The Colonel of the Red Huzzars | Page 4

of Henry, third of the name and tenth of
the Line. A hundred and more years had passed since he went to his
uncertain reward; and now, in me, his great-great-grandson, were his
face and figure come back to earth.
I had said, truly enough, that I had never been in the Gallery of Kings.
But it was not necessary for me to go there to learn of this resemblance
to my famous ancestor. For, handed down from eldest son to eldest son,
since the first Dalberg came to American shores, and, so, in my
possession now, was an ivory miniature of the very portrait which
Courtney had in mind.
And the way of it, and how I chanced to be of the blood royal of

Valeria, was thus:
Henry the Third--he of the portrait--had two sons, Frederick and Hugo,
and one daughter, Adela. Frederick, the elder son, in due time came to
the throne and, dying, passed the title to his only child, Henry; who, in
turn, was succeeded by his only child, Frederick, the present monarch.
Adela, the daughter, married Casimir, King of Titia,--and of her
descendants more anon.
Hugo, the younger son, was born some ten years after his brother,--to
be accurate, in 1756,--and after the old King had laid aside his sword
and retired into the quiet of his later years. With an honestly inherited
love of fighting, and the inborn hostility to England that, even then, had
existed in the Valerians for a hundred years, Hugo watched with
quickening interest the struggle between the North American Colonies
and Great Britain which began in 1775. When the Marquis de Lafayette
threw in his fortunes with the Americans, Hugo had begged permission
to follow the same course. This the old King had sternly refused;
pointing out its impropriety from both a political and a family aspect.
But Hugo was far from satisfied, and his desire to have a chance at
England waxing in proportion as the Colonies' fortunes waned, he at
last determined to brave his fierce old father and join the struggling
American army whether his sire willed it or no. His mind once formed,
he would have been no true son of Henry had he hesitated.
The King heard him quietly to the end,--too quietly, indeed, to presage
well for Hugo. Then he answered:
"I take it sir, your decision is made beyond words of mine to change.
Of course, I could clap you into prison and cool your hot blood with
scant diet and chill stones, but, such would be scarce fitting for a
Dalberg. Neither is it fitting that a Prince of Valeria should fight
against a country with which I am at peace. Therefore, the day you
leave for America will see your name stricken from the rolls of our
House, your title revoked, and your return here prohibited by royal
decree. Do I make myself understood?"

So far as I have been able to learn, no one ever accused my
great-grandfather of an inability to understand plain speech, and old
Henry's was not obscure. Indeed, Hugo remembered it so well that he
made it a sort of preface in the Journal which he began some months
thereafter, and kept most carefully to the very last day of his life. The
Journal says he made no answer to his father save a low bow.
Two days later, as plain Hugo Dalberg, he departed for America. For
some time he was a volunteer Aide to General Washington. Later,
Congress commissioned him colonel of a regiment of horse; and, as
such, he served to the close of the war. When the Continental Army
was disbanded, he purchased a place upon the eastern shore of
Maryland; and, marrying into one of the aristocratic families of the
neighborhood, settled down to the life of a simple country gentleman.
He never went back to the land of his birth, nor, indeed, even to Europe.
And this, though, one day, there came to his mansion on the
Chesapeake the Valerian Minister to America and, with many bows and
genuflections, presented a letter from his brother Frederick, announcing
the death of their royal father and his own accession, and offering to
restore to Hugo his rank and estates if he would return to court.
And this letter, like his sword, his Order of the Cincinnati, his
commissions and the miniature, has been the heritage of the eldest son.
In his soldier days his nearest comrade had been Armand, Marquis de
la Rouerie, and for him his first-born was christened; and hence my
own queer name--for an American: Armand Dalberg.
There was one of the traditions of our House that had been
scrupulously honored: there was always a Dalberg on the rolls of the
Army; though not always was it the head