THE LAST REVIEW
I
The loss of the Grand Army at the River Berezina will never be fully
told.
All the world knows now that more than twelve thousand corpses were
taken from the river when the ice melted in the spring; but this is to
give no account of the many who were butchered by the Cossacks, and of
the thousands of unhappy men, and women too, who went into the Russian
prisons when the last of the bridges was blown up.
We were a mere remnant that got away in safety.
I have heard the number variously estimated, but in my own opinion no
more than thirty thousand of those who marched to Moscow so proudly
struggled on towards Kovno when the battle of the Berezina had been
fought.
At this time, too, we were so many hordes of miserable men rather than
an army. Many lost the road and wandered for weeks in the frozen
wilderness. Hardly a regiment preserved anything of its original
formation; those that did so were inspired by loyalty to His Majesty
the Emperor. When he left us at Smorgoni on the morning of December
5th and entrusted the command to Murat all order was finally done with.
The Cossacks pursued us as sheep are hunted by wolves. We struggled
into Vilna to find the town plundered. The mighty host which had set
out to conquer Russia now rotted beneath the snows of the steppes we
had crossed.
It was every man for himself afterwards, as you can well imagine. We
made up little companies of friends and went together in the fashion of
the East. Naturally, Valerie St. Antoine was of my own party; and with
the child Joan and my own nephew Leon we had Sergeant Bardot, who had
been with us in the adventure at Moscow. I have told you of the
sergeant's adroitness, and we found him invaluable these later days.
Where others starved he would plunder. From a brawl at Vilna, when the
stores were rifled, Gustav Bardot emerged with as many bottles of
brandy as would have made a regiment drunk, and a supply of flour under
which our horses staggered. With this we set out almost gaily upon our
journey to the Prussian frontier. France seemed near to us now, though
so many hundreds of leagues away.
To be sure we lost the road frequently enough, and were yet to meet
with some surprising adventures. It is of one of the most curious of
these that I am now about to write.
II
It was the second day after our leaving Kovno.
We had slept in a stable in that unhappy town and there had fallen in
with Sergeant Bardot and his plunder.
I remember that it was a dreadful night, the roar of the wind almost
drowning the sound of the distant artillery, which we believed to be
fired at our rearguard by the Russians. It has been said since that
day that Marshal Ney himself fired the guns to drive the stragglers
into the town. I cannot tell you how it was, but I know that we all
suffered very much, especially the child Joan, who mourned ceaselessly
for her father and her brother.
Next morning we set out for the bridge across the Niemen. It was
almost as great a press as that at the Berezina. Happily, the Cossacks
had not yet come up, and we got across at length to find an open
country where there were few signs of an army marching.
Very shortly afterwards we lost all track of the vanguard, and were
mere stragglers with a few others upon a great white plain which the
wind swept pitilessly. That night we bivouacked in the barn of an
ancient farmhouse which marauders had burned. It was there that we
determined to go our own way henceforth and not to rejoin the regiment
until we came to Elbing.
"Why should we?" old Bardot asked in his matter-of-fact way. "There
will be no fighting, my friends; and if there be, the marshal will take
care of those fellows. No one expects the Cossacks to cross the
Niemen, and if they are wise they will now go back to their own
country. We have food enough for some days and our horses are good.
Let us make a caravan as the Easterns do, and leave the rest to
Providence."
This was very sensible advice, and it fell upon willing ears. We were
a genial company, and if my nephew spent most of his hours in close
converse with Valerie St. Antoine, at least I had the benefit of the
sergeant's company. As for little Joan, she rarely spoke to anyone;
or, if she did, it was to raise again that fatal question of her
father's whereabouts. For all these reasons I deemed it wise to do as
Bardot directed, and to seek a route of our own. We should find the
remnant of the army at Elbing; it would be time enough to think of
re-formation when we arrived there.
So behold us crossing those fearsome steppes, Valerie and Leon for our
van, the sergeant and myself, with the child between us, talking of a
thousand things which were to be done if ever we saw the city of Paris
again. We had come by this time to believe that we should do so, and
despite the sufferings which we endured our courage remained unshaken.
Alas! that it was so soon to be put to the proof. We were hopelessly
lost upon the evening of the third day, and knew no more than the dead
whether we were marching to Elbing or to the sea.
Remember that the heaven above us had been perpetually obscured by
cloud and that the night showed us no stars. The plain in itself was a
vast sea of snow, broken rarely by clumps or pines and hardly showing
us a house which had not been burned by the army on its outward march.
From time to time, it is true, we espied little companies of stragglers
in the far distance, or groups of horsemen poised upon a knoll; but of
the high road we saw nothing, and gradually it began to dawn upon us
that even Bardot's store was not inexhaustible, and that we must surely
perish in this wild place unless we recovered the high road speedily.
We slept that night in a dismal wood, listening to the howling of the
wolves and but ill-protected by the snow-pit we had digged. The others
were merry enough save little Joan, whose strength could not support
these hardships and for whose safety we were all tenderly solicitous.
Fortunately, we had more than one great-coat of fur with us, and we
made the child a bed in the snow as well as we could, and then fell to
talking of our position.
Old Bardot's plan clearly had broken down, and it remained to find
another. Should we waste the precious hours trudging northward on the
chance that the high road lay there, or should we hold our course and
risk the discovery of a town or village in our path? Bardot was for
the latter plan; Valerie for the former.
"I have friends in Elbing," she said. "Prince Nicholas visited the
city frequently, and if we ever reach the town I am sure they will
welcome me. We cannot do wrong to go to the north, for the sea will
soon tell us where we are. Here it is a wilderness where none but
madmen would remain."
She looked at the sergeant as she spoke; and, in truth, there never had
been much love lost between those two. His defence of himself was lame
but valiant.
"We should have been pillaged upon the high road," he said truculently.
"It was wiser to do as we have done."
Her answer was that we had now nothing to pillage. The argument
threatened to grow heated when, to our great surprise, we heard the
barking of a watch-dog, and, all springing to our feet, we discovered
that the sound came from the far side of the wood and that a human
habitation must be there.
III
Ten minutes later we were knocking at its door. It proved to be a
little farmhouse kept by Poles--a widow and two sons--and they were
greatly alarmed when we waked them. Our civilities presently obtained
admittance, and we found ourselves in a long, low room with a wood fire
burning brightly, and about it some evidence of an unexpected
prosperity. Fine skins decorated the walls of this mean habitation.
There were guns in the corner by the chimney, and among them some
French weapons obviously taken from our own soldiers. A handsome
drinking cup in silver stood upon a shelf which harboured good china;
while a little shrine with candles denoted that the people were of the
Catholic faith.
I thought them all strikingly handsome; the lads were dark, with
intelligent eyes; the old woman looked a picture of almost saintly
sweetness and benignity. With Valerie she was at home directly, and it
was good to see the conquest which the French beauty made so quickly.
The result of this was immediate. We had not been in the farm ten
minutes when the table was spread with viands and a bottle of French
brandy set before us. Of the sons, one waited upon us and the other
went out, as the old woman said, to cut wood. I thought it a little
odd that he remained away so long, but the circumstance escaped my
notice presently when rugs were spread upon the floor and our beds made
ready.
So weary were we all that we lay down upon the floor without any
ceremony, and the last I remember before going to sleep were the
whispers of Valerie and my nephew, who, I doubt not, were telling each
other an ancient story. When I awoke a light sound in the room
disturbed me. I sat up and looked about me, bewildered by the
flickering rays of the ebbing fire and uncertain for the moment where I
was.
We all experience this in strange places, but a soldier usually is not
at a loss. Upon this occasion, whether it were the unusual aspect of
the room, the circumstances of our bivouac, or the treacherous
firelight, I cannot tell you, but moments passed before I remembered
our coming to the house at all.
To this there succeeded a sense of alarm and of a peril I could not
define. I thought that I was in a prison, and the Cossacks were my
jailers. The fitful light upon the floor showed red and ghastly, and
suggested the blood of dead comrades. I started up, pressing my hands
to my eyes and prepared for any ignominy, when, as in a flash, the
whole scene was recalled, and I remembered both the room and the Poles.
At the same instant the fire, leaping into flame, showed me the figure
of Valerie, and I could have sworn that she was about to quit the
apartment. This was not so. She made a sign to me, and I perceived
immediately that it was one which warned me to be silent.
Naturally, all this astonished me very much, for I had expected to find
her fast asleep. And yet here she was, sword in hand, standing by the
door as though an enemy had knocked upon it. Stepping over the
sleeping figures of Bardot and my nephew, I asked her in a whisper what
had happened.
"The Pole has not returned," she said. "I heard a sound of footsteps
on the snow--many of them. We must lock the door; there is danger."
With this she swung over the great bar of iron, and it fell softly into
its place. If I had any doubt of the wisdom of what she did, a quick
glance about the apartment would have set it at rest. Neither the old
woman herself nor the younger son were where they had been last night.
Moreover, a sound of footsteps was now audible beyond all question. It
was evident that the house was surrounded and that these cunning people
had betrayed us.
A kick from my foot woke old Bardot, and Leon started up directly the
sergeant moved. The briefest words told them what had happened; and,
still yawning, they stretched out their hands and felt in the straw for
their swords. Our muskets had been piled up in the corner with those
of the young men, but it was soon apparent that they had been pillaged
while we slept, for a purpose we could readily imagine. We had only
the pistols, of which no occasion robbed us, and our first care was to
prime them before going to the window. It was well that we did so.
Hardly had Bardot thrown open the casement when bullets hailed into the
room, and the china came crashing down like slates from a penthouse
when the wind is high. This was a pretty business, to be sure--the
last kind of welcome we had expected when we fell asleep by the fire.
"To the door!" cried I, as the shots rang out. We all were down on our
marrow bones in a twinkling, protected by the great wooden doors and
the bolt we had drawn. It was plain to me that no bullet would pierce
the wood of the door, and that those who were after us must come in by
the windows. The greater mystery remained--who were the bandits who
attacked us in this headlong way, and what was their number? That they
were not Cossacks I felt sure, for soldiers would have known how to
take us in our sleep, and the rest had been easy. Were they the
wretched moujiks, so many of whom armed themselves against the wounded
of the Grand Army when it fled from Russia? Or were they the real
bandits of the steppes? We answered the question when a bearded
brigand, waving a gardener's hoe, appeared at the window and slashed at
us with the gleaming steel. This man I shot dead directly he showed
his face. It was evident that he was but a peasant after all, and that
we had his fellows to deal with.
I say that I shot him dead; but the respite was brief enough. No
sooner had the man fallen than his place was taken by others, all armed
with the most barbarous weapons, but no less zealous for our blood.
Under any other circumstance the scene must have been droll enough.
Here were we four with our backs to the great door, the latticed
windows, by which the assassins tried to enter, upon either side of us.
Frightened by the death of their comrade, they now resorted to a
primitive attempt to harpoon us, as though we had been so many fish in
a sea. It was ridiculous to watch the hairy arms thrust in at the
window, while scythes or pikes or bayonets on sticks were turned
menacingly toward us and their owners bayed like dogs after quarry.
Happily, our position enabled us to treat this puny assault with
derision. We were beyond the reach of their harpoons, and we neglected
no opportunity to retaliate. More than one of the assassins lost his
hand or his arm by a swift cut from the swords we knew so well how to
use. This was satisfactory enough, but it carried us nowhere, and
behind it all there lay the real apprehension that these monsters would
force the window presently and butcher us as though we had been sheep.
Hundreds of our comrades had so perished since we left Krasnoe. Wild
creatures, more like gorillas than men, had come out of the woods with
their scythes roped to sticks and had slashed and maimed the wounded
without grace or pity. And here we were dealing with the same kind of
villains, but, happily, neither wounded nor frightened by them. If any
secret anxiety had accompanied the first moments of this amazing
encounter, it was for little Joan d'Izambert, who still lay upon the
far side of the room and had been forbidden by me to join us. I saw
that the heavy table protected her from bullets, and bidding her lie
still, I turned my attention to the window. It was time truly.
Someone had now pushed a musket through the casement, and, aiming at
hazard, the roar of the discharge shook everything in the apartment.
This was the turn we had not anticipated. It needed all our wits now
to slash at the barrels as they were poised by unseen hands, and
nothing but the greatest agility saved our lives at such a crisis.
This was all very well, but you will soon see that it could not
continue. Four of us there were to slash at the guns, but many outside
to direct them; and presently my poor friend Bardot uttered a low cry
and fell in the straw at my side.
"I am done for," said he, and instantly he fainted.
The success redoubled the fury of those without. Heads were seen at
the window again; there was a new and more savage onslaught with the
pikes; the door itself began to tremble under the thud of axes. I
believed then that we were done for, and I am sure that the others were
of my opinion. Let the door fall, and we should be cut to pieces. No
hope of plunder animated these savages, but that insensate hatred of
the invader by which our poor fellows had suffered so much already.
They lusted for our blood, and that alone would satisfy them.
Surely this was a very terrible moment. The blows of the axes seemed
to number the moments we had to live. Convinced now that they would
not get us by the windows, but that the door must be forced, the
wretches had drawn off and concentrated all their fury upon these
ancient beams. Happily for us, the man who built the house was himself
a child of the wilderness, and his life, no less than ours, may have
depended many a time upon the stoutness of his portals. The door
withstood the attack, though the very walls shook with the fury of it.
We could do nothing but crouch there and wait, hope almost dead, the
promise of the day but a mockery. When to this we heard a cry of
"Fire!"--for that was a word every French soldier had learned in
Moscow--then we understood and believed that it was the end. They were
going to burn us out. The cries of the old woman whose house they
would have fired moved them not at all. "Fire!" they yelled; and we
could hear them running hither and thither--a savage horde mad in its
lust for blood.
We had uttered few words until this time; and, as for that, a man could
hardly have heard himself speak in the room. Now, however, we knew an
instant of respite, and it was then that Valerie proposed that we
should open the doors.
"Anything is better than this," she said. "Courage may find the
horses--who knows?"
The suggestion was wise, and I fell in with it readily.
"Let Leon go first and do you follow him," said I. "The child shall
come with me."
And at that I stooped over my poor Bardot and perceived that he was
indeed dead. The prospect of dying out there in the open was less
horrible than that of being cooped up in this miserable house, which
presently must become a furnace; and who could say what these wretches
might do or not do when confronted by soldiers of the Guard? The
resolution hardly was taken when we lifted the bolt and threw the great
doors wide open. "En avant!" cries Leon, rushing out with his sword
flashing. Then he laughed drolly. Not a moujik was to be seen; not a
voice to be heard. A sound of approaching sleigh bells alone broke in
upon the silence of the night.
IV
Well, we all stood there to listen--our swords in our hands, our ears
bent. A miracle had happened, and our enemies were fled. None of us,
if it were not the child, understood the reality of the peril we had
escaped, or surrendered to that revulsion of feeling natural to the
circumstance. Little Joan, however, shed childish tears and was upon
her knees giving thanks in an instant. The rest of us looked at her
somewhat ashamed; our faith remained shaken. Beyond that, old Bardot
was dead. I think we remembered the fact even when our own delivery
tempted us to rejoice.
But was it delivery?
I have told you that the sound of twinkling sleigh-bells arrested our
attention. Minute by minute they grew louder; we heard the thud of
hoofs upon the snow, and presently we discerned a troop of horsemen
approaching at a trot, and amidst them a sleigh of unusual size drawn
by no fewer than four horses abreast. This unexpected company made
straight for the house, and drew rein only at its door. Who they were,
or what country, whether friend or enemies, the wan light forbade us to
say. Their master evidently rode in the sleigh, and no sooner had it
pulled up than he sprang out upon the snow and in a twinkling was
doffing his hat to Valerie St. Antoine. Such a merry old gentleman I
had not met in Russia. Verily he did not cease to smile from the
moment his troop first surrounded us until that other moment, less
pleasing, when we were trussed like fowls and thrust headlong into
other sleighs which followed in his wake.
Surely this was the most surprising adventure we had yet experienced in
Russia.
Here was a merry old gentleman who knew nothing of us, but whose mere
presence had scattered the moujiks like chaff; here was he riding up to
the wretched house; clapping eyes upon Valerie and the child; hustling
them headlong into his own sleigh; nodding to his troopers to fall upon
us and carrying us away as though we were so many sheep for the block.
Never have I known such a surprise. I could have laughed aloud at the
irony of it when my nephew and I found ourselves upon our backs in a
wretched coracle and heard the crack of the whips which hurried us on
to a Russian prison. Assuredly there could be no other destination.
We admitted as much to each other without any preface at all.
"They will be the Polish lancers from Orcha," said Leon. "I suppose
the old man is one of their princes. Devilish unlucky, upon my word,
mon oncle; we had done better with the peasants."
I told him that it was possible. The same thought was in both our
minds. What of Valerie and the child? That the old man had been
bewitched by Valerie's beauty there was no doubt whatever. Every
gesture, every look marked him as a libertine from the moment when he
first clapped eyes upon her until he had dragged her into his sledge
and the horses had gone off at a gallop. Leon knew this as well as I,
and his anger was a dreadful thing to see.
"I will shoot him like a dog, so help me God!" he said. And he
strained with the strength of an ox to burst the ropes which bound him.
He might as well have tried to break a tree asunder. We were bound
hand and foot, as though we had been the meanest of criminals. Our
escort was a troop of some eighty men armed with lances and muskets,
and plainly showing that they had their orders. There remained but the
idle speculation upon that which must come after. Would this old man
butcher us, fearing our tongues, or would he hand us over to the
Cossacks at the first station we came to? We could not tell; the
humiliation of our defeat was beyond all words insupportable, and our
wrists bled with our efforts to free them. Valerie was in this man's
power, and she had but us to look to. I could not have suffered more
had my own sister's honour been at stake.
"The opportunity is not here," said I to Leon; "but it may come. Words
will not help us. Take my advice and feign submission; it is better
than being butchered. We shall not help Valerie that way. Let us
remember what we have to do, and not act like children."
His answer was a frenzied outburst of rage which appalled me. So loud
was it that the escort derided him, and the driver slashed back at him
with his whip. When it had passed I perceived the old Leon, whose wit
was quick even under such an emergency. He lay back upon the boards of
the sleigh and feigned sleep.
Day was breaking then, and a dim sun seeking to shine. The country
itself was the same God-forsaken wilderness that we had trod these many
days. No man at the heart of the ocean could have discerned an horizon
more hopeless. Everywhere the snow and the whitened pines and the
ultimate desolation. Man seemed to have fled the wretched farms we
passed. Once upon the horizon we saw a troop of horsemen, but they
disappeared from our view immediately. It was not until nightfall
approached that we came without warning upon an unspeakable village,
and this grim procession halted.
Here we saw the merry old gentleman's sleigh again, but it was now
empty and obviously being driven to a stable. We ourselves, lifted by
brawny arms, were hurled headlong into the cellar of a filthy inn, and
there unbound and left for many hours in darkness. When the door next
was opened the sergeant of the troop appeared carrying a lantern and a
mess of mutton and potatoes. To our astonishment he greeted us in the
German tongue, and seemed to have come upon a mission of
reconciliation. Speaking in his master's name he apologised for what
had happened to us.
"His Excellency regrets that you have been treated with so little
ceremony," he said; "but, meine Herren, he has suffered much at the
hands of your countrymen, and is in no mood for civilities. You were
lucky to find him in a good humour. Give me your parole that you will
make no attempt to escape, and he will carry you to Elbing and leave it
with the general in command there to say what shall be done with you.
Otherwise, I fear that you will not go to Elbing at all." And he
looked at us as one who shall say, "In that case he will deal with you
here and now."
"As his Excellency pleases," said I. "If he prefers the Russians at
Elbing to settle this affair, we are in his hands. But let him know
that I am a surgeon upon His Majesty's staff, and that my nephew here
is of the Guard. I think your master will be wise to remember that
when the time comes."
The fellow said that our message should be delivered, and leaving the
light with us, he withdrew and bolted the trap of the cellar behind
him. His intimation that we were to go to Elbing seemed odd, and I
could make little of it, nor Leon for that matter.
"With any luck we should find the marshal and the rear-guard there,"
said I. "On the other hand, if there has been an action and the
Russians have taken Elbing, God help us. The old man must have heard
something of the kind, or he would never be going there. What do you
make of it, nephew? Was I wise to give him the parole, or should we
have held our tongues?"
Leon was altogether at a loss.
"I am thinking of Valerie," said he. "Good God, what a thing to
happen! All this would have been very different if we had remained
with the army, mon oncle. Undoubtedly there has been a battle and
Marshal Ney has been beaten. We shall find the Cossacks in Elbing, and
God help us, as you say!"
Then he added very solemnly, "There is only one thing to hope, that I
may yet meet this merry old gentleman. Let him look to himself if I
do, for by the God above me I will kill him like a sheep."
The woman dictated his frenzy, and who could wonder? For myself, I had
an extraordinary confidence in the wit of Valerie St. Antoine and was
ready to match it against that of any old dotard in Russia. At the
same time it was impossible to forget her situation--here in this
cursed wilderness, alone amid a troop of savages and with no prospect
at the far end of it but that of an unnameable submission. Naturally I
said nothing of this to my nephew, nor encouraged his wild notion that
we might escape from the cellar. They had caught us in the trap, and
nothing but a miracle could get us out. Beyond that we had given our
paroles, and well done or ill, the attempt to break them at such an
hour would have been madness. So we slept upon it, and were awakened
at dawn to be told that the sledges were ready.
We found a fine sunny morning and a dingy street full of gaping
moujiks. Of the merry old gentleman, however, we heard nothing; nor
had we any word from Valerie or the child. Our own escort was as it
had been yesterday, a troop of Lithuanians well clad and armed, and
apparently immune to the severities of the weather. Satisfied with our
parole, they indicated our places in the sledge and made no attempt to
bind us, and presently we all set out with a rattle of accoutrements
and a tinkle of bells which would have been pleasant music had the
circumstances permitted.
Soon it was plain that we were not very distant from the sea, and we
travelled all that day towards the south-east as I judged. When night
fell the spires of Elbing came to view upon the horizon, and a little
after dusk we drew near to the city.
"And now," said I to Leon, "we shall know."
I did not add that it seemed a thousand chances to one against any hope
of our ever seeing the French frontier again.
V
It was nearly ten o'clock at night when we entered the city. There
were few people in its streets, and save some German hussars and a
troop of dragoons, whose uniform was unknown to me, I saw no troops.
The hope that the remnant of the Grand Army had marched in was,
therefore, shattered.
It may have been that we had come after our comrades had left. This
was a very unpleasant supposition, which I feared to speak of, though
Leon was quick to remember it.
"The fellows appear to have been speaking the truth," said he gloomily,
as he looked at the silent house and wondered, I doubt not, which of
them sheltered Valerie. "The marshal has been beaten, and we shall see
no more Frenchmen in Elbing, mon oncle. What then? What are they
going to do with us?"
I confessed my inability to answer. The Poles were our allies, and it
was inconceivable that we should suffer a mischief at their hands.
Nevertheless, these were strange times, and God knows how little any
man could be relied upon where French soldiers were concerned. If we
had not misjudged the merry old gentleman our presence in Elbing could
not but be inconvenient to him. I perceived this immediately, though I
forbore to speak of it.
"We must carry it with a high hand," said I; "nothing will be done here
by submission. Remember that we are of His Majesty's Guard, and let us
take insults from no man quietly."
Leon smiled in his old way.
"To do you justice, mon oncle," said he, "that is not your habit."
The words were hardly spoken when the sledge stopped, and looking up, I
saw the gates of the prison frowning upon us. So this was our merry
friend's hospitality! Even my nephew perceived the drift of it now.
"The old rascal will trump up some charge against us and keep us out of
the way," said he. "By God, mon oncle, this is too much! Parole or no
parole, I mean to make a run for it."
I dissuaded him, pointing out the folly of it in the presence of the
escort.
"Do not give them the satisfaction of shooting you," said I. "We have
money with us, and will make ourselves heard. This is neither the
place nor the time."
And so saying, I stepped out of the sledge and followed the captain of
the hussars into the courtyard of the prison. Truly was it a
remarkable predicament for two of the Guard to be in.
This scene will always remain in my memory. Even to-day I can recall
every detail of it, the square courtyard, the guard-room upon the
left-hand side, the inner gate with its portcullis and the gloomy
buildings of the prison beyond. The astonishing thing was that we
seemed to be expected, and all preparations were made to receive us.
No sooner were we brought in and the gates shut than they conducted us
to the guard-room and there brought us before a young captain of the
garrison, who immediately made known the alleged reason of our arrest.
"You are accused of rendering help to the Emperor's enemies and of
robbing French soldiers in this vicinity," said he. "The information
is laid by Herrn Immo von Gustorf, the prefect of this city. The court
will try you as soon as it can be constituted. Meanwhile I am to hold
you here, as prisoners."
It was an amazing declaration, and even the young man seemed surprised
when he looked at us. A soldier does not require to be told that
another is of the same profession, and the young captain must already
have perceived our condition. When upon this came my heated protest,
and Leon's fiery threats, I could see that suspicion gave place to an
apprehension which was very real.
"Herr Captain," said I, "your charge is preposterous. We wear His
Majesty's uniform, and such crimes as you name are beneath us. Let me
warn you very seriously of the consequences of that which you are about
to do. His Majesty is careful of the reputation of his Guard, and he
will know how to deal with such an outrage as this."
The threat moved him not at all. He declared that he but did his duty.
"If you are innocent, gentlemen," said he, "you can prove it to the
court. My duty is to keep you here until you are tried. I may say,
however, that if I can be of service to you in other ways, you have
only to command me. This is not a house of hospitalities, but such as
I can procure shall be offered to you."
To this I answered civilly that we were very much obliged to him, and
bidding Leon hold his tongue, I said that we should remember any
service of the kind when the French rode in--upon which I looked at him
closely to see what he would make of it. When he did not contradict
me, then I knew that the story of Marshal Ney's defeat was a lie, and
for the first time since we had met the merry old gentleman I began to
hope.
The young captain, meanwhile, had caught up a lantern and set out to
cross the yard. We followed him to a tower on the eastern side, where
in a considerable apartment upon the first floor he told us that we
must be prepared to spend the night.
"I will send you what supper I can," said he. "Food is not readily to
be had in Elbing; there has been no bread for three days. None the
less, I will do what I can, messieurs." And setting the lantern upon
the table, he commanded the sergeant to have beds made ready for us.
When he was gone and the door bolted, we began to examine the apartment
with the eager eyes of men who did not submit to adversity readily.
Would our wits get us out of this cursed hole, or must we suffer the
tragic farce to the end? Alas, it was soon evident that any hope of
escape was out of the question. Not only were the windows grilled
heavily with iron, but they looked upon a moat, whose further wall must
have been thirty feet high, while beyond it stood a rampart patrolled
by sentries. The door itself should have withstood artillery. We
could dare nothing here, and we sat down in the dim light to remember
that Valerie St. Antoine and Joan d'Izambert were still the "guests" of
the villain who had entrapped us.
"There is only one chance," says Leon; "we are lost if the army does
not come in."
I knew it to be true; but even if it were so, what then? Would our
comrades learn of our pitiable condition? I could hardly believe it,
and my heart sank low. Odd that we had marched so many thousands of
leagues and had lived through the terrible days to come to such a
judgment as this.
VI
They brought us a supper of mutton and rice and a bottle of gin about
the hour of ten o'clock, and then they spread our beds upon the bare
stone floor. These were of heavy blankets with a rude mattress beneath
them. But they were beds for all that, and under any other
circumstances they would have been a luxury. This night, however, we
regarded them with indifference. Our brains were fired and our ears
awake. Who would have slept under circumstances so tragic?
Perchance the impotence of our condition added to its bitterness. If
we could have struck a blow in the cause; have buckled on our swords
and gone out to deal with the merry old gentleman and his satellites,
it would have been different: but to sit in that gloomy room, to hear
the city's bells numbering the hours, to count the footsteps of the
sentries and to pray for dawn--that was a torture beyond compare.
Not a mouthful of food had Leon eaten that day, nor could I persuade
him to touch the mess they offered us. He spoke of Valerie always,
delighting to remind me of the day when he had first seen her in Prince
Nicholas's palace; or of that night when she had saved us at the tower,
and of her courage during the dreadful days--indeed, of a thousand
things which a lover had seen but older eyes had missed. To all of
which I could but answer indifferently.
"She is clever," I would say. "She will know how to deal with your
merry old gentleman." When he asked if we knew how to deal with him,
there was nothing more to be said. The grim walls of the prison
answered him; the chime of the distant bells was an irony.
So the night sped on. For an hour, I think about twelve o'clock, I
flung myself upon the wretched bed and slept fitfully. My head was in
a whirl, and vain dreams tormented me. At one time I thought that we
had leapt down into the moat and that the icy water choked us. At
another I was riding proudly into Elbing at the head of the Velites.
Upon this there came the voice of many crying "Vive l'Empereur!" and
"Vive la France!" I heard a great rolling of drums and the welcome
blare of trumpets. This roused me thoroughly, and sitting up I saw
that Leon was standing at the window and that the dream indeed had come
true.
"Good God!" cried I. "What is it? What do you hear, Leon?"
He answered me, still standing there.
"The French are in the city, mon oncle. Listen to that!"
His voice echoed a triumph which thrilled me. Instantly I was at his
side listening to the familiar sounds. Never did the roll of a drum
fall so pleasantly upon a man's ear.
"We are saved," said I, though heaven knows the hope of it was still
but a dream.
VII
Well, we stood there for a full hour, speculating upon what we should
do to get the news to our comrades. Certainly we might have bribed the
jailers if any had come to the tower. Not a sound, however, disturbed
the serenity of the prison. Our attempt to attract the attention of
the sentries by smashing the lantern against the glass of the windows
ended but in ignominious derision. The fellows never noticed us, and
another hour must have passed before the door of the cell was opened
and the young captain entered. I perceived immediately that he had
come to tell us the news. His manner was obsequious to the point of
ridicule.
"Messieurs," he said, "I am to take you immediately to the prefect's
house."
Upon which he uttered a word of command and a dozen men with lanterns
appeared upon the narrow staircase.
It was a new turn and we knew not what to make of it. Evidently the
merry old gentleman desired still to have us in his power, and the
prospect of finding ourselves alone with him was far from reassuring.
So much the young captain perceived and hastened to remove our
apprehensions.
"Messieurs," he said, "you have nothing to fear. The prefect has
discovered his mistake and is anxious to apologise. You will be wise
to take advantage of so favourable an opportunity. As for myself, I
have done my duty. You will remember that when you make a report of
this affair to his Excellency the marshal."
We promised that we would do so. It was evident, upon reflection, that
no mischief could come to us now that the French were in the city, and
curiosity alone would have sent us to the prefect's house.
The latter proved to be hardly a stone's throw from the prison walls.
We were driven there in the same sledge which had carried us to Elbing,
and, being arrived at the _conciergerie_, were immediately admitted and
conducted into a spacious hall, blazing with lights and superb in the
richness of its decoration. Here, to our astonishment, Valerie herself
received us.
I will not dwell upon the manner of her meeting with Leon, nor upon the
amazement with which I beheld her in this situation. No magic of
wonderland could have wrought such a change in men's condition as we
then experienced when they carried us from the gloom of the prison to
this princely mansion.
"Where is his Excellency the prefect?" I asked her when we had embraced
for the twentieth time.
She told me in a word.
"Many miles from Elbing," says she. "I am mistress here. I have told
him he must not be found in the city while the French are here."
"Good God," cried I, "what a turn about!"
Miraculous indeed it was that so young a girl had won so astonishing a
victory. The coming of the French saved her and us. There was not a
more frightened man in Prussia than the prefect, who fled directly
French bugles blared at the gates. So much Valerie told us while she
led us in and showed us the banquet she had prepared for us.
VIII
We lived gallantly at the prefect's expense during the days we spent in
Elbing. They were happy days, and yet what regrets attended them! Of
all the six hundred thousand who had set out so bravely from Moscow but
a few short months ago, there were but twenty-two thousand of us,
soldiers of the line and of the Guard--worn, weary, and ragged men--who
survived to reach that haven.
Never shall I forget that last review when the marshal himself rode up
and down our battered ranks and told us that our troubles were at an
end. Henceforth we were to be carried in sledges to the French
frontier and our homes. The day of battle was over; the night of our
sorry victory had been won.
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