THE PAROLE.
Inquiries were first made as to whether I was wounded; then as to who
I was, my rank and name--for my attire, to say the least of it, was
rather peculiar, and my face was still begrimed with powder. A
glance showed me the situation in which I was placed.
The brow of the cliff, on which I stood, overhung the stream that
brawled through the wooded defile, past the square black tower of
Phalsbourg; further off, down the valley, lay the little fortified
tower of that name, and beyond it were the Vosges, green, dun, or
brown, but all huge and many shadowed, piled peak on peak, fading and
mellowing away in the distance. On the other hand, the wooded defile
opened out into a broad and sunlit valley, clothed with waving
vineyards. This valley led towards Zaberne; and there I could see
the discomfited infantry of king Louis, halted at the distance of a
mile; but whether preparatory to renewing the attack, or to retiring,
I know not. Nearer were the dragoons of Brissac, who had now fallen
back to cover the rear of their foot; and nearer still were ten
cavaliers in brilliant trappings, whose helmets and corslets, as they
caracoled to and fro in the green meadows as if loth to retreat,
flashed back the rays of the morning sun. On beholding them, a new
impulse awoke within me, for I believed them to be ten gentleman of
the Garde du Corps Ecossais, and eventually, my surmise proved
correct.
Around me, and scattered over the brow of the grim cliff which
overlooked all this panorama, were the prostrate forms of some twenty
or thirty soldiers, killed or wounded in the skirmish; and close by
me, were the men of the sally, falling into their ranks preparatory
to marching back to the tower, under the orders of M. Schreckhorn's
second in command.
A rapid and hopeless glance told me all this; and then I turned to
meet, and if possible to baffle, the suspicious questions of the
warlike Switzer, who wore a quaint old jagged suit of harness of the
last century, and carried a pair of long pistols in his leathern
girdle, while he wielded one of those enormous halberds, to which the
countrymen of Tell have been so partial in all ages.
'Who are you, monsieur?' asked Schreckhorn, in his execrable French.
'Faith, I can scarcely tell,' said I.
'A peculiar state of mind--perhaps a prick of a sword might enlighten
you? Speak!'
'I am one of your garrison of Phalsbourg,' I replied, with
confidence, assured that to falter now, would destroy me.
'Does any one know this man?' asked Schreckhorn, looking around him;
but not one of all the soldiers who crowded near, responded to his
question.
'The Count de Bitche knows me well, and will answer for my honour and
courage,' said I.
'We have only your word for that; but does it look like either honour
or courage to skulk under this pile of leaves during an action? You
say you are one of our soldiers?'
'But I am _not_ one of your soldiers.'
'What then?'
'A simple volunteer.'
'I do not recognise you.'
'How should you, M. Schreckhorn, when you came to Phalsbourg but
yesterday or the day before?'
'Peste! that is true; but then you cannot have any objection to
return with us.'
'I have a most decided objection, M. le Capitaine.'
'Parbleu!'
'I do not choose to serve longer under the Count de Bitche.'
'This is rank mutiny; but perhaps you would prefer to serve under the
enemy?'
'I have not said so. A volunteer chooses his own leader; it is the
rule of war.'
'From whence came you last?'
'Champagne.'
'Aha--France!' said Schreckhorn, with kindling eyes, and I found that
I had made a false move. 'You issued out with us; speak quick,
fellow, for our troops are marching in, and yonder ten troopers are
nearer than I like. You joined our sortie?'
'My presence here implies that I did so,' said I, haughtily, and
gathering confidence on perceiving that some five or six petardiers,
who remained by the side of Schreckhorn, all the soldiers of the
sortie, were now marching into Phalsbourg.
'Then you must know the password for the day?'
'I know both parole and countersign.'
'What are they?' he asked, in a gentler tone.
'"Mathias" and "Vienna."'
'False, by St. Nicholas! Here is a spy!' exclaimed Schreckhorn,
seizing me.
'These words were given to me by the Count in person.'
'Thou liest! The Count has not been seen among us to-day.'
'And the passwords----'
'Are "_Gallas_" and "_Prague_."'
'Then the villain has deceived me,' said I, as the petardiers laid
hold of me; and just at that moment a soldier came running
breathlessly towards us, crying, as the devil would have it--
'Hola, M. Schreckhorn! hola?
'What is the matter, fellow?'
'The spy we took last night has escaped from the turret, leaving in
his place M. le Commandant, robbed and half murdered.'
'Mordieu! then this is our man. I must have been blind or mad not to
recognise him even in this tatterdemalion dress, and with that visage
of his, so artfully blackened!'
'Shoot him!' cried a petardier, drawing a pistolette from his girdle.
'Tête Dieu! an ounce of lead, my boy, will pay your passage to the
other world, and here it is.'
'Cut him down!' suggested another, drawing his sword.
'Nay, take him back, and let M. le Comte deal with him, in person,'
said the messenger.
'No, no,' added a fourth; 'diable! don't trouble us with prisoners,
M. Schreckhorn; they do nothing but eat up the rations.'
They proceeded, however, to drag me towards the tower of Phalsbourg,
and then I shuddered when contemplating all I might suffer there, and
at the idea of confronting De Bitche when flushed by pain and
vengeance. But aware that to resist seven well-armed men would be an
act of folly, I could only glance hopelessly at the horsemen, who
were now galloping along the valley, obviously with a view to cut off
Schreckhorn and his six stragglers.
'Here come those ten cavaliers of the enemy's horse,' said a
petardier; 'and this fellow grows heavier at every step.'
'Unless we shoot him and run, we shall be cut off, M. le Capitaine,'
urged a second.
'And they are Gardes Ecossais, by all that is infernal!'
'These fellows will follow us up to the very gate of Phalsbourg,'
said Schreckhorn.
'Bah! I have a petard at the foot of yonder tree, M. le Capitaine,'
said the first speaker; 'let us tie our moucharde to it, fire the
match, and leave him to his friends, who may pick up his pieces at
leisure.'
'A brilliant idea, comrade!' growled Schreckhorn, whose eyes flashed
with rage and excitement at the unexpected danger in which his parley
with me had placed him, though his native love of bloodshed, cruelty,
and novelty were tickled by the barbarous proposition of the
petardier, whose words were acted upon in a moment. 'Sang Dieu!
quick, quick; your straps and the petard; we have not a moment to
lose; these fellows will be on us!'
I had scarcely time for breath or thought before my hands and feet
were secured by straps, while the petard was bound to my breast; and
now, lest the reader may not know what this warlike invention is, I
shall describe it briefly.
A petard is made of gun-metal, screwed upon a board two feet square,
and holds usually about fifteen pounds of powder; a vent is screwed
into the hole, by which the iron case is filled. When fired, its
explosion will blow to shreds the strongest gates and palisades. The
French Huguenots were the first who invented them, and by their means
captured the city of Cahors in 1579.
A pistol was snapped, and the slow-match lighted, and then, with a
brutal laugh, M. Schreckhorn and his soldiers rushed own the hill
towards Phalsbourg, looking back ever and anon watch the expected
explosion.
Though hardened by war, and familiarised to its dangers, this
petard--this frightful engine of death--pressing like a charged bomb
upon my breast, filled me with a horror too great for description,
for realisation, or for utterance, and existence became a stupor! I
was unable to move--to cry out--to breathe! I felt nothing--saw
nothing! I knew nothing! all my thoughts and feelings, if I
possessed them, were absorbed in one overwhelming sense of panic! I
was surrounded by a black and wavering chaos, amid which I saw a
brilliant and luminous spark, close to my face, consuming, shrinking,
and expanding; this was the touchpaper, communicating with the petard
to which I was tied.
Suddenly the sense of danger and immediate death became to great for
my whole nervous system. Bound as I was, powerless, paralysed, like
one amid a crushing nightmare, a cry at last escaped me! Then,
though fettered neck, hand, and heel, I rose to my feet, and in a
wild endeavour to free myself from the dreadful engine of destruction
to which I was bound, rolled over the cliff, and fell headlong
through the air--down--down--I knew not how far!
There was a cold splash--a shock--as I cleft the waters of a river;
then there was darkness, and a rushing, bubbling sound, as they
closed over me; then came blinding light, as I rose again to the
surface; darkness again, and a whirling of all the senses, as I sank
the second time; and with that sinking a deep, deep sleep seemed to
come upon me, and I remembered no more.