A REVOLUTIONARY OUTPOST.
On the 5th Nivose of the year II (December 25, 1793), an advance post of
the main body of the Army of the Republic lay in military occupancy of
an isolated tavern some quarter of a league's distance from Ingelsheim,
a French burg about twelve leagues from Strasburg. Hoche and Pichegru,
the Generals of the detachments called "of the Rhine and Moselle," had
removed their headquarters to Ingelsheim, after several advantages
gained over Marshal Wurmser, the Duke of Brunswick and the Prince of
Conde. The republican troops were bivouacked about the city. The light
of their campfires struggled with difficulty through the mists of a
black winter's night. A line of scouts and pickets covered the position
of the post, which was composed of a company of the Seventh Battalion,
Paris Volunteers, among whom were John Lebrenn and his foreman
Castillon.
The company was gathered in the large hall of the inn, and in the
kitchen, where blazed a great fire. The greater part of the men, worn
out with fatigue, sought repose on beds of fresh straw laid along the
walls, making shift to use their knapsacks as pillows. Others furbished
their arms, or blacked their cartridge-boxes; still others were mending
their dilapidated garments or exercising their wits to cobble their
shoes into a semblance of serviceableness; for neither the stores of the
army nor draughts on nature sufficed to clothe and shoe all the citizens
called to the flag in the last levies, or to replenish their wardrobes
against the havocs of war. Few, indeed, of the volunteers, wore the
complete uniform decreed by the Convention and which was already covered
with the glory of so many victories. This consisted of a coat of deep
blue, with facings and trimmings of red, and large white lapels, which
left displayed the vest of white cloth, like the trousers; black knit
leggins, with leather buttons, reaching to the knee; a flat
three-cornered hat, surmounted with a plume of red horse-hair, falling
beside the cockade; and a knapsack of white calf or buffalo-skin. Only
the most recent recruits to the battalion were dressed correctly in
accord with the decree.
The company was in command of a captain named Martin, a pupil of the
painter David, the Convention member. Martin had enrolled after the days
of September and at once left for the front. He had already advanced
through all the elective ranks. Twice wounded, full of bravery and dash,
and knowing how to win obedience in the moment of action, Captain Martin
showed himself always jovial, open, and engaging in his relations with
the volunteers. Although he had now followed war for fifteen months,
David's young pupil did not renounce his former profession. He only
awaited peace to lay down his sword, take up his brushes, and attempt to
open a new field in his art by depicting the battles of the Revolution,
and episodes of camp life. Seated at one corner of a table that was
lighted by an iron lamp, Captain Martin was even now amusing himself
with sketching, in a little pocket sketch-book, the figure, at once
pitiable and grotesque, of the frightened innkeeper. Although a native
of Alsace, the latter spoke an unintelligible dialect, and understood no
French. Castillon, who was addressing him, indicated with a gesture a
young volunteer in spick-and-span new uniform, scrupulously combed and
shaven, and altogether looking, as they say, as if he had stepped out of
a band-box, and explained:
"This citizen asks for twenty bottles of Moselle wine, to be paid for,
of course. Isn't what I'm saying to you clear enough--barbarian!"
To which the innkeeper, multiplying his manifestations of distress,
replied in an agonizing jargon.
"But, Gott's t'under, ve vant vine! Ve temant vine of you!" retorted
Castillon impatiently, assuming a German patois in the hope of making
himself understood.
It was Captain Martin who cut the gordian knot and ended the already
too-long debate. Hastily outlining in his sketch-book a bottle and a
glass, he waved the drawing under mine host's eyes together with an
assignat[14] which he drew from his pocket. The Alsatian gave a sigh of
relief, motioned that he at last comprehended, and was about to scamper
off to his cellar when the captain held him back, and, to prevent any
further misunderstanding, drew the figure 20 underneath the picture of
the bottle. To this new intelligence the tavernkeeper responded with
uncouth contortions of delight, and a formidable "Yah!"
"The animal!" exclaimed Castillon, shrugging his shoulders, "why
couldn't he answer like that right off!" And addressing himself to the
new recruit: "If our innkeeper weren't such a booby, we would have been
able to drink your welcome to the battalion half an hour ago, Citizen
Duresnel."
"True; but then we would have already drunk it, while now we have still
in store the pleasure of putting it down," replied Duresnel thickly, as
if he had a hot potato in his mouth, and dropping all his r's like one
who had never seen Paris.
"Ho, ho! You come in time, comrade," replied a volunteer banteringly.
"We're going to have a fight to-morrow, you'll see what it is to go
under fire. We'll have a brush of it!"
"That's what I came for," Duresnel made answer in his muffled voice;
"only--and you will laugh at me, citizens--I confess to you--never
having smelled gunpowder, I am afraid--"
"Which? What?" cried the troop in chorus, greatly amused at the
babyishness of the young Parisian. "What are you afraid of? Come,
comrade, explain yourself."
"Damn! citizens--I am afraid--of being afraid!"
The answer provoked an explosion of hilarity. Without being in the least
put out of countenance, Duresnel added: "Yes, wo'd of honor, citizens;
never having been in action, and not knowing what effect it will have
upon me, I am afraid of being afraid. That's very simple."
"Bravo, comrade," interjected Captain Martin, "it is not always those
who make a flourish of their swords in advance who prove the most heady.
Your modesty is a good omen; in consequence of which I wager that
to-morrow you will take your baptism of fire bravely, with a cry of
Long live the Republic! Just have a little confidence in yourself."
"You're a good fellow, captain; I shall do my best. For, wo'd of honor,
it would be disagreeable to me to know that I am a coward, after having
posted from Paris to join the battalion."
"You came by post?" exclaimed Castillon. "You must have been in a hurry
to get here!"
"Surely; I had already lost so much time. First I was at the quarters of
the battalion in the barracks of Picpus, where I learned a little of the
drill, after which I took a stage coach to reach Strasburg. Then, taking
advantage of the escort which accompanied Representatives St. Just and
Lebas to Ingelsheim, I rejoined the battalion, and here I am."
"A beaker of Moselle will give you courage, comrade," said Captain
Martin, full of interest in the young man; and seeing at that moment the
host return with two baskets bursting with bottles: "Come, friends, let
us drink a welcome to Citizen Duresnel. Drink, comrades, to the
extermination of Kings, priests, Jesuits, and aristocrats."
"Thanks, captain, I drink nothing but water;" and seeing on the
sideboard a water-jug, Duresnel poured himself out a glassful. Then
raising his bumper, he replied: "To the health of my brave companions of
the Seventh Battalion, Volunteers of Paris! To the extermination of all
monarchs! To the lamp-post with the aristocrats!--Captain," continued
Duresnel, "since you are my military superior, I have a favor to ask of
you."
"Granted in advance, on one condition."
"And what's that, if you please, captain?"
"That you thee-and-thou us, myself and our comrades, as we thee-and-thou
you. It is a mark of political fraternity."
"Very well, captain. Here, then, is the request I wish to make of you: I
am now a soldier of the Army of the Rhine and Moselle. It seems to me I
should take more pleasure of the business if I knew whereabouts we were
in the war. Otherwise I should be like a man starting to read a story in
the middle, and unable to understand a word, since he does not know the
beginning."
"What you say is in point, comrade. I shall do the right thing by your
request at one of our next watches."
At this moment the attention of the volunteers was drawn to a new
personage who entered the inn-hall. This individual wore the uniform of
a mounted cannonier, and the insignia of chief quartermaster. His dress,
like that of the volunteers, bore many a patch. His face was of a
strikingly martial cut, his long moustaches were covered with
hoar-frost. On entering the room he delivered the military salute, and
said briskly:
"Good even, citizens. Have you room for a moment at fire and lamplight
for a mounted artilleryman of the Army of the Rhine?"
"By heaven, yes!" replied Castillon, stepping away from the fireplace to
make room for the newcomer; then gazing at him curiously, he added: "But
tell me, comrade, this doesn't seem to be the first time we two have
met?"
"Quite likely not," replied the cannonier, in turn searching Castillon's
features. "In fact, listen here, we met on an occasion which is, by
heaven, difficult to forget--a meeting without its like!"
"Last year, on the second of September--"
"At the prison of La Force!"
"When we purged it of the priests, the holy shaven-pates, and the
aristocrats."
"Comrade, you are James Duchemin," cried Captain Martin, seizing him by
the hand. "I heard your name pronounced in the National Assembly along
with the other names of those who had given themselves to the
fatherland. I admire your devotion. You offered all you possessed--your
life and your two horses."
"Ah, you were at the Assembly that day?"
"Aye, I came from the Abbey."
"Where you also did work?"
"A fatal and terrible necessity. I believed so then and think so still.
Death to the aristocrats and priests! But how one does meet! Come, a
glass of wine, my old friend."
"That is not to be refused, comrade. I am frozen numb," returned
Duchemin; and added, in a tone of bitter recrimination, "That brigand of
a Reddy!"
"Of what 'Reddy' do you speak, friend?"
"Oh, that is the name of one of the horses I gave to the country. We
were enrolled, my two beasts and I, in '92, in the Second Battalion,
Flying Artillery. But my other horse, my Double-grey, was missing from
roll call after the battle of Watignies, because of a little impediment
in the way of a four-pound cannon ball, which he received in the belly
while one of the servants of my darling Carmagnole was riding him."
"What, you have a sweetheart whom you call Carmagnole? The idea is a
droll one!"
"That is how I christened the four-pounder I had charge of in my
battery. Ah, citizens," added Duchemin, in reply to the volunteers'
mirth at his explanation, "if you only knew that beautiful little piece!
Such an amorous little mouth--to spit fire and cannon balls at the nose
of the Austro-Prussians and the other Ostrogoths."
"Come, come, old chap, do you take us for marines?" said Castillon,
laughingly. "Do you want to give us the idea that pieces of artillery in
general--and Carmagnole in particular--have characters!"
"Whether they have characters! Just ask your good cannoniers about that,
you'll hear their answer. There are slatterns of pieces on whom you can
never depend for a good shot. Whereas with Carmagnole--never a caprice.
You train her so many lines' elevation--she'll fire just so high; so
many lines' depression--she'll fire low. An angel of a spit-fire! A very
love!"
"Comrades," chimed in Captain Martin gaily, "captivated by the
character, the virtues and the bravery of Citizeness Carmagnole, I
propose her health, and that of the brave artillerymen of the Army of
the Rhine."
"To the health of Carmagnole! To the health of the artillerymen of the
Rhine!" chorused the volunteers, draining their glasses with Duchemin.
Touched by this proof of sympathy for his cannon and his brothers in
arms, the latter in turn raised his own glass and cried:
"Thanks, comrades, thanks! I shall convey your good wishes to
Carmagnole, and I can tell you that in to-morrow's battle we shall be
neither slothful nor over-hot, but just right. Meanwhile, I drink in
her name and mine: To the health of the brave men of the Army of the
Moselle. To the relief of Landau! Long live the Republic! To the
lamp-post with the aristocrats, the black-caps, and all the Jesuits!"
"We shall raise the siege of Landau, or die!" enthusiastically acclaimed
the volunteers. "Long live the Republic!"
"Well, indeed, wo'd of honor, I don't believe I am going to have any
fear at all to-morrow!" exclaimed Duresnel, electrified by the ardor of
his comrades. "Long live the Republic! Death to the aristocrats and down
with the skull caps!"
"Citizen Duresnel," replied Captain Martin, smiling, "you will see that
it is not such a devil of an undertaking to go under fire the first
time, surrounded by gallant comrades."
"Faith, captain, I begin to believe it," replied Duresnel, while
Castillon said, addressing Duchemin:
"See there, old fellow, your love for Carmagnole has interfered with
your telling us your troubles with your horse, that brigand Reddy,
formerly so patriotic a fellow, as you told us, and whom you suspect of
having been bought over by a peck of oats given him by an agent of Pitt
and Coburg."
"Well, comrades, to return to Reddy, yes, I say that dumb animal is a
patriot at heart. Judge for yourselves: Lately, at the affair of
Kaiserslautern, we were tearing along at a gallop with one wing of my
battery, to take up our position. I was helping along with the flat of
my saber two wretches of drivers who had charge of the team of six that
drew Carmagnole, and who looked out of sorts at going into action.
Suddenly a squadron of Prussian Uhlans, until then hidden by a rise in
the ground, broke cover and charged upon us. We were supported by a
squad of the famous Third Hussars. We met at full tilt. But right in the
middle of the embroglio my brave Reddy seized the horse of a Uhlan by
the mane. Reddy did not let go his hold--he lost his footing in the
crush--he fell, and me with him. There I was, pinned under him; but
thanks to the intervention of the famous pair of the Third Hussars, I
was able to escape. This was the first time I saw those two inseparables
of the Army of the Rhine, Victor and Oliver, two heroic fellows!"
"These two cavalrymen are called, you say, Oliver and Victor?" and
Castillon continued thoughtfully to himself. "A singular idea those two
names suggest. What if the gallant pair should be our apprentice and our
master's sister! Despite the strangeness of the disguise, it is said
there are in the army many patriotic women who enrolled to follow their
lovers to the war--"
While Castillon was thus reflecting, the report of a firearm rang out
about a hundred paces from the inn. One of the pickets had fired.
Captain Martin at once spoke to an under-officer:
"Sergeant, take four men and go see what is up out there. It must be
comrade Lebrenn who fired that shot."
"Perhaps he got a bead on some spy within the lines," suggested
Duchemin, as the sergeant hastened out with his guard.
The incident, however, passed almost unnoticed by Castillon, who,
preoccupied with his own thoughts concerning the "pair" in the Third
Hussars approached Duchemin and asked:
"Comrade, did you ever see the two brave cavalrymen you spoke of,
again?"
"Yes, often. After Kaiserslautern our battery was attached to their
division."
"How old would you say Oliver was?"
"He is eighteen or so; black haired, with blue eyes. He is a fine
looking hussar; but in respect of beauty, his companion takes the shine
out of him."
"Victor is also a pretty boy, then?"
"He is too good looking for a man. What an air of authority! What an eye
of fire!"
"No more doubt of it," murmured Castillon to himself. "It is Citizeness
Victoria and Oliver, who have joined the hussars!"
At this moment the sergeant and his squad returned, minus one man who
had relieved John Lebrenn at his post. A man and a boy of ten or eleven,
dressed as Alsatian peasants, were marched in by the volunteers.
The two seemed perfectly calm as they entered the inn-hall. They did not
even shudder when John Lebrenn announced:
"Captain, I think we have laid our hands on a couple of spies."
"And how did they fall into our picket lines, comrade Lebrenn?" asked
Captain Martin.
"I had posted my sentries, captain. The mist was so thick I could not
see the lights of the inn from my position. The ground, hardened by the
frost, carried sounds clearly. All at once I heard at some distance the
steps of men coming almost directly at me. I could distinguish also
that they wore wooden shoes. I could see nothing, but I cried: 'Halt!
Who goes there?' At the challenge the two individuals attempted to flee,
but they failed to perceive a patch of ice, on which their wooden shoes
slipped. The noise of their fall reached me distinctly. I fired my gun
to give the alarm, and plunged in their direction. I reached the pair
just as they regained their feet. I grabbed the man by his collar, the
boy by his frock. They tried at first to break away, but soon realizing
that I had a tough grip, they offered no further resistance. The man
addressed me in some unintelligible jargon. Then my comrades ran up, and
we bring you the catch."
"You young brigand, you are swallowing a paper!" cried Captain Martin,
rushing, but too late, upon little Rodin; for he it was, unrecognized by
John Lebrenn as the latter had seen him but once before, and briefly,
the day of the taking of the Bastille, when the vicious youngster had
attempted to make away with the annals of the Lebrenn family. Needless
to say, the man accompanying him, and also unknown to the company of
volunteers, was his "sweet" god-father, his "gentle" god-father, his
"dear" god-father Abbot Morlet. The wretched youngster had just the
minute before quickly carried to his mouth one of his hands, which he
had up till then held hidden beneath his coat.
"Search the knaves!" ordered Captain Martin. And quickly raising little
Rodin's blouse, he saw that the young one held his left hand tightly
shut. The captain pried it open, and some fragments of torn paper fell
to the floor. John Lebrenn and Castillon discovered nothing upon the
reverend Father Morlet. Carefully the captain pieced together the
scraps of paper he had gotten from the Jesuit's god-son, but found
nothing but figures. After a moment's examination he cried:
"No doubt of it! The man and his brat are emissaries of the enemy. The
letter of which they were the bearers is in cipher, except two names
which I find in the fragments--Conde, and then another of which some
letters seem to be missing;" and drawing nearer to the lamp, Captain
Martin added, "It is something like Plouar--Plouer--"
"Plouernel! without a doubt!" exclaimed John Lebrenn. "This ex-Count of
Plouernel, former colonel in the French Guards, was aide-de-camp to the
Duke of Brunswick, and must now be serving in the Emigrant ranks of the
Prince of Conde."
"Which is all the more probable since the corps of ex-nobles forms part
of Wurmser's army which is to attack us at daybreak," replied Captain
Martin, while John Lebrenn muttered to himself: "To-morrow, perhaps, I
shall find myself again face to face, arms in hand, with that descendant
of the Nerowegs whose life I saved last year."
"Your account will not take long to settle, you old rascal," said
Captain Martin to the Jesuit, gathering together the pieces of the
despatch. "You will be conducted to headquarters and simply shot as a
spy, after an examination by way of preface, of course. All the forms
will be followed!"
The Jesuit, unmoved, seemed not to hear the captain's words, and made
answer in a lingo invented by him for the occasion:
"_Rama o schlick!_"
"Yes, yes, _Rama o schlick_! It is clear as day. Yes, you will be
hanged!" replied Captain Martin imperturbably. Then he said to little
Rodin, who stood no less stolid than his good god-father: "You commence
your pretty trade quite young, you little scoundrel, you brigandette.
Your audacity, your presence of mind don't seem to fail you in the
least. No doubt they charged you with the despatch in the hope that even
if arrested you would not be suspected of carrying it. You are too young
to be shot, but we will first give your trousers a good dusting and then
send you to a house of correction."
During this speech little Rodin showed himself the worthy pupil of his
god-father and master. He did not wink an eyelid, although he kept his
snaky optics fixed on the captain. Then, beating his chest with one hand
with an air of compunction, he carried the other to each ear in turn and
to his mouth, as a pantomimic indication that he was deaf and dumb.
"So, poor lad, you are deaf and dumb?" said the captain. "In that case
you are free. Get out. May the devil take you."
But little Rodin remained motionless, not seeming to have heard.
Instead, he made a new sign that he could neither hear nor speak, and
heaved a most lamentable sigh. The sigh, the motions and the face of the
boy were stamped with such an air of sincerity that Captain Martin and
the brave volunteers who witnessed the scene began to believe that the
Jesuit's god-son had indeed the use of neither faculty.
The captain continued: "If this little beggar is, indeed, as he seems to
be, a deaf-mute, we shall send him to Abbot Sicard. He will have a
splendid pupil!" Then, turning to the Jesuit: "But you, old rogue, who
are neither dumb nor deaf, you shall be recompensed as you deserve!
Come, off to headquarters!"
"_Mira ta bi lou!_" replied the Jesuit, simulating the impatience of a
man tired of listening to gibberish.
"I understand perfectly," the captain said. "Be easy, you shall be well
hanged." He thereupon turned to John Lebrenn, saying, "You, comrade,
will take the prisoners to headquarters, and transmit these shreds of
paper to the staff-officer to whom you give the account of your capture.
One or two volunteers will accompany you to keep watch on the two
rascals."
"Do not weaken your post, Citizen Captain," said Duchemin. "On my way
back to my battery I shall accompany my comrade as far as the General's
quarters."
Then John Lebrenn, noticing for the first time the cannonier whose
patriotism had so strongly touched him a year before, cried out:
"Citizen James Duchemin!"
"Present, comrade! But how the deuce did you know me?"
"I'll tell you on our way to the General's," replied John. And soon,
taking the Jesuit by the collar while Duchemin seized little Rodin
firmly by the hand, the volunteer and the artilleryman left the inn and
set out towards the burg of Ingelsheim.
"The capture of the two spies prevented me from acquainting friend John
with what I have discovered as to Citizeness Victoria and our apprentice
Oliver," thought Castillon that night as he stretched himself out to
rest on his pallet of straw. "Well, the confidence will come a little
later!"