Infomotions, Inc.The Adventures of Gerard / Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930



Author: Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930
Title: The Adventures of Gerard
Publisher: Project Gutenberg
Tag(s): gerard; etienne gerard; colonel gerard; emperor; colonel
Contributor(s): Plouffe, Simon, 1956- [Editor]
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Size: 68,844 words (short) Grade range: 7-9 (grade school) Readability score: 73 (easy)
Identifier: etext1644
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The Adventures of Gerard

by Arthur Conan Doyle

February, 1999  [Etext #1644]


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THE ADVENTURES OF GERARD

BY
A. CONAN DOYLE




"Il etait brave mais avec cette graine de foilie dans sa
bravoure que les Francais aiment."

FRENCH BIOGRAPHY.



PREFACE

I hope that some readers may possibly be interested in these
little tales of the Napoleonic soldiers to the extent of
following them up to the springs from which they flow.  The age
was rich in military material, some of it the most human and the
most picturesque that I have ever read.  Setting aside historical
works or the biographies of the leaders there is a mass of
evidence written by the actual fighting men themselves, which
describes their feelings and their experiences, stated always
from the point of view of the particular branch of the service to
which they belonged.  The Cavalry were particularly happy in
their writers of memoirs.  Thus De Rocca in his "Memoires sur la
guerre des Francais en Espagne" has given the narrative of a
Hussar, while De Naylies in his "Memoires sur la guerre
d'Espagne" gives the same campaigns from the point of view of the
Dragoon.  Then we have the "Souvenirs Militaires du Colonel de
Gonneville," which treats a series of wars, including that of
Spain, as seen from under the steel-brimmed hair-crested helmet
of a Cuirassier.  Pre-eminent among all these works, and among
all military memoirs, are the famous reminiscences of Marbot,
which can be obtained in an English form.  Marbot was a Chasseur,
so again we obtain the Cavalry point of view.  Among other books
which help one to an understanding of the Napoleonic soldier I
would specially recommend "Les Cahiers du Capitaine Coignet,"
which treat the wars from the point of view of the private of the
Guards, and "Les Memoires du Sergeant Bourgoyne," who was a
non-commissioned officer in the same corps.  The Journal of
Sergeant Fricasse and the Recollections of de Fezenac and of de
Segur complete the materials from which I have worked in my
endeavour to give a true historical and military atmosphere to an
imaginary figure.

ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.

March, 1903.


CONTENTS

I.      HOW BRIGADIER GERARD LOST HIS EAR

II.     HOW THE. BRIGADIER CAPTURED SARAGOSSA

III.    HOW THE BRIGADIER SLEW THE FOX

IV.     HOW THE BRIGADIER SAVED THE ARMY 

V.      HOW THE BRIGADIER TRIUMPHED IN ENGLAND

VI.     HOW THE BRIGADIER RODE TO MINSK

VII.    HOW THE BRIGADE BORE HIMSELF AT WATERLOO

VIII.   THE LAST ADVENTURE OF THE BRIGADIER




I. How Brigadier Gerard Lost His Ear


It was the old Brigadier who was talking in the cafe.

I have seen a great many cities, my friends.  I would not dare to
tell you how many I have entered as a conqueror with eight
hundred of my little fighting devils clanking and jingling behind
me.  The cavalry were in front of the Grande Armee, and the
Hussars of Conflans were in front of the cavalry, and I was in
front of the Hussars.  But of all the cities which we visited
Venice is the most ill-built and ridiculous.  I cannot imagine
how the people who laid it out thought that the cavalry could
manoeuvre.  It would puzzle Murat or Lassalle to bring a squadron
into that square of theirs.  For this reason we left Kellermann's
heavy brigade and also my own Hussars at Padua on the mainland. 
But Suchet with the infantry held the town, and he had chosen me
as his aide- de-camp for that winter, because he was pleased
about the affair of the Italian fencing-master at Milan.  The
fellow was a good swordsman, and it was fortunate for the credit
of French arms that it was I who was opposed to him.  Besides, he
deserved a lesson, for if one does not like a prima donna's
singing one can always be silent, but it is intolerable that a
public affront should be put upon a pretty woman.  So the
sympathy was all with me, and after the affair had blown over and
the man's widow had been pensioned Suchet chose me as his own
galloper, and I followed him to Venice, where I had the strange
adventure which I am about to tell you.

You have not been to Venice?  No, for it is seldom that the
French travel.  We were great travellers in those days.  From
Moscow to Cairo we had travelled everywhere, but we went in
larger parties than were convenient to those whom we visited, and
we carried our passports in our limbers.  It will be a bad day
for Europe when the French start travelling again, for they are
slow to leave their homes, but when they have done so no one can
say how far they will go if they have a guide like our little man
to point out the way.  But the great days are gone and the great
men are dead, and here am I, the last of them, drinking wine of
Suresnes and telling old tales in a cafe.

But it is of Venice that I would speak.  The folk there live like
water-rats upon a mud-bank, but the houses are very fine, and the
churches, especially that of St. Mark, are as great as any I have
seen.  But above all they are proud of their statues and their
pictures, which are the most famous in Europe.  There are many
soldiers who think that because one's trade is to make war one
should never have a thought above fighting and plunder.  There
was old Bouvet, for example--the one who was killed by the
Prussians on the day that I won the Emperor's medal; if you took
him away from the camp and the canteen, and spoke to him of books
or of art, he would sit and stare at you.  But the highest
soldier is a man like myself who can understand the things of the
mind and the soul.  It is true that I was very young when I
joined the army, and that the quarter- master was my only
teacher, but if you go about the world with your eyes open you
cannot help learning a great deal.

Thus I was able to admire the pictures in Venice, and to know the
names of the great men, Michael Titiens, and Angelus, and the
others, who had painted them.  No one can say that Napoleon did
not admire them also, for the very first thing which he did when
he captured the town was to send the best of them to Paris.  We
all took what we could get, and I had two pictures for my share.

One of them, called "Nymphs Surprised," I kept for myself, and
the other, "Saint Barbara," I sent as a present for my mother.

It must be confessed, however, that some of our men behaved very
badly in this matter of the statues and the pictures.  The people
at Venice were very much attached to them, and as to the four
bronze horses which stood over the gate of their great church,
they loved them as dearly as if they had been their children.  I
have always been a judge of a horse, and I had a good look at
these ones, but I could not see that there was much to be said
for them.  They were too coarse-limbed for light cavalry charges
and they had not the weight for the gun-teams.

However, they were the only four horses, alive or dead, in the
whole town, so it was not to be expected that the people would
know any better.  They wept bitterly when they were sent away,
and ten French soldiers were found floating in the canals that
night.  As a punishment for these murders a great many more of
their pictures were sent away, and the soldiers took to breaking
the statues and firing their muskets at the stained-glass
windows.

This made the people furious, and there was very bad feeling in
the town.  Many officers and men disappeared during that winter,
and even their bodies were never found.

For myself I had plenty to do, and I never found the time heavy
on my hands.  In every country it has been my custom to try to
learn the language.  For this reason I always look round for some
lady who will be kind enough to teach it to me, and then we
practise it together.  This is the most interesting way of
picking it up, and before I was thirty I could speak nearly every
tongue in Europe; but it must be confessed that what you learn is
not of much use for the ordinary purposes of life.  My business,
for example, has usually been with soldiers and peasants, and
what advantage is it to be able to say to them that I love only
them, and that I will come back when the wars are over?

Never have I had so sweet a teacher as in Venice.  Lucia was her
first name, and her second--but a gentleman forgets second names. 
I can say this with all discretion, that she was of one of the
senatorial families of Venice and that her grandfather had been
Doge of the town.

She was of an exquisite beauty--and when I, Etienne Gerard, use
such a word as "exquisite," my friends, it has a meaning.  I have
judgment, I have memories, I have the means of comparison.  Of
all the women who have loved me there are not twenty to whom I
could apply such a term as that.  But I say again that Lucia was
exquisite.

Of the dark type I do not recall her equal unless it were Dolores
of Toledo.  There was a little brunette whom I loved at Santarem
when I was soldiering under Massena in Portugal--her name has
escaped me.  She was of a perfect beauty, but she had not the
figure nor the grace of Lucia.  There was Agnes also.  I could
not put one before the other, but I do none an injustice when I
say that Lucia was the equal of the best.

It was over this matter of pictures that I had first met her, for
her father owned a palace on the farther side of the Rialto
Bridge upon the Grand Canal, and it was so packed with
wall-paintings that Suchet sent a party of sappers to cut some of
them out and send them to Paris.

I had gone down with them, and after I had seen Lucia in tears it
appeared to me that the plaster would crack if it were taken from
the support of the wall.  I said so, and the sappers were
withdrawn.  After that I was the friend of the family, and many a
flask of Chianti have I cracked with the father and many a sweet
lesson have I had from the daughter.  Some of our French officers
married in Venice that winter, and I might have done the same,
for I loved her with all my heart; but Etienne Gerard has his
sword, his horse, his regiment, his mother, his Emperor, and his
career.  A debonair Hussar has room in his life for love, but
none for a wife.  So I thought then, my friends, but I did not
see the lonely days when I should long to clasp those vanished
hands, and turn my head away when I saw old comrades with their
tall children standing round their chairs.  This love which I had
thought was a joke and a plaything--it is only now that I
understand that it is the moulder of one's life, the most solemn
and sacred of all things--  Thank you, my friend, thank you!  It
is a good wine, and a second bottle cannot hurt.

And now I will tell you how my love for Lucia was the cause of
one of the most terrible of all the wonderful adventures which
have ever befallen me, and how it was that I came to lose the top
of my right ear.  You have often asked me why it was missing. 
To-night for the first time I will tell you.

Suchet's head-quarters at that time was the old palace of the
Doge Dandolo, which stands on the lagoon not far from the place
of San Marco.  It was near the end of the winter, and I had
returned one night from the Theatre Goldini, when I found a note
from Lucia and a gondola waiting.  She prayed me to come to her
at once as she was in trouble.  To a Frenchman and a soldier
there was but one answer to such a note.  In an instant I was in
the boat and the gondolier was pushing out into the dark lagoon.

I remember that as I took my seat in the boat I was struck by the
man's great size.  He was not tall, but he was one of the
broadest men that I have ever seen in my life.  But the
gondoliers of Venice are a strong breed, and powerful men are
common enough among them.  The fellow took his place behind me
and began to row.

A good soldier in an enemy's country should everywhere and at all
times be on the alert.  It has been one of the rules of my life,
and if I have lived to wear grey hairs it is because I have
observed it.  And yet upon that night I was as careless as a
foolish young recruit who fears lest he should be thought to be
afraid.  My pistols I had left behind in my hurry.  My sword was
at my belt, but it is not always the most convenient of weapons. 
I lay back in my seat in the gondola, lulled by the gentle swish
of the water and the steady creaking of the oar.  Our way lay
through a network of narrow canals with high houses towering on
either side and a thin slit of star-spangled sky above us.  Here
and there, on the bridges which spanned the canal, there was the
dim glimmer of an oil lamp, and sometimes there came a gleam from
some niche where a candle burned before the image of a saint. 
But save for this it was all black, and one could only see the
water by the white fringe which curled round the long black nose
of our boat.  It was a place and a time for dreaming.  I thought
of my own past life, of all the great deeds in which I had been
concerned, of the horses that I had handled, and of the women
that I had loved.  Then I thought also of my dear mother, and I
fancied her joy when she heard the folk in the village talking
about the fame of her son.  Of the Emperor also I thought, and of
France, the dear fatherland, the sunny France, mother of
beautiful daughters and of gallant sons.  My heart glowed within
me as I thought of how we had brought her colours so many hundred
leagues beyond her borders.  To her greatness I would dedicate my
life.  I placed my hand upon my heart as I swore it, and at that
instant the gondolier fell upon me from behind.

When I say that he fell upon me I do not mean merely that he
attacked me, but that he really did tumble upon me with all his
weight.  The fellow stands behind you and above you as he rows,
so that you can neither see him nor can you in any way guard
against such an assault.

One moment I had sat with my mind filled with sublime
resolutions, the next I was flattened out upon the bottom of the
boat, the breath dashed out of my body, and this monster pinning
me down.  I felt the fierce pants of his hot breath upon the back
of my neck.  In an instant he had torn away my sword, had slipped
a sack over my head, and had tied a rope firmly round the outside
of it.

There I was at the bottom of the gondola as helpless as a trussed
fowl.  I could not shout, I could not move; I was a mere bundle. 
An instant later I heard once more the swishing of the water and
the creaking of the oar.

This fellow had done his work and had resumed his journey as
quietly and unconcernedly as if he were accustomed to clap a sack
over a colonel of Hussars every day of the week.

I cannot tell you the humiliation and also the fury which filled
my mind as I lay there like a helpless sheep being carried to the
butcher's.  I, Etienne Gerard, the champion of the six brigades
of light cavalry and the first swordsman of the Grand Army, to be
overpowered by a single unarmed man in such a fashion!  Yet I lay
quiet, for there is a time to resist and there is a time to save
one's strength.  I had felt the fellow's grip upon my arms, and I
knew that I would be a child in his hands.  I waited quietly,
therefore, with a heart which burned with rage, until my
opportunity should come.

How long I lay there at the bottom of the boat I can not tell;
but it seemed to me to be a long time, and always there were the
hiss of the waters and the steady creaking of the oar.  Several
times we turned corners, for I heard the long, sad cry which
these gondoliers give when they wish to warn their fellows that
they are coming.  At last, after a considerable journey, I felt
the side of the boat scrape up against a landing-place.  The
fellow knocked three times with his oar upon wood, and in answer
to his summons I heard the rasping of bars and the turning of
keys.  A great door creaked back upon its hinges.

"Have you got him?" asked a voice, in Italian.

My monster gave a laugh and kicked the sack in which I lay.

"Here he is," said he.

"They are waiting."  He added something which I could not
understand.

"Take him, then," said my captor.  He raised me in his arms,
ascended some steps, and I was thrown down upon a hard floor.  A
moment later the bars creaked and the key whined once more.  I
was a prisoner inside a house.

From the voices and the steps there seemed now to be several
people round me.  I understand Italian a great deal better than I
speak it, and I could make out very well what they were saying.

"You have not killed him, Matteo?"

"What matter if I have?"

"My faith, you will have to answer for it to the tribunal."

"They will kill him, will they not?"

"Yes, but it is not for you or me to take it out of their hands."

"Tut!  I have not killed him.  Dead men do not bite, and his
cursed teeth met in my thumb as I pulled the sack over his head."

"He lies very quiet."

"Tumble him out and you will find that he is lively enough."

The cord which bound me was undone and the sack drawn from over
my head.  With my eyes closed I lay motionless upon the floor.

"By the saints, Matteo, I tell you that you have broken his
neck."

"Not I.  He has only fainted.  The better for him if he never
came out of it again."

I felt a hand within my tunic.

"Matteo is right," said a voice.  "His heart beats like a hammer. 
Let him lie and he will soon find his senses."

I waited for a minute or so and then I ventured to take a
stealthy peep from between my lashes.  At first I could see
nothing, for I had been so long in darkness and it was but a dim
light in which I found myself.  Soon, however, I made out that a
high and vaulted ceiling covered with painted gods and goddesses
was arching over my head.  This was no mean den of cut-throats
into which I had been carried, but it must be the hall of some
Venetian palace.  Then, without movement, very slowly and
stealthily I had a peep at the men who surrounded me.  There was
the gondolier, a swart, hard-faced, murderous ruffian, and beside
him were three other men, one of them a little, twisted fellow
with an air of authority and several keys in his hand, the other
two tall young servants in a smart livery.  As I listened to
their talk I saw that the small man was the steward of the house,
and that the others were under his orders.

There were four of them, then, but the little steward might be
left out of the reckoning.  Had I a weapon I should have smiled
at such odds as those.  But, hand to hand, I was no match for the
one even without three others to aid him.  Cunning, then, not
force, must be my aid.  I wished to look round for some mode of
escape, and in doing so I gave an almost imperceptible movement
of my head.  Slight as it was it did not escape my guardians.

"Come, wake up, wake up!" cried the steward.

"Get on your feet, little Frenchman," growled the gondolier. 
"Get up, I say," and for the second time he spurned me with his
foot.

Never in the world was a command obeyed so promptly as that one. 
In an instant I had bounded to my feet and rushed as hard as I
could to the back of the hall.  They were after me as I have seen
the English hounds follow a fox, but there was a long passage
down which I tore.

It turned to the left and again to the left, and then I found
myself back in the hall once more.  They were almost within touch
of me and there was no time for thought.  I turned toward the
staircase, but two men were coming down it.  I dodged back and
tried the door through which I had been brought, but it was
fastened with great bars and I could not loosen them.  The
gondolier was on me with his knife, but I met him with a kick on
the body which stretched him on his back.  His dagger flew with a
clatter across the marble floor.  I had no time to seize it, for
there were half a dozen of them now clutching at me.  As I rushed
through them the little steward thrust his leg before me and I
fell with a crash, but I was up in an instant, and breaking from
their grasp I burst through the very middle of them and made for
a door at the other end of the hall.  I reached it well in front
of them, and I gave a shout of triumph as the handle turned
freely in my hand, for I could see that it led to the outside and
that all was clear for my escape.  But I had forgotten this
strange city in which I was.  Every house is an island.  As I
flung open the door, ready to bound out into the street, the
light of the hall shone upon the deep, still, black water which
lay flush with the topmost step.

I shrank back, and in an instant my pursuers were on me.

But I am not taken so easily.  Again I kicked and fought my way
through them, though one of them tore a handful of hair from my
head in his effort to hold me.  The little steward struck me with
a key and I was battered and bruised, but once more I cleared a
way in front of me.

Up the grand staircase I rushed, burst open the pair of huge
folding doors which faced me, and learned at last that my efforts
were in vain.

The room into which I had broken was brilliantly lighted.  With
its gold cornices, its massive pillars, and its painted walls and
ceilings it was evidently the grand hall of some famous Venetian
palace.  There are many hundred such in this strange city, any
one of which has rooms which would grace the Louvre or
Versailles.  In the centre of this great hall there was a raised
dais, and upon it in a half circle there sat twelve men all clad
in black gowns, like those of a Franciscan monk, and each with a
mask over the upper part of his face.

A group of armed men--rough-looking rascals--were standing round
the door, and amid them facing the dais was a young fellow in the
uniform of the light infantry.  As he turned his head I
recognised him.  It was Captain Auret, of the 7th, a young Basque
with whom I had drunk many a glass during the winter.

He was deadly white, poor wretch, but he held himself manfully
amid the assassins who surrounded him.  Never shall I forget the
sudden flash of hope which shone in his dark eyes when he saw a
comrade burst into the room, or the look of despair which
followed as he understood that I had come not to change his fate
but to share it.

You can think how amazed these people were when I hurled myself
into their presence.  My pursuers had crowded in behind me and
choked the doorway, so that all further flight was out of the
question.  It is at such instants that my nature asserts itself. 
With dignity I advanced toward the tribunal.  My jacket was torn,
my hair was dishevelled, my head was bleeding, but there was that
in my eyes and in my carriage which made them realise that no
common man was before them.  Not a hand was raised to arrest me
until I halted in front of a formidable old man, whose long grey
beard and masterful manner told me that both by years and by
character he was the man in authority.

"Sir," said I, "you will, perhaps, tell me why I have been
forcibly arrested and brought to this place.  I am an honourable
soldier, as is this other gentleman here, and I demand that you
will instantly set us both at liberty."

There was an appalling silence to my appeal.  It was not pleasant
to have twelve masked faces turned upon you and to see twelve
pairs of vindictive Italian eyes fixed with fierce intentness
upon your face.  But I stood as a debonair soldier should, and I
could not but reflect how much credit I was bringing upon the
Hussars of Conflans by the dignity of my bearing.  I do not think
that anyone could have carried himself better under such
difficult circumstances.  I looked with a fearless face from one
assassin to another, and I waited for some reply.

It was the grey-beard who at last broke the silence.

"Who is this man?" he asked.

"His name is Gerard," said the little steward at the door.

"Colonel Gerard," said I.  "I will not deceive you.  I am Etienne
Gerard, THE Colonel Gerard, five times mentioned in despatches
and recommended for the sword of honour.  I am aide-de-camp to
General Suchet, and I demand my instant release, together with
that of my comrade in arms."

The same terrible silence fell upon the assembly, and the same
twelve pairs of merciless eyes were bent upon my face.  Again it
was the grey-beard who spoke.

"He is out of his order.  There are two names upon our list
before him."

"He escaped from our hands and burst into the room."

"Let him await his turn.  Take him down to the wooden cell."

"If he resist us, your Excellency?"

"Bury your knives in his body.  The tribunal will uphold you. 
Remove him until we have dealt with the others."

They advanced upon me, and for an instant I thought of
resistance.  It would have been a heroic death, but who was there
to see it or to chronicle it?  I might be only postponing my
fate, and yet I had been in so many bad places and come out
unhurt that I had learned always to hope and to trust my star.  I
allowed these rascals to seize me, and I was led from the room,
the gondolier walking at my side with a long naked knife in his
hand.  I could see in his brutal eyes the satisfaction which it
would give him if he could find some excuse for plunging it into
my body.

They are wonderful places, these great Venetian houses, palaces,
and fortresses, and prisons all in one.  I was led along a
passage and down a bare stone stair until we came to a short
corridor from which three doors opened.  Through one of these I
was thrust and the spring lock closed behind me.  The only light
came dimly through a small grating which opened on the passage.

Peering and feeling, I carefully examined the chamber in which I
had been placed.  I understood from what I had heard that I
should soon have to leave it again in order to appear before this
tribunal, but still it is not my nature to throw away any
possible chances.

The stone floor of the cell was so damp and the walls for some
feet high were so slimy and foul that it was evident they were
beneath the level of the water.  A single slanting hole high up
near the ceiling was the only aperture for light or air.  Through
it I saw one bright star shining down upon me, and the sight
filled me with comfort and with hope.  I have never been a man of
religion, though I have always had a respect for those who were,
but I remember that night that the star shining down the shaft
seemed to be an all-seeing eye which was upon me, and I felt as a
young and frightened recruit might feel in battle when he saw the
calm gaze of his colonel turned upon him.

Three of the sides of my prison were formed of stone, but the
fourth was of wood, and I could see that it had only recently
been erected.  Evidently a partition had been thrown up to divide
a single large cell into two smaller ones.  There was no hope for
me in the old walls, in the tiny window, or in the massive door. 
It was only in this one direction of the wooden screen that there
was any possibility of exploring.  My reason told me that if I
should pierce it--which did not seem very difficult--it would
only be to find myself in another cell as strong as that in which
I then was.  Yet I had always rather be doing something than
doing nothing, so I bent all my attention and all my energies
upon the wooden wall.  Two planks were badly joined, and so loose
that I was certain I could easily detach them.  I searched about
for some tool, and I found one in the leg of a small bed which
stood in the corner.  I forced the end of this into the chink of
the planks, and I was about to twist them outward when the sound
of rapid footsteps caused me to pause and to listen.

I wish I could forget what I heard.  Many a hundred men have I
seen die in battle, and I have slain more myself than I care to
think of, but all that was fair fight and the duty of a soldier. 
It was a very different matter to listen to a murder in this den
of assassins.  They were pushing someone along the passage,
someone who resisted and who clung to my door as he passed.  They
must have taken him into the third cell, the one which was
farthest from me.  "Help!  Help!" cried a voice, and then I heard
a blow and a scream.  "Help!  Help!" cried the voice again, and
then "Gerard!  Colonel Gerard!"  It was my poor captain of
infantry whom they were slaughtering.

"Murderers!  Murderers!"  I yelled, and I kicked at my door, but
again I heard him shout and then everything was silent.  A minute
later there was a heavy splash, and I knew that no human eye
would ever see Auret again.  He had gone as a hundred others had
gone whose names were missing from the roll-calls of their
regiments during that winter in Venice.

The steps returned along the passage, and I thought that they
were coming for me.  Instead of that they opened the door of the
cell next to mine and they took someone out of it.  I heard the
steps die away up the stair.

At once I renewed my work upon the planks, and within a very few
minutes I had loosened them in such a way that I could remove and
replace them at pleasure.  Passing through the aperture I found
myself in the farther cell, which, as I expected, was the other
half of the one in which I had been confined.  I was not any
nearer to escape than I had been before, for there was no other
wooden wall which I could penetrate and the spring lock of the
door had been closed.  There were no traces to show who was my
companion in misfortune.  Closing the two loose planks behind me
I returned to my own cell and waited there with all the courage
which I could command for the summons which would probably be my
death knell.

It was a long time in coming, but at last I heard the sound of
feet once more in the passage, and I nerved myself to listen to
some other odious deed and to hear the cries of the poor victim. 
Nothing of the kind occurred, however, and the prisoner was
placed in the cell without violence.  I had no time to peep
through my hole of communication, for next moment my own door was
flung open and my rascally gondolier, with the other assassins,
came into the cell.

"Come, Frenchman," said he.  He held his blood- stained knife in
his great, hairy hand, and I read in his fierce eyes that he only
looked for some excuse in order to plunge it into my heart. 
Resistance was useless.  I followed without a word.  I was led up
the stone stair and back into that gorgeous chamber in which I
had left the secret tribunal.  I was ushered in, but to my
surprise it was not on me that their attention was fixed.  One of
their own number, a tall, dark young man, was standing before
them and was pleading with them in low, earnest tones.  His voice
quivered with anxiety and his hands darted in and out or writhed
together in an agony of entreaty.  "You cannot do it!  You cannot
do it!" he cried.

"I implore the tribunal to reconsider this decision."

"Stand aside, brother," said the old man who presided.

"The case is decided and another is up for judgment."

"For Heaven's sake be merciful!" cried the young man.

"We have already been merciful," the other answered.

"Death would have been a small penalty for such an offence.  Be
silent and let judgment take its course."

I saw the young man throw himself in an agony of grief into his
chair.  I had no time, however, to speculate as to what it was
which was troubling him, for his eleven colleagues had already
fixed their stern eyes upon me.

The moment of fate had arrived.

"You are Colonel Gerard?" said the terrible old man.

"I am."

"Aide-de-camp to the robber who calls himself General Suchet, who
in turn represents that arch-robber Buonaparte?"

It was on my lips to tell him that he was a liar, but there is a
time to argue and a time to be silent.

"I am an honourable soldier," said I.  "I have obeyed my orders
and done my duty."

The blood flushed into the old man's face and his eyes blazed
through his mask.

"You are thieves and murderers, every man of you," he cried. 
"What are you doing here?  You are Frenchmen.

Why are you not in France?  Did we invite you to Venice?  By what
right are you here?  Where are our pictures?  Where are the
horses of St. Mark?  Who are you that you should pilfer those
treasures which our fathers through so many centuries have
collected?  We were a great city when France was a desert.  Your
drunken, brawling, ignorant soldiers have undone the work of
saints and heroes.  What have you to say to it?"

He was, indeed, a formidable old man, for his white beard
bristled with fury and he barked out the little sentences like a
savage hound.  For my part I could have told him that his
pictures would be safe in Paris, that his horses were really not
worth making a fuss about, and that he could see heroes--I say
nothing of saints--without going back to his ancestors or even
moving out of his chair.  All this I could have pointed out, but
one might as well argue with a Mameluke about religion.  I
shrugged my shoulders and said nothing.

"The prisoner has no defence," said one of my masked judges.

"Has any one any observation to make before judgment is passed?" 
The old man glared round him at the others.

"There is one matter, your Excellency," said another.

"It can scarce be referred to without reopening a brother's
wounds, but I would remind you that there is a very particular
reason why an exemplary punishment should be inflicted in the
case of this officer."

"I had not forgotten it," the old man answered.

"Brother, if the tribunal has injured you in one direction, it
will give you ample satisfaction in another."

The young man who had been pleading when I entered the room
staggered to his feet.

"I cannot endure it," he cried.  "Your Excellency must forgive
me.  The tribunal can act without me.  I am ill.

I am mad."  He flung his hands out with a furious gesture and
rushed from the room.

"Let him go! Let him go!" said the president.  "It is, indeed,
more than can be asked of flesh and blood that he should remain
under this roof.  But he is a true Venetian, and when the first
agony is over he will understand that it could not be otherwise."

I had been forgotten during this episode, and though I am not a
man who is accustomed to being overlooked I should have been all
the happier had they continued to neglect me.  But now the old
president glared at me again like a tiger who comes back to his
victim.

"You shall pay for it all, and it is but justice that you
should," he said.  "You, an upstart adventurer and foreigner,
have dared to raise your eyes in love to the grand daughter of a
Doge of Venice who was already betrothed to the heir of the
Loredans.  He who enjoys such privileges must pay a price for
them."

"It cannot be higher than they are worth," said I.

"You will tell us that when you have made a part payment," said
he.  "Perhaps your spirit may not be so proud by that time. 
Matteo, you will lead this prisoner to the wooden cell.  To-night
is Monday.  Let him have no food or water, and let him be led
before the tribunal again on Wednesday night.  We shall then
decide upon the death which he is to die."

It was not a pleasant prospect, and yet it was a reprieve.  One
is thankful for small mercies when a hairy savage with a
blood-stained knife is standing at one's elbow.  He dragged me
from the room and I was thrust down the stairs and back into my
cell.  The door was locked and I was left to my reflections.

My first thought was to establish connection with my neighbour in
misfortune.  I waited until the steps had died away, and then I
cautiously drew aside the two boards and peeped through.  The
light was very dim, so dim that I could only just discern a
figure huddled in the corner, and I could hear the low whisper of
a voice which prayed as one prays who is in deadly fear.  The
boards must have made a creaking.  There was a sharp exclamation
of surprise.

"Courage, friend, courage!" I cried.  "All is not lost.

Keep a stout heart, for Etienne Gerard is by your side."

"Etienne!"  It was a woman's voice which spoke--a voice which was
always music to my ears.  I sprang through the gap and I flung my
arms round her.

"Lucia!  Lucia!" I cried.

It was "Etienne!" and "Lucia!" for some minutes, for one does not
make speeches at moments like that.  It was she who came to her
senses first.

"Oh, Etienne, they will kill you.  How came you into their
hands?"

"In answer to your letter."

"I wrote no letter."

"The cunning demons!  But you?"

"I came also in answer to your letter."

"Lucia, I wrote no letter."

"They have trapped us both with the same bait."

"I care nothing about myself, Lucia.  Besides, there is no
pressing danger with me.  They have simply returned me to my
cell."

"Oh, Etienne, Etienne, they will kill you.  Lorenzo is there."

"The old greybeard?"

"No, no, a young dark man.  He loved me, and I thought I loved
him until--until I learned what love is, Etienne.  He will never
forgive you.  He has a heart of stone."

"Let them do what they like.  They cannot rob me of the past,
Lucia.  But you--what about you?"

"It will be nothing, Etienne.  Only a pang for an instant and
then all over.  They mean it as a badge of infamy, dear, but I
will carry it like a crown of honour since it was through you
that I gained it."

Her words froze my blood with horror.  All my adventures were
insignificant compared to this terrible shadow which was creeping
over my soul.

"Lucia!  Lucia!" I cried.  "For pity's sake tell me what these
butchers are about to do.  Tell me, Lucia!

Tell me!"

"I will not tell you, Etienne, for it would hurt you far more
than it would me.  Well, well, I will tell you lest you should
fear it was something worse.  The president has ordered that my
ear be cut off, that I may be marked for ever as having loved a
Frenchman."

Her ear!  The dear little ear which I had kissed so often.  I put
my hand to each little velvet shell to make certain that this
sacrilege had not yet been committed.

Only over my dead body should they reach them.  I swore it to her
between my clenched teeth.

"You must not care, Etienne.  And yet I love that you should care
all the same."

"They shall not hurt you--the fiends!"

"I have hopes, Etienne.  Lorenzo is there.  He was silent while I
was judged, but he may have pleaded for me after I was gone."

"He did.  I heard him."

"Then he may have softened their hearts."

I knew that it was not so, but how could I bring myself to tell
her?  I might as well have done so, for with the quick instinct
of woman my silence was speech to her.

"They would not listen to him!  You need not fear to tell me,
dear, for you will find that I am worthy to be loved by such a
soldier.  Where is Lorenzo now?"

"He left the hall."

"Then he may have left the house as well."

"I believe that he did."

"He has abandoned me to my fate.  Etienne, Etienne, they are
coming!"

Afar off I heard those fateful steps and the jingle of distant
keys.  What were they coming for now, since there were no other
prisoners to drag to judgment?  It could only be to carry out the
sentence upon my darling.

I stood between her and the door, with the strength of a lion in
my limbs.  I would tear the house down before they should touch
her.


"Go back!  Go back!" she cried.  "They will murder you, Etienne. 
My life, at least, is safe.  For the love you bear me, Etienne,
go back.  It is nothing.  I will make no sound.  You will not
hear that it is done."

She wrestled with me, this delicate creature, and by main force
she dragged me to the opening between the cells.  But a sudden
thought had crossed my mind.

"We may yet be saved," I whispered.  "Do what I tell you at once
and without argument.  Go into my cell.

Quick!"

I pushed her through the gap and helped her to replace the
planks.  I had retained her cloak in my hands, and with this
wrapped round me I crept into the darkest corner of her cell. 
There I lay when the door was opened and several men came in.  I
had reckoned that they would bring no lantern, for they had none
with them before.

To their eyes I was only a dark blur in the corner.

"Bring a light," said one of them.

"No, no; curse it!" cried a rough voice, which I knew to be that
of the ruffian, Matteo.  "It is not a job that I like, and the
more I saw it the less I should like it.  I am sorry, signora,
but the order of the tribunal has to be obeyed."

My impulse was to spring to my feet and to rush through them all
and out by the open door.  But how would that help Lucia? 
Suppose that I got clear away, she would be in their hands until
I could come back with help, for single-handed I could not hope
to clear a way for her.  All this flashed through my mind in an
instant, and I saw that the only course for me was to lie still,
take what came, and wait my chance.  The fellow's coarse hand
felt about among my curls--those curls in which only a woman's
fingers had ever wandered.  The next instant he gripped my ear
and a pain shot through me as if I had been touched with a hot
iron.  I bit my lip to stifle a cry, and I felt the blood run
warm down my neck and back.

"There, thank Heaven, that's over," said the fellow, giving me a
friendly pat on the head.  "You're a brave girl, signora, I'll
say that for you, and I only wish you'd have better taste than to
love a Frenchman.  You can blame him and not me for what I have
done."

What could I do save to lie still and grind my teeth at my own
helplessness?  At the same time my pain and my rage were always
soothed by the reflection that I had suffered for the woman whom
I loved.  It is the custom of men to say to ladies that they
would willingly endure any pain for their sake, but it was my
privilege to show that I had said no more than I meant.  I
thought also how nobly I would seem to have acted if ever the
story came to be told, and how proud the regiment of Conflans
might well be of their colonel.  These thoughts helped me to
suffer in silence while the blood still trickled over my neck and
dripped upon the stone floor.  It was that sound which nearly led
to my destruction.


"She's bleeding fast," said one of the valets.  "You had best
fetch a surgeon or you will find her dead in the morning."

"She lies very still and she has never opened her mouth," said
another.  "The shock has killed her."

"Nonsense; a young woman does not die so easily." It was Matteo
who spoke.  "Besides, I did but snip off enough to leave the
tribunal's mark upon her.  Rouse up, signora, rouse up!"

He shook me by the shoulder, and my heart stood still for fear he
should feel the epaulet under the mantle.

"How is it with you now?" he asked.

I made no answer.

"Curse it, I wish I had to do with a man instead of a woman, and
the fairest woman in Venice," said the gondolier.  "Here,
Nicholas, lend me your handkerchief and bring a light."

It was all over.  The worst had happened.  Nothing could save me. 
I still crouched in the corner, but I was tense in every muscle,
like a wild cat about to spring.

If I had to die I was determined that my end should be worthy of
my life.

One of them had gone for a lamp and Matteo was stooping over me
with a handkerchief.  In another instant my secret would be
discovered.  But he suddenly drew himself straight and stood
motionless.  At the same instant there came a confused murmuring
sound through the little window far above my head.  It was the
rattle of oars and the buzz of many voices.  Then there was a
crash upon the door upstairs, and a terrible voice roared: 
"Open! Open in the name of the Emperor!"

The Emperor!  It was like the mention of some saint which, by its
very sound, can frighten the demons.

Away they ran with cries of terror--Matteo, the valets, the
steward, all of the murderous gang.  Another shout and then the
crash of a hatchet and the splintering of planks.  There were the
rattle of arms and the cries of French soldiers in the hall. 
Next instant feet came flying down the stair and a man burst
frantically into my cell.

"Lucia!" he cried, "Lucia!"  He stood in the dim light, panting
and unable to find his words.  Then he broke out again.  "Have I
not shown you how I love you, Lucia?  What more could I do to
prove it?  I have betrayed my country, I have broken my vow, I
have ruined my friends, and I have given my life in order to save
you."

It was young Lorenzo Loredan, the lover whom I had superseded. 
My heart was heavy for him at the time, but after all it is every
man for himself in love, and if one fails in the game it is some
consolation to lose to one who can be a graceful and considerate
winner.

I was about to point this out to him, but at the first word I
uttered he gave a shout of astonishment, and, rushing out, he
seized the lamp which hung in the corridor and flashed it in my
face.

"It is you, you villain!" he cried.  "You French coxcomb.  You
shall pay me for the wrong which you have done me."

But the next instant he saw the pallor of my face and the blood
which was still pouring from my head.

"What is this?" he asked.  "How come you to have lost your ear?"

I shook off my weakness, and pressing my handkerchief to my wound
I rose from my couch, the debonair colonel of Hussars.

"My injury, sir, is nothing.  With your permission we will not
allude to a matter so trifling and so personal."

But Lucia had burst through from her cell and was pouring out the
whole story while she clasped Lorenzo's arm.

"This noble gentleman--he has taken my place, Lorenzo!  He has
borne it for me.  He has suffered that I might be saved."

I could sympathise with the struggle which I could see in the
Italian's face.  At last he held out his hand to me.

"Colonel Gerard," he said, "you are worthy of a great love.  I
forgive you, for if you have wronged me you have made a noble
atonement.  But I wonder to see you alive.  I left the tribunal
before you were judged, but I understood that no mercy would be
shown to any Frenchman since the destruction of the ornaments of
Venice."

"He did not destroy them," cried Lucia.  "He has helped to
preserve those in our palace."

"One of them, at any rate," said I, as I stooped and kissed her
hand.

This was the way, my friends, in which I lost my ear.  Lorenzo
was found stabbed to the heart in the Piazza of St. Mark within
two days of the night of my adventure.  Of the tribunal and its
ruffians, Matteo and three others were shot, the rest banished
from the town.

Lucia, my lovely Lucia, retired into a convent at Murano after
the French had left the city, and there she still may be, some
gentle lady abbess who has perhaps long forgotten the days when
our hearts throbbed together, and when the whole great world
seemed so small a thing beside the love which burned in our
veins.  Or perhaps it may not be so.  Perhaps she has not
forgotten.

There may still be times when the peace of the cloister is broken
by the memory of the old soldier who loved her in those distant
days.  Youth is past and passion is gone, but the soul of the
gentleman can never change, and still Etienne Gerard would bow
his grey head before her and would very gladly lose his other ear
if he might do her a service. 



II. How the Brigadier Captured Saragossa

Have I ever told you, my friends, the circumstances connected
with my joining the Hussars of Conflans at the time of the siege
of Saragossa and the very remarkable exploit which I performed in
connection with the taking of that city?  No?  Then you have
indeed something still to learn.  I will tell it to you exactly
as it occurred.  Save for two or three men and a score or two of
women, you are the first who have ever heard the story.

You must know, then, that it was in the Second Hussars--called
the Hussars of Chamberan--that I had served as a lieutenant and
as a junior captain.  At the time I speak of I was only
twenty-five years of age, as reckless and desperate a man as any
in that great army.

It chanced that the war had come to a halt in Germany, while it
was still raging in Spain, so the Emperor, wishing to reinforce
the Spanish army, transferred me as senior captain to the Hussars
of Conflans, which were at that time in the Fifth Army Corps
under Marshal Lannes.

It was a long journey from Berlin to the Pyrenees.

My new regiment formed part of the force which, under Marshal
Lannes, was then besieging the Spanish town of Saragossa.  I
turned my horse's head in that direction, therefore, and behold
me a week or so later at the French headquarters, whence I was
directed to the camp of the Hussars of Conflans.

You have read, no doubt, of this famous siege of Saragossa, and I
will only say that no general could have had a harder task than
that with which Marshal Lannes was confronted.  The immense city
was crowded with a horde of Spaniards--soldiers, peasants,
priests --all filled with the most furious hatred of the French,
and the most savage determination to perish before they would
surrender.  There were eighty thousand men in the town and only
thirty thousand to besiege them.  Yet we had a powerful
artillery, and our engineers were of the best.  There was never
such a siege, for it is usual that when the fortifications are
taken the city falls, but here it was not until the
fortifications were taken that the real fighting began.  Every
house was a fort and every street a battle-field, so that slowly,
day by day, we had to work our way inwards, blowing up the houses
with their garrisons until more than half the city had
disappeared.  Yet the other half was as determined as ever and in
a better position for defence, since it consisted of enormous
convents and monasteries with walls like the Bastille, which
could not be so easily brushed out of our way.  This was the
state of things at the time that I joined the army.

I will confess to you that cavalry are not of much use in a
siege, although there was a time when I would not have permitted
anyone to have made such an observation.  The Hussars of Conflans
were encamped to the south of the town, and it was their duty to
throw out patrols and to make sure that no Spanish force was
advancing from that quarter.  The colonel of the regiment was not
a good soldier, and the regiment was at that time very far from
being in the high condition which it afterwards attained.  Even
in that one evening I saw several things which shocked me, for I
had a high standard, and it went to my heart to see an ill-
arranged camp, an ill-groomed horse, or a slovenly trooper.  That
night I supped with twenty-six of my new brother-officers, and I
fear that in my zeal I showed them only too plainly that I found
things very different to what I was accustomed in the army of
Germany.

There was silence in the mess after my remarks, and I felt that I
had been indiscreet when I saw the glances that were cast at me. 
The colonel especially was furious, and a great major named
Olivier, who was the fire-eater of the regiment, sat opposite to
me curling his huge black moustaches, and staring at me as if he
would eat me.  However, I did not resent his attitude, for I felt
that I had indeed been indiscreet, and that it would give a bad
impression if upon this my first evening I quarrelled with my
superior officer.

So far I admit that I was wrong, but now I come to the sequel. 
Supper over, the colonel and some other officers left the room,
for it was in a farm-house that the mess was held.  There
remained a dozen or so, and a goat-skin of Spanish wine having
been brought in we all made merry.  Presently this Major Olivier
asked me some questions concerning the army of Germany and as to
the part which I had myself played in the campaign.  Flushed with
the wine, I was drawn on from story to story.  It was not
unnatural, my friends.

You will sympathise with me.  Up there I had been the model for
every officer of my years in the army.  I was the first
swordsman, the most dashing rider, the hero of a hundred
adventures.  Here I found myself not only unknown, but even
disliked.  Was it not natural that I should wish to tell these
brave comrades what sort of man it was that had come among them? 
Was it not natural that I should wish to say, "Rejoice, my
friends, rejoice!  It is no ordinary man who has joined you
to-night, but it is I, THE Gerard, the hero of Ratisbon, the
victor of Jena, the man who broke the square at Austerlitz"?  I
could not say all this.  But I could at least tell them some
incidents which would enable them to say it for themselves.  I
did so.  They listened unmoved.  I told them more.  At last,
after my tale of how I had guided the army across the Danube, one
universal shout of laughter broke from them all.  I sprang to my
feet, flushed with shame and anger.  They had drawn me on.  They
were making game of me.  They were convinced that they had to do
with a braggart and a liar.  Was this my reception in the Hussars
of Conflans?

I dashed the tears of mortification from my eyes, and they
laughed the more at the sight.

"Do you know, Captain Pelletan, whether Marshal Lannes is still
with the army?" asked the major.

"I believe that he is, sir," said the other.

"Really, I should have thought that his presence was hardly
necessary now that Captain Gerard has arrived."

Again there was a roar of laughter.  I can see the ring of faces,
the mocking eyes, the open mouths-- Olivier with his great black
bristles, Pelletan thin and sneering, even the young
sub-lieutenants convulsed with merriment.  Heavens, the indignity
of it!  But my rage had dried my tears.  I was myself again,
cold, quiet, self-contained, ice without and fire within.

"May I ask, sir," said I to the major, "at what hour the regiment
is paraded?"

"I trust, Captain Gerard, that you do not mean to alter our
hours," said he, and again there was a burst of laughter, which
died away as I looked slowly round the circle.

"What hour is the assembly?" I asked, sharply, of Captain
Pelletan.

Some mocking answer was on his tongue, but my glance kept it
there.  "The assembly is at six," he answered.

"I thank you," said I.  I then counted the company and found that
I had to do with fourteen officers, two of whom appeared to be
boys fresh from St. Cyr.  I could not condescend to take any
notice of their indiscretion.

There remained the major, four captains, and seven lieutenants.

"Gentlemen," I continued, looking from one to the other of them,
"I should feel myself unworthy of this famous regiment if I did
not ask you for satisfaction for the rudeness with which you have
greeted me, and I should hold you to be unworthy of it if on any
pretext you refused to grant it."

"You will have no difficulty upon that score," said the major. 
"I am prepared to waive my rank and to give you every
satisfaction in the name of the Hussars of Conflans."

"I thank you," I answered.  "I feel, however, that I have some
claim upon these other gentlemen who laughed at my expense."

"Whom would you fight, then?" asked Captain Pelletan.

"All of you," I answered.

They looked in surprise from one to the other.  Then they drew
off to the other end of the room, and I heard the buzz of their
whispers.  They were laughing.  Evidently they still thought that
they had to do with some empty braggart.  Then they returned.

"Your request is unusual," said Major Olivier, "but it will be
granted.  How do you propose to conduct such a duel?  The terms
lie with you."

"Sabres," said I.  "And I will take you in order of seniority,
beginning with you, Major Olivier, at five o'clock.  I will thus
be able to devote five minutes to each before the assembly is
blown.  I must, however, beg you to have the courtesy to name the
place of meeting, since I am still ignorant of the locality."

They were impressed by my cold and practical manner.

Already the smile had died away from their lips.

Olivier's face was no longer mocking, but it was dark and stern.

"There is a small open space behind the horse lines," said he. 
"We have held a few affairs of honour there and it has done very
well.  We shall be there, Captain Gerard, at the hour you name."

I was in the act of bowing to thank them for their acceptance
when the door of the mess-room was flung open and the colonel
hurried into the room, with an agitated face.

"Gentlemen," said he, "I have been asked to call for a volunteer
from among you for a service which involves the greatest possible
danger.  I will not disguise from you that the matter is serious
in the last degree, and that Marshal Lannes has chosen a cavalry
officer because he can be better spared than an officer of
infantry or of engineers.  Married men are not eligible.  Of the
others, who will volunteer?"

I need not say that all the unmarried officers stepped to the
front.  The colonel looked round in some embarrassment.

I could see his dilemma.  It was the best man who should go, and
yet it was the best man whom he could least spare.

"Sir," said I, "may I be permitted to make a suggestion?"

He looked at me with a hard eye.  He had not forgotten my
observations at supper.  "Speak!" said he.

"I would point out, sir," said I, "that this mission is mine both
by right and by convenience."

"Why so, Captain Gerard?"

"By right because I am the senior captain.  By convenience
because I shall not be missed in the regiments since the men have
not yet learned to know me."

The colonel's features relaxed.

"There is certainly truth in what you say, Captain Gerard," said
he.  "I think that you are indeed best fitted to go upon this
mission.  If you will come with me I will give you your
instructions."

I wished my new comrades good-night as I left the room, and I
repeated that I should hold myself at their disposal at five
o'clock next morning.  They bowed in silence, and I thought that
I could see from the expression of their faces that they had
already begun to take a more just view of my character.

I had expected that the colonel would at once inform me what it
was that I had been chosen to do, but instead of that he walked
on in silence, I following behind him.

We passed through the camp and made our way across the trenches
and over the ruined heaps of stones which marked the old wall of
the town.  Within, there was a labyrinth of passages formed among
the debris of the houses which had been destroyed by the mines of
the engineers.  Acres and acres were covered with splintered
walls and piles of brick which had once been a populous suburb. 
Lanes had been driven through it and lanterns placed at the
corners with inscriptions to direct the wayfarer.  The colonel
hurried onward until at last, after a long walk, we found our way
barred by a high grey wall which stretched right across our path.

Here behind a barricade lay our advance guard.  The colonel led
me into a roofless house, and there I found two general officers,
a map stretched over a drum in front of them, they kneeling
beside it and examining it carefully by the light of a lantern. 
The one with the clean-shaven face and the twisted neck was
Marshal Lannes, the other was General Razout, the head of the
engineers.

"Captain Gerard has volunteered to go," said the colonel.

Marshal Lannes rose from his knees and shook me by the hand.

"You are a brave man, sir," said he.  "I have a present to make
to you," he added, handing me a very tiny glass tube.  "It has
been specially prepared by Dr. Fardet.  At the supreme moment you
have but to put it to your lips and you will be dead in an
instant."

This was a cheerful beginning.  I will confess to you, my
friends, that a cold chill passed up my back and my hair rose
upon my head.

"Excuse me, sir," said I, as I saluted, "I am aware that I have
volunteered for a service of great danger, but the exact details
have not yet been given to me."

"Colonel Perrin," said Lannes, severely, "it is unfair to allow
this brave officer to volunteer before he has learned what the
perils are to which he will be exposed."

But already I was myself once more.

"Sir," said I, "permit me to remark that the greater the danger
the greater the glory, and that I could only repent of
volunteering if I found that there were no risks to be run."

It was a noble speech, and my appearance gave force to my words. 
For the moment I was a heroic figure.

As I saw Lannes's eyes fixed in admiration upon my face it
thrilled me to think how splendid was the debut which I was
making in the army of Spain.  If I died that night my name would
not be forgotten.  My new comrades and my old, divided in all
else, would still have a point of union in their love and
admiration of Etienne Gerard.

"General Razout, explain the situation!" said Lannes, briefly.

The engineer officer rose, his compasses in his hand.

He led me to the door and pointed to the high grey wall which
towered up amongst the debris of the shattered houses.

"That is the enemy's present line of defence," said he.  "It is
the wall of the great Convent of the Madonna.  If we can carry it
the city must fall, but they have run countermines all round it,
and the walls are so enormously thick that it would be an immense
labour to breach it with artillery.  We happen to know, however,
that the enemy have a considerable store of powder in one of the
lower chambers.  If that could be exploded the way would be clear
for us."

"How can it be reached?" I asked.

"I will explain.  We have a French agent within the town named
Hubert.  This brave man has been in constant communication with
us, and he had promised to explode the magazine.  It was to be
done in the early morning, and for two days running we have had a
storming party of a thousand Grenadiers waiting for the breach to
be formed.  But there has been no explosion, and for these two
days we have had no communication from Hubert.

The question is, what has become of him?"

"You wish me to go and see?"

"Precisely.  Is he ill, or wounded, or dead?  Shall we still wait
for him, or shall we attempt the attack elsewhere?

We cannot determine this until we have heard from him.  This is a
map of the town, Captain Gerard.

You perceive that within this ring of convents and monasteries
are a number of streets which branch off from a central square. 
If you come so far as this square you will find the cathedral at
one corner.  In that corner is the street of Toledo.  Hubert
lives in a small house between a cobbler's and a wine-shop, on
the right-hand side as you go from the cathedral.  Do you follow
me?"

"Clearly."

"You are to reach that house, to see him, and to find out if his
plan is still feasible or if we must abandon it."

He produced what appeared to be a roll of dirty brown flannel. 
"This is the dress of a Franciscan friar," said he.  "You will
find it the most useful disguise."

I shrank away from it.

"It turns me into a spy," I cried.  "Surely I can go in my
uniform?"

"Impossible!  How could you hope to pass through the streets of
the city?  Remember, also, that the Spaniards take no prisoners,
and that your fate will be the same in whatever dress you are
taken."

It was true, and I had been long enough in Spain to know that
that fate was likely to be something more serious than mere
death.  All the way from the frontier I had heard grim tales of
torture and mutilation.  I enveloped myself in the Franciscan
gown.

"Now I am ready."

"Are you armed?"

"My sabre."

"They will hear it clank.  Take this knife, and leave your sword. 
Tell Hubert that at four o'clock, before dawn, the storming party
will again be ready.  There is a sergeant outside who will show
you how to get into the city.  Good-night, and good luck!"

Before I had left the room, the two generals had their cocked
hats touching each other over the map.  At the door an
under-officer of engineers was waiting for me.

I tied the girdle of my gown, and taking off my busby, I drew the
cowl over my head.  My spurs I removed.  Then in silence I
followed my guide.

It was necessary to move with caution, for the walls above were
lined by the Spanish sentries, who fired down continually at our
advance posts.  Slinking along under the very shadow of the great
convent, we picked our way slowly and carefully among the piles
of ruins until we came to a large chestnut tree.  Here the
sergeant stopped.

"It is an easy tree to climb," said he.  "A scaling ladder would
not be simpler.  Go up it, and you will find that the top branch
will enable you to step upon the roof of that house.  After that
it is your guardian angel who must be your guide, for I can help
you no more."

Girding up the heavy brown gown, I ascended the tree as directed. 
A half moon was shining brightly, and the line of roof stood out
dark and hard against the purple, starry sky.  The tree was in
the shadow of the house.

Slowly I crept from branch to branch until I was near the top.  I
had but to climb along a stout limb in order to reach the wall. 
But suddenly my ears caught the patter of feet, and I cowered
against the trunk and tried to blend myself with its shadow.  A
man was coming toward me on the roof.  I saw his dark figure
creeping along, his body crouching, his head advanced, the barrel
of his gun protruding.  His whole bearing was full of caution and
suspicion.  Once or twice he paused, and then came on again until
he had reached the edge of the parapet within a few yards of me. 
Then he knelt down, levelled his musket, and fired.

I was so astonished at this sudden crash at my very elbow that I
nearly fell out of the tree.  For an instant I could not be sure
that he had not hit me.  But when I heard a deep groan from
below, and the Spaniard leaned over the parapet and laughed
aloud, I understood what had occurred.  It was my poor, faithful
sergeant, who had waited to see the last of me.  The Spaniard had
seen him standing under the tree and had shot him.  You will
think that it was good shooting in the dark, but these people
used trabucos, or blunderbusses, which were filled up with all
sorts of stones and scraps of metal, so that they would hit you
as certainly as I have hit a pheasant on a branch.  The Spaniard
stood peering down through the darkness, while an occasional
groan from below showed that the sergeant was still living.  The
sentry looked round and everything was still and safe.

Perhaps he thought that he would like to finish of this accursed
Frenchman, or perhaps he had a desire to see what was in his
pockets; but whatever his motive, he laid down his gun, leaned
forward, and swung himself into the tree.  The same instant I
buried my knife in his body, and he fell with a loud crashing
through the branches and came with a thud to the ground.  I heard
a short struggle below and an oath or two in French.

The wounded sergeant had not waited long for his vengeance.

For some minutes I did not dare to move, for it seemed certain
that someone would be attracted by the noise.

However, all was silent save for the chimes striking midnight in
the city.  I crept along the branch and lifted myself on to the
roof.  The Spaniard's gun was lying there, but it was of no
service to me, since he had the powder-horn at his belt.  At the
same time, if it were found, it would warn the enemy that
something had happened, so I thought it best to drop it over the
wall.

Then I looked round for the means of getting of the roof and down
into the city.

It was very evident that the simplest way by which I could get
down was that by which the sentinel had got up, and what this was
soon became evident.  A voice along the roof called "Manuelo! 
Manuelo!" several times, and, crouching in the shadow, I saw in
the moonlight a bearded head, which protruded from a trap- door.

Receiving no answer to his summons, the man climbed through,
followed by three other fellows, all armed to the teeth.  You
will see here how important it is not to neglect small
precautions, for had I left the man's gun where I found it, a
search must have followed and I should certainly have been
discovered.  As it was, the patrol saw no sign of their sentry,
and thought, no doubt, that he had moved along the line of the
roofs.

They hurried on, therefore, in that direction, and I, the instant
that their backs were turned, rushed to the open trap-door and
descended the flight of steps which led from it.  The house
appeared to be an empty one, for I passed through the heart of it
and out, by an open door, into the street beyond.

It was a narrow and deserted lane, but it opened into a broader
road, which was dotted with fires, round which a great number of
soldiers and peasants were sleeping.

The smell within the city was so horrible that one wondered how
people could live in it, for during the months that the siege had
lasted there had been no attempt to cleanse the streets or to
bury the dead.  Many people were moving up and down from fire to
fire, and among them I observed several monks.  Seeing that they
came and went unquestioned, I took heart and hurried on my way in
the direction of the great square.  Once a man rose from beside
one of the fires and stopped me by seizing my sleeve.  He pointed
to a woman who lay motionless on the road, and I took him to mean
that she was dying, and that he desired me to administer the last
offices of the Church.  I sought refuge, however, in the very
little Latin that was left to me.  "Ora pro nobis," said I, from
the depths of my cowl.  "Te Deum laudamus.

Ora pro nobis."  I raised my hand as I spoke and pointed forward. 
The fellow released my sleeve and shrank back in silence, while
I, with a solemn gesture, hurried upon my way.

As I had imagined, this broad boulevard led out into the central
square, which was full of troops and blazing with fires.  I
walked swiftly onward, disregarding one or two people who
addressed remarks to me.  I passed the cathedral and followed the
street which had been described to me.  Being upon the side of
the city which was farthest from our attack, there were no troops
encamped in it, and it lay in darkness, save for an occasional
glimmer in a window.  It was not difficult to find the house to
which I had been directed, between the wine- shop and the
cobbler's.  There was no light within and the door was shut. 
Cautiously I pressed the latch, and I felt that it had yielded. 
Who was within I could not tell, and yet I must take the risk.  I
pushed the door open and entered.

It was pitch-dark within--the more so as I had closed the door
behind me.  I felt round and came upon the edge of a table.  Then
I stood still and wondered what I should do next, and how I could
gain some news of this Hubert, in whose house I found myself. 
Any mistake would cost me not only my life but the failure of my
mission.  Perhaps he did not live alone.  Perhaps he was only a
lodger in a Spanish family, and my visit might bring ruin to him
as well as to myself.  Seldom in my life have I been more
perplexed.  And then, suddenly, something turned my blood cold in
my veins.  It was a voice, a whispering voice, in my very ear. 
"Mon Dieu!" cried the voice, in a tone of agony.  "Oh, mon Dieu!
mon Dieu!"  Then there was a dry sob in the darkness, and all was
still once more.

It thrilled me with horror, that terrible voice, but it thrilled
me also with hope, for it was the voice of a Frenchman.

"Who is there?" I asked.

There was a groaning, but no reply.

"Is that you, Monsieur Hubert?"

"Yes, yes," sighed the voice, so low that I could hardly hear it. 
"Water, water, for Heaven's sake, water!"

I advanced in the direction of the sound, but only to come in
contact with the wall.  Again I heard a groan, but this time
there could be no doubt that it was above my head.  I put up my
hands, but they felt only empty air.

"Where are you?" I cried.

"Here!  Here!" whispered the strange, tremulous voice.

I stretched my hand along the wall and I came upon a man's naked
foot.  It was as high as my face, and yet, so far as I could
feel, it had nothing to support it.  I staggered back in
amazement.  Then I took a tinder- box from my pocket and struck a
light.  At the first flash a man seemed to be floating in the air
in front of me, and I dropped the box in my amazement.  Again
with tremulous fingers I struck the flint against the steel, and
this time I lit not only the tinder but the wax taper.  I held it
up, and if my amazement was lessened my horror was increased by
that which it revealed.

The man had been nailed to the wall as a weasel is nailed to the
door of a barn.  Huge spikes had been driven through his hands
and his feet.  The poor wretch was in his last agony, his head
sunk upon his shoulder and his blackened tongue protruding from
his lips.  He was dying as much from thirst as from his wounds,
and these inhuman wretches had placed a beaker of wine upon the
table in front of him to add a fresh pang to his tortures.

I raised it to his lips.  He had still strength enough to
swallow, and the light came back a little to his dim eyes.

"Are you a Frenchman?" he whispered.

"Yes.  They have sent me to learn what had befallen you."

"They discovered me.  They have killed me for it.

But before I die let me tell you what I know.  A little more of
that wine, please!  Quick!  Quick! I am very near the end.  My
strength is going.  Listen to me!

The powder is stored in the Mother Superior's room.

The wall is pierced, and the end of the train is in Sister
Angela's cell, next the chapel.  All was ready two days ago.  But
they discovered a letter and they tortured me."

"Good heavens! have you been hanging here for two days?"

"It seems like two years.  Comrade, I have served France, have I
not?  Then do one little service for me.

Stab me to the heart, dear friend!  I implore you, I entreat you,
to put an end to my sufferings."

The man was indeed in a hopeless plight, and the kindest action
would have been that for which he begged.

And yet I could not in cold blood drive my knife into his body,
although I knew how I should have prayed for such a mercy had I
been in his place.  But a sudden thought crossed my mind.  In my
pocket I held that which would give an instant and a painless
death.  It was my own safeguard against torture, and yet this
poor soul was in very pressing need of it, and he had deserved
well of France.  I took out my phial and emptied it into the cup
of wine.  I was in the act of handing it to him when I heard a
sudden clash of arms outside the door.

In an instant I put out my light and slipped behind the
window-curtains.  Next moment the door was flung open and two
Spaniards strode into the room, fierce, swarthy men in the dress
of citizens, but with muskets slung over their shoulders.  I
looked through the chink in the curtains in an agony of fear lest
they had come upon my traces, but it was evident that their visit
was simply in order to feast their eyes upon my unfortunate
compatriot.

One of them held the lantern which he carried up in front of the
dying man, and both of them burst into a shout of mocking
laughter.  Then the eyes of the man with the lantern fell upon
the flagon of wine upon the table.  He picked it up, held it,
with a devilish grin, to the lips of Hubert, and then, as the
poor wretch involuntarily inclined his head forward to reach it,
he snatched it back and took a long gulp himself.  At the same
instant he uttered a loud cry, clutched wildly at his own throat,
and fell stone-dead upon the floor.  His comrade stared at him in
horror and amazement.  Then, overcome by his own superstitious
fears, he gave a yell of terror and rushed madly from the room. 
I heard his feet clattering wildly on the cobble-stones until the
sound died away in the distance.

The lantern had been left burning upon the table, and by its
light I saw, as I came out from behind my curtain, that the
unfortunate Hubert's head had fallen forward upon his chest and
that he also was dead.  That motion to reach the wine with his
lips had been his last.  A clock ticked loudly in the house, but
otherwise all was absolutely still.  On the wall hung the twisted
form of the Frenchman, on the floor lay the motionless body of
the Spaniard, all dimly lit by the horn lantern.  For the first
time in my life a frantic spasm of terror came over me.  I had
seen ten thousand men in every conceivable degree of mutilation
stretched upon the ground, but the sight had never affected me
like those two silent figures who were my companions in that
shadowy room.  I rushed into the street as the Spaniard had done,
eager only to leave that house of gloom behind me, and I had run
as far as the cathedral before my wits came back to me.

There I stopped, panting, in the shadow, and, my hand pressed to
my side, I tried to collect my scattered senses and to plan out
what I should do.  As I stood there, breathless, the great brass
bells roared twice above my head.  It was two o'clock.  Four was
the hour when the storming-party would be in its place.  I had
still two hours in which to act.

The cathedral was brilliantly lit within, and a number of people
were passing in and out; so I entered, thinking that I was less
likely to be accosted there, and that I might have quiet to form
my plans.  It was certainly a singular sight, for the place had
been turned into an hospital, a refuge, and a store-house.  One
aisle was crammed with provisions, another was littered with sick
and wounded, while in the centre a great number of helpless
people had taken up their abode, and had even lit their cooking
fires upon the mosaic floors.  There were many at prayer, so I
knelt in the shadow of a pillar, and I prayed with all my heart
that I might have the good luck to get out of this scrape alive,
and that I might do such a deed that night as would make my name
as famous in Spain as it had already become in Germany.  I waited
until the clock struck three, and then I left the cathedral and
made my way toward the Convent of the Madonna, where the assault
was to be delivered.  You will understand, you who know me so
well, that I was not the man to return tamely to the French camp
with the report that our agent was dead and that other means must
be found of entering the city.  Either I should find some means
to finish his uncompleted task or there would be a vacancy for a
senior captain in the Hussars of Conflans.

I passed unquestioned down the broad boulevard, which I have
already described, until I came to the great stone convent which
formed the outwork of the defence.

It was built in a square with a garden in the centre.  In this
garden some hundreds of men were assembled, all armed and ready,
for it was known, of course, within the town that this was the
point against which the French attack was likely to be made.  Up
to this time our fighting all over Europe had always been done
between one army and another.  It was only here in Spain that we
learned how terrible a thing it is to fight against a people.

On the one hand there is no glory, for what glory could be gained
by defeating this rabble of elderly shopkeepers, ignorant
peasants, fanatical priests, excited women, and all the other
creatures who made up the garrison?  On the other hand there were
extreme discomfort and danger, for these people would give you no
rest, would observe no rules of war, and were desperately earnest
in their desire by hook or by crook to do you an injury.  I began
to realise how odious was our task as I looked upon the motley
but ferocious groups who were gathered round the watch-fires in
the garden of the Convent of the Madonna.  It was not for us
soldiers to think about politics, but from the beginning there
always seemed to be a curse upon this war in Spain.

However, at the moment I had no time to brood over such matters
as these.  There was, as I have said, no difficulty in getting as
far as the convent garden, but to pass inside the convent
unquestioned was not so easy.

The first thing which I did was to walk round the garden, and I
was soon able to pick out one large stained-glass window which
must belong to the chapel.  I had understood from Hubert that the
Mother Superior's room, in which the powder was stored, was near
to this, and that the train had been laid through a hole in the
wall from some neighbouring cell.  I must, at all costs, get into
the convent.  There was a guard at the door, and how could I get
in without explanations?  But a sudden inspiration showed me how
the thing might be done.  In the garden was a well, and beside
the well were a number of empty buckets.  I filled two of these,
and approached the door.  The errand of a man who carries a
bucket of water in each hand does not need to be explained.  The
guard opened to let me through.  I found myself in a long,
stone-flagged corridor, lit with lanterns, with the cells of the
nuns leading out from one side of it.  Now at last I was on the
high road to success.  I walked on without hesitation, for I knew
by my observations in the garden which way to go for the chapel.

A number of Spanish soldiers were lounging and smoking in the
corridor, several of whom addressed me as I passed.  I fancy it
was for my blessing that they asked, and my "Ora pro nobis"
seemed to entirely satisfy them.  Soon I had got as far as the
chapel, and it was easy enough to see that the cell next door was
used as a magazine, for the floor was all black with powder in
front of it.  The door was shut, and two fierce-looking fellows
stood on guard outside it, one of them with a key stuck in his
belt.  Had we been alone, it would not have been long before it
would have been in my hand, but with his comrade there it was
impossible for me to hope to take it by force.  The cell next
door to the magazine on the far side from the chapel must be the
one which belonged to Sister Angela.  It was half open.  I took
my courage in both hands and, leaving my buckets in the corridor,
I walked unchallenged into the room.

I was prepared to find half a dozen fierce Spanish desperadoes
within, but what actually met my eyes was even more embarrassing. 
The room had apparently been set aside for the use of some of the
nuns, who for some reason had refused to quit their home.  Three
of them were within, one an elderly, stern-faced dame, who was
evidently the Mother Superior, the others, young ladies of
charming appearance.  They were seated together at the far side
of the room, but they all rose at my entrance, and I saw with
some amazement, by their manner and expressions, that my coming
was both welcome and expected.  In a moment my presence of mind
had returned, and I saw exactly how the matter lay.

Naturally, since an attack was about to be made upon the convent,
these sisters had been expecting to be directed to some place of
safety.  Probably they were under vow not to quit the walls, and
they had been told to remain in this cell until they received
further orders.

In any case I adapted my conduct to this supposition, since it
was clear that I must get them out of the room, and this would
give me a ready excuse to do so.  I first cast a glance at the
door and observed that the key was within.  I then made a gesture
to the nuns to follow me.  The Mother Superior asked me some
question, but I shook my head impatiently and beckoned to her
again.

She hesitated, but I stamped my foot and called them forth in so
imperious a manner that they came at once.

They would be safer in the chapel, and thither I led them,
placing them at the end which was farthest from the magazine.  As
the three nuns took their places before the altar my heart
bounded with joy and pride within me, for I felt that the last
obstacle had been lifted from my path.

And yet how often have I not found that that is the very moment
of danger?  I took a last glance at the Mother Superior, and to
my dismay I saw that her piercing dark eyes were fixed, with an
expression in which surprise was deepening into suspicion, upon
my right hand.  There were two points which might well have
attracted her attention.  One was that it was red with the blood
of the sentinel whom I had stabbed in the tree.  That alone might
count for little, as the knife was as familiar as the breviary to
the monks of Saragossa.

But on my forefinger I wore a heavy gold ring --the gift of a
certain German baroness whose name I may not mention.  It shone
brightly in the light of the altar lamp.  Now, a ring upon a
friar's hand is an impossibility, since they are vowed to
absolute poverty.

I turned quickly and made for the door of the chapel, but the
mischief was done.  As I glanced back I saw that the Mother
Superior was already hurrying after me.  I ran through the chapel
door and along the corridor, but she called out some shrill
warning to the two guards in front.  Fortunately I had the
presence of mind to call out also, and to point down the passage
as if we were both pursuing the same object.  Next instant I had
dashed past them, sprang into the cell, slammed the heavy door,
and fastened it upon the inside.

With a bolt above and below and a huge lock in the centre it was
a piece of timber that would take some forcing.

Even now if they had had the wit to put a barrel of powder
against the door I should have been ruined.  It was their only
chance, for I had come to the final stage of my adventure.  Here
at last, after such a string of dangers as few men have ever
lived to talk of, I was at one end of the powder train, with the
Saragossa magazine at the other.  They were howling like wolves
out in the passage, and muskets were crashing against the door. 
I paid no heed to their clamour, but I looked eagerly around for
that train of which Hubert had spoken.  Of course, it must be at
the side of the room next to the magazine.  I crawled along it on
my hands and knees, looking into every crevice, but no sign could
I see.  Two bullets flew through the door and flattened
themselves against the wall.  The thudding and smashing grew ever
louder.  I saw a grey pile in a corner, flew to it with a cry of
joy, and found that it was only dust.  Then I got back to the
side of the door where no bullets could ever reach me--they were
streaming freely into the room--and I tried to forget this
fiendish howling in my ear and to think out where this train
could be.  It must have been carefully laid by Hubert lest these
nuns should see it.  I tried to imagine how I should myself have
arranged it had I been in his place.

My eye was attracted by a statue of St. Joseph which stood in the
corner.  There was a wreath of leaves along the edge of the
pedestal, with a lamp burning amidst them.  I rushed across to it
and tore the leaves aside.

Yes, yes, there was a thin black line, which disappeared through
a small hole in the wall.  I tilted over the lamp and threw
myself on the ground.  Next instant came a roar like thunder, the
walls wavered and tottered around me, the ceiling clattered down
from above, and over the yell of the terrified Spaniards was
heard the terrific shout of the storming column of Grenadiers. 
As in a dream--a happy dream--I heard it, and then I heard no
more.

When I came to my senses two French soldiers were propping me up,
and my head was singing like a kettle.

I staggered to my feet and looked around me.  The plaster had
fallen, the furniture was scattered, and there were rents in the
bricks, but no signs of a breach.  In fact, the walls of the
convent had been so solid that the explosion of the magazine had
been insufficient to throw them down.  On the other hand, it had
caused such a panic among the defenders that our stormers had
been able to carry the windows and throw open the doors almost
without assistance.  As I ran out into the corridor I found it
full of troops, and I met Marshal Lannes himself, who was
entering with his staff.  He stopped and listened eagerly to my
story.

"Splendid, Captain Gerard, splendid!" he cried.

"These facts will certainly be reported to the Emperor."

"I would suggest to your Excellency," said I, "that I have only
finished the work that was planned and carried out by Monsieur
Hubert, who gave his life for the cause."

"His services will not be forgotten," said the Marshal.

"Meanwhile, Captain Gerard, it is half-past four, and you must be
starving after such a night of exertion.

My staff and I will breakfast inside the city.  I assure you that
you will be an honoured guest."

"I will follow your Excellency," said I.  "There is a small
engagement which detains me."

He opened his eyes.

"At this hour?"

"Yes, sir," I answered.  "My fellow-officers, whom I never saw
until last night, will not be content unless they catch another
glimpse of me the first thing this morning."

"Au revoir, then," said Marshal Lannes, as he passed upon his
way.

I hurried through the shattered door of the convent.

When I reached the roofless house in which we had held the
consultation the night before, I threw of my gown and I put on
the busby and sabre which I had left there.

Then, a Hussar once more, I hurried onward to the grove which was
our rendezvous.  My brain was still reeling from the concussion
of the powder, and I was exhausted by the many emotions which had
shaken me during that terrible night.  It is like a dream, all
that walk in the first dim grey light of dawn, with the
smouldering camp-fires around me and the buzz of the waking army. 
Bugles and drums in every direction were mustering the infantry,
for the explosion and the shouting had told their own tale.  I
strode onward until, as I entered the little clump of cork oaks
behind the horse lines, I saw my twelve comrades waiting in a
group, their sabres at their sides.  They looked at me curiously
as I approached.  Perhaps with my powder- blackened face and my
blood-stained hands I seemed a different Gerard to the young
captain whom they had made game of the night before.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said I.  "I regret exceedingly if I
have kept you waiting, but I have not been master of my own
time."

They said nothing, but they still scanned me with curious eyes. 
I can see them now, standing in a line before me, tall men and
short men, stout men and thin men:  Olivier, with his warlike
moustache; the thin, eager face of Pelletan; young Oudin, flushed
by his first duel; Mortier, with the sword-cut across his
wrinkled brow.

I laid aside my busby and drew my sword.

"I have one favour to ask you, gentlemen," said I.

"Marshal Lannes has invited me to breakfast and I cannot keep him
waiting."

"What do you suggest?" asked Major Olivier.

"That you release me from my promise to give you five minutes
each, and that you will permit me to attack you all together."  I
stood upon my guard as I spoke.

But their answer was truly beautiful and truly French.  With one
impulse the twelve swords flew from their scabbards and were
raised in salute.  There they stood, the twelve of them,
motionless, their heels together, each with his sword upright
before his face.

I staggered back from them.  I looked from one to the other.  For
an instant I could not believe my own eyes.  They were paying me
homage, these, the men who had jeered me!  Then I understood it
all.  I saw the effect that I had made upon them and their desire
to make reparation.  When a man is weak he can steel himself
against danger, but not against emotion.

"Comrades," I cried, "comrades--!" but I could say no more.

Something seemed to take me by the throat and choke me.  And then
in an instant Olivier's arms were round me, Pelletan had seized
me by the right hand, Mortier by the left, some were patting me
on the shoulder, some were clapping me on the back, on every side
smiling faces were looking into mine; and so it was that I knew
that I had won my footing in the Hussars of Conflans. 



III. 
How the Brigadier Slew the Fox[*]


[*] This story, already published in The Green Flag, is included
here so that all of the Brigadier Gerard stories may appear
together.


In all the great hosts of France there was only one officer
toward whom the English of Wellington's Army retained a deep,
steady, and unchangeable hatred.

There were plunderers among the French, and men of violence,
gamblers, duellists, and roues.  All these could be forgiven, for
others of their kidney were to be found among the ranks of the
English.  But one officer of Massena's force had committed a
crime which was unspeakable, unheard of, abominable; only to be
alluded to with curses late in the evening, when a second bottle
had loosened the tongues of men.  The news of it was carried back
to England, and country gentlemen who knew little of the details
of the war grew crimson with passion when they heard of it, and
yeomen of the shires raised freckled fists to Heaven and swore. 
And yet who should be the doer of this dreadful deed but our
friend the Brigadier, Etienne Gerard, of the Hussars of Conflans,
gay-riding, plume-tossing, debonair, the darling of the ladies
and of the six brigades of light cavalry.

But the strange part of it is that this gallant gentleman did
this hateful thing, and made himself the most unpopular man in
the Peninsula, without ever knowing that he had done a crime for
which there is hardly a name amid all the resources of our
language.  He died of old age, and never once in that
imperturbable self- confidence which adorned or disfigured his
character knew that so many thousand Englishmen would gladly have
hanged him with their own hands.  On the contrary, he numbered
this adventure among those other exploits which he has given to
the world, and many a time he chuckled and hugged himself as he
narrated it to the eager circle who gathered round him in that
humble cafe where, between his dinner and his dominoes, he would
tell, amid tears and laughter, of that inconceivable Napoleonic
past when France, like an angel of wrath, rose up, splendid and
terrible, before a cowering continent.  Let us listen to him as
he tells the story in his own way and from his own point of view.

You must know, my friends, said he, that it was toward the end of
the year eighteen hundred and ten that I and Massena and the
others pushed Wellington backward until we had hoped to drive him
and his army into the Tagus.  But when we were still twenty-five
miles from Lisbon we found that we were betrayed, for what had
this Englishman done but build an enormous line of works and
forts at a place called Torres Vedras, so that even we were
unable to get through them!  They lay across the whole Peninsula,
and our army was so far from home that we did not dare to risk a
reverse, and we had already learned at Busaco that it was no
child's play to fight against these people.  What could we do,
then, but sit down in front of these lines and blockade them to
the best of our power?  There we remained for six months, amid
such anxieties that Massena said afterward that he had not one
hair which was not white upon his body.

For my own part, I did not worry much about our situation, but I
looked after our horses, who were in much need of rest and green
fodder.  For the rest, we drank the wine of the country and
passed the time as best we might.  There was a lady at
Santarem--but my lips are sealed.  It is the part of a gallant
man to say nothing, though he may indicate that he could say a
great deal.

One day Massena sent for me, and I found him in his tent with a
great plan pinned upon the table.  He looked at me in silence
with that single piercing eye of his, and I felt by his
expression that the matter was serious.  He was nervous and ill
at ease, but my bearing seemed to reassure him.  It is good to be
in contact with brave men.

"Colonel Etienne Gerard," said he, "I have always heard that you
are a very gallant and enterprising officer."

It was not for me to confirm such a report, and yet it would be
folly to deny it, so I clinked my spurs together and saluted.

"You are also an excellent rider."

I admitted it.

"And the best swordsman in the six brigades of light cavalry."

Massena was famous for the accuracy of his information.

"Now," said he, "if you will look at this plan you will have no
difficulty in understanding what it is that I wish you to do. 
These are the lines of Torres Vedras.  You will perceive that
they cover a vast space, and you will realise that the English
can only hold a position here and there.  Once through the lines
you have twenty-five miles of open country which lie between them
and Lisbon.  It is very important to me to learn how Wellington's
troops are distributed throughout that space, and it is my wish
that you should go and ascertain."

His words turned me cold.

"Sir," said I, "it is impossible that a colonel of light cavalry
should condescend to act as a spy."

He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.

"You would not be a Hussar if you were not a hot- head," said he. 
"If you will listen you will understand that I have not asked you
to act as a spy.  What do you think of that horse?"

He had conducted me to the opening of his tent, and there was a
chasseur who led up and down a most admirable creature.  He was a
dapple grey, not very tall, a little over fifteen hands perhaps,
but with the short head and splendid arch of the neck which comes
with the Arab blood.  His shoulders and haunches were so
muscular, and yet his legs so fine, that it thrilled me with joy
just to gaze upon him.  A fine horse or a beautiful woman--I
cannot look at them unmoved, even now when seventy winters have
chilled my blood.  You can think how it was in the year '10.

"This," said Massena, "is Voltigeur, the swiftest horse in our
army.  What I desire is that you should start tonight, ride round
the lines upon the flank, make your way across the enemy's rear,
and return upon the other flank, bringing me news of his
disposition.  You will wear a uniform, and will, therefore, if
captured, be safe from the death of a spy.  It is probable that
you will get through the lines unchallenged, for the posts are
very scattered.  Once through, in daylight you can outride
anything which you meet, and if you keep off the roads you may
escape entirely unnoticed.  If you have not reported yourself by
to-morrow night, I will understand that you are taken, and I will
offer them Colonel Petrie in exchange."

Ah, how my heart swelled with pride and joy as I sprang into the
saddle and galloped this grand horse up and down to show the
Marshal the mastery which I had of him!  He was magnificent--we
were both magnificent, for Massena clapped his hands and cried
out in his delight.

It was not I, but he, who said that a gallant beast deserves a
gallant rider.  Then, when for the third time, with my panache
flying and my dolman streaming behind me, I thundered past him, I
saw upon his hard old face that he had no longer any doubt that
he had chosen the man for his purpose.  I drew my sabre, raised
the hilt to my lips in salute, and galloped on to my own
quarters.

Already the news had spread that I had been chosen for a mission,
and my little rascals came swarming out of their tents to cheer
me.  Ah! it brings the tears to my old eyes when I think how
proud they were of their Colonel.

And I was proud of them also.  They deserved a dashing leader.

The night promised to be a stormy one, which was very much to my
liking.  It was my desire to keep my departure most secret, for
it was evident that if the English heard that I had been detached
from the army they would naturally conclude that something
important was about to happen.  My horse was taken, therefore,
beyond the picket line, as if for watering, and I followed and
mounted him there.  I had a map, a compass, and a paper of
instructions from the Marshal, and with these in the bosom of my
tunic and my sabre at my side I set out upon my adventure.

A thin rain was falling and there was no moon, so you may imagine
that it was not very cheerful.  But my heart was light at the
thought of the honour which had been done me and the glory which
awaited me.  This exploit should be one more in that brilliant
series which was to change my sabre into a baton.  Ah, how we
dreamed, we foolish fellows, young, and drunk with success! 
Could I have foreseen that night as I rode, the chosen man of
sixty thousand, that I should spend my life planting cabbages on
a hundred francs a month!  Oh, my youth, my hopes, my comrades! 
But the wheel turns and never stops.  Forgive me, my friends, for
an old man has his weakness.

My route, then, lay across the face of the high ground of Torres
Vedras, then over a streamlet, past a farmhouse which had been
burned down and was now only a landmark, then through a forest of
young cork oaks, and so to the monastery of San Antonio, which
marked the left of the English position.  Here I turned south and
rode quietly over the downs, for it was at this point that
Massena thought that it would be most easy for me to find my way
unobserved through the position.  I went very slowly, for it was
so dark that I could not see my hand in front of me.  In such
cases I leave my bridle loose and let my horse pick its own way. 
Voltigeur went confidently forward, and I was very content to sit
upon his back and to peer about me, avoiding every light.

For three hours we advanced in this cautious way, until it seemed
to me that I must have left all danger behind me.  I then pushed
on more briskly, for I wished to be in the rear of the whole army
by daybreak.  There are many vineyards in these parts which in
winter become open plains, and a horseman finds few difficulties
in his way.

But Massena had underrated the cunning of these English, for it
appears that there was not one line of defence but three, and it
was the third, which was the most formidable, through which I was
at that instant passing.  As I rode, elated at my own success, a
lantern flashed suddenly before me, and I saw the glint of
polished gun-barrels and the gleam of a red coat.

"Who goes there?" cried a voice--such a voice!  I swerved to the
right and rode like a madman, but a dozen squirts of fire came
out of the darkness, and the bullets whizzed all round my ears. 
That was no new sound to me, my friends, though I will not talk
like a foolish conscript and say that I have ever liked it.  But
at least it had never kept me from thinking clearly, and so I
knew that there was nothing for it but to gallop hard and try my
luck elsewhere.  I rode round the English picket, and then, as I
heard nothing more of them, I concluded rightly that I had at
last come through their defences.

For five miles I rode south, striking a tinder from time to time
to look at my pocket compass.  And then in an instant-- I feel
the pang once more as my memory brings back the moment--my horse,
without a sob or staggers fell stone-dead beneath me!

I had never known it, but one of the bullets from that infernal
picket had passed through his body.  The gallant creature had
never winced nor weakened, but had gone while life was in him. 
One instant I was secure on the swiftest, most graceful horse in
Massena's army.  The next he lay upon his side, worth only the
price of his hide, and I stood there that most helpless, most
ungainly of creatures, a dismounted Hussar.  What could I do with
my boots, my spurs, my trailing sabre?  I was far inside the
enemy's lines.  How could I hope to get back again?

I am not ashamed to say that I, Etienne Gerard, sat upon my dead
horse and sank my face in my hands in my despair.

Already the first streaks were whitening the east.

In half an hour it would be light.  That I should have won my way
past every obstacle and then at this last instant be left at the
mercy of my enemies, my mission ruined, and myself a
prisoner--was it not enough to break a soldier's heart?

But courage, my friends!  We have these moments of weakness, the
bravest of us; but I have a spirit like a slip of steel, for the
more you bend it the higher it springs.

One spasm of despair, and then a brain of ice and a heart of
fire.  All was not yet lost.  I who had come through so many
hazards would come through this one also.  I rose from my horse
and considered what had best be done.

And first of all it was certain that I could not get back.  Long
before I could pass the lines it would be broad daylight.  I must
hide myself for the day, and then devote the next night to my
escape.  I took the saddle, holsters, and bridle from poor
Voltigeur, and I concealed them among some bushes, so that no one
finding him could know that he was a French horse.  Then, leaving
him lying there, I wandered on in search of some place where I
might be safe for the day.  In every direction I could see camp
fires upon the sides of the hills, and already figures had begun
to move around them.  I must hide quickly, or I was lost.

But where was I to hide?  It was a vineyard in which I found
myself, the poles of the vines still standing, but the plants
gone.  There was no cover there.  Besides, I should want some
food and water before another night had come.  I hurried wildly
onward through the waning darkness, trusting that chance would be
my friend.

And I was not disappointed.  Chance is a woman, my friends, and
she has her eye always upon a gallant Hussar.

Well, then, as I stumbled through the vineyard, something loomed
in front of me, and I came upon a great square house with another
long, low building upon one side of it.  Three roads met there,
and it was easy to see that this was the posada, or wine-shop.

There was no light in the windows, and everything was dark and
silent, but, of course, I knew that such comfortable quarters
were certainly occupied, and probably by someone of importance. 
I have learned, however, that the nearer the danger may really be
the safer place, and so I was by no means inclined to trust
myself away from this shelter.  The low building was evidently
the stable, and into this I crept, for the door was unlatched.

The place was full of bullocks and sheep, gathered there, no
doubt, to be out of the clutches of marauders.

A ladder led to a loft, and up this I climbed and concealed
myself very snugly among some bales of hay upon the top.  This
loft had a small open window, and I was able to look down upon
the front of the inn and also upon the road.  There I crouched
and waited to see what would happen.

It was soon evident that I had not been mistaken when I had
thought that this might be the quarters of some person of
importance.  Shortly after daybreak an English light dragoon
arrived with a despatch, and from then onward the place was in a
turmoil, officers continually riding up and away.  Always the
same name was upon their lips:  "Sir Stapleton--Sir Stapleton."

It was hard for me to lie there with a dry moustache and watch
the great flagons which were brought out by the landlord to these
English officers.  But it amused me to look at their
fresh-coloured, clean-shaven, careless faces, and to wonder what
they would think if they knew that so celebrated a person was
lying so near to them.  And then, as I lay and watched, I saw a
sight which filled me with surprise.

It is incredible the insolence of these English!  What do you
suppose Milord Wellington had done when he found that Massena had
blockaded him and that he could not move his army?  I might give
you many guesses.  You might say that he had raged, that he had
despaired, that he had brought his troops together and spoken to
them about glory and the fatherland before leading them to one
last battle.  No, Milord did none of these things.  But he sent a
fleet ship to England to bring him a number of fox-dogs; and he
with his officers settled himself down to chase the fox.  It is
true what I tell you.  Behind the lines of Torres Vedras these
mad Englishmen made the fox chase three days in the week.

We had heard of it in the camp, and now I was myself to see that
it was true.

For, along the road which I have described, there came these very
dogs, thirty or forty of them, white and brown, each with its
tail at the same angle, like the bayonets of the Old Guard.  My
faith, but it was a pretty sight!  And behind and amidst them
there rode three men with peaked caps and red coats, whom I
understood to be the hunters.  After them came many horsemen with
uniforms of various kinds, stringing along the roads in twos and
threes, talking together and laughing.

They did not seem to be going above a trot, and it appeared to me
that it must indeed be a slow fox which they hoped to catch. 
However, it was their affair, not mine, and soon they had all
passed my window and were out of sight.  I waited and I watched,
ready for any chance which might offer.

Presently an officer, in a blue uniform not unlike that of our
flying artillery, came cantering down the road--an elderly, stout
man he was, with grey side-whiskers.  He stopped and began to
talk with an orderly officer of dragoons, who waited outside the
inn, and it was then that I learned the advantage of the English
which had been taught me.  I could hear and understand all that
was said.

"Where is the meet?" said the officer, and I thought that he was
hungering for his bifstek.  But the other answered him that it
was near Altara, so I saw that it was a place of which he spoke.

"You are late, Sir George," said the orderly.

"Yes, I had a court-martial.  Has Sir Stapleton Cotton gone?"

At this moment a window opened, and a handsome young man in a
very splendid uniform looked out of it.

"Halloa, Murray!" said he.  "These cursed papers keep me, but I
will be at your heels."

"Very good, Cotton.  I am late already, so I will ride on."

"You might order my groom to bring round my horse," said the
young General at the window to the orderly below, while the other
went on down the road.

The orderly rode away to some outlying stable, and then in a few
minutes there came a smart English groom with a cockade in his
hat, leading by the bridle a horse-- and, oh, my friends, you
have never known the perfection to which a horse can attain until
you have seen a first- class English hunter.  He was superb:
tall, broad, strong, and yet as graceful and agile as a deer. 
Coal black he was in colour, and his neck, and his shoulder, and
his quarters, and his fetlocks--how can I describe him all to
you?  The sun shone upon him as on polished ebony, and he raised
his hoofs in a little playful dance so lightly and prettily,
while he tossed his mane and whinnied with impatience.  Never
have I seen such a mixture of strength and beauty and grace.  I
had often wondered how the English Hussars had managed to ride
over the chasseurs of the Guards in the affair at Astorga, but I
wondered no longer when I saw the English horses.

There was a ring for fastening bridles at the door of the inn,
and the groom tied the horse there while he entered the house. 
In an instant I had seen the chance which Fate had brought to me. 
Were I in that saddle I should be better off than when I started. 
Even Voltigeur could not compare with this magnificent creature. 
To think is to act with me.  In one instant I was down the ladder
and at the door of the stable.  The next I was out and the bridle
was in my hand.  I bounded into the saddle.

Somebody, the master or the man, shouted wildly behind me.  What
cared I for his shouts!  I touched the horse with my spurs and he
bounded forward with such a spring that only a rider like myself
could have sat him.  I gave him his head and let him go--it did
not matter to me where, so long as we left this inn far behind
us.  He thundered away across the vineyards, and in a very few
minutes I had placed miles between myself and my pursuers.  They
could no longer tell in that wild country in which direction I
had gone.  I knew that I was safe, and so, riding to the top of a
small hill, I drew my pencil and note-book from my pocket and
proceeded to make plans of those camps which I could see and to
draw the outline of the country.

He was a dear creature upon whom I sat, but it was not easy to
draw upon his back, for every now and then his two ears would
cock, and he would start and quiver with impatience.  At first I
could not understand this trick of his, but soon I observed that
he only did it when a peculiar noise--"yoy, yoy, yoy"--came from
somewhere among the oak woods beneath us.  And then suddenly this
strange cry changed into a most terrible screaming, with the
frantic blowing of a horn.  Instantly he went mad--this horse. 
His eyes blazed.  His mane bristled.  He bounded from the earth
and bounded again, twisting and turning in a frenzy.  My pencil
flew one way and my note-book another.  And then, as I looked
down into the valley, an extraordinary sight met my eyes.

The hunt was streaming down it.  The fox I could not see, but the
dogs were in full cry, their noses down, their tails up, so close
together that they might have been one great yellow and white
moving carpet.  And behind them rode the horsemen--my faith, what
a sight!  Consider every type which a great army could show. 
Some in hunting dress, but the most in uniforms: blue dragoons,
red dragoons, red-trousered hussars, green riflemen,
artillerymen, gold-slashed lancers, and most of all red, red,
red, for the infantry officers ride as hard as the cavalry.

Such a crowd, some well mounted, some ill, but all flying along
as best they might, the subaltern as good as the general,
jostling and pushing, spurring and driving, with every thought
thrown to the winds save that they should have the blood of this
absurd fox!  Truly, they are an extraordinary people, the
English!

But I had little time to watch the hunt or to marvel at these
islanders, for of all these mad creatures the very horse upon
which I sat was the maddest.  You understand that he was himself
a hunter, and that the crying of these dogs was to him what the
call of a cavalry trumpet in the street yonder would be to me. 
It thrilled him.  It drove him wild.  Again and again he bounded
into the air, and then, seizing the bit between his teeth, he
plunged down the slope and galloped after the dogs.

I swore, and tugged, and pulled, but I was powerless.

This English General rode his horse with a snaffle only, and the
beast had a mouth of iron.  It was useless to pull him back.  One
might as well try to keep a grenadier from a wine-bottle.  I gave
it up in despair, and, settling down in the saddle, I prepared
for the worst which could befall.

What a creature he was!  Never have I felt such a horse between
my knees.  His great haunches gathered under him with every
stride, and he shot forward ever faster and faster, stretched
like a greyhound, while the wind beat in my face and whistled
past my ears.  I was wearing our undress jacket, a uniform simple
and dark in itself--though some figures give distinction to any
uniform--and I had taken the precaution to remove the long
panache from my busby.  The result was that, amidst the mixture
of costumes in the hunt, there was no reason why mine should
attract attention, or why these men, whose thoughts were all with
the chase, should give any heed to me.  The idea that a French
officer might be riding with them was too absurd to enter their
minds.  I laughed as I rode, for, indeed, amid all the danger,
there was something of comic in the situation.

I have said that the hunters were very unequally mounted, and so
at the end of a few miles, instead of being one body of men, like
a charging regiment, they were scattered over a considerable
space, the better riders well up to the dogs and the others
trailing away behind.

Now, I was as good a rider as any, and my horse was the best of
them all, and so you can imagine that it was not long before he
carried me to the front.  And when I saw the dogs streaming over
the open, and the red-coated huntsman behind them, and only seven
or eight horsemen between us, then it was that the strangest
thing of all happened, for I, too, went mad--I, Etienne Gerard!

In a moment it came upon me, this spirit of sport, this desire to
excel, this hatred of the fox.  Accursed animal, should he then
defy us?  Vile robber, his hour was come!

Ah, it is a great feeling, this feeling of sport, my friends,
this desire to trample the fox under the hoofs of your horse.  I
have made the fox chase with the English.  I have also, as I may
tell you some day, fought the box-fight with the Bustler, of
Bristol.  And I say to you that this sport is a wonderful
thing--full of interest as well as madness.

The farther we went the faster galloped my horse, and soon there
were but three men as near the dogs as I was.

All thought of fear of discovery had vanished.  My brain
throbbed, my blood ran hot--only one thing upon earth seemed
worth living for, and that was to overtake this infernal fox.  I
passed one of the horsemen--a Hussar like myself.  There were
only two in front of me now: the one in a black coat, the other
the blue artilleryman whom I had seen at the inn.  His grey
whiskers streamed in the wind, but he rode magnificently.  For a
mile or more we kept in this order, and then, as we galloped up a
steep slope, my lighter weight brought me to the front.

I passed them both, and when I reached the crown I was riding
level with the little, hard-faced English huntsman.

In front of us were the dogs, and then, a hundred paces beyond
them, was a brown wisp of a thing, the fox itself, stretched to
the uttermost.  The sight of him fired my blood.  "Aha, we have
you then, assassin!" I cried, and shouted my encouragement to the
huntsman.  I waved my hand to show him that there was one upon
whom he could rely.

And now there were only the dogs between me and my prey.  These
dogs, whose duty it is to point out the game, were now rather a
hindrance than a help to us, for it was hard to know how to pass
them.  The huntsman felt the difficulty as much as I, for he rode
behind them, and could make no progress toward the fox.  He was a
swift rider, but wanting in enterprise.  For my part, I felt that
it would be unworthy of the Hussars of Conflans if I could not
overcome such a difficulty as this.

Was Etienne Gerard to be stopped by a herd of fox-dogs?

It was absurd.  I gave a shout and spurred my horse.

"Hold hard, sir!  Hold hard!" cried the huntsman.

He was uneasy for me, this good old man, but I reassured him by a
wave and a smile.  The dogs opened in front of me.  One or two
may have been hurt, but what would you have?  The egg must be
broken for the omelette.  I could hear the huntsman shouting his
congratulations behind me.  One more effort, and the dogs were
all behind me.  Only the fox was in front.

Ah, the joy and pride of that moment!  To know that I had beaten
the English at their own sport.  Here were three hundred, all
thirsting for the life of this animal, and yet it was I who was
about to take it.  I thought of my comrades of the light cavalry
brigade, of my mother, of the Emperor, of France.  I had brought
honour to each and all.  Every instant brought me nearer to the
fox.  The moment for action had arrived, so I unsheathed my
sabre.  I waved it in the air, and the brave English all shouted
behind me.

Only then did I understand how difficult is this fox chase, for
one may cut again and again at the creature and never strike him
once.  He is small, and turns quickly from a blow.  At every cut
I heard those shouts of encouragement from behind me, and they
spurred me to yet another effort.  And then at last the supreme
moment of my triumph arrived.  In the very act of turning I
caught him fair with such another back-handed cut as that with
which I killed the aide-de-camp of the Emperor of Russia.  He
flew into two pieces, his head one way and his tail another.  I
looked back and waved the blood- stained sabre in the air.  For
the moment I was exalted --superb!

Ah! how I should have loved to have waited to have received the
congratulations of these generous enemies.

There were fifty of them in sight, and not one who was not waving
his hand and shouting.  They are not really such a phlegmatic
race, the English.  A gallant deed in war or in sport will always
warm their hearts.  As to the old huntsman, he was the nearest to
me, and I could see with my own eyes how overcome he was by what
he had seen.  He was like a man paralysed, his mouth open, his
hand, with outspread fingers, raised in the air.  For a moment my
inclination was to return and to embrace him.

But already the call of duty was sounding in my ears, and these
English, in spite of all the fraternity which exists among
sportsmen, would certainly have made me prisoner.  There was no
hope for my mission now, and I had done all that I could do.  I
could see the lines of Massena's camp no very great distance off,
for, by a lucky chance, the chase had taken us in that direction.

I turned from the dead fox, saluted with my sabre, and galloped
away.

But they would not leave me so easily, these gallant huntsmen.  I
was the fox now, and the chase swept bravely over the plain.  It
was only at the moment when I started for the camp that they
could have known that I was a Frenchman, and now the whole swarm
of them were at my heels.  We were within gunshot of our pickets
before they would halt, and then they stood in knots and would
not go away, but shouted and waved their hands at me.  No, I will
not think that it was in enmity.  Rather would I fancy that a
glow of admiration filled their breasts, and that their one
desire was to embrace the stranger who had carried himself so
gallantly and well. 



IV. How the Brigadier Saved the Army

I have told you, my friends, how we held the English shut up for
six months, from October, 1810, to March, 1811, within their
lines of Torres Vedras.  It was during this time that I hunted
the fox in their company, and showed them that amidst all their
sportsmen there was not one who could outride a Hussar of
Conflans.  When I galloped back into the French lines with the
blood of the creature still moist upon my blade the outposts who
had seen what I had done raised a frenzied cry in my honour,
whilst these English hunters still yelled behind me, so that I
had the applause of both armies.  It made the tears rise to my
eyes to feel that I had won the admiration of so many brave men. 
These English are generous foes.  That very evening there came a
packet under a white flag addressed "To the Hussar officer who
cut down the fox."  Within, I found the fox itself in two pieces,
as I had left it.  There was a note also, short but hearty, as
the English fashion is, to say that as I had slaughtered the fox
it only remained for me to eat it.  They could not know that it
was not our French custom to eat foxes, and it showed their
desire that he who had won the honours of the chase should also
partake of the game.  It is not for a Frenchman to be outdone in
politeness, and so I returned it to these brave hunters, and
begged them to accept it as a side-dish for their next dejeuner
de la chasse.

It is thus that chivalrous opponents make war.

I had brought back with me from my ride a clear plan of the
English lines, and this I laid before Massena that very evening.

I had hoped that it would lead him to attack, but all the
marshals were at each other's throats, snapping and growling like
so many hungry hounds.  Ney hated Massena, and Massena hated
Junot, and Soult hated them all.  For this reason, nothing was
done.  In the meantime food grew more and more scarce, and our
beautiful cavalry was ruined for want of fodder.  With the end of
the winter we had swept the whole country bare, and nothing
remained for us to eat, although we sent our forage parties far
and wide.  It was clear even to the bravest of us that the time
had come to retreat.  I was myself forced to admit it.

But retreat was not so easy.  Not only were the troops weak and
exhausted from want of supplies, but the enemy had been much
encouraged by our long inaction.  Of Wellington we had no great
fear.  We had found him to be brave and cautious, but with little
enterprise.  Besides, in that barren country his pursuit could
not be rapid.

But on our flanks and in our rear there had gathered great
numbers of Portuguese militia, of armed peasants, and of
guerillas.  These people had kept a safe distance all the winter,
but now that our horses were foundered they were as thick as
flies all round our outposts, and no man's life was worth a sou
when once he fell into their hands.  I could name a dozen
officers of my own acquaintance who were cut off during that
time, and the luckiest was he who received a ball from behind a
rock through his head or his heart.  There were some whose deaths
were so terrible that no report of them was ever allowed to reach
their relatives.  So frequent were these tragedies, and so much
did they impress the imagination of the men, that it became very
difficult to induce them to leave the camp.

There was one especial scoundrel, a guerilla chief named Manuelo,
"The Smiler," whose exploits filled our men with horror.  He was
a large, fat man of jovial aspect, and he lurked with a fierce
gang among the mountains which lay upon our left flank.  A volume
might be written of this fellow's cruelties and brutalities, but
he was certainly a man of power, for he organised his brigands in
a manner which made it almost impossible for us to get through
his country.  This he did by imposing a severe discipline upon
them and enforcing it by cruel penalties, a policy by which he
made them formidable, but which had some unexpected results, as I
will show you in my story.  Had he not flogged his own
lieutenant--but you will hear of that when the time comes.

There were many difficulties in connection with a retreat, but it
was very evident that there was no other possible course, and so
Massena began to quickly pass his baggage and his sick from
Torres Novas, which was his headquarters, to Coimbra, the first
strong post on his line of communications.  He could not do this
unperceived, however, and at once the guerillas came swarming
closer and closer upon our flanks.  One of our divisions, that of
Clausel, with a brigade of Montbrun's cavalry, was far to the
south of the Tagus, and it became very necessary to let them know
that we were about to retreat, for Otherwise they would be left
unsupported in the very heart of the enemy's country.  I remember
wondering how Massena would accomplish this, for simple couriers
could not get through, and small parties would be certainly
destroyed.  In some way an order to fall back must be conveyed to
these men, or France would be the weaker by fourteen thousand
men.  Little did I think that it was I, Colonel Gerard, who was
to have the honour of a deed which might have formed the crowning
glory of any other man's life, and which stands high among those
exploits which have made my own so famous.

At that time I was serving on Massena's staff, and he had two
other aides-de-camp, who were also very brave and intelligent
officers.  The name of one was Cortex and of the other Duplessis. 
They were senior to me in age, but junior in every other respect. 
Cortex was a small, dark man, very quick and eager.  He was a
fine soldier, but he was ruined by his conceit.  To take him at
his own valuation, he was the first man in the army.

Duplessis was a Gascon, like myself, and he was a very fine
fellow, as all Gascon gentlemen are.  We took it in turn, day
about, to do duty, and it was Cortex who was in attendance upon
the morning of which I speak.  I saw him at breakfast, but
afterward neither he nor his horse was to be seen.  All day
Massena was in his usual gloom, and he spent much of his time
staring with his telescope at the English lines and at the
shipping in the Tagus.

He said nothing of the mission upon which he had sent our
comrade, and it was not for us to ask him any questions.

That night, about twelve o'clock, I was standing outside the
Marshal's headquarters when he came out and stood motionless for
half an hour, his arms folded upon his breast, staring through
the darkness toward the east.

So rigid and intent was he that you might have believed the
muffled figure and the cocked hat to have been the statue of the
man.  What he was looking for I could not imagine; but at last he
gave a bitter curse, and, turning on his heel, he went back into
the house, banging the door behind him.

Next day the second aide-de-camp, Duplessis, had an interview
with Massena in the morning, after which neither he nor his horse
was seen again.  That night, as I sat in the ante-room, the
Marshal passed me, and I observed him through the window standing
and staring to the east exactly as he had done before.  For fully
half an hour he remained there, a black shadow in the gloom.

Then he strode in, the door banged, and I heard his spurs and his
scabbard jingling and clanking through the passage.  At the best
he was a savage old man, but when he was crossed I had almost as
soon face the Emperor himself.  I heard him that night cursing
and stamping above my head, but he did not send for me, and I
knew him too well to go unsought.

Next morning it was my turn, for I was the only aide- de-camp
left.  I was his favourite aide-de-camp.  His heart went out
always to a smart soldier.  I declare that I think there were
tears in his black eyes when he sent for me that morning.

"Gerard," said he.  "Come here!"

With a friendly gesture he took me by the sleeve and he led me to
the open window which faced the east.  Beneath us was the
infantry camp, and beyond that the lines of the cavalry with the
long rows of picketed horses.

We could see the French outposts, and then a stretch of open
country, intersected by vineyards.  A range of hills lay beyond,
with one well-marked peak towering above them.  Round the base of
these hills was a broad belt of forest.  A single road ran white
and clear, dipping and rising until it passed through a gap in
the hills.

"This," said Massena, pointing to the mountain, "is the Sierra de
Merodal.  Do you perceive anything upon the top?"

I answered that I did not.

"Now?" he asked, and he handed me his field-glass.

With its aid I perceived a small mound or cairn upon the crest.

"What you see," said the Marshal, "is a pile of logs which was
placed there as a beacon.  We laid it when the country was in our
hands, and now, although we no longer hold it, the beacon remains
undisturbed.  Gerard, that beacon must be lit to-night.  France
needs it, the Emperor needs it, the army needs it.  Two of your
comrades have gone to light it, but neither has made his way to
the summit.  To-day it is your turn, and I pray that you may have
better luck."

It is not for a soldier to ask the reason for his orders, and so
I was about to hurry from the room, but the Marshal laid his hand
upon my shoulder and held me.

"You shall know all, and so learn how high is the cause for which
you risk your life," said he.  "Fifty miles to the south of us,
on the other side of the Tagus, is the army of General Clausel. 
His camp is situated near a peak named the Sierra d'Ossa.  On the
summit of this peak is a beacon, and by this beacon he has a
picket.  It is agreed between us that when at midnight he shall
see our signal-fire he shall light his own as an answer, and
shall then at once fall back upon the main army.  If he does not
start at once I must go without him.  For two days I have
endeavoured to send him his message.  It must reach him to-day,
or his army will be left behind and destroyed."

Ah, my friends, how my heart swelled when I heard how high was
the task which Fortune had assigned to me!

If my life were spared, here was one more splendid new leaf for
my laurel crown.  If, on the other hand, I died, then it would be
a death worthy of such a career.  I said nothing, but I cannot
doubt that all the noble thoughts that were in me shone in my
face, for Massena took my hand and wrung it.

"There is the hill and there the beacon," said he.

"There is only this guerilla and his men between you and it.  I
cannot detach a large party for the enterprise and a small one
would be seen and destroyed.  Therefore to you alone I commit it. 
Carry it out in your own way, but at twelve o'clock this night
let me see the fire upon the hill."

"If it is not there," said I, "then I pray you, Marshal Massena,
to see that my effects are sold and the money sent to my mother." 
So I raised my hand to my busby and turned upon my heel, my heart
glowing at the thought of the great exploit which lay before me.

I sat in my own chamber for some little time considering how I
had best take the matter in hand.  The fact that neither Cortex
nor Duplessis, who were very zealous and active officers, had
succeeded in reaching the summit of the Sierra de Merodal, showed
that the country was very closely watched by the guerillas.  I
reckoned out the distance upon a map.  There were ten miles of
open country to be crossed before reaching the hills.  Then came
a belt of forest on the lower slopes of the mountain, which may
have been three or four miles wide.  And then there was the
actual peak itself, of no very great height, but without any
cover to conceal me.  Those were the three stages of my journey.

It seemed to me that once I had reached the shelter of the wood
all would be easy, for I could lie concealed within its shadows
and climb upward under the cover of night.

From eight till twelve would give me four hours of darkness in
which to make the ascent.  It was only the first stage, then,
which I had seriously to consider.

Over that flat country there lay the inviting white road, and I
remembered that my comrades had both taken their horses.  That
was clearly their ruin, for nothing could be easier than for the
brigands to keep watch upon the road, and to lay an ambush for
all who passed along it.  It would not be difficult for me to
ride across country, and I was well horsed at that time, for I
had not only Violette and Rataplan, who were two of the finest
mounts in the army, but I had the splendid black English hunter
which I had taken from Sir Cotton.  However, after much thought,
I determined to go upon foot, since I should then be in a better
state to take advantage of any chance which might offer.  As to
my dress, I covered my Hussar uniform with a long cloak, and I
put a grey forage cap upon my head.  You may ask me why I did not
dress as a peasant, but I answer that a man of honour has no
desire to die the death of a spy.  It is one thing to be
murdered, and it is another to be justly executed by the laws of
war.  I would not run the risk of such an end.

In the late afternoon I stole out of the camp and passed through
the line of our pickets.  Beneath my cloak I had a field-glass
and a pocket pistol, as well as my sword.  In my pocket were
tinder, flint, and steel.

For two or three miles I kept under cover of the vineyards, and
made such good progress that my heart was high within me, and I
thought to myself that it only needed a man of some brains to
take the matter in hand to bring it easily to success.  Of
course, Cortex and Duplessis galloping down the high-road would
be easily seen, but the intelligent Gerard lurking among the
vines was quite another person.  I dare say I had got as far as
five miles before I met any check.  At that point there is a
small wine-house, round which I perceived some carts and a number
of people, the first that I had seen.  Now that I was well
outside the lines I knew that every person was my enemy, so I
crouched lower while I stole along to a point from which I could
get a better view of what was going on.  I then perceived that
these people were peasants, who were loading two waggons with
empty wine- casks.  I failed to see how they could either help or
hinder me, so I continued upon my way.

But soon I understood that my task was not so simple as had
appeared.  As the ground rose the vineyards ceased, and I came
upon a stretch of open country studded with low hills.  Crouching
in a ditch I examined them with a glass, and I very soon
perceived that there was a watcher upon every one of them, and
that these people had a line of pickets and outposts thrown
forward exactly like our own.  I had heard of the discipline
which was practised by this scoundrel whom they called "The
Smiler," and this, no doubt, was an example of it.

Between the hills there was a cordon of sentries, and though I
worked some distance round to the flank I still found myself
faced by the enemy.  It was a puzzle what to do.

There was so little cover that a rat could hardly cross without
being seen.  Of course, it would be easy enough to slip through
at night, as I had done with the English at Torres Vedras, but I
was still far from the mountain and I could not in that case
reach it in time to light the midnight beacon.  I lay in my ditch
and I made a thousand plans, each more dangerous than the last. 
And then suddenly I had that flash of light which comes to the
brave man who refuses to despair.

You remember I have mentioned that two waggons were loading up
with empty casks at the inn.  The heads of the oxen were turned
to the east, and it was evident that those waggons were going in
the direction which I desired.  Could I only conceal myself upon
one of them, what better and easier way could I find of passing
through the lines of the guerillas?  So simple and so good was
the plan that I could not restrain a cry of delight as it crossed
my mind, and I hurried away instantly in the direction of the
inn.  There, from behind some bushes, I had a good look at what
was going on upon the road.

There were three peasants with red montero caps loading the
barrels, and they had completed one waggon and the lower tier of
the other.  A number of empty barrels still lay outside the
wine-house waiting to be put on.

Fortune was my friend--I have always said that she is a woman and
cannot resist a dashing young Hussar.  As I watched, the three
fellows went into the inn, for the day was hot and they were
thirsty after their labour.  Quick as a flash I darted out from
my hiding-place, climbed on to the waggon, and crept into one of
the empty casks.

It had a bottom but no top, and it lay upon its side with the
open end inward.  There I crouched like a dog in its kennel, my
knees drawn up to my chin, for the barrels were not very large
and I am a well-grown man.  As I lay there, out came the three
peasants again, and presently I heard a crash upon the top of me
which told that I had another barrel above me.  They piled them
upon the cart until I could not imagine how I was ever to get out
again.  However, it is time to think of crossing the Vistula when
you are over the Rhine, and I had no doubt that if chance and my
own wits had carried me so far they would carry me farther.

Soon, when the waggon was full, they set forth upon their way,
and I within my barrel chuckled at every step, for it was
carrying me whither I wished to go.  We travelled slowly, and the
peasants walked beside the waggons.

This I knew, because I heard their voices close to me. They
seemed to me to be very merry fellows, for they laughed heartily
as they went.  What the joke was I could not understand.  Though
I speak their language fairly well I could not hear anything
comic in the scraps of their conversation which met my ear.

I reckoned that at the rate of walking of a team of oxen we
covered about two miles an hour.  Therefore, when I was sure that
two and a half hours had passed-- such hours, my friends,
cramped, suffocated, and nearly poisoned with the fumes of the
lees--when they had passed, I was sure that the dangerous open
country was behind us, and that we were upon the edge of the
forest and the mountain.  So now I had to turn my mind upon how I
was to get out of my barrel.  I had thought of several ways, and
was balancing one against the other when the question was decided
for me in a very simple but unexpected manner.

The waggon stopped suddenly with a jerk, and I heard a number of
gruff voices in excited talk.  "Where, where?" cried one.  "On
our cart," said another.  "Who is he?" said a third.  "A French
officer; I saw his cap and his boots."  They all roared with
laughter.  "I was looking out of the window of the posada and I
saw him spring into the cask like a toreador with a Seville bull
at his heels."  "Which cask, then?"  "It was this one," said the
fellow, and sure enough his fist struck the wood beside my head.

What a situation, my friends, for a man of my standing!

I blush now, after forty years, when I think of it.

To be trussed like a fowl and to listen helplessly to the rude
laughter of these boors--to know, too, that my mission had come
to an ignominious and even ridiculous end --I would have blessed
the man who would have sent a bullet through the cask and freed
me from my misery.

I heard the crashing of the barrels as they hurled them off the
waggon, and then a couple of bearded faces and the muzzles of two
guns looked in at me.  They seized me by the sleeves of my coat,
and they dragged me out into the daylight.  A strange figure I
must have looked as I stood blinking and gaping in the blinding
sunlight.

My body was bent like a cripple's, for I could not straighten my
stiff joints, and half my coat was as red as an English soldier's
from the lees in which I had lain.

They laughed and laughed, these dogs, and as I tried to express
by my bearing and gestures the contempt in which I held them
their laughter grew all the louder.  But even in these hard
circumstances I bore myself like the man I am, and as I cast my
eye slowly round I did not find that any of the laughers were
very ready to face it.

That one glance round was enough to tell me exactly how I was
situated.  I had been betrayed by these peasants into the hands
of an outpost of guerillas.  There were eight of them,
savage-looking, hairy creatures, with cotton handkerchiefs under
their sombreros, and many- buttoned jackets with coloured sashes
round the waist.

Each had a gun and one or two pistols stuck in his girdle.

The leader, a great, bearded ruffian, held his gun against my ear
while the others searched my pockets, taking from me my overcoat,
my pistol, my glass, my sword, and, worst of all, my flint and
steel and tinder.  Come what might, I was ruined, for I had no
longer the means of lighting the beacon even if I should reach
it.

Eight of them, my friends, with three peasants, and I unarmed! 
Was Etienne Gerard in despair?  Did he lose his wits?  Ah, you
know me too well; but they did not know me yet, these dogs of
brigands.  Never have I made so supreme and astounding an effort
as at this very instant when all seemed lost.  Yet you might
guess many times before you would hit upon the device by which I
escaped them.  Listen and I will tell you.

They had dragged me from the waggon when they searched me, and I
stood, still twisted and warped, in the midst of them.  But the
stiffness was wearing off, and already my mind was very actively
looking out for some method of breaking away.  It was a narrow
pass in which the brigands had their outpost.  It was bounded on
the one hand by a steep mountain side.  On the other the ground
fell away in a very long slope, which ended in a bushy valley
many hundreds of feet below.  These fellows, you understand, were
hardy mountaineers, who could travel either up hill or down very
much quicker than I.  They wore abarcas, or shoes of skin, tied
on like sandals, which gave them a foothold everywhere.  A less
resolute man would have despaired.  But in an instant I saw and
used the strange chance which Fortune had placed in my way.  On
the very edge of the slope was one of the wine-barrels.  I moved
slowly toward it, and then with a tiger spring I dived into it
feet foremost, and with a roll of my body I tipped it over the
side of the hill.

Shall I ever forget that dreadful journey--how I bounded and
crashed and whizzed down that terrible slope?  I had dug in my
knees and elbows, bunching my body into a compact bundle so as to
steady it; but my head projected from the end, and it was a
marvel that I did not dash out my brains.  There were long,
smooth slopes, and then came steeper scarps where the barrel
ceased to roll, and sprang into the air like a goat, coming down
with a rattle and crash which jarred every bone in my body.  How
the wind whistled in my ears, and my head turned and turned until
I was sick and giddy and nearly senseless!  Then, with a swish
and a great rasping and crackling of branches, I reached the
bushes which I had seen so far below me.  Through them I broke my
way, down a slope beyond, and deep into another patch of
underwood, where, striking a sapling, my barrel flew to pieces. 
From amid a heap of staves and hoops I crawled out, my body
aching in every inch of it, but my heart singing loudly with joy
and my spirit high within me, for I knew how great was the feat
which I had accomplished, and I already seemed to see the beacon
blazing on the hill.

A horrible nausea had seized me from the tossing which I had
undergone, and I felt as I did upon the ocean when first I
experienced those movements of which the English have taken so
perfidious an advantage.  I had to sit for a few moments with my
head upon my hands beside the ruins of my barrel.  But there was
no time for rest.

Already I heard shouts above me which told that my pursuers were
descending the hill.  I dashed into the thickest part of the
underwood, and I ran and ran until I was utterly exhausted.  Then
I lay panting and listened with all my ears, but no sound came to
them.  I had shaken off my enemies.

When I had recovered my breath I travelled swiftly on, and waded
knee-deep through several brooks, for it came into my head that
they might follow me with dogs.

On gaining a clear place and looking round me, I found to my
delight that in spite of my adventures I had not been much out of
my way.  Above me towered the peak of Merodal, with its bare and
bold summit shooting out of the groves of dwarf oaks which
shrouded its flanks.

These groves were the continuation of the cover under which I
found myself, and it seemed to me that I had nothing to fear now
until I reached the other side of the forest.  At the same time I
knew that every man's hand was against me, that I was unarmed,
and that there were many people about me.  I saw no one, but
several times I heard shrill whistles, and once the sound of a
gun in the distance.

It was hard work pushing one's way through the bushes, and so I
was glad when I came to the larger trees and found a path which
led between them.  Of course, I was too wise to walk upon it, but
I kept near it and followed its course.  I had gone some
distance, and had, as I imagined, nearly reached the limit of the
wood, when a strange, moaning sound fell upon my ears.  At first
I thought it was the cry of some animal, but then there came
words, of which I only caught the French exclamation, "Mon Dieu!" 
With great caution I advanced in the direction from which the
sound proceeded, and this is what I saw.

On a couch of dried leaves there was stretched a man dressed in
the same grey uniform which I wore myself.

He was evidently horribly wounded, for he held a cloth to his
breast which was crimson with his blood.  A pool had formed all
round his couch, and he lay in a haze of flies, whose buzzing and
droning would certainly have called my attention if his groans
had not come to my ear.

I lay for a moment, fearing some trap, and then, my pity and
loyalty rising above all other feelings, I ran forward and knelt
by his side.  He turned a haggard face upon me, and it was
Duplessis, the man who had gone before me.  It needed but one
glance at his sunken cheeks and glazing eyes to tell me that he
was dying.

"Gerard!" said he; "Gerard!"

I could but look my sympathy, but he, though the life was ebbing
swiftly out of him, still kept his duty before him, like the
gallant gentleman he was.

"The beacon, Gerard!  You will light it?"

"Have you flint and steel?"

"It is here!"

"Then I will light it to-night."

"I die happy to hear you say so.  They shot me, Gerard.

But you will tell the Marshal that I did my best."

"And Cortex?"

"He was less fortunate.  He fell into their hands and died
horribly.  If you see that you cannot get away, Gerard, put a
bullet into your own heart.  Don't die as Cortex did."

I could see that his breath was failing, and I bent low to catch
his words.

"Can you tell me anything which can help me in my task?" I asked.

"Yes, yes; de Pombal.  He will help you.  Trust de Pombal."  With
the words his head fell back and he was dead.

"Trust de Pombal.  It is good advice."  To my amazement a man was
standing at the very side of me.

So absorbed had I been in my comrade's words and intent on his
advice that he had crept up without my observing him.  Now I
sprang to my feet and faced him.  He was a tall, dark fellow,
black-haired, black-eyed, black-bearded, with a long, sad face. 
In his hand he had a wine-bottle and over his shoulder was slung
one of the trabucos or blunderbusses which these fellows bear. 
He made no effort to unsling it, and I understood that this was
the man to whom my dead friend had commended me.

"Alas, he is gone!" said he, bending over Duplessis.

"He fled into the wood after he was shot, but I was fortunate
enough to find where he had fallen and to make his last hours
more easy.  This couch was my making, and I had brought this wine
to slake his thirst."

"Sir," said I, "in the name of France I thank you.  I am but a
colonel of light cavalry, but I am Etienne Gerard, and the name
stands for something in the French army.  May I ask----"

"Yes, sir, I am Aloysius de Pombal, younger brother of the famous
nobleman of that name.  At present I am the first lieutenant in
the band of the guerilla chief who is usually known as Manuelo,
'The Smiler.' "

My word, I clapped my hand to the place where my pistol should
have been, but the man only smiled at the gesture.

"I am his first lieutenant, but I am also his deadly enemy," said
he.  He slipped off his jacket and pulled up his shirt as he
spoke.  "Look at this!" he cried, and he turned upon me a back
which was all scored and lacerated with red and purple weals. 
"This is what 'The Smiler' has done to me, a man with the noblest
blood of Portugal in my veins.  What I will do to 'The Smiler'
you have still to see."

There was such fury in his eyes and in the grin of his white
teeth that I could no longer doubt his truth, with that clotted
and oozing back to corroborate his words.

"I have ten men sworn to stand by me," said he.  "In a few days I
hope to join your army, when I have done my work here.  In the
meanwhile--"  A strange change came over his face, and he
suddenly slung his musket to the front:  "Hold up your hands, you
French hound!" he yelled.  "Up with them, or I blow your head
of!"

You start, my friends!  You stare!  Think, then, how I stared and
started at this sudden ending of our talk.

There was the black muzzle and there the dark, angry eyes behind
it.  What could I do?  I was helpless.  I raised my hands in the
air.  At the same moment voices sounded from all parts of the
wood, there were crying and calling and rushing of many feet.  A
swarm of dreadful figures broke through the green bushes, a dozen
hands seized me, and I, poor, luckless, frenzied I, was a
prisoner once more.  Thank God, there was no pistol which I could
have plucked from my belt and snapped at my own head.  Had I been
armed at that moment I should not be sitting here in this cafe
and telling you these old-world tales.

With grimy, hairy hands clutching me on every side I was led
along the pathway through the wood, the villain de Pombal giving
directions to my Captors.  Four of the brigands carried up the
dead body of Duplessis.

The shadows of evening were already falling when we cleared the
forest and came out upon the mountain-side.

Up this I was driven until we reached the headquarters of the
guerillas, which lay in a cleft close to the summit of the
mountain.  There was the beacon which had cost me so much, a
square stack of wood, immediately above our heads.  Below were
two or three huts which had belonged, no doubt, to goatherds, and
which were now used to shelter these rascals.  Into one of these
I was cast, bound and helpless, and the dead body of my poor
comrade was laid beside me.

I was lying there with the one thought still consuming me, how to
wait a few hours and to get at that pile of fagots above my head,
when the door of my prison opened and a man entered.  Had my
hands been free I should have flown at his throat, for it was
none other than de Pombal.  A couple of brigands were at his
heels, but he ordered them back and closed the door behind him.

"You villain!" said I.

"Hush!" he cried.  "Speak low, for I do not know who may be
listening, and my life is at stake.  I have some words to say to
you, Colonel Gerard; I wish well to you, as I did to your dead
companion.  As I spoke to you beside his body I saw that we were
surrounded, and that your capture was unavoidable.  I should have
shared your fate had I hesitated.  I instantly captured you
myself, so as to preserve the confidence of the band.

Your own sense will tell you that there was nothing else for me
to do.  I do not know now whether I can save you, but at least I
will try."

This was a new light upon the situation.  I told him that I could
not tell how far he spoke the truth, but that I would judge him
by his actions.

"I ask nothing better," said he.  "A word of advice to you!  The
chief will see you now.  Speak him fair, or he will have you sawn
between two planks.  Contradict nothing he says.  Give him such
information as he wants.  It is your only chance.  If you can
gain time something may come in our favour.  Now, I have no more
time.  Come at once, or suspicion may be awakened."

He helped me to rise, and then, opening the door, he dragged me
out very roughly, and with the aid of the fellows outside he
brutally pushed and thrust me to the place where the guerilla
chief was seated, with his rude followers gathered round him.

A remarkable man was Manuelo, "The Smiler."  He was fat and
florid and comfortable, with a big, clean- shaven face and a bald
head, the very model of a kindly father of a family.  As I looked
at his honest smile I could scarcely believe that this was,
indeed, the infamous ruffian whose name was a horror through the
English Army as well as our own.  It is well known that Trent,
who was a British officer, afterward had the fellow hanged for
his brutalities.  He sat upon a boulder and he beamed upon me
like one who meets an old acquaintance.

I observed, however, that one of his men leaned upon a long saw,
and the sight was enough to cure me of all delusions.

"Good evening, Colonel Gerard," said he.  "We have been highly
honoured by General Massena's staff: Major Cortex one day,
Colonel Duplessis the next, and now Colonel Gerard.  Possibly the
Marshal himself may be induced to honour us with a visit.  You
have seen Duplessis, I understand.  Cortex you will find nailed
to a tree down yonder.  It only remains to be decided how we can
best dispose of yourself."

It was not a cheering speech; but all the time his fat face was
wreathed in smiles, and he lisped out his words in the most
mincing and amiable fashion.  Now, however, he suddenly leaned
forward, and I read a very real intensity in his eyes.

"Colonel Gerard," said he, "I cannot promise you your life, for
it is not our custom, but I can give you an easy death or I can
give you a terrible one.  Which shall it be?"

"What do you wish me to do in exchange?"

"If you would die easy I ask you to give me truthful answers to
the questions which I ask."

A sudden thought flashed through my mind.

"You wish to kill me," said I; "it cannot matter to you how I
die.  If I answer your questions, will you let me choose the
manner of my own death?"

"Yes, I will," said he, "so long as it is before midnight
to-night."

"Swear it!" I cried.

"The word of a Portuguese gentleman is sufficient," said he.

"Not a word will I say until you have sworn it."

He flushed with anger and his eyes swept round toward the saw. 
But he understood from my tone that I meant what I said, and that
I was not a man to be bullied into submission.  He pulled a cross
from under his zammara or jacket of black sheepskin.

"I swear it," said he.

Oh, my joy as I heard the words!  What an end-- what an end for
the first swordsman of France!  I could have laughed with delight
at the thought.

"Now, your questions!" said I.

"You swear in turn to answer them truly?"

"I do, upon the honour of a gentleman and a soldier."

It was, as you perceive, a terrible thing that I promised, but
what was it compared to what I might gain by compliance?

"This is a very fair and a very interesting bargain," said he,
taking a note-book from his pocket.

"Would you kindly turn your gaze toward the French camp?"

Following the direction of his gesture, I turned and looked down
upon the camp in the plain beneath us.  In spite of the fifteen
miles, one could in that clear atmosphere see every detail with
the utmost distinctness.

There were the long squares of our tents and our huts, with the
cavalry lines and the dark patches which marked the ten batteries
of artillery.  How sad to think of my magnificent regiment
waiting down yonder, and to know that they would never see their
colonel again!  With one squadron of them I could have swept all
these cut-throats of the face of the earth.  My eager eyes filled
with tears as I looked at the corner of the camp where I knew
that there were eight hundred men, any one of whom would have
died for his colonel.  But my sadness vanished when I saw beyond
the tents the plumes of smoke which marked the headquarters at
Torres Novas.  There was Massena, and, please God, at the cost of
my life his mission would that night be done.  A spasm of pride
and exultation filled my breast.  I should have liked to have had
a voice of thunder that I might call to them, "Behold it is I,
Etienne Gerard, who will die in order to save the army of
Clausel!"  It was, indeed, sad to think that so noble a deed
should be done, and that no one should be there to tell the tale.

"Now," said the brigand chief, "you see the camp and you see also
the road which leads to Coimbra.  It is crowded with your
fourgons and your ambulances.  Does this mean that Massena is
about to retreat?"

One could see the dark moving lines of waggons with an occasional
flash of steel from the escort.  There could, apart from my
promise, be no indiscretion in admitting that which was already
obvious.

"He will retreat," said I.

"By Coimbra?"

"I believe so."

"But the army of Clausel?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Every path to the south is blocked.  No message can reach them. 
If Massena falls back the army of Clausel is doomed."

"It must take its chance," said I.

"How many men has he?"

"I should say about fourteen thousand."

"How much cavalry?"

"One brigade of Montbrun's Division."

"What regiments?"

"The 4th Chasseurs, the 9th Hussars, and a regiment of
Cuirassiers."

"Quite right," said he, looking at his note-book.  "I can tell
you speak the truth, and Heaven help you if you don't."  Then,
division by division, he went over the whole army, asking the
composition of each brigade.

Need I tell you that I would have had my tongue torn out before I
would have told him such things had I not a greater end in view? 
I would let him know all if I could but save the army of Clausel.

At last he closed his note-book and replaced it in his pocket. 
"I am obliged to you for this information, which shall reach Lord
Wellington to-morrow," said he.

"You have done your share of the bargain; it is for me now to
perform mine.  How would you wish to die?  As a soldier you
would, no doubt, prefer to be shot, but some think that a jump
over the Merodal precipice is really an easier death.  A good few
have taken it, but we were, unfortunately, never able to get an
opinion from them afterward.  There is the saw, too, which does
not appear to be popular.  We could hang you, no doubt, but it
would involve the inconvenience of going down to the wood. 
However, a promise is a promise, and you seem to be an excellent
fellow, so we will spare no pains to meet your wishes."

"You said," I answered, "that I must die before midnight.

I will choose, therefore, just one minute before that hour."

"Very good," said he.  "Such clinging to life is rather childish,
but your wishes shall be met."

"As to the method," I added, "I love a death which all the world
can see.  Put me on yonder pile of fagots and burn me alive, as
saints and martyrs have been burned before me.  That is no common
end, but one which an Emperor might envy."

The idea seemed to amuse him very much.  "Why not?" said he.  "If
Massena has sent you to spy upon us, he may guess what the fire
upon the mountain means."

"Exactly," said I.  "You have hit upon my very reason.  He will
guess, and all will know, that I have died a soldier's death."

"I see no objection whatever," said the brigand, with his
abominable smile.  "I will send some goat's flesh and wine into
your hut.  The sun is sinking and it is nearly eight o'clock.  In
four hours be ready for your end."

It was a beautiful world to be leaving.  I looked at the golden
haze below, where the last rays of the sinking sun shone upon the
blue waters of the winding Tagus and gleamed upon the white sails
of the English transports.

Very beautiful it was, and very sad to leave; but there are
things more beautiful than that.  The death that is died for the
sake of others, honour, and duty, and loyalty, and love--these
are the beauties far brighter than any which the eye can see.  My
breast was filled with admiration for my own most noble conduct,
and with wonder whether any soul would ever come to know how I
had placed myself in the heart of the beacon which saved the army
of Clausel.  I hoped so and I prayed so, for what a consolation
it would be to my mother, what an example to the army, what a
pride to my Hussars!  When de Pombal came at last into my hut
with the food and the wine, the first request I made him was that
he would write an account of my death and send it to the French
camp.

He answered not a word, but I ate my supper with a better
appetite from the thought that my glorious fate would not be
altogether unknown.

I had been there about two hours when the door opened again, and
the chief stood looking in.  I was in darkness, but a brigand
with a torch stood beside him, and I saw his eyes and his teeth
gleaming as he peered at me.

"Ready?" he asked.

"It is not yet time."

"You stand out for the last minute?"

"A promise is a promise."

"Very good.  Be it so.  We have a little justice to do among
ourselves, for one of my fellows has been misbehaving.

We have a strict rule of our own which is no respecter of
persons, as de Pombal here could tell you.

Do you truss him and lay him on the faggots, de Pombal, and I
will return to see him die."

De Pombal and the man with the torch entered, while I heard the
steps of the chief passing away.  De Pombal closed the door.

"Colonel Gerard," said he, "you must trust this man, for he is
one of my party.  It is neck or nothing.  We may save you yet. 
But I take a great risk, and I want a definite promise.  If we
save you, will you guarantee that we have a friendly reception in
the French camp and that all the past will be forgotten?"

"I do guarantee it."

"And I trust your honour.  Now, quick, quick, there is not an
instant to lose!  If this monster returns we shall die horribly,
all three."

I stared in amazement at what he did.  Catching up a long rope he
wound it round the body of my dead comrade, and he tied a cloth
round his mouth so as to almost cover his face.

"Do you lie there!" he cried, and he laid me in the place of the
dead body.  "I have four of my men waiting, and they will place
this upon the beacon."  He opened the door and gave an order. 
Several of the brigands entered and bore out Duplessis.  For
myself I remained upon the floor, with my mind in a turmoil of
hope and wonder.

Five minutes later de Pombal and his men were back.

"You are laid upon the beacon," said he; "I defy anyone in the
world to say it is not you, and you are so gagged and bound that
no one can expect you to speak or move.  Now, it only remains to
carry forth the body of Duplessis and to toss it over the Merodal
precipice."

Two of them seized me by the head and two by the heels, and
carried me, stiff and inert, from the hut.  As I came into the
open air I could have cried out in my amazement.  The moon had
risen above the beacon, and there, clear outlined against its
silver light, was the figure of the man stretched upon the top. 
The brigands were either in their camp or standing round the
beacon, for none of them stopped or questioned our little party. 
De Pombal led them in the direction of the precipice.  At the
brow we were out of sight, and there I was allowed to use my feet
once more.  De Pombal pointed to a narrow, winding track.

"This is the way down," said he, and then, suddenly,

"Dios mio, what is that?"

A terrible cry had risen out of the woods beneath us.

I saw that de Pombal was shivering like a frightened horse.

"It is that devil," he whispered.  "He is treating another as he
treated me.  But on, on, for Heaven help us if he lays his hands
upon us."

One by one we crawled down the narrow goat track.

At the bottom of the cliff we were back in the woods once more. 
Suddenly a yellow glare shone above us, and the black shadows of
the tree-trunks started out in front.

They had fired the beacon behind us.  Even from where we stood we
could see that impassive body amid the flames, and the black
figures of the guerillas as they danced, howling like cannibals,
round the pile.  Ha! how I shook my fist at them, the dogs, and
how I vowed that one day my Hussars and I would make the
reckoning level!

De Pombal knew how the outposts were placed and all the paths
which led through the forest.  But to avoid these villains we had
to plunge among the hills and walk for many a weary mile.  And
yet how gladly would I have walked those extra leagues if only
for one sight which they brought to my eyes!  It may have been
two o'clock in the morning when we halted upon the bare shoulder
of a hill over which our path curled.  Looking back we saw the
red glow of the embers of the beacon as if volcanic fires were
bursting from the tall peak of Merodal.  And then, as I gazed, I
saw something else-- something which caused me to shriek with joy
and to fall upon the ground, rolling in my delight.  For, far
away upon the southern horizon, there winked and twinkled one
great yellow light, throbbing and flaming, the light of no house,
the light of no star, but the answering beacon of Mount d'Ossa,
which told that the army of Clausel knew what Etienne Gerard had
been sent to tell them.


V. How the Brigadier Triumphed in England

I have told you, my friends, how I triumphed over the English at
the fox-hunt when I pursued the animal so fiercely that even the
herd of trained dogs was unable to keep up, and alone with my own
hand I put him to the sword.  Perhaps I have said too much of the
matter, but there is a thrill in the triumphs of sport which even
warfare cannot give, for in warfare you share your successes with
your regiment and your army, but in sport it is you yourself
unaided who have won the laurels.  It is an advantage which the
English have over us that in all classes they take great interest
in every form of sport.  It may be that they are richer than we,
or it may be that they are more idle: but I was surprised when I
was a prisoner in that country to observe how widespread was this
feeling, and how much it filled the minds and the lives of the
people.  A horse that will run, a cock that will fight, a dog
that will kill rats, a man that will box--they would turn away
from the Emperor in all his glory in order to look upon any of
these.

I could tell you many stories of English sport, for I saw much of
it during the time that I was the guest of Lord Rufton, after the
order for my exchange had come to England.  There were months
before I could be sent back to France, and during this time I
stayed with this good Lord Rufton at his beautiful house of High
Combe, which is at the northern end of Dartmoor.  He had ridden
with the police when they had pursued me from Princetown, and he
had felt toward me when I was overtaken as I would myself have
felt had I, in my own country, seen a brave and debonair soldier
without a friend to help him.  In a word, he took me to his
house, clad me, fed me, and treated me as if he had been my
brother.  I will say this of the English, that they were always
generous enemies, and very good people with whom to fight.

In the Peninsula the Spanish outposts would present their muskets
at ours, but the British their brandy-flasks.  And of all these
generous men there was none who was the equal of this admirable
milord, who held out so warm a hand to an enemy in distress.

Ah! what thoughts of sport it brings back to me, the very name of
High Combe!  I can see it now, the long, low brick house, warm
and ruddy, with white plaster pillars before the door.  He was a
great sportsman, this Lord Rufton, and all who were about him
were of the same sort.  But you will be pleased to hear that
there were few things in which I could not hold my own, and in
some I excelled.  Behind the house was a wood in which pheasants
were reared, and it was Lord Rufton's joy to kill these birds,
which was done by sending in men to drive them out while he and
his friends stood outside and shot them as they passed.  For my
part, I was more crafty, for I studied the habits of the bird,
and stealing out in the evening I was able to kill a number of
them as they roosted in the trees.  Hardly a single shot was
wasted, but the keeper was attracted by the sound of the firing,
and he implored me in his rough English fashion to spare those
that were left.  That night I was able to place twelve birds as a
surprise upon Lord Rufton's supper- table, and he laughed until
he cried, so overjoyed was he to see them.  "Gad, Gerard, you'll
be the death of me yet!" he cried.  Often he said the same thing,
for at every turn I amazed him by the way in which I entered into
the sports of the English.

There is a game called cricket which they play in the summer, and
this also I learned.  Rudd, the head gardener, was a famous
player of cricket, and so was Lord Rufton himself.  Before the
house was a lawn, and here it was that Rudd taught me the game. 
It is a brave pastime, a game for soldiers, for each tries to
strike the other with the ball, and it is but a small stick with
which you may ward it off.  Three sticks behind show the spot
beyond which you may not retreat.  I can tell you that it is no
game for children, and I will confess that, in spite of my nine
campaigns, I felt myself turn pale when first the ball flashed
past me.  So swift was it that I had not time to raise my stick
to ward it off, but by good fortune it missed me and knocked down
the wooden pins which marked the boundary.  It was for Rudd then
to defend himself and for me to attack.  When I was a boy in
Gascony I learned to throw both far and straight, so that I made
sure that I could hit this gallant Englishman.

With a shout I rushed forward and hurled the ball at him.  It
flew as swift as a bullet toward his ribs, but without a word he
swung his staff and the ball rose a surprising distance in the
air.  Lord Rufton clapped his hands and cheered.  Again the ball
was brought to me, and again it was for me to throw.  This time
it flew past his head, and it seemed to me that it was his turn
to look pale.

But he was a brave man, this gardener, and again he faced me. 
Ah, my friends, the hour of my triumph had come!  It was a red
waistcoat that he wore, and at this I hurled the ball.  You would
have said that I was a gunner, not a hussar, for never was so
straight an aim.  With a despairing cry--the cry of the brave man
who is beaten --he fell upon the wooden pegs behind him, and they
all rolled upon the ground together.  He was cruel, this English
milord, and he laughed so that he could not come to the aid of
his servant.  It was for me, the victor, to rush forward to
embrace this intrepid player, and to raise him to his feet with
words of praise, and encouragement, and hope.  He was in pain and
could not stand erect, yet the honest fellow confessed that there
was no accident in my victory.  "He did it a-purpose!  He did it
a-purpose!"

Again and again he said it.  Yes, it is a great game this
cricket, and I would gladly have ventured upon it again but Lord
Rufton and Rudd said that it was late in the season, and so they
would play no more.

How foolish of me, the old, broken man, to dwell upon these
successes, and yet I will confess that my age has been very much
soothed and comforted by the memory of the women who have loved
me and the men whom I have overcome.  It is pleasant to think
that five years afterward, when Lord Rufton came to Paris after
the peace, he was able to assure me that my name was still a
famous one in the north of Devonshire for the fine exploits that
I had performed.  Especially, he said, they still talked over my
boxing match with the Honourable Baldock.  It came about in this
way.  Of an evening many sportsmen would assemble at the house of
Lord Rufton, where they would drink much wine, make wild bets,
and talk of their horses and their foxes.  How well I remember
those strange creatures.  Sir Barrington, Jack Lupton, of
Barnstable, Colonel Addison, Johnny Miller, Lord Sadler, and my
enemy, the Honourable Baldock.  They were of the same stamp all
of them, drinkers, madcaps, fighters, gamblers, full of strange
caprices and extraordinary whims.  Yet they were kindly fellows
in their rough fashion, save only this Baldock, a fat man, who
prided himself on his skill at the box-fight.  It was he who, by
his laughter against the French because they were ignorant of
sport, caused me to challenge him in the very sport at which he
excelled.  You will say that it was foolish, my friends, but the
decanter had passed many times, and the blood of youth ran hot in
my veins.  I would fight him, this boaster; I would show him that
if we had not skill at least we had courage.  Lord Rufton would
not allow it.  I insisted.  The others cheered me on and slapped
me on the back.  "No, dash it, Baldock, he's our guest," said
Rufton.  "It's his own doing," the other answered.  "Look here,
Rufton, they can't hurt each other if they wear the mawleys,"
cried Lord Sadler.  And so it was agreed.

What the mawleys were I did not know, but presently they brought
out four great puddings of leather, not unlike a fencing glove,
but larger.  With these our hands were covered after we had
stripped ourselves of our coats and our waistcoats.  Then the
table, with the glasses and decanters, was pushed into the corner
of the room, and behold us; face to face!  Lord Sadler sat in the
arm-chair with a watch in his open hand.  "Time!" said he.

I will confess to you, my friends, that I felt at that moment a
tremor such as none of my many duels have ever given me.  With
sword or pistol I am at home, but here I only understood that I
must struggle with this fat Englishman and do what I could, in
spite of these great puddings upon my hands, to overcome him. 
And at the very outset I was disarmed of the best weapon that was
left to me.  "Mind, Gerard, no kicking!" said Lord Rufton in my
ear.  I had only a pair of thin dancing slippers, and yet the man
was fat, and a few well-directed kicks might have left me the
victor.  But there is an etiquette just as there is in fencing,
and I refrained.  I looked at this Englishman and I wondered how
I should attack him.  His ears were large and prominent.  Could I
seize them I might drag him to the ground.  I rushed in, but I
was betrayed by this flabby glove, and twice I lost my hold.  He
struck me, but I cared little for his blows, and again I seized
him by the ear.  He fell, and I rolled upon him and thumped his
head upon the ground.

How they cheered and laughed, these gallant Englishmen, and how
they clapped me on the back!

"Even money on the Frenchman," cried Lord Sadler.

"He fights foul," cried my enemy, rubbing his crimson ears.  "He
savaged me on the ground."

"You must take your chance of that," said Lord Rufton, coldly.

"Time!" cried Lord Sadler, and once again we advanced to the
assault.

He was flushed, and his small eyes were as vicious as those of a
bull-dog.  There was hatred on his face.  For my part I carried
myself lightly and gaily.  A French gentleman fights but he does
not hate.  I drew myself up before him, and I bowed as I have
done in the duello.

There can be grace and courtesy as well as defiance in a bow; I
put all three into this one, with a touch of ridicule in the
shrug which accompanied it.  It was at this moment that he struck
me.  The room spun round me.  I fell upon my back.  But in an
instant I was on my feet again and had rushed to a close combat. 
His ear, his hair, his nose, I seized them each in turn.  Once
again the mad joy of the battle was in my veins.  The old cry of
triumph rose to my lips.  "Vive l'Empereur!" I yelled as I drove
my head into his stomach.  He threw his arm round my neck, and
holding me with one hand he struck me with the other.  I buried
my teeth in his arm, and he shouted with pain.  "Call him off,
Rufton!" he screamed.

"Call him off, man!  He's worrying me!"  They dragged me away
from him.  Can I ever forget it?--the laughter, the cheering, the
congratulations!  Even my enemy bore me no ill-will, for he shook
me by the hand.  For my part I embraced him on each cheek.  Five
years afterward I learned from Lord Rufton that my noble bearing
upon that evening was still fresh in the memory of my English
friends.

It is not, however, of my own exploits in sport that I wish to
speak to you to-night, but it is of the Lady Jane Dacre and the
strange adventure of which she was the cause.  Lady Jane Dacre
was Lord Rufton's sister and the lady of his household.  I fear
that until I came it was lonely for her, since she was a
beautiful and refined woman with nothing in common with those who
were about her.  Indeed, this might be said of many women in the
England of those days, for the men were rude and rough and
coarse, with boorish habits and few accomplishments, while the
women were the most lovely and tender that I have ever known.  We
became great friends, the Lady Jane and I, for it was not
possible for me to drink three bottles of port after dinner like
those Devonshire gentlemen, and so I would seek refuge in her
drawing-room, where evening after evening she would play the
harpsichord and I would sing the songs of my own land.  In those
peaceful moments I would find a refuge from the misery which
filled me, when I reflected that my regiment was left in the
front of the enemy without the chief whom they had learned to
love and to follow.

Indeed, I could have torn my hair when I read in the English
papers of the fine fighting which was going on in Portugal and on
the frontiers of Spain, all of which I had missed through my
misfortune in falling into the hands of Milord Wellington.

From what I have told you of the Lady Jane you will have guessed
what occurred, my friends.  Etienne Gerard is thrown into the
company of a young and beautiful woman.  What must it mean for
him?  What must it mean for her?  It was not for me, the guest,
the captive, to make love to the sister of my host.  But I was
reserved.

I was discreet.  I tried to curb my own emotions and to
discourage hers.  For my own part I fear that I betrayed myself,
for the eye becomes more eloquent when the tongue is silent. 
Every quiver of my fingers as I turned over her music-sheets told
her my secret.  But she--she was admirable.  It is in these
matters that women have a genius for deception.  If I had not
penetrated her secret I should often have thought that she forgot
even that I was in the house.  For hours she would sit lost in a
sweet melancholy, while I admired her pale face and her curls in
the lamp-light, and thrilled within me to think that I had moved
her so deeply.  Then at last I would speak, and she would start
in her chair and stare at me with the most admirable pretence of
being surprised to find me in the room.  Ah! how I longed to hurl
myself suddenly at her feet, to kiss her white hand, to assure
her that I had surprised her secret and that I would not abuse
her confidence.

But no, I was not her equal, and I was under her roof as a
castaway enemy.  My lips were sealed.  I endeavoured to imitate
her own wonderful affectation of indifference, but, as you may
think?  I was eagerly alert for any opportunity of serving her.

One morning Lady Jane had driven in her phaeton to Okehampton,
and I strolled along the road which led to that place in the hope
that I might meet her on her return.

It was the early winter, and banks of fading fern sloped down to
the winding road.  It is a bleak place this Dartmoor, wild and
rocky--a country of wind and mist.

I felt as I walked that it is no wonder Englishmen should suffer
from the spleen.  My own heart was heavy within me, and I sat
upon a rock by the wayside looking out on the dreary view with my
thoughts full of trouble and foreboding.  Suddenly, however, as I
glanced down the road, I saw a sight which drove everything else
from my mind, and caused me to leap to my feet with a cry of
astonishment and anger.

Down the curve of the road a phaeton was coming, the pony tearing
along at full gallop.  Within was the very lady whom I had come
to meet.  She lashed at the pony like one who endeavours to
escape from some pressing danger, glancing ever backward over her
shoulder.  The bend of the road concealed from me what it was
that had alarmed her, and I ran forward not knowing what to
expect.

The next instant I saw the pursuer, and my amazement was
increased at the sight.  It was a gentleman in the red coat of an
English fox-hunter, mounted on a great grey horse.  He was
galloping as if in a race, and the long stride of the splendid
creature beneath him soon brought him up to the lady's flying
carriage.  I saw him stoop and seize the reins of the pony, so as
to bring it to a halt.  The next instant he was deep in talk with
the lady, he bending forward in his saddle and speaking eagerly,
she shrinking away from him as if she feared and loathed him.

You may think, my dear friends, that this was not a sight at
which I could calmly gaze.  How my heart thrilled within me to
think that a chance should have been given to me to serve the
Lady Jane!  I ran--oh, good Lord, how I ran!  At last,
breathless, speechless, I reached the phaeton.  The man glanced
up at me with his blue English eyes, but so deep was he in his
talk that he paid no heed to me, nor did the lady say a word. 
She still leaned back, her beautiful pale face gazing up at him. 
He was a good-looking fellow--tall, and strong, and brown; a pang
of jealousy seized me as I looked at him.  He was talking low and
fast, as the English do when they are in earnest.

"I tell you, Jinny, it's you and only you that I love," said he. 
"Don't bear malice, Jinny.  Let by-gones be by-gones.  Come now,
say it's all over."

"No, never, George, never!" she cried.

A dusky red suffused his handsome face.  The man was furious.

"Why can't you forgive me, Jinny?"

"I can't forget the past."

"By George, you must!  I've asked enough.  It's time to order
now.  I'll have my rights, d'ye hear?"  His hand closed upon her
wrist.

At last my breath had returned to me.

"Madame," I said, as I raised my hat, "do I intrude, or is there
any possible way in which I can be of service to you?"

But neither of them minded me any more than if I had been a fly
who buzzed between them.  Their eyes were locked together.

"I'll have my rights, I tell you.  I've waited long enough."

"There's no use bullying, George."

"Do you give in?"

"No, never!"

"Is that your final answer?"

"Yes, it is."

He gave a bitter curse and threw down her hand.

"All right, my lady, we'll see about this."

"Excuse me, sir!" said I, with dignity.

"Oh, go to blazes!" he cried, turning on me with his furious
face.  The next instant he had spurred his horse and was
galloping down the road once more.

Lady Jane gazed after him until he was out of sight, and I was
surprised to see that her face wore a smile and not a frown. 
Then she turned to me and held out her hand.

"You are very kind, Colonel Gerard.  You meant well, I am sure."

"Madame," said I, "if you can oblige me with the gentleman's name
and address I will arrange that he shall never trouble you
again."

"No scandal, I beg of you," she cried.

"Madame, I could not so far forget myself.  Rest assured that no
lady's name would ever be mentioned by me in the course of such
an incident.  In bidding me to go to blazes this gentleman has
relieved me from the embarrassment of having to invent a cause of
quarrel."

"Colonel Gerard," said the lady, earnestly, "you must give me
your word as a soldier and a gentleman that this matter goes no
farther, and also that you will say nothing to my brother about
what you have seen.  Promise me!"

"If I must."

"I hold you to your word.  Now drive with me to High Combe, and I
will explain as we go."

The first words of her explanation went into me like a
sabre-point.

"That gentleman," said she, "is my husband."

"Your husband!"

"You must have known that I was married."  She seemed surprised
at my agitation.

"I did not know."

"This is Lord George Dacre.  We have been married two years. 
There is no need to tell you how he wronged me.  I left him and
sought a refuge under my brother's roof.  Up till to-day he has
left me there unmolested.

What I must above all things avoid is the chance of a duel
betwixt my husband and my brother.  It is horrible to think of. 
For this reason Lord Rufton must know nothing of this chance
meeting of to-day."

"If my pistol could free you from this annoyance ----"

"No, no, it is not to be thought of.  Remember your promise,
Colonel Gerard.  And not a word at High Combe of what you have
seen!"

Her husband!  I had pictured in my mind that she was a young
widow.  This brown-faced brute with his "go to blazes" was the
husband of this tender dove of a woman.  Oh, if she would but
allow me to free her from so odious an encumbrance!  There is no
divorce so quick and certain as that which I could give her.  But
a promise is a promise, and I kept it to the letter.  My mouth
was sealed.

In a week I was to be sent back from Plymouth to St. Malo, and it
seemed to me that I might never hear the sequel of the story. 
And yet it was destined that it should have a sequel and that I
should play a very pleasing and honourable part in it.


It was only three days after the event which I have described
when Lord Rufton burst hurriedly into my room.

His face was pale and his manner that of a man in extreme
agitation.

"Gerard," he cried, "have you seen Lady Jane Dacre?"

I had seen her after breakfast and it was now mid-day.

"By Heaven, there's villainy here!" cried my poor friend, rushing
about like a madman.  "The bailiff has been up to say that a
chaise and pair were seen driving full split down the Tavistock
Road.  The blacksmith heard a woman scream as it passed his
forge.  Jane has disappeared.  By the Lord, I believe that she
has been kidnapped by this villain Dacre."  He rang the bell
furiously.  "Two horses, this instant!" he cried.  "Colonel
Gerard, your pistols!  Jane comes back with me this night from
Gravel Hanger or there will be a new master in High Combe Hall."

Behold us then within half an hour, like two knight- errants of
old, riding forth to the rescue of this lady in distress.  It was
near Tavistock that Lord Dacre lived, and at every house and
toll-gate along the road we heard the news of the flying
post-chaise in front of us, so there could be no doubt whither
they were bound.  As we rode Lord Rufton told me of the man whom
we were pursuing.

His name, it seems, was a household word throughout all England
for every sort of mischief.  Wine, women, dice, cards, racing--in
all forms of debauchery he had earned for himself a terrible
name.  He was of an old and noble family, and it had been hoped
that he had sowed his wild oats when he married the beautiful
Lady Jane Rufton.

For some months he had indeed behaved well, and then he had
wounded her feelings in their most tender part by some unworthy
liaison.  She had fled from his house and taken refuge with her
brother, from whose care she had now been dragged once more,
against her will.  I ask you if two men could have had a fairer
errand than that upon which Lord Rufton and myself were riding.

"That's Gravel Hanger," he cried at last, pointing with his crop,
and there on the green side of a hill was an old brick and timber
building as beautiful as only an English country-house can be. 
"There's an inn by the park-gate, and there we shall leave our
horses," he added.

For my own part it seemed to me that with so just a cause we
should have done best to ride boldly up to his door and summon
him to surrender the lady.  But there I was wrong.  For the one
thing which every Englishman fears is the law.  He makes it
himself, and when he has once made it it becomes a terrible
tyrant before whom the bravest quails.  He will smile at breaking
his neck, but he will turn pale at breaking the law.  It seems,
then, from what Lord Rufton told me as we walked through the
park, that we were on the wrong side of the law in this matter. 
Lord Dacre was in the right in carrying off his wife, since she
did indeed belong to him, and our own position now was nothing
better than that of burglars and trespassers.  It was not for
burglars to openly approach the front door.  We could take the
lady by force or by craft, but we could not take her by right,
for the law was against us.  This was what my friend explained to
me as we crept up toward the shelter of a shrubbery which was
close to the windows of the house.  Thence we could examine this
fortress, see whether we could effect a lodgment in it, and,
above all, try to establish some communication with the beautiful
prisoner inside.

There we were, then, in the shrubbery, Lord Rufton and I, each
with a pistol in the pockets of our riding coats, and with the
most resolute determination in our hearts that we should not
return without the lady.

Eagerly we scanned every window of the wide-spread house.

Not a sign could we see of the prisoner or of anyone else; but on
the gravel drive outside the door were the deep- sunk marks of
the wheels of the chaise.  There was no doubt that they had
arrived.  Crouching among the laurel bushes we held a whispered
council of wary but a singular interruption brought it to an end.

Out of the door of the house there stepped a tall, flaxen- haired
man, such a figure as one would choose for the flank of a
Grenadier company.  As he turned his brown face and his blue eyes
toward us I recognised Lord Dacre.

With long strides he came down the gravel path straight for the
spot where we lay.

"Come out, Ned!" he shouted; "you'll have the game- keeper
putting a charge of shot into you.  Come out, man, and don't
skulk behind the bushes."

It was not a very heroic situation for us.  My poor friend rose
with a crimson face.  I sprang to my feet also and bowed with
such dignity as I could muster.

"Halloa! it's the Frenchman, is it?" said he, without returning
my bow.  "I've got a crow to pluck with him already.  As to you,
Ned, I knew you would be hot on our scent, and so I was looking
out for you.  I saw you cross the park and go to ground in the
shrubbery.  Come in, man, and let us have all the cards on the
table."

He seemed master of the situation, this handsome giant of a man,
standing at his ease on his own ground while we slunk out of our
hiding-place.  Lord Rufton had said not a word, but I saw by his
darkened brow and his sombre eyes that the storm was gathering. 
Lord Dacre led the way into the house, and we followed close at
his heels.

He ushered us himself into an oak-panelled sitting-room, closing
the door behind us.  Then he looked me up and down with insolent
eyes.

"Look here, Ned," said he, "time was when an English family could
settle their own affairs in their own way.

What has this foreign fellow got to do with your sister and my
wife?"

"Sir," said I, "permit me to point out to you that this is not a
case merely of a sister or a wife, but that I am the friend of
the lady in question, and that I have the privilege which every
gentleman possesses of protecting a woman against brutality.  It
is only by a gesture that I can show you what I think of you."  I
had my riding glove in my hand, and I flicked him across the face
with it.  He drew back with a bitter smile and his eyes were as
hard as flint.

"So you've brought your bully with you, Ned?" said he.  "You
might at least have done your fighting yourself, if it must come
to a fight."

"So I will," cried Lord Rufton.  "Here and now."

"When I've killed this swaggering Frenchman," said Lord Dacre. 
He stepped to a side table and opened a brass-bound case.  "By
Gad," said he, "either that man or I go out of this room feet
foremost.  I meant well by you, Ned; I did, by George, but I'll
shoot this led- captain of yours as sure as my name's George
Dacre.

Take your choice of pistols, sir, and shoot across this table. 
The barkers are loaded.  Aim straight and kill me if you can, for
by the Lord if you don't, you're done."

In vain Lord Rufton tried to take the quarrel upon himself.  Two
things were clear in my mind--one that the Lady Jane had feared
above all things that her husband and brother should fight, the
other that if I could but kill this big milord, then the whole
question would be settled forever in the best way.  Lord Rufton
did not want him.  Lady Jane did not want him.  Therefore, I,
Etienne Gerard, their friend, would pay the debt of gratitude
which I owed them by freeing them of this encumbrance.  But,
indeed, there was no choice in the matter, for Lord Dacre was as
eager to put a bullet into me as I could be to do the same
service to him.  In vain Lord Rufton argued and scolded.  The
affair must continue.

"Well, if you must fight my guest instead of myself, let it be
to-morrow morning with two witnesses," he cried, at last; "this
is sheer murder across the table."

"But it suits my humour, Ned," said Lord Dacre.

"And mine, sir," said I.

"Then I'll have nothing to do with it," cried Lord Rufton.  "I
tell you, George, if you shoot Colonel Gerard under these
circumstances you'll find yourself in the dock instead of on the
bench.  I won't act as second, and that's flat."

"Sir," said I, "I am perfectly prepared to proceed without a
second."

"That won't do.  It's against the law," cried Lord Dacre.  "Come,
Ned, don't be a fool.  You see we mean to fight.  Hang it, man,
all I want you to do is to drop a handkerchief."

"I'll take no part in it."

"Then I must find someone who will," said Lord Dacre.

He threw a cloth over the pistols which lay upon the table, and
he rang the bell.  A footman entered.  "Ask Colonel Berkeley if
he will step this way.  You will find him in the billiard-room."

A moment later there entered a tall thin Englishman with a great
moustache, which was a rare thing amid that clean-shaven race.  I
have heard since that they were worn only by the Guards and the
Hussars.  This Colonel Berkeley was a guardsman.  He seemed a
strange, tired, languid, drawling creature with a long black
cigar thrusting out, like a pole from a bush, amidst that immense
moustache.  He looked from one to the other of us with true
English phlegm, and he betrayed not the slightest surprise when
he was told our intention.

"Quite so," said he; "quite so."

"I refuse to act, Colonel Berkeley," cried Lord Rufton.

"Remember, this duel cannot proceed without you, and I hold you
personally responsible for anything that happens."

This Colonel Berkeley appeared to be an authority upon the
question, for he removed the cigar from his mouth and he laid
down the law in his strange, drawling voice.

"The circumstances are unusual but not irregular, Lord Rufton,"
said he.  "This gentleman has given a blow and this other
gentleman has received it.  That is a clear issue.  Time and
conditions depend upon the person who demands satisfaction.  Very
good.  He claims it here and now, across the table.  He is acting
within his rights.  I am prepared to accept the responsibility."

There was nothing more to be said.  Lord Rufton sat moodily in
the corner with his brows drawn down and his hands thrust deep
into the pockets of his riding-breeches.

Colonel Berkeley examined the two pistols and laid them both in
the centre of the table.  Lord Dacre was at one end and I at the
other, with eight feet of shining mahogany between us.  On the
hearth-rug with his back to the fire, stood the tall colonel, his
handkerchief in his left hand, his cigar between two fingers of
his right.

"When I drop the handkerchief," said he, "you will pick up your
pistols and you will fire at your own convenience.

Are you ready?"

"Yes," we cried.

His hand opened and the handkerchief fell.  I bent swiftly
forward and seized a pistol, but the table, as I have said, was
eight feet across, and it was easier for this long-armed milord
to reach the pistols than it was for me.

I had not yet drawn myself straight before he fired, and to this
it was that I owe my life.  His bullet would have blown out my
brains had I been erect.  As it was it whistled through my curls. 
At the same instant, just as I threw up my own pistol to fire,
the door flew open and a pair of arms were thrown round me.  It
was the beautiful, flushed, frantic face of Lady Jane which
looked up into mine.

"You sha'n't fire!  Colonel Gerard, for my sake don't fire," she
cried.  "It is a mistake, I tell you, a mistake, a mistake!  He
is the best and dearest of husbands.  Never again shall I leave
his side."  Her hands slid down my arm and closed upon my pistol.

"Jane, Jane," cried Lord Rufton; "come with me.

You should not be here.  Come away."

"It is all confoundedly irregular," said Colonel Berkeley.

"Colonel Gerard, you won't fire, will you?  My heart would break
if he were hurt."

"Hang it all, Jinny, give the fellow fair play," cried Lord
Dacre.  "He stood my fire like a man, and I won't see him
interfered with.  Whatever happens I can't get worse than I
deserve."

But already there had passed between me and the lady a quick
glance of the eyes which told her everything.

Her hands slipped from my arm.  "I leave my husband's life and my
own happiness to Colonel Gerard," said she.

How well she knew me, this admirable woman!  I stood for an
instant irresolute, with the pistol cocked in my hand.  My
antagonist faced me bravely, with no blenching of his sunburnt
face and no flinching of his bold, blue eyes.

"Come, come, sir, take your shot!" cried the colonel from the
mat.

"Let us have it, then," said Lord Dacre.

I would, at least, show them how completely his life was at the
mercy of my skill.  So much I owed to my own self-respect.  I
glanced round for a mark.  The colonel was looking toward my
antagonist, expecting to see him drop.  His face was sideways to
me, his long cigar projecting from his lips with an inch of ash
at the end of it.

Quick as a flash I raised my pistol and fired.

"Permit me to trim your ash, sir," said I, and I bowed with a
grace which is unknown among these islanders.

I am convinced that the fault lay with the pistol and not with my
aim.  I could hardly believe my own eyes when I saw that I had
snapped off the cigar within half an inch of his lips.  He stood
staring at me with the ragged stub of the cigar-end sticking out
from his singed mustache.  I can see him now with his foolish,
angry eyes and his long, thin, puzzled face.  Then he began to
talk.  I have always said that the English are not really a
phlegmatic or a taciturn nation if you stir them out of their
groove.  No one could have talked in a more animated way than
this colonel.  Lady Jane put her hands over her ears.

"Come, come, Colonel Berkeley," said Lord Dacre, sternly, "you
forget yourself.  There is a lady in the room."

The colonel gave a stiff bow.

"If Lady Dacre will kindly leave the room," said he,

"I will be able to tell this infernal little Frenchman what I
think of him and his monkey tricks."

I was splendid at that moment, for I ignored the words that he
had said and remembered only the extreme provocation.

"Sir," said I, "I freely offer you my apologies for this unhappy
incident.  I felt that if I did not discharge my pistol Lord
Dacre's honour might feel hurt, and yet it was quite impossible
for me, after hearing what this lady has said, to aim it at her
husband.  I looked round for a mark, therefore, and I had the
extreme misfortune to blow your cigar out of your mouth when my
intention had merely been to snuff the ash.  I was betrayed by my
pistol.  This is my explanation, sir, and if after listening to
my apologies you still feel that I owe you satisfaction, I need
not say that it is a request which I am unable to refuse."

It was certainly a charming attitude which I had assumed, and it
won the hearts of all of them.  Lord Dacre stepped forward and
wrung me by the hand.  "By George, sir," said he, "I never
thought to feel toward a Frenchman as I do to you.  You're a man
and a gentleman, and I can't say more."  Lord Rufton said
nothing, but his hand-grip told me all that he thought.  Even
Colonel Berkeley paid me a compliment, and declared that he would
think no more about the unfortunate cigar.

And she--ah, if you could have seen the look she gave me, the
flushed cheek, the moist eye, the tremulous lip!

When I think of my beautiful Lady Jane it is at that moment that
I recall her.  They would have had me stay to dinner, but you
will understand, my friends, that this was no time for either
Lord Rufton or myself to remain at Gravel Hanger.  This
reconciled couple desired only to be alone.  In the chaise he had
persuaded her of his sincere repentance, and once again they were
a loving husband and wife.  If they were to remain so it was best
perhaps that I should go.  Why should I unsettle this domestic
peace?  Even against my own will my mere presence and appearance
might have their effect upon the lady.  No, no, I must tear
myself away--even her persuasions were unable to make me stop. 
Years afterward I heard that the household of the Dacres was
among the happiest in the whole country, and that no cloud had
ever come again to darken their lives.  Yet I dare say if he
could have seen into his wife's mind--but there, I say no more! 
A lady's secret is her own, and I fear that she and it are buried
long years ago in some Devonshire churchyard.  Perhaps all that
gay circle are gone and the Lady Jane only lives now in the
memory of an old half-pay French brigadier.  He at least can
never forget.



VI. How the Brigadier Rode to Minsk

I would have a stronger wine to-night, my friends, a wine of
Burgundy rather than of Bordeaux.  It is that my heart, my old
soldier heart, is heavy within me.  It is a strange thing, this
age which creeps upon one.  One does not know, one does not
understand; the spirit is ever the same, and one does not
remember how the poor body crumbles.  But there comes a moment
when it is brought home, when quick as the sparkle of a whirling
sabre it is clear to us, and we see the men we were and the men
we are.  Yes, yes, it was so to-day, and I would have a wine of
Burgundy to-night.  White Burgundy--Montrachet --Sir, I am your
debtor!

It was this morning in the Champ de Mars.  Your pardon, friends,
while an old man tells his trouble.  You saw the review.  Was it
not splendid?  I was in the enclosure for veteran officers who
have been decorated.

This ribbon on my breast was my passport.  The cross itself I
keep at home in a leathern pouch.  They did us honour, for we
were placed at the saluting point, with the Emperor and the
carriages of the Court upon our right.

It is years since I have been to a review, for I cannot approve
of many things which I have seen.  I do not approve of the red
breeches of the infantry.  It was in white breeches that the
infantry used to fight.  Red is for the cavalry.  A little more,
and they would ask our busbies and our spurs!  Had I been seen at
a review they might well have said that I, Etienne Gerard, had
condoned it.  So I have stayed at home.  But this war of the
Crimea is different.  The men go to battle.

It is not for me to be absent when brave men gather.

My faith, they march well, those little infantrymen!

They are not large, but they are very solid and they carry
themselves well.  I took off my hat to them as they passed.  Then
there came the guns.  They were good guns, well horsed and well
manned.  I took off my hat to them.  Then came the Engineers, and
to them also I took off my hat.  There are no braver men than the
Engineers.  Then came the cavalry, Lancers, Cuirassiers,
Chasseurs, and Spahis.  To all of them in turn I was able to take
off my hat, save only to the Spahis.

The Emperor had no Spahis.  But when all of the others had
passed, what think you came at the close?  A brigade of Hussars,
and at the charge!

Oh, my friends, the pride and the glory and the beauty, the flash
and the sparkle, the roar of the hoofs and the jingle of chains,
the tossing manes, the noble heads, the rolling cloud, and the
dancing waves of steel!  My heart drummed to them as they passed. 
And the last of all, was it not my own old regiment?  My eyes
fell upon the grey and silver dolmans, with the leopard-skin
shabraques, and at that instant the years fell away from me and I
saw my own beautiful men and horses, even as they had swept
behind their young colonel, in the pride of our youth and our
strength, just forty years ago.  Up flew my cane.  "Chargez! En
avant!  Vive l'Empereur!"

It was the past calling to the present.  But oh, what a thin,
piping voice!  Was this the voice that had once thundered from
wing to wing of a strong brigade?  And the arm that could scarce
wave a cane, were these the muscles of fire and steel which had
no match in all Napoleon's mighty host?  They smiled at me.  They
cheered me.  The Emperor laughed and bowed.  But to me the
present was a dim dream, and what was real were my eight hundred
dead Hussars and the Etienne of long ago.

Enough--a brave man can face age and fate as he faced Cossacks
and Uhlans.  But there are times when Montrachet is better than
the wine of Bordeaux.

It is to Russia that they go, and so I will tell you a story of
Russia.  Ah, what an evil dream of the night it seems!  Blood and
ice.  Ice and blood.  Fierce faces with snow upon the whiskers. 
Blue hands held out for succour.  And across the great white
plain the one long black line of moving figures, trudging,
trudging, a hundred miles, another hundred, and still always the
same white plain.  Sometimes there were fir-woods to limit it,
sometimes it stretched away to the cold blue sky, but the black
line stumbled on and on.  Those weary, ragged, starving men, the
spirit frozen out of them, looked neither to right nor left, but
with sunken faces and rounded backs trailed onward and ever
onward, making for France as wounded beasts make for their lair. 
There was no speaking, and you could scarce hear the shuffle of
feet in the snow.  Once only I heard them laugh.  It was outside
Wilna, when an aide-de-camp rode up to the head of that dreadful
column and asked if that were the Grand Army.  All who were
within hearing looked round, and when they saw those broken men,
those ruined regiments, those fur-capped skeletons who were once
the Guard, they laughed, and the laugh crackled down the column
like a feu de joie.  I have heard many a groan and cry and scream
in my life, but nothing so terrible as the laugh of the Grand
Army.

But why was it that these helpless men were not destroyed by the
Russians?  Why was it that they were not speared by the Cossacks
or herded into droves, and driven as prisoners into the heart of
Russia?  On every side as you watched the black snake winding
over the snow you saw also dark, moving shadows which came and
went like cloud drifts on either flank and behind.  They were the
Cossacks, who hung round us like wolves round the flock.

But the reason why they did not ride in upon us was that all the
ice of Russia could not cool the hot hearts of some of our
soldiers.  To the end there were always those who were ready to
throw themselves between these savages and their prey.  One man
above all rose greater as the danger thickened, and won a higher
name amid disaster than he had done when he led our van to
victory.  To him I drink this glass--to Ney, the red-maned Lion,
glaring back over his shoulder at the enemy who feared to tread
too closely on his heels.  I can see him now, his broad white
face convulsed with fury, his light blue eyes sparkling like
flints, his great voice roaring and crashing amid the roll of the
musketry.  His glazed and featherless cocked hat was the ensign
upon which France rallied during those dreadful days.

It is well known that neither I nor the regiment of Hussars of
Conflans were at Moscow.  We were left behind on the lines of
communication at Borodino.  How the Emperor could have advanced
without us is incomprehensible to me, and, indeed, it was only
then that I understood that his judgment was weakening and that
he was no longer the man that he had been.  However, a soldier
has to obey orders, and so I remained at this village, which was
poisoned by the bodies of thirty thousand men who had lost their
lives in the great battle.  I spent the late autumn in getting my
horses into condition and reclothing my men, so that when the
army fell back on Borodino my Hussars were the best of the
cavalry, and were placed under Ney in the rear-guard.

What could he have done without us during those dreadful days? 
"Ah, Gerard," said he one evening-- but it is not for me to
repeat the words.  Suffice it that he spoke what the whole army
felt.  The rear-guard covered the army and the Hussars of
Conflans covered the rear-guard.  There was the whole truth in a
sentence.

Always the Cossacks were on us.  Always we held them off.  Never
a day passed that we had not to wipe our sabres.  That was
soldiering indeed.

But there came a time between Wilna and Smolensk when the
situation became impossible.  Cossacks and even cold we could
fight, but we could not fight hunger as well.  Food must be got
at all costs.  That night Ney sent for me to the waggon in which
he slept.  His great head was sunk on his hands.  Mind and body
he was wearied to death.

"Colonel Gerard," said he, "things are going very badly with us. 
The men are starving.  We must have food at all costs."

"The horses," I suggested.

"Save your handful of cavalry; there are none left."

"The band," said I.

He laughed, even in his despair.

"Why the band?" he asked.

"Fighting men are of value."

"Good," said he.  "You would play the game down to the last card
and so would I.  Good, Gerard, good!"

He clasped my hand in his.  "But there is one chance for us yet,
Gerard."  He unhooked a lantern from the roof of the waggon and
he laid it on a map which was stretched before him.  "To the
south of us," said he, "there lies the town of Minsk.  I have
word from a Russian deserter that much corn has been stored in
the town- hall.  I wish you to take as many men as you think
best, set forth for Minsk, seize the corn, load any carts which
you may collect in the town, and bring them to me between here
and Smolensk.  If you fail it is but a detachment cut off.  If
you succeed it is new life to the army."

He had not expressed himself well, for it was evident that if we
failed it was not merely the loss of a detachment.  It is quality
as well as quantity which counts.

And yet how honourable a mission and how glorious a risk!  If
mortal men could bring it, then the corn should come from Minsk. 
I said so, and spoke a few burning words about a brave man's duty
until the Marshal was so moved that he rose and, taking me
affectionately by the shoulders, pushed me out of the waggon.

It was clear to me that in order to succeed in my enterprise I
should take a small force and depend rather upon surprise than
upon numbers.  A large body could not conceal itself, would have
great difficulty in getting food, and would cause all the
Russians around us to concentrate for its certain destruction. 
On the other hand, if a small body of cavalry could get past the
Cossacks unseen it was probable that they would find no troops to
oppose them, for we knew that the main Russian army was several
days' march behind us.  This corn was meant, no doubt, for their
consumption.  A squadron of Hussars and thirty Polish Lancers
were all whom I chose for the venture.  That very night we rode
out of the camp, and struck south in the direction of Minsk.

Fortunately there was but a half moon, and we were able to pass
without being attacked by the enemy.  Twice we saw great fires
burning amid the snow, and around them a thick bristle of long
poles.  These were the lances of Cossacks, which they had stood
upright while they slept.  It would have been a great joy to us
to have charged in amongst them, for we had much to revenge, and
the eyes of my comrades looked longingly from me to those red
flickering patches in the darkness.  My faith, I was sorely
tempted to do it, for it would have been a good lesson to teach
them that they must keep a few miles between themselves and a
French army.  It is the essence of good generalship, however, to
keep one thing before one at a time, and so we rode silently on
through the snow, leaving these Cossack bivouacs to right and
left.  Behind us the black sky was all mottled with a line of
flame which showed where our own poor wretches were trying to
keep themselves alive for another day of misery and starvation.

All night we rode slowly onward, keeping our horses' tails to the
Pole Star.  There were many tracks in the snow, and we kept to
the line of these, that no one might remark that a body of
cavalry had passed that way.

These are the little precautions which mark the experienced
officer.  Besides, by keeping to the tracks we were most likely
to find the villages, and only in the villages could we hope to
get food.  The dawn of day found us in a thick fir-wood, the
trees so loaded with snow that the light could hardly reach us. 
When we had found our way out of it it was full daylight, the rim
of the rising sun peeping over the edge of the great snow-plain
and turning it crimson from end to end.  I halted my Hussars and
Lancers under the shadow of the wood, and I studied the country. 
Close to us there was a small farm-house.  Beyond, at the
distance of several miles, was a village.  Far away on the
sky-line rose a considerable town all bristling with church
towers.  This must be Minsk.  In no direction could I see any
signs of troops.  It was evident that we had passed through the
Cossacks and that there was nothing between us and our goal.  A
joyous shout burst from my men when I told them our position, and
we advanced rapidly toward the village.

I have said, however, that there was a small farm- house
immediately in front of us.  As we rode up to it I observed that
a fine grey horse with a military saddle was tethered by the
door.  Instantly I galloped forward, but before I could reach it
a man dashed out of the door, flung himself on to the horse, and
rode furiously away, the crisp, dry snow flying up in a cloud
behind him.  The sunlight gleamed upon his gold epaulettes, and I
knew that he was a Russian officer.  He would raise the whole
country-side if we did not catch him.  I put spurs to Violette
and flew after him.  My troopers followed; but there was no horse
among them to compare with Violette, and I knew well that if I
could not catch the Russian I need expect no help from them.

But it is a swift horse indeed and a skilful rider who can hope
to escape from Violette with Etienne Gerard in the saddle.  He
rode well, this young Russian, and his mount was a good one, but
gradually we wore him down.

His face glanced continually over his shoulder--dark, handsome
face, with eyes like an eagle--and I saw as I closed with him
that he was measuring the distance between us.  Suddenly he half
turned; there were a flash and a crack as his pistol bullet
hummed past my ear.

Before he could draw his sword I was upon him; but he still
spurred his horse, and the two galloped together over the plain,
I with my leg against the Russian's and my left hand upon his
right shoulder.  I saw his hand fly up to his mouth.  Instantly I
dragged him across my pommel and seized him by the throat, so
that he could not swallow.  His horse shot from under him, but I
held him fast and Violette came to a stand.  Sergeant Oudin of
the Hussars was the first to join us.  He was an old soldier, and
he saw at a glance what I was after.

"Hold tight, Colonel," said he, "I'll do the rest."

He slipped out his knife, thrust the blade between the clenched
teeth of the Russian, and turned it so as to force his mouth
open.  There, on his tongue, was the little wad of wet paper
which he had been so anxious to swallow.  Oudin picked it out and
I let go of the man's throat.  From the way in which, half
strangled as he was, he glanced at the paper I was sure that it
was a message of extreme importance.  His hands twitched as if he
longed to snatch it from me.  He shrugged his shoulders, however,
and smiled good-humouredly when I apologised for my roughness.

"And now to business," said I, when he had done coughing and
hawking.  "What is your name?"

"Alexis Barakoff."

"Your rank and regiment?"

"Captain of the Dragoons of Grodno."

"What is this note which you were carrying?"

"It is a line which I had written to my sweetheart."

"Whose name," said I, examining the address, "is the Hetman
Platoff.  Come, come, sir, this is an important military
document, which you are carrying from one general to another. 
Tell me this instant what it is."

"Read it and then you will know."  He spoke perfect French, as do
most of the educated Russians.  But he knew well that there is
not one French officer in a thousand who knows a word of Russian. 
The inside of the note contained one single line, which ran like
this:--

"Pustj Franzuzy pridutt v Minsk.  Min gotovy."

I stared at it, and I had to shake my head.  Then I showed it to
my Hussars, but they could make nothing of it.  The Poles were
all rough fellows who could not read or write, save only the
sergeant, who came from Memel, in East Prussia, and knew no
Russian.  It was maddening, for I felt that I had possession of
some important secret upon which the safety of the army might
depend, and yet I could make no sense of it.  Again I entreated
our prisoner to translate it, and offered him his freedom if he
would do so.  He only smiled at my request.

I could not but admire him, for it was the very smile which I
should have myself smiled had I been in his position.

"At least," said I, "tell us the name of this village."

"It is Dobrova."

"And that is Minsk over yonder, I suppose."

"Yes, that is Minsk."

"Then we shall go to the village and we shall very soon find some
one who will translate this despatch."

So we rode onward together, a trooper with his carbine unslung on
either side of our prisoner.  The village was but a little place,
and I set a guard at the ends of the single street, so that no
one could escape from it.  It was necessary to call a halt and to
find some food for the men and horses, since they had travelled
all night and had a long journey still before them.

There was one large stone house in the centre of the village, and
to this I rode.  It was the house of the priest --a snuffy and
ill-favoured old man who had not a civil answer to any of our
questions.  An uglier fellow I never met, but, my faith, it was
very different with his only daughter, who kept house for him. 
She was a brunette, a rare thing in Russia, with creamy skin,
raven hair, and a pair of the most glorious dark eyes that ever
kindled at the sight of a Hussar.  From the first glance I saw
that she was mine.  It was no time for love-making when a
soldier's duty had to be done, but still, as I took the simple
meal which they laid before me, I chatted lightly with the lady,
and we were the best of friends before an hour had passed. 
Sophie was her first name, her second I never knew.  I taught her
to call me Etienne, and I tried to cheer her up, for her sweet
face was sad and there were tears in her beautiful dark eyes.  I
pressed her to tell me what it was which was grieving her.

"How can I be otherwise," said she, speaking French with a most
adorable lisp, "when one of my poor countrymen is a prisoner in
your hands?  I saw him between two of your Hussars as you rode
into the village."

"It is the fortune of war," said I.  "His turn to-day; mine,
perhaps, to-morrow."

"But consider, Monsieur--" said she.

"Etienne," said I.

"Oh, Monsieur----"

"Etienne," said I.

"Well, then," she cried, beautifully flushed and desperate,
"consider, Etienne, that this young officer will be taken back to
your army and will be starved or frozen, for if, as I hear, your
own soldiers have a hard march, what will be the lot of a
prisoner?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"You have a kind face, Etienne," said she; "you would not condemn
this poor man to certain death.  I entreat you to let him go."

Her delicate hand rested upon my sleeve, her dark eyes looked
imploringly into mine.

A sudden thought passed through my mind.  I would grant her
request, but I would demand a favour in return.

At my order the prisoner was brought up into the room.

"Captain Barakoff," said I, "this young lady has begged me to
release you, and I am inclined to do so.  I would ask you to give
your parole that you will remain in this dwelling for twenty-four
hours, and take no steps to inform anyone of our movements."

"I will do so," said he.

"Then I trust in your honour.  One man more or less can make no
difference in a struggle between great armies, and to take you
back as a prisoner would be to condemn you to death.  Depart,
sir, and show your gratitude not to me, but to the first French
officer who falls into your hands."

When he was gone I drew my paper from my pocket.

"Now, Sophie," said I, "I have done what you asked me, and all
that I ask in return is that you will give me a lesson in
Russian."

"With all my heart," said she.

"Let us begin on this," said I, spreading out the paper before
her.  "Let us take it word for word and see what it means."

She looked at the writing with some surprise.  "It means," said
she, "if the French come to Minsk all is lost."  Suddenly a look
of consternation passed over her beautiful face.  "Great
Heavens!" she cried, "what is it that I have done?  I have
betrayed my country!  Oh, Etienne, your eyes are the last for
whom this message is meant.  How could you be so cunning as to
make a poor, simple-minded, and unsuspecting girl betray the
cause of her country?"

I consoled my poor Sophie as best I might, and I assured her that
it was no reproach to her that she should be outwitted by so old
a campaigner and so shrewd a man as myself.  But it was no time
now for talk.  This message made it clear that the corn was
indeed at Minsk, and that there were no troops there to defend
it.  I gave a hurried order from the window, the trumpeter blew
the assembly, and in ten minutes we had left the village behind
us and were riding hard for the city, the gilded domes and
minarets of which glimmered above the snow of the horizon. 
Higher they rose and higher, until at last, as the sun sank
toward the west, we were in the broad main street, and galloped
up it amid the shouts of the moujiks and the cries of frightened
women until we found ourselves in front of the great town-hall. 
My cavalry I drew up in the square, and I, with my two sergeants,
Oudin and Papilette, rushed into the building.

Heavens! shall I ever forget the sight which greeted us?  Right
in front of us was drawn up a triple line of Russian Grenadiers. 
Their muskets rose as we entered, and a crashing volley burst
into our very faces.  Oudin and Papilette dropped upon the floor,
riddled with bullets.

For myself, my busby was shot away and I had two holes through my
dolman.  The Grenadiers ran at me with their bayonets. 
"Treason!" I cried.  "We are betrayed!  Stand to your horses!" I
rushed out of the hall, but the whole square was swarming with
troops.

From every side street Dragoons and Cossacks were riding down
upon us, and such a rolling fire had burst from the surrounding
houses that half my men and horses were on the ground.  "Follow
me!" I yelled, and sprang upon Violette, but a giant of a Russian
Dragoon officer threw his arms round me and we rolled on the
ground together.

He shortened his sword to kill me, but, changing his mind, he
seized me by the throat and banged my head against the stones
until I was unconscious.  So it was that I became the prisoner of
the Russians.

When I came to myself my only regret was that my captor had not
beaten out my brains.  There in the grand square of Minsk lay
half my troopers dead or wounded, with exultant crowds of
Russians gathered round them.

The rest in a melancholy group were herded into the porch of the
town-hall, a sotnia of Cossacks keeping guard over them.  Alas!
what could I say, what could I do?  It was evident that I had led
my men into a carefully- baited trap.  They had heard of our
mission and they had prepared for us.  And yet there was that
despatch which had caused me to neglect all precautions and to
ride straight into the town.  How was I to account for that?  The
tears ran down my cheeks as I surveyed the ruin of my squadron,
and as I thought of the plight of my comrades of the Grand Army
who awaited the food which I was to have brought them.  Ney had
trusted me and I had failed him.  How often he would strain his
eyes over the snow-fields for that convoy of grain which should
never gladden his sight!  My own fate was hard enough.  An exile
in Siberia was the best which the future could bring me.  But you
will believe me, my friends, that it was not for his own sake,
but for that of his starving comrades, that Etienne Gerard's
cheeks were lined by his tears, frozen even as they were shed.

"What's this?" said a gruff voice at my elbow; and I turned to
face the huge, black-bearded Dragoon who had dragged me from my
saddle.  "Look at the Frenchman crying!  I thought that the
Corsican was followed by brave men and not by children."

"If you and I were face to face and alone, I should let you see
which is the better man," said I.

For answer the brute struck me across the face with his open
hand.  I seized him by the throat, but a dozen of his soldiers
tore me away from him, and he struck me again while they held my
hands.

"You base hound," I cried, "is this the way to treat an officer
and a gentleman?"

"We never asked you to come to Russia," said he.  "If you do you
must take such treatment as you can get.  I would shoot you
off-hand if I had my way."

"You will answer for this some day," I cried, as I wiped the
blood from my moustache.

"If the Hetman Platoff is of my way of thinking you will not be
alive this time to-morrow," he answered, with a ferocious scowl. 
He added some words in Russian to his troops, and instantly they
all sprang to their saddles.

Poor Violette, looking as miserable as her master, was led round
and I was told to mount her.  My left arm was tied with a thong
which was fastened to the stirrup- iron of a sergeant of
Dragoons.  So in most sorry plight I and the remnant of my men
set forth from Minsk.

Never have I met such a brute as this man Sergine, who commanded
the escort.  The Russian army contains the best and the worst in
the world, but a worse than Major Sergine of the Dragoons of
Kieff I have never seen in any force outside of the guerillas of
the Peninsula.

He was a man of great stature, with a fierce, hard face and a
bristling black beard, which fell over his cuirass.

I have been told since that he was noted for his strength and his
bravery, and I could answer for it that he had the grip of a
bear, for I had felt it when he tore me from my saddle.  He was a
wit, too, in his way, and made continual remarks in Russian at
our expense which set all his Dragoons and Cossacks laughing. 
Twice he beat my comrades with his riding-whip, and once he
approached me with the lash swung over his shoulder, but there
was something in my eyes which prevented it from falling.

So in misery and humiliation, cold and starving, we rode in a
disconsolate column across the vast snow-plain.  The sun had
sunk, but still in the long northern twilight we pursued our
weary journey.  Numbed and frozen, with my head aching from the
blows it had received, I was borne onward by Violette, hardly
conscious of where I was or whither I was going.  The little mare
walked with a sunken head, only raising it to snort her contempt
for the mangy Cossack ponies who were round her.

But suddenly the escort stopped, and I found that we had halted
in the single street of a small Russian village.

There was a church on one side, and on the other was a large
stone house, the outline of which seemed to me to be familiar.  I
looked around me in the twilight, and then I saw that we had been
led back to Dobrova, and that this house at the door of which we
were waiting was the same house of the priest at which we had
stopped in the morning.  Here it was that my charming Sophie in
her innocence had translated the unlucky message which had in
some strange way led us to our ruin.  To think that only a few
hours before we had left this very spot with such high hopes and
all fair prospects for our mission, and now the remnants of us
waited as beaten and humiliated men for whatever lot a brutal
enemy might ordain!  But such is the fate of the soldier, my
friends --kisses to-day, blows to-morrow.  Tokay in a palace,
ditch-water in a hovel, furs or rags, a full purse or an empty
pocket, ever swaying from the best to the worst, with only his
courage and his honour unchanging.

The Russian horsemen dismounted, and my poor fellows were ordered
to do the same.  It was already late, and it was clearly their
intention to spend the night in this village.  There were great
cheering and joy amongst the peasants when they understood that
we had all been taken, and they flocked out of their houses with
flaming torches, the women carrying out tea and brandy for the
Cossacks.  Amongst others the old priest came forth-- the same
whom we had seen in the morning.  He was all smiles now, and he
bore with him some hot punch on a salver, the reek of which I can
remember still.  Behind her father was Sophie.  With horror I saw
her clasp Major Sergine's hand as she congratulated him upon the
victory he had won and the prisoners he had made.  The old
priest, her father, looked at me with an insolent face and made
insulting remarks at my expense, pointing at me with his lean and
grimy hand.  His fair daughter Sophie looked at me also, but she
said nothing, and I could read her tender pity in her dark eyes. 
At last she turned to Major Sergine and said something to him in
Russian, on which he frowned and shook his head impatiently.

She appeared to plead with him, standing there in the flood of
light which shone from the open door of her father's house.  My
eyes were fixed upon the two faces, that of the beautiful girl
and of the dark, fierce man, for my instinct told me that it was
my own fate which was under debate.  For a long time the soldier
shook his head, and then, at last softening before her pleadings,
he appeared to give way.  He turned to where I stood with my
guardian sergeant beside me.

"These good people offer you the shelter of their roof for the
night," said he to me, looking me up and down with vindictive
eyes.  "I find it hard to refuse them, but I tell you straight
that for my part I had rather see you on the snow.  It would cool
your hot blood, you rascal of a Frenchman!"

I looked at him with the contempt that I felt.

"You were born a savage and you will die one," said I.

My words stung him, for he broke into an oath, raising his whip
as if he would strike me.

"Silence, you crop-eared dog!" he cried.  "Had I my way some of
the insolence would be frozen out of you before morning." 
Mastering his passion, he turned upon Sophie with what he meant
to be a gallant manner.  "If you have a cellar with a good lock,"
said he, "the fellow may lie in it for the night, since you have
done him the honour to take an interest in his comfort.  I must
have his parole that he will not attempt to play us any tricks,
as I am answerable for him until I hand him over to the Hetman
Platoff to-morrow."

His supercilious manner was more than I could endure.

He had evidently spoken French to the lady in order that I might
understand the humiliating way in which he referred to me.

"I will take no favour from you," said I.  "You may do what you
like, but I will never give you my parole."

The Russian shrugged his great shoulders, and turned away as if
the matter were ended.

"Very well, my fine fellow, so much the worse for your fingers
and toes.  We shall see how you are in the morning after a night
in the snow."

"One moment, Major Sergine," cried Sophie.  "You must not be so
hard upon this prisoner.  There are some special reasons why he
has a claim upon our kindness and mercy."

The Russian looked with suspicion upon his face from her to me.

"What are the special reasons?  You certainly seem to take a
remarkable interest in this Frenchman," said he.

"The chief reason is that he has this very morning of his own
accord released Captain Alexis Barakoff, of the Dragoons of
Grodno."

"It is true," said Barakoff, who had come out of the house.  "He
captured me this morning, and he released me upon parole rather
than take me back to the French army, where I should have been
starved."

"Since Colonel Gerard has acted so generously you will surely,
now that fortune has changed, allow us to offer him the poor
shelter of our cellar upon this bitter night," said Sophie.  "It
is a small return for his generosity."

But the Dragoon was still in the sulks.

"Let him give me his parole first that he will not attempt to
escape," said he.  "Do you hear, sir?  Do you give me your
parole?"

"I give you nothing," said I.

"Colonel Gerard," cried Sophie, turning to me with a coaxing
smile, "you will give me your parole, will you not?"

"To you, mademoiselle, I can refuse nothing.  I will give you my
parole, with pleasure."

"There, Major Sergine," cried Sophie, in triumph,

"that is surely sufficient.  You have heard him say that he gives
me his parole.  I will be answerable for his safety ."

In an ungracious fashion my Russian bear grunted his consent, and
so I was led into the house, followed by the scowling father and
by the big, black-bearded Dragoon.  In the basement there was a
large and roomy chamber, where the winter logs were stored. 
Thither it was that I was led, and I was given to understand that
this was to be my lodging for the night.  One side of this bleak
apartment was heaped up to the ceiling with fagots of firewood. 
The rest of the room was stone- flagged and bare-walled, with a
single, deep-set window upon one side, which was safely guarded
with iron bars.  For light I had a large stable lantern, which
swung from a beam of the low ceiling.  Major Sergine smiled as he
took this down, and swung it round so as to throw its light into
every corner of that dreary chamber.

"How do you like our Russian hotels, monsieur?" he asked, with
his hateful sneer.  "They are not very grand, but they are the
best that we can give you.  Perhaps the next time that you
Frenchmen take a fancy to travel you will choose some other
country where they will make you more comfortable."  He stood
laughing at me, his white teeth gleaming through his beard.  Then
he left me, and I heard the great key creak in the lock.

For an hour of utter misery, chilled in body and soul, I sat upon
a pile of fagots, my face sunk upon my hands and my mind full of
the saddest thoughts.  It was cold enough within those four
walls, but I thought of the sufferings of my poor troopers
outside, and I sorrowed with their sorrow.  Then.  I paced up and
down, and I clapped my hands together and kicked my feet against
the walls to keep them from being frozen.  The lamp gave out some
warmth, but still it was bitterly cold, and I had had no food
since morning.  It seemed to me that everyone had forgotten me,
but at last I heard the key turn in the lock, and who should
enter but my prisoner of the morning, Captain Alexis Barakoff.  A
bottle of wine projected from under his arm, and he carried a
great plate of hot stew in front of him.

"Hush!" said he; "not a word!  Keep up your heart!

I cannot stop to explain, for Sergine is still with us.

Keep awake and ready!"  With these hurried words he laid down the
welcome food and ran out of the room.

"Keep awake and ready!"  The words rang in my ears.  I ate my
food and I drank my wine, but it was neither food nor wine which
had warmed the heart within me.  What could those words of
Barakoff mean?

Why was I to remain awake?  For what was I to be ready?  Was it
possible that there was a chance yet of escape?  I have never
respected the man who neglects his prayers at all other times and
yet prays when he is in peril.  It is like a bad soldier who pays
no respect to the colonel save when he would demand a favour of
him.  And yet when I thought of the salt-mines of Siberia on the
one side and of my mother in France upon the other, I could not
help a prayer rising, not from my lips, but from my heart, that
the words of Barakoff might mean all that I hoped.  But hour
after hour struck upon the village clock, and still I heard
nothing save the call of the Russian sentries in the street
outside.

Then at last my heart leaped within me, for I heard a light step
in the passage.  An instant later the key turned, the door
opened, and Sophie was in the room.

"Monsieur--" she cried.

"Etienne," said I.

"Nothing will change you," said she.  "But is it possible that
you do not hate me?  Have you forgiven me the trick which I
played you?"

"What trick?" I asked.

"Good heavens!  Is it possible that even now you have not
understood it?  You have asked me to translate the despatch.  I
have told you that it meant, 'If the French come to Minsk all is
lost.' "

"What did it mean, then?"

"It means, 'Let the French come to Minsk.  We are awaiting
them."'

I sprang back from her.

"You betrayed me!" I cried.  "You lured me into this trap.  It is
to you that I owe the death and capture of my men.  Fool that I
was to trust a woman!"

"Do not be unjust, Colonel Gerard.  I am a Russian woman, and my
first duty is to my country.  Would you not wish a French girl to
have acted as I have done?

Had I translated the message correctly you would not have gone to
Minsk and your squadron would have escaped.

Tell me that you forgive me!"

She looked bewitching as she stood pleading her cause in front of
me.  And yet, as I thought of my dead men, I could not take the
hand which she held out to me.

"Very good," said she, as she dropped it by her side.

"You feel for your own people and I feel for mine, and so we are
equal.  But you have said one wise and kindly thing within these
walls, Colonel Gerard.  You have said, 'One man more or less can
make no difference in a struggle between two great armies.'  Your
lesson of nobility is not wasted.  Behind those fagots is an
unguarded door.  Here is the key to it.  Go forth, Colonel
Gerard, and I trust that we may never look upon each other's
faces again."

I stood for an instant with the key in my hand and my head in a
whirl.  Then I handed it back to her.

"I cannot do it," I said.

"Why not?"

"I have given my parole."

"To whom?" she asked.

"Why, to you."

"And I release you from it."

My heart bounded with joy.  Of course, it was true what she said. 
I had refused to give my parole to Sergine.  I owed him no duty. 
If she relieved me from my promise my honour was clear.  I took
the key from her hand.

"You will find Captain Barakoff at the end of the village
street," said she.  "We of the North never forget either an
injury or a kindness.  He has your mare and your sword waiting
for you.  Do not delay an instant, for in two hours it will be
dawn."

So I passed out into the star-lit Russian night, and had that
last glimpse of Sophie as she peered after me through the open
door.  She looked wistfully at me as if she expected something
more than the cold thanks which I gave her, but even the humblest
man has his pride, and I will not deny that mine was hurt by the
deception which she had played upon me.  I could not have brought
myself to kiss her hand, far less her lips.  The door led into a
narrow alley, and at the end of it stood a muffled figure, who
held Violette by the bridle.

"You told me to be kind to the next French officer whom I found
in distress," said he.  "Good luck!  Bon voyage!" he whispered,
as I bounded into the saddle.

"Remember, 'Poltava' is the watchword."

It was well that he had given it to me, for twice I had to pass
Cossack pickets before I was clear of the lines.

I had just ridden past the last vedettes and hoped that I was a
free man again, when there was a soft thudding in the snow behind
me, and a heavy man upon a great black horse came swiftly after
me.  My first impulse was to put spurs to Violette.  My second,
as I saw a long black beard against a steel cuirass, was to halt
and await him.

"I thought that it was you, you dog of a Frenchman," he cried,
shaking his drawn sword at me.  "So you have broken your parole,
you rascal!"

"I gave no parole."

"You lie, you hound!"

I looked around and no one was coming.  The vedettes were
motionless and distant.  We were all alone, with the moon above
and the snow beneath.  Fortune has ever been my friend.

"I gave you no parole."

"You gave it to the lady."

"Then I will answer for it to the lady."

"That would suit you better, no doubt.  But, unfortunately, you
will have to answer for it to me."

"I am ready."

"Your sword, too!  There is treason in this!  Ah, I see it all! 
The woman has helped you.  She shall see Siberia for this night's
work."

The words were his death-warrant.  For Sophie's sake I could not
let him go back alive.  Our blades crossed, and an instant later
mine was through his black beard and deep in his throat.  I was
on the ground almost as soon as he, but the one thrust was
enough.  He died, snapping his teeth at my ankles like a savage
wolf.

Two days later I had rejoined the army at Smolensk, and was a
part once more of that dreary procession which tramped onward
through the snow, leaving a long weal of blood to show the path
which it had taken.

Enough, my friends; I would not re-awaken the memory of those
days of misery and death.  They still come to haunt me in my
dreams.  When we halted at last in Warsaw we had left behind us
our guns, our transport, and three-fourths of our comrades.  But
we did not leave behind us the honour of Etienne Gerard.  They
have said that I broke my parole.  Let them beware how they say
it to my face, for the story is as I tell it, and old as I am my
forefinger is not too weak to press a trigger when my honour is
in question.



VII . How the Brigadier Bore Himself at Waterloo

I. THE STORY OF THE FOREST INN

Of all the great battles in which I had the honour of drawing my
sword for the Emperor and for France there was not one which was
lost.  At Waterloo, although, in a sense, I was present, I was
unable to fight, and the enemy was victorious.  It is not for me
to say that there is a connection between these two things.  You
know me too well, my friends, to imagine that I would make such a
claim.  But it gives matter for thought, and some have drawn
flattering conclusions from it.

After all, it was only a matter of breaking a few English squares
and the day would have been our own.  If the Hussars of Conflans,
with Etienne Gerard to lead them, could not do this, then the
best judges are mistaken.

But let that pass.  The Fates had ordained that I should hold my
hand and that the Empire should fall.  But they had also ordained
that this day of gloom and sorrow should bring such honour to me
as had never come when I swept on the wings of victory from
Boulogne to Vienna.

Never had I burned so brilliantly as at that supreme moment when
the darkness fell upon all around me.  You are aware that I was
faithful to the Emperor in his adversity, and that I refused to
sell my sword and my honour to the Bourbons.  Never again was I
to feel my war horse between my knees, never again to hear the
kettledrums and silver trumpets behind me as I rode in front of
my little rascals.  But it comforts my heart, my friends, and it
brings the tears to my eyes, to think how great I was upon that
last day of my soldier life, and to remember that of all the
remarkable exploits which have won me the love of so many
beautiful women, and the respect of so many noble men, there was
none which, in splendour, in audacity, and in the great end which
was attained, could compare with my famous ride upon the night of
June 18th, 1815.  I am aware that the story is often told at
mess-tables and in barrack-rooms, so that there are few in the
army who have not heard it, but modesty has sealed my lips, until
now, my friends, in the privacy of these intimate gatherings, I
am inclined to lay the true facts before you.

In the first place, there is one thing which I can assure you. 
In all his career Napoleon never had so splendid an army as that
with which he took the field for that campaign.  In 1813 France
was exhausted.  For every veteran there were five children--Marie
Louises, as we called them; for the Empress had busied herself in
raising levies while the Emperor took the field.  But it was very
different in 1815.  The prisoners had all come back-- the men
from the snows of Russia, the men from the dungeons of Spain, the
men from the hulks in England.

These were the dangerous men, veterans of twenty battles, longing
for their old trade, and with hearts filled with hatred and
revenge.  The ranks were full of soldiers who wore two and three
chevrons, every chevron meaning five years' service.  And the
spirit of these men was terrible.  They were raging, furious,
fanatical, adoring the Emperor as a Mameluke does his prophet,
ready to fall upon their own bayonets if their blood could serve
him.  If you had seen these fierce old veterans going into
battle, with their flushed faces, their savage eyes, their
furious yells, you would wonder that anything could stand against
them.  So high was the spirit of France at that time that every
other spirit would have quailed before it; but these people,
these English, had neither spirit nor soul, but only solid,
immovable beef, against which we broke ourselves in vain.  That
was it, my friends!  On the one side, poetry, gallantry, self-
sacrifice--all that is beautiful and heroic.  On the other side,
beef.  Our hopes, our ideals, our dreams--all were shattered on
that terrible beef of Old England.

You have read how the Emperor gathered his forces, and then how
he and I, with a hundred and thirty thousand veterans, hurried to
the northern frontier and fell upon the Prussians and the
English.  On the 16th of June, Ney held the English in play at
Quatre-Bras while we beat the Prussians at Ligny.  It is not for
me to say how far I contributed to that victory, but it is well
known that the Hussars of Conflans covered themselves with glory. 
They fought well, these Prussians, and eight thousand of them
were left upon the field.  The Emperor thought that he had done
with them, as he sent Marshal Grouchy with thirty-two thousand
men to follow them up and to prevent their interfering with his
plans.  Then with nearly eighty thousand men, he turned upon
these "Goddam" Englishmen.  How much we had to avenge upon them,
we Frenchmen--the guineas of Pitt, the hulks of Portsmouth, the
invasion of Wellington, the perfidious victories of Nelson!  At
last the day of punishment seemed to have arisen.

Wellington had with him sixty-seven thousand men, but many of
them were known to be Dutch and Belgian, who had no great desire
to fight against us.  Of good troops he had not fifty thousand. 
Finding himself in the presence of the Emperor in person with
eighty thousand men, this Englishman was so paralysed with fear
that he could neither move himself nor his army.  You have seen
the rabbit when the snake approaches.  So stood the English upon
the ridge of Waterloo.  The night before, the Emperor, who had
lost an aide-de- camp at Ligny, ordered me to join his staff, and
I had left my Hussars to the charge of Major Victor.  I know not
which of us was the most grieved, they or I, that I should be
called away upon the eve of battle, but an order is an order, and
a good soldier can but shrug his shoulders and obey.  With the
Emperor I rode across the front of the enemy's position on the
morning of the 18th, he looking at them through his glass and
planning which was the shortest way to destroy them.  Soult was
at his elbow, and Ney and Foy and others who had fought the
English in Portugal and Spain.  "Have a care, Sire," said Soult. 
"The English infantry is very solid."

"You think them good soldiers because they have beaten you," said
the Emperor, and we younger men turned away our faces and smiled. 
But Ney and Foy were grave and serious.  All the time the English
line, chequered with red and blue and dotted with batteries, was
drawn up silent and watchful within a long musket- shot of us. 
On the other side of the shallow valley our own people, having
finished their soup, were assembling for the battle.  It had
rained very heavily, but at this moment the sun shone out and
beat upon the French army, turning our brigades of cavalry into
so many dazzling rivers of steel, and twinkling and sparkling on
the innumerable bayonets of the infantry.  At the sight of that
splendid army, and the beauty and majesty of its appearance, I
could contain myself no longer, but, rising in my stirrups, I
waved my busby and cried, "Vive l'Empereur!" a shout which
growled and roared and clattered from one end of the line to the
other, while the horsemen waved their swords and the footmen held
up their shakos upon their bayonets.  The English remained
petrified upon their ridge.  They knew that their hour had come.

And so it would have come if at that moment the word had been
given and the whole army had been permitted to advance.  We had
but to fall upon them and to sweep them from the face of the
earth.  To put aside all question of courage, we were the more
numerous, the older soldiers, and the better led.  But the
Emperor desired to do all things in order, and he waited until
the ground should be drier and harder, so that his artillery
could manoeuvre.  So three hours were wasted, and it was eleven
o'clock before we saw Jerome Buonaparte's columns advance upon
our left and heard the crash of the guns which told that the
battle had begun.  The loss of those three hours was our
destruction.  The attack upon the left was directed upon a
farm-house which was held by the English Guards, and we heard the
three loud shouts of apprehension which the defenders were
compelled to utter.  They were still holding out, and D'Erlon's
corps was advancing upon the right to engage another portion of
the English line, when our attention was called away from the
battle beneath our noses to a distant portion of the field of
action.

The Emperor had been looking through his glass to the extreme
left of the English line, and now he turned suddenly to the Duke
of Dalmatia, or Soult, as we soldiers preferred to call him.

"What is it, Marshal?" said he.

We all followed the direction of his gaze, some raising our
glasses, some shading our eyes.  There was a thick wood over
yonder, then a long, bare slope, and another wood beyond.  Over
this bare strip between the two woods there lay something dark,
like the shadow of a moving cloud.

"I think that they are cattle, Sire," said Soult.

At that instant there came a quick twinkle from amid the dark
shadow.

"It is Grouchy," said the Emperor, and he lowered his glass. 
"They are doubly lost, these English.  I hold them in the hollow
of my hand.  They cannot escape me."

He looked round, and his eyes fell upon me.

"Ah! here is the prince of messengers," said he.  "Are you well
mounted, Colonel Gerard?"

I was riding my little Violette, the pride of the brigade.

I said so.

"Then ride hard to Marshal Grouchy, whose troops you see over
yonder.  Tell him that he is to fall upon the left flank and rear
of the English while I attack them in front.  Together we should
crush them and not a man escape."

I saluted and rode off without a word, my heart dancing with joy
that such a mission should be mine.  I looked at that long, solid
line of red and blue looming through the smoke of the guns, and I
shook my fist at it as I went.  "We shall crush them and not a
man escape."

They were the Emperor's words, and it was I, Etienne Gerard, who
was to turn them into deeds.  I burned to reach the Marshal, and
for an instant I thought of riding through the English left wing,
as being the shortest cut.  I have done bolder deeds and come out
safely, but I reflected that if things went badly with me and I
was taken or shot the message would be lost and the plans of the
Emperor miscarry.  I passed in front of the cavalry, therefore,
past the Chasseurs, the Lancers of the Guard, the Carabineers,
the Horse Grenadiers, and, lastly, my own little rascals, who
followed me wistfully with their eyes.  Beyond the cavalry the
Old Guard was standing, twelve regiments of them, all veterans of
many battles, sombre and severe, in long blue overcoats and high
bearskins from which the plumes had been removed.  Each bore
within the goatskin knapsack upon his back the blue and white
parade uniform which they would use for their entry into Brussels
next day.  As I rode past them I reflected that these men had
never been beaten, and as I looked at their weather-beaten faces
and their stern and silent bearing, I said to myself that they
never would be beaten.  Great heavens, how little could I foresee
what a few more hours would bring!

On the right of the Old Guard were the Young Guard and the 6th
Corps of Lobau, and then I passed Jacquinot's Lancers and
Marbot's Hussars, who held the extreme flank of the line.  All
these troops knew nothing of the corps which was coming toward
them through the wood, and their attention was taken up in
watching the battle which raged upon their left.  More than a
hundred guns were thundering from each side, and the din was so
great that of all the battles which I have fought I cannot recall
more than half-a-dozen which were as noisy.  I looked back over
my shoulder, and there were two brigades of Cuirassiers, English
and French, pouring down the hill together, with the sword-blades
playing over them like summer lightning.  How I longed to turn
Violette, and to lead my Hussars into the thick of it!  What a
picture!  Etienne Gerard with his back to the battle, and a fine
cavalry action raging behind him.

But duty is duty, so I rode past Marbot's vedettes and on in the
direction of the wood, passing the village of Frishermont upon my
left.

In front of me lay the great wood, called the Wood of Paris,
consisting mostly of oak trees, with a few narrow paths leading
through it.  I halted and listened when I reached it, but out of
its gloomy depths there came no blare of trumpet, no murmur of
wheels, no tramp of horses to mark the advance of that great
column which, with my own eyes, I had seen streaming toward it. 
The battle roared behind me, but in front all was as silent as
that grave in which so many brave men would shortly sleep.  The
sunlight was cut off by the arches of leaves above my head, and a
heavy damp smell rose from the sodden ground.  For several miles
I galloped at such a pace as few riders would care to go with
roots below and branches above.  Then, at last, for the first
time I caught a glimpse of Grouchy's advance guard.  Scattered
parties of Hussars passed me on either side, but some distance
of, among the trees.  I heard the beating of a drum far away, and
the low, dull murmur which an army makes upon the march.  Any
moment I might come upon the staff and deliver my message to
Grouchy in person, for I knew well that on such a march a Marshal
of France would certainly ride with the van of his army.

Suddenly the trees thinned in front of me, and I understood with
delight that I was coming to the end of the wood? whence I could
see the army and find the Marshal.

Where the track comes out from amid the trees there is a small
cabaret, where wood-cutters and waggoners drink their wine. 
Outside the door of this I reined up my horse for an instant
while I took in the scene which was before me.  Some few miles
away I saw a second great forest, that of St. Lambert, out of
which the Emperor had seen the troops advancing.  It was easy to
see, however, why there had been so long a delay in their leaving
one wood and reaching the other, because between the two ran the
deep defile of the Lasnes, which had to be crossed.  Sure enough,
a long column of troops --horse, foot, and guns--was streaming
down one side of it and swarming up the other, while the advance
guard was already among the trees on either side of me.  A
battery of Horse Artillery was coming along the road, and I was
about to gallop up to it and ask the officer in command if he
could tell me where I should find the Marshal, when suddenly I
observed that, though the gunners were dressed in blue, they had
not the dolman trimmed with red brandenburgs as our own
horse-gunners wear it.  Amazed at the sight, I was looking at
these soldiers to left and right when a hand touched my thigh,
and there was the landlord, who had rushed from his inn.

"Madman!" he cried, "why are you here?  What are you doing?"

"I am seeking Marshal Grouchy."

"You are in the heart of the Prussian army.  Turn and fly!"

"Impossible; this is Grouchy's corps."

"How do you know?"

"Because the Emperor has said it."

"Then the Emperor has made a terrible mistake!  I tell you that a
patrol of Silesian Hussars has this instant left me.  Did you not
see them in the wood?"

"I saw Hussars."

"They are the enemy."

"Where is Grouchy?"

"He is behind.  They have passed him."

"Then how can I go back?  If I go forward I may see him yet.  I
must obey my orders and find him where- ever{sic} he is."

The man reflected for an instant.

"Quick! quick!" he cried, seizing my bridle.  "Do what I say and
you may yet escape.  They have not observed you yet.  Come with
me and I will hide you until they pass."

Behind his house there was a low stable, and into this he thrust
Violette.  Then he half led and half dragged me into the kitchen
of the inn.  It was a bare, brick- floored room.  A stout,
red-faced woman was cooking cutlets at the fire.

"What's the matter now?" she asked, looking with a frown from me
to the innkeeper.  "Who is this you have brought in?"

"It is a French officer, Marie.  We cannot let the Prussians take
him."

"Why not?"

"Why not?  Sacred name of a dog, was I not myself a soldier of
Napoleon?  Did I not win a musket of honour among the Velites of
the Guard?  Shall I see a comrade taken before my eyes?  Marie,
we must save him."  But the lady looked at me with most
unfriendly eyes.

"Pierre Charras," she said, "you will not rest until you have
your house burned over your head.  Do you not understand, you
blockhead, that if you fought for Napoleon it was because
Napoleon ruled Belgium?  He does so no longer.  The Prussians are
our allies and this is our enemy.  I will have no Frenchman in
this house.

Give him up!"

The innkeeper scratched his head and looked at me in despair, but
it was very evident to me that it was neither for France nor for
Belgium that this woman cared, but that it was the safety of her
own house that was nearest her heart.

"Madame," said I, with all the dignity and assurance I could
command, "the Emperor is defeating the English, and the French
army will be here before evening.

If you have used me well you will be rewarded, and if you have
denounced me you will be punished and your house will certainly
be burned by the provost-martial."

She was shaken by this, and I hastened to complete my victory by
other methods.

"Surely," said I, "it is impossible that anyone so beautiful can
also be hard-hearted?  You will not refuse me the refuge which I
need."

She looked at my whiskers and I saw that she was softened.  I
took her hand, and in two minutes we were on such terms that her
husband swore roundly that he would give me up himself if I
pressed the matter farther.

"Besides, the road is full of Prussians," he cried.

"Quick! quick! into the loft!"

"Quick! quick! into the loft!" echoed his wife, and together they
hurried me toward a ladder which led to a trap-door in the
ceiling.  There was loud knocking at the door, so you can think
that it was not long before my spurs went twinkling through the
hole and the board was dropped behind me.  An instant later I
heard the voices of the Germans in the rooms below me.

The place in which I found myself was a single long attic, the
ceiling of which was formed by the roof of the house.  It ran
over the whole of one side of the inn, and through the cracks in
the flooring I could look down either upon the kitchen, the
sitting-room, or the bar at my pleasure.  There were no windows,
but the place was in the last stage of disrepair, and several
missing slates upon the roof gave me light and the means of
observation.

The place was heaped with lumber-fodder at one end and a huge
pile of empty bottles at the other.  There was no door or window
save the hole through which I had come up.

I sat upon the heap of hay for a few minutes to steady myself and
to think out my plans.  It was very serious that the Prussians
should arrive upon the field of battle earlier than our reserves,
but there appeared to be only one corps of them, and a corps more
or less makes little difference to such a man as the Emperor.  He
could afford to give the English all this and beat them still.

The best way in which I could serve him, since Grouchy was
behind, was to wait here until they were past, and then to resume
my journey, to see the Marshal, and to give him his orders.  If
he advanced upon the rear of the English instead of following the
Prussians all would be well.  The fate of France depended upon my
judgment and my nerve.  It was not the first time, my friends, as
you are well aware, and you know the reasons that I had to trust
that neither nerve nor judgment would ever fail me.  Certainly,
the Emperor had chosen the right man for his mission.  "The
prince of messengers" he had called me.  I would earn my title.

It was clear that I could do nothing until the Prussians had
passed, so I spent my time in observing them.  I have no love for
these people, but I am compelled to say that they kept excellent
discipline, for not a man of them entered the inn, though their
lips were caked with dust and they were ready to drop with
fatigue.  Those who had knocked at the door were bearing an
insensible comrade, and having left him they returned at once to
the ranks.  Several others were carried in in the same fashion
and laid in the kitchen, while a young surgeon, little more than
a boy, remained behind in charge of them.

Having observed them through the cracks in the floor, I next
turned my attention to the holes in the roof, from which I had an
excellent view of all that was passing outside.  The Prussian
corps was still streaming past.  It was easy to see that they had
made a terrible march and had little food, for the faces of the
men were ghastly, and they were plastered from head to foot with
mud from their falls upon the foul and slippery roads.  Yet,
spent as they were, their spirit was excellent, and they pushed
and hauled at the gun-carriages when the wheels sank up to the
axles in the mire, and the weary horses were floundering
knee-deep unable to draw them through.

The officers rode up and down the column encouraging the more
active with words of praise, and the laggards with blows from the
flat of their swords.  All the time from over the wood in front
of them there came the tremendous roar of the battle, as if all
the rivers on earth had united in one gigantic cataract, booming
and crashing in a mighty fall.  Like the spray of the cataract
was the long veil of smoke which rose high over the trees.

The officers pointed to it with their swords, and with hoarse
cries from their parched lips the mud-stained men pushed onward
to the battle.  For an hour I watched them pass, and I reflected
that their vanguard must have come into touch with Marbot's
vedettes and that the Emperor knew already of their coming.  "You
are going very fast up the road, my friends, but you will come
down it a great deal faster," said I to myself, and I consoled
myself with the thought.

But an adventure came to break the monotony of this long wait.  I
was seated beside my loophole and congratulating myself that the
corps was nearly past, and that the road would soon be clear for
my journey, when suddenly I heard a loud altercation break out in
French in the kitchen.

"You shall not go!" cried a woman's voice.

"I tell you that I will!" said a man's, and there was a sound of
scuffling.

In an instant I had my eye to the crack in the floor.

There was my stout lady, like a faithful watch-dog, at the bottom
of the ladder, while the young German surgeon, white with anger,
was endeavouring to come up it.

Several of the German soldiers who had recovered from their
prostration were sitting about on the kitchen floor and watching
the quarrel with stolid, but attentive, faces.

The landlord was nowhere to be seen.

"There is no liquor there," said the woman.

"I do not want liquor; I want hay or straw for these men to lie
upon.  Why should they lie on the bricks when there is straw
overhead?"

"There is no straw."

"What is up there?"

"Empty bottles."

"Nothing else?"

"No."

For a moment it looked as if the surgeon would abandon his
intention, but one of the soldiers pointed up to the ceiling.  I
gathered from what I could understand of his words that he could
see the straw sticking out between the planks.  In vain the woman
protested.  Two of the soldiers were able to get upon their feet
and to drag her aside, while the young surgeon ran up the ladder,
pushed open the trap-door, and climbed into the loft.

As he swung the door back I slipped behind it, but as luck would
have it he shut it again behind him, and there we were left
standing face to face.

Never have I seen a more astonished young man.

"A French officer!" he gasped.

"Hush!" said I, "hush!  Not a word above a whisper."

I had drawn my sword.

"I am not a combatant," he said; "I am a doctor.

Why do you threaten me with your sword?  I am not armed."

"I do not wish to hurt you, but I must protect myself.  I am in
hiding here."

"A spy!"

"A spy does not wear such a uniform as this, nor do you find
spies on the staff of an army.  I rode by mistake into the heart
of this Prussian corps, and I concealed myself here in the hope
of escaping when they are past.

I will not hurt you if you do not hurt me, but if you do not
swear that you will be silent as to my presence you will never go
down alive from this attic."

"You can put up your sword, sir," said the surgeon, and I saw a
friendly twinkle in his eyes.  "I am a Pole by birth, and I have
no ill-feeling to you or your people.

I will do my best for my patients, but I will do no more.

Capturing Hussars is not one of the duties of a surgeon.

With your permission I will now descend with this truss of hay to
make a couch for these poor fellows below."

I had intended to exact an oath from him, but it is my experience
that if a man will not speak the truth he will not swear the
truth, so I said no more.  The surgeon opened the trap-door,
threw out enough hay for his purpose, and then descended the
ladder, letting down the door behind him.  I watched him
anxiously when he rejoined his patients, and so did my good
friend the landlady, but he said nothing and busied himself with
the needs of his soldiers.

By this time I was sure that the last of the army corps was past,
and I went to my loophole confident that I should find the coast
clear, save, perhaps, for a few stragglers, whom I could
disregard.  The first corps was indeed past, and I could see the
last files of the infantry disappearing into the wood; but you
can imagine my disappointment when out of the Forest of St.
Lambert I saw a second corps emerging, as numerous as the first.

There could be no doubt that the whole Prussian army, which we
thought we had destroyed at Ligny, was about to throw itself upon
our right wing while Marshal Grouchy had been coaxed away upon
some fool's errand.

The roar of guns, much nearer than before, told me that the
Prussian batteries which had passed me were already in action. 
Imagine my terrible position!  Hour after hour was passing; the
sun was sinking toward the west.

And yet this cursed inn, in which I lay hid, was like a little
island amid a rushing stream of furious Prussians.

It was all important that I should reach Marshal Grouchy, and yet
I could not show my nose without being made prisoner.  You can
think how I cursed and tore my hair.  How little do we know what
is in store for us!

Even while I raged against my ill-fortune, that same fortune was
reserving me for a far higher task than to carry a message to
Grouchy--a task which could not have been mine had I not been
held tight in that little inn on the edge of the Forest of Paris.

Two Prussian corps had passed and a third was coming up, when I
heard a great fuss and the sound of several voices in the
sitting-room.  By altering my position I was able to look down
and see what was going on.

Two Prussian generals were beneath me, their heads bent over a
map which lay upon the table.  Several aides- de-camp and staff
officers stood round in silence.  Of the two generals, one was a
fierce old man, white-haired and wrinkled, with a ragged,
grizzled moustache and a voice like the bark of a hound.  The
other was younger, but long-faced and solemn.  He measured
distances upon the map with the air of a student, while his
companion stamped and fumed and cursed like a corporal of
Hussars.  It was strange to see the old man so fiery and the
young one so reserved.  I could not understand all that they
said, but I was very sure about their general meaning.

"I tell you we must push on and ever on!" cried the old fellow,
with a furious German oath.  "I promised Wellington that I would
be there with the whole army even if I had to be strapped to my
horse.  Bulow's corps is in action, and Ziethen's shall support
it with every man and gun.  Forward, Gneisenau, forward!"

The other shook his head.

"You must remember, your Excellency, that if the English are
beaten they will make for the coast.  What will your position be
then, with Grouchy between you and the Rhine?"

"We shall beat them, Gneisenau; the Duke and I will grind them to
powder between us.  Push on, I say!  The whole war will be ended
in one blow.  Bring Pirsch up, and we can throw sixty thousand
men into the scale while Thielmann holds Grouchy beyond Wavre."

Gneisenau shrugged his shoulders, but at that instant an orderly
appeared at the door.

"An aide-de-camp from the Duke of Wellington," said he.

"Ha, ha!" cried the old man; "let us hear what he has to say!"

An English officer, with mud and blood all over his scarlet
jacket, staggered into the room.  A crimson- stained handkerchief
was knotted round his arm, and he held the table to keep himself
from falling.

"My message is to Marshal Blucher," said he;

"I am Marshal Blucher.  Go on! go on!" cried the impatient old
man.

"The Duke bade me to tell you, sir, that the British Army can
hold its own and that he has no fears for the result.  The French
cavalry has been destroyed, two of their divisions of infantry
have ceased to exist, and only the Guard is in reserve.  If you
give us a vigorous support the defeat will be changed to absolute
rout and--" His knees gave way under him and he fell in a heap
upon the floor.

"Enough! enough!" cried Blucher.  "Gneisenau, send an
aide-de-camp to Wellington and tell him to rely upon me to the
full.  Come on, gentlemen, we have our work to do!"  He bustled
eagerly out of the room with all his staff clanking behind him,
while two orderlies carried the English messenger to the care of
the surgeon.

Gneisenau, the Chief of the Staff, had lingered behind for an
instant, and he laid his hand upon one of the aides- de-camp. 
The fellow had attracted my attention, for I have always a quick
eye for a fine man.  He was tall and slender, the very model of a
horseman; indeed, there was something in his appearance which
made it not unlike my own.  His face was dark and as keen as that
of a hawk, with fierce black eyes under thick, shaggy brows, and
a moustache which would have put him in the crack squadron of my
Hussars.  He wore a green coat with white facings, and a
horse-hair helmet--a Dragoon, as I conjectured, and as dashing a
cavalier as one would wish to have at the end of one's
sword-point.

"A word with you, Count Stein," said Gneisenau.  "If the enemy
are routed, but if the Emperor escapes, he will rally another
army, and all will have to be done again.

But if we can get the Emperor, then the war is indeed ended.  It
is worth a great effort and a great risk for such an object as
that."

The young Dragoon said nothing, but he listened attentively.

"Suppose the Duke of Wellington's words should prove to be
correct, and the French army should be driven in utter rout from
the field, the Emperor will certainly take the road back through
Genappe and Charleroi as being the shortest to the frontier.  We
can imagine that his horses will be fleet, and that the fugitives
will make way for him.  Our cavalry will follow the rear of the
beaten army, but the Emperor will be far away at the front of the
throng."

The young Dragoon inclined his head.

"To you, Count Stein, I commit the Emperor.  If you take him your
name will live in history.  You have the reputation of being the
hardest rider in our army.

Do you choose such comrades as you may select--ten or a dozen
should be enough.  You are not to engage in the battle, nor are
you to follow the general pursuit, but you are to ride clear of
the crowd, reserving your energies for a nobler end.  Do you
understand me?"

Again the Dragoon inclined his head.  This silence impressed me. 
I felt that he was indeed a dangerous man.

"Then I leave the details in your own hands.  Strike at no one
except the highest.  You cannot mistake the Imperial carriage,
nor can you fail to recognise the figure of the Emperor.  Now I
must follow the Marshal.

Adieu!  If ever I see you again I trust that it will be to
congratulate you upon a deed which will ring through Europe."

The Dragoon saluted and Gneisenau hurried from the room.  The
young officer stood in deep thought for a few moments.  Then he
followed the Chief of the Staff.

I looked with curiosity from my loophole to see what his next
proceeding would be.  His horse, a fine, strong chestnut with two
white stockings, was fastened to the rail of the inn.  He sprang
into the saddle, and, riding to intercept a column of cavalry
which was passing, he spoke to an officer at the head of the
leading regiment.

Presently after some talk I saw two Hussars--it was a Hussar
regiment--drop out of the ranks and take up their position beside
Count Stein.  The next regiment was also stopped, and two Lancers
were added to his escort.  The next furnished him with two
Dragoons and the next with two Cuirassiers.  Then he drew his
little group of horsemen aside and he gathered them round him,
explaining to them what they had to do.  Finally the nine
soldiers rode off together and disappeared into the Wood of
Paris.

I need not tell you, my friends, what all this portended.

Indeed, he had acted exactly as I should have done in his place. 
From each colonel he had demanded the two best horsemen in the
regiment, and so he had assembled a band who might expect to
catch whatever they should follow.  Heaven help the Emperor if,
without an escort, he should find them on his track!

And I, dear friends--imagine the fever, the ferment, the madness
of my mind!  All thought of Grouchy had passed away.  No guns
were to be heard to the east.  He could not be near.  If he
should come up he would not now be in time to alter the event of
the day.  The sun was already low in the sky and there could not
be more than two or three hours of daylight.  My mission might be
dismissed as useless.  But here was another mission, more
pressing, more immediate, a mission which meant the safety, and
perhaps the life, of the Emperor.  At all costs, through every
danger, I must get back to his side.

But how was I to do it?  The whole Prussian army was now between
me and the French lines.  They blocked every road, but they could
not block the path of duty when Etienne Gerard sees it lie before
him.  I could not wait longer.  I must be gone.

There was but the one opening to the loft, and so it was only
down the ladder that I could descend.  I looked into the kitchen
and I found that the young surgeon was still there.  In a chair
sat the wounded English aide-de- camp, and on the straw lay two
Prussian soldiers in the last stage of exhaustion.  The others
had all recovered and been sent on.  These were my enemies, and I
must pass through them in order to gain my horse.  From the
surgeon I had nothing to fear; the Englishman was wounded, and
his sword stood with his cloak in a corner; the two Germans were
half insensible, and their muskets were not beside them.  What
could be simpler?  I opened the trap-door, slipped down the
ladder, and appeared in the midst of them, my sword drawn in my
hand.

What a picture of surprise!  The surgeon, of course, knew all,
but to the Englishman and the two Germans it must have seemed
that the god of war in person had descended from the skies.  With
my appearance, with my figure, with my silver and grey uniform,
and with that gleaming sword in my hand, I must indeed have been
a sight worth seeing.  The two Germans lay petrified with staring
eyes.  The English officer half rose, but sat down again from
weakness, his mouth open and his hand on the back of his chair.

"What the deuce!" he kept on repeating, "what the deuce!"

"Pray do not move," said I; "I will hurt no one, but woe to the
man who lays hands upon me to stop me.  You have nothing to fear
if you leave me alone, and nothing to hope if you try to hinder
me.  I am Colonel Etienne Gerard, of the Hussars of Conflans."

"The deuce!" said the Englishman.  "You are the man that killed
the fox."  A terrible scowl had darkened his face.  The jealousy
of sportsmen is a base passion.  He hated me, this Englishman,
because I had been before him in transfixing the animal.  How
different are our natures!  Had I seen him do such a deed I would
have embraced him with cries of joy.  But there was no time for
argument.

"I regret it, sir," said I; "but you have a cloak here and I must
take it."

He tried to rise from his chair and reach his sword, but I got
between him and the corner where it lay.

"If there is anything in the pockets----"

"A case," said he.

"I would not rob you," said I; and raising the cloak I took from
the pockets a silver flask, a square wooden case and a
field-glass.  All these I handed to him.  The wretch opened the
case, took out a pistol, and pointed it straight at my head.

"Now, my fine fellow," said he, "put down your sword and give
yourself up."

I was so astounded at this infamous action that I stood petrified
before him.  I tried to speak to him of honour and gratitude, but
I saw his eyes fix and harden over the pistol.

"Enough talk!" said he.  "Drop it!"

Could I endure such a humiliation?  Death were better than to be
disarmed in such a fashion.  The word

"Fire!" was on my lips when in an instant the English man
vanished from before my face, and in his place was a great pile
of hay, with a red-coated arm and two Hessian boots waving and
kicking in the heart of it.  Oh, the gallant landlady!  It was my
whiskers that had saved me.

"Fly, soldier, fly!" she cried, and she heaped fresh trusses of
hay from the floor on to the struggling Englishman.  In an
instant I was out in the courtyard, had led Violette from her
stable, and was on her back.  A pistol bullet whizzed past my
shoulder from the window, and I saw a furious face looking out at
me.  I smiled my contempt and spurred out into the road.  The
last of the Prussians had passed, and both my road and my duty
lay clear before me.  If France won, all well.  If France lost,
then on me and my little mare depended that which was more than
victory or defeat--the safety and the life of the Emperor.  "On,
Etienne, on!" I cried.

"Of all your noble exploits, the greatest, even if it be the
last, lies now before you!"


II.  THE STORY OF THE NINE PRUSSIAN HORSEMEN

I told you when last we met, my friends, of the important mission
from the Emperor to Marshal Grouchy, which failed through no
fault of my own, and I described to you how during a long
afternoon I was shut up in the attic of a country inn, and was
prevented from coming out because the Prussians were all around
me.  You will remember also how I overheard the Chief of the
Prussian Staff give his instructions to Count Stein, and so
learned the dangerous plan which was on foot to kill or capture
the Emperor in the event of a French defeat.  At first I could
not have believed in such a thing, but since the guns had
thundered all day, and since the sound had made no advance in my
direction, it was evident that the English had at least held
their own and beaten off all our attacks.

I have said that it was a fight that day between the soul of
France and the beef of England, but it must be confessed that we
found the beef was very tough.  It was clear that if the Emperor
could not defeat the English when alone, then it might, indeed,
go hard with him now that sixty thousand of these cursed
Prussians were swarming on his flank.  In any case, with this
secret in my possession, my place was by his side.

I had made my way out of the inn in the dashing manner which I
have described to you when last we met, and I left the English
aide-de-camp shaking his foolish fist out of the window.  I could
not but laugh as I looked back at him, for his angry red face was
framed and frilled with hay.  Once out on the road I stood erect
in my stirrups, and I put on the handsome black riding- coat,
lined with red, which had belonged to him.  It fell to the top of
my high boots, and covered my tell-tale uniform completely.  As
to my busby, there are many such in the German service, and there
was no reason why it should attract attention.  So long as no one
spoke to me there was no reason why I should not ride through the
whole of the Prussian army; but though I understood German, for I
had many friends among the German ladies during the pleasant
years that I fought all over that country, still I spoke it with
a pretty Parisian accent which could not be confounded with their
rough, unmusical speech.  I knew that this quality of my accent
would attract attention, but I could only hope and pray that I
would be permitted to go my way in silence.

The Forest of Paris was so large that it was useless to think of
going round it, and so I took my courage in both hands and
galloped on down the road in the track of the Prussian army.  It
was not hard to trace it, for it was rutted two feet deep by the
gun-wheels and the caissons.  Soon I found a fringe of wounded
men, Prussians and French, on each side of it, where Bulow's
advance had come into touch with Marbot's Hussars.  One old man
with a long white beard, a surgeon, I suppose, shouted at me, and
ran after me still shouting, but I never turned my head and took
no notice of him save to spur on faster.  I heard his shouts long
after I had lost sight of him among the trees.

Presently I came up with the Prussian reserves.  The infantry
were leaning on their muskets or lying exhausted on the wet
ground, and the officers stood in groups listening to the mighty
roar of the battle and discussing the reports which came from the
front.  I hurried past at the top of my speed, but one of them
rushed out and stood in my path with his hand up as a signal to
me to stop.  Five thousand Prussian eyes were turned upon me. 
There was a moment!  You turn pale, my friends, at the thought of
it.  Think how every hair upon me stood on end.  But never for
one instant did my wits or my courage desert me.  "General
Blucher!" I cried.  Was it not my guardian angel who whispered
the words in my ear?  The Prussian sprang from my path, saluted,
and pointed forward.  They are well disciplined, these Prussians,
and who was he that he should dare to stop the officer who bore a
message to the general?

It was a talisman that would pass me out of every danger, and my
heart sang within me at the thought.  So elated was I that I no
longer waited to be asked, but as I rode through the army I
shouted to right and left,

"General Blucher!  General Blucher!" and every man pointed me
onward and cleared a path to let me pass.

There are times when the most supreme impudence is the highest
wisdom.  But discretion must also be used, and I must admit that
I became indiscreet.  For as I rode upon my way, ever nearer to
the fighting line, a Prussian officer of Uhlans gripped my bridle
and pointed to a group of men who stood near a burning farm. 
"There is Marshal Blucher.  Deliver your message!" said he, and
sure enough, my terrible old grey-whiskered veteran was there
within a pistol-shot, his eyes turned in my direction.

But the good guardian angel did not desert me.

Quick as a flash there came into my memory the name of the
general who commanded the advance of the Prussians.


{illust. caption = "There is Marshal Blucher.  Deliver your
message!"}


"General Bulow!" I cried.  The Uhlan let go my bridle.  "General
Bulow!  General Bulow!" I shouted, as every stride of the dear
little mare took me nearer my own people.  Through the burning
village of Planchenoit I galloped, spurred my way between two
columns of Prussian infantry, sprang over a hedge, cut down a
Silesian Hussar who flung himself before me, and an instant
afterward, with my coat flying open to show the uniform below, I
passed through the open files of the tenth of the line, and was
back in the heart of Lobau's corps once more.  Outnumbered and
outflanked, they were being slowly driven in by the pressure of
the Prussian advance.  I galloped onward, anxious only to find
myself by the Emperor's side.

But a sight lay before me which held me fast as though I had been
turned into some noble equestrian statue.  I could not move, I
could scarce breathe, as I gazed upon it.  There was a mound over
which my path lay, and as I came out on the top of it I looked
down the long, shallow valley of Waterloo.  I had left it with
two great armies on either side and a clear field between them. 
Now there were but long, ragged fringes of broken and exhausted
regiments upon the two ridges, but a real army of dead and
wounded lay between.  For two miles in length and half a mile
across the ground was strewed and heaped with them.  But
slaughter was no new sight to me, and it was not that which held
me spellbound.  It was that up the long slope of the British
position was moving a walking forest-black, tossing, waving,
unbroken.  Did I not know the bearskins of the Guard?  And did I
not also know, did not my soldier's instinct tell me, that it was
the last reserve of France; that the Emperor, like a desperate
gamester, was staking all upon his last card?  Up they went and
up--grand, solid, unbreakable, scourged with musketry, riddled
with grape, flowing onward in a black, heavy tide, which lapped
over the British batteries.  With my glass I could see the
English gunners throw themselves under their pieces or run to the
rear.  On rolled the crest of the bearskins, and then, with a
crash which was swept across to my ears, they met the British
infantry.  A minute passed, and another, and another.  My heart
was in my mouth.

They swayed back and forward; they no longer advanced; they were
held.  Great Heaven! was it possible that they were breaking? 
One black dot ran down the hill, then two, then four, then ten,
then a great, scattered, struggling mass, halting, breaking,
halting, and at last shredding out and rushing madly downward. 
"The Guard is beaten!  The Guard is beaten!"  From all around me
I heard the cry.  Along the whole line the infantry turned their
faces and the gunners flinched from their guns.

"The Old Guard is beaten!  The Guard retreats!"  An officer with
a livid face passed me yelling out these words of woe.  "Save
yourselves!  Save yourselves!  You are betrayed!" cried another. 
"Save yourselves!  Save yourselves!" Men were rushing madly to
the rear, blundering and jumping like frightened sheep.  Cries
and screams rose from all around me.  And at that moment, as I
looked at the British position, I saw what I can never forget.  A
single horseman stood out black and clear upon the ridge against
the last red angry glow of the setting sun.  So dark, so
motionless, against that grim light, he might have been the very
spirit of Battle brooding over that terrible valley.  As I gazed,
he raised his hat high in the air, and at the signal, with a low,
deep roar like a breaking wave, the whole British army flooded
over their ridge and came rolling down into the valley.

Long steel-fringed lines of red and blue, sweeping waves of
cavalry, horse batteries rattling and bounding--down they came on
to our crumbling ranks.  It was over.  A yell of agony, the agony
of brave men who see no hope, rose from one flank to the other,
and in an instant the whole of that noble army was swept in a
wild, terror- stricken crowd from the field.  Even now, dear
friends, I cannot, as you see, speak of that dreadful moment with
a dry eye or with a steady voice.

At first I was carried away in that wild rush, whirled off like a
straw in a flooded gutter.  But, suddenly, what should I see
amongst the mixed regiments in front of me but a group of stern
horsemen, in silver and grey, with a broken and tattered standard
held aloft in the heart of them!  Not all the might of England
and of Prussia could break the Hussars of Conflans.  But when I
joined them it made my heart bleed to see them.  The major, seven
captains, and five hundred men were left upon the field.  Young
Captain Sabbatier was in command, and when I asked him where were
the five missing squadrons he pointed back and answered:  "You
will find them round one of those British squares."  Men and
horses were at their last gasp, caked with sweat and dirt, their
black tongues hanging out from their lips; but it made me thrill
with pride to see how that shattered remnant still rode knee to
knee, with every man, from the boy trumpeter to the
farrier-sergeant, in his own proper place.

Would that I could have brought them on with me as an escort for
the Emperor!  In the heart of the Hussars of Conflans he would be
safe indeed.  But the horses were too spent to trot.  I left them
behind me with orders to rally upon the farm-house of St. Aunay,
where we had camped two nights before.  For my own part, I forced
my horse through the throng in search of the Emperor.

There were things which I saw then, as I pressed through that
dreadful crowd, which can never be banished from my mind.  In
evil dreams there comes back to me the memory of that flowing
stream of livid, staring, screaming faces upon which I looked
down.  It was a nightmare.  In victory one does not understand
the horror of war.  It is only in the cold chill of defeat that
it is brought home to you.  I remember an old Grenadier of the
Guard lying at the side of the road with his broken leg doubled
at a right angle.  "Comrades, comrades, keep off my leg!" he
cried, but they tripped and stumbled over him all the same.  In
front of me rode a Lancer officer without his coat.  His arm had
just been taken off in the ambulance.  The bandages had fallen. 
It was horrible.  Two gunners tried to drive through with their
gun.  A Chasseur raised his musket and shot one of them through
the head.  I saw a major of Cuirassiers draw his two holster
pistols and shoot first his horse and then himself.  Beside the
road a man in a blue coat was raging and raving like a madman. 
His face was black with powder, his clothes were torn, one
epaulette was gone, the other hung dangling over his breast. 
Only when I came close to him did I recognise that it was Marshal
Ney.  He howled at the flying troops and his voice was hardly
human.  Then he raised the stump of his sword-- it was broken
three inches from the hilt.  "Come and see how a Marshal of
France can die!" he cried.  Gladly would I have gone with him,
but my duty lay elsewhere.

He did not, as you know, find the death he sought, but he met it
a few weeks later in cold blood at the hands of his enemies.

There is an old proverb that in attack the French are more than
men, in defeat they are less than women.  I knew that it was true
that day.  But even in that rout I saw things which I can tell
with pride.  Through the fields which skirt the road moved
Cambronne's three reserve battalions of the Guard, the cream of
our army.

They walked slowly in square, their colours waving over the
sombre line of the bearskins.  All round them raged the English
cavalry and the black Lancers of Brunswick, wave after wave
thundering up, breaking with a crash, and recoiling in ruin. 
When last I saw them, the English guns, six at a time, were
smashing grape-shot through their ranks and the English infantry
were closing in upon three sides and pouring volleys into them;
but still, like a noble lion with fierce hounds clinging to its
flanks, the glorious remnant of the Guard, marching slowly,
halting, closing up, dressing, moved majestically from their last
battle.  Behind them the Guard's battery of twelve- pounders was
drawn up upon the ridge.  Every gunner was in his place, but no
gun fired.  "Why do you not fire?" I asked the colonel as I
passed.  "Our powder is finished."  "Then why not retire?"  "Our
appearance may hold them back for a little.  We must give the
Emperor time to escape."  Such were the soldiers of France.

Behind this screen of brave men the others took their breath, and
then went on in less desperate fashion.  They had broken away
from the road, and all over the countryside in the twilight I
could see the timid, scattered, frightened crowd who ten hours
before had formed the finest army that ever went down to battle. 
I with my splendid mare was soon able to get clear of the throng,
and just after I passed Genappe I overtook the Emperor with the
remains of his Staff.  Soult was with him still, and so were
Drouot, Lobau, and Bertrand, with five Chasseurs of the Guard,
their horses hardly able to move.

The night was falling, and the Emperor's haggard face gleamed
white through the gloom as he turned it toward me.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"It is Colonel Gerard," said Soult.

"Have you seen Marshal Grouchy?"

"No, Sire.  The Prussians were between."

"It does not matter.  Nothing matters now.  Soult, I will go
back."

He tried to turn his horse, but Bertrand seized his bridle.  "Ah,
Sire," said Soult, "the enemy has had good fortune enough
already."  They forced him on among them.  He rode in silence
with his chin upon his breast, the greatest and the saddest of
men.  Far away behind us those remorseless guns were still
roaring.  Sometimes out of the darkness would come shrieks and
screams and the low thunder of galloping hoofs.  At the sound we
would spur our horses and hasten onward through the scattered
troops.  At last, after riding all night in the clear moonlight,
we found that we had left both pursued and pursuers behind.  By
the time we passed over the bridge at Charleroi the dawn was
breaking.  What a company of spectres we looked in that cold,
clear, searching light, the Emperor with his face of wax, Soult
blotched with powder, Lobau dabbled with blood!  But we rode more
easily now, and had ceased to glance over our shoulders, for
Waterloo was more than thirty miles behind us.  One of the
Emperor's carriages had been picked up at Charleroi, and we
halted now on the other side of the Sambre, and dismounted from
our horses.

You will ask me why it was that during all this time I had said
nothing of that which was nearest my heart, the need for guarding
the Emperor.  As a fact, I had tried to speak of it both to Soult
and to Lobau, but their minds were so overwhelmed with the
disaster and so distracted by the pressing needs of the moment
that it was impossible to make them understand how urgent was my
message.  Besides, during this long flight we had always had
numbers of French fugitives beside us on the road, and, however
demoralised they might be, we had nothing to fear from the attack
of nine men.  But now, as we stood round the Emperor's carriage
in the early morning, I observed with anxiety that not a single
French soldier was to be seen upon the long, white road behind
us.  We had outstripped the army.  I looked round to see what
means of defence were left to us.  The horses of the Chasseurs of
the Guard had broken down, and only one of them, a grey-whiskered
sergeant, remained.

There were Soult, Lobau, and Bertrand; but, for all their
talents, I had rather, when it came to hard knocks, have a single
quartermaster-sergeant of Hussars at my side than the three of
them put together.  There remained the Emperor himself, the
coachman, and a valet of the household who had joined us at
Charleroi--eight all told; but of the eight only two, the
Chasseur and I, were fighting soldiers who could be depended upon
at a pinch.  A chill came over me as I reflected how utterly
helpless we were.  At that moment I raised my eyes, and there
were the nine Prussian horsemen coming over the hill.

On either side of the road at this point are long stretches of
rolling plain, part of it yellow with corn and part of it rich
grass land watered by the Sambre.  To the south of us was a low
ridge, over which was the road to France.  Along this road the
little group of cavalry was riding.  So well had Count Stein
obeyed his instructions that he had struck far to the south of us
in his determination to get ahead of the Emperor.  Now he was
riding from the direction in which we were going-- the last in
which we could expect an enemy.  When I caught that first glimpse
of them they were still half a mile away.

"Sire!" I cried, "the Prussians!"

They all started and stared.  It was the Emperor who broke the
silence.

"Who says they are Prussians?"

"I do, Sire--I, Etienne Gerard!"

Unpleasant news always made the Emperor furious against the man
who broke it.  He railed at me now in the rasping, croaking,
Corsican voice which only made itself heard when he had lost his
self-control.

"You were always a buffoon," he cried.  "What do you mean, you
numskull, by saying that they are Prussians?

How could Prussians be coming from the direction of France?  You
have lost any wits that you ever possessed."

His words cut me like a whip, and yet we all felt toward the
Emperor as an old dog does to its master.

His kick is soon forgotten and forgiven.  I would not argue or
justify myself.  At the first glance I had seen the two white
stockings on the forelegs of the leading horse, and I knew well
that Count Stein was on its back.

For an instant the nine horsemen had halted and surveyed us.  Now
they put spurs to their horses, and with a yell of triumph they
galloped down the road.  They had recognised that their prey was
in their power.

At that swift advance all doubt had vanished.  "By heavens, Sire,
it is indeed the Prussians!" cried Soult.

Lobau and Bertrand ran about the road like two frightened hens. 
The sergeant of Chasseurs drew his sabre with a volley of curses. 
The coachman and the valet cried and wrung their hands.  Napoleon
stood with a frozen face, one foot on the step of the carriage. 
And I--ah, my friends, I was magnificent!  What words can I use
to do justice to my own bearing at that supreme instant of my
life?  So coldly alert, so deadly cool, so clear in brain and
ready in hand.  He had called me a numskull and a buffoon.  How
quick and how noble was my revenge!  When his own wits failed
him, it was Etienne Gerard who supplied the want.

To fight was absurd; to fly was ridiculous.  The Emperor was
stout, and weary to death.  At the best he was never a good
rider.  How could he fly from these, the picked men of an army? 
The best horseman in Prussia was among them.  But I was the best
horseman in France.  I, and only I, could hold my own with them. 
If they were on my track instead of the Emperor's, all might
still be well.  These were the thoughts which flashed so swiftly
through my mind that in an instant I had sprung from the first
idea to the final conclusion.  Another instant carried me from
the final conclusion to prompt and vigorous action.  I rushed to
the side of the Emperor, who stood petrified, with the carriage
between him and our enemies.  "Your coat, Sire! your hat!" I
cried.  I dragged them of him.

Never had he been so hustled in his life.  In an instant I had
them on and had thrust him into the carriage.  The next I had
sprung on to his famous white Arab and had ridden clear of the
group upon the road.

You have already divined my plan; but you may well ask how could
I hope to pass myself off as the Emperor.

My figure is as you still see it, and his was never beautiful,
for he was both short and stout.  But a man's height is not
remarked when he is in the saddle, and for the rest one had but
to sit forward on the horse and round one's back and carry
oneself like a sack of flour.  I wore the little cocked hat and
the loose grey coat with the silver star which was known to every
child from one end of Europe to the other.  Beneath me was the
Emperor's own famous white charger.  It was complete.

Already as I rode clear the Prussians were within two hundred
yards of us.  I made a gesture of terror and despair with my
hands, and I sprang my horse over the bank which lined the road. 
It was enough.  A yell of exultation and of furious hatred broke
from the Prussians.

It was the howl of starving wolves who scent their prey.  I
spurred my horse over the meadow-land and looked back under my
arm as I rode.  Oh, the glorious moment when one after the other
I saw eight horsemen come over the bank at my heels!  Only one
had stayed behind, and I heard shouting and the sounds of a
struggle.  I remembered my old sergeant of Chasseurs, and I was
sure that number nine would trouble us no more.  The road was
clear and the Emperor free to continue his journey.

But now I had to think of myself.  If I were overtaken the
Prussians would certainly make short work of me in their
disappointment.  If it were so--if I lost my life--I should still
have sold it at a glorious price.  But I had hopes that I might
shake them off.  With ordinary horsemen upon ordinary horses I
should have had no difficulty in doing so, but here both steeds
and riders were of the best.  It was a grand creature that I
rode, but it was weary with its long night's work, and the
Emperor was one of those riders who do not know how to manage a
horse.  He had little thought far them and a heavy hand upon
their mouths.  On the other hand, Stein and his men had come both
far and fast.  The race was a fair one.

So quick had been my impulse, and so rapidly had I acted upon it,
that I had not thought enough of my own safety.  Had I done so in
the first instance I should, of course, have ridden straight back
the way we had come, for so I should have met our own people. 
But I was off the road and had galloped a mile over the plain
before this occurred to me.  Then when I looked back I saw that
the Prussians had spread out into a long line, so as to head me
off from the Charleroi road.  I could not turn back, but at least
I could edge toward the north.  I knew that the whole face of the
country was covered with our flying troops, and that sooner or
later I must come upon some of them.

But one thing I had forgotten--the Sambre.  In my excitement I
never gave it a thought until I saw it, deep and broad, gleaming
in the morning sunlight.  It barred my path, and the Prussians
howled behind me.  I galloped to the brink, but the horse refused
the plunge.  I spurred him, but the bank was high and the stream
deep.

He shrank back trembling and snorting.  The yells of triumph were
louder every instant.  I turned and rode for my life down the
river bank.  It formed a loop at this part, and I must get across
somehow, for my retreat was blocked.  Suddenly a thrill of hope
ran through me, for I saw a house on my side of the stream and
another on the farther bank.  Where there are two such houses it
usually means that there is a ford between them.  A sloping path
led to the brink and I urged my horse down it.  On he went, the
water up to the saddle, the foam flying right and left.  He
blundered once and I thought we were lost, but he recovered and
an instant later was clattering up the farther slope.  As we came
out I heard the splash behind me as the first Prussian took the
water.  There was just the breadth of the Sambre between us.

I rode with my head sunk between my shoulders in Napoleon's
fashion, and I did not dare to look back for fear they should see
my moustache.  I had turned up the collar of the grey coat so as
partly to hide it.  Even now if they found out their mistake they
might turn and overtake the carriage.  But when once we were on
the road I could tell by the drumming of their hoofs how far
distant they were, and it seemed to me that the sound grew
perceptibly louder, as if they were slowly gaining upon me.  We
were riding now up the stony and rutted lane which led from the
ford.  I peeped back very cautiously from under my arm and I
perceived that my danger came from a single rider, who was far
ahead of his comrades.

He was a Hussar, a very tiny fellow, upon a big black horse, and
it was his light weight which had brought him into the foremost
place.  It is a place of honour; but it is also a place of
danger, as he was soon to learn.  I felt the holsters, but, to my
horror, there were no pistols.  There was a field-glass in one
and the other was stuffed with papers.  My sword had been left
behind with Violette.

Had I only my own weapons and my own little mare I could have
played with these rascals.  But I was not entirely unarmed.  The
Emperor's own sword hung to the saddle.  It was curved and short,
the hilt all crusted with gold--a thing more fitted to glitter at
a review than to serve a soldier in his deadly need.  I drew it,
such as it was, and I waited my chance.  Every instant the clink
and clatter of the hoofs grew nearer.  I heard the panting of the
horse, and the fellow shouted some threat at me.  There was a
turn in the lane, and as I rounded it I drew up my white Arab on
his haunches.  As we spun round I met the Prussian Hussar face to
face.  He was going too fast to stop, and his only chance was to
ride me down.  Had he done so he might have met his own death,
but he would have injured me or my horse past all hope of escape. 
But the fool flinched as he saw me waiting and flew past me on my
right.  I lunged over my Arab's neck and buried my toy sword in
his side.  It must have been the finest steel and as sharp as a
razor, for I hardly felt it enter, and yet his blood was within
three inches of the hilt.  His horse galloped on and he kept his
saddle for a hundred yards before he sank down with his face on
the mane and then dived over the side of the neck on to the road. 
For my own part I was already at his horse's heels.  A few
seconds had sufficed for all that I have told.

I heard the cry of rage and vengeance which rose from the
Prussians as they passed their dead comrade, and I could not but
smile as I wondered what they could think of the Emperor as a
horseman and a swordsman.  I glanced back cautiously as before,
and I saw that none of the seven men stopped.  The fate of their
comrade was nothing compared to the carrying out of their
mission.

They were as untiring and as remorseless as bloodhounds.

But I had a good lead and the brave Arab was still going well.  I
thought that I was safe.  And yet it was at that very instant
that the most terrible danger befell me.  The lane divided, and I
took the smaller of the two divisions because it was the more
grassy and the easier for the horse's hoofs.  Imagine my horror
when, riding through a gate, I found myself in a square of
stables and farm-buildings, with no way out save that by which I
had come!  Ah, my friends, if my hair is snowy white, have I not
had enough to make it so?

To retreat was impossible.  I could hear the thunder of the
Prussians' hoofs in the lane.  I looked round me, and Nature has
blessed me with that quick eye which is the first of gifts to any
soldier, but most of all to a leader of cavalry.  Between a long,
low line of stables and the farm-house there was a pig-sty.  Its
front was made of bars of wood four feet high; the back was of
stone, higher than the front.  What was beyond I could not tell. 
The space between the front and the back was not more than a few
yards.  It was a desperate venture, and yet I must take it. 
Every instant the beating of those hurrying hoofs was louder and
louder.  I put my Arab at the pig-sty.  She cleared the front
beautifully and came down with her forefeet upon the sleeping pig
within, slipping forward upon her knees.  I was thrown over the
wall beyond, and fell upon my hands and face in a soft
flower-bed.  My horse was upon one side of the wall, I upon the
other, and the Prussians were pouring into the yard.  But I was
up in an instant and had seized the bridle of the plunging horse
over the top of the wall.  It was built of loose stones, and I
dragged down a few of them to make a gap.  As I tugged at the
bridle and shouted the gallant creature rose to the leap, and an
instant afterward she was by my side and I with my foot on the
stirrup.

An heroic idea had entered my mind as I mounted into the saddle. 
These Prussians, if they came over the pig- sty, could only come
one at once, and their attack would not be formidable when they
had not had time to recover from such a leap.  Why should I not
wait and kill them one by one as they came over?  It was a
glorious thought.  They would learn that Etienne Gerard was not a
safe man to hunt.  My hand felt for my sword, but you can imagine
my feelings, my friends, when I came upon an empty scabbard.  It
had been shaken out when the horse had tripped over that infernal
pig.  On what absurd trifles do our destinies hang--a pig on one
side, Etienne Gerard on the other!  Could I spring over the wall
and get the sword?  Impossible!  The Prussians were already in
the yard.  I turned my Arab and resumed my flight.

But for a moment it seemed to me that I was in a far worse trap
than before.  I found myself in the garden of the farm-house, an
orchard in the centre and flower- beds all round.  A high wall
surrounded the whole place.  I reflected, however, that there
must be some point of entrance, since every visitor could not be
expected to spring over the pig-sty.  I rode round the wall.  As
I expected, I came upon a door with a key upon the inner side.  I
dismounted, unlocked it, opened it, and there was a Prussian
Lancer sitting his horse within six feet of me.

For a moment we each stared at the other.  Then I shut the door
and locked it again.  A crash and a cry came from the other end
of the garden.  I understood that one of my enemies had come to
grief in trying to get over the pig-sty.  How could I ever get
out of this cul-de-sac?  It was evident that some of the party
had galloped round, while some had followed straight upon my
tracks.  Had I my sword I might have beaten off the Lancer at the
door, but to come out now was to be butchered.  And yet if I
waited some of them would certainly follow me on foot over the
pig-sty, and what could I do then?  I must act at once or I was
lost.  But it is at such moments that my wits are most active and
my actions most prompt.  Still leading my horse, I ran for a
hundred yards by the side of the wall away from the spot where
the Lancer was watching.  There I stopped, and with an effort I
tumbled down several of the loose stones from the top of the
wall.  The instant I had done so I hurried back to the door.  As
I had expected, he thought I was making a gap for my escape at
that point, and I heard the thud of his horse's hoofs as he
galloped to cut me off.  As I reached the gate I looked back, and
I saw a green-coated horseman, whom I knew to be Count Stein,
clear the pig-sty and gallop furiously with a shout of triumph
across the garden.

"Surrender, your Majesty, surrender!" he yelled; "we will give
you quarter!"  I slipped through the gate, but had no time to
lock it on the other side.  Stein was at my very heels, and the
Lancer had already turned his horse.  Springing upon my Arab's
back, I was off once more with a clear stretch of grass land
before me.  Stein had to dismount to open the gate, to lead his
horse through, and to mount again before he could follow.

It was he that I feared rather than the Lancer, whose horse was
coarse-bred and weary.  I galloped hard for a mile before I
ventured to look back, and then Stein was a musket-shot from me,
and the Lancer as much again, while only three of the others were
in sight.  My nine Prussians were coming down to more manageable
numbers, and yet one was too much for an unarmed man.

It had surprised me that during this long chase I had seen no
fugitives from the army, but I reflected that I was considerably
to the west of their line of flight, and that I must edge more
toward the east if I wished to join them.  Unless I did so it was
probable that my pursuers, even if they could not overtake me
themselves, would keep me in view until I was headed off by some
of their comrades coming from the north.  As I looked to the
eastward I saw afar off a line of dust which stretched for miles
across the country.  This was certainly the main road along which
our unhappy army was flying.  But I soon had proof that some of
our stragglers had wandered into these side tracks, for I came
suddenly upon a horse grazing at the corner of a field, and
beside him, with his back against the bank, his master, a French
Cuirassier, terribly wounded and evidently on the point of death. 
I sprang down, seized his long, heavy sword, and rode on with it. 
Never shall I forget the poor man's face as he looked at me with
his failing sight.  He was an old, grey-moustached soldier, one
of the real fanatics, and to him this last vision of his Emperor
was like a revelation from on high.

Astonishment, love, pride--all shone in his pallid face.  He said
something--I fear they were his last words --but I had no time to
listen, and I galloped on my way.

All this time I had been on the meadow-land, which was
intersected in this part by broad ditches.  Some of them could
not have been less than from fourteen to fifteen feet, and my
heart was in my mouth as I went at each of them, for a slip would
have been my ruin.

But whoever selected the Emperor's horses had done his work well. 
The creature, save when it balked on the bank of the Sambre,
never failed me for an instant.

We cleared everything in one stride.  And yet we could not shake
off! those infernal Prussians.  As I left each water-course
behind me I looked back with renewed hope; but it was only to see
Stein on his white-legged chestnut flying over it as lightly as I
had done myself.  He was my enemy, but I honoured him for the way
in which he carried himself that day.

Again and again I measured the distance which separated him from
the next horseman.  I had the idea that I might turn and cut him
down, as I had the Hussar, before his comrade could come to his
help.  But the others had closed up and ere not far behind.  I
reflected that this Stein was probably as fine a swordsman as he
was a rider, and that it might take me some little time to get
the better of him.  In that case the others would come to his aid
an I should be lost.  On the whole, it was wiser to continue my
flight.

A road with poplars on either side ran across the plain from east
to west.  It would lead me toward that long line of dust which
marked the French retreat.  I wheeled my horse, therefore, and
galloped down it.  As I rode I saw a single house in front of me
upon the right, with a great bush hung over the door to mark it
as an inn.  Outside there were several peasants, but for them I
cared nothing.  What frightened me was to see the gleam of a red
coat, which showed that there were British in the place. 
However, I could not turn and I could not stop, so there was
nothing for it but to gallop on and to take my chance.  There
were no troops in sight, so these men must be stragglers or
marauders, from whom I had little to fear.  As I approached I saw
that there were two of them sitting drinking on a bench outside
the inn door.  I saw them stagger to their feet, and it was
evident that they were both very drunk.  One stood swaying in the
middle of the road.

"It's Boney!  So help me, it's Boney!" he yelled.  He ran with
his hands out to catch me, but luckily for himself his drunken
feet stumbled and he fell on his face on the road.  The other was
more dangerous.  He had rushed into the inn, and just as I passed
I saw him run out with his musket in his hand.  He dropped upon
one knee, and I stooped forward over my horse's neck.

A single shot from a Prussian or an Austrian is a small matter,
but the British were at that time the best shots in Europe, and
my drunkard seemed steady enough when he had a gun at his
shoulder.  I heard the crack, and my horse gave a convulsive
spring which would have unseated many a rider.  For an instant I
thought he was killed, but when I turned in my saddle I saw a
stream of blood running down the off hind-quarter.  I looked back
at the Englishman, and the brute had bitten the end off another
cartridge and was ramming it into his musket, but before he had
it primed we were beyond his range.  These men were foot-soldiers
and could not join in the chase, but I heard them whooping and
tally-hoing behind me as if I had been a fox.  The peasants also
shouted and ran through the fields flourishing their sticks. 
From all sides I heard cries, and everywhere were the rushing,
waving figures of my pursuers.  To think of the great Emperor
being chivvied over the country-side in this fashion!  It made me
long to have these rascals within the sweep of my sword.

But now I felt that I was nearing the end of my course.  I had
done all that a man could be expected to do--some would say
more--but at last I had come to a point from which I could see no
escape.  The horses of my pursuers were exhausted, but mine was
exhausted and wounded also.  It was losing blood fast, and we
left a red trail upon the white, dusty road.  Already his pace
was slackening, and sooner or later he must drop under me.  I
looked back, and there were the five inevitable Prussians--Stein
a hundred yards in front, then a Lancer, and then three others
riding together.

Stein had drawn his sword, and he waved it at me.  For my own
part I was determined not to give myself up.

I would try how many of these Prussians I could take with me into
the other world.  At this supreme moment all the great deeds of
my life rose in a vision before me, and I felt that this, my last
exploit, was indeed a worthy close to such a career.  My death
would be a fatal blow to those who loved me, to my dear mother,
to my Hussars, to others who shall be nameless.  But all of them
had my honour and my fame at heart, and I felt that their grief
would be tinged with pride when they learned how I had ridden and
how I had fought upon this last day.  Therefore I hardened my
heart and, as my Arab limped more and more upon his wounded leg,
I drew the great sword which I had taken from the Cuirassier, and
I set my teeth for my supreme struggle.  My hand was in the very
act of tightening the bridle, for I feared that if I delayed
longer I might find myself on foot fighting against five mounted
men.

At that instant my eye fell upon something which brought hope to
my heart and a shout of joy to my lips.

From a grove of trees in front of me there projected the steeple
of a village church.  But there could not be two steeples like
that, for the corner of it had crumbled away or been struck by
lightning, so that it was of a most fantastic shape.  I had seen
it only two daye{sic} before, and it was the church of the
village of Gosselies.  It was not the hope of reaching the
village which set my heart singing with joy, but it was that I
knew my ground now, and that farm-house not half a mile ahead,
with its gable end sticking out from amid the trees, must be that
very farm of St. Aunay where we had bivouacked, and which I had
named to Captain Sabbatier as the rendezvous of the Hussars of
Conflans.  There they were, my little rascals, if I could but
reach them.  With every bound my horse grew weaker.  Each instant
the sound of the pursuit grew louder.  I heard a gust of
crackling German oaths at my very heels.  A pistol bullet sighed
in my ears.  Spurring frantically and beating my poor Arab with
the flat of my sword I kept him at the top of his speed.  The
open gate of the farm-yard lay before me.  I saw the twinkle of
steel within.  Stein's horse's head was within ten yards of me as
I thundered through.

"To me, comrades!  To me!" I yelled.  I heard a buzz as when the
angry bees swarm from their nest.  Then my splendid white Arab
fell dead under me and I was hurled on to the cobble-stones of
the yard, where I can remember no more.

Such was my last and most famous exploit, my dear friends, a
story which rang through Europe and has made the name of Etienne
Gerard famous in history.

Alas! that all my efforts could only give the Emperor a few weeks
more liberty, since he surrendered upon the 15th of July to the
English.  But it was not my fault that he was not able to collect
the forces still waiting for him in France, and to fight another
Waterloo with a happier ending.  Had others been as loyal as I
was the history of the world might have been changed, the Emperor
would have preserved his throne, and such a soldier as I would
not have been left to spend his life in planting cabbages or to
while away his old age telling stories in a cafe.  You ask me
about the fate of Stein and the Prussian horsemen!  Of the three
who dropped upon the way I know nothing.  One you will remember
that I killed.  There remained five, three of whom were cut down
by my Hussars, who, for the instant, were under the impression
that it was indeed the Emperor whom they were defending.  Stein
was taken, slightly wounded, and so was one of the Uhlans.  The
truth was not told to them, for we thought it best that no news,
or false news, should get about as to where the Emperor was, so
that Count Stein still believed that he was within a few yards of
making that tremendous capture.  "You may well love and honour
your Emperor," said he, "for such a horseman and such a swordsman
I have never seen."  He could not understand why the young
colonel of Hussars laughed so heartily at his words--but he has
learned since.



VIII. The Last Adventure of the Brigadier

I will tell you no more stories, my dear friends.  It is said
that man is like the hare, which runs in a circle and comes back
to die at the point from which it started.

Gascony has been calling to me of late.  I see the blue Garonne
winding among the vineyards and the bluer ocean toward which its
waters sweep.  I see the old town also, and the bristle of masts
from the side of the long stone quay.  My heart hungers for the
breath of my native air and the warm glow of my native sun.

Here in Paris are my friends, my occupations, my pleasures. 
There all who have known me are in their grave.  And yet the
southwest wind as it rattles on my windows seems always to be the
strong voice of the motherland calling her child back to that
bosom into which I am ready to sink.  I have played my part in my
time.  The time has passed.  I must pass also.

Nay, dear friends, do not look sad, for what can be happier than
a life completed in honour and made beautiful with friendship and
love?  And yet it is solemn also when a man approaches the end of
the long road and sees the turning which leads him into the
unknown.  But the Emperor and all his Marshals have ridden round
that dark turning and passed into the beyond.  My Hussars,
too--there are not fifty men who are not waiting yonder.  I must
go.  But on this the last night I will tell you that which is
more than a tale--it is a great historical secret.  My lips have
been sealed, but I see no reason why I should not leave behind me
some account of this remarkable adventure, which must otherwise
be entirely lost, since I and only I, of all living men, have a
knowledge of the facts.

I will ask you to go back with me to the year 1821.

In that year our great Emperor had been absent from us for six
years, and only now and then from over the seas we heard some
whisper which showed that he was still alive.  You cannot think
what a weight it was upon our hearts for us who loved him to
think of him in captivity eating his giant soul out upon that
lonely island.  From the moment we rose until we closed our eyes
in sleep the thought was always with us, and we felt dishonoured
that he, our chief and master, should be so humiliated without
our being able to move a hand to help him.  There were many who
would most willingly have laid down the remainder of their lives
to bring him a little ease, and yet all that we could do was to
sit and grumble in our cafes and stare at the map, counting up
the leagues of water which lay between us.

It seemed that he might have been in the moon for all that we
could do to help him.  But that was only because we were all
soldiers and knew nothing of the sea.

Of course, we had our own little troubles to make us bitter, as
well as the wrongs of our Emperor.  There were many of us who had
held high rank and would hold it again if he came back to his
own.  We had not found it possible to take service under the
white flag of the Bourbons, or to take an oath which might turn
our sabres against the man whom we loved.  So we found ourselves
with neither work nor money.  What could we do save gather
together and gossip and grumble, while those who had a little
paid the score and those who had nothing shared the bottle?  Now
and then, if we were lucky, we managed to pick a quarrel with one
of the Garde du Corps, and if we left him on his hack in the Bois
we felt that we had struck a blow for Napoleon once again.  They
came to know our haunts in time, and they avoided them as if they
had been hornets' nests.

There was one of these--the Sign of the Great Man --in the Rue
Varennes, which was frequented by several of the more
distinguished and younger Napoleonic officers.  Nearly all of us
had been colonels or aides- de-camp, and when any man of less
distinction came among us we generally made him feel that he had
taken a liberty.  There were Captain Lepine, who had won the
medal of honour at Leipzig; Colonel Bonnet, aide-de-camp to
Macdonald; Colonel Jourdan, whose fame in the army was hardly
second to my own; Sabbatier of my own Hussars, Meunier of the Red
Lancers, Le Breton of the Guards, and a dozen others.

Every night we met and talked, played dominoes, drank a glass or
two, and wondered how long it would be before the Emperor would
be back and we at the head of our regiments once more.  The
Bourbons had already lost any hold they ever had upon the
country, as was shown a few years afterward, when Paris rose
against them and they were hunted for the third time out of
France.  Napoleon had but to show himself on the coast, and he
would have marched without firing a musket to the capital,
exactly as he had done when he came back from Elba.

Well, when affairs were in this state there arrived one night in
February, in our cafe, a most singular little man.  He was short
but exceedingly broad, with huge shoulders, and a head which was
a deformity, so large was it.  His heavy brown face was scarred
with white streaks in a most extraordinary manner, and he had
grizzled whiskers such as seamen wear.  Two gold earrings in his
ears, and plentiful tattooing upon his hands and arms, told us
also that he was of the sea before he introduced himself to us as
Captain Fourneau, of the Emperor's navy.  He had letters of
introduction to two of our number, and there could be no doubt
that he was devoted to the cause.  He won our respect, too, for
he had seen as much fighting as any of us, and the burns upon his
face were caused by his standing to his post upon the Orient, at
the Battle of the Nile, until the vessel blew up underneath him. 
Yet he would say little about himself, but he sat in the corner
of the cafe watching us all with a wonderfully sharp pair of eyes
and listening intently to our talk.

One night I was leaving the cafe when Captain Fourneau followed
me, and touching me on the arm he led me without saying a word
for some distance until we reached his lodgings.  "I wish to have
a chat with you," said he, and so conducted me up the stair to
his room.  There he lit a lamp and handed me a sheet of paper
which he took from an envelope in his bureau.  It was dated a few
months before from the Palace of Schonbrunn at Vienna.  "Captain
Fourneau is acting in the highest interests of the Emperor
Napoleon.

Those who love the Emperor should obey him without
question.--Marie Louise."  That is what I read.  I was familiar
with the signature of the Empress, and I could not doubt that
this was genuine.

"Well," said he, "are you satisfied as to my credentials?"

"Entirely."

"Are you prepared to take your orders from me?"

"This document leaves me no choice."

"Good!  In the first place, I understand from something you said
in the cafe that you can speak English?"

"Yes, I can."

"Let me hear you do so."

I said in English, "Whenever the Emperor needs the help of
Etienne Gerard I am ready night and day to give my life in his
service."  Captain Fourneau smiled.

"It is funny English," said he, "but still it is better than no
English.  For my own part I speak English like an Englishman.  It
is all that I have to show for six years spent in an English
prison.  Now I will tell you why I have come to Paris.  I have
come in order to choose an agent who will help me in a matter
which affects the interests of the Emperor.  I was told that it
was at the cafe of the Great Man that I would find the pick of
his old officers, and that I could rely upon every man there
being devoted to his interests.  I studied you all, therefore,
and I have come to the conclusion that you are the one who is
most suited for my purpose."

I acknowledged the compliment.  "What is it that you wish me to
do?" I asked.

"Merely to keep me company for a few months," said he.  "You must
know that after my release in England I settled down there,
married an English wife, and rose to command a small English
merchant ship, in which I have made several voyages from
Southampton to the Guinea coast.  They look on me there as an
Englishman.

You can understand, however, that with my feelings about the
Emperor I am lonely sometimes, and that it would be an advantage
to me to have a companion who would sympathize with my thoughts. 
One gets very bored on these long voyages, and I would make it
worth your while to share my cabin."

He looked hard at me with his shrewd grey eyes all the time that
he was uttering this rigmarole, and I gave him a glance in return
which showed him that he was not dealing with a fool.  He took
out a canvas bag full of money.

"There are a hundred pounds in gold in this bag," said he.  "You
will be able to buy some comforts for your voyage.  I should
recommend you to get them in Southampton, whence we will start in
ten days.  The name of the vessel is the Black Swan.  I return to
Southampton to-morrow, and I shall hope to see you in the course
of the next week."

"Come now," said I.  "Tell me frankly what is the destination of
our voyage?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" he answered.  "We are bound for the
Guinea coast of Africa."

"Then how can that be in the highest interests of the Emperor?" I
asked.

"It is in his highest interests that you ask no indiscreet
questions and I give no indiscreet replies," he answered,
sharply.  So he brought the interview to an end, and I found
myself back in my lodgings with nothing save this bag of gold to
show that this singular interview had indeed taken place.

There was every reason why I should see the adventure to a
conclusion, and so within a week I was on my way to England.  I
passed from St. Malo to Southampton, and on inquiry at the docks
I had no difficulty in finding the Black Swan, a neat little
vessel of a shape which is called, as I learned afterward, a
brig.  There was Captain Fourneau himself upon the deck, and
seven or eight rough fellows hard at work grooming her and making
her ready for sea.  He greeted me and led me down to his cabin.

"You are plain Mr. Gerard now," said he, "and a Channel Islander. 
I would be obliged to you if you would kindly forget your
military ways and drop your cavalry swagger when you walk up and
down my deck.

A beard, too, would seem more sailor-like than those moustaches."

I was horrified by his words, but, after all, there are no ladies
on the high seas, and what did it matter?  He rang for the
steward.

"Gustav," said he, "you will pay every attention to my friend,
Monsieur Etienne Gerard, who makes this voyage with us.  This is
Gustav Kerouan, my Breton steward," he explained, "and you are
very safe in his hands."

This steward, with his harsh face and stern eyes, looked a very
warlike person for so peaceful an employment.

I said nothing, however, though you may guess that I kept my eyes
open.  A berth had been prepared for me next the cabin, which
would have seemed comfortable enough had it not contrasted with
the extraordinary splendour of Fourneau's quarters.  He was
certainly a most luxurious person, for his room was new-fitted
with velvet and silver in a way which would have suited the yacht
of a noble better than a little West African trader.

So thought the mate, Mr. Burns, who could not hide his amusement
and contempt whenever he looked at it.

This fellow, a big, solid, red-headed Englishman, had the other
berth connected with the cabin.  There was a second mate named
Turner, who lodged in the middle of the ship, and there were nine
men and one boy in the crew, three of whom, as I was informed by
Mr. Burns, were Channel Islanders like myself.  This Burns, the
first mate, was much interested to know why I was coming with
them.

"I come for pleasure," said I.

He stared at me.

"Ever been to the West Coast?" he asked.

I said that I had not.

"I thought not," said he.  "You'll never come again for that
reason, anyhow."

Some three days after my arrival we untied the ropes by which the
ship was tethered and we set off upon our journey.  I was never a
good sailor, and I may confess that we were far out of sight of
any land before I was able to venture upon deck.  At last,
however, upon the fifth day I drank the soup which the good
Kerouan brought me, and I was able to crawl from my bunk and up
the stair.  The fresh air revived me, and from that time onward I
accommodated myself to the motion of the vessel.  My beard had
begun to grow also, and I have no doubt that I should have made
as fine a sailor as I have a soldier had I chanced to be born to
that branch of the service.  I learned to pull the ropes which
hoisted the sails, and also to haul round the long sticks to
which they are attached.  For the most part, however, my duties
were to play ecarte with Captain Fourneau, and to act as his
companion.  It was not strange that he should need one, for
neither of his mates could read or write, though each of them was
an excellent seaman.

If our captain had died suddenly I cannot imagine how we should
have found our way in that waste of waters, for it was only he
who had the knowledge which enabled him to mark our place upon
the chart.  He had this fixed upon the cabin wall, and every day
he put our course upon it so that we could see at a glance how
far we were from our destination.  It was wonderful how well he
could calculate it, for one morning he said that we should see
the Cape Verd light that very night, and there it was, sure
enough, upon our left front the moment that darkness came.  Next
day, however, the land was out of sight, and Burns, the mate,
explained to me that we should see no more until we came to our
port in the Gulf of Biafra.  Every day we flew south with a
favouring wind, and always at noon the pin upon the chart was
moved nearer and nearer to the African coast.  I may explain that
palm oil was the cargo which we were in search of, and that our
own lading consisted of coloured cloths, old muskets, and such
other trifles as the English sell to the savages.

At last the wind which had followed us so long died away, and for
several days we drifted about on a calm and oily sea, under a sun
which brought the pitch bubbling out between the planks upon the
deck.  We turned and turned our sails to catch every wandering
puff, until at last we came out of this belt of calm and ran
south again with a brisk breeze, the sea all round us being alive
with flying fishes.  For some days Burns appeared to be uneasy,
and I observed him continually shading his eyes with his hand and
staring at the horizon as if he were looking for land.  Twice I
caught him with his red head against the chart in the cabin,
gazing at that pin, which was always approaching and yet never
reaching the African coast.  At last one evening, as Captain
Fourneau and I were playing ecarte in the cabin, the mate entered
with an angry look upon his sunburned face.

"I beg your pardon, Captain Fourneau," said he.

"But do you know what course the man at the wheel is steering?"

"Due south," the captain answered, with his eyes fixed upon his
cards.

"And he should be steering due east."

"How do you make that out?"

The mate gave an angry growl.

"I may not have much education," said he, "but let me tell you
this, Captain Fourneau, I've sailed these waters since I was a
little nipper of ten, and I know the line when I'm on it, and I
know the doldrums, and I know how to find my way to the oil
rivers.  We are south of the line now, and we should be steering
due east instead of due south if your port is the port that the
owners sent you to."

"Excuse me, Mr. Gerard.  Just remember that it is my lead," said
the captain, laying down his cards.

"Come to the map here, Mr. Burns, and I will give you a lesson in
practical navigation.  Here is the trade wind from the southwest
and here is the line, and here is the port that we want to make,
and here is a man who will have his own way aboard his own ship." 
As he spoke he seized the unfortunate mate by the throat and
squeezed him until he was nearly senseless.  Kerouan, the
steward, had rushed in with a rope, and between them they gagged
and trussed the man, so that he was utterly helpless.

"There is one of our Frenchmen at the wheel.  We had best put the
mate overboard," said the steward.

"That is safest," said Captain Fourneau.

But that was more than I could stand.  Nothing would persuade me
to agree to the death of a helpless man.

With a bad grace Captain Fourneau consented to spare him, and we
carried him to the after-hold, which lay under the cabin.  There
he was laid among the bales of Manchester cloth.

"It is not worth while to put down the hatch," said Captain
Fourneau.  "Gustav, go to Mr. Turner and tell him that I would
like to have a word with him."

The unsuspecting second mate entered the cabin, and was instantly
gagged and secured as Burns had been.

He was carried down and laid beside his comrade.  The hatch was
then replaced.

"Our hands have been forced by that red-headed dolt," said the
captain, "and I have had to explode my mine before I wished. 
However, there is no great harm done, and it will not seriously
disarrange my plans.

"Kerouan, you will take a keg of rum forward to the crew and tell
them that the captain gives it to them to drink his health on the
occasion of crossing the line.

"They will know no better.  As to our own fellows, bring them
down to your pantry so that we may me sure that they are ready
for business.  Now, Colonel Gerard, with your permission we will
resume our game of ecarte."

It is one of those occasions which one does not forget.

This captain, who was a man of iron, shuffled and cut, dealt and
played as if he were in his cafe.  From below we heard the
inarticulate murmurings of the two mates, half smothered by the
handkerchiefs which gagged them.  Outside the timbers creaked and
the sails hummed under the brisk breeze which was sweeping us
upon our way.  Amid the splash of the waves and the whistle of
the wind we heard the wild cheers and shoutings of the English
sailors as they broached the keg of rum.  We played half-a-dozen
games and then the captain rose.  "I think they are ready for us
now," said he.  He took a brace of pistols from a locker, and he
handed one of them to me.

But we had no need to fear resistance, for there was no one to
resist.  The Englishman of those days, whether soldier or sailor,
was an incorrigible drunkard.

Without drink he was a brave and good man.  But if drink were
laid before him it was a perfect madness-- nothing could induce
him to take it with moderation.

In the dim light of the den which they inhabited, five senseless
figures and two shouting, swearing, singing madmen represented
the crew of the Black Swan.  Coils of rope were brought forward
by the steward, and with the help of two French seamen (the third
was at the wheel) we secured the drunkards and tied them up, so
that it was impossible for them to speak or move.  They were
placed under the fore-hatch, as their officers had been under the
after one, and Kerouan was directed twice a day to give them food
and drink.  So at last we found that the Black Swan was entirely
our own.

Had there been bad weather I do not know what we should have
done, but we still went gaily upon our way with a wind which was
strong enough to drive us swiftly south, but not strong enough to
cause us alarm.  On the evening of the third day I found Captain
Fourneau gazing eagerly out from the platform in the front of the
vessel.  "Look, Gerard, look!" he cried, and pointed over the
pole which stuck out in front.

A light blue sky rose from a dark blue sea, and far away, at the
point where they met, was a shadowy something like a cloud, but
more definite in shape.

"What is it?" I cried.

"It is land."

"And what land?"

I strained my ears for the answer, and yet I knew already what
the answer would be.

"It is St. Helena."

Here, then, was the island of my dreams!  Here was the cage where
our great Eagle of France was confined!

All those thousands of leagues of water had not sufficed to keep
Gerard from the master whom he loved.

There he was, there on that cloud-bank yonder over the dark blue
sea.  How my eyes devoured it!  How my soul flew in front of the
vessel--flew on and on to tell him that he was not forgotten,
that after many days one faithful servant was coming to his side. 
Every instant the dark blur upon the water grew harder and
clearer.

Soon I could see plainly enough that it was indeed a mountainous
island.  The night fell, but still I knelt upon the deck, with my
eyes fixed upon the darkness which covered the spot where I knew
that the great Emperor was.  An hour passed and another one, and
then suddenly a little golden twinkling light shone out exactly
ahead of us.  It was the light of the window of some
house--perhaps of his house.  It could not be more than a mile or
two away.  Oh, how I held out my hands to it!--they were the
hands of Etienne Gerard, but it was for all France that they were
held out.

Every light had been extinguished aboard our ship, and presently,
at the direction of Captain Fourneau, we all pulled upon one of
the ropes, which had the effect of swinging round one of the
sticks above us, and so stopping the vessel.  Then he asked me to
step down to the cabin.

"You understand everything now, Colonel Gerard," said he, "and
you will forgive me if I did not take you into my complete
confidence before.  In a matter of such importance I make no man
my confidant.  I have long planned the rescue of the Emperor, and
my remaining in England and joining their merchant service was
entirely with that design.  All has worked out exactly as I
expected.  I have made several successful voyages to the West
Coast of Africa, so that there was no difficulty in my obtaining
the command of this one.  One by one I got these old French
man-of-war's-men among the hands.  As to you, I was anxious to
have one tried fighting man in case of resistance, and I also
desired to have a fitting companion for the Emperor during his
long homeward voyage.  My cabin is already fitted up for his use. 
I trust that before to-morrow morning he will be inside it, and
we out of sight of this accursed island."

You can think of my emotion, my friends, as I listened to these
words.  I embraced the brave Fourneau, and implored him to tell
me how I could assist him.

"I must leave it all in your hands," said he.  "Would that I
could have been the first to pay him homage, but it would not be
wise for me to go.  The glass is falling, there is a storm
brewing, and we have the land under our lee.  Besides, there are
three English cruisers near the island which may be upon us at
any moment.  It is for me, therefore, to guard the ship and for
you to bring off the Emperor."

I thrilled at the words.

"Give me your instructions!" I cried.

"I can only spare you one man, for already I can hardly pull
round the yards," said he.  "One of the boats has been lowered,
and this man will row you ashore and await your return.  The
light which you see is indeed the light of Longwood.  All who are
in the house are your friends, and all may be depended upon to
aid the Emperor's escape.  There is a cordon of English sentries,
but they are not very near to the house.  Once you have got as
far as that you will convey our plans to the Emperor, guide him
down to the boat, and bring him on board."

The Emperor himself could not have given his instructions more
shortly and clearly.  There was not a moment to be lost.  The
boat with the seaman was waiting alongside.  I stepped into it,
and an instant afterward we had pushed off.  Our little boat
danced over the dark waters, but always shining before my eyes
was the light of Longwood, the light of the Emperor, the star of
hope.  Presently the bottom of the boat grated upon the pebbles
of the beach.  It was a deserted cove, and no challenge from a
sentry came to disturb us.  I left the seaman by the boat and I
began to climb the hillside.

There was a goat track winding in and out among the rocks, so I
had no difficulty in finding my way.  It stands to reason that
all paths in St. Helena would lead to the Emperor.  I came to a
gate.  No sentry--and I passed through.  Another gate--still no
sentry!  I wondered what had become of this cordon of which
Fourneau had spoken.  I had come now to the top of my climb, for
there was the light burning steadily right in front of me.  I
concealed myself and took a good look round, but still I could
see no sign of the enemy.  As I approached I saw the house, a
long, low building with a veranda.  A man was walking up and down
upon the path in front.  I crept nearer and had a look at him.

Perhaps it was this cursed Hudson Lowe.  What a triumph if I
could not only rescue the Emperor, but also avenge him!  But it
was more likely that this man was an English sentry.  I crept
nearer still, and the man stopped in front of the lighted window,
so that I could see him.  No; it was no soldier, but a priest.  I
wondered what such a man could be doing there at two in the
morning.  Was he French or English?  If he were one of the
household I might take him into my confidence.  If he were
English he might ruin all my plans.

I crept a little nearer still, and at that moment he entered the
house, a flood of light pouring out through the open door.  All
was clear for me now and I understood that not an instant was to
be lost.  Bending myself double I ran swiftly forward to the
lighted window.

Raising my head I peeped through, and there was the Emperor lying
dead before me.

My friends, I fell down upon the gravel walk as senseless as if a
bullet had passed through my brain.  So great was the shock that
I wonder that I survived it.

And yet in half an hour I had staggered to my feet again,
shivering in every limb, my teeth chattering, and there I stood
staring with the eyes of a maniac into that room of death.

He lay upon a bier in the centre of the chamber, calm, composed,
majestic, his face full of that reserve power which lightened our
hearts upon the day of battle.  A half-smile was fixed upon his
pale lips, and his eyes, half-opened, seemed to be turned on
mine.  He was stouter than when I had seen him at Waterloo, and
there was a gentleness of expression which I had never seen in
life.  On either side of him burned rows of candles, and this was
the beacon which had welcomed us at sea, which had guided me over
the water, and which I had hailed as my star of hope.  Dimly I
became conscious that many people were kneeling in the room; the
little Court, men and women, who had shared his fortunes,
Bertrand, his wife, the priest, Montholon--all were there.  I
would have prayed too, but my heart was too heavy and bitter for
prayer.  And yet I must leave, and I could not leave him without
a sign.  Regardless of whether I was seen or not, I drew myself
erect before my dead leader, brought my heels together, and
raised my hand in a last salute.  Then I turned and hurried of
through the darkness, with the picture of the wan, smiling lips
and the steady grey eyes dancing always before me.

It had seemed to me but a little time that I had been away, and
yet the boatman told me that it was hours.

Only when he spoke of it did I observe that the wind was blowing
half a gale from the sea and that the waves were roaring in upon
the beach.  Twice we tried to push out our little boat, and twice
it was thrown back by the sea.  The third time a great wave
filled it and stove the bottom.  Helplessly we waited beside it
until the dawn broke, to show a raging sea and a flying scud
above it.  There was no sign of the Black Swan.  Climbing the
hill we looked down, but on all the great torn expanse of the
ocean there was no gleam of a sail.  She was gone.  Whether she
had sunk, or whether she was recaptured by her English crew, or
what strange fate may have been in store for her, I do not know. 
Never again in this life did I see Captain Fourneau to tell him
the result of my mission.  For my own part I gave myself up to
the English, my boatman and I pretending that we were the only
survivors of a lost vessel--though, indeed, there was no pretence
in the matter.  At the hands of their officers I received that
generous hospitality which I have always encountered, but it was
many a long month before I could get a passage back to the dear
land outside of which there can be no happiness for so true a
Frenchman as myself.

And so I tell you in one evening how I bade good-bye to my
master, and I take my leave also of you, my kind friends, who
have listened so patiently to the long- winded stories of an old
broken soldier.  Russia, Italy, Germany, Spain, Portugal, and
England, you have gone with me to all these countries, and you
have seen through my dim eyes something of the sparkle and
splendour of those great days, and I have brought back to you
some shadow of those men whose tread shook the earth.  Treasure
it in your minds and pass it on to your children, for the memory
of a great age is the most precious treasure that a nation can
possess.  As the tree is nurtured by its own cast leaves so it is
these dead men and vanished days which may bring out another
blossoming of heroes, of rulers, and of sages.  I go to Gascony,
but my words stay here in your memory, and long after Etienne
Gerard is forgotten a heart may be warmed or a spirit braced by
some faint echo of the words that he has spoken.  Gentlemen, an
old soldier salutes you and bids you farewell.





Project Gutenberg Etext of Adventures of Gerard by A. Conan Doyle


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