“Every path to the south is blocked. No message can reach them. If
Massena falls back the army of Clausel is doomed.”
“It must take its chance,” said I.
“How many men has he?”
“I should say about fourteen thousand.”
“How much cavalry?”
“One brigade of Montbrun's Division.”
“What regiments?”
“The 4th Chasseurs, the 9th Hussars, and a regiment of Cuirassiers.”
“Quite right,” said he, looking at his note-book. “I can tell you
speak the truth, and Heaven help you if you don't.” Then, division by
division, he went over the whole army, asking the composition of each
brigade.
Need I tell you that I would have had my tongue torn out before I would
have told him such things had I not a greater end in view? I would let
him know all if I could but save the army of Clausel.
At last he closed his note-book and replaced it in his pocket. “I am
obliged to you for this information, which shall reach Lord Wellington
to-morrow,” said he.
“You have done your share of the bargain; it is for me now to perform
mine. How would you wish to die? As a soldier you would, no doubt,
prefer to be shot, but some think that a jump over the Merodal precipice
is really an easier death. A good few have taken it, but we were,
unfortunately, never able to get an opinion from them afterward. There
is the saw, too, which does not appear to be popular. We could hang you,
no doubt, but it would involve the inconvenience of going down to the
wood. However, a promise is a promise, and you seem to be an excellent
fellow, so we will spare no pains to meet your wishes.”
“You said,” I answered, “that I must die before midnight. I will choose,
therefore, just one minute before that hour.”
“Very good,” said he. “Such clinging to life is rather childish, but
your wishes shall be met.”
“As to the method,” I added, “I love a death which all the world can
see. Put me on yonder pile of fagots and burn me alive, as saints and
martyrs have been burned before me. That is no common end, but one which
an Emperor might envy.”
The idea seemed to amuse him very much. “Why not?” said he. “If Massena
has sent you to spy upon us, he may guess what the fire upon the
mountain means.”
“Exactly,” said I. “You have hit upon my very reason. He will guess, and
all will know, that I have died a soldier's death.”
“I see no objection whatever,” said the brigand, with his abominable
smile. “I will send some goat's flesh and wine into your hut. The sun is
sinking and it is nearly eight o'clock. In four hours be ready for your
end.”
It was a beautiful world to be leaving. I looked at the golden haze
below, where the last rays of the sinking sun shone upon the blue waters
of the winding Tagus and gleamed upon the white sails of the English
transports.
Very beautiful it was, and very sad to leave; but there are things more
beautiful than that. The death that is died for the sake of others,
honour, and duty, and loyalty, and love--these are the beauties far
brighter than any which the eye can see. My breast was filled with
admiration for my own most noble conduct, and with wonder whether any
soul would ever come to know how I had placed myself in the heart of the
beacon which saved the army of Clausel. I hoped so and I prayed so,
for what a consolation it would be to my mother, what an example to the
army, what a pride to my Hussars! When de Pombal came at last into my
hut with the food and the wine, the first request I made him was that he
would write an account of my death and send it to the French camp.
He answered not a word, but I ate my supper with a better appetite from
the thought that my glorious fate would not be altogether unknown.
I had been there about two hours when the door opened again, and the
chief stood looking in. I was in darkness, but a brigand with a torch
stood beside him, and I saw his eyes and his teeth gleaming as he peered
at me.
“Ready?” he asked.
“It is not yet time.”
“You stand out for the last minute?”
“A promise is a promise.”
“Very good. Be it so. We have a little justice to do among ourselves,
for one of my fellows has been misbehaving. We have a strict rule of our
own which is no respecter of persons, as de Pombal here could tell you.
Do you truss him and lay him on the faggots, de Pombal, and I will
return to see him die.”
De Pombal and the man with the torch entered, while I heard the steps of
the chief passing away. De Pombal closed the door.
“Colonel Gerard,” said he, “you must trust this man, for he is one of
my party. It is neck or nothing. We may save you yet. But I take a great
risk, and I want a definite promise. If we save you, will you guarantee
that we have a friendly reception in the French camp and that all the
past will be forgotten?”
“I do guarantee it.”
“And I trust your honour. Now, quick, quick, there is not an instant to
lose! If this monster returns we shall die horribly, all three.”
I stared in amazement at what he did. Catching up a long rope he wound
it round the body of my dead comrade, and he tied a cloth round his
mouth so as to almost cover his face.
“Do you lie there!” he cried, and he laid me in the place of the dead
body. “I have four of my men waiting, and they will place this upon the
beacon.” He opened the door and gave an order. Several of the brigands
entered and bore out Duplessis. For myself I remained upon the floor,
with my mind in a turmoil of hope and wonder.
Five minutes later de Pombal and his men were back.
“You are laid upon the beacon,” said he; “I defy anyone in the world
to say it is not you, and you are so gagged and bound that no one can
expect you to speak or move. Now, it only remains to carry forth the
body of Duplessis and to toss it over the Merodal precipice.”
Two of them seized me by the head and two by the heels, and carried me,
stiff and inert, from the hut. As I came into the open air I could have
cried out in my amazement. The moon had risen above the beacon, and
there, clear outlined against its silver light, was the figure of the
man stretched upon the top. The brigands were either in their camp or
standing round the beacon, for none of them stopped or questioned our
little party. De Pombal led them in the direction of the precipice. At
the brow we were out of sight, and there I was allowed to use my feet
once more. De Pombal pointed to a narrow, winding track.
“This is the way down,” said he, and then, suddenly,
“Dios mio, what is that?”
A terrible cry had risen out of the woods beneath us.