CHAPTER XIV.
THE TALLY OF DEATH.
Day was breaking, and the first grey light had just begun to stealthrough the long thin slits in the walls of our barn, when someone shookme hard by the shoulder, and up I jumped. I had the thought in mystupid, sleepy brain that the cuirassiers were upon us, and I grippedhold of a halbert that was leaning against the wall; but then, as I sawthe long lines of sleepers, I remembered where I was. But I can tellyou that I stared when I saw that it was none other than Major Elliottthat had roused me up. His face was very grave, and behind him stoodtwo sergeants, with long slips of paper and pencils in their hands.
"Wake up, laddie," said the Major, quite in his old easy fashion, as ifwe were back on Corriemuir again.
"Yes, Major?" I stammered.
"I want you to come with me. I feel that I owe something to you twolads, for it was I that took you from your homes. Jim Horscroft ismissing."
I gave a start at that, for what with the rush and the hunger and theweariness I had never given a thought to my friend since the time thathe had rushed at the French Guards with the whole regiment at his heels.
"I am going out now to take a tally of our losses," said the Major;"and if you cared to come with me, I should be very glad to have you."
So off we set, the Major, the two sergeants, and I; and oh! but it was adreadful, dreadful sight!--so much so, that even now, after so manyyears, I had rather say as little of it as possible. It was bad to seein the heat of fight; but now in the cold morning, with no cheer ordrum-tap or bugle blare, all the glory had gone out of it, and it wasjust one huge butcher's shop, where poor devils had been ripped andburst and smashed, as though we had tried to make a mock of God's image.There on the ground one could read every stage of yesterday's fight--thedead footmen that lay in squares and the fringe of dead horsemen thathad charged them, and above on the slope the dead gunners, who lay roundtheir broken piece. The Guards' column had left a streak right up thefield like the trail of a snail, and at the head of it the blue coatswere lying heaped upon the red ones where that fierce tug had beenbefore they took their backward step.
And the very first thing that I saw when I got there was Jim himself.He was lying on the broad of his back, his face turned up towards thesky, and all the passion and the trouble seemed to have passed cleanaway from him, so that he looked just like the old Jim as I had seen himin his cot a hundred times when we were schoolmates together. I hadgiven a cry of grief at the sight of him; but when I came to look uponhis face, and to see how much happier he looked in death than I couldever have hoped to see him in life, it was hard to mourn for him.Two French bayonets had passed through his chest, and he had died in aninstant, and without pain, if one could believe the smile upon his lips.
The Major and I were raising his head in the hope that some flutter oflife might remain, when I heard a well-remembered voice at my side, andthere was de Lissac leaning upon his elbow among a litter of deadguardsmen. He had a great blue coat muffled round him, and the hat withthe high red plume was lying on the ground beside him. He was verypale, and had dark blotches under his eyes, but otherwise he was as hehad ever been, with the keen, hungry nose, the wiry moustache, and theclose-cropped head thinning away to baldness upon the top. His eyelidshad always drooped, but now one could hardly see the glint of his eyesfrom beneath them.
"Hola, Jock!" he cried. "I didn't thought to have seen you here, andyet I might have known it, too, when I saw friend Jim."
"It is you that has brought all this trouble," said I.
"Ta, ta, ta!" he cried, in his old impatient fashion. "It is allarranged for us. When I was in Spain I learned to believe in Fate.It is Fate which has sent you here this morning."
"This man's blood lies at your door," said I, with my hand on poor Jim'sshoulder.
"And mine on his, so we have paid our debts."
He flung open his mantle as he spoke, and I saw with horror that a greatblack lump of clotted blood was hanging out of his side.
"This is my thirteenth and last," said he, with a smile. "They say thatthirteen is an unlucky number. Could you spare me a drink from yourflask?"
The Major had some brandy and water. De Lissac supped it up eagerly.His eyes brightened, and a little fleck of colour came back in each ofhis haggard cheeks.
"It was Jim did this," said he. "I heard someone calling my name, andthere he was with his gun against my tunic. Two of my men cut him downjust as he fired. Well, well, Edie was worth it all! You will be inParis in less than a month, Jock, and you will see her. You will findher at No. 11 of the Rue Miromesnil, which is near to the Madeleine.Break it very gently to her, Jock, for you cannot think how she lovedme. Tell her that all I have are in the two black trunks, and thatAntoine has the keys. You will not forget?"
"I will remember."
"And madame, your mother? I trust that you have left her very well.And monsieur, too, your father? Bear them my distinguished regards!"
Even now as death closed in upon him, he gave the old bow and wave as hesent his greetings to my mother.
"Surely," said I, "your wound may not be so serious as you think.I could bring the surgeon of our regiment to you."
"My dear Jock, I have not been giving and taking wounds this fifteenyears without knowing when one has come home. But it is as well, for Iknow that all is ended for my little man, and I had rather go with myVoltigeurs than remain to be an exile and a beggar. Besides, it isquite certain that the Allies would have shot me, so I have saved myselffrom that humiliation."
"The Allies, sir," said the Major, with some heat, "would be guilty ofno such barbarous action."
But de Lissac shook his head, with the same sad smile.
"You do not know, Major," said he. "Do you suppose that I should havefled to Scotland and changed my name if I had not more to fear than mycomrades who remained in Paris? I was anxious to live, for I was surethat my little man would come back. Now I had rather die, for he willnever lead an army again. But I have done things that could not beforgiven. It was I that led the party which took and shot the Ducd'Enghien. It was I--Ah, _mon Dieu!_ Edie, Edie, _ma cherie!_"
He threw out both his hands, with all the fingers feeling and quiveringin the air. Then he let them drop heavily in front of him, and his chinfell forward upon his chest. One of our sergeants laid him gently down,and the other stretched the big blue mantle over him; and so we leftthose two whom Fate had so strangely brought together, the Scotchman andthe Frenchman, lying silently and peacefully within hand's touch of eachother, upon the blood-soaked hillside near Hougoumont.