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The Adventures of Gerard

by Arthur Conan Doyle · English · Gutenberg #1644 · 371,077 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Adventures of Gerard

Author: Arthur Conan Doyle


        
Release date: February 1, 1999 [eBook #1644]
                Most recently updated: March 6, 2018

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1644

Credits: Produced by Charles Keller, and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF GERARD ***




Produced by Charles Keller





THE ADVENTURES OF GERARD

By A. Conan Doyle




     “Il etait brave mais avec cette graine de folie 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 off 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 off 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 off 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 tric

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