THE HAMMER OF THE WAR GOD
Nansouty's brilliant cavalrymen were already awake and their general
having divined to some extent the part he was to play in the glorious
day, the eleventh of February, the trumpets were already calling his
horsemen to arms when Marteau delivered the order and took his place by
the General as the Emperor's representative, a high position and great
responsibility for so young a soldier. They made a hasty breakfast and
broke camp. Indeed, there was little to break. The words are only
used figuratively, since they had no tents. In half an hour after
Marteau had left the Emperor's headquarters, the squadrons were formed.
Nansouty, attended by his staff and the young officer, galloped to the
head of the column, gave the word of command and the gallant horsemen
trotted down the road.
They had been posted near Fromentières, about two miles from
Champaubert, for the night. The roads were bad, but they took to the
fields, and by six o'clock they had passed through the town of
Montmirail, easily driving out a few straggling battalions which
occupied it. By eight o'clock they were in touch with the columns of
Sacken at Vieux Maisons. A bit of woodland covered their approach. It
was not until they were almost upon them that Sacken's advance came in
touch with them. The French horse followed the Russian outposts and
advance guards at a gallop back to the main column, upon which they
fell impetuously. Batteries were also deployed in the woods and opened
on the Russians.
Sacken's men had started after breakfast in a rather leisurely way, and
they had not progressed very far when Nansouty surprised them. The
French rode down the advance regiments, threw the heads of the columns
into confusion, and then galloped back to the shelter of the wood.
Believing that he was about to be attacked in force, Sacken deployed,
wasting much valuable time before he discovered this was only a cavalry
feint, whereupon he moved forward. It was ten o'clock before he
reached a large farm called Haute-Épine. By that time Napoleon was
ready for him. He had left Marmont back at Champaubert to hold back
Blücher. He threw Mortier forward on the Château-Thierry road to check
Yorck. He put Friant, the veteran and splendid fighter, in échelon
along the La Ferte road; withdrew Nansouty's cavalry to cover his own
right, and put Ney and Ricard in his main battle line between Friant on
the road and the river on the left. The guard, with Maurice's cavalry
d'élite, he posted on the edge of the woodland, north of Montmirail,
ready to throw to the northwestward to Marmont, or to the west to the
support of Ney and Friant, as events might determine. These
dispositions were barely completed before the battle was joined by the
Russian advance.
Sacken, who really outnumbered the forces opposed to him by at least
two thousand men, since Mortier's corps, guarding the northwest road,
was perforce inactive, and since six thousand men had been left at
Champaubert under Marmont to retain Blücher, attacked with the utmost
stubbornness and gallantry. He could make no impression on Friant,
écheloned on the main road, and before the resolute resistance his
advancing divisions slowly obliqued to the right toward another walled
farmhouse, called Épine-aux-Bois, in a stretch of lowland watered by a
brook.
Napoleon, seeing the whole course of the battle clearly, laid a trap
for him. He withdrew Nansouty from the battle, and ordered Ricard, in
command of his extreme left, to retreat slowly, fighting as if
defeated. Sacken, as he saw the wavering on his right, threw his
heaviest battalions and regiments upon that point, and attacked with
headlong impetuosity. At the same time he had enough men left to keep
Friant busy and in check. Napoleon, seeing the success of his ruse,
suddenly brought up the Guard. He threw it around the right flank of
Friant, and Sacken's left immediately began to give way. Ricard
stopped his retreat suddenly and stood like a stone wall. His
withdrawing Eagles moved forward. The advance of the Russian right
stopped also, the Muscovite officers and soldiers were greatly amazed
by the sudden resistance of an enemy retreating a moment since. One
division of the Guard moved out to the support of Friant, who also
advanced. The other division joined Mortier, who was in a hot fight
with Yorck's cavalry and light infantry. Napoleon now turned to
General Maurice, who had ridden up in advance of his horsemen.
"There"--he pointed down the hill toward the dark masses of the Russian
right--"there's your chance, General."
The Comte de Vivonne needed but the word. Turning in his saddle he
raised his sword. His cavalry had been waiting with unconcealed
impatience during the morning. Eagerly they responded to the command.
Dashing down the hill they fell on the puzzled Russian infantry around
Épine-aux-Bois. Ricard's men opened to give them way. What had been a
triumphant advance was turned into a retreat. The retreat bade fair to
be a disaster, but the Russians, as has been noted, were splendid
defensive soldiers. They formed squares. Although regiment after
regiment had been ridden over and beaten to pieces, those who remained
fought stubbornly.
Sacken perceived now that his only hope was to effect a junction with
Yorck. He withdrew his men under cover of his artillery to
Vieux-Maisons, and began to lead them by the left flank, at the same
time sending frantic messages to Yorck, imploring him to hasten. But
Yorck's guns were mired. He had only the teams attached to them. He
could get no other horses. He was unaccountably delayed. He had faced
about at the sound of the firing, but the movements of his main body
were slow, deliberate. Nansouty, who had opened the battle, was now
sent in by Napoleon to deliver the _coup-de-grâce_. With
characteristic gallantry he fell upon the Russian columns.
Sacken was driven from the field. In killed, wounded, and prisoners he
had lost half his force and all of his guns. His troops streamed
westward through roads and woods in wild confusion. He would have been
annihilated then and there but for the arrival of Yorck. The Prussian
at last fell on Mortier's weak corps and the Guard on the northern
road. Mortier's men were outnumbered four to one. They made a
desperate resistance, but it was not until Napoleon ordered up the
other division of the Guard, which had only been lightly engaged, and
Maurice's cavalry, that Yorck's advance was checked.
The short day had drawn to a close. Preparations were made to pass the
night on the field and in the town. All of Sacken's baggage train and
provisions had fallen into Napoleon's hands. Montmirail had been a
more decisive victory than Champaubert. Twenty thousand men had been
eliminated from calculations for the time being. Sending couriers to
Macdonald to move down the banks of the Marne with all possible speed,
to get in the rear of Yorck, with whom he purposed to deal on the
morrow, Napoleon, in high spirits, made preparations for the next day's
battle.
The next morning, the thirteenth, leaving a heavy force to check any
possible attack by Sacken, who had, with incredible energy and labor,
partially at least reorganized his shattered troops, but who was too
weak to do anything more than lead them away from any possible touch
with Napoleon's troops, the Emperor advanced toward the little village
of Château-Thierry. Yorck, by this time, had learned the full details
of the disaster to Sacken. Indeed, several of Sacken's brigades had
joined him, considerably augmenting his force. But he was now no match
for Napoleon. To stay meant annihilation. He hastily made his
disposition for a rear guard defense and a withdrawal. He made a
stubborn rear guard battle of it during the day, and, although he lost
heavily in men, guns and supplies, he finally succeeded in crossing the
Marne and breaking the bridges behind him.
Macdonald had moved tardily. If he had shown half the enterprise of
the Emperor he would have been at the crossing of the Marne in good
time and Yorck would have been caught in a trap whence he could not
have extricated himself. As it was, Napoleon added largely to the
number of prisoners taken and the number of enemies killed. Altogether
he had put twenty-five thousand men out of action, in killed, wounded
and prisoners. He had taken one hundred and twenty guns--so many that
he had to tumble them into the creeks and rivers, because he could not
transport them all. He had rearmed and reclothed and provided for his
gallant little army at the expense of the enemy. It was an exploit of
which even he could be proud. On the other hand, in these operations
the French had lost some four thousand men killed and wounded, and, as
their army was so small, they could ill afford such a diminution of
their forces.
Meantime, Blücher, apprised of these disasters, and at last awakened to
his peril, bravely marched westward. He had come in touch with
Marmont, and had driven him out of Champaubert after a desperate
resistance. The day after the elimination of Yorck, the fourteenth,
Napoleon headed his tired but triumphant troops back over the road to
Champaubert, sending word to Marmont to hold the Prussians in check as
long as possible, to dispute every rod of the way, but not to throw
away his precious men or bring on a general engagement until the
Emperor arrived.
The morning after that Napoleon fell on Blücher, who clearly
outnumbered the French. But the allies were dismayed and disheartened.
The name of the Emperor whom they had defeated and driven across Europe
was again full of terror to them. The French were accordingly elated.
They would not be denied. Marmont's men, intoxicated with the news of
the success of the other divisions of the army, just as soon as they
were given the word, which was just as soon as Napoleon could bring up
their comrades, fell on Blücher like a storm. They came in battle
contact in the village of Vauchamps. The fighting was of the most
desperate character. The battle was harder than all of the others put
together. Bavarians, Prussians, and Russians, fighting under the eye
of brave old Blücher himself, who recklessly exposed his person on the
field, were tenacious and courageous to the highest degree, but the
tactics and dispositions of Napoleon, the spirit of his men, his own
equally reckless exposure of his person under fire, and a cavalry dash
at the allied rear at Janvilliers, finally turned the wavering tide of
battle. The allies began to retreat, the French followed.
The French pursued relentlessly, but with splendid skill and
determination Blücher himself in command of the rearguard fought them
off. Napoleon had foreseen this. He had massed all the cavalry under
Grouchy and had sent them on a long round-about march across country to
get in Blücher's rear. Just beyond Champaubert, in a dense wood in
front of the village of Étoges, the retreating allies found the road
barred by the cavalry. Grouchy had been provided with sufficient
artillery to enable him to hold the retreat in check; but the mud still
prevailed, many horses had been shot and killed, the peasants' horses
drawing the guns had been unable to keep pace with the necessarily
rapid movements of the cavalry, and the batteries had not come up. Nor
was there any supporting infantry. Indeed, the retreat of the
Prussians had been so sudden and so rapid that Grouchy's horse had been
hard put to it to intercept them.
The regiments leading the allied retreat were formed in squares, and
with musketry and cannon animated with the courage of despair, they
forced a passage through the charging, barring masses of the French
cavalry, not, however, without losing several of the squares in the
process. It was their only possible way to safety. As it was, Blücher
himself narrowly escaped capture.
Napoleon's soldiers had fought five pitched battles in four days. As a
preparation, they had marched thirty miles, night and day, over
incredible roads. They were now utterly exhausted. They could do no
more. They must have a good rest. Blücher's forces had been
scattered, eliminated, defeated in detail. There was now nothing for
the Field Marshal to do but to retreat and rally his men. The success
of the Emperor had been brilliant in the extreme.
The fighting was not over, however, for thirty miles to the southward
lay the vast army of Schwarzenberg. Napoleon might have pursued
Blücher to the bitter end. Military critics say he should have done
so. To him, however, on the spot, it seemed proper to leave Blücher
for the time being and endeavor to repeat on Schwarzenberg the
marvelous tactics of the five days' fight.
The next morning, the fifteenth, he started back to Nogent whence he
had come. Victor and Oudinot had been fighting hard with
Schwarzenberg, but the news of Napoleon's victories had finally caused
the cautious Austrian to stop. He began the recall and concentration
of his own scattered divisions. He, at least, would not be caught
napping. As usual the enemy learned something, even in defeat.
Speed was still essential to Napoleon. His men had had twenty-four
hours of rest. His horses were comparatively fresh. The weather had
changed, the roads were frozen, horribly rough, but still much more
passable than before. Once again the Emperor resorted to the
peasantry. They, too, had been intoxicated with the news of his
victories, many of which they had witnessed and, in the plunder
resulting, had shared. They brought their horses which they had hidden
in ravines and forests when the country was overrun by the enemy. This
time, instead of attaching them to the guns which their own
teams--recruited from the captures--could draw on the hard roads,
Napoleon had them hitched to the big farm wagons. Into the wagons he
loaded his infantry. And at the highest speed of the horses the whole
force made its way to the southward. To other victories--to
defeats--to what?
The Emperor began once again to dream of an empire whose boundaries
would be the Vistula instead of the Rhine.
BOOK II
THE EAGLE'S FLIGHT
CHAPTER XV
THE BRIDGE AT ARCIS
The long journey was at last over. The last Alp had been surmounted,
the last pass traversed. Behind them rose the snowy summit of mighty
Mont Blanc itself. Before them lay their wearying journey's end. It
was cold even in sunny Southern France on that morning in early spring.
Marteau, his uniform worn, frayed, travel-stained, and dusty, his
close-wrapped precious parcel held to his breast under his shabby great
coat, his face pale and haggard from hardship and heartbreak, his body
weak and wasted from long illness and long captivity, stood on the top
of a ridge of the hill called Mont Rachais, overlooking the walled town
of Grenoble, on the right bank of the Isère. The Fifth-of-the-Line had
been stationed there before in one of the infrequent periods of peace
during the Napoleonic era. He was familiar with the place and he knew
exactly where to look for what he expected to see.
More ragged and tattered, more travel-stained indeed, and with only the
semblance of a uniform left, was the young lad who stood by the
soldier's side. But the boy was in good health and looked strong and
sturdy.
"There," said the officer. "You see that square bulk of buildings
against the wall beyond the Cathedral church-tower and over the Palais
de Justice?"
"I see them, my officer," answered the other, shading his hand and
staring over the roofs and walls and spires of the compact little town.
"The barracks will be there unless the regiment has moved. That will
be the end of our journey."
"The building with the flag, you mean, monsieur?" asked Pierre.
"That one."
Alas! the flag was no longer the tricolor but the white flag of ancient
royal France. Marteau heaved a deep sigh as he stared at it with sad
eyes and sadder face.
The unexpected, that is, from the young soldier's point of view, had
happened. The empire was no more. The allies had triumphed. The
Emperor has been beaten. He had abdicated and gone. He was
practically a prisoner on the little island of Elba, adjacent to that
greater island of Corsica, where he had been born. The great circle of
his life had been completed. And all the achievements were to be
comprehended between those two little islands in the blue
Mediterranean--from Corsica to Elba, the phrase ran. Was that all?
Much water had flowed under the bridges of Europe since that mad ride
of the infantry in the farm wagons to face Schwarzenberg after their
smashing and successful attacks upon Blücher, although the intervening
time had been short. A year had scarcely elapsed, but that twelve
months had been crowded with incident, excitement, and vivid interest
almost unparalleled by any similar period in modern history. The
Emperor had, indeed, fought hard for his throne and against heavy odds.
He had fought against indifference, against carelessness, against
negligence, last of all against treachery. For in the end it was
treachery that had undone him and France. Still, it may be that even
had Marmont and Mortier remained loyal the end would have been the same.
The odds were too heavy, in fine. The Emperor did not realize their
preponderance until it was too late. If he had assembled every
soldier, abandoning everything else but the defense of France, and if
he had shown with such an army as he could have gathered under those
conditions the same spirit of generalship which he had exhibited in
that marvelous campaign against Blücher, he might have saved France,
his throne, his wife, his little son, his prestige, everything. As it
was, he lost all. But not without fighting. Stubborn, determined,
magnificently defiant he had been to the last.
Marteau had often thrilled to the recollection during the long hours he
spent in captivity in Austria, and even in the delirium and fever of
his long and wasting illness, begot of the foul prison, he had
remembered it. In all the hard fighting and hard marching of those
mournful if splendid days the young man had faithfully and well borne
his important if humble part. There was a great dearth of officers,
staff officers as well as the others. He had been very near to the
Emperor during those last days.
He remembered the smashing attack upon the van of the allies at
Montereau. He could feel once more the thrill of the army, as the
circumspect Schwarzenberg stopped his advance, retired, concentrated
his columns. He remembered the long, swift march back across the
country, after further demonstrations to keep Schwarzenberg in his
cautious mood, against the rear of the reorganized and advancing army
of Blücher; the desperate, bloody, fruitless battles of Laon and
Craonne, rendered necessary by treachery.
He could recall again the furious rage of Napoleon, the almost despair
that filled the Emperor's heart, when the news came of the cowardly
surrender of the fort at Soissons by its incapable commandant, which
rendered useless Napoleon's cunning plans, and all the hard marching
and harder fighting of his heroic soldiery.
He recalled the escape of hard-pressed Blücher again, the return of the
French to face the overwhelming main army of the allies, slowly but
surely moving toward its goal whenever the withdrawal of the Emperor
left it free to advance, the detachment of Marmont and Mortier to
defend Paris, the fierce two-day battle at Arcis-sur-Aube, the dash of
Maurice's and Sebastiani's gallant cavalry upon the whole Austrian
army, the deadly conflict before the bridge, the picture of the retreat
that bade fair to become a rout.
He could see again the Emperor, riding down, sword in hand, into the
midst of the fugitives crossing the bridge, and, amid a storm of
bullets, ordering and beseeching and imploring the men to rally. He
had been there on that mad March morning. He would never forget the
sight of that figure, the words the Emperor said. It reminded him of
the dash of the "little corporal" with the flag on the bridge of Lodi,
of which old Bullet-Stopper had often told him and the other young men
over the camp-fires.
The Fifth-of-the-Line had immortalized itself that day, adding to the
fame it had gained upon a hundred fields, an imperishable crown.
Napoleon saw that the battle was lost, that the whole Austrian army had
blundered upon that first French division and that, unless their steady
advance could be checked, the division itself would be cut to pieces.
Men had grown more precious to the Emperor every hour. What would he
not have given for those he had spent so recklessly years before? And
here was a whole division about to be annihilated, to say nothing of
the cavalry, which had performed prodigies of valor.
"What regiment is that?" he had asked Marteau, who was riding at his
heels in the midst of the fugitives, and doing his best to second the
Emperor's frantic efforts to restore order and bring the men to a stand.
"The Fifth-of-the-Line, Sire."
"Your old regiment?"
"The same, Sire."
"It still stands."
"And it will stand."
"Good! Go to it. Tell them that I, the Emperor, devote them to death,
for me and for the army. They must hold the Austrians in check and
cover the retreat."
"Farewell, Sire," the young soldier had said, saluting.
"What mean you?"
"I shall not come back with the remainder."
"Adieu," said the Emperor, acknowledging the salute and understanding
all.
How well Marteau remembered that frightful conflict. The
Fifth-of-the-Line had not waited to be attacked. It had gone forward.
The Colonel had been shot down. Officer after officer had fallen. The
advancing line had wavered, hesitated, halted. The Eagle-bearer fell.
Eager hands caught the staff. The Austrian fire was concentrated upon
it. The color guard was shot to pieces. The Eagle itself had the tip
of its right wing shot away. Mortal men could do no more. The
regiment began to give back.
It was Marteau who sprang to the front, he and young Pierre, who had
attached himself to the officer in a sort of unofficial way. It was
Marteau who seized the Eagle; it was he who rallied the line. The new
men formed up like veterans, the old men settled in their places, cool
and ready. They returned the Austrian fire, they checked the Austrian
advance, they stood ready while the troops behind them ran for their
lives. Napoleon, whose eye nothing escaped, saw it all. He even
recognized Marteau carrying the Eagle.
The Fifth-of-the-Line made good that defense until the time came for
the retreat. Then it retired slowly, fighting every step of the way
down the low hill to the bridge. The men dropped by scores. The
Austrians, seeing victory in reach, pressed closer. A charge at the
last minute by the cuirassiers of the Emperor Francis' guard almost
completed the annihilation of the first battalion of the regiment. The
survivors sought to form a square, under a withering gun fire, to meet
the uplifted sabers of the heavy cavalry. There were not enough of
them left. They were ridden down. Two hundred and fifty of the four
hundred who went into that fight lay dead on that field. Of the
survivors scarce a handful got across the river. Some of the unhurt
men, disdaining quarter and unable to fly, fought until they fell. The
wounded, of whom there were many, were all captured out of hand.
Marteau, with the Eagle, had stood nearest the enemy. They had swarmed
about him at last. He found himself alone, save for the boy, Pierre.
He could see the red-faced, excited, shouting, yelling,
passion-animated Austrian soldiers crowding upon him. His sword was
broken, his pistols empty and gone. He was defenseless. Retreat was
cut off. The Eagle staff had been shot away. The flag torn to pieces.
Hands were stretched out to seize it. He could not escape with it, yet
it must not fall to the enemy. It was the tradition of the service
that the Eagles were to be preserved at all hazards--not the flag, that
was a mere perishable adjunct to the Eagle, but the Eagle itself. The
river ran but a few feet away. Thrusting aside the nearest Austrian
with the stump of his blade, Marteau cleared a path for a second, and
into the swift deep waters he hurled the sacred emblem.
He, at least, he thought swiftly, had a right to dispose of it thus,
for out of the waters of the Elster he had brought it, so into the
waters of the Aube he threw it.
With cries of rage, for the Eagle was the most precious spoil of war,
and the regiment or the officer seizing it was distinguished above all
others, the Austrians would have cut him down where he stood with arms
crossed, facing the enemy, but officers who had ridden up had seen the
exploit and had interfered. He had been made a prisoner and Pierre
with him. He just had time to whisper to the boy to mark well the spot
where the Eagle had disappeared in the waters before they marched away.
While under guard with other prisoners at Salzburg he had heard the
story of the end. How Napoleon, trusting the defense of Paris to
Marmont and Mortier, had resolved on the bold move of cutting the
communications of the allies with his little army, and how the allies
had decided to disregard their rear and march on Paris; how Marmont and
Mortier had battled for the capital, how the Emperor, hearing of their
straits, had begun that mad march toward his beloved city; how he had
ordered every soldier that could be reached to march in that direction;
how he had stopped at a wayside inn one night for a few hours' rest,
after a furious day's ride, only to be told that Marmont and Mortier
had gone over to the enemy, that Paris was lost!
The prisoners had learned how the Emperor, not yet despairing, had
striven to quicken the spirits of his marshals and soldiers for a last
try; how the marshals and great officers had failed him. They had all
heard of those lonely hours at Fontainebleau, of the farewell to the
Guard, of the kiss on the Eagle, which he surrendered to General Petit,
of the abdication, of the exile to Elba, of the restoration of King
Louis.
It had made Marteau ill, frightfully so, and but for the tender nursing
and loving care of young Pierre he had died. The lad had been devotion
itself, but Marteau missed more than anything else the companionship,
the sage advice, the bon camaraderie of old Bullet-Stopper. He had
never seen him or heard from him after that day at the bridge-head at
Arcis. Where was he now?
Oh, yes, those days and their tidings would never be forgot. They all
came back to the young officer, as with his humble but devoted
companion he stood there on the heights above Grenoble looking at the
white flag.
CHAPTER XVI
THE GATE IN THE WALL
The two travelers were stopped by the guard at the main gate in the
walls that encircled the town. Marteau had drawn his old cloak closely
about him, so that it was not evident that he was in uniform. Pierre's
nondescript garments were so tattered and torn that neither would they
betray the pair. The sentry was clad in the old uniform of the
Fifth-of-the-Line, except that he sported a white cockade in his
head-gear and every device that referred to the Empire had been
carefully eliminated. Still he was the same soldier, and Marteau
recognized him at once as one of the veterans of the regiment. The
recognition was not mutual. Captivity, illness, privation had wrought
many changes in the officer's face. The man looked at him curiously
and wonderingly, however, as he challenged him.
"My friend," asked the officer, "of what regiment are you, I pray?"
"The Fifth-of-the----" began the man instinctively, apparently, and
then he stopped. "The regiment Dauphiné," he answered, his face
clouding.
"And what battalion?"
"The first, sir."
"Are there other troops in garrison?"
"Another regiment of infantry, that was the Seventh. I don't know its
new name. And some artillery to man the walls."
"Good. I should like---- Who is in command of the town?"
"There is a new one since yesterday. He has just come down from Paris,
the King sent----"
At that instant the gruff voice of the subaltern in command of the
detachment at the gate rang out.
"Turn out the guard for the Commanding Officer."
"Back, monsieur," cried the soldier, falling into line with his
comrades, who came running from the guard-house and ranged themselves
in order.
Marteau stepped back into the shadow of the gate, just as a carriage
and four, carrying three people and attended by a brilliant cavalry
escort, dashed through the narrow street of the town and passed out of
the gate, the soldiers of the guard standing at attention in line and
presenting arms as the carriage and its following went on into the
country by the highroad. The horses had been moving at a fast trot.
Marteau had time for but one glance as the vehicle passed. One glance
was enough. When the guard had been dismissed and the soldier on post
turned again to look at the officer, he was astonished at the change
that had come over him. Marteau, pale as death, leaned against the
wall, his hand on his heart.
"What's the matter?" cried the soldier, staring at him curiously.
"Has monsieur seen a ghost?" asked young Pierre, running toward him in
great anxiety.
"Who--who was that?" asked Marteau, who had received a dreadful shock
apparently.
"The governor of the town."
"Yes, yes, I know, but his name?"
"I was about to tell you. The Marquis de---- Upon my word, I have
forgot it."
"Was it by any chance the Marquis d'Aumenier?"
"That's it," said the soldier.
"And the man with him in the red coat?"
The soldier spat into the dust to show his contempt.
"An English milord."
"And the lady?"
"I don't know. They say, the wife of that Englishman. Things have
come to a pretty pass," growled the soldier, turning away, "when our
girls marry these English beef-eaters, and---- It was not so in the
day of the Em----"
He stopped suddenly, wondering fearfully whether his garrulousness had
betrayed him into an imprudence with this stranger.
"No," said Marteau reassuringly. "Will you let me pass, comrade? I am
an old soldier of--the Empire." He had no hesitation in avowing
himself under the circumstances. "See," he threw open his cloak,
disclosing his uniform.
"Why, that is the uniform of this regiment!" exclaimed the amazed
soldier.
"Yes."
"And you are----"
"I was Captain Marteau when with the regiment," returned the officer.
"I thought I knew you, sir. Yes, I remember it all now. You were cut
down at the bridge at Arcis."
"Yes."
"I, too, was there. I was one of the few who managed to get away
alive. But I did not run, monsieur. I did not go back until the
order."
"I believe it."
"And this boy?"
"He is a young comrade, a faithful companion of my own."
"And you are come back----"
"To rejoin the regiment. I have been months in an Austrian prison, and
afterward, ill."
"Pass freely, monsieur. You rallied us with the Eagle. We saw it go
into the river. The Emperor himself commended us, those who were left.
He said we should have another Eagle, but alas, we never got it."
"Have patience," said Marteau. "What is lost may be found."
He touched the small, well-wrapped parcel, which even in his agitation
he had not allowed to fall to the ground. The soldier looked at him
wonderingly.
"You mean----"
"Never mind. Be silent. Will you call your officer?"
"Corporal of the guard," shouted the sentry, and, when that official
appeared, the lieutenant in command of the gate was soon summoned
through the usual military channels.
"Monsieur," said Marteau, walking up to him, "do you not know me?"
"By heaven!" cried the officer, after a long stare, "is it--it is
Captain Marteau!"
"The same."
"We thought you dead. Your name is honored in the regiment. We knew
how you rallied the line; how you took the Eagle; how you threw it into
the river rather than permit it to be taken. We thought you were
killed."
"My life was spared," was the solemn answer.
"But why did you not rejoin the regiment?"
"I was in prison at Salzburg, and for some reason was overlooked,
perhaps because it was thought I was dead, and then for some months I
was helpless, ill of a horrible fever. It was only two months ago that
I was set free, with this lad here, who stood beside me before the
bridge at Arcis. We learned through unofficial sources that the
regiment was here. Having nowhere else to go, I came back, and----"
"They will be glad to see you," said the officer. "The regiment lost
heavily. It was almost cut to pieces at Arcis."
"I know."
"But many officers and men of the old regiment have come back, like
you, from Russia, from Prussia and from Austria, where they had been
held prisoners. They will be glad to welcome you at the barracks
yonder. You are permitted to pass. But stop. I must do my duty.
What have you in that parcel?"
Marteau looked about him, moved a step away from the sentries and the
corporal and sergeant of the guard, and whispered a word into the ear
of the officer. He threw up his hands in astonishment.
"Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed. "Is it possible?"
"The same," said Marteau, "but say nothing about it until I have seen
our comrades."
"Of course not."
"And that carriage and four that just passed?"
"The governor of the town, the Marquis d'Aumenier, the new commander of
the regiment."
"I see; and our old Colonel?"
"Dead. The Major commanding the first battalion has been in command
until they sent this old noble down here yesterday."
"And the lady?"
"His niece."
"You have met her?"
"Not I. They care nothing for such as we. He treats us as if we were
of the scum of the earth, dogs. Oh, if only----"
"Hush," said Marteau. "It is dangerous."
"I know. And he brought with him an Englishman, one of the Duke of
Wellington's officers."
"Is he married to the young lady?"
"Not yet, I believe, but betrothed."
"And his name?"
"He has a barbarous name. I can't pronounce it. He had us out
inspecting us yesterday--he and that Englishman. Bah! To think of the
Fifth-of-the-Line being inspected by such a young red-coated cockerel."
The veteran spat in the dust as the soldier had done and swore roundly.
He hated the red-coated English. He had fought them before, and he
would like nothing better than to fight them again.
"Patience," said Marteau.
"Do you wish to go to headquarters and report yourself? You were a
Major on the Emperor's staff?"
"A Lieutenant-Colonel, by personal appointment that day at Arcis."
"Well, you will be lucky enough if they make you a subaltern. Look at
me. I am older than you. I am a veteran of Italy and I am only a
sub-lieutenant, I, who was Captain when I was captured."
"Patience, my friend," said Marteau again.
"Here," said the officer, hailing a cabriolet, which suddenly turned
the corner.
"I have no money," said Marteau quickly.
"The King pays ill enough," answered the officer, "but what I have is
ever at the service of a good comrade."
He assisted Marteau into the cabriolet, allowed Pierre to climb up
beside him, paid the driver his fare, and bade him take the two to the
headquarters in the barracks.
CHAPTER XVII
A VETERAN OF THE ARMY OF ITALY
It was noon when Marteau presented himself before the house in which
the Major of the first battalion, an old veteran named Lestoype, was
quartered.
"Who shall I say wants to see him?" asked the orderly before the door.
"A soldier of the Empire," was the bold answer, and it proved an open
sesame to the astonished orderly.
Lestoype was writing at a table, but he looked up when Marteau came in.
He stared at him a moment and then rose to his feet.
"I report myself ready for duty, Major," said the young officer,
saluting.
"Good God, is it Marteau!" exclaimed the Major.
"The same."
"We thought you dead."
Rapidly the young officer explained the situation.
"You see," he said in closing, "I survived the Eagle."
"Ah, if we could only have got it back!" exclaimed the Major.
"It is back."
"What do you mean?"
"It is here."
"I don't understand."
"Look," cried the officer, nervously tearing away the wrappings and
holding up his precious burden.
The Major came to attention, his heels clicked together, his hand went
up. He stared at the Eagle.
"_Vive l'Empereur_," he said.
"_Vive l'Empereur_," answered the other, but both of them spoke in
whispers, for there was no Emperor, and a mention of the name was
treason to the King.
"It is the same?" asked the Major, taking the precious emblem in his
hand and pressing it to his heart.
"The very same."
"But how?"
"The boy here and I marked the spot where it fell. We took bearings,
as a sailor would say; we took them independently, and when we had a
chance to compare them we found that we agreed exactly. When I was
released from prison and discharged from the hospital as a
convalescent, we went back to Arcis, to the bridge, to the river side.
The boy here is an expert swimmer. The river was low. He dove into
the icy waters again and again until he found it. We were most
circumspect in our movements. No one observed us. I wrapped it up,
concealed it carefully, learned that the regiment was here, and I
surrender it into your hands."
"It is a shame," began Lestoype gloomily at last, laying the Eagle
gently down on his desk.
"What is a shame?"
"The order."
"What order?"
"The Eagles of all the regiments and ships are to be sent to Paris to
be destroyed."
"Impossible!"
"Nevertheless, it is true. They have taken them wherever they could
lay hands on them. It has almost caused a revolt."
"And are you going to send this Eagle to Paris?" asked Marteau
threateningly. "This Eagle for which I fought, this Eagle which I
rescued from the Elster and the Aube, for which hundreds of brave men
have died, this Eagle which has been in the forefront of every battle
in which the regiment took part since the Emperor gave it into our
keeping before Ulm?"
"What can I do?"
"I will throw it into the Isère first. I will destroy it myself before
that happens," cried Marteau, snatching it up and pressing it to his
heart. "I have taken no oaths. I am still the Emperor's man."
"Not so loud," said Lestoype warningly. "The men of the regiment may
not all be true. You may be overheard."
"You and all the others have taken the oath of allegiance to the King?"
"What else was there to do? Soldiering is my trade. They offered us
commissions; the Empire was dead; the Emperor banished. It was a
living, at any rate."
"But I am free, I am not bound."
"You must, you will take the oath," urged Lestoype.
"How if he should come back?"
"He will not come back."
"Will he not? It is whispered everywhere," said Marteau. "I have not
passed an old soldier who did not voice the hope. It's in the air.
'When the violets bloom,' they say. Even the peasants whisper it. The
imperial purple flower---- He will return."
"God grant it may be so."
"And we shall be ready for him, we who have not taken the oath, and
who----"
"I am afraid I shall be a forsworn man, in that case," said the
veteran, smiling grimly. "Should the Emperor again set foot in France
his presence would absolve us from all vows. I only serve under the
King's colors because no others fly in France."
"Be it so."
"And you will be with us again in the regiment?"
"How can I?"
"Be advised," said the old soldier, laying his hand upon the arm of the
younger, "we must keep together. We must keep our regimental
organizations intact. The army must be ready for him. Take the oath
as well nigh every soldier high and low in France has done, and----"
"Well, I shall see. Meanwhile, the Eagle there. You won't give it up?"
"Give it up!" laughed Lestoype. "I feel just as you do about it, but
we must conceal it. The Seventh, Labédoyère's regiment, in garrison
here, concealed their Eagle. At least it has not been found. There
was a terrible to do about it."
"Do you vouch for the officer at the main gate? I had to tell him in
order to be passed. I know him but slightly."
"The Sub-Lieutenant Drehon."
"He is safe?"
"Beyond doubt. Meanwhile, you require----"
"Everything," said Marteau simply.
"The King's paymasters are a long time in coming. We are left to make
shift as best we can. But I am not yet penniless," returned the old
Major. He threw a purse on the table. "You will be my guest. With
these you can get proper clothes and uniform."
"And the boy?"
"I will turn him over to the men. They will be glad to welcome him.
He should have the Legion of Honor for rescuing the Eagle. But stop."
"What is it?"
"He won't talk?"
"I have tested that lad. He will be as close-mouthed as the grave.
You understand, Pierre, you are not to say a word about the Eagle until
I give you leave," said Marteau to his young comrade. "About our other
adventures you can tell."
"I understand. Monsieur knows that I can be silent."
"I know. Good-by. I shall see you to-morrow. Now," began Marteau, as
the orderly who had been summoned had taken Pierre away with
instructions to see that he was clothed and fed, "let me ask some
questions. Who was in command of the regiment?"
"I was until yesterday."
"And yesterday?"
"The King sent down an old officer to take the command, a
Lieutenant-Colonel."
"And the Colonel?"
"Monsieur d'Artois."
"So that----"
"The Lieutenant-Colonel commands the regiment, which is now known as
the Regiment Dauphiné, the Comte d'Artois' own," said the Major, with
fine scorn. "What a name to take the place of the Fifth-of-the-Line,"
he added.
"And Monsieur d'Aumenier?"
"Oh, he seems harmless enough. He is a trained soldier, too, of
royalist days before the Empire. He even told me he had been at the
school at Brienne when the Emperor was a student there."
"And who is with him?"
"His niece, the Countess Laure d'Aumenier, engaged to that young
English officer."
"And what of him?"
"Well enough for an Englishman, I suppose," was the careless answer.
"We were paraded yesterday and the young Englishman inspected us, the
lady looking on. Actually my gorge rose, as he handled our muskets,
criticized our drill. I heard some of the old mustaches of the
regiment say they would like to put a bayonet through him, and, to be
frank, I should like it myself. I fought against these English in
Spain. There's no love lost between us."
"Did he disparage the regiment?"
"Oh, no, quite the contrary. He was more than complimentary, but I
hate them. His father is here, too."
"I see. When is the marriage to take place?"
"How do I know? I was surprised when the old Marquis volunteered any
information to the likes of me."
"I must see the Marquis at once; with your permission, of course."
"You have it," returned the other, smiling. "You are not yet
reinstated in the regiment, and, so far as I am concerned, you are free
to go and come as you will."
"He is not here now, I believe?"
"No. He turned over the command to me temporarily. He is driving out
into the country, going out to the gap to reconnoiter for himself, I
take it, but he will be back before nightfall, and meanwhile you have
much to do. We want to get you well fed, to get some good French wine
into you, to put the blood into your veins and color into your cheeks,
to give you a bath, to get you clothing--everything," said the generous
old veteran.
CHAPTER XVIII
ALMOST A GENTLEMAN
"Will you tell the Lieutenant-Colonel, the Marquis d'Aumenier, that an
officer returned from the wars desires to see him?" said Marteau to the
footman who answered the door at the Governor's palace.
"So many wandering officers want to see His Excellency," said the
servant superciliously, "that I have instructions to require further
enlightenment before I admit any to his presence."
"Say to your master," replied the other, his face flushing at the
insolence of the servant, "that one from the village of Aumenier craves
an audience on matters of great importance."
"And even that will scarcely be sufficient," began the lackey.
"Enough!" thundered Marteau. "Carry my message to him instantly," he
said fiercely, "or I shall throw you aside and carry it myself."
The servant looked at him a moment, and not relishing what he saw,
turned on his heel and disappeared.
"His Excellency will see you, sir," he said, in a manner considerably
more respectful when he returned a few moments later. "This way, sir.
His Excellency is in the drawing-room, having finished his dinner.
What name shall I announce?" he asked, his hand on the door.
"Announce no one," was the curt reply. "Open the door. I will make
myself known."
The lackey threw open the door. Marteau entered the room and closed
the door behind him. The drawing-room of the Governor's palace was
brilliantly illuminated. The Governor was receiving the officers of
the garrison and the principal inhabitants of the city that night, but
it was yet early in the evening, and none of them had arrived. The
young officer had purposely planned his visit at that hour, in order
that he might have a few moments' conversation with the Marquis before
the invited guests arrived.
There were five people gathered about the fireplace, all engrossed in
pleasant conversation apparently. It was the second of March, and the
weather made the fire blazing on the hearth very welcome. Four of the
five people in the room were men; the fifth person was a woman. It was
she whose attention was first aroused by the sound of the closing of
the door. She faced about, her glance fell upon the newcomer, a cup
which she held in her hand fell to the floor, the precious china
splintering into a thousand fragments, her face turned as white as the
lace of her low evening gown.
"Marteau!" she exclaimed in almost an agonized whisper.
"Mademoiselle," answered the soldier, bowing profoundly.
He was beautifully dressed in the nearest approach to the latest
fashion that the best tailor in Grenoble could offer--thanks to the
Major's purse--and, although his most becoming attire was not a
uniform, his every movement betrayed the soldier, as his every look
bespoke the man.
"And who have we here?" asked the oldest man of the group, the Marquis
d'Aumenier himself, the attention of all being attracted to the
newcomer by the crash of the broken china and the low exclamation of
the young woman which none had made out clearly.
"By gad!" bellowed out with tremendous voice a stout old man, whose red
face and heavy body contrasted surprisingly with the pale face, the
lean, thin figure of the old Marquis, "I am damned if it isn't the
young Frenchman that held the château with us. Lad," he cried,
stepping forward and stretching out his hand, "I am glad to see you
alive. I asked after you, as soon as I came back to France, but they
told me you were dead."
"On the contrary, as you see, sir, I am very much alive, and at Sir
Gervaise Yeovil's service as always," said Marteau, meeting the
Englishman's hand with his own, touched by the other's hearty greeting,
whose genuineness no one could doubt. "And this gentleman?" he went
on, turning to a young replica of the older man, who had stepped to his
father's side.
"Is my son, Captain Frank Yeovil, of King George's Fifty-second Light
Infantry. By gad, I am glad to have him make your acquaintance. He is
going to marry the Marquis' niece here--your old friend--when they can
settle on a day. You had thoughts in that direction yourself, I
remember," he went on, in his bluff way, "but I suppose you have got
bravely over them by now," he laughed.
"I have resigned myself to the inevitable, monsieur," answered Marteau
with a calmness that he did not feel.
He did not dare to look at the Countess Laure as he spoke. He could
not have commanded himself if he had done so. His lips were compressed
and his face was paler than before. The girl saw it. She had watched
him, fascinated. The Englishman, young, frank, sunny-haired, gallant,
stepped up to him, shook him by his unwilling hand.
"I am glad to know you," he said. "I have heard how you saved my
betrothed's life and honor, and held the château. I have longed to
meet you, to thank you."
"And I you," said Marteau. "You English are frank. I shall be
likewise," he added. "It was not thus I wanted to meet you, monsieur,
not in a drawing-room, in this peaceful dress, but--on the field."
"I understand," said the Englishman, sobered a little by the other's
seriousness. "And if the war had continued perhaps we might have
settled the--er"--his eyes sought those of his fiancée, but she was not
looking at him--"our differences," he added, "in the old knightly way,
but now----"
"Now it is impossible," assented Marteau, "since my Emperor and I are
both defeated."
"Monsieur," broke in the high, rather sharp voice of the old Marquis,
"that is a title which is no longer current in France. As loyal
subjects of, the King the word is banished--like the man."
"I am but new to France, Monsieur le Marquis, and have not yet learned
to avoid the ancient habit."
"And yet you are a Frenchman," commented the Marquis dryly. "You said
you came from Aumenier. I did not catch your name, sir?"
"Marteau, at your service."
"One of the loyal Marteaux?"
"The last one, sir."
"And pray why are you new to France?"
"I have but two months since been released from an Austrian prison and
an Austrian hospital."
"I made inquiry," said the Countess suddenly, the tones of her voice
bespeaking her deep agitation, "I caused the records to be searched.
They said you were dead, that you had been killed at the bridge of
Arcis with the rest of your regiment."
"I was unfortunate enough to survive my comrades as you see,
mademoiselle," said Marteau.
"And I thank God for that," said the Countess Laure. "I have never
forgot what you did for me, and----"
"Nor has the memory of your interposition which twice saved my life
escaped from my mind for a single instant, mademoiselle."
"Yes, it was very fine, no doubt, on the part of both of you," said
Captain Yeovil, a little impatiently, because he did not quite see the
cause of all this perturbation on the part of his betrothed; "but you
are quits now, and for my part----"
"What I did for mademoiselle is nothing, monsieur. I shall always be
in her debt," replied the Frenchman.
"Monsieur St. Laurent," said the Marquis, turning to the other occupant
of the room, "my new adjutant, Monsieur Marteau," he added in
explanation, "was there not a Marteau borne on the rolls of the
regiment? I think I saw the name when I looked yesterday, and it
attracted me because I knew it."
"Yes, your Excellency," said St. Laurent, "he was a Captain when he was
detached."
"You were on service elsewhere, _Monsieur mon Capitaine_?" asked the
Marquis.
"I was a Lieutenant-Colonel, your Excellency."
"And where and when?"
"On the day at Arcis. Made so by"--he threw up his head--"by him who
cannot be named."
"Ah! Quite so," said the Marquis, helping himself to a pinch of snuff
from a jeweled box, quite after the fashion of the old régime. He shut
the box and tapped it gently. "There is, I believe, a vacancy in the
regiment, a Captaincy. My gracious King, whom God and the saints
preserve, leaves the appointment to me. It is at your service. I
regret that I can offer you no higher rank. I shall be glad to have
you in my command," he went on. "It is meet and right that you should
be there. I and my house have been well served for generations by your
house."
"I regret that I cannot accept your offer."
"Why not?" asked the Marquis haughtily. "It is not to every wandering
officer that I would have made it."
"I should have to swear allegiance to your King, monsieur, and that
I----"
"Enough," said the Marquis imperiously. "The offer is withdrawn. You
may go, sir."
"I have a duty to discharge before I avail myself of your courteous
permission," said the young man firmly.
"My uncle," said the girl, "you cannot dismiss Monsieur Jean Marteau in
that cavalier fashion. It is due to him that I am here."
"No, curse me, Marquis," burst out Sir Gervaise, wagging his big head
at the tall, French noble, "you don't know how much you owe to that
young man. Why, even I would not have been here but for him."
"I am deeply sensible to the obligations under which he has laid me,
both through the Comtesse Laure, and through you, old friend. I have
just endeavored to discharge them. If there be any other way----
Monsieur is recently from prison--perhaps the state of his finances--if
he would permit me----" continued the Marquis, who was not without
generous impulses, it seemed.
"Sir," interrupted Marteau, "I thank you, but I came here to confer,
not to receive, benefits."
"To confer, monsieur?"
"We Marteaux have been accustomed to render service, as the Marquis
will recollect," he said proudly.
He drew forth a soiled, worn packet of papers. Because they had
represented nothing of value to his captors they had not been taken.
They had never left his person except during his long period of
illness, when they had been preserved by a faithful official of the
hospital and returned to him afterward.
"Allow me to return these to the Marquis," he said, tendering them.
"And what are these?" asked the old man.
"The title deeds to the Aumenier estates, monsieur."
"The grant is waste paper," said the Marquis contemptuously.
"Not so," was the quick answer. "I have learned that the acts of the
late--of--those which were duly and properly registered before
the--present king ascended the throne are valid. The estates are
legally mine. You reject them. I----" he hesitated, he stepped over
to the young woman--"I return them to you, mademoiselle. Her dowry,
monsieur," he added, facing the Englishman, as he laid the packet down
on the table by the side of the Countess Laure.
"Well, that's handsome of you," said the latter heartily.
"I cannot take them," ejaculated the young woman, just a touch of
contempt for her obtuse English lover in her voice. "I---- They are
legally his. We shall have no need----"
"Nonsense," burst out the young English officer. "They are rightfully
yours. They were taken from you by an usurper who----"
"Monsieur!" cried Marteau sharply.
"Well, sir?"
"He who cannot be named by order of the king is not to be slandered by
order of----"
"Whose order?"
"Mine," said Marteau.
"Indeed," answered the Englishman, his face flushing as he laid his
hand on his sword--he was wearing his uniform.
"Steady, steady," cried the old Baronet, interposing between the two.
"The lad's right. If we can't name Bonaparte, it is only fair that we
shouldn't abuse him. And the girl's right, too. You have no need of
any such dowry. Thank God I have got acres and pounds of my own for
the two of you and all that may come after."
"It strikes me, gentlemen," said the Marquis coolly, "that the disposal
of the affair is mine. Marteau is right and I was wrong. Perhaps he
has some claim to the estate. But, however that may be, he does well
to surrender it to its ancient overlord. I accept it as my due. I
shall see that he does not suffer for his generosity."
"And does monsieur think that he could compensate me if he should give
me the whole of France for the loss of----"
"Good God!" said the keen witted, keen eyed old Marquis, seeing
Marteau's glance toward the young woman. "Are you still presuming
to----"
"As man looks toward the sun that gives him life," said the young
Frenchman, "so I look toward mademoiselle. But have no fear,
monsieur," he went on to the English dragoon, "you have won her heart.
I envy you but----"
"Marteau!" protested the Countess, the anguish in her soul speaking in
her voice again.
How different the appearance of this slender, pale, delicate young
Frenchman from the coarser-grained English soldier to whom she had
plighted her troth, but to whom she had not given her heart. There was
no doubt in her mind as to where her affections pointed. Some of the
pride of race, of high birth and ancient lineage, had been blown away
in the dust of the revolution. She had played too long with the plain
people on the ancient estate. She had been left too much to herself.
She had seen Marteau in splendid and heroic roles. She saw him so now.
She had been his companion and associate in her youth. But of all this
none knew, and she was fain not to admit it even to herself.
"Have you anything more to communicate, Marteau, or to surrender?"
asked the Marquis coldly.
To do him justice, any service Marteau might render him was quite in
accord with the old noble's idea of what was proper and with the
ancient feudal custom by which the one family had served the other for
so long.
"I have yet something else to give up."
"Another estate?"
"A title."
"Ah, and what title, pray, and what interest have I in it?" asked the
Marquis sarcastically.
"I have here," said the young Frenchman, drawing forth another legal
document, "a patent of nobility duly signed and attested. It was
delivered to me by special courier the day after the battle of
Montereau."
"And you were created what, sir?"
"Count d'Aumenier, at your service, monsieur."
"Is this an insult?" exclaimed the Marquis, his pale face reddening.
"Sir," said the young man proudly, "it was given me by a man who has
made more men noble, and established them, than all the kings of France
before him. No power on earth could better make me Count or Prince or
King, even."
"Sir! Sir!" protested the Marquis furiously.
"I value this gift but I do not need it now. I surrender it into your
hands. You may destroy it. I shall formally and before a notary
renounce it. It shall be as if it had not been."
The Marquis took the paper, unfolded it deliberately amid a breathless
silence and glanced rapidly over it.
"Even so," he admitted.
He looked up at the gallant, magnanimous young Frenchman with more
interest and more care than before; he noticed how pale and haggard and
weak he appeared. He appreciated it for the first time. A little
change came over the hard, stern face of the old noble. He, too, had
suffered; he, too, had been hungry and weak and weary; he, too, had
eaten his heart out longing for what seemed impossible. After all,
they had been friends and more than friends, these ancient houses, the
high born and the peasant born, for many generations.
"St. Laurent," he said sharply, "we have been remiss. Monsieur is ill,
a chair for him. Laure, a glass of wine."
Indeed, the constraint that Marteau had put upon himself had drawn
heavily upon his scanty reserve of nervous force. St. Laurent did not
like the task, but there was that in the Marquis's voice which warned
him not to hesitate. He offered a chair, into which the young man
sank. From a decanter on the table the girl, her hand trembling,
poured out a glass of wine. Swiftly she approached him, she bent over
him, moved by a sudden impulse, she sank on her knees by his side and
tendered him the glass.
"On your knees, Laure!" protested the young Englishman. "It is not
meet that----"
"In gratitude to a man who has served me well and who has set us all a
noble example of renunciation by his surrender of land and title here
in this very room."
"Rise, mademoiselle," said Marteau, taking the glass from her still
trembling hand. "The honor is too great for me. I cannot remain
seated unless----"
"Very pretty," said the Marquis coolly as young Captain Yeovil helped
his reluctant young betrothed to her feet. "Your health, monsieur," he
continued, taking up his own glass. "By all the saints, sir," he added
as he drained his glass, "you have acted quite like a gentleman."
"'Quite,' my uncle?" quoted the young woman with deep emphasis on the
word.
"Well, what more could I say to a Marteau?"
"What more indeed," said the young officer, smiling in proud disdain.
"Damme if I wouldn't have left the 'quite' out," muttered the elder
Yeovil.
"I have your leave to withdraw now, monsieur?" asked the young officer.
"You dismissed me a moment since."
"Now I ask you to stay. By the cross of St. Louis," said the old
Marquis, fingering his order, "I am proud of you, young man. Take the
commission. I should like them to see what sort of men we breed in
Champagne and----"
"I feel I shall be unequal to it. I must withdraw."
"Where are you staying?" asked the young woman eagerly.
"With Major Lestoype, an old comrade."
"And I shall see you once more?"
"I cannot hope to see mademoiselle again. Our ways lie apart."
"Enough," said the Countess imperiously. "It rests with me and I will
see you again. Meanwhile, au revoir."
She offered her hand to the young Frenchman. He seized it eagerly.
"Monsieur allows the privilege to an old and faithful servitor?" he
said to the young Englishman, who stood jealously looking on, and then,
not waiting for an answer, he bent low and pressed his lips upon it.
Did that hand tremble in his own? Was there an upward movement as if
to press it against his lips? He could not tell. He did not dare to
speculate. The Countess closed her eyes and when she opened them again
he was gone.
CHAPTER XIX
THE GREAT HONOR ROLL
At midnight, had there been anyone abroad in the garrison to observe
them, a number of men, heavily cloaked, might have been seen drifting
through the torrential rain that was falling, toward the quarters
occupied by Major Lestoype. They were expected, evidently, for they
were admitted without hesitation by the carefully selected old soldiers
who kept the door. The usual servants had been dismissed to their
quarters, and their places were taken by certain tried and trusted
veterans of the regiment.
In the quarters of Major Lestoype was a spacious and lofty hall.
Thither the new arrivals were conducted. There was an air of great
secrecy about their movements. The occasion was evidently felt to be a
solemn one by all. Major Lestoype was not yet present. As they threw
off their cloaks it was seen that they were soldiers of the Fifth
regiment of the line, to continue to give it the familiar title. Each
one was arrayed in his best parade uniform. They were of every rank
below that of Major, and included among them were several
non-commissioned officers and a few private soldiers of reputation and
standing. The men were of all ages too, although the non-commissioned
officers and privates were, in every instance, veterans. These last
stood in a little group by themselves, although there was no attempt on
the part of the officers to emphasize any difference in rank on such an
occasion.
There were, perhaps, a hundred men in the company when all had been
assembled. They had been chosen with the utmost care. The list
included all the officers, except certain new officers who had been
assigned to the regiment from other regiments of whom Major Lestoype
and the veteran captains were not sure. Certain other young officers,
sons or connections of influential royalists now in high favor with
King Louis XVIII, who had also been assigned to the regiment were of
course excluded.
Those who were there were known men, all tried and true. Major
Lestoype himself had been a private when the Fifth-of-the-Line had
followed the Emperor, then but General Bonaparte, into Italy on that
first and most marvelous of the campaigns of the great Captain. He had
seen service in Egypt and had been present with the First Consul at the
decisive battle at Marengo. Into his hand as a non-commissioned
officer thereafter the newly made Emperor had delivered the Eagle.
Naturally, he experienced toward it almost the feeling of a father for
his child.
Every other man there was associated in some way with that imperial
emblem, their regimental standard. As has been said, it was not the
flag for which they cared; flags were of perishable silk or cloth; they
could be and often were destroyed in battle. They could be replaced.
Some regiments stripped the colors from the poles before they went into
action. It was the Eagle that was precious and to be defended. It was
the Eagle that was in their hearts almost eternal.
It was to receive their Eagle again that these officers and men had
been summoned. They did not know that definitely yet, but some whisper
of it had been in the air. They were on the _qui vive_ for the
developments of the evening and full of restless excitement. When the
great door was at last thrown open and the Senior Captain caught sight
of the tall, lean figure of his commander, he instantly came to
attention and said sharply:
"Gentlemen, attention. The Major Commanding."
To be sure, Lestoype no longer occupied that position. His place had
been taken by the Marquis d'Aumenier, but in the mind of the Senior
Captain and of the others the old Major still was supreme and he said
the words quite naturally.
The talking ceased at once, the well-drilled officers and men stood at
attention, their hands raised in salute. Major Lestoype in full
uniform, his breast bright with all his medals and orders--and it was
observable that everybody else had adorned himself with every
decoration he possessed, even those that had become illegal and
valueless, forbidden even, after the fall of the Empire--entered the
room, acknowledged the salutes and bowed ceremoniously to the officers
assembled. He was followed by a tall slender young man on this
occasion dressed again in the uniform of the regiment.
And yet there was a difference between this stranger and the other
officers. While from the uniforms of the other officers had been
carefully removed everything which in the least degree suggested the
Empire, no such deletion had taken place with the equipment of the
young man. On the contrary, the buttons, the brasses, the braids, the
tricolored cockade; in short, everything was just as it was before the
restoration.
The eyes of the soldiers gleamed as they immediately recognized the
difference. They looked upon him with a certain envy, because he so
boldly sported that of which they were deprived. At first they did not
recognize the man who had the hardihood thus to display the insignia of
Napoleon in the kingdom of Louis. It was not until he had advanced
further in the room and stood in the full light of the chandelier and
Major Lestoype turned toward him that one of the veterans recognized
him.
"By the living God," cried a deep voice, "Marteau!"
Instantly the name was caught up.
"Marteau! Marteau! Marteau!" came from all parts of the room.
"Gentlemen, comrades," said Lestoype, raising his hand, "I beseech you,
silence. Walls have ears. Every man here is tried and true. We are
trusting our lives and honor to one another, but what may be outside I
know not. We must do nothing to attract any attention. Therefore,
restrain yourselves, I beg. Captain Marteau, for it is indeed he,
gentlemen, has brought back to the regiment----"
He paused a moment, with an instinctive feeling for the dramatic.
Perhaps the little scene had been prearranged. Marteau had carried his
hand behind his back. As Lestoype stopped he brought his hand to the
front of his body. There in the light of the candles, from the great
chandelier above, the officers and soldiers saw the thing which they
venerated next to God. For a moment they stared, almost aghast at the
gilded emblem in Marteau's hand. Eyes sparkled in some faces, brimmed
with tears in others, cheeks paled on one hand and flushed upon the
other; breaths came quicker, a low murmur ran through the room--almost
terrible in its meaning.
"The Eagle of the regiment, messieurs," said old Lestoype solemnly,
breaking the silence.
"_Vive l'Empereur!_" suddenly exclaimed a veteran port-aigle, or
standard bearer, in a low but tense voice, and the mighty battle-cry
swept softly through the room from man to man, in low notes, in broken
whispers like a great wavering sigh from a multitude of throbbing
hearts.
"Is it the same?" asked one as the sound died away.
"The very same," answered Lestoype. "It was given into my hands years
ago. I had someone write down the Emperor's words then. I committed
them to memory. I can hear him speak now."
"And what were those words we ask you, we, who are young in the
regiment," broke out a youth who was yet a veteran of the German
campaign of 1813.
"The Emperor, turning to Marshal Berthier, took the Eagle from him, he
held it up thus in his own hands."
Lestoype turned to Marteau and suited the gesture to the word. He
seized the Eagle and advanced a step and those who watched him so
keenly noticed how he trembled. It was to him as if the Emperor were
there again. Some mystic aura of his mighty presence seemed to
overhang the uplifted Eagle.
"Gentlemen, we were paraded on the Champ de Mars with thousands of
others. The Eagles had been marched along the line with the ruffles of
drums and blare of bugles. It was raining like tonight, there was no
sun, but never saw I a brighter day. The Emperor said:
"_'Soldiers of the Fifth regiment of Infantry of the Line, I entrust to
you the Eagle of France. It is to serve to you ever as your rallying
point. You swear to me never to abandon it but with life? You swear
never to suffer an affront to it for the honor of France? You swear
ever to prefer death to dishonor for it? You swear?'_"
As the words of the old officer died away, moved by a common impulse,
the hands of the men before him went to their swords. With sweeping
gestures they dragged them out of their sheaths, up into the air they
heaved the shining blades.
"We swear," they said solemnly, instinctively repeating the ceremony of
the past in which some of them had participated and of which all had
heard.
As their words died away the gruff voices of the non-commissioned
officers and privates standing at salute repeated the acclaim, in
accordance with the custom.
"It was so when the Eagle was given," said old Lestoype, deeply
gratified by the spontaneous tribute. "Gentlemen and comrades, be
seated, if you please. I have called you here for the honor of the
regiment to consult as to what is to be done."
"_Mon Commandant_," said an old veteran, stepping forward as those
present sought seats where they could, "I was port-aigle of the
regiment before Dresden. May I not take in my hand again the
'cou-cou'?"
That was the cant name which the soldiers gave to the standard, a term
of affection, of familiarity, of comradeship which in no way indicated
any lack of respect or any diminution of determination to die for it if
necessary.
"To you I gladly commit it until we have determined what is to be done
with it," said Lestoype, handing it to the old man.
It seemed a perfectly natural and spontaneous act to the officers
present when the port-aigle pressed his lips reverently upon the number
plate below the feet of the Eagle and then, disdaining to sit down,
stood at attention, holding it before him.
"Will you not tell us, Mon Commandant," said another of the younger
officers, "something more about the Eagle before we discuss its
disposition?"
"I was a Sub-Lieutenant at Austerlitz," said Lestoype, only too anxious
to comply. "We were under the command of Marshal Soult, club-footed
Soult we called him, upon the heights of Pratzen. In the advance we
were overwhelmed. The port-aigle was killed. I was close at hand. I
seized the staff but a bullet got me in the shoulder, here. My arm has
been stiff ever since. I fell--a Russian--we were that closely
intermingled and fighting hand to hand--seized the staff. I lapsed
into unconsciousness. Captain Grenier--you were Sergeant-Major
then--finish the story."
"Willingly, Major Lestoype. I cut down that Russian, although wounded
myself, and tore the staff from him as he fell. But I couldn't hold
it. I fell with it at your feet. Our men had been driven back. There
was nobody beside us but the regimental dog."
"Mustache," said one of the other officers, and all eyes turned toward
the stuffed skin of a mongrel poodle dog mounted in a glass case hung
against the wall. Hands went up in salute. Some of the soldiers
laughed grimly.
"The brave Mustache," continued Grenier. "He leaped over my prostrate
body. I was conscious still. I saw it all. I would have given worlds
for strength, but I was helpless. Still Mustache was enough. He loved
the port-aigle. He seemed to know the Eagle was in danger. He snapped
at the hands of the Russian. The man drew back and cut at him with his
sword. Perhaps I should have received that blow. You see where the
forepaw of the dog was sliced off? But he had the spirit of a French
soldier, that brave dog, and he kept them off until the regiment
rallied and came back and drove away the Russians. Marshal Lannes had
a collar made for Mustache. You can see it there around his neck,
young gentlemen," continued the old Captain. "On one side the
inscription reads: _'He lost a leg in the battle of Austerlitz but he
saved the Eagle of his regiment.' On the other side: 'Mustache, a dog
of France, who will be everywhere respected and honored as a brave
soldier.'_"
"What became of the dog?" asked another.
"He was carried on the roll of the regiment until he was killed by an
English cannon ball at Badajos. We took the skin and it is there, but
we buried the brave heart and the rest of him on the rampart where he
fell. The soldiers put up a stone above him. 'Here lies the brave
Mustache,' it read. I think the English left it standing."
"That Eagle has been in every capital of Europe, messieurs," remarked
another veteran. "Rome, Berlin, Vienna, Madrid, Moscow."
"It charged with the Guard at Eylau," said Drehon. "You remember,
comrades, some of you at least, how we went forward in support of the
battalions of the Guard under General Dorsenne?"
"I remember, I remember," came from one and another.
"_Hein_," said a veteran, "he was a bold soldier."
"And a handsome one. They called him '_Le Beau Dorsenne_,'" continued
Drehon. "The Guard advanced at arms-aport and so did we. Our drums
and theirs were rolling _La Grenadière_. One of his staff said to him
as we drew near the ranks of the Russians, 'Hadn't we better begin
firing, my General?' 'No,' said the proud Dorsenne haughtily.
'Grenadiers keep your arms aport,' he continued as he saw some
wavering. 'The old guard only fights at the point of the bayonet.'"
"And what happened?"
"The Russians seemed to be paralyzed. They stood and watched us. When
they finally did fire, in their excitement, they overshot us. The next
instant we burst upon them. Our bayonets came down to a charge. They
couldn't stand before us, comrades. Corbleu! the white snow was red
with blood that day! A squadron of cavalry, the Emperor's escort,
struck them in the rear at the same time and between us we cut them to
pieces. They were heavy, those big Russians, to toss on the bayonet,
but we did it."
"Was that when the Emperor called us 'The Terrible Fifth'?" queried a
voice.
"That was the time."
"Tell us more," came from the excited assemblage.
"They gave us the gold wreath, there in Paris, after Jena and Eylau and
Friedland. They loved the Eagle then, those Parisians," said Adjutant
Suraif, taking up the tale. "The women fell on our necks and kissed us
when we came marching back. They threw us flowers. They opened their
arms to us. They gave us wine. Ah, that was fine."
"At Ratisbon," said the old Major, "I commanded the regiment at the
bridge-head. We fought the Austrians off all day, giving the Emperor
time to make his dispositions. We captured four hundred prisoners, an
Austrian battle flag, and three other flags. The firing was terrible,
our cou-cou lost some leaves of his wreath there. We were alone there
and at nightfall our ammunition was all gone. The Austrians were there
in thousands. They charged and overwhelmed us."
"But the Eagle?"
"Ah, we had taken precaution," laughed the old Major. "We wrapped the
'cou-cou' up in the Austrian standard and in the battle flags and
buried it in a cellar, so when they captured us they got nothing but
the men and, of course, we didn't matter."
"And how did you get it back?" came an excited question.
"The Emperor took the town the day after. They had kept us prisoners
there and so we were free. I shall never forget the Emperor on that
day. He rode down to us where we had formed in ranks. He looked over
us. His glance pierced every man's heart. 'Soldiers of the Fifth,' he
said, 'when I heard of the attack on the bridge at Ratisbon I said to
my staff, "I am tranquil, the Terrible Fifth is there," and now I see
you alive, many of you unharmed, and without your Eagle. What have you
done with it?' he thundered out his face black as midnight. 'Sire,'
said I, stepping forward and upon my word, comrades, it took more
courage to face the Emperor in that mood than to charge an Austrian
battery, 'we have not lost our Eagle. We have buried it and having
been but this instant released from captivity by your Majesty, we await
your permission to dig it up.' 'Go and resurrect it,' he said sharply.
'I will wait.'"
"And did he?"
"Most assuredly. We found it safe and brought it back with the
Austrian standard. The Emperor saluted it and commended us. 'I knew I
could trust you,' he said, smiling."
"He loved his Eagles," said another voice.
"That did he," answered a veteran. "I have even seen him get out of
his traveling-carriage and stand at attention as an Eagle at the head
of a regiment marched by."
"I carried the Eagle in Marshal Macdonald's column at Wagram,
messieurs," said the old Eagle-bearer, stepping forward. "It was there
the bullet struck the wing tip, here." He laid his hand tenderly upon
it. "Mon Dieu, that was a march! Twenty thousand men in solid columns
going across the plain at steady step, with drums beating, the
Austrians pouring shot and shell into us. You could hear the bullets
crash through the breasts of the division like glass. My arm was numb
from the bullet which struck the Eagle, but I changed hands and carried
it forward. I can see the big Marshal still. The Emperor was looking
on. It was terrible. It didn't seem that mortal man could make it,
but we kept on, still, silent, until we came in touch with the
Austrians and then we cut them in two. It was magnificent."
"I was with Marshal Mortier when we were caught in the pass of
Durrenstein," broke out one of the privates, an old Eagle-guard. "We
fought all day and all night in that trap against awful odds, waiting,
hoping, until toward morning we heard the thunder of Dupont's guns. We
were so close together that we seized the throats of the Russians, and
they ours. We begged the Marshal to use a boat we had found to cross
over the Danube and escape. 'No,' he said, 'certainly not! I will not
desert my brave comrades! I will save them or die with them.' Ah, he
was a brave man that day."
"And that such a man could betray the Emperor!" exclaimed another.
"I never could understand it," said one of the soldiers.
"That was the day," said a third, "when our drums were shot to pieces
and we had to beat the long roll on the iron cooking cans."
"You remember it well, comrade."
"I was a drummer there. I remember there were but two thousand of the
six thousand in the division that answered roll call that day."
"I carried that Eagle into Moscow," said a scarred, one-armed veteran.
"I would have carried it back, but I was wounded at Malojaroslavets and
would have died but for you, my friend."
"And I carried it across the Niemen after that retreat was over,"
returned the other, acknowledging the generous tribute of his old
fellow soldier.
"Sacre-bleu! How cold it was. Not many of you can remember that march
because so few survived it. The battalions in Spain can thank God they
escaped it," said another.
"It was hot enough there, and those English gave us plenty of
fighting," added one of the veterans who had fought against Wellington.
"Aye, that they did, I'll warrant," continued the veteran of Russia.
"The Emperor who marched on foot with the rest of us. Before crossing
the Beresina--I shudder to think of the thousands drowned then. I
dream about it sometimes at night--we were ordered to break up the
Eagles and throw them into the river."
"And did you?"
"Not I. That is the only order I disobeyed. I carried it with me,
wrapped in my own clothes. One night my fingers froze to it. See!"
He lifted his maimed hands. "But I held on. I crossed the Nieman
before Marshal Ney. He threw away his musket, but I kept the Eagle.
He was the last man, I was just before him," said the man proudly.
"It was Marteau who saved it at Leipsic," said Lestoype, "and again
after he had hurled it into the Aube at Arcis he found it and brought
it back. And it is here."
Tears glistened in the eyes of the veterans and the youth alike.
Hearts beat more rapidly, breaths came quicker, as these brave and
fragmentary reminiscences of the part the Eagle had played in past
glories were recited.
"What shall we do with it now?" asked Lestoype at last.
CHAPTER XX
WHEN THE VIOLETS BLOOM AGAIN
Now there was not a man in the room who had not heard of the order to
return the Eagles to Paris, where they were to be broken up and melted
down, not a man in the army for that matter. Nor was there a man who
had not heard some account of the resistance of other regiments to the
order, which had been nevertheless enforced wherever possible, although
in cases not a few Eagles had been hidden or disappeared mysteriously
and had not been given up. There was scarcely a man in the
regiment--unless some royalist officer or new recruit--who had not been
glad that their own Eagle had been lost honorably in battle and buried,
as they believed, in the river. It was more fitting that it should
meet that end than be turned back to Paris to be broken up, melted down
and cast into metal for ignoble use--and any other use would be ignoble
in the estimation of the regiment.
"I would rather throw it into the Isère," growled old Grenier, "than
send it back."
"And I, and I, and I," came from different voices.
"Perhaps," said Lestoype, speaking slowly and with deep meaning, for he
realized that his words were in the highest degree treasonable, "if we
can preserve it by some means we may see it once again at the head of
the regiment when----" he stopped. The silence was positively ghastly.
He looked about him. The men thrilled to his glance. "----'when the
violets bloom again,'" he said, using the mystic poetic phrase which
had become so widely current.
"God speed the day!" burst out some deep voiced veteran.
"Amen, amen!"
"_Vive l'Empereur_!"
"Let us save the Eagle!"
The whole room was in tumult of nervous cries.
"_Vive le brave Marteau_!" finally said Drehon when he could get a
hearing. "He has given us back our honor, our life."
The emotions of the moment were too much. Reckless of what might
happen, the room instantly rang with loud acclaim in response to this
appeal. The soldiers sprang to their feet, moved by irresistible
emotion. Swords were drawn again.
The officers and men clustered around Lestoype and Marteau. The Eagle
was lifted high, blades were upheaved threateningly again. Dangers
were forgotten. Intoxicated with enthusiasm they gave free course to
their emotions.
"_Vive l'Empereur_!" resounded through the hall, not whispered but
shouted, not shouted but roared!
In their mad frenzy of excitement they did not, any of them, notice
that the door into the hall had been thrown open and that a young
officer of the regiment stood there, his face pale with amazement, his
mouth open, staring. He could not take in the whole purport of the
scene but he saw the Eagle, he heard the cries, the word "_Vive_" came
to him out of the tumult, coupled with the name of Marteau and the
Emperor.