THE FIRM OF AUBIN COURTE-JOIE AND CO. DOES HONOR
TO ITS PARTNERSHIP.
It was high time for the three Chouans to finish what they had to do
on the borders of the pond. The flames were rolling onward with
terrifying rapidity; they ran along the flowery tops of the broom and
heather like gold and purple birds swept forward by the wind, as if
they preferred to play among the twigs and branches before they seized
upon the stems. Their mutterings, like the roar of ocean, increased in
all directions round the fugitives, and the smoke grew denser and more
suffocating.
But the steel muscles possessed by Jean Oullier and Trigaud were a
match for the flames, and the trio were soon safe from all danger of
fire. They turned obliquely to the left, and soon reached a dip in the
valley which was almost free of the smoke which so far had been their
main protection,--serving to hide their number, the direction of their
flight, and the man[oe]uvre by which Michel and Bertha were now in a
place of safety.
"Let us crawl; we must crawl now, Trigaud," cried Jean Oullier. "The
soldiers mustn't see us till we know where they are and what they are
doing."
The giant bent down as though he were going on all fours; and it was
lucky for him he did so, for no sooner had he stooped than a ball,
which he would otherwise have received in his breast, whizzed
harmlessly through the air.
"The devil!" cried Courte-Joie; "you didn't give that advice a bit too
soon, _gars_ Oullier."
"They have guessed our trick and have surrounded us--on this side at
least," said Jean Oullier.
They now saw a file of soldiers posted at a hundred paces from each
other, all the way from the dolmen to a distance of a mile and a half,
evidently waiting, like huntsmen, till the quarry should reappear.
"Shall we rush upon them?"
"That's my advice; but wait till I have made a gap."
Putting his gun to his shoulder (but without leaving his horizontal
position) Jean Oullier fired on the soldier who was now reloading his
gun. The man, struck in the breast, twirled round upon himself and
fell head foremost to the ground.
"That's one!" said Jean Oullier.
Then aiming at the next soldier as calmly as he would at a partridge,
he fired. The second man fell like the first.
"A double-shot!" exclaimed Courte-Joie. "Bravo, _gars_ Oullier,
bravo!"
"Forward! forward!" cried Oullier, springing to his feet with the
agility of a panther. "Forward! and spread a little to give less
chance for the balls they'll rain upon us!"
The Vendéan was right. The three comrades had scarcely advanced ten
steps before six or eight successive discharges were heard; and one of
the balls splintered the club which Trigaud was carrying in his hand.
Happily for the fugitives, the soldiers hurrying on all sides to the
help of their wounded companions, and coming up out of breath, had
fired unsteadily. Nevertheless they closed the way and it is probable
that Jean Oullier and his friends would not have had time to escape
through their line without a hand-to-hand fight.
As it was, just as Jean Oullier, who held the left, was about to
spring across a little ravine, a shako rose on the other side, and he
saw a soldier awaiting him with fixed bayonet. The rapidity of his
rush prevented the Vendéan from reloading his gun, but he calculated
that as his adversary contented himself with his bayonet he was
probably in the same condition as himself. Risking all, he drew his
knife, put it between his teeth, and continued his way with headlong
speed. On the edge of the ravine he stopped short, and putting up his
gun took aim at his adversary. The soldier, thinking the Vendéan's gun
was loaded, flung himself flat on his stomach to escape the shot. An
instant after, and as if the pause he made had not diminished the
impulsion of his spring, Jean was across the ravine, over the body of
the soldier, and away like lightning on the other side.
Trigaud was equally fortunate; and save for a ball which grazed his
shoulder and added more rags to those he wore, he and his partner
Courte-Joie got safely across the line. The two fugitives (Trigaud and
Courte-Joie count as one) now turned diagonally, one to right, the
other to left, so as to meet at the point of the angle. At the end of
five minutes they were within speaking distance.
"Are you all right?" said Jean Oullier to Courte-Joie.
"All right!" answered the cripple; "and in twenty minutes, if we don't
have a limb lopped off by those rascally Blues, we'll be in the
fields; and once we are behind a hedge the devil himself can't touch
us. That was a bad idea of ours, taking to the moor, _gars_ Oullier."
"Pooh! we'll soon be away from it; and the young folks are much safer
where they are than if we had put them in the thickest forest. You are
not wounded?"
"No; and you, Trigaud? I thought I felt a sort of shudder on your
hide."
The giant showed the gash the ball had made in his club; evidently,
this misfortune, which destroyed the symmetry of the work at which he
had fondly labored all the morning, troubled him far more than the
damage done to his clothing or to his deltoid, which was slightly
injured by the passage of the ball.
"Oh, be joyful!" cried Courte-Joie; "here are the fields."
In truth, not a thousand steps away from the fugitives, at the bottom
of a slope which was so gentle as to be almost imperceptible, fields
of wheat were visible, their ears already yellowing and swaying to the
breeze in their dull-green sheaths.
"Suppose we stop to breathe a minute," said Courte-Joie, who seemed to
feel the fatigue that Trigaud felt.
"Yes," said Jean Oullier, "and give me time to reload. Meantime, do
you look about."
Jean Oullier reloaded his gun, and Courte-Joie turned his eyes in a
circle around him.
"Oh, ten million thunders!" exclaimed the cripple suddenly, just as
the Vendéan was ramming in his second ball.
"What now?" said Jean Oullier, turning round.
"Forward! all the devils of hell! forward! I don't see anything yet,
but I hear something that bodes no good."
"Whew! they are doing us the honor of cavalry, _gars_ Courte-Joie.
Quick, quick, lazy-bones!" he added, addressing Trigaud.
The latter, as much to relieve his lungs as to make answer to Jean
Oullier, gave vent to a sort of bellow which a lusty Poitevin bull
might have envied him, and then with a single stride he jumped an
enormous stone which lay on his way; as he did so a cry of pain burst
from Jean Oullier.
"What's the matter?" asked Courte-Joie, looking back to the latter,
who had stopped and was leaning on his gun with his foot raised.
"Nothing, nothing," replied Oullier; "don't trouble about me."
He tried to walk, gave another cry, and sat down.
"Oh," said Courte-Joie, "we shall not go on without you. Tell me,
what's the matter?"
"Nothing, I say."
"Are you wounded?"
"Oh, for that bone-setter of Montbert!" exclaimed Jean Oullier.
"What's that?" said Courte-Joie, who did not catch his meaning.
"I've either broken or turned my ankle by stepping into a hole; at any
rate, I can't take another step."
"Trigaud will take you on one shoulder and me on the other."
"Impossible! you could never reach the hedges."
"But if we leave you behind they'll kill you, my Jean."
"Maybe so," said the Vendéan, "but I'll kill a few of them before I
die; and by way of a beginning, look at that fellow."
A young officer of chasseurs, better mounted than the rest, appeared
at the top of a rise about three hundred paces from the fugitives.
Jean put his musket to his shoulder and fired. The young man threw up
his arms and fell from his saddle. Jean Oullier reloaded his gun.
"Can't you walk at all?" asked Courte-Joie.
"I might limp a dozen steps; but what's the good of that?"
"Then here we'll stay, Trigaud."
"You won't do such a foolish thing, I hope?" cried Jean Oullier.
"Yes, by my faith, I will. Where you die we die, old friend; but, as
you say, we'll bring down a few of them first."
"No, no, Courte-Joie; that sha'n't be so. You must live to look after
those young ones we left over there--What are you about, Trigaud?" he
suddenly asked, looking at the giant, who had gone down into a ravine
and was lifting a block of granite.
"Don't scold him!" said Courte-Joie; "he isn't wasting time."
"Here, here!" cried Trigaud, showing a hollow made by the flow of
water under the stone.
"Faith, he's right. I declare if he hasn't the mind of a monkey this
day, my _gars_ Trigaud! Here, Jean Oullier, here, get under! get
under!"
Jean Oullier dragged himself to the stone and rolled into the
excavation, where he curled himself into a ball with the water to his
middle. Trigaud then replaced the stone, leaving just enough space to
give air and light to the living being it covered like a tombstone.
The giant had just concluded this work when the horsemen appeared at
the top of the slope; and after convincing themselves that the young
officer was really dead, dashed down in pursuit of the Chouans at full
gallop.
Nevertheless, all hope was not lost. Trigaud and Courte-Joie were
scarcely fifty steps from a hedge beyond which they would be safe from
horsemen; and as for the foot-soldiers, they appeared to have
relinquished their pursuit.
But a subaltern officer admirably mounted pressed them so hard that
Courte-Joie felt the hot breath of the animal on his legs. The rider,
determined to end the matter, rose in his stirrups and aimed such a
blow with his sabre at the cripple's head that he would certainly have
split it in two; but the horse, which he did not have well in hand,
swerved to the left, while Trigaud instinctively flung himself to the
right. The weapon therefore missed its mark and merely made a flesh
wound on the cripple's arm.
"Face about!" cried Courte-Joie to Trigaud, as though he were
commanding a company. The latter pivoted round, absolutely as though
his body were riveted to the ground with an iron screw.
The horse, passing beside him, struck him in the breast, but did not
shake him. At the same instant Courte-Joie, firing one barrel of his
little gun, knocked over the subaltern, who was dragged to some
distance by the impetus of his horse.
"One!" counted Trigaud, in whom the imminence of danger seemed to
develop a loquacity which was not habitual with him.
During the moment that this affair lasted the other horsemen were
rapidly approaching; a few horse's-lengths alone separated them from
the two Vendéans, who could hear, above the tramp of their galloping
steeds, the sharp cocking of their pistols and musketoons. But that
moment had sufficed Courte-Joie to judge of the resources offered him
by the place in which he found himself.
They were now at the farther end of the moor of Bouaimé, a few steps
from a crossway whence several roads diverged. Like all such open
spaces in Brittany and La Vendée, this crossway had its crucifix; and
the cross, which was of stone, and dilapidated on one side, offered a
temporary refuge which might soon become untenable. To right were the
first hedges of the fields; but there was no chance whatever of
reaching them, for three or four horsemen, forestalling their
intention, had obliquely advanced to thwart it. Opposite to them and
flowing to their left was the river Maine, which made a bend at this
place; but Courte-Joie knew it was useless to even think of putting
the river between himself and the soldiers, for the opposite bank was
a face of rock rising from the water; and in following the current to
find a spot to land, the two Chouans would have been simply a target
for the enemy.
It was, therefore, the refuge of the cross on which Courte-Joie
decided, and in that direction Trigaud, under his master's orders,
proceeded. But just as he reached the column of stone and turned it to
put its bulk between the soldiers and themselves, a ball struck an arm
of the cross, ricochetted, and wounded Courte-Joie in the cheek,--not,
however, preventing the cripple from replying to it in turn.
Unfortunately, the blood which poured from the wound fell on Trigaud's
hands. He saw that blood, gave a roar of fury,--as though he felt
nought but that which injured his companion,--and charged madly on the
soldiers like a wild-boar on its hunters.
In an instant Courte-Joie and Trigaud were surrounded; a dozen sabres
whirled above their heads, a dozen pistol muzzles threatened their
bodies, and one gendarme seized Courte-Joie. But Trigaud's club
descended; it fell upon the leg of the gendarme and crushed it; the
hapless rider uttered a terrible cry and fell from his horse, which
fled across the moor.
At the same instant a dozen shots were fired; Trigaud had a ball in
the breast, and Courte-Joie's right arm, broken in two places, hung
helpless at his side. The giant seemed insensible to pain; with his
trunk of a tree he made a moulinet which broke two or three sabres and
warded others.
"To the cross! to the cross!" cried Courte-Joie. "It is well to die
there."
"Yes," muttered Trigaud; hearing his master speak of dying he brought
down his club convulsively on the head of a horseman, who fell like a
log. Then, executing the order he had received, he walked backward to
the cross--to cover as much as possible the body of his friend with
his own body.
"A thousand thunders!" shouted a corporal; "we are wasting time and
lives and powder on those beggars."
So saying, he spurred his horse and forced it with one bound upon the
two Vendéans. The horse's head struck Trigaud full in the chest, and
the shock was so violent that it brought the giant to his knees. The
soldier profited by the chance to strike Courte-Joie a blow which
entered his skull.
"Throw me at the foot of the cross and escape if you can!" said
Courte-Joie, in a failing voice. "It is all over with me." Then he
began the prayer: "Receive my soul, God!"
But the colossus no longer obeyed him; maddened with blood and fury he
uttered hoarse, inarticulate cries, like those of a lion at bay; his
eyes, usually dull and lifeless, cast out flames; his lips drew up,
exposing the clenched and savage teeth ready to render eraunch for
eraunch with a tiger. The gallop of the horse had carried the soldier
who wounded Courte-Joie to some distance. Trigaud could not reach him;
but he measured the space with his eye, and whirling the club above
his head, he flung it hissing through the air as if from a catapult.
The rider forced his horse to rear, and so avoided the blow; but the
horse received it on his head. The creature beat the air with his
forefeet as he fell over backward, and rolled with his rider on the
ground.
Trigaud uttered a cry of joy more terrible and horrible than a cry of
pain; the rider's leg was caught beneath the animal. He flung himself
upon him, parried with his arm, which was deeply gashed, a sabre-cut;
seized the soldier by the leg; dragged him from the body of the horse;
and then, twirling him in the air, as a child does a sling, he dashed
out his brains upon an arm of the cross.
The byzantine stone shook to its base, and remained bent over to one
side, and covered with blood. A cry of horror and of vengeance burst
from the troops, but this specimen of the giant's strength deterred
the soldiers from approaching him; they stopped where they were, to
reload their guns.
During this time Courte-Joie breathed his last, saying, in a load
voice:--
"Amen!"
Then Trigaud, feeling his beloved master dead, and utterly ignoring
the preparations the chasseurs were making to kill him,--Trigaud sat
down at the foot of the cross, unfastened the body of Courte-Joie from
his shoulders and laid it on his knees, as a mother might handle the
body of her child; he gazed on the livid face, wiping with his sleeve
the blood that blurred it, while a torrent of tears--the first that
being, indifferent to all the miseries of life, had ever shed--flowed
thick and fast from his eyes, mingling with the blood he was piously
and absorbedly removing.
A violent explosion, two new wounds, and the dull thud produced by
three or four balls striking the body which Trigaud was holding in his
arms and pressing to his breast, roused him from his grief and his
insensibility, he rose to his full height; and this movement, which
made the soldiers think he meant to spring upon them, caused them to
gather up the reins of their horses, while a visible shudder ran
through their ranks.
But Trigaud never looked at them; he thought of them no longer; he was
seeking a means of not being parted from his friend by death; was he
searching for a spot which promised him a union throughout eternity?
He walked toward the river. In spite of his wounds, in spite
of the blood which flowed down his body from the holes of several
pistol-balls and left a rivulet of blood behind him, Trigaud walked
firm and erect. He reached the river-bank before a single soldier
thought of preventing him; there he stopped at a point overlooking a
black pool of water, the stillness of which proclaimed its depth.
Clasping the body of the cripple still tighter to his breast, and
gathering up his last remaining strength, he sprang forward into its
depths without uttering a word.
The water dashed noisily above the mighty mass it now engulfed,
boiling and foaming long over the place where Trigaud and his friend
had disappeared; then it subsided into rings, which widened, widened
ever till they died upon the shore.
The soldiers had ridden up. They thought the beggar had thrown himself
into the water to reach the other bank, and pistol in hand they held
themselves ready to fire the moment he came to the surface of the
stream.
But Trigaud never reappeared; his soul had gone to join the soul of
the only being he had loved in this world, and their bodies lay softly
together on a bed of reeds in a pool of the river Maine.