Kitabı oku: «Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune», sayfa 37

CHAPTER XLVII. THE VILLAGE OP SCHWARTZ-ACH

I was destitute enough when I quitted the Temple, a few days back; but my condition now was sadder still, for, in addition to my poverty and friendlessness, I had imbibed a degree of distrust and suspicion that made me shun my fellow-men, and actually shrink from the contact of a stranger. The commonest show of courtesy, the most ordinary exercise of politeness, struck me as the secret wiles of that police whose machinations, I fancied, were still spread around me. I had conceived a most intense hatred of civilisation, or, at least, of what I rashly supposed to be the inherent vices of civilised life. I longed for what I deemed must be the glorious independence of a savage. If I could but discover this Paradise beyond seas, of which the marquise raved so much; if I only could find out that glorious land which neither knew secret intrigues nor conspiracies, I should leave France for ever, taking any condition, or braving any mischances fate might have in store for me.

There was something peculiarly offensive in the treatment I had met with. Imprisoned on suspicion, I was liberated without any amende – neither punished like a guilty man, nor absolved as an innocent one. I was sent out upon the world as though the State would not own nor acknowledge me – a dangerous practice, as I often thought, if only adopted on a large scale. It was some days before I could summon resolution to ascertain exactly my position. At last I did muster up courage, and, under pretence of wishing to address a letter to myself, I applied at the Ministry of War for the address of Lieutenant Tiernay, of the 9th Hussars. I was one of a large crowd similarly engaged, some inquiring for sons that had fallen in battle, or husbands or fathers in faraway countries. The office was only open each morning for two hours, and consequently, as the expiration of the time drew nigh, the eagerness of the inquirers became far greater, and the contrast with the cold apathy of the clerks the more strongly marked. I had given way to many, who were weaker than myself, and less able to buffet with the crowd about them; and at last, when, wearied by waiting, I was drawing nigh the table, my attention was struck by an old, a very old man, who, with a beard white as snow, and long moustaches of the same colour, was making great efforts to gain the front rank. I stretched out my hand, and caught his, and by considerable exertion at last succeeded in placing him in front of me.

He thanked me fervently, in a strange kind of German, a patois I had never heard before, and kissed my hand three or four times over in his gratitude; indeed, so absorbed was he for the time in his desire to thank me, that I had to recall him to the more pressing reason of his presence, and warn him that but a few minutes more of the hour remained free.

‘Speak up,’ cried the clerk, as the old man muttered something in a low and very indistinct voice; ‘speak up, and remember, my friend, that we do not profess to give information further back than the times of “Louis Quatorze.”’

This allusion to the years of the old man was loudly applauded by his colleagues, who drew nigh to stare at the cause of it.

‘Sacrebleu! he is talking Hebrew,’ said another, ‘and asking for a friend who fell at Ramoth-Gilead.’

‘He is speaking German,’ said I peremptorily, ‘and asking for a relative whom he believes to have embarked with the expedition to Egypt.’

‘Are you a sworn interpreter, young man?’ asked an older and more consequential-looking personage.

I was about to return a hasty reply to this impertinence, but I thought of the old man, and the few seconds that still remained for his inquiry, and I smothered my anger, and was silent.

‘What rank did he hold?’ inquired one of the clerks, who had listened with rather more patience to the old man. I translated the question for the peasant, who, in reply, confessed that he could not tell. The youth was his only son, and had left home many years before, and never written. A neighbour, however, who had travelled in foreign parts, had brought tidings that he had gone with the expedition to Egypt, and was already high in the French army.

‘You are not quite certain that he did not command the army of Egypt?’ said one of the clerks, in mockery of the old man’s story.

‘It is not unlikely,’ said the peasant gravely; ‘he was a brave and a bold youth, and could have lifted two such as you with one hand, and hurled you out of that window.’

‘Let us hear his name once more,’ said the elder clerk – ‘it is worth remembering.’

‘I have told you already. It was Karl Kléher.’

‘The General – General Kléher!’ cried three or four in a breath.

‘Mayhap,’ was all the reply.

‘And are you the father of the great general of Egypt?’ asked the elder, with an air of deep respect.

‘Kléher is my son; and so that he is alive and well, I care little if a general or simple soldier.’

Not a word was said in answer to this speech, and each seemed to feel reluctant to tell the sad tidings. At last the elder clerk said, ‘You have lost a good son, and France one of her greatest captains. The General Kléher is dead.’

‘Dead!’ said the old man slowly.

‘In the very moment of his greatest glory, too, when he had won the country of the Pyramids, and made Egypt a colony of France.’

‘When did he die?’ said the peasant.

‘The last accounts from the East brought the news; and this very day the Council of State has accorded a pension to his family of ten thousand livres.’

‘They may keep their money. I am all that remains, and have no want of it; and I should be poorer still before I’d take it.’

These words he uttered in a low, harsh tone, and pushed his way back through the crowd.

One moment more was enough for my inquiry.

‘Maurice Tiernay, of the 9th —destitué,’ was the short and stunning answer I received.

‘Is there any reason alleged – is there any charge imputed to him?’ asked I timidly.

‘Ma foi! you must go to the Minister of War with that question. Perhaps he was paymaster, and embezzled the funds of the regiment; perhaps he liked Royalist gold better than Republican silver; or perhaps he preferred the company of the baggage-train and the ambulances, when he should have been at the head of his squadron.’

I did not care to listen longer to this impertinence, and making my way out I gained the street. The old peasant was still standing there, like one stunned and overwhelmed by some great shock, and neither heeding the crowd that passed, nor the groups that halted occasionally to stare at him.

‘Come along with me,’ said I, taking his hand in mine. ‘Your calamity is a heavy one, but mine is harder to bear up against.’

He suffered himself to be led away like a child, and never spoke a word as we walked along towards the barrière, beyond which, at a short distance, was a little ordinary, where I used to dine. There we had our dinner together, and as the evening wore on, the old man rallied enough to tell me of his son’s early life, and his departure for the army. Of his great career I could speak freely, for Kléber’s name was, in soldier esteem, scarcely second to that of Bonaparte himself. Not all the praises I could bestow, however, were sufficient to turn the old man from his stern conviction, that a peasant in the ‘Lech Thai’ was a more noble and independent man than the greatest general that ever marched to victory.

‘We have been some centuries there,’ said he, ‘and none of our name has incurred a shadow of disgrace. Why should not Karl have lived like his ancestors?’

It was useless to appeal to the glory his son had gained – the noble reputation he had left behind him. The peasant saw in the soldier but one who hired out his courage and his blood, and deemed the calling a low and unworthy one. I suppose I was not the first who, in the effort to convince another, found himself shaken in his own convictions; for I own before I lay down that night many of the old man’s arguments assumed a force and power that I could not resist, and held possession of my mind even after I fell asleep. In my dreams I was once more beside the American lake, and that little colony of simple people, where I had seen all that was best of my life, and learned the few lessons I had ever received of charity and good-nature.

From what the peasant said, the primitive habits of the Lech Thai must be almost alike those of that little colony, and I willingly assented to his offer to accompany him in his journey homeward. He seemed to feel a kind of satisfaction in turning my thoughts away from a career that he held so cheaply, and talked enthusiastically of the tranquil life of the Bregenzerwald.

We left Paris the following morning, and, partly by diligence, partly on foot, reached Strasbourg in a few days; thence we proceeded by Kehl to Freyburg, and, crossing the Lake of Constance at Rorschach, we entered the Bregenzerwald on the twelfth morning of our journey. I suppose that most men preserve fresher memory of the stirring and turbulent scenes of their lives than of the more peaceful and tranquil ones, and I shall not be deemed singular when I say that some years passed over me in this quiet spot, and seemed as but a few weeks. The old peasant was the Vorsteher, or ruler of the village, by whom all disputes were settled, and all litigation of a humble kind decided – a species of voluntary jurisdiction maintained to this very day in that primitive region. My occupation there was as a species of secretary to the court, an office quite new to the villagers, but which served to impress them more reverentially than ever in favour of this rude justice. My legal duties over, I became a vine-dresser, a wood-cutter, or a deer-stalker, as season and weather dictated – my evenings being always devoted to the task of schoolmaster. A curious seminary was it, too, embracing every class from childhood to advanced age, all eager for knowledge, and all submitting to the most patient discipline to attain it. There was much to make me happy in that humble lot. I had the love and esteem of all around me; there was neither a harassing doubt for the future, nor the rich man’s contumely to oppress me; my life was made up of occupations which alternately engaged mind and body, and, above all and worth all besides, I had a sense of duty, a feeling that I was doing that which was useful to my fellow-men; and however great may be a man’s station in life, if it want this element, the humblest peasant that rises to his daily toil has a nobler and a better part.

As I trace these lines, how many memories of the spot are rising before me! – scenes I had long forgotten – faces I had ceased to remember! And now I see the little wooden bridge – a giant tree, guarded by a single rail, that crossed the torrent in front of our cottage; and I behold once more the little waxen image of the Virgin over the door, in whose glass shrine at nightfall a candle ever burned! and I hear the low hum of the villagers’ prayer as the ‘Angelus’ is singing, and see on every crag or cliff the homebound hunter kneeling in his deep devotion!

Happy people, and not less good than happy! Your bold and barren mountains have been the safeguard of your virtue and your innocence! Long may they prove so, and long may the waves of the world’s ambition be stayed at their rocky feet!

I was beginning to forget all that I had seen of life, or, if not forget, at least to regard it as a wild and troubled dream, when an accident, one of those things we always regard as the merest chances, once more opened the floodgates of memory, and sent the whole past in a strong current through my brain.

In this mountain region the transition from winter to summer is effected in a few days. Some hours of a scorching sun and south wind swell the torrents with melted snow; the icebergs fall thundering from cliff and crag, and the sporting waterfall once more dashes over the precipice. The trees burst into leaf, and the grass springs up green and fresh from its wintry covering; and from the dreary aspect of snow-capped hills and leaden clouds. Nature changes to fertile plains and hills, and a sky of almost unbroken blue.

It was on a glorious evening in April, when all these changes were passing, that I was descending the mountain above our village after a hard day’s chamois-hunting. Anxious to reach the plain before nightfall, I could not, however, help stopping from time to time to watch the golden and ruby tints of the sun upon the snow, or see the turquoise blue which occasionally marked the course of a rivulet through the glaciers. The Alp-horn was sounding from every cliff and height, and the lowing of the cattle swelled into a rich and mellow chorus. It was a beautiful picture, realising in every tint and hue, in every sound and cadence, all that one can fancy of romantic simplicity, and I surveyed it with a swelling and a grateful heart.

As I turned to resume my way, I was struck by the sound of voices speaking, as I fancied, in French, and before I could settle the doubt with myself, I saw in front of me a party of some six or seven soldiers, who, with their muskets slung behind them, were descending the steep path by the aid of sticks.

Weary-looking and footsore as they were, their dress, their bearing, and their soldierlike air, struck me forcibly, and sent into my heart a thrill I had not known for many a day before. I came up quickly behind them, and could overhear their complaints at having mistaken the road, and their maledictions, uttered in no gentle spirit, on the stupid mountaineers who could not understand French.

‘Here comes another fellow, let us try him,’ said one, as he turned and saw me near. ‘Schwartz-Ach, Schwartz-Ach,’ added he, addressing me, and reading the name from a slip of paper in his hand.

‘I am going to the village,’ said I in French, ‘and will show the way with pleasure.’

‘How! what! are you a Frenchman, then?’ cried the corporal, in amazement.

‘Even so,’ said I.

‘Then by what chance are you living in this wild spot? How, in the name of wonder, can you exist here?’

‘With venison like this,’ said I, pointing to a chamois buck on my shoulder, ‘and the red wine of the Lech Thai, a man may manage to forget Veray’s and the “Dragon Vert,” particularly as they are not associated with a bill and a waiter!’

‘And perhaps you are a Royalist,’ cried another, ‘and don’t like how matters are going on at home?’

‘I have not that excuse for my exile,’ said I coldly.

‘Have you served, then?’

I nodded.

‘Ah, I see,’ said the corporal, ‘you grew weary of parade and guard mounting.’

‘If you mean that I deserted,’ said I, ‘you are wrong there also; and now let it be my turn to ask a few questions. What is France about? Is the Republic still as great and victorious as ever?’

‘Sacrebleu, man, what are you thinking of? We are an Empire some years back, and Napoleon has made as many kings as he has got brothers and cousins to crown.’

‘And the army, where is it?’

‘Ask for some half-dozen armies, and you’ll still be short of the mark. We have one in Hamburg, and another in the far North, holding the Russians in check; we have garrisons in every fortress of Prussia and the Rhine Land; we have some eighty thousand fellows in Poland and Galicia – double as many more in Spain. Italy is our own, and so will he Austria ere many days go over.’

Boastfully as all this was spoken, I found it to be not far from truth, and learned, as we walked along, that the Emperor was, at that very moment, on the march to meet the Archduke Charles, who, with a numerous army, was advancing on Ratishon, the little party of soldiers being portion of a force despatched to explore the passes of the ‘Vorarlberg,’ and report on how far they might be practicable for the transmission of troops to act on the left flank and rear of the Austrian army. Their success had up to this time been very slight, and the corporal was making for Schwartz-Ach, as a spot where he hoped to rendezvous with some of his comrades. They were much disappointed on my telling them that I had quitted the village that morning, and that not a soldier had been seen there. There was, however, no other spot to pass the night in, and they willingly accepted the offer I made them of a shelter and a supper in our cottage.

CHAPTER XLVIII. A VILLAGE ‘SYNDICUS’

I SAT up all night listening to the soldiers’ stories of war and campaigning. Some had served with Soult’s army in the Asturias; some made part of Davout’s corps in the north of Europe; one had just returned from Friedland, and amused us with describing the celebrated conference at Tilsit, where he had been a sentinel on the river-side, and presented arms to the two emperors as they passed. It will seem strange, but it is a fact, that this slight incident attracted towards him a greater share of his comrades’ admiration than was accorded to those who had seen half the battlefields of modern war.

He described the dress, the air, the general bearing of the emperors, remarking that although Alexander was taller, and handsomer, and even more soldierlike than our own emperor, there was a something of calm dignity and conscious majesty in Napoleon that made him appear immeasurably the superior. Alexander wore the uniform of the Russian guard, one of the most splendid it is possible to conceive. The only thing simple about him was his sword, which was a plain sabre with a tarnished gilt scabbard, and a very dirty sword-knot; and yet every moment he used to look down at it and handle it with great apparent admiration; ‘and well might he,’ added the soldier – ‘Napoleon had given it to him but the day before.’

To listen even to such meagre details as these was to light up again in my heart the fire that was only smouldering, and that no life of peasant labour or obscurity could ever extinguish. My companions quickly saw the interest I took in their narratives, and certainly did their utmost to feed the passion – now with some sketch of a Spanish marauding party, as full of adventure as a romance; now with a description of northern warfare, where artillery thundered on the ice, and men fought behind intrenchments of deep snow.

From the North Sea to the Adriatic, all Europe was now in arms. Great armies were marching in every direction – some along the deep valley of the Danube, others from the rich plains of Poland and Silesia; some were passing the Alps into Italy, and some again were pouring down for the Tyrol ‘Jochs,’ to defend the rocky passes of their native land against the invader. Patriotism and glory, the spirit of chivalry and conquest, all were abroad, and his must indeed have been a cold heart which could find within it no response to the stirring sounds around. To the intense feeling of shame which I at first felt at my own life of obscure inactivity, there now succeeded a feverish desire to be somewhere and do something to dispel this worse than lethargy. I had not resolution to tell my comrades that I had served – I felt reluctant to speak of a career so abortive and unsuccessful; and yet I blushed at the half-pitying expressions they bestowed upon my life of inglorious adventure.

‘You risk life and limb here in these pine forests, and hazard existence for a bear or a chamois goat,’ cried one, ‘and half the peril in real war would perhaps make you a chef d escadron or even a general.’

‘Ay,’ said another, ‘we serve in an army where crowns are military distinctions, and the epaulette is only the first step to a kingdom.’

‘True,’ broke in a third, ‘Napoleon has changed the whole world, and made soldiering the only trade worth following. Masséna was a drummer-boy within my own memory, and see him now! Ney was not born to great wealth and honours. Junot never could learn his trade as a cobbler, and for want of better has become a general of division.’

‘Yes; and,’ said I, following out the theme, ‘under that wooden roof yonder, through that little diamond-paned window the vine is trained across, a greater than any of the last three first saw the light. It was there Kléber, the conqueror of Egypt, was born.’

‘Honour to the brave dead!’ said the soldiers from their places around the fire, and carrying their hands to the salute. ‘We’ll fire a salvo to him to-morrow before we set out!’ said the corporal. ‘And so Kléber was born there!’ said he, resuming his place, and staring with admiring interest at the dark outline of the old house, as it stood out against the starry and cloudless sky.

It was somewhat of a delicate task for me to prevent my companions offering their tribute of respect, but which the old peasant would have received with little gratitude, seeing that he had never yet forgiven the country nor the service for the loss of his son. With some management I accomplished this duty, however, promising my services at the same time to be their guide through the Bregenzerwald, and not to part with them till I had seen them safely into Bavaria.

Had it not been for my thorough acquaintance with the Tyroler dialect, and all the usages of Tyrol life, their march would have been one of great peril, for already the old hatred against their Bavarian oppressors was beginning to stir the land, and Austrian agents were traversing the mountain districts in every direction, to call forth that patriotic ardour which, ill-requited as it has been, has more than once come to the rescue of Austria.

So sudden had been the outbreak of this war, and so little aware were the peasantry of the frontier of either its object or aim, that we frequently passed recruits for both armies on their way to headquarters on the same day – honest Bavarians, who were trudging along the road with pack on their shoulders, and not knowing, nor indeed much caring, on which side they were to combat. My French comrades scorned to report themselves to any German officer, and pushed on vigorously in the hope of meeting with a French regiment. I had now conducted my little party to Immenstadt, at the foot of the Bavarian Alps, and, having completed my compact, was about to bid them good-bye.

We were seated around our bivouac fire for the last time, as we deemed it, and pledging each other in a parting glass, when suddenly our attention was attracted to a bright red tongue of flame that suddenly darted up from one of the Alpine summits above our head. Another and another followed, till at length every mountain-peak for miles and miles away displayed a great signal-fire! Little knew we that behind that giant range of mountains, from the icy crags of the Glockner, and from the snowy summit of the Orteler itself, similar fires were summoning all Tyrol to the combat, while every valley resounded with the war-cry of ‘God and the Emperor!’ We were still in busy conjecture what all this might portend, when a small party of mounted men rode past us at a trot. They carried carbines slung over their peasant frocks, and showed unmistakably enough that they were some newly-raised and scarcely disciplined force. After proceeding about a hundred yards beyond us, they halted, and drew up across the road, unslinging their pieces as if to prepare for action.

‘Look at those fellows, yonder,’ said the old corporal, as he puffed his pipe calmly and deliberately; ‘they mean mischief, or I ‘m much mistaken. Speak to them, Tiernay; you know their jargon.’

I accordingly arose and advanced towards them, touching my hat in salute as I went forward. They did not give me much time, however, to open negotiations, for scarcely had I uttered a word, when bang went a shot close beside me; another followed; and then a whole volley was discharged, but with such haste and ill direction that not a ball struck me. Before I could take advantage of this piece of good fortune to renew my advances, a bullet whizzed by my head, and down went the left-hand horse of the file, at first on his knees, and then, with a wild plunge into the air, he fell, stone-dead, on the road, the rider beneath him. As for the rest, throwing off carbines, and cartouch-boxes, they sprang from their horses, and took to the mountains with a speed that showed how far more they were at home amidst rocks and heather than when seated on the saddle. My comrades lost no time in coming up; but while three of them kept the fugitives in sight, covering them all the time with their muskets, the others secured the cattle, as in amazement and terror they stood around the dead horse.

Although the peasant had received no other injuries than a heavy fall and his own fears inflicted, he was overcome with terror, and so certain of death that he would do nothing but mumble his prayers, totally deaf to all the efforts I made to restore his courage. ‘That comes of putting a man out of his natural bent,’ said the old corporal. ‘On his native mountains, and with his rifle, that fellow would be brave enough; but making a dragoon of him is like turning a Cossack into a foot-soldier. One thing is clear enough, we’ve no time to throw away here; these peasants will soon alarm the village in our rear, so that we had better mount and press forward.’

‘But in what direction?’ cried another; ‘who knows if we shall not be rushing into worse danger?’

‘Tiernay must look to that,’ interposed a third. ‘It’s clear he can’t leave us now; his retreat is cut off, at all events.’

‘That’s the very point I was thinking of, lads,’ said I. ‘The beacon-fires show that “the Tyrol is up”; and safely as I have journeyed hither, I know well I dare not venture to retrace my road; I ‘d be shot in the first Dorf I entered. On one condition, then, I’ll join you; and short of that, however, I’ll take my own path, come what may of it.’

‘What’s the condition, then?’ cried three or four together.

‘That you give me the full and absolute command of this party, and pledge your honour, as French soldiers, to obey me in everything, till the day we arrive at the headquarters of a French corps.’

‘What, obey a Pekin! take the mot d’ordre from a civilian that never handled a firelock!’ shouted three or four in derision.

‘I have served, and with distinction, too, my lads,’ said I calmly; ‘and if I have not handled a firelock, it is because I wielded a sabre, as an officer of hussars. It is not here, nor now, that I am going to tell why I wear the epaulette no longer. I’ll render account of that to my superiors and yours! If you reject my offer (and I don’t press you to accept it), let us at least part good friends. As for me, I can take care of myself.’ As I said this, I slung over my shoulder the cross-belt and carbine of one of the fugitives, and selecting a strongly built, short-legged black horse as my mount, I adjusted the saddle, and sprang on his back.

‘That was done like an old hussar, anyhow,’ said a soldier, who had been a cavalry man, ‘and I ‘ll follow you, whatever the rest may do.’ He mounted as he spoke, and saluted as if on duty. Slight as the incident was, its effect was magical. Old habits of discipline revived at the first signal of obedience, and the corporal having made his men fall in, came up to my side for orders.

‘Select the best of these horses,’ said I, ‘and let us press forward at once. We are about eighteen miles from the village of Wangheim; by halting a short distance outside of it, I can enter alone, and learn something about the state of the country, and the nearest French post. The cattle are all fresh, and we can easily reach the village before daybreak.’

Three of my little ‘command’ were tolerable horsemen, two of them having served in the artillery train, and the third being the dragoon I have alluded to. I accordingly threw out a couple of these as an advanced picket, keeping the last as my aide-de-camp at my side. The remainder formed the rear, with orders, if attacked, to dismount at once, and fire over the saddle, leaving myself and the others to manoeuvre as cavalry. This was the only way to give confidence to those soldiers, who in the ranks would have marched up to a battery, but on horseback were totally devoid of self-reliance. Meanwhile I imparted such instructions in equitation as I could, my own old experience as a riding-master well enabling me to select the most necessary and least difficult of a horseman’s duties. Except the old corporal, all were very creditable pupils; but he, possibly deeming it a point of honour not to discredit his old career, rejected everything like teaching, and openly protested that, save to run away from a victorious enemy, or follow a beaten one, he saw no use in cavalry.

Nothing could be in better temper, however, nor more amicable than our discourses on this head; and as I let drop, from time to time, little hints of my services on the Rhine and in Italy, I gradually perceived that I grew higher in the esteem of my companions, so that ere we rode a dozen miles together, their confidence in me became complete.

In return for all their anecdotes of ‘blood and field,’ I told them several stories of my own life, and, at least, convinced them that if they had not chanced upon the very luckiest of mankind, they had, at least, fallen upon one who had seen enough of casualties not to be easily baffled, and who felt in every difficulty a self-confidence that no amount of discomfiture could ever entirely obliterate. No soldier can vie with a Frenchman in tempering respect with familiarity; so that while preserving towards me all the freedom of the comrade, they recognised in every detail of duty the necessity of prompt obedience, and followed every command I gave with implicit submission.

It was thus we rode along, till in the distance I saw the spire of a village church, and recognised what I knew to be Dorf Wangheim. It was yet an hour before sunrise, and all was tranquil around. I gave the word to trot, and after about forty minutes’ sharp riding, we gained a small pine wood, which skirted the village. Here I dismounted my party, and prepared to make my entry alone into the Dorf, carefully arranging my costume for that purpose, sticking a large bouquet of wild flowers in my hat, and assuming as much as I could of the Tyrol look and lounge in my gait. I shortened my stirrups, also, to a most awkward and inconvenient length, and gripped my reins into a heap in my hand.