his coffee in silence;
after which, arming himself with two spears, a battleaxe,
a sword, mace and shield, besides filling his belt
with bowie knives, revolvers, and slung shot, he walked
forth into the fields, in the rear of the English camp,
where he soon discovered the Knight of the Brazen Nose

sitting on a rock, reading a newspaper, who sprang to his
feet and pulled out his sword.

The contest was speedily begun and quicker ended;
for Sir Hildebrand had “too many irons in the fire,”
and he could n't “come in” well. One blow from the
powerful arm of him of the Nose, and the head of Sir
Hildebrand Hellytisplit, like an iron pot, rolled at the
feet of the victor.

Uttering a fearful cry of agony at this consummation,
the strange knight tore off his helmet, revealing beneath
a head of hair like a pound of flax, the fair but hard
countenance of Judy O'Brien, the washer-woman.
“Gentlemen,” said she, “he was a perjured man, and
I have avenged myself upon him. He owed me a bill
for washing, but, alas! in wiping out that score, I 've
flummoxed myself. Tell this to my countrywomen;
never seek for vengeance; 't is better to forgive a little,
if they lose a shilling on the pound. Farewell.” Saying
which, she disappeared up a tall tree that was near
by, and they never saw her more.

Coroner de Smythe, under the circumstances, did not
think it advisable to summon a jury, and informed Sir
Hildebrand's friends, by telegraph, that they had better
come on and look after his effects, as ne was n't exactly
in a condition to do it for himself. A Flemish Jew bought
Sir Hildebrand Hellytisplit's wardrobe, after a few keepsakes
had been taken by friends, for about the price of
old iron.