THE SALLY.
This sombrely tapestried and stately apartment seemed at first quite
unoccupied; and for a moment the idea of throwing burning faggots on
the floor, and setting the hated tower on fire, occurred to me; but
the desire of effecting my own escape lay nearer my heart than the
destruction of Phalsbourg. Moreover, I observed one who had escaped
my first survey, a woman, asleep, or in a swoon on a bench; a tipsy
courtesan of the last night's orgies, and an emotion of pity
restrained me. Arming myself with a sword, I rushed to the
court-yard, which was crowded by the garrison, and was then the scene
of all the infernal hurlyburly incident to a furious assault and
vigorous defence.
'Mathias and Vienna,' I repeated; 'these are the magic words which
are to set me free; but amid this vile uproar who is to receive
them--to whom can they be given?'
Finding their shot too light for battering purposes, already the
French cannoniers were beginning to slacken their fire against the
donjon of Phalsbourg, the old grey walls of which had long been worn
by time, and battered in war. I gave an upward glance at the square
projecting turret, where my proud and boastful enemy was lying,
bruised, bound, gagged and everyway baffled, humbled, and secured.
Then hurrying forward, I joined the crowd of armed men who were
lining the walls of the tête-du-pont. Here eight iron 24-pounders
were pouring a close and destructive cross-fire against the companies
of the regiment de Picardy, then moving up to assault the rampart,
and bearing ladders to cross the ditch, though the musketry from the
tower told fearfully upon their ranks.
To prevent recognition, I partially blackened my face by gunpowder;
possessed myself of a dead man's musket and collar of bandaliers, and
stepped upon the platform, within which the killed and wounded men
lay thick. I had scarcely taken my place upon the parapet, when a
small shell, or bombelle, exploded in the air, just above my head.
Some of the fragments fell on me, but without doing harm. Then I
fired a few blank rounds, to gain time, or to enable me to observe
what was going on; and there I ran considerable risk; for the hat, so
recently borrowed from my friend M. le Comte, was torn off my head by
a musket-shot.
Situated on rocks, that are steep and inaccessible on every side save
the west, the tower of Phalsbourg is approached by a narrow causeway,
which is cut by a deep ditch; and along this causeway, under a fire
from the flankers which defended the drawbridge, the regiment de
Picardy;--that noble old band, of immortal memory--advanced valiantly
and resolutely to the escalade, with loud shouts of, 'Vive Louis le
Roi! Picardy to the assault! Picardy to the assault!'
They rushed to the edge of the trench, undeterred by the withering
rain of lead that swept the causeway, piling it with dead and wounded
men, many of whom rolled over it, down the defile on one hand, or
into a foaming mountain-stream on the other,--on, on they came, led
by their officers, splendidly-attired chevaliers in steel cuirasses,
and velvet pourpoints, perfumed, laced, and ruffled; and at their
head came one, whom before I had observed, with remarkable sangfroid,
to be alternately caressing his horse's neck, and playing with his
own hair, which was long and ringleted, like the tresses of a girl.
On foot he now led the stormers, with a little standard of the
fleur-de-lis in his hand; on his breast was the cross of the Holy
Ghost, and in the band of his hat there was stuck a lady's fan. By
the latter, I knew him in a moment to be Roger de St. Lacy, Colonel
of the regiment de Brissac, a brilliant and determined soldier, for
whom one of the fairest coquettes at the court of France had procured
the title of Duc de Bellegarde.
He had already reached the edge of that fatal fosse, and, brandishing
his sword, shouted 'Picardy to the assault! forward with the ladders!
forward my braves! Vive Louis le Roi!'
There a shot struck him! I saw the crimson blood spout over his
white uniform, as he bent forward and fell headlong into the ditch.
This shot was fired by one beside me: I turned, and beheld M.
Schreckhorn, the officer of Swiss, in the act of reloading his
arquebuse, with a grin of triumph; and I had some difficulty in
controlling my first impulse to brain him with the butt of my musket.
Here also fell the Sieur de la Rivière, captain of French musketeers,
who having, it was affirmed, neglected to put on his scapular, was
shot through the very place where the Madonna's picture would have
hung. He was brother of the celebrated Abbé de la Rivière, who, at
this very time, having lost the royal favour by visiting Clara
d'Amboise, was sent to the Bastille to study practical philosophy and
new periwigs together.
Under a storm of lead and iron, the leading company had already
thrown themselves into the fosse, and were planting their ladders
against the sloping stone glacis of the redoubt, when Schreckhorn
flung among them a _pate de grenades_, or earthen pot, filled with
gunpowder and grenades, having iron spikes upon them; while at the
same moment the petardiers of De Bitche, like brave and reckless
fellows as they were, lifted bombs in their hands, lighted their
fuses, and, with all their force, hurled them over the parapet into
the crowded fosse below, where they exploded with the _pate_,
destroying, tearing to pieces the unfortunate stormers, and
paralysing the rest, who were already sufficiently disheartened by
the loss they had sustained, and by the fall of their brilliant
leader.
The assault was abandoned, and a precipitate retreat succeeded--a
retreat galled by a fire of cannon, muskets, and arquebuses, from the
ramparts of the tower and its outworks; while the stubborn Swiss, the
fierce Imperialists, and infuriated Lorrainers, who composed the
garrison, about eight hundred in all, raised a wild and tumultuous
hurrah; for never before had the regiment de Picardy been known to
retreat. Schreckhorn flung down his musket and drew his rapier,
exclaiming, 'Lorraine and the Emperor! the Emperor and Lorraine! A
sortie! volunteers for a sortie! Fall in, my comrades! fall in!'
A tumultuary mass of musketeers, pikemen, and Swiss halberdiers,
about four hundred strong, formed in something like military order,
and led by Schreckhorn in person, now rushed towards the barrier gate
of the tête-du-pont; and with this mass I mingled, taking care to
keep well in the rear ranks, and to avoid being conspicuous,
resolving on the earliest opportunity to conceal myself, or feign
death. But I soon abandoned the last idea; for, when we crossed the
drawbridge, I beheld, to my horror, the brutal Swiss and Austrians
murder all the French wounded by braining them with the bolls of
their halberds or the butts of their muskets; and in this villany M.
Schreckhorn set the example, by twice passing his sword through the
body of the Sieur de la Rivière.
The fall of the Duc de Bellegarde prevented proper measures being
taken to secure a retreat. Already the French artillery were far
down the valley, retiring at a trot towards Zaberne, and (fortunately
for those who composed the sortie) escorted by the dragoons. The
regiment de Picardy was following them in confusion, their rear
maintaining a desultory fire with our front, as we proceeded over
broken and rocky ground, on the skirts of a chesnut-wood, near a
steep cliff, at the foot of which the mountain river ran with a
hoarse and brawling sound. Here I took an early opportunity of
loitering in the rear; and seeing a large pile of dried branches and
withered leaves collected together by some woodman prior to removal,
I first affected to drop a shoe, and, when adjusting it, contrived to
be left completely in the rear. Then, instead of rejoining, I
concealed myself in the heap of forest spoil, drawing in my musket
after me, and concealed every portion of my person as carefully as if
I had been tucked in, like a babe in the wood, by the kind birds of
the popular ballad.
At that moment the regiment De Picardy made a stand, and I heard
their drums beat a charge; then followed some heavy firing, and their
musket-shot crashed among the trees overhead, and, with a dull, heavy
sound, tore up the ground near me. I lay still and breathless. With
a fierce shout, the sally from Phalsbourg fell back before their
sudden volley. I heard two men speaking near me in a hoarse and
guttural language. Heavens! One stumbled over the heap of leaves--I
was discovered--no; not yet!
They proved to be two of Schreckhorn's Swiss musketeers, who had just
come out of the castle to enjoy a little shooting at the French; and
kneeling behind the pile which concealed me, they proceeded
deliberately to exchange a few rounds of ball-cartridge with certain
musketeers of Picardy, who were nestling in rear of a rock, at forty
yards' distance. The Swiss fired with coolness shot after shot close
to my ear, casting about and reloading their long heavy muskets;
while the bullets of their adversaries crashed among the stones or
branches, whitened the stumps of the trees, tore up the turf, and
knocked about the dry leaves which concealed me.
Imagine my situation and my feelings while this continued; to find
myself reduced to the position of a fascine, a sand-bag, a parapet
for those devils of Swiss to fire over! In lying still I risked the
bullets of my friends; in starting up to seek safety by flight, I
risked death at the hands alike of friends and foes; and while I lay
thus, with a palpitating heart and a reeling brain, at least twelve
shots whistled harmlessly about me, and five or six knocked the
withered leaves into the air.
At last the distant firing grew fainter; the regiment de Picardy was
retiring! My heart began to beat more equally, and with less pain.
My friends the Swiss shouldered their muskets and were proceeding to
advance, when one of them, in stepping over the pile of leaves,
placed a foot on me with such force and suddenness, that a faint cry
of pain escaped me. They started back with a shout of alarm, which
brought to the spot several of their comrades; and I was immediately
pulled from my lurking-place, to find myself confronted by M.
Schreckhorn, and other officers of the garrison, who were mustering
the skirmishers.