In that year our great Emperor had been absent from us for six years,
and only now and then from over the seas we heard some whisper which
showed that he was still alive. You cannot think what a weight it was
upon our hearts for us who loved him to think of him in captivity eating
his giant soul out upon that lonely island. From the moment we rose
until we closed our eyes in sleep the thought was always with us, and we
felt dishonoured that he, our chief and master, should be so humiliated
without our being able to move a hand to help him. There were many who
would most willingly have laid down the remainder of their lives to
bring him a little ease, and yet all that we could do was to sit and
grumble in our cafes and stare at the map, counting up the leagues of
water which lay between us.
It seemed that he might have been in the moon for all that we could do
to help him. But that was only because we were all soldiers and knew
nothing of the sea.
Of course, we had our own little troubles to make us bitter, as well as
the wrongs of our Emperor. There were many of us who had held high rank
and would hold it again if he came back to his own. We had not found
it possible to take service under the white flag of the Bourbons, or to
take an oath which might turn our sabres against the man whom we loved.
So we found ourselves with neither work nor money. What could we do save
gather together and gossip and grumble, while those who had a little
paid the score and those who had nothing shared the bottle? Now and
then, if we were lucky, we managed to pick a quarrel with one of the
Garde du Corps, and if we left him on his hack in the Bois we felt that
we had struck a blow for Napoleon once again. They came to know our
haunts in time, and they avoided them as if they had been hornets'
nests.
There was one of these--the Sign of the Great Man--in the Rue Varennes,
which was frequented by several of the more distinguished and
younger Napoleonic officers. Nearly all of us had been colonels or
aides-de-camp, and when any man of less distinction came among us we
generally made him feel that he had taken a liberty. There were Captain
Lepine, who had won the medal of honour at Leipzig; Colonel Bonnet,
aide-de-camp to Macdonald; Colonel Jourdan, whose fame in the army was
hardly second to my own; Sabbatier of my own Hussars, Meunier of the Red
Lancers, Le Breton of the Guards, and a dozen others.
Every night we met and talked, played dominoes, drank a glass or two,
and wondered how long it would be before the Emperor would be back and
we at the head of our regiments once more. The Bourbons had already
lost any hold they ever had upon the country, as was shown a few years
afterward, when Paris rose against them and they were hunted for the
third time out of France. Napoleon had but to show himself on the
coast, and he would have marched without firing a musket to the capital,
exactly as he had done when he came back from Elba.
Well, when affairs were in this state there arrived one night in
February, in our cafe, a most singular little man. He was short
but exceedingly broad, with huge shoulders, and a head which was a
deformity, so large was it. His heavy brown face was scarred with white
streaks in a most extraordinary manner, and he had grizzled whiskers
such as seamen wear. Two gold earrings in his ears, and plentiful
tattooing upon his hands and arms, told us also that he was of the sea
before he introduced himself to us as Captain Fourneau, of the Emperor's
navy. He had letters of introduction to two of our number, and there
could be no doubt that he was devoted to the cause. He won our respect,
too, for he had seen as much fighting as any of us, and the burns upon
his face were caused by his standing to his post upon the Orient, at
the Battle of the Nile, until the vessel blew up underneath him. Yet
he would say little about himself, but he sat in the corner of the cafe
watching us all with a wonderfully sharp pair of eyes and listening
intently to our talk.
One night I was leaving the cafe when Captain Fourneau followed me, and
touching me on the arm he led me without saying a word for some distance
until we reached his lodgings. “I wish to have a chat with you,” said
he, and so conducted me up the stair to his room. There he lit a lamp
and handed me a sheet of paper which he took from an envelope in his
bureau. It was dated a few months before from the Palace of Schonbrunn
at Vienna. “Captain Fourneau is acting in the highest interests of the
Emperor Napoleon. Those who love the Emperor should obey him without
question.--Marie Louise.” That is what I read. I was familiar with the
signature of the Empress, and I could not doubt that this was genuine.
“Well,” said he, “are you satisfied as to my credentials?”
“Entirely.”
“Are you prepared to take your orders from me?”
“This document leaves me no choice.”
“Good! In the first place, I understand from something you said in the
cafe that you can speak English?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Let me hear you do so.”
I said in English, “Whenever the Emperor needs the help of Etienne
Gerard I am ready night and day to give my life in his service.” Captain
Fourneau smiled.
“It is funny English,” said he, “but still it is better than no English.
For my own part I speak English like an Englishman. It is all that I
have to show for six years spent in an English prison. Now I will tell
you why I have come to Paris. I have come in order to choose an agent
who will help me in a matter which affects the interests of the Emperor.
I was told that it was at the cafe of the Great Man that I would find
the pick of his old officers, and that I could rely upon every man there
being devoted to his interests. I studied you all, therefore, and I have
come to the conclusion that you are the one who is most suited for my
purpose.”
I acknowledged the compliment. “What is it that you wish me to do?” I
asked.
“Merely to keep me company for a few months,” said he. “You must know
that after my release in England I settled down there, married an
English wife, and rose to command a small English merchant ship, in
which I have made several voyages from Southampton to the Guinea coast.
They look on me there as an Englishman. You can understand, however,
that with my feelings about the Emperor I am lonely sometimes, and that
it would be an advantage to me to have a companion who would sympathize
with my thoughts. One gets very bored on these long voyages, and I would
make it worth your while to share my cabin.”
He looked hard at me with his shrewd grey eyes all the time that he was
uttering this rigmarole, and I gave him a glance in return which showed
him that he was not dealing with a fool. He took out a canvas bag full
of money.
“There are a hundred pounds in gold in this bag,” said he. “You will be
able to buy some comforts for your voyage. I should recommend you to get
them in Southampton, whence we will start in ten days. The name of the
vessel is the Black Swan. I return to Southampton to-morrow, and I shall
hope to see you in the course of the next week.”
“Come now,” said I. “Tell me frankly what is the destination of our
voyage?”
“Oh, didn't I tell you?” he answered. “We are bound for the Guinea coast
of Africa.”
“Then how can that be in the highest interests of the Emperor?” I asked.
“It is in his highest interests that you ask no indiscreet questions and
I give no indiscreet replies,” he answered, sharply. So he brought the
interview to an end, and I found myself back in my lodgings with nothing
save this bag of gold to show that this singular interview had indeed
taken place.
There was every reason why I should see the adventure to a conclusion,
and so within a week I was on my way to England. I passed from St.
Malo to Southampton, and on inquiry at the docks I had no difficulty in
finding the Black Swan, a neat little vessel of a shape which is called,
as I learned afterward, a brig. There was Captain Fourneau himself upon
the deck, and seven or eight rough fellows hard at work grooming her and
making her ready for sea. He greeted me and led me down to his cabin.
“You are plain Mr. Gerard now,” said he, “and a Channel Islander. I
would be obliged to you if you would kindly forget your military ways
and drop your cavalry swagger when you walk up and down my deck.
A beard, too, would seem more sailor-like than those moustaches.”
I was horrified by his words, but, after all, there are no ladies on the
high seas, and what did it matter? He rang for the steward.
“Gustav,” said he, “you will pay every attention to my friend, Monsieur
Etienne Gerard, who makes this voyage with us. This is Gustav Kerouan,
my Breton steward,” he explained, “and you are very safe in his hands.”
This steward, with his harsh face and stern eyes, looked a very warlike
person for so peaceful an employment.
I said nothing, however, though you may guess that I kept my eyes open.
A berth had been prepared for me next the cabin, which would have
seemed comfortable enough had it not contrasted with the extraordinary
splendour of Fourneau's quarters. He was certainly a most luxurious
person, for his room was new-fitted with velvet and silver in a way
which would have suited the yacht of a noble better than a little West
African trader.
So thought the mate, Mr. Burns, who could not hide his amusement and
contempt whenever he looked at it.
This fellow, a big, solid, red-headed Englishman, had the other berth
connected with the cabin. There was a second mate named Turner, who
lodged in the middle of the ship, and there were nine men and one boy
in the crew, three of whom, as I was informed by Mr. Burns, were Channel
Islanders like myself. This Burns, the first mate, was much interested
to know why I was coming with them.
“I come for pleasure,” said I.
He stared at me.
“Ever been to the West Coast?” he asked.