THE DEAD HUSSAR.
"'Ods, sir, the hand o' Providence is in this!" exclaimed Hob,
capering among the snow with renewed joy, but rather clumsily in his
heavy jack boots; "and so you are the puir Redcoat thae devils were
gaun to butcher!"
"How came you here, Hob?" I inquired in a somewhat agitated voice.
"How came you here, yourself, sir? But we hae nae time for spiering;
we'll tak' their muskets and awa' to some place o' safety."
In a trice Hob tumbled the French corporal, who was just recovering,
out of his crossbelts, and appropriating his cartridge-box, handed me
one musket, while arming himself with the other. We then hastened at
a smart pace round the thicket, leaving the two scoundrels, French
and German, to rouse them as best they could, or to smother amid the
snow, for Hob had dealt each a stunning blow on the head.
As we hurried on, he told me briefly and hastily that he and nine
other Scots Greys had been confined in a chamber of the outworks of
Ysembourg, where they were packed as closely as ever Governor
Holwell's unfortunate companions were in the Black Hole at Calcutta;
but suffered from extreme cold in place of heat. It occurred to one
who had been a stonemason, that the paved floor was hollow
underneath, so this suggested the idea of attempting an escape.
Hob had been left with his spurs on his heels, so with these he
proceeded to pick out the lime, and on raising a stone slab a vaulted
place was discovered below. They resolved to explore it, and soon
found that it was a passage or gallery leading to the dry ditch of
the fortress, and lighted by a row of loopholes meant for enfilading
by musketry the ditch itself.
Two of these loopholes were rapidly beaten or torn into one by Hob's
powerful hands armed with a stone, and then the whole party crawled
through into the fosse undiscovered, and just as day was breaking.
The snow, which was falling fast, concealed all noise and kept the
sentinels within their boxes, so by expertly using their hands and
feet the fugitives crossed the ditch and clambered up the opposite
side; but there a wooden stockade of considerable height presented
itself, and while searching for an outlet they were fired on by a
sentinel from above, and at the same moment encountered an officer
going his rounds with an escort of the inlying picket.
An alarm was immediately given; a scuffle, in which the escort
opposed their bayonets to the unarmed men, ensued, and all were
retaken save Hob Elliot, whose vast strength and activity enabled him
to elude the levelled muskets, beat down two or three of the escort,
reach an open wicket, and escape into the obscurity of the snowy
morning. He had wandered all the ensuing day without knowing which
way to turn, inspired only by the hope of reaching the Lahn, but a
skirmish which had been going on between the Light Dragoons of the
allies and the French Hussars had compelled him to lurk in woods and
thickets, as he feared being shot at by both alike; for in his
present plight and after all he had undergone, very little of poor
Hob's red coat remained, and of that the colour was somewhat dubious.
Besides he was worn out with fatigue, and now nearly dead of cold,
though his animal spirits bore bravely up against danger and
adversity.
It was during this crisis in his affairs that, while concealed in a
clump of trees, he had seen me conducted there by the two hirelings
of Bourgneuf, and but for him, at their hands I had assuredly
perished by a miserable and unknown death.
We had both narrowly escaped captivity and danger; but I knew that
three parties were yet out in pursuit of me, and that the ford was
still guarded; so we were still in a horrible dilemma.
Refreshment and a guide were necessary; but where were we to find
either? Loading the captured muskets we trod hopefully on, till we
reached a cottage or small farmhouse, which to all appearance was
deserted, as no smoke ascended from the chimneys, no dog barked or
cock crew in the yard, the gate of which lay open or flat upon the
ground.
A skirmish between the French Dragoons and the Prussian Black Hussars
had evidently taken place close by this farm; for near it several
horses, still accoutred were lying dead among the deep snow, and in
some instances we saw spurred boots and ghastly white hands sticking
up through it.
When we opened the door and entered the lower apartment the reason of
the silence within it was at once accounted for, and we saw that
which at another time, and to folks less case-hardened than Hob and
I, would have been a very appalling spectacle.
The house had been pillaged and its usual occupants had fled; but on
the table of the principal room lay a dead body muffled in a scarlet
cloak, all save the feet (from which the boots had been stolen), and
stiffly white and cold they protruded beyond the scarlet covering.
In a corner lay a pile of regimental coats, caps, boots, shirts,
stockings, waist and shoulder-belts, all spotted, and in some
instances soaked with now frozen blood; and there, too, were broken
swords, bent bayonets, and wooden canteens piled up by those vile
strippers of the dead, who would no doubt return ere long for their
plunder, so this was no place for us to linger in.
A Prussian Hussar, in the black uniform laced with white of the
King's favourite regiment, lay in another corner almost without a
wound, yet quite dead, and in a pool of his own blood. A sword-point
had grazed his left temple, severing the temporal artery, and he had
bled to death, thus his blanched aspect was ghastly in the extreme.
"Horrible!" said I, shuddering.
"Maist deevilish!" added my companion, "but I've kenned o' waur."
Urged I knew not by what motive, for on service the emotion of mere
_curiosity_ soon becomes extinct, I turned down the mantle of the
dead body which lay on the table, and then imagine my regret and
horror on tracing in the glazed eyes, the relaxed jaw, the livid but
handsome face, where the black moustache contrasted with its pallor,
the Chevalier de Boisguiller, the gay and heedless Frenchman, who now
lay stiff and cold in his rich Hussar uniform. He had been shot
through the heart, and must have died instantly, as there was not
much blood about him, but a fearful expression of agony yet distorted
his features.
Hob at once recognised him, and said,
"He was a braw cheild, this Boygilly; but he has gane oot o' the
world noo, and I daursay the damned world will never miss him."
The poor fellow's sabretache lay by him, together with his braided
and tasselled Hussar pelisse and fur cap. I opened the former, and
found it contained the two despatches from the Duc de Broglie to
Maréchal de Contades, for which he had waited at Ysembourg on the
night I left it--despatches now spotted by his own blood. They
detailed some future operations that were to take place on the
heights of Corbach, and enclosed Monjoy's diagrams of parallels and
approaches before the castles of Marburg and Dillenburg, and all of
these I knew would prove of inestimable value to our leader, Prince
Ferdinand of Brunswick.
I now conceived the idea of passing myself off for my poor friend,
whose character on this side of the Lahn was certainly a safer one
than my own. I threw off my red coat, and put on his fur-trimmed
pelisse and Hussar cap, together with his belt and sabretache, with
its valuable papers.
Grim through this masquerading, Hob Elliot, who had been
investigating several cupboards, and overhauling some haversacks, in
which he found only a biscuit or two, laughed with stentorian lungs
when he saw me attired in French uniform.
Then he presented me with a biscuit, saying,
"'Ods, sir, we maun e'en feed oursels in this wilderness o' a place,
for the ravens are no' likely to do it."
To him I gave the scarlet cloak and a suitable forage cap, and after
vainly searching the house for anything it might contain in the shape
of more food or spirits, of which we stood much in need, we set out
about mid-day with a story framed to suit any French party we might
meet in our wanderings.
I knew poor Boisguiller so well that I could if necessary imitate his
voice and manner; and as we were much about the same height and
complexion, I had no fear of passing myself off successfully for the
chevalier. Yet, if discovered, we now ran a terrible risk of being
hanged or shot as spies, or prisoners escaping, or it might be for
having slain the man whose uniform I wore and whose papers I carried.
We met no one to guide us, while proceeding in what we conceived, by
the gradual descent of the road and rivulets, to be the direction of
the Lahn, until just as the dusk of the short winter eve was closing
in, we saw a party of six French soldiers of the Line, muffled up in
their greatcoats, their muskets slung, their three-cornered hats
pulled well over their faces, and their hands thrust in their pockets
for warmth, coming leisurely towards us.
We had nothing for it now but to advance boldly and meet them, and
the reader may conceive that my emotions were far from soothing on
finding myself confronted by Arnaud de Pricorbin, and the same men
whom I had so recently met at the ford.