"I arrest you in the king's name!" said the sergeant, approaching.
"What----" He started back in horror. "He is dead!"
Then entered one I had seen before--Major Barton, the most pitiless of
the government's agents in suppressing insurrection.
The sergeant whispered to him, and his eye ranged the little chamber
till it fell on me.
"Ha!" he cried. "You here! Sergeant, here's one prisoner for you, at any
rate."
Two soldiers seized me, and I was marched away towards Dublin. About
noon the party halted, and the soldiers lay down and chatted on a patch
of grass, while my own thoughts turned sadly back to the friend I had
known.
Suddenly I heard a song sung by a voice I knew, and afterwards a loud
clapping of hands. Darby M'Keown was there in the midst of the soldiers,
and as I turned to look at him, my hand came in contact with a
clasp-knife. I managed with it to free my arms from the ropes that
fastened them, but what was to be done next?
"I didn't think much of that song of yours," said one of the soldiers.
"Give us 'The British Grenadiers.'"
"I never heard them play but onst, sir," said Darby, meekly, "and they
were in such a hurry I couldn't pick up the tune."
"What d'you mean?"
"'Twas the day but one after the French landed, and the British
Grenadiers was running away."
The party sprang to their legs, and a shower of curses fell upon the
piper.
"And sure," continued Darby, "'twasn't my fault av they took to their
heels. Wouldn't anyone run for his life av he had the opportunity?"
These words were uttered in a raised voice, and I took the hint. While
Darby was scuffling with the soldiers, I slipped away.
For miles I pressed forward without turning, and in the evening I found
myself in Dublin. The union with England was being debated in the
Parliament House; huge and angry crowds raged without. Remembering the
tactics De Meudon had taught me, I sought to organize the crowd in a
kind of military formation against the troops; but a knock on the head
with a musket-butt ended my labours, and I knew nothing more until I
came to myself in the quarters of an old chance acquaintance--Captain
Bubbleton.
Here, in the house of this officer--an eccentric and impecunious man,
but a most loyal friend--I was discovered by Major Barton and dragged to
prison. I was released by the intervention of my father's lawyer, who
claimed me as his apprentice.
For weeks I lived with Captain Bubbleton and his brother officers, and
nothing could be more cordial than their treatment of me. "Tom Burke of
'Ours,'" the captain used proudly to call me. Only one officer held
aloof from me, and from all Irishmen--Montague Crofts--through whom it
came about that I left Ireland.
One day an uncouth and ragged woman entered the barracks, and addressed
me. It was Darby M'Keown, and he brought me nothing less precious than
De Meudon's pocket-book, which had been taken from me, and had been
picked up by him on the road. A few minutes later Bubbleton lost a sum
at cards to Crofts; knowing he could not pay, I passed a note quietly to
him. When Bubbleton had gone, Crofts held up the note before me. It was
a French note of De Meudon's! I demanded my property back. He refused,
and threatened to inform against me. On my seeking to prevent him from
leaving the room, he drew his sword, and wounded me; but in the nick of
time a blow from a strong arm laid him senseless--dead, perhaps--on the
floor.
"We must be far from this by daybreak," whispered Darby.
I walked out of the barracks as steadily as I could. For all I knew, I
was implicated in murder--and Ireland was no place for me. In a few days
I stood on the shores of France.
_II.--A Blow for the Emperor_
By means of a letter of introduction to the head of the Polytechnique,
which De Meudon had placed for me in his pocket-book, I was able to
enter that military college, and, after a spell of earnest study, I was
appointed to a commission in the Eighth Hussars. Proud as I was to
become a soldier of France, yet I could not but feel that I was a
foreigner, and almost friendless--unlucky, indeed, in the choice of the
few friends I possessed. Chief of them was the Marquis de Beauvais,
concerning whom I soon made two discoveries--that he was in the thick of
an intrigue against the republic I served, and its First Consul, and
that he was in love with Marie de Meudon, my dead friend's sister.
To her, as soon as an opportunity came, I gave the news of her brother's
end, and his last message. She was terribly affected; and the love we
bore in common to the dead, and her own wonderful beauty, aroused in me
a passion that was not the less fervent because I felt it was almost
hopeless. I did not dare to ask her love, but I had her friendship
without asking. She it was who warned me of the dangerous intrigues of
De Beauvais and his associates. She it was who, when I fell a victim to
their intrigues, laboured with General d'Auvergne, who had befriended me
while I was at college, to restore me to liberty.
I had heard that De Beauvais and his fellow royalists were plotting in a
château near Versailles, and that a scheme was afoot to capture them. In
hot haste I rode to the château, hoping secretly to warn my friend. He
did indeed escape, but it was my lot to be caught with the conspirators.
For the second time in my short life I saw the inside of a prison; I was
in danger of the guillotine; despair had almost overpowered me, when I
learnt that my friends had prevailed--my sword was returned to me. I
became again an officer of the army of him who was now emperor, and I
set forth determined to wipe out on the battlefield the doubts that
still clung to my loyalty. Marie de Meudon was wedded, by the emperor's
wish, to the gallant and beloved soldier on whose staff I proudly
served--General d'Auvergne.
In four vast columns of march, the mighty army poured into the heart of
Germany. But not until we reached Mannheim did we learn the object of
the war. We were to destroy the Austro-Russian coalition, and the first
blow was to be struck at Ulm. When Ulm had capitulated, General
d'Auvergne and his staff returned to Elchingen, and on the night when we
reached the place I was on the point of lying down supperless in the
open air, when I met an old acquaintance, Corporal Pioche, a giant
cuirassier of the Guard, who had fought in all Bonaparte's campaigns.
"Ah, mon lieutenant," said he, "not supped yet, I'll wager. Come along
with me; Mademoiselle Minette has opened her canteen!"
Presently we entered a large room, at one end of which sat a very pretty
Parisian brunette, who bade me a gracious welcome. The place was crowded
with captains and corporals, lieutenants and sergeants, all hobnobbing,
hand-shaking, and even kissing each other. "Each man brings what he can
find, drinks what he is able, and leaves the rest," remarked Pioche, and
invited me to take my share in the common stock.
All went well until I absent-mindedly called out, as if to a waiter, for
bread. There was a roar of laughter at my mistake, and a little
dark-whiskered fellow stuck his sword into a loaf and handed it to me.
As I took the loaf, he disengaged his point, and scratched the back of
my hand with it. Obviously an insult was intended.
"Ah, an accident, _morbleu_!" said he, with an impertinent shrug.
"So is this!" said I, as I seized his sword and smashed it across my
knee.
"It's François, _maitre d'armes_ of the Fourth," whispered Pioche; "one
of the cleverest duellists of the army."
I was hurried out to the court, one adviser counselling me to beware of
François's lunge in tierce, another to close on him at once, and so on.
For a long time after we had crossed swords, I remained purely on the
defensive; at last, after a desperate rally, he made a lunge at my
chest, which I received in the muscles of my back; and, wheeling round,
I buried my blade in his body.
François lingered for a long time between life and death, and for
several days I was incapacitated, tenderly nursed by Minette.
As soon as I was recovered the order came to advance.
Not many days passed ere the chance came to me for which I had longed--
the chance of striking a blow for the emperor. Hand-to-hand with the
Russian dragoons on the field of Austerlitz, sweeping along afterwards
with the imperial hosts in the full tide of victory, I learnt for the
first time the exhilaration of military glory; and I had the good
fortune to receive the emperor's favour--not only was I promoted, but I
was appointed to the _compagnie d'élite_ that was to carry the spoils of
victory to Paris.
A few weeks after my return to Paris, the whole garrison was placed in
review order to receive the wounded of Austerlitz.
As the emperor rode forward bareheaded to greet his maimed veterans, I
heard laughter among the staff that surrounded him. Stepping up, I saw
my old friend Pioche, who had been dangerously wounded, with his hand in
salute.
"Thou wilt not have promotion, nor a pension," said Napoleon, smiling.
"Hast any friend whom I could advance?"
"Yes," answered Pioche, scratching his forehead in confusion. "She is a
brave girl, and had she been a man----"
"Whom can he mean?"
"I was talking of Minette, our _vivandière_."
"Dost wish I should make her my aide-de-camp?" said Napoleon, laughing.
"_Parbleu_! Thou hast more ill-favoured ones among them," said Pioche,
with a glance at the grim faces of Rapp and Daru. "I've seen the time
when thou'd have said, 'Is it Minette that was wounded at the Adige and
stood in the square at Marengo? I'll give her the Cross of the Legion!'"
"And she shall have it!" said Napoleon. Minette advanced, and as the
emperor's own cross was attached to her buttonhole she sat pale as
death, overcome by her pride.
For two hours waggon after waggon rolled on, filled with the shattered
remnants of an army. Every eye brightened as the emperor drew near, the
feeblest gazed with parted lips when he spoke, and the faint cry of
"_Vive l'Empéreur_" passed along the line.
_III.--Broken Dreams_
Ere I had left Paris to join in the campaign against Prussia, I had
made, and broken off, another dangerous friendship. In the _compagnie
d'élite_ was an officer named Duchesne who took a liking to me--a
royalist at heart, and a cynic who was unfailing in his sneers at all
the doings of Napoleon. His attitude was detected, and he was forced to
resign his commission; and his slights upon the uniform I wore grew so
unbearable that I abandoned his company--little guessing the revenge he
would take upon me.
Once more the Grand Army was set in motion, and the hosts of France
pressed upon Russia from the south and west. Napoleon turned the enemy's
right flank, and compelled him to retire and concentrate his troops
around Jena, which was plainly to be the scene of a great battle.
My regiment was ordered on September 13, 1806, to proceed without delay
to the emperor's headquarters at Jena, and I was sent ahead to make
arrangements for quarters. In the darkness I lost my way, and came upon
an artillery battery stuck fast in a ravine, unable to move back or
forwards. The colonel was in despair, for the whole artillery of the
division was following him, and would inevitably be involved in the same
mishap. Wild shouting had been succeeded by a sullen silence, when a
stern voice called out: "Cannoniers, dismount; bring the torches to the
front!"
When the order was obeyed, the light of the firewood fell upon the
features of Napoleon himself. Instantly the work began afresh, directed
by the emperor with a blazing torch in his hand. Gradually the
gun-carriages were released, and began to move slowly along the ravine.
Napoleon turned, and rode off at full speed in the darkness towards
Jena. It was my destination, and I followed him.
He preceded me by about fifty paces--the greatest monarch of the world,
alone, his thoughts bent on the great events before him. On the top of
an ascent the brilliant spectacle of a thousand watch-fires met the eye.
Napoleon, lost in meditation, saw nothing, and rode straight into the
lines. Twice the challenge "_Qui vive?"_ rang out. Napoleon heard it
not. There was a bang of a musket, then another, and another. Napoleon
threw himself from his horse, and lay flat on the ground. I dashed up,
shouting, "The emperor! The emperor!" My horse was killed, and I was
wounded in the shoulder; but I repeated the cry until Napoleon stepped
calmly forward.
"Ye are well upon the alert, _mes enfants_," he said, smiling. Then,
turning to me, he asked quickly, "Are you wounded?"
"A mere scratch, sire."
"Let the surgeon see to it, and do you come to headquarters when you are
able."
In the morning I went to headquarters, but the emperor was busy;
seemingly I was forgotten. My regiment was out of reach, so, at the
invitation of my old duelling antagonist, François, I joined the
Voltigeurs. My friends could not understand why, after tasting the
delights of infantry fighting, I should wish to rejoin the hussars; but
I went back to my old regiment after the victory, and rode with it to
Berlin.
Soon after our arrival there I read my name in a general order among
those on whom the Cross of the Legion was to be conferred. On the
morning of the day when I was to receive the decoration, I was requested
to attend the bureau of the adjutant-general. There I was confronted
with Marshal Berthier, who held up a letter before me. I saw, by the
handwriting, it was Duchesne's.
"There, sir, that letter belongs to you," he said. "There is enough in
it to make your conduct the matter of a court-martial; but I am
satisfied that a warning will be sufficient. I need hardly say that you
will not receive the Cross of the Legion."
I glanced at the letter, and realised Duchesne's treachery. Knowing that
all doubtful letters were opened and read by the authorities, he had
sent me a letter bitterly attacking the emperor, and professing to
regard me as a royalist conspirator.
Exasperated, I drew my sword.
"I resign, sir," I said. "The career I can no longer follow honourably
and independently, I shall follow no more."
With a half-broken heart and faltering step, I regained my quarters; the
whole dream of life was over. Broken in spirit, I made my way slowly
back through Germany to Paris, and back to Ireland.
_IV.--The Call of the Sword_
On reaching my native country I found that my brother had died, and that
I had inherited an income of £4,000 a year. I sought to forget the past.
But a time came when I could resist the temptation no longer, and the
first fact I read of was the burning of Moscow. As misfortune followed
misfortune, an impulse came to me that it was useless to resist. My
heart was among the glittering squadrons of France. I thought suddenly,
was this madness? And the thought was followed by a resolve as sudden. I
wrote some lines to my agent, saddled my horse, and rode away. At
Verviers I offered my sword to the emperor as an old officer, and went
forward in charge of a squadron to Brienne. This place was held by the
Prussians, and Blücher and his Prussians were near at hand. Once more I
beheld the terrific spectacle of an attack by the army of Napoleon. But
alas! the attack was vain; I heard the trumpet sound a retreat. And as I
turned, I saw the body of an aged general officer among a heap of slain.
With a shriek of horror, I recognized the friend of my heart, General
d'Auvergne. Round his neck he wore a locket with a portrait of his
wife--Marie de Meudon. I detached the locket, and bade the dead a last
adieu.
Why should I dwell on a career of disaster? Retreat followed retreat,
until the fate of Napoleon's empire depended on the capture of the
bridge of Montereau. Regiment after regiment strove to cross, only to be
shattered and mangled by the tremendous fire of the enemy. Four sappers
at length laid a petard beneath the gate at the other side of the
bridge. But the fuse went out.
"This to the man who lights the fuse!" cried Napoleon, holding up his
great Cross of the Legion.
I snatched a burning match from a gunner beside me, and rushed across
the bridge. Partly protected by the high projecting parapet, I lit the
fuse, and then fell, shot in the chest. My senses reeled; for a time I
knew nothing; then I felt a flask pressed to my lips. I looked up, and
saw Minette. "Dear, dear girl, what a brave heart is thine!" said I, as
she pressed her handkerchief to my wound.
Her fingers became entangled in the ribbon of the general's locket that
I had tied round my neck, and by accident the locket opened. She became
deathly pale as she saw its contents; then, springing to her feet, she
gave me one glance--fleeting, but how full of sorrow!--and ran to the
middle of the bridge. The petard had done its work. She beckoned to the
column to come on; they answered with a cheer. Presently four grenadiers
fell to the rear, carrying between them the body of Minette.
They gave her a military funeral; and I was told that a giant soldier, a
corporal it was thought, kneeled down to kiss her before she was covered
with the earth, then lay quietly down in the grass. When they sought to
move him, he was stone dead.
When I had recovered from my wound, it was nothing to me that Napoleon,
besides giving me his Grand Cross, had made me general of brigade. For
Napoleon was no longer emperor, and I would not serve the king who
succeeded him. But ere I left France I saw Marie de Meudon, it might be,
I thought, for the last time. At the sight of her my old passion
returned, and I dared to utter it. I know not how incoherently the tale
was told; I can but remember the bursting feeling of my bosom, as she
placed her hand in mine, and said, "It is yours."
* * * * *