"Short gray hair, low forehead, keen black eyes, bushy eyebrows, wart
on his nose, hair in the nostrils, whiskers round the face, round hat,
velveteen jacket, waistcoat and breeches the same, leathern belt and
gaiters. Special points: a brown, retriever, and the second incisor on
the left side broken."
"Good!" said the general; "that's my oat-seller to a tee. Terrien! His
name is no more Terrien than mine's Barabbas."
"Well, general, you can soon make sure of that."
"How so?"
"He'll be here in a minute."
"Here?"
"Yes."
"Is he coming here?"
"He is coming here."
"Of his own will?"
"His own will, or by force."
"Force?"
"Yes; I have just given the order to arrest him. It is done by this
time."
"Ten thousand thunders!" cried the general, letting his fist fall upon
the table with such a thud that the public functionary bounded in his
chair. "Ten thousand thunders!" he cried again; "what have you done?"
"He seems to me, general, a dangerous man from
all I hear of him, and there was but one thing to
do,--namely, arrest him."
"Dangerous! dangerous! He is much more dangerous now than he was ten
minutes ago."
"But if he is in custody he can't do harm."
"No matter how quick your men are they won't prevent his giving
warning. The princess will be warned before we have gone a couple of
miles. It will be lucky for us if you haven't roused the whole
population so that I cannot take a single man from the garrison."
"Perhaps there's yet time," said the sub-prefect, rushing to the door.
"Yes, make haste. Ah! thunder! it's too late!"
A dull roar was heard without, deepening every second until it reached
the volume of that dreadful concert of sounds made by a multitude as
the prelude to a battle.
The general opened the window. He saw, at a short distance from the
inn, Jean Oullier, bound and in the grasp of _gendarmes_ who were
bringing him along. The crowd surrounded them, howling and
threatening. The _gendarmes_ came on slowly and with difficulty. They
had not as yet made use of their arms. There was not a moment to lose.
"Well, the wine is drawn; we have got to drink it," said the general,
pulling off his civilian clothes, and hastily getting into his
regimentals. Then he called to his secretary.
"Rusconi, my horse! my horse!" he shouted. "As for you, Monsieur le
sous-préfet, call out your militia, if you have any; but not a gun is
to be fired without my orders."
A captain, sent by the secretary, entered the room.
"Captain," said the general, "bring your men into the courtyard. Order
my chasseurs to mount; two days' rations, and twenty-five cartridges
to each man; and hold yourself ready to follow me at the first signal
I give you."
The old general, recovering all the fire of his youth, went down into
the courtyard, where, sending the civilians to the right-about, he
ordered the gates into the street to be opened.
"What!" cried the sub-prefect, "you are surely not going to present
yourself to that furious crowd all alone?"
"That's precisely what I am going to do. Damn it! your men must be
supported. This is no time for sentiment. Open that gate."
The two sides of the gate were no sooner opened than the general,
setting spurs to his horse, was instantly in the middle of the street
and the thick of the mêlée. This sudden apparition of an old soldier,
with a determined face and martial bearing, in full uniform, and
glittering with decorations, together with the bold promptitude of his
action, produced an electric effect upon the crowd. The clamoring
ceased as if by magic. Cudgels were lowered; the peasants who were
nearest to the general actually touched their hats; the crowd made
way, and the soldier of Rivoli and the Pyramids rode on some twenty
paces in the direction of the _gendarmes_.
"Why, what's the matter with you, my _gars?_" he cried, in so
stentorian a voice that he was heard even to the neighboring streets.
"They've arrested Jean Oullier; that's what's the matter with us,"
replied a voice.
"And Jean Oullier is a good man," shouted another.
"They ought to arrest bad men, and not good ones," said a third.
"And that's why we are not going to let them take Jean Oullier," cried
a fourth.
"Silence!" said the general, in so imperious a tone that every voice
was hushed. "If Jean Oullier is a good man, a worthy man,--which I do
not doubt,--Jean Oullier will be released. If he is one who is trying
to deceive you and take advantage of your good and loyal feelings,
Jean Oullier will be punished. Do you think it unjust to punish those
who try to plunge the country back into those horrors of civil war of
which the old now tell the young with tears?"
"Jean Oullier is a peaceable man, and doesn't do harm to any one,"
said a voice.
"What are you wanting now?" continued the general, without noticing
the interruption. "Your priests are respected; your religion is ours.
Have we killed the king, as in 1793? Have we abolished God, as in
1794? Is your property in danger? No; you and your property are safe
under the common law. Never were your trades and your commerce so
flourishing."
"That is true," said a young peasant.
"Don't listen to bad Frenchmen who, to satisfy their selfish passions,
do not shrink from calling down upon their country all the horrors of
civil war. Can't you remember what those horrors were? Must I remind
you of them? Must I bring to mind your old men, your mothers, your
wives, your children massacred before your eyes, your harvests
trampled under foot, your cottages in flames, death and ruin at every
hearth!"
"It was the Blues who did it all," cried a voice.
"No, it was not the Blues," continued the general. "It was those who
drove you to that senseless struggle, senseless then, but wicked
now,--a struggle which had at least a pretext then, but has none
whatever in these days."
While speaking the general pushed his horse in the direction of the
_gendarmes_, who, on their side, made every effort to reach the
general. This was all the more possible because his address, soldierly
as it was, made an evident impression on some of the peasants. Many
lowered their heads and were silent; others made remarks to their
neighbors, which seemed from their manner to imply approval.
Nevertheless, the farther the general advanced into the crowd, the
less favorable grew the expression of the faces. In fact, the nearest
to him were altogether menacing; and the owners of these faces were
evidently the promoters and the leaders of the uproar,--probably the
chiefs of the various bands and what were called the captains of
parishes.
For such men as these it was useless to be eloquent; their
determination was fixed not to listen and not to let others listen.
They did not shout nor cry; they roared and howled. The general
understood the situation. He resolved to impress the minds of these
men by one of those acts of personal vigor which have such enormous
influence on the multitude.
Aubin Courte-Joie was in the front rank of the rioters. This may seem
strange in view of his crippled condition. But Aubin Courte-Joie had,
for the time being, added to his useless wooden legs two good and
powerful legs of flesh and blood. In other words, he was mounted on
the shoulders of a colossal tramp; and the said tramp, by means of
straps attached to the wooden legs of his rider, was able to hold the
cripple as firmly in his seat as the general was in his saddle.
Thus perched, Aubin Courte-Joie's head was on the level of the
general's epaulet, where he kept up a series of frantic vociferations
and threatening gestures. The general stretched out his hand, took the
tavern-keeper by the collar of his jacket, and then, by sheer force of
wrist, raised him, held him a moment suspended above the crowd, and
then handed him over to a _gendarme_, saying:--
"Lock up that mountebank; he is enough to give one a headache."
The tramp, relieved of his rider, raised his head, and the general
recognized the idiot he had talked with an hour earlier; only, by this
time the idiot looked as shrewd and clever as any of them.
The general's action had raised a laugh from the crowd, but this
hilarity did not last long. Aubin Courte-Joie happened to be held by
the _gendarme_ who was placed to the left of Jean Oullier. He gently
drew from his pocket an open knife, and plunged it to the hilt in the
breast of the _gendarme_, crying out:--
"Vive Henri V.! Fly, _gars_ Oullier!"
At the same instant the tramp, inspired perhaps by a legitimate
sentiment of emulation, and wishing to make a worthy rejoinder to the
athletic action of the general, glided under his horse, caught the
general by the boot, and with a sudden and vigorous movement, pitched
him over on the other side.
The general and the _gendarme_ fell at the same instant, and they
might have been thought dead; but the general was up immediately and
into his saddle with as much strength as adroitness. As he sprang to
his seat he gave such a powerful blow with his fist on the bare head
of the late idiot that the latter, without uttering a cry, fell to the
ground as if his skull were broken. Neither tramp nor _gendarme_ rose
again. The tramp had fainted; the _gendarme_ was dead.
Jean Oullier, on his part, though his hands were bound, gave such a
vigorous blow with his shoulder to the _gendarme_ on his right that
the latter staggered. Jean Oullier jumped over the dead body of the
_gendarme_ on the left, and darted into the crowd.
But the general's eye was everywhere, even behind him.
Instantly he turned his horse. The animal bounded into the centre of
the living whirlpool, and the old soldier caught Jean Oullier as he
had caught Aubin Courte-Joie, and threw him across the pommel of his
own saddle. Then the stones began to rain, and the cudgels rose. The
_gendarmes_ held firm, presenting their bayonets to the crowd, which
dared not attack them at close quarters and was forced to content
itself by flinging projectiles.
They advanced in this way to about sixty feet from the inn. Here the
position of the general and his men became critical. The peasants, who
seemed determined that Jean Oullier should not be left in the enemy's
power, grew more and more aggressive. Already the bayonets were
stained with blood, and the fury of the rioters was evidently
increasing. Fortunately the general was now near enough to the
courtyard of the inn for his voice to reach it.
"Here! grenadiers of the 32d!" he shouted.
At the same instant the gates opened, and the soldiers poured forth
with fixed bayonets and drove back the crowd. The general and the
_gendarmes_ entered the yard. Here the general encountered the
sub-prefect, who was awaiting him.
"There's your man," he said, flinging Jean Oullier to him, as if the
Chouan were a bale of goods; "and trouble enough he has cost us! God
grant he is worth his price."
Just then a brisk firing was heard from the farther end of the
market-place.
"What's that?" cried the general, listening with all his ears, and his
nostrils open.
"The National Guard, no doubt," replied the
sub-prefect. "I ordered them out, and they must have met the rioters."
"Who ordered them to fire?"
"I did, general. I was bound to go to your rescue."
"Ten thousand thunders! Can't you see that I rescued myself?" said the
old soldier. Then, shaking his head, he added, "Monsieur, remember
this: to shed blood in civil war is worse than a crime; it is a
blunder."
An officer galloped into the courtyard.
"General," he said, "the rioters are flying in all directions. The
chasseurs are here. Shall we pursue them?"
"Not a man is to stir," said the general. "Leave the National Guard to
manage the affair. They are friends; they'll settle it."
A second discharge of musketry proved that the militia and the
peasantry were indeed settling it. This was the firing heard at La
Logerie by Baron Michel.
"Ah!" said the general, "now we must see what profit we can get out of
this melancholy business." Pointing to Jean Oullier, he added, "We
have but one chance, and that is that no one but this man is in the
secret. Did he have any communication with any one after you arrested
him, _gendarmes_?"
"No, general, not even by signs, for his hands were bound."
"Didn't he make any gestures with his head, or say a word to anybody?
You know very well that a nod or a single word is enough with these
fellows."
"No, general, not one."
"Well then, we may as well run the chance. Let your men eat their
rations, captain; in half an hour we start. The _gendarmes_ and the
National Guard are enough to guard the town. I shall take my escort of
chasseurs to clear the way."
So saying, the general retired into the inn. The soldiers made their
preparations for departure.
During this time Jean Oullier sat stolidly on a stone in the middle of
the courtyard, kept in sight by the two _gendarmes_ who were guarding
him. His face retained its habitual impassibility. With his two bound
hands he stroked his dog, which had followed him, and was now resting
its head on his knees and licking his hand, as if to remind the
prisoner in his misfortune that a friend was near him.
Jean Oullier was gently stroking the faithful creature's head with the
feather of a wild duck he might have picked up in the courtyard.
Suddenly, profiting by a moment when his two guards were speaking to
each other and not observing him, he slipped the feather between the
teeth of the animal, made it a sign of intelligence, and rose, saying,
in a low voice:--
"Go, Pataud!"
The dog gently moved away, looking back at his master from time to
time. Then, when he reached the gate, he bounded out, unobserved by
any one, and disappeared.
"Good!" said Jean Oullier to himself. "He'll get there before we do."
Unfortunately, the _gendarmes_ were not the only ones who were
watching the prisoner.