WITHIN THE TENT
Three days after the scene we have just described, on the 4th of
January, in the evening, the French, despite Lord Wentworth's confident
predictions, had made a great advance.
They had passed not only the bridge of Nieullay, but also the fort of
the same name, of which they had been in possession since the morning,
as well as of all the arms and stores which it contained.
From that strong position they could effectually bar the way against any
Spanish or English reinforcements coming by land.
Such important results were surely well worth the three days of furious
and mortal combat which they had cost.
"Is this a dream?" cried the haughty governor of Calais, when he saw his
troops fleeing in disorder toward the city, despite his brave struggle
to induce them to return to their posts.
To put the finishing touch to his humiliation, he had to follow them;
for his duty required him to be the last to withdraw.
"Fortunately," remarked Lord Derby to him when they were safely within
the walls,--"fortunately, Calais and the Old Château will be able to
hold out two or three days longer, even with the few troops still at our
disposal. The Risbank fort and the harbor are still open, and England is
not far a way."
Lord Wentworth's council were unanimously of the opinion that their
safety lay in that direction, and it was no longer time to heed the
voice of pride. An express must be despatched at once to Dover. On the
following day, at the latest, strong reinforcements would arrive, and
Calais would be saved.
Lord Wentworth realized the situation, and decided to adopt this course.
A vessel set sail at once, carrying an urgent message to the governor of
Dover.
Then the council took measures to concentrate all their energies upon
the defence of the Old Château, which was the vulnerable side of
Calais, inasmuch as the sea, the sand-dunes, and a handful of the civic
guard would be more than sufficient to protect the Risbank fort.
While the besieged were thus preparing to make a brave resistance at the
probable points of attack, let us glance for a moment at the camp of the
besieging army outside the city, and see particularly how Vicomte
d'Exmès, Martin-Guerre, and their gallant recruits were employing
themselves on this evening of January 4.
Being soldiers, not sappers and miners, and having no duties in
connection with the digging of trenches or siege works, but serving only
when there was fighting to be done or an assault to be made, they were
now taking their well-earned rest. We need only draw aside the door of a
tent pitched a little apart on the right of the camp to find Gabriel and
his troop of volunteers. The tableau thus presented to view was
picturesque and varied.
Gabriel, with bowed head, was sitting in a corner upon the only stool
which the establishment could boast, apparently plunged in profound
abstraction.
At his feet Martin-Guerre was fitting the buckle of a sword-belt. He
looked anxiously at his master from time to time, but did not presume to
interrupt the silent meditation in which he was absorbed.
Not far from them, on a sort of couch made of cloaks, a wounded man lay
moaning. Alas! the sufferer was no other than the ill-fated Malemort.
At the other end of the tent the pious Lactance was telling his beads
with great animation and fervency. Lactance had been unfortunate enough
at the storming of Fort Nieullay that morning to knock on the head three
of his brothers in Jesus Christ; for that he owed his conscience three
hundred _Paters_ and as many _Aves_. That was the ordinary penance which
his confessor had laid upon him for those he killed; wounded men counted
only for half.
Near him, Yvonnet, after having carefully cleaned and brushed his
clothes, which were stained with mud and powder, was looking about to
find some corner where the ground was not too damp, so that he might
stretch himself and take a little rest, for the prolonged watching and
toil were not well suited to his delicate constitution.
Two paces from Yvonnet, the two Scharfensteins, uncle and nephew, were
making complicated calculations on their enormous fingers. They were
figuring out the probable value of their morning's booty. The nephew had
been fortunate enough to lay his hand upon a valuable suit of armor; and
the worthy Teutons, with beaming countenances, were dividing in advance
the money which they expected to receive for their rich prize.
The veterans, in a group in the centre of the tent, were playing at
dice; and the players and bystanders alike were following with much
interest the varying chances of the game.
A huge smoking torch fixed in the earth lighted up the pleased or
disappointed faces, and cast an uncertain, flickering light upon the
features of the others, with their contrasted expressions, which we have
tried to describe and sketch in the half-darkness.
Gabriel raised his head, as poor Malemort uttered a more dolorous groan
than usual, and said to his squire,--
"Martin-Guerre, what time is it now?"
"Monseigneur, I can't tell very accurately," Martin replied, for this
stormy night has put out all the stars; "but I imagine that it is not
far from six o'clock, for it has been dark more than an hour."
"The surgeon promised to come at six o'clock, did he not?"
"At six precisely, Monseigneur. See, some one raises the curtain; yes,
there he is."
Vicomte d'Exmès cast his eyes upon the new arrival, and recognized him
at the first glance. He had seen him but once before; but the surgeon's
face was one of those which when once seen are never forgotten.
"Master Ambroise Paré!" cried Gabriel, rising.
"Monsieur le Vicomte d'Exmès!" said Paré, with a low bow.
"Ah, Master, I had no idea you were in camp, and so near us!" said
Gabriel.
"I try always to be where I can be of the most service," the surgeon
responded.
"Oh, I recognize your noble heart in that! and I am doubly glad that you
are here to-day, for I need to avail myself of your knowledge and
skill."
"Not for yourself, I trust," said Ambroise Paré. "Of whom do you
speak?"
"It is one of my people," said Gabriel. "This morning, while charging in
a sort of frenzy upon the retreating English, he received a lance-thrust
in the shoulder from one of them."
"In the shoulder? It may not be a very serious matter, then," said the
surgeon.
"I am afraid it is, however," said Gabriel, in a lower tone; "for one of
the wounded man's comrades, Scharfenstein there, tried in such a rough
and awkward fashion to pull out the lance-head that he broke it off, and
the iron remained in the wound."
Ambroise Paré's face for a moment assumed an expression which augured
ill for the sufferer.
"Let me see him," he said, with his accustomed calmness.
He was conducted to the patient's bed. All the veterans had risen and
surrounded the surgeon, each one abandoning his game or his reckoning or
whatever he was engaged in. Lactance alone continued to mumble his beads
in his corner; for when doing penance for his doughty deeds he never
allowed himself to be interrupted except to perform others.
Ambroise Paré removed the bandages in which Malemort's shoulder was
enveloped, and examined the wound very carefully. He shook his head
doubtfully, as if in dissatisfaction, but said aloud,--
"This is nothing."
"Ho, ho!" grumbled Malemort. "If it is nothing, can I go and fight again
to-morrow?"
"I don't think so," said Ambroise Paré, probing the wound.
"Ah! you hurt me a bit, did you know it?" said Malemort.
"Yes, I suppose I do," was the surgeon's reply; "but courage, my
friend!"
"Oh, I am brave enough," said Malemort. "After all, this has been
tolerable so far. Will it be much worse when you have to extract that
infernal piece of iron?"
"No, for here it is," said Ambroise Paré, triumphant, holding up, so
that Malemort could see, the lance-head he had succeeded in removing.
"I am very much obliged, Monsieur le Chirurgien," said Malemort,
courteously.
A murmur of admiring wonder welcomed the masterly skill of Ambroise
Paré.
"What! is it all over?" said Gabriel. "Why, it's perfectly marvellous."
"We must agree too," rejoined Ambroise, smiling, "that the wounded man
was not afraid of pain."
"Nor the operator unskilful, by the Mass!" cried a new-comer behind the
soldiers, whose entrance nobody had noticed amid the general anxiety.
But at the well-known voice all stood aside respectfully.
"Monsieur le Duc de Guise!" said Paré, recognizing the features of the
commander-in-chief.
"Yes, Master," rejoined the new-comer, "Monsieur de Guise; and I am
amazed and delighted with your superb skill. By my patron, Saint
François, I have just been watching at the hospital some downright
blockheads of doctors, who have done more harm to our soldiers with
their instruments, I swear, than the English with their weapons. But you
extracted this iron stake, upon my word, as easily and gently as if it
had been a gray hair. And I do not know you! What is your name, Master?"
"Ambroise Paré, Monseigneur," said the surgeon.
"Well, Master Ambroise Paré," said the duke, "I promise you that your
fortune is made,--on one condition, however."
"And may I know what the condition is, Monseigneur?"
"That if I get wounded or bruised, which is very possible, especially in
these days, you will take charge of me and treat me with as little
ceremony as you showed this poor devil."
"Monseigneur, I will do it," said Ambroise, bowing. "All men are equal
in suffering."
"Hum!" rejoined François de Lorraine, "you will try, in the case I have
mentioned to you, that they may be equal also in the matter of being
cured."
"Will Monseigneur permit me now," said the surgeon, "to close and
bandage this man's wound? There are many other wounded men who are in
need of my services to-day."
"Do so, Master Ambroise Paré," the duke replied. "Go on without paying
any more heed to me. I am in haste to see you on your way to deliver as
many patients as possible from the hands of our cursed bunglers.
Besides, I must speak with Monsieur d'Exmès."
Ambroise Paré at once set about dressing Malemort's wound.
"Monsieur le Chirurgien, I thank you again," said the patient; "but if
you will excuse me, I have still another favor to ask of you."
"What is that, my fine fellow?" asked Ambroise.
"Well, it's like this, Monsieur le Chirurgien," said Malemort. "Now that
I can no longer feel that horrible stump in my flesh, it seems to me as
if I were almost well."
"Yes, almost," said Ambroise, pressing the ligatures together.
"Well, then," said Malemort, in a modest but unembarrassed tone, "will
you be kind enough to say to my master, Monsieur d'Exmès, that if there
is any fighting to-morrow, I am in perfectly fit condition to take part
in it!"
"You fight to-morrow!" cried Ambroise Paré. "Ah! you must not think of
it!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon, but I can't help thinking of it," rejoined
Malemort, sadly.
"My poor fellow," said the surgeon, "just remember that I order a week
of perfect rest,--at least a week in bed, and a week of light diet!"
"Light diet, so far as food is concerned, if you please," said Malemort,
"but not abstinence from battle, I beg you."
"You are insane!" resumed Ambroise Paré; "if you but raise your head,
the fever will seize you, and you will be a dead man. I said a week, and
I will not take off an hour."
"Oh!" roared Malemort, "in a week the siege will be at an end. I shall
never get my fill of fighting."
"What a blood-thirsty fellow he is!" said the Duc de Guise, who had been
listening to this singular dialogue.
"That is Malemort all over," said Gabriel, smiling; "and I beg you,
Monseigneur, to give orders to have him taken to the hospital, and
carefully watched there; for if he hears the noise of a mêlée, he is
quite capable of trying to get out of bed, in spite of everything."
"Oh, well, that's a very simple matter," said the Duc de Guise. "Give
orders yourself to his comrades to carry him there."
"But, Monseigneur," Gabriel rejoined with some embarrassment, "it is
quite possible that I shall have work for my brave fellows to do
to-night."
"Oho!" said the duke, looking in surprise at Vicomte d'Exmès.
"If Monsieur d'Exmès wishes," said Ambroise Paré, who had drawn near
them after he had dressed the wound, "I will send two of my assistants
with a litter to take this wounded fire-eater away."
"I am very much obliged to you, and gladly accept your offer; I commend
him to your most watchful care," said Gabriel.
Malemort gave vent to another despairing roar.
Ambroise Paré withdrew, having taken leave of the Duc de Guise. At a
sign from Martin-Guerre, all but Monsieur d'Exmès retired to the
farther end of the tent, and Gabriel was left tête-a-tête with the
general directing the siege.