For the next five minutes the two troops advanced slowly up the river,
one on each bank. When they reached the place discovered by the
captain the general called a halt.
"One lieutenant and forty men across!" he cried.
Forty men and one lieutenant came over with the water up to their
shoulders, though they were able to lift their guns and their
cartridge-boxes above the surface. On landing, they ranged in line of
battle.
"Now," said the general, "bring over the prisoner."
Thomas Tinguy entered the water with a chasseur on each side of him.
"Thomas," said Jean Oullier, in a low but penetrating voice, "If I
were in your place I should be afraid of one thing; I should expect to
see the ghost of my father rising before me and asking why I shed the
blood of his best friend rather than just unbuckle a miserable girth."
The chasseur passed his hand over his forehead, which was bathed in
sweat, and made the sign of the cross. At this moment the three riders
were in the middle of the river, but the current had slightly
separated them.
Suddenly, a loud sound accompanied by the splashing of water proved
that Jean Oullier had not in vain evoked before the poor superstitious
Breton soldier the revered image of his father.
The general knew at once what the sound meant.
"The prisoner is escaping!" he cried in a voice of thunder. "Light
torches, spread yourselves along the bank, fire upon him if he shows
himself. As for you," he added addressing Thomas Tinguy, who came
ashore close to him without attempting to escape,--"as for you, you go
no farther."
Taking a pistol from his belt he fired.
"Thus die all traitors!" he cried.
And Thomas Tinguy, shot through the breast, fell dead.
The soldiers, obeying orders with a rapidity which showed they felt
the gravity of their situation, rushed along the river in the
direction of the current. A dozen torches lighted on each bank threw
their ruddy glare upon the water.
Jean Oullier, released from his chief bond when Thomas Tinguy
unbuckled the girth, slid from the horse and plunged into the river,
passing between the legs of the horse on the right. We may now inquire
how it is possible for a man to swim with his hands bound in front of
him.
Jean Oullier had relied so confidently on his appeal to the son of his
old friend that as soon as the darkness fell he began to gnaw the rope
that bound his wrists with his teeth. He had good teeth, so that by
the time they reached the river the rope held only by a single strand;
once in the water a vigorous jerk parted it altogether.
At the end of a few seconds the Chouan was forced to come to the
surface and breathe; instantly a dozen shots were fired at him, and as
many balls set the water foaming about him. By a miracle none touched
him; but he felt the wind of their passage across his face.
It was not prudent to tempt such luck a second time, for then it would
be tempting God, not luck. He plunged again, and finding foothold
turned to go up the river instead of keeping down with the current; in
short, he made what is called in the hunting-field a double; it often
succeeds with a hare, why not with a man? thought he.
Jean Oullier therefore doubled, went up the river under water, holding
his breath till his chest came near to bursting, and not reappearing
on the surface till he was beyond the line of light thrown by the
torches on the river.
This man[oe]uvre deceived his enemies. Little supposing that he would
voluntarily add another danger to his flight, the soldiers continued
to look for him down instead of up the river, holding their guns like
hunters watching for game, and ready to fire the instant that he
showed himself. Their interest in the sport was all the greater
because the game was a man.
Half a dozen grenadiers alone beat up the river, and they carried but
one torch among them.
Stifling as best he could the heavy sound of his breathing, Jean
Oullier managed to reach a willow the branches of which stretched over
the river, their tips even touching the water. The swimmer seized a
branch, put it between his teeth, and held himself thus with his head
thrown back so that his mouth and nostrils were out of water and able
to breathe the air.
He had hardly recovered his breath before he heard a plaintive howl
from the spot where the column had halted and where he himself had
dropped into the river. He knew the sound.
"Pataud!" he murmured; "Pataud here, when I sent him to Souday!
Something has happened to him! Oh, my God! my God!" he cried with
inexpressible fervor and deep faith, "now, _now_ it is all-important
to save me from being recaptured."
The soldiers had seen Jean Oullier's dog in the courtyard and they
recognized him.
"There's his dog! there's his dog!" they cried.
"Bravo!" cried a sergeant; "he'll help us to catch his master."
And he tried to lay a hand on him. But although the poor animal seemed
stiff and tired, he eluded the man's grasp, and sniffing the air in
the direction of the current he jumped into the river.
"This way, comrades, this way!" cried the sergeant, stretching his arm
in the direction taken by the dog "He's after his master."
The moment Jean Oullier heard Pataud's cry he put his head out of
water, regardless of the consequences to himself. He saw the dog
cutting diagonally across the river, swimming directly for him; he
knew he was lost if he did not make some mighty effort. To sacrifice
his dog was to Jean Oullier a supreme effort. If his own life alone
had been in the balance Jean Oullier would have taken his risks and
been lost or saved with Pataud; at any rate he would have hesitated
before he saved himself at the cost of the dog's life.
He quickly took off the goatskin cape he wore over his jacket and let
it float on the surface of the water, giving it a strong push into the
middle of the current. Pataud was then not twenty feet from him.
"Seek! fetch!" he said in a low voice showing the direction to the
dog, Then, as the poor animal, feeling no doubt that his strength was
leaving him, hesitated to obey.
"Fetch, Pataud, fetch!" cried Jean Oullier, imperatively.
Pataud turned and swam in the direction of the goatskin, which was now
about fifty feet away from him. Jean Oullier, seeing that his trick
had succeeded, dived again at the moment when the soldiers on the bank
were alongside the willow. One of them carrying the torch scrambled
quickly up the tree and lit the whole bed of the river. The goatskin
was plainly seen floating rapidly down the current, and Pataud was
swimming after it, moaning and whining as if distressed that his
failing strength prevented him from accomplishing his master's order.
The soldiers, following the dog's lead, redescended the river, going
farther and farther away from Jean Oullier. As soon as one of them
caught sight of the goatskin he shouted to his comrades:--
"Here, friends! here he is! here he is, the _brigand_!" and he fired
at the goatskin.
Grenadiers and chasseurs ran pell-mell along both banks, getting
farther and farther from Jean Oullier, and riddling the goatskin,
after which Pataud was still swimming, with their balls. For some
minutes the firing was so continuous that there was no need of
torches; the flashes of burning sulphur from the muskets lit up the
wild ravine through which the Boulogne flows, while the rocks, echoing
back the volleys, redoubled the noise.
The general was the first to discover the blunder of his men.
"Stop the firing!" he said to the captain who was still beside him;
"those fools have dropped the prey for the shadow."
Just then a brilliant light shone from the crest of the rocky ridge
overhanging the river; a sharp hiss sounded above the heads of the two
officers, and a ball buried itself in the trunk of a tree beyond them.
"Ah ha!" exclaimed the general, coolly; "that rascal only asked for a
dozen _Ave Marias_, but his friends are inclined to be liberal!"
Three or four more shots were now fired, and the balls ricochetted
along the shore. One man cried out. Then, in a voice that overpowered
the tumult, the general shouted:
"Bugles, sound the recall! and you, there, put out the torches!"