I had scarcely finished my breakfast, when a group of officers rode up
to our quarters to visit me. My arrival had already created an immense
sensation in the city, and all kinds of rumours were afloat as to the
tidings I had brought. The meagreness of the information would, indeed,
have seemed in strong contrast to the enterprise and hazard of the
escape, had I not the craft to eke it out by that process of suggestion
and speculation in which I was rather an adept.
Little in substance as my information was, all the younger officers
were in favour of acting upon it. The English are no bad judges of our
position and chances, was the constant argument. They see exactly how we
stand; they know the relative forces of our army and the enemy’s; and if
the ‘cautious islanders’--such was the phrase--advised a _coup de main_,
it surely must have much in its favour. I lay stress upon the remark,
trifling as it may seem; but it is curious to know, that with all the
immense successes of England on sea, her reputation at that time among
Frenchmen was rather for prudent and well-matured undertaking than for
those daring enterprises which are as much the character of her courage.
My visitors continued to pour in during the morning--officers of every
arm and rank, some from mere idle curiosity, some to question and
interrogate, and not a few to solve doubts in their mind as to my being
really French, and a soldier, and not an agent of that ‘perfide Albion,’
whose treachery was become a proverb amongst us. Many were disappointed
at my knowing so little. I neither could tell the date of Napoleon’s
passing St. Gothard, nor the amount of his force; neither knew I whether
he meant to turn eastward towards the plains of Lombardy, or march
direct to the relief of Genoa. Of Moreau’s successes in Germany, too, I
had only heard vaguely, and, of course, could recount nothing. I
could overhear, occasionally, around and about me, the murmurs of
dissatisfaction my ignorance called forth, and was not a little grateful
to an old artillery captain for saying, ‘That’s the very best thing
about the lad; a spy would have had his whole lesson by heart.’
‘You are right, sir,’ cried I, catching at the words; ‘I may know but
little, and that little, perhaps, valueless and insignificant, but my
truth no man shall gainsay.’
The boldness of this speech from one wasted and miserable as I was, with
tattered shoes and ragged clothes, caused a hearty laugh, in which, as
much from policy as feeling, I joined myself.
‘Come here, _mon cher_,’ said an infantry colonel, as, walking to the
door of the room, he drew his telescope from his pocket; ‘you tell us of
a _coup de main_--on the Monte Faccio, is it not?’
‘Yes,’ replied I promptly, ‘so I understand the name.’
‘Well, have you ever seen the place?’
‘Never.’
‘Well, there it is yonder’; and he handed me his glass as he spoke. ‘You
see that large beetling cliff, with the olives at the foot? There, on
the summit, stands the Monte Faccio. The road--the pathway rather, and a
steep one it is--leads up where you see those goats feeding, and crosses
in front of the crag, directly beneath the fire of the batteries.
There’s not a spot on the whole ascent where three men could march
abreast; and wherever there is any shelter from fire, the guns of the
“Sprona,” that small fort to the right, take the whole position. What do
you think of your counsel now?’
‘You forget, sir, it is not my counsel. I merely repeat what I
overheard.’
‘And do you mean to say, that the men who gave that advice were serious,
or capable of adopting it themselves?’
‘Most assuredly; they would never recommend to others what they felt
unequal to themselves. I know these English well, and so much will I say
of them.’
‘Bah!’ cried he, with an insolent gesture of his hand, and turned
away; and I could plainly see that my praises of the enemy were very
ill-taken. In fact, my unlucky burst of generosity had done more to
damage my credit than all the dangerous or impracticable features of
my scheme. Every eye was turned to the bold precipice, and the stern
fortress that crowned it, and all agreed that an attack must be
hopeless.
I saw, too late, the great fault I had committed, and that nothing could
be more wanting in tact than to suggest to Frenchmen an enterprise which
Englishmen deemed practicable, and which yet, to the former, seemed
beyond all reach of success. The insult was too palpable and too direct;
but to retract was impossible, and I had now to sustain a proposition
which gave offence on every side.
It was very mortifying to me to see how soon all my personal credit
was merged in this unhappy theory. No one thought more of my hazardous
escape, the perils I encountered, or the sufferings I had undergone. All
that was remembered of me was the affront I had offered to the national
courage, and the preference I had implied to English bravery.
Never did I pass a more tormenting day. New arrivals continually
refreshed the discussion, and always with the same results. And although
some were satisfied to convey their opinions by a shake of the head or a
dubious smile, others, more candid than civil, plainly intimated that if
I had nothing of more consequence to tell, I might as well have stayed
where I was, and not added one more to a garrison so closely pressed by
hunger. Very little more of such reasoning would have persuaded myself
of its truth, and I almost began to wish that I was once more back in
the ‘sick bay’ of the frigate.
Towards evening I was left alone. My host went down to the town on
duty; and after the visit of a tailor, who came to try on me a staff
uniform--a distinction, I afterwards learned, owing to the abundance
of this class of costume, and not to any claims I could prefer to the
rank--I was perfectly free to stroll about where I pleased unmolested,
and, no small blessing, unquestioned.
On following along the walls for some distance, I came to a part where
a succession of deep ravines opened at the foot of the bastions,
conducting by many a tortuous and rocky glen to the Apennines. The
sides of these gorges were dotted here and there with wild hollies and
fig-trees, stunted and ill-thriven, as the nature of the soil might
imply. Still, for the sake of the few berries, or the sapless fruit they
bore, the soldiers of the garrison were accustomed to creep out from the
embrasures and descend the steep cliffs--a peril great enough in
itself, but terribly increased by the risk of exposure to the enemy’s
tirailleurs, as well as the consequences such indiscipline would bring
down on them.
So frequent, however, had been these infractions, that little footpaths
were worn bare along the face of the cliff, traversing in many a zigzag
a surface that seemed like a wall. It was almost incredible that men
would brave such peril for so little, but famine had rendered them
indifferent to death; and although debility exhibited itself in every
motion and gesture, the men would stand unshrinking and undismayed
beneath the fire of a battery. At one spot, near the angle of a bastion,
and where some shelter from the north winds protected the place, a
little clump of orange-trees stood; and towards these, though fully
a mile off, many a foot-track led, showing how strong had been the
temptation in that quarter. To reach it, the precipice should be
traversed, the gorge beneath and a considerable ascent of the opposite
mountain accomplished; and yet all these dangers had been successfully
encountered, merely instigated by hunger!
High above this very spot, at a distance of perhaps eight hundred feet,
stood the Monte Faccio--the large black and yellow banner of Austria
floating from its walls, as if amid the clouds. I could see the muzzles
of the great guns protruding from the embrasures; and I could even catch
glances of a tall bearskin, as some soldier passed or repassed behind
the parapet, and I thought how terrible would be the attempt to
storm such a position. It was, indeed, true, that if I had the least
conception of the strength of the fort, I never should have dared
to talk of a _coup de main_. Still I was in a manner pledged to the
suggestion. I had perilled my life for it, and few men do as much for
an opinion; for this reason I resolved, come what would, to maintain my
ground, and hold fast to my conviction. I never could be called upon to
plan the expedition, nor could it by any possibility be confided to my
guidance; responsibility could not, therefore, attach to me. All these
were strong arguments, at least quite strong enough to decide a wavering
judgment.
Meditating on these things, I strolled back to my quarters. As I entered
the garden, I found that several officers were assembled, among whom was
Colonel de Barre, the brother of the general of that name who afterwards
fell at the Borodino. He was _chef d’état-major_ to Masséna, and a most
distinguished and brave soldier. Unlike the fashion of the day, which
made the military man affect the rough coarseness of a savage, seasoning
his talk with oaths, and curses, and low expressions, De Barre had
something of the _petit-maître_ in his address, which nothing short of
his well-proved courage would have saved from ridicule. His voice was
low and soft, his smile perpetual; and although well bred enough to have
been dignified and easy, a certain fidgety impulse to be pleasing
made him always appear affected and unnatural. Never was there such
a contrast to his chief; but indeed it was said, that to this very
disparity of temperament he owed all the influence he possessed over
Masséna’s mind.
I might have been a general of division at the very least, to judge from
the courteous deference of the salute with which he approached me--a
politeness the more striking, as all the others immediately fell back,
to leave us to converse together. I was actually overcome with the
flattering terms in which he addressed me on the subject of my escape.
‘I could scarcely at first credit the story,’ said he, ‘but when they
told me that you were a “Ninth man,” one of the old Tapageurs, I never
doubted it more. You see what a bad character is, Monsieur de Tiernay!’
It was the first time I had ever heard the prefix to my name, and I
own the sound was pleasurable. ‘I served a few months with your corps
myself, but I soon saw there was no chance of promotion among fellows
all more eager than myself for distinction. Well, sir, it is precisely
to this reputation I have yielded my credit, and to which General
Masséna is kind enough to concede his own confidence. Your advice is
about to be acted on, Monsieur de Tiernay.’
‘The _coup de main_----’
‘A little lower, if you please, my dear sir. The expedition is to be
conducted with every secrecy, even from the officers of every rank
below a command. Have the goodness to walk along with me this way. If I
understand General Masséna aright, your information conveys no details,
nor any particular suggestions as to the attack.’
‘None whatever, sir. It was the mere talk of a gunroom--the popular
opinion among a set of young officers.’
‘I understand,’ said he, with a bow and a smile--‘the suggestion of
a number of high-minded and daring soldiers, as to what they deemed
practicable.’
‘Precisely, sir.’
‘Neither could you collect from their conversation anything which
bore upon the number of the Austrian advance guard, or their state of
preparation?’
‘Nothing, sir. The opinion of the English was, I suspect, mainly founded
on the great superiority of our forces to the enemy’s in all attacks of
this kind.’
‘Our _esprit “tapageur”_ eh?’ said he, laughing, and pinching my arm
familiarly, and I joined in the laugh with pleasure. ‘Well, Monsieur de
Tiernay, let us endeavour to sustain this good impression. The attempt
is to be made to-night.’
‘To-night!’ exclaimed I, in amazement, for everything within the city
seemed tranquil and still.
‘To-night, sir; and, by the kind favour of General Masséna, I am to lead
the attack--the reserve, if we are ever to want it, being under his own
command It is to be at your own option on which staff you will serve.’
‘On yours, of course, sir,’ cried I hastily. ‘A man who stands unknown
and unvouched for among his comrades, as I do, has but one way to
vindicate his claim to credit--by partaking the peril he counsels.’
‘There could be no doubt either of your judgment, or the sound reasons
for it,’ replied the colonel; ‘the only question was, whether you might
be unequal to the fatigue.’
‘Trust me, sir, you’ll not have to send me to the rear,’ said I,
laughing.
‘Then you are extra on my staff, Monsieur de Tiernay.’
As we walked along, he proceeded to give me the details of our
expedition, which was to be on a far stronger scale than I anticipated.
Three battalions of infantry, with four light batteries, and as many
squadrons of dragoons, were to form the advance.
‘We shall neither want the artillery nor cavalry, except to cover a
retreat,’ said he; ‘I trust, if it come to that, there will not be many
of us to protect; but such are the general’s orders, and we have but to
obey them.’
With the great events of that night on my memory, it is strange that
I should retain so accurately in my mind the trivial and slight
circumstances, which are as fresh before me as if they had occurred but
yesterday.
It was about eleven o’clock, of a dark but starry night, not a breath of
wind blowing, that, passing through a number of gloomy, narrow streets,
I suddenly found myself in the courtyard of the Balbé Palace. A large
marble fountain was playing in the centre, around which several lamps
were lighted; by these I could see that the place was crowded with
officers, some seated at tables drinking, some smoking, and others
lounging up and down in conversation. Huge loaves of black bread, and
wicker-covered flasks of country wine, formed the entertainment;
but even these, to judge from the zest of the guests, were no common
delicacies. At the foot of a little marble group, and before a small
table, with a map on it, sat General Masséna himself, in his grey
overcoat, cutting his bread with a case-knife, while he talked away to
his staff.
‘These maps are good for nothing, Bressi,’ cried he. ‘To look at them,
you ‘d say that every road was practicable for artillery, and every
river passable, and you find afterwards that all these fine _chaussées_
are bypaths, and the rivulets downright torrents. Who knows the Chiavari
road?’
‘Giorgio knows it well, sir,’ said the officer addressed, and who was a
young Piedmontese from Massena’s own village.
‘Ah, Birbante!’ cried the general, ‘are you here again?’ and he turned
laughingly towards a little bandy-legged monster, of less than three
feet high, who, with a cap stuck jauntily on one side of his head, and a
wooden sword at his side, stepped forward with all the confidence of an
equal.
‘Ay, here I am,’ said he, raising his hand to his cap, soldier fashion;
‘there was nothing else for it but this trade,’ and he placed his hand
on the hilt of his wooden weapon. ‘You cut down all the mulberries and
left us no silkworms; you burned all the olives, and left us no oil;
you trampled down our maize crops and our vines. _Per Baccho!_ the only
thing left was to turn brigand like yourself, and see what would come of
it.’
‘Is he not cool to talk thus to a general at the head of his staff?’
said Masséna, with an assumed gravity.
‘I knew you when you wore a different-looking epaulette than that
there,’ said Giorgio, ‘and when you carried one of your father’s
meal-sacks on your shoulder instead of all that bravery.’
‘_Parbleu!_ so he did,’ cried Masséna, laughing heartily. ‘That
scoundrel was always about our mill, and, I believe, lived by thieving!’
added he, pointing to the dwarf.
‘Every one did a little that way in our village,’ said the dwarf; ‘but
none ever profited by his education like yourself.’
If the general and some of the younger officers seemed highly amused at
the fellow’s impudence and effrontery, some of the others looked angry
and indignant. A few were really well born, and could afford to smile at
these recognitions; but many who sprung from an origin even more humble
than the general’s could not conceal their angry indignation at the
scene.
‘I see that these gentlemen are impatient of our vulgar recollections,’
said Masséna, with a sardonic grin; ‘so now to business, Giorgio. You
know the Chiavari road--what is’t like?’
‘Good enough to look at, but mined in four places.’
The general gave a significant glance at the staff, and bade him go on.
‘The white-coats are strong in that quarter, and have eight guns to bear
upon the road, where it passes beneath Monte Ratte.’
‘Why, I was told that the pass was undefended!’ cried Masséna
angrily--‘that a few skirmishers were all that could be seen near it.’
‘All that could be seen!--so they are; but there are eight
twelve-pounder guns in the brushwood, with shot and shell enough to be
seen, and felt too.’
Masséna now turned to the officers near him, and conversed with them
eagerly for some time. The debated point I subsequently heard was how
to make a feint attack on the Chiavari road, to mask the _coup de main_
intended for the Monte Faccio. To give the false attack any colour of
reality, required a larger force and greater preparation than they could
afford, and this was now the great difficulty. At last it was resolved
that this should be a mere demonstration, not to push far beyond the
walls, but, by all the semblance of a serious advance, to attract as
much attention as possible from the enemy.
Another and a greater embarrassment lay in the fact, that the troops
intended for the _coup de main_ had no other exit than the gate which
led to Chiavari, so that the two lines of march would intersect and
interfere with each other. Could we even have passed out our tirailleurs
in advance, the support would easily follow; but the enemy would, of
course, notice the direction our advance would take, and our object be
immediately detected.
‘Why not pass the skirmishers out by the embrasures, to the left
yonder,’ said I; ‘I see many a track where men have gone already.’
‘It is steep as a wall,’ cried one.
‘And there’s a breast of rock in front that no foot could scale.’
‘You have at least a thousand feet of precipice above you, when you
reach the glen, if ever you do reach it alive.’
‘And this to be done in the darkness of a night!’ Such were the
discouraging comments which rattled, quick as musketry, around me.
‘The lieutenant’s right, nevertheless,’ said Giorgio. ‘Half the
voltigeurs of the garrison know the path well already; and as to
darkness--if there were a moon you dared not attempt it.’
‘There’s some truth in that,’ observed an old major.
‘Could you promise to guide them, Giorgio?’ said Masséna.
‘Yes, every step of the way--up to the very walls of the fort.’
‘There, then,’ cried the general, ‘one great difficulty is got over
already.*
‘Not so fast, _générale mio_,’ said the dwarf; ‘I said I could, but I
never said that I would.’
‘Not for a liberal present, Giorgio; not if I filled that leather pouch
of yours with five-franc pieces, man?’
‘I might not live to spend it, and I care little for my next of kin,’
said the dwarf dryly.
‘I don’t think that we need his services, general,’ said I; ‘I saw
the place this evening, and however steep it seems from the walls,
the descent is practicable enough--at least I am certain that our
tirailleurs, in the Black Forest, would never have hesitated about it.’
I little knew that when I uttered this speech I had sent a shot into the
very heart of the magazine, the ruling passion of Masséna’s mind being
an almost insane jealousy of Moreau’s military fame--his famous campaign
of Southern Germany, and his wonderful retreat upon the Rhine, being
regarded as achievements of the highest order.
‘I’ve got some of those regiments you speak of in my brigade here, sir,’
said he, addressing himself directly to me, and I must own that their
discipline reflects but little credit on the skill of so great an
officer as General Moreau; and as to light troops, I fancy Colonel de
Vallence yonder would scarcely feel it a flattery were you to tell him
to take a lesson from them.’
‘I have just been speaking to Colonel de Vallence, general,’ said
Colonel de Barre. ‘He confirms everything Monsieur de Tiernay tells us
of the practicable nature of these paths; his fellows have tracked them
at all hours, and neither want guidance nor direction to go.’
‘In that case I may as well offer my services,’ said Giorgio, tightening
his belt; ‘but I must tell you that it is too late to begin to-night--we
must start immediately after nightfall. It will take from forty to fifty
minutes to descend the cliff, a good two hours to climb the ascent, so
that you ‘ll not have much time to spare before daybreak.’
Giorgio’s opinion was backed by several others, and it was finally
resolved upon that the attempt should be made on the following evening.
Meanwhile, the dwarf was committed to the safe custody of a sergeant,
affectedly to look to his proper care and treatment, but really to guard
against any imprudent revelations that he might make respecting the
intended attack.