Finding all quiet, and that our move hither from Ghent had only
been for the purpose of bringing us nearer to the cavalry, whose
headquarters were at Ninove, and into a more abundant country for
forage, we now gave ourselves up to the amusements our situation
afforded, as much as the requisite attention to military duties would
allow. Some made excursions to Brussels and Antwerp; some passed
their mornings knocking about the balls at a miserable billiard-table
upon the rickety floor of an up-stairs room in a neighbouring
cabaret; whilst others made a sort of flirting acquaintance with some
of the fair damsels of Dendermonde. The time flew quickly, because we
were happy.
I was anxious to see Antwerp, and proposed going thither; but day
after day something occurred to prevent me, and at last I had the
mortifying reflection of having passed six idle days within eighteen
miles of it, and yet never been there. My only excursion was to
Alost, or Aulst, as they call it. On the 28th Leathes and I set off
on this expedition. Until within a mile of Alost, the character of
the country we traversed was much the same as that about Dendermonde,
but the villages and farm-houses were less neat and more poor in
their appearance--ragged thatch instead of slates and tiles, &c.--and
the streets of the villages or hamlets narrower and dirtier. During
the whole ride we saw but one house that appeared the residence of
a gentleman, and that was a large heavy-looking brick building,
standing in the midst of an old-fashioned garden, ornamented (if so
it may be called) with painted statues of men and monsters quite in
the Cockney style. _En effet_, this was the _lusthause_ of a wealthy
_bourgmestre_ of the Ville de Gand. Approaching Alost, we found the
character of the country changing, and having seen nothing but a
dead level ever since landing at Ostend, were agreeably surprised
at finding ourselves ascending a gentle slope, and surrounded by a
gently undulating country, yet so slightly so that we were not aware
of it until on it. Passing a sort of advanced barrier, we soon
reached the town, and rode into a respectable sort of square, where
we dismounted at the Maison d’Autriche. No accommodation for horses
here, so we were obliged to resort to a carrier’s in an adjoining
street, where we with difficulty got stable-room, all being crowded
with horses of Louis XVIII.’s cavalry. Being tired when I returned
to Dendermonde, I made no note of my visit to Aulst, and therefore
can say little about it. All I remember is a fine broad street of
handsome houses running up an ascent; a pretty public walk (_en
berceau_) called L’Allée d’Amour (as we should say, _Love Lane_; and
what town or village is there in England which has not its Allée
d’Amour?); a fine church, in which was a series of paintings (good,
I believe) representing the life and adventures of some saint; the
canal harbour, full of boats laden with corn and hay for our cavalry,
the contractors having established here their grand depôt, &c. &c.;
great crowding and bustling in the streets, occasioned partly by this
circumstance, partly by the presence of the Duc de Berri and his
troops, and partly by an unusual influx of travellers. Moreover, I
remember that we got a most delicious omelet and bottle of very fine
Sauterne at the Maison d’Autriche, for which (_garçon_ included) we
paid only five francs; whilst, _en revanche_, as it were, we had to
pay eight to the villain of a carrier for the feed of bad oats which
our horses would not eat; that we saddled them ourselves, and sallied
from Alost, expecting, in due time and without _contre-temps_, to
reach St Gille; that we actually arrived within a mile of Lebbeke,
the spire of whose church was closely seen by us above the trees,
and towards which we attempted a short cut, which attempt ended in
losing ourselves, and wandering about for an hour within 800 yards
of St Gille, and always with the spire of Lebbeke in view, without
being able to reach one place or the other; and that there we might
have wandered till doomsday, had we not fortunately fallen in with a
patrol (foot) of _gens-d’armés_, who put us into the right way--such
is the intricacy of this country, intersected as it is by lanes and
ditches, like network, and the view confined to the neighbouring
field by the multitudinous little woods. We got home! _Chez moi_,
things went on so comfortably that I was quite happy, my worthy host
and his spouse treating me and mine quite as part of the family.
Of Monsieur, however, I did not see very much, for every morning,
immediately after breakfast, he went to his office in Dendermonde,
where he remained all day, and he never ventured another soirée
with our party. The last year (1814) my position in their _ménage_
had been occupied by a French colonel, of whom they spoke in the
highest terms, always winding up with, “Ah! il était brave garçon,
celui là.” When taking leave of them, which the approach of English
troops rendered necessary, he added to his adieux, “Mais pour l’année
prochaine;” and both these good people confidently expected to see
him again, setting it down as certain that the moment the Emperor
advanced the English would hasten to their ships, never dreaming that
we could resist _him_. So slipped time away, and my present comfort
approached its end.
_May 1st._--I still slept, when, at five o’clock in the morning,
our sergeant-major aroused me to read a note brought by an orderly
hussar. It was most laconic--_la voici_: “Captain Mercer’s troop of
horse-artillery will march to Strytem without delay. Signed,” &c. &c.
Where is Strytem? and for what this sudden move? These were questions
to which I could get no answer. The hussar knew nothing, and the
people about me less. One thing was positive, and that was, that
we must be under weigh instanter, and pick out Strytem as best
we might. The sergeant-major, therefore, was despatched to give
the alert; and having given the hussar a receipt in full for his
important despatch, I proceeded to clothe my person for the journey,
having hitherto been _en chemise_. As the trumpeter was lodged in
a house close by with my own grooms, the “boot-and-saddle” quickly
reverberated through the village, and set its whole population
in movement. A gentle tap at my door announced a visitor. What
was my surprise on opening it!--there was Madame la Juge _tout en
déshabillé_, evidently just tumbled out of bed, and apparently much
agitated. Such a scene I did not expect.
“Ah, Monsieur, vous allez partis!” and she actually began to sob and
cry like a child. Was she serious, or was this acting? If the latter,
she certainly played her part so well that I could not but give her
credit for being in earnest. It is so delightful to believe one’s
self interesting to a fine woman. Advancing my toilette, I tried at
the same time to moderate this outbreak of feeling. She only wept
the more. Meantime M. le Juge arrived on the stage, his old blue
frock carelessly thrown on, and his nether garment occupying both his
hands, one holding it up, and the other arranging it, the eternal
green cap stuck on his head, hardly yet quite awake--unwashed,
uncombed: the good man did not present the most amiable figure by the
side of his neat consort.
Our people were not accustomed to delay, and the road in front of
the house was already a scene of bustle from the assembling of the
detachments lying nearer home. Although still lachrymose, Madame did
not stand idle; but, seeing my servant sufficiently employed packing
my portmanteau, set about preparing breakfast, to which I soon sat
down, whilst the worthy couple waited on me, recommending this and
that, and pressing me to eat, much in the manner of two fond parents
hanging over the early meal of their darling boy, about to return to
school by the expected coach. I could not but feel grateful for so
much kindness, and consequently sorrow at so soon leaving them; and
so this breakfast was rather a melancholy one, although the morning
sun did shine so bright. The good people were unceasing in their
regrets, and repeatedly made me promise that, if I remained in the
country, I would pay them another visit--a promise I was never able
to fulfil, however.
To my questions respecting Strytem, Monsieur could give no
satisfactory answers. “It lay in a very fine country, somewhere in
the neighbourhood of Brussels; and we had better take the road to
that city in the first instance, and trust for further information to
the peasantry as we went along.”
These people are singularly ignorant in this respect, having no
knowledge, generally speaking, of any place more than two or three
miles from home. Monsieur, however, invited me to follow him to his
study--a small room all in a litter--over the gateway, and there,
after some hunting amongst books, old clothes, &c. &c., he rummaged
out the mutilated fragment of an old but very excellent map, which he
insisted on my putting into my _sabretache_, which I did, and still
keep for his sake.
At length the moment of departure arrived, the parade was formed, my
horse at the door. The tears of Madame flowed afresh as she embraced
me. Monsieur led me by the hand to the gateway. Here the great
coarse Flemish cook, the corner of her apron applied to her eyes,
for she also wept (at the departure of my groom, I suspect), came
running out, her clumsy _sabots_ with their trimmings of rabbit skin
clattering along the stone passage like the hoofs of a cart-horse.
My servant had made her a present for her assistance, in her eyes
so magnificent that she could hardly express her gratitude, and so
poured on me a shower of thanks and blessings, and recommendations to
the protection of saints and saintesses, with a volubility which her
usual taciturn, phlegmatic manner had not led me to expect. “_Prepare
to mount!_” “_Mount!_” The trumpets sound a march, and waiving a last
adieu to the group at the gate of my late home, I turn my back on it
for ever, perhaps. The men were in high spirits, and horses fat as
pigs and sleek as moles--thanks to rest, good stabling, and abundance
of _trèf_. Most of the peasants on whom many of our men had been
billeted accompanied them to the parade, and it was interesting to
witness the kindness with which they shook hands at parting, and the
complacency with which, patting the horses on the neck, they scanned
them all over, as if proud of their good condition. And yet these
were Napoleonists, according to our Juge. For my part, I believe they
were utterly indifferent as to whether they lived under the rule
of Napoleon or the house of Orange, so long as their agricultural
labours were not interrupted: and this alone, I suspect, was the
cause of their aversion to being militiamen.
Passing through Lebbeke, we found the three brigades of 9-pounders
also getting on march, and the whole village astir. The officers told
us their orders were to march direct to Brussels, and they were
fully persuaded the French army had advanced.
For about seven miles the road lay through a country differing
little from what we had hitherto seen; but then it became suddenly
hilly. Ascending the first long but not very steep ascent, we were
assailed by a host of beggars, who had stationed themselves here to
take advantage of the slow pace at which carriages were obliged to
ascend the hill. These were the first I recollect having seen in the
country. The ragged boys accompanied the column to the top of the
hill, endeavouring to excite, if not compassion, at least admiration
of the agility with which they rolled themselves along alternately on
hands and feet, like so many wheels--a feat that procured them some
coppers.
The country had now totally changed its character; still fertile,
highly cultivated, and abundantly populous, yet presenting scenery of
a much more interesting nature. Fine swells enabled one to obtain,
from time to time, most charming views of the rich distance, instead
of, as hitherto, being confined to a few hundred yards of meadow,
shut up, as the flat country was, by trees and small copses.
Villages and large farms appeared in all directions, intermingled
with extensive woods; the fields exhibited the richest exuberance of
crops--wheat, rye, hops, buckwheat, &c., with their lighter tints
relieving the more sombre tones of the woodlands. Here the spire of
a village church, there the conical roofs and quaint architecture
of a chateau, peered above the foliage of the woods, and increased
the interest of the scene. To me this change was delightful. I
thought I had never seen anything half so rich as the fine landscape
spread before me when I turned to look back on gaining the first
summit. The height, however, was not sufficient to allow me, at
this distance, in a country so thickly wooded, to see Dendermonde
again, though my eye eagerly sought it. The large village of Assche
(town, I should call it, being marked bourg in the map) crowned
this hill, and here we found a battery of Belgian Horse-Artillery
in quarters. The men lounging about in undress, or without their
jackets, without any appearance of a move, induced us to believe
our own was, after all, only another change of quarters--and we
were right. The people here knew Strytem, which they said was only
a few miles distant, to the southward of the road we were on.
Accordingly I despatched an officer to precede us, and make the
necessary arrangements for our reception; at the same time quitting
the chaussée, we plunged into a villanous cross-road, all up and
down, and every bottom occupied by a stream crossed by bridges of
loose planks, which to us were rather annoying from their apparent
insecurity, as well as from the boggy state of the ground for some
yards at either end of them. However, if the road was bad, the beauty
of the country through which it led made ample amends. Descending
from the hill on which Assche is situated, we travelled for two or
three miles through a bottom, between two nearly parallel ridges,
whose slopes exhibited all the luxuriance of vegetation in splendid
crops of grain, &c., and magnificent trees, so peculiar to this
country, whilst an almost continued wood occupied their summits.
This part of our route reminded me strongly of the valley in which
High-Wycombe lies, though there nothing like this exuberance is
seen. About a mile, as it proved, from Strytem, for we had not as
yet seen anything like a village, we ascended the hill again, and
were continuing along the summit when a peasant, in blue smock-frock
and white night-cap, came running after us with a scrap of paper
in his hand, which he presented to me with a most profound bow,
doffing at the same time his dirty cap. A few lines in pencil from
Dr Bell informed me that the bearer would lead us to Strytem; and
he by signs--for he spoke no French--gave us to understand that we
must turn back, having passed the road leading thither. Accordingly
a countermarch, by unlimbering, took place, and, following our
guide, we descended into a most secluded little valley, green and
lovely, the bottom being principally meadow, everywhere surrounded
by stately elms. The road, however, became worse than ever--deep
tenacious mud, sadly broken up. After marching a short distance we
passed a wheel-wright’s shop; then came to a broader space, where
stood a small mean-looking church, a miserable cabaret, a forge,
two very large farm establishments, with a few wretched-looking
cottages;--this, our guide gave us to understand, was Strytem. Bell’s
note spoke of a chateau at the point we were to make for, but here
was nothing of the sort. All seemed disappointment, for the miserable
place itself was so different from the fine spacious streets and
substantial houses of all the villages we had hitherto seen, that
one could scarcely imagine it to be the same country. Our guide,
however, led on, and after passing this poor collection of dwellings,
a high stone wall bounding the road to the left, with a wide gateway
in the centre, announced the chateau, which was so completely shut
in by the woods, &c., that the first glimpse we got of it was on
entering these gates. A spacious green court sloped down to the
building, a dreary-looking old pile of brick, forming three sides
of a square, and surrounded by a broad moat--nearly as green as the
court, from the aquatic weeds floating on its stagnant water. Arched
doors; high but narrow windows, composed of small panes set in lead,
and encased in heavy stone frames; lofty stepped gables, and a tower
occupying one angle of the court, with a conical roof surmounted by
an iron cross and weather-cock, gave it a most venerable and somewhat
imposing aspect. The sombre effect, however, was in some measure
relieved by the lively tints of roses and rich verdure of the broad
leaves of a vine trained over a trellis along the edge of the moat,
as well as the fine fruit-trees everywhere covering the walls of the
front court. A broad gravel-drive descended to the moat, which was
crossed by a stone bridge, substantial, but not ornamental. On our
right were stables, &c., for about half-way down the court; on the
left the enormous roofs of barns and farm-buildings appeared over
the wall, and beyond them, again, the rather inelegant spire of the
village church. An arched doorway communicated on this side with the
farmyard. Behind the chateau the view was bounded by the tufted and
feathery masses of a superb avenue of beeches and a hill covered
with wood seen through the few openings between them, relieving well
the reddish sombre tone and formal outlines of the building. Every
feature of this place is strongly impressed on my memory as I then
beheld it for the first time, not without emotions of disgust; for
though rather a picturesque object to look at, I could not suppress a
shudder at the idea of its becoming my habitation for an indefinite
time. Nothing do I regret more than not having made a sketch of it
from this side, although I did several from other points.
The road was so narrow, and the turn so sharp, that it required all
the dexterity of our drivers to get decently into the court with
their six-horse teams. They did, however, effect it without carrying
away the gate-posts, to the no small amazement of some half-dozen
boors, whom the novelty of arrival had drawn together, and we
finally formed a very compact little park, three pieces and their
ammunition-waggons on each side of the central path. The _corps de
garde_ was established in the loft over the stables in which were
lodged the officers’ horses; and the rest of the troop were billeted
on the neighbouring farms, which, in general, were so large that they
took a subdivision, or thirty-two horses, each, and, if I mistake
not, that adjoining the chateau a whole division of sixty-four
horses. Having despatched this business, we proceeded to examine
our own quarters. The old gardener, a tall meagre figure, with a
venerable grey head and good-humoured physiognomy, but somewhat bent
by age, accompanied by his daughter, a pale melancholy-looking young
woman, met us on the bridge, the keys of his fortalice in one hand
and his dirty _bonnet de nuit_ in the other. (Be it here remarked
that although neatness and cleanliness characterise the dwellings of
the Flemish peasantry, yet are they not over and above particular in
this respect as regards their own persons.) As he could speak nothing
but Flemish, Mademoiselle came to officiate as his interpreter, but
the _patois_ in which she expressed herself was so unintelligible
that, after listening for some time to her long-winded story, and
comprehending nothing more of it than the constantly-recurring “Mon
père dit,” &c., our politeness gave way, and we begged that the
doors might be forthwith thrown open. The burden of her song or
chant, for such it was, seemed to be an endeavour to dissuade us from
our purpose of lodging there, though I could not well comprehend why.
Leaving, then, the good man to replace his bonnet, and Mademoiselle
to explain to him something or another, we proceeded to examine
the interior, in order to select our rooms. The chateau had been
uninhabited for many years, and, though not ruinous, was in a very
dilapidated state. Nothing could be more chillingly repulsive than
the vast flagged hall into which we first entered. Several doors led
from this, right and left, into suites of apartments, and one, low
and arched, opposite the entrance, opened on a long bridge leading
over the moat to the garden and pleasure-grounds, &c. This hall was
totally devoid of furniture. We found the rooms on the ground-floor
large, lofty, and of good proportions, but only feebly illuminated
by high windows sunk deep in the wall, and of which the heavy stone
mullions intercepted nearly as much light as entered between them.
The walls were hung with tapestry so ancient and so much decayed that
the figures, landscapes, &c., by which it had once been ornamented,
were nearly obliterated. In some rooms old family portraits occupied
the places of the wainscot panels, particularly over the doors. The
only furniture in any of them was a few ponderous tables, and some
high-backed equally ponderous chairs, having both seats and backs
stuffed and covered with tapestry. On the floor above, a large
corridor or hall--for it was directly over and corresponded in size
with the one below--was hung round with full-length portraits of the
Van Volden family (to whom the domain belonged), male and female.
Some of these were common enough; but there were others evidently the
production of no ordinary pencil--one in particular, a lady habited
in a costume such as prevailed about our Charles II.’s time--a
splendidly beautiful creature of some two or three and twenty years
of age, painted in a most masterly style; and, from being in a much
more magnificent frame than any of the others, apparently a person
of higher consideration. “_Mon-père-dit_” (as we had christened the
gardener’s pallid daughter), who accompanied us through the rooms,
could give no information respecting this fair dame--all she knew
was that she had been a person of very high rank, and, she believed,
an ancestress of Madame la Baronne, the present proprietress. By
the way, Madame Van Volden, Baronne Von Lombeke et Strytem (such
were her titles), was at this time residing in Brussels, where she
had a grand mansion--Rue de Dominicans. She possessed also another
estate at or near Vilvorde, between which and her town residence she
divided her time, so that her Strytem tenants saw her very rarely.
Her son, being _maire_ of the commune, paid an occasional visit to
the village, but then always put up at the farmhouse, so that the
chateau had long been locked up and quite neglected. To return from
this digression. Having visited the upper apartments, all which were
as dismal as those below, we proceeded to choose our quarters, much
to the chagrin of Mademoiselle _Mon-père-dit_, who had, no doubt,
entertained hopes that the repulsive appearance of things would have
deterred us from taking up our residence there. I selected a large
salon, immediately off the hall, on the ground-floor. It might have
been about 30 feet by 26 or 28, very lofty, with an immense gaping
fireplace, but without grate. Two great stone-cased windows looked
into the front court, a third across the moat and towards the woods
behind the chateau. There were three visible doors--the one leading
into the great hall, a second into a sort of vestibule or small hall,
whence a staircase ascended to the apartments of the right wing,
and the third into a long, narrow, but lofty room, in one corner of
which I placed my mattress on an old settee. There was also a door
from this room into the vestibule, and beyond that another suite of
apartments, in which our surgeon established himself. The walls of
my salon, like most of the others, were covered with tapestry, and
in the compartments between the windows, over the doors, &c., were
grim-looking portraits of _ci-devant_ Van Voldens, each having the
name and date inscribed at the bottom of it, from which I learned
that most of them were of considerable antiquity; some, I think,
dating 1537.
I have said that there were three _visible_ doors to this room. I
had been in it some time ere, by accident, I discovered a fourth,
concealed under the tapestry, leading into a very small chapel fitted
up with great neatness (except the altar, which was rather gaudy),
and evidently the only part of the mansion of which any care had
been taken. Such was my new domicile, in which I was soon at home,
although it contrasted as strongly with my late cheerful apartment
at Dendermonde as that did with the gloomy hole at Ghent. Some of
our people found a similar contrast, and could not refrain from
grumbling. “By the Lord, gentlemen,” said old Lieutenant Ingleby,
“you ought to think yourselves very fortunate in getting such a
quarter. In the Peninsula the Duke himself would have thought so, and
was often glad to get so good a roof over his head.” The grumblers
were ashamed, and we heard no more of it. A large salon in the left
wing we chose for our mess-room, and the other officers established
themselves up-stairs. Fires were soon lighted above and below;
servants running up and down;--all was life and movement, and the old
place had not been so gay for years before. Indeed, on returning to
my room after visiting the billets, there was an appearance of home
and comfort about it which I did not expect. A large wood-fire blazed
and crackled in the great chimney. My servant had collected chairs
enough to make a show, ranged round the walls; on one of the great
antique tables in the centre he had placed my writing apparatus and
one or two books, together with a map of the Pays Bas I had brought
from Ghent, in the anticipation of country quarters. Clean linen
was airing over the back of one of the tapestry chairs, with other
preparations for dressing for dinner; whilst coiled up near the
blazing hearth lay my old faithful dog and constant companion for the
last ten years.
Our mess-room was as much changed, and the preparations for dinner
had given it quite another air to what it had when first seen. Like
most of the others, it was spacious, but, unlike them, inasmuch as
the windows down to the floor were in the modern French style. Of
these there were only two--one looking over the garden and woods,
the other over a small field or lawn, bounded on two of its sides
by double rows of noble beeches, and on the other two (round which
ran the road or lane leading to Brussels) by orchards, hop-grounds,
&c. &c. Each had an old iron balcony, so rust-eaten that they seemed
ready to drop into the water of the moat which lay below them. Over
the elaborately carved antique-looking chimney-piece was a large
painting of a castle, with a number of men apparently employed
clearing the ditch. The floor had been swept, chairs and tables
collected from different parts of the house, and one of the latter
covered by a clean table-cloth, and our canteen apparatus laid out
for dinner--the whole looking so much more comfortable than we
expected, that even our grumblers voted the old chateau not so bad
after all, as they sat themselves down to the well-covered board. For
the feast, not a despicable one, as well as the arrangement of the
salon, we were indebted to the indefatigable activity and unrivalled
skill of our friend Karl--a worthy whom I have not yet introduced;
so, by way of episode, whilst we are enjoying the good viands of his
preparation, let me do so.
On the memorable night of our landing at Ostend, whilst standing
on the sands, I was accosted by a very handsome youth of about
eighteen or twenty, who asked if I wanted a servant. His costume
indicated that he meant himself, for he wore a green livery-coat
with red cuffs and collar, and a glazed hat with a cockade in it.
His history was, that he had lived some time with General Vandamme,
and had accompanied him to Moscow; but on returning into Saxony,
although he had been a great favourite with the General, this noble
personage one day deserted him most unexpectedly, leaving him,
not only without money, but also without a prospect of recovering
the long arrears of wages due to him--[there was a mystery in
this part of the story]--and after vainly waiting in hopes still
that the General might return or send for him, he had set out and
found his way thus far towards France, when the chance of getting
employment amongst _les officiers Anglais_ (and no doubt some of
their _guinées_) had occurred to him, and I was the first he had
addressed. His figure was rather under the middle size, extremely
well made; face beautiful, and address perfect. Moreover, according
to his own account, he was a pearl without price. He could speak five
or six languages, and cook, cut and dress hair, and a thousand other
things I have forgotten; but the great recommendation was a talent
he had acquired, when with the French army, of _discovering_ and
_appropriating_ the resources of a country--Anglicé, _plundering_.
If Monsieur would but try him, he would find him so attentive, so
faithful. For his part, he was sure he should soon love Monsieur--his
countenance was so amiable. All would not do--I rejected him; but
Leathes took a liking to and engaged him. So thenceforth he became
one of us, and soon a general favourite; for although he had sounded
his own trumpet, he had nowise exaggerated his qualifications, nor
even told us all, for in addition he was the merriest and most
kind-hearted creature I ever met with. He had an inexhaustible fund
of stories and songs, and sang beautifully, and in a most sweet and
melodious voice; was an admirable mimic, and amongst other things
mimicked so well two flutes, that one day, at Strytem, sitting
smoking my cigar on the parapet of the bridge, I actually made
sure two people were playing a duet in the kitchen; but upon going
thither, found only Karl, who, seated on a table, was warbling out a
favourite waltz, like a robin on the house-top.
Our language he had soon added to his stock, and being now a
tolerable proficient, and evidently so well suited for the office,
we had at once nominated him major-domo (spite of his youth) this
morning on arriving, and placed all the other servants under
his directions. But although understanding and speaking English
sufficiently for all common purposes, and to communicate with the
other servants, he never would address any of us but in French.
To return again to the course of our narrative. Our cheerful meal
had been discussed with many an encomium on the provider, and the
circulation of the bottle had already produced a genial exhilaration
amongst our party, when the door was abruptly thrown open, and in
rushed our friend Karl, holding his sides, and unable to speak for
laughter. “Why, Karl, what the devil’s the matter now?” “C’est
l’adjoint, monsieur, qui demande à vous parler.” “Well, what of that?
Is there anything very comical in this visit?”--“Excusez, monsieur,
il est si drôl--est ce que je lui ferai entrer, monsieur,” and the
merry young dog tried to compose his features. I was about to go out
to meet this functionary and learn his business, but the whole mess
cried out with one voice to bring him in--curiosity being excited by
Karl’s obstreperous laughter; so I desired him to be admitted. Karl
soon returned, ushering in with most ludicrous gravity the worthy
_maire_ and his cortège (for it appeared he had not come alone), who,
each as he crossed the threshold, making a profound salaam, followed
his leader until they were all drawn up in line across the end of
the room. The appearance of the party was certainly comic, and for
a few moments we contemplated each other in silent amazement. The
principal figure of this group--he on the right of the line, Mynheer
Jan Evenpoel, _adjoint-maire_--was a short, fat, square-built man,
with a head like a pumpkin deeply set (_zabullida_, the Spaniards
would say) between his broad high shoulders; countenance stolidity
itself; little pig-eyes, half hid in the swell of his fat cheeks and
the thick overhanging brow; nose pudsy, resembling a lump of brown
clay thrown against his face more than a nose; a monstrous wide
(now half-open) mouth, showing within a row of fangs standing apart
like palisades; a great fat dew-lap; the whole phiz finished by
two enormous projecting ears. Such was the object that had excited
so powerfully the risible faculties of young Karl. Our silent gaze
seemed to paralyse him. There he stood, evidently endeavouring to
assume some sort of an air of office, but trembling visibly, and as
visibly perspiring from his extreme nervousness, twirling his hat in
his hand, looking timidly, first at me, then at the formidable party
round the table, then inquiringly glancing at his own party. The
poor man’s evident anxiety must have excited pity, had it not more
forcibly excited our risibility, as well as that of Karl.
Three peasants, heavy-looking men, with somewhat more intelligence
in their countenances, yet decidedly equally alarmed, arranged
themselves next to Mynheer Evenpoel. These, as well as their
chief, were all arrayed in their roast-beef suits--jackets of
cotton, unmentionables of black or bottle-green velveteen,
blue-and-white-striped cotton stockings, clumsy silver knee and
shoe buckles,--such was their costume. The eternal _bonnet de nuit_
for this time had given place to rather smart round hats, with a
profusion of plush on them. Drawn up on their left stood the old
gardener, his two sons--stout peasants, clad something like, though
more humbly than, the rest--and Mademoiselle “_Mon-père-dit_,” also
in her best bib and tucker, trying to look amiable, but evidently
most particularly anxious. Lastly, with a brisk, self-satisfied
air, stepped in one of the most extraordinary-looking personages of
the whole party--a diminutive spare figure with a complexion like
mahogany, but upright, and of a most martial bearing. He was clad
in a short green uniform coat, with large copper buttons decorated
with the imperial eagle of France, green pantaloons, and an enormous
leathern cocked-hat, which he touched by way of salute on entering,
but, soldier-like, retained on his head. In his hand he carried a
sort of javelin, or short hunting-spear. This dignitary, a person of
most decided importance, passing the others, stepped briskly up and
placed himself at the elbow of the trembling magistrate, who drew a
long breath, and gave unequivocal testimony of satisfaction at seeing
his tutelary genius by his side.
The important personage just described was the _garde-champêtre_--or
_garde-village_, as he was more frequently called--a sort of police
officer placed by Napoleon in every village of his empire. I never
could ascertain precisely the position and duties of these people;
they seemed to be chief police officers, and the _maires_ paid them
great deference, seldom acting in extraordinary cases without their
advice and concurrence. They acted as gamekeepers and constables,
billeted troops, and exercised a general surveillance in the commune.
No doubt they noted and made reports of all they saw and heard, so
that H. I. Majesty had an authorised spy in every village. They were
well paid, and the situation appeared to be a comfortable retreat
for old soldiers, for such we always found them to be. Our present
friend (called familiarly by the peasantry Petit Jean) had served
in a regiment of the line under Marshal Suchet in Catalonia, and
although still only a middle-aged man, had been pensioned on account
of having lost two fingers of his left hand, and placed here for life
as _garde-village_. Well, the whole cortège has entered the room,
and ranged themselves in line across the lower end of it, close to
the wall; the shuffling of feet has ceased, and a profound silence
prevails. We sit staring at them, and wondering what the deuce
they interrupt us for. Bowing and scraping renewed spontaneously;
again silence, but various glances are shot at and signs made to
Mynheer Evenpoel, which in his fright he utterly disregards, and
stands like an owl, without a movement except the evident shaking
of his limbs. After a while old Ingleby, who had been leaning over
the back of his chair eyeing the poor devil, utters in his usual
gruff Yorkshire way, “_Well, sir?_” without reflecting on the fact
of his English not being understood. The tone is enough, however,
and it determines the party to bolder measures--the quaking magnate
is actually shoved forward to the table. Petit Jean also advances,
and again places himself at the poor man’s elbow; his right arm,
outstretched, bears upon the upright javelin, the butt of which
he plants firmly, and with an air, on the floor; in his mutilated
left hand he holds up to us an unfolded sheet of foolscap, which
we soon ascertain to be inscribed by certain characters calculated
to extract hay and corn, &c., from the lofts and granaries of our
clients--in short, the requisition for forage and provisions, &c.,
of our quartermaster-general addressed to the commune of Strytem.
The brown little warrior looks complacently round the company
as though he would say, “And I also am a soldier; _Moi!_” After
repeated applications of a very scanty blue cotton handkerchief to
his front--_pour essuyer la sueur_--the worthy magistrate at length,
in a trembling, hesitating voice, opens his oration, gains courage
as he goes on, warms, and even becomes rather energetic towards
the conclusion of nearly a quarter of an hour’s talk, to which we
have listened, but understood not a word. Mynheer salaams, wipes
his front, and stands, mouth half-open, attending the applause
due to his exertions, and our reply to his statements, whatever
they may be. Petit Jean comprehends the dilemma, steps forward
with a military salute, places himself again in an attitude, and,
whilst Mynheer stares and seems to envy his self-possession,
requests permission of messieurs les officiers to explain what M.
l’Adjoint would wish to say, and goes off at score--“M. Evenpoel
only expresses the sentiments of the whole commune when he assures
messieurs les officiers that the arrival of the brave English has
diffused throughout its population the most lively joy. Les Anglais
are a people as generous as they are brave, and M. l’Adjoint rests
satisfied that under the protection of M. le Commandant the peaceful
tranquillity of the commune will remain undisturbed.” Here, at a
glance from Petit Jean, M. Evenpoel and the whole cortège salaam
together, repeating with one consent, “Mais c’est vrai--c’est vrai!
Oui, M. le Commandant, c’est vrai çà!” Petit Jean resumes. “_But_,
M. le Commandant, we sensibly regret the poverty of our commune,
and are _au déséspoir_ that Milor Wellington should have sent his
brave soldiers to so miserable a place--a place so incapable of
affording them the good cheer (bon traitement) that they so richly
merit, whilst the surrounding country abounds in rich and populous
villages, fully adequate to lodge them comfortably (convenablement)
and to supply all their wants. It was only _l’année passée_ that
this poor commune was oppressed and impoverished by being obliged
to provide for a corps of Prussians during several months. These
people, undisciplined and _bien méchants_, plundered us all without
restraint, and wantonly consumed our whole substance--hardly leaving
wherewithal to support our miserable existence. Thus ruined and
impoverished, M. le Commandant, we feel assured, will see that, in
spite of our good wishes, we are in an impossibility of supplying the
immense rations of forage, &c., here demanded;” and here, taking off
his chapeau and making a most profound salaam, he again flourishes
before us the obnoxious sheet of foolscap, whilst M. l’Adjoint,
beginning to fidget, indicates an inclination to renew his harangue
amidst a general buzz of approbation, and a reiteration of “C’est
vrai, mon commandant, c’est bien vrai.” M. le Commandant silences
them by observing, “That a soldier must obey orders--that it is
for his general to think and investigate--that Milor Wellington,
or those acting for him, had no doubt sufficiently informed
themselves as to the resources of the country before they ordered
troops thither--that, having done so, right or wrong, these troops
must live--that it is evident from the good case of all present,
particularly of M. le Maire, that the commune did produce something
to eat and drink;--consequently, the gentlemen are invited to allow
our partaking with them, or we must help ourselves, which would be
bien facheux.” A general grunt--“Ah, mon Dieu!”--accompanied by
deep sighs on the part of Mademoiselle “_Mon-père-dit_.” I should
have stated that M. le Maire and a farmer named Walsdragen were the
only two ignorant of French. The former of these had profited by
an offered chair, and seated himself during the oration of Petit
Jean and my answer. Hearing the concert of sighs and groans, he
opens his little pig-eyes to the utmost, and casting them about on
the surrounding group, seems to demand an explanation. Petit Jean
communicates the awful purport of my answer. Agitation recommences,
and I am conjured, for pity’s sake, at least to delay until an
express be sent to Brussels to acquaint Milor Vellington of the
utter impossibility of so large a body of men and horses being
supported by so poor a place. Poor simple people! I should like
to have witnessed the reception of the delegate. M. le Commandant
observes that M. le Maire may do as to him seemeth best, but cannot
be so unreasonable as to expect that we and our horses should wait
for supper until his messenger return--ergo, as it is already late,
M. le Maire is again invited to lose no more time in talking, but
to proceed forthwith in collecting the articles demanded. But, to
make a long story short, after a deal of action and whispering in
a corner of the room, they made a proposition to furnish one-half
the quantity. And here it flashed across me, that these people must
be dealt with like the Turkish rayah, who, after protesting his
incapability to produce a single egg for a whole hour, at last, upon
the application of the Mikmander’s whip, brings out a whole store
of good things. So I cut the matter short by sending Karl for the
quartermaster, who was without awaiting the result of the Maire’s
visit. The old veteran enters, head erect, shoulders thrown back, and
steel scabbard jangling on the floor as he advanced to the table, and
silently made his salute. The assembled rustics gape and stare at him
in evident alarm, Mynheer trembles, Petit Jean draws himself up,
as if imitating old Hall’s military bearing, whilst I, pointing him
out to the assembled multitude, inform them that in five minutes he
will proceed at the head of a foraging-party to rummage their barns,
granaries, and larders, and help himself. The quartermaster, having
received his orders, makes his salute, without deigning even a glance
at the Maire and party, amongst whom a precious scene of confusion
now takes place, amidst which out they all trundle after old Hall,
without even the ceremony of a parting salaam; and we, replenishing
our glasses, drank success to our foray, rejoicing in having got
rid of the noise. Our quiet, however, was of very short duration,
for in the court Hall was already assembling his party, and neither
understood their remonstrances nor attended to their grimaces; so
with one accord back they came upon us, bursting into the room as
unceremoniously as they had just left it, bellowing like so many
bulls. A new negotiation opened, and terminated with a promise that
everything should be brought in if I would give them _two hours_,
after they had vainly struggled for daybreak--and away they went.
The two hours had nearly elapsed, and we were still at table, when
Petit Jean, foaming with rage, burst into the room unaccompanied:
“Ah, mais ces faquins là bas--ils ne font que se moquer de vous et
de votre bonté, Monsieur le Commandant. Mais excusez, monsieur, je
suis militaire, moi! et je me suis indigne de voir des militaires se
laisser tromper par des vilains paysans; qui qu’ils sont, connaissent
très bien l’accueil q’ils auraient reçus à la main d’un officier
Prussien, ou même Français. Avec permission, monsieur, je m’en vais
amener avec moi vos fourrageurs faire un fourrage militairement;”
and, without waiting for an answer, the little hero bolted, and
following to the hall-door, there we saw him sure enough march out of
the gate perched upon one of our immense gun-horses, looking for all
the world like a monkey on a dromedary. In two hours bread, forage,
and all--nay, more than we had demanded--were brought in.
Meantime our sergeant of the guard comes in for orders as to what he
shall do with the mayor. “The mayor?--what have you to do with the
mayor?” “Why, we have him safe in the guard-room, sir.” “The devil
you have! and by whose order?” “Why, sir, we thought it best to keep
him until the foraging-party with _Pitty Jan_ returned, least he
might try to hinder ’em.” Here was a dilemma, should the old man
complain to headquarters. However, on sending an officer to release
him, and explain the mistake, Mynheer was too frightened to think of
anything but rejoicing at gaining his liberty. Perhaps conscience
told him that he deserved punishment for the imposition he had
attempted to practise on us.
Petit Jean from that moment became our great friend and ally. On
almost all occasions he sided with the soldiers in any little
difference between them and the boors. On one occasion a complaint
had been made to me, by a man who lived near the gate, that one of
our gunners had not only plundered his potato-garden, but had also
otherwise ill-treated him. On my going to investigate the business on
the spot, it turned out that he had struck the gunner. Petit Jean,
who had accompanied me officially, on hearing this, turned suddenly
on the fellow, “You sacré cochon! frapper un militaire; sacré vilain
homme! Quoi!--un vil paysan frapper un militaire? Ah, que cela me
révolte!”--and seizing a stake from the hedge, foaming with unfeigned
anger, he fell on the poor devil, and fairly chased him out of sight,
belabouring him all the way. What English soldier would ever take up
the cudgels against his own countryman because the French soldier was
his brother-in-arms? Whenever his patrol duty did not call him out,
he was sure to be found in the guard-room, or somewhere amongst the
men. He might certainly have been a spy in the camp, for Buonaparte
had most accurate information respecting the state, positions, and
numbers of our army, part of which no doubt was communicated by these
_gardes-champêtres_, who, as before mentioned, were all old French
soldiers, and did not conceal their attachment to the Emperor. Spy
or no spy, Petit Jean was always extremely obliging, and frequently
of most essential service to us. Our equipment was in every way too
perfect to leave any care as to what might be reported of our state;
and as to future movements, we were as ignorant of them as Napoleon
himself. But to return to our story. The row was all over, our mess
party broken up, and I retired to my room; but, alas! on getting into
bed I found sleep impossible--the moat under my window was peopled
with millions of frogs, and such was the horrid croaking of these
little wretches, that sleep was out of the question, and the Van
Voldens were avenged.