To be trussed like a fowl and to listen helplessly to the rude laughter
of these boors--to know, too, that my mission had come to an ignominious
and even ridiculous end--I would have blessed the man who would have
sent a bullet through the cask and freed me from my misery.
I heard the crashing of the barrels as they hurled them off the waggon,
and then a couple of bearded faces and the muzzles of two guns looked in
at me. They seized me by the sleeves of my coat, and they dragged me
out into the daylight. A strange figure I must have looked as I stood
blinking and gaping in the blinding sunlight.
My body was bent like a cripple's, for I could not straighten my stiff
joints, and half my coat was as red as an English soldier's from the
lees in which I had lain.
They laughed and laughed, these dogs, and as I tried to express by my
bearing and gestures the contempt in which I held them their laughter
grew all the louder. But even in these hard circumstances I bore myself
like the man I am, and as I cast my eye slowly round I did not find that
any of the laughers were very ready to face it.
That one glance round was enough to tell me exactly how I was situated.
I had been betrayed by these peasants into the hands of an outpost of
guerillas. There were eight of them, savage-looking, hairy creatures,
with cotton handkerchiefs under their sombreros, and many-buttoned
jackets with coloured sashes round the waist.
Each had a gun and one or two pistols stuck in his girdle.
The leader, a great, bearded ruffian, held his gun against my ear while
the others searched my pockets, taking from me my overcoat, my pistol,
my glass, my sword, and, worst of all, my flint and steel and tinder.
Come what might, I was ruined, for I had no longer the means of lighting
the beacon even if I should reach it.
Eight of them, my friends, with three peasants, and I unarmed! Was
Etienne Gerard in despair? Did he lose his wits? Ah, you know me too
well; but they did not know me yet, these dogs of brigands. Never have
I made so supreme and astounding an effort as at this very instant when
all seemed lost. Yet you might guess many times before you would hit
upon the device by which I escaped them. Listen and I will tell you.
They had dragged me from the waggon when they searched me, and I stood,
still twisted and warped, in the midst of them. But the stiffness was
wearing off, and already my mind was very actively looking out for some
method of breaking away. It was a narrow pass in which the brigands had
their outpost. It was bounded on the one hand by a steep mountain side.
On the other the ground fell away in a very long slope, which ended in a
bushy valley many hundreds of feet below. These fellows, you understand,
were hardy mountaineers, who could travel either up hill or down very
much quicker than I. They wore abarcas, or shoes of skin, tied on like
sandals, which gave them a foothold everywhere. A less resolute man
would have despaired. But in an instant I saw and used the strange
chance which Fortune had placed in my way. On the very edge of the slope
was one of the wine-barrels. I moved slowly toward it, and then with a
tiger spring I dived into it feet foremost, and with a roll of my body I
tipped it over the side of the hill.
Shall I ever forget that dreadful journey--how I bounded and crashed
and whizzed down that terrible slope? I had dug in my knees and elbows,
bunching my body into a compact bundle so as to steady it; but my head
projected from the end, and it was a marvel that I did not dash out my
brains. There were long, smooth slopes, and then came steeper scarps
where the barrel ceased to roll, and sprang into the air like a goat,
coming down with a rattle and crash which jarred every bone in my body.
How the wind whistled in my ears, and my head turned and turned until I
was sick and giddy and nearly senseless! Then, with a swish and a great
rasping and crackling of branches, I reached the bushes which I had seen
so far below me. Through them I broke my way, down a slope beyond, and
deep into another patch of underwood, where, striking a sapling, my
barrel flew to pieces. From amid a heap of staves and hoops I crawled
out, my body aching in every inch of it, but my heart singing loudly
with joy and my spirit high within me, for I knew how great was the feat
which I had accomplished, and I already seemed to see the beacon blazing
on the hill.
A horrible nausea had seized me from the tossing which I had undergone,
and I felt as I did upon the ocean when first I experienced those
movements of which the English have taken so perfidious an advantage. I
had to sit for a few moments with my head upon my hands beside the ruins
of my barrel. But there was no time for rest.
Already I heard shouts above me which told that my pursuers were
descending the hill. I dashed into the thickest part of the underwood,
and I ran and ran until I was utterly exhausted. Then I lay panting and
listened with all my ears, but no sound came to them. I had shaken off
my enemies.
When I had recovered my breath I travelled swiftly on, and waded
knee-deep through several brooks, for it came into my head that they
might follow me with dogs.
On gaining a clear place and looking round me, I found to my delight
that in spite of my adventures I had not been much out of my way. Above
me towered the peak of Merodal, with its bare and bold summit shooting
out of the groves of dwarf oaks which shrouded its flanks.
These groves were the continuation of the cover under which I found
myself, and it seemed to me that I had nothing to fear now until I
reached the other side of the forest. At the same time I knew that every
man's hand was against me, that I was unarmed, and that there were
many people about me. I saw no one, but several times I heard shrill
whistles, and once the sound of a gun in the distance.
It was hard work pushing one's way through the bushes, and so I was glad
when I came to the larger trees and found a path which led between
them. Of course, I was too wise to walk upon it, but I kept near it and
followed its course. I had gone some distance, and had, as I imagined,
nearly reached the limit of the wood, when a strange, moaning sound fell
upon my ears. At first I thought it was the cry of some animal, but then
there came words, of which I only caught the French exclamation, “Mon
Dieu!” With great caution I advanced in the direction from which the
sound proceeded, and this is what I saw.
On a couch of dried leaves there was stretched a man dressed in the same
grey uniform which I wore myself.
He was evidently horribly wounded, for he held a cloth to his breast
which was crimson with his blood. A pool had formed all round his couch,
and he lay in a haze of flies, whose buzzing and droning would certainly
have called my attention if his groans had not come to my ear.
I lay for a moment, fearing some trap, and then, my pity and loyalty
rising above all other feelings, I ran forward and knelt by his side.
He turned a haggard face upon me, and it was Duplessis, the man who
had gone before me. It needed but one glance at his sunken cheeks and
glazing eyes to tell me that he was dying.
“Gerard!” said he; “Gerard!”
I could but look my sympathy, but he, though the life was ebbing swiftly
out of him, still kept his duty before him, like the gallant gentleman
he was.
“The beacon, Gerard! You will light it?”
“Have you flint and steel?”
“It is here!”
“Then I will light it to-night.”
“I die happy to hear you say so. They shot me, Gerard. But you will tell
the Marshal that I did my best.”
“And Cortex?”
“He was less fortunate. He fell into their hands and died horribly. If
you see that you cannot get away, Gerard, put a bullet into your own
heart. Don't die as Cortex did.”
I could see that his breath was failing, and I bent low to catch his
words.
“Can you tell me anything which can help me in my task?” I asked.
“Yes, yes; de Pombal. He will help you. Trust de Pombal.” With the words
his head fell back and he was dead.
“Trust de Pombal. It is good advice.” To my amazement a man was standing
at the very side of me.
So absorbed had I been in my comrade's words and intent on his advice
that he had crept up without my observing him. Now I sprang to my feet
and faced him. He was a tall, dark fellow, black-haired, black-eyed,
black-bearded, with a long, sad face. In his hand he had a wine-bottle
and over his shoulder was slung one of the trabucos or blunderbusses
which these fellows bear. He made no effort to unsling it, and I
understood that this was the man to whom my dead friend had commended
me.
“Alas, he is gone!” said he, bending over Duplessis.
“He fled into the wood after he was shot, but I was fortunate enough
to find where he had fallen and to make his last hours more easy. This
couch was my making, and I had brought this wine to slake his thirst.”
“Sir,” said I, “in the name of France I thank you. I am but a colonel
of light cavalry, but I am Etienne Gerard, and the name stands for
something in the French army. May I ask----”
“Yes, sir, I am Aloysius de Pombal, younger brother of the famous
nobleman of that name. At present I am the first lieutenant in the band
of the guerilla chief who is usually known as Manuelo, 'The Smiler.'”
My word, I clapped my hand to the place where my pistol should have
been, but the man only smiled at the gesture.
“I am his first lieutenant, but I am also his deadly enemy,” said he.
He slipped off his jacket and pulled up his shirt as he spoke. “Look at
this!” he cried, and he turned upon me a back which was all scored and
lacerated with red and purple weals. “This is what 'The Smiler' has done
to me, a man with the noblest blood of Portugal in my veins. What I will
do to 'The Smiler' you have still to see.”
There was such fury in his eyes and in the grin of his white teeth that
I could no longer doubt his truth, with that clotted and oozing back to
corroborate his words.
“I have ten men sworn to stand by me,” said he. “In a few days I hope
to join your army, when I have done my work here. In the meanwhile--” A
strange change came over his face, and he suddenly slung his musket to
the front: “Hold up your hands, you French hound!” he yelled. “Up with
them, or I blow your head of!”
You start, my friends! You stare! Think, then, how I stared and started
at this sudden ending of our talk.
There was the black muzzle and there the dark, angry eyes behind it.
What could I do? I was helpless. I raised my hands in the air. At the
same moment voices sounded from all parts of the wood, there were crying
and calling and rushing of many feet. A swarm of dreadful figures
broke through the green bushes, a dozen hands seized me, and I, poor,
luckless, frenzied I, was a prisoner once more. Thank God, there was
no pistol which I could have plucked from my belt and snapped at my own
head. Had I been armed at that moment I should not be sitting here in
this cafe and telling you these old-world tales.
With grimy, hairy hands clutching me on every side I was led along the
pathway through the wood, the villain de Pombal giving directions to my
captors. Four of the brigands carried up the dead body of Duplessis.
The shadows of evening were already falling when we cleared the forest
and came out upon the mountain-side.
Up this I was driven until we reached the headquarters of the guerillas,
which lay in a cleft close to the summit of the mountain. There was the
beacon which had cost me so much, a square stack of wood, immediately
above our heads. Below were two or three huts which had belonged, no
doubt, to goatherds, and which were now used to shelter these rascals.
Into one of these I was cast, bound and helpless, and the dead body of
my poor comrade was laid beside me.
I was lying there with the one thought still consuming me, how to wait a
few hours and to get at that pile of fagots above my head, when the door
of my prison opened and a man entered. Had my hands been free I should
have flown at his throat, for it was none other than de Pombal. A couple
of brigands were at his heels, but he ordered them back and closed the
door behind him.
“You villain!” said I.
“Hush!” he cried. “Speak low, for I do not know who may be listening,
and my life is at stake. I have some words to say to you, Colonel
Gerard; I wish well to you, as I did to your dead companion. As I spoke
to you beside his body I saw that we were surrounded, and that your
capture was unavoidable. I should have shared your fate had I hesitated.
I instantly captured you myself, so as to preserve the confidence of the
band. Your own sense will tell you that there was nothing else for me to
do. I do not know now whether I can save you, but at least I will try.”
This was a new light upon the situation. I told him that I could not
tell how far he spoke the truth, but that I would judge him by his
actions.
“I ask nothing better,” said he. “A word of advice to you! The chief
will see you now. Speak him fair, or he will have you sawn between two
planks. Contradict nothing he says. Give him such information as he
wants. It is your only chance. If you can gain time something may come
in our favour. Now, I have no more time. Come at once, or suspicion may
be awakened.”
He helped me to rise, and then, opening the door, he dragged me out very
roughly, and with the aid of the fellows outside he brutally pushed and
thrust me to the place where the guerilla chief was seated, with his
rude followers gathered round him.
A remarkable man was Manuelo, “The Smiler.” He was fat and florid and
comfortable, with a big, clean-shaven face and a bald head, the very
model of a kindly father of a family. As I looked at his honest smile I
could scarcely believe that this was, indeed, the infamous ruffian whose
name was a horror through the English Army as well as our own. It is
well known that Trent, who was a British officer, afterward had the
fellow hanged for his brutalities. He sat upon a boulder and he beamed
upon me like one who meets an old acquaintance.
I observed, however, that one of his men leaned upon a long saw, and the
sight was enough to cure me of all delusions.
“Good evening, Colonel Gerard,” said he. “We have been highly honoured
by General Massena's staff: Major Cortex one day, Colonel Duplessis
the next, and now Colonel Gerard. Possibly the Marshal himself may
be induced to honour us with a visit. You have seen Duplessis, I
understand. Cortex you will find nailed to a tree down yonder. It only
remains to be decided how we can best dispose of yourself.”
It was not a cheering speech; but all the time his fat face was wreathed
in smiles, and he lisped out his words in the most mincing and amiable
fashion. Now, however, he suddenly leaned forward, and I read a very
real intensity in his eyes.
“Colonel Gerard,” said he, “I cannot promise you your life, for it is
not our custom, but I can give you an easy death or I can give you a
terrible one. Which shall it be?”
“What do you wish me to do in exchange?”
“If you would die easy I ask you to give me truthful answers to the
questions which I ask.”
A sudden thought flashed through my mind.
“You wish to kill me,” said I; “it cannot matter to you how I die. If
I answer your questions, will you let me choose the manner of my own
death?”
“Yes, I will,” said he, “so long as it is before midnight to-night.”
“Swear it!” I cried.
“The word of a Portuguese gentleman is sufficient,” said he.
“Not a word will I say until you have sworn it.”
He flushed with anger and his eyes swept round toward the saw. But he
understood from my tone that I meant what I said, and that I was not
a man to be bullied into submission. He pulled a cross from under his
zammara or jacket of black sheepskin.
“I swear it,” said he.
Oh, my joy as I heard the words! What an end--what an end for the first
swordsman of France! I could have laughed with delight at the thought.
“Now, your questions!” said I.
“You swear in turn to answer them truly?”
“I do, upon the honour of a gentleman and a soldier.”
It was, as you perceive, a terrible thing that I promised, but what was
it compared to what I might gain by compliance?
“This is a very fair and a very interesting bargain,” said he, taking a
note-book from his pocket.
“Would you kindly turn your gaze toward the French camp?”
Following the direction of his gesture, I turned and looked down upon
the camp in the plain beneath us. In spite of the fifteen miles,
one could in that clear atmosphere see every detail with the utmost
distinctness.
There were the long squares of our tents and our huts, with the cavalry
lines and the dark patches which marked the ten batteries of artillery.
How sad to think of my magnificent regiment waiting down yonder, and to
know that they would never see their colonel again! With one squadron of
them I could have swept all these cut-throats off the face of the earth.
My eager eyes filled with tears as I looked at the corner of the camp
where I knew that there were eight hundred men, any one of whom would
have died for his colonel. But my sadness vanished when I saw beyond the
tents the plumes of smoke which marked the headquarters at Torres Novas.
There was Massena, and, please God, at the cost of my life his mission
would that night be done. A spasm of pride and exultation filled my
breast. I should have liked to have had a voice of thunder that I might
call to them, “Behold it is I, Etienne Gerard, who will die in order to
save the army of Clausel!” It was, indeed, sad to think that so noble a
deed should be done, and that no one should be there to tell the tale.
“Now,” said the brigand chief, “you see the camp and you see also the
road which leads to Coimbra. It is crowded with your fourgons and your
ambulances. Does this mean that Massena is about to retreat?”
One could see the dark moving lines of waggons with an occasional flash
of steel from the escort. There could, apart from my promise, be no
indiscretion in admitting that which was already obvious.
“He will retreat,” said I.
“By Coimbra?”
“I believe so.”
“But the army of Clausel?”