[*] This story, already published in The Green Flag, is
included here so that all of the Brigadier Gerard stories
may appear together.
In all the great hosts of France there was only one officer toward
whom the English of Wellington's Army retained a deep, steady, and
unchangeable hatred.
There were plunderers among the French, and men of violence, gamblers,
duellists, and roues. All these could be forgiven, for others of their
kidney were to be found among the ranks of the English. But one officer
of Massena's force had committed a crime which was unspeakable, unheard
of, abominable; only to be alluded to with curses late in the evening,
when a second bottle had loosened the tongues of men. The news of it was
carried back to England, and country gentlemen who knew little of the
details of the war grew crimson with passion when they heard of it, and
yeomen of the shires raised freckled fists to Heaven and swore. And
yet who should be the doer of this dreadful deed but our friend the
Brigadier, Etienne Gerard, of the Hussars of Conflans, gay-riding,
plume-tossing, debonair, the darling of the ladies and of the six
brigades of light cavalry.
But the strange part of it is that this gallant gentleman did this
hateful thing, and made himself the most unpopular man in the Peninsula,
without ever knowing that he had done a crime for which there is hardly
a name amid all the resources of our language. He died of old age,
and never once in that imperturbable self-confidence which adorned or
disfigured his character knew that so many thousand Englishmen would
gladly have hanged him with their own hands. On the contrary, he
numbered this adventure among those other exploits which he has given to
the world, and many a time he chuckled and hugged himself as he narrated
it to the eager circle who gathered round him in that humble cafe where,
between his dinner and his dominoes, he would tell, amid tears and
laughter, of that inconceivable Napoleonic past when France, like
an angel of wrath, rose up, splendid and terrible, before a cowering
continent. Let us listen to him as he tells the story in his own way and
from his own point of view.
You must know, my friends, said he, that it was toward the end of the
year eighteen hundred and ten that I and Massena and the others pushed
Wellington backward until we had hoped to drive him and his army into
the Tagus. But when we were still twenty-five miles from Lisbon we found
that we were betrayed, for what had this Englishman done but build an
enormous line of works and forts at a place called Torres Vedras, so
that even we were unable to get through them! They lay across the whole
Peninsula, and our army was so far from home that we did not dare to
risk a reverse, and we had already learned at Busaco that it was no
child's play to fight against these people. What could we do, then, but
sit down in front of these lines and blockade them to the best of
our power? There we remained for six months, amid such anxieties that
Massena said afterward that he had not one hair which was not white upon
his body.
For my own part, I did not worry much about our situation, but I looked
after our horses, who were in much need of rest and green fodder. For
the rest, we drank the wine of the country and passed the time as best
we might. There was a lady at Santarem--but my lips are sealed. It is
the part of a gallant man to say nothing, though he may indicate that he
could say a great deal.
One day Massena sent for me, and I found him in his tent with a great
plan pinned upon the table. He looked at me in silence with that single
piercing eye of his, and I felt by his expression that the matter
was serious. He was nervous and ill at ease, but my bearing seemed to
reassure him. It is good to be in contact with brave men.
“Colonel Etienne Gerard,” said he, “I have always heard that you are a
very gallant and enterprising officer.”
It was not for me to confirm such a report, and yet it would be folly to
deny it, so I clinked my spurs together and saluted.
“You are also an excellent rider.”