CHAPTER VII.
BATTLE OF AMAILLOU.
It will be remembered that Adolphe Denot left the council-room of theroyalist leaders at Saumur in anger; and that, after a few words withHenri Larochejaquelin, departed no one knew whither, or for whatpurpose. On leaving Henri in the street, he had himself no fixed resolveas to his future conduct; he was only determined no longer to remainleagued with men, among whom he felt himself to be disgraced. De Lescurehad seen him hesitate in the hour of danger, and had encouraged him invain; he knew that after this he could never again bear to meet the calmgrey eye of his friend's cousin; he had not only been not selected asone of the Generals, but he had even been rejected, and that by the veryman who had seen his cowardice. His love, moreover, had been refused byAgatha, and he deemed this refusal an injury which demanded vengeancefrom his hands; from the moment in which he left her room inDurbelliere, schemes had floated across his half-bewildered brain forthe accomplishment of his object. He still loved Agatha, though his lovewas, as it were, mingled with hatred; he still wished to possess her,but he did not care how disagreeable, how horrible to herself might bethe means by which he accomplished his object. He entertained ideas ofseizing upon her person, taking her from Durbelliere, and marrying herduring the confusion which the Revolution had caused in the country. Atfirst he had no distinct idea of treachery towards the royalists withwhom he had sided; though vague thoughts of bringing the soldiers of theConvention to Durbelliere, in the dead of night, had at different timesentered his mind, he had never reduced such thoughs to a palpable plan,nor had he ever endeavoured to excuse to himself the iniquity of sucha scheme, as a man does when he resolves to sacrifice his honour and hishonesty to his passions.
It was in the council-room at Saumur that he first felt a desire tobetray the friends of his life; it was in the moment of his hot anger,after leaving it, that he determined to put into effect the plan whichhe had already conceived; it was then that insane ambition and selfishlove prompted him to forget every feeling which he had hithertorecognized as honourable, and to commit himself to a deed which wouldmake it impossible that he should ever be reconciled with the companionsof his youth. He had no presentiment that he should ever rise to honouror distinction in the army of the Republic; he never even thought ofwhat his future life would be: revenge was his object, and the sweetdelight of proving to Agatha Larochejaquelin that he was able to carryout the bold threats, which he knew that she had scorned and derided.
It would be too much to say that Adolphe Denot was insane, for thatwould imply that he was not responsible for his own actions; but therecertainly lacked something in his brain or mind, which is necessary toperfect sanity. He was no fool; he had read, enjoyed, and perhapswritten poetry; he was, for the times, well educated; he could talkfluently, and, occasionally, even persuasively; he understood rapidly,and perceived correctly, the arguments and motives of others; but hecould not regulate his conduct, either from the lessons he had learntfrom books, or from the doings or misdoings of those around him. Hewished to be popular, powerful and distinguished, but he was utterlyignorant of the means by which men gain the affection, respect, andadmiration of their fellow-men; he possessed talent without judgment,and ambition without principle. As a precocious boy, he had been toomuch admired; he had assumed at an early age the duty of a man, and hadat once been found miserably wanting.
On leaving Henri in the streets of Saumur, he went to his lodging, tookwith him what money he had, got upon his horse, and rode out of the townby the temporary bridge which had been put up for the transit of theshaved prisoners. He had wandered about the country for three weeks,remaining sometimes in one place, and sometimes in another, endeavouringto mature his plans; and hearing of the arrival of Santerre in Augers,had come thither to offer his services to the republicans, in theinvasion which he understood they contemplated making into the Bocage.
His appearance was not very attractive when first he introduced himselfto the republican, for he was lean with anxiety and worn with care; hiseyes were restless and bloodshot, and his limbs trembled beneath him.Santerre was not a man who much regarded externals; but, as heafterwards said, "he did not much like the hang-dog look of the royalistcur."
Denot, in an awkward way, got through his story; he had been one of theinsurgent Vendeans, he said, but he now wished to serve the Republic.He was intimately acquainted with the royalist leaders, especially thetwo most popular of them, de Lescure and Larochejaquelin. He knew andwas willing to betray their plans. He would accompany Santerre to theresidences of these Vendean Generals, and undertake to give them, theirfamilies, and possessions, into the power of the republicans, and forthese services he asked but one favour; that he should be present at thecontemplated burning of Durbelliere, and be allowed to save the life ofone female who resided there. He represented that his animosity aroseentirely from the rejection of his love, and that his only object wasto carry off the sister of the Vendean chief from the burning ashes ofher father's chateau.
"Are you aware, young man," said Santerre, with something of generosityin the warning which he gave--a generosity probably inspired by the winehe had drunk: "are you aware, that should I agree to your proposal,every other member of her family will be put to death before your eyes--her brother, her old father, and every pestilent royalist we may findabout the place?"
"I suppose they will," said Denot moodily. "At any rate, they deserveno protection at my hands."
"You have probably eaten their bread and drank their wine. You say,indeed, you have lived long in this rambling chateau, and have foughtside by side with this hot-headed young brigand. Bethink you, my friend,you are angry now, but it may turn your stomach, when you are cool, tosee the blood of those you know so well running like water; besides, youare taking but an unlikely road to the heart of the girl you say youlove. No one has heard your plot but myself: I advise you to abandon it;if you do so, I will forget that I have heard it. You are angry now; gohome and sleep on it."
"Sleep on it! I have slept on it these three weeks. No, I did not cometo you till I was fully resolved. As for these people, I owe themnothing; they have scorned and rejected me; and as for the girl's heart,it is not that I seek now. Let me gain her person, and her heart willfollow. A woman soon learns to love him whom she is forced to obey."
"Well, be it as you will," said Santerre. "It is all a matter of taste;only remember, that before I accede to your proposal, I must consultwith my colleagues in the next room, and that when once I have spokento them it will be too late for me to go back."
Denot declared that he had formed his resolution after matureconsideration, and that he was ready and willing to carry through thework he had proposed for himself; and Santerre, without making anyfurther objection, rejoined his friends in the next room, and explainedto them the offer which had been made to him. Barrere at first opposedany treaty with Denot. He recommended that the young man should be keptas a prisoner, and at once handed over to the revolutionary tribunal.
"What good can he do us?" said he; "we can find our way to thisDurbelliere without his assistance; let him and the girl he wishes tokidnap pay the penalty of their crimes against the Republic. She is, Isuppose, one of those modern Joans of Arc, who inspire the flaggingspirits of these peasants. Should she have beauty enough to make herworth preserving, let her be the prize of some true republican. As forhim, let him stretch his neck beneath the guillotine."
Barrere, however, was overruled. The Generals who were with him knew toowell the nature of the country they were about to invade, not toappreciate the value of such a guide as they might find in Denot: aguide, who not only knew the nature of the country they had to traverse,and the position of the places they wished to attack, but who was alsointimate with the insurgent chiefs, acquainted with their persons andtheir plans, and who would probably disclose, under proper management,every secret of the revolt. It was accordingly agreed that his offershould be accepted, and he was introduced by Santerre to his fourconfederates.
"Sit down, my friend," said Barrere, "sit down. Our colleague hereinforms us that you are sick of these mawkish royalists, and are willingto serve the Republic. Is it so, young man?"
"I have told M. Santerre--" said Denot. "Citizen Santerre, if youplease," said Barrere; "or General Santerre, if you like it better.Monsieur and Monseigneur are a little out of fashion just at present onthis side of the Loire."
"As they soon also shall be on the other," said Westerman.
"Well, I have told him," and Denot pointed to Santerre, "what it is Ipropose to do for you, and the terms on which I will do it."
"Terms indeed!" said Barrere. "The Republic is not accustomed to maketerms with her servants. Come, tell us at once: are you a republican?"
Denot hesitated; not that he was ashamed to own himself a republican,but his blood was boiling with passion at the language and tone in whichhe was addressed, and yet he did not dare to shew his anger.
"Of course he is a republican," said Santerre, "or why would he comehere? Take a glass of wine, friend Denot, and pluck up your courage,"and Santerre passed the wine-bottle to him. "If you are true to us, youneed not fear us."
"He must pronounce himself a republican," said Barrere, "or we cannotdeal with him. Come, young man, can you put your mouth to so muchinconvenience as to give us some slight inkling of your presentpolitical principles? All we know of you as yet is, that three weekssince you were a pestilent royalist, and a leader of royalists."
"I am a republican," said Denot.
"The Republic is made happy by your adhesion," said Barrere, bowing tohim with mock solemnity across the table.
"What surety do you mean to offer us, citizen Denot," said Westerman,"that you are acting with us in good faith?"
"Do I not give you my life?" said Denot. "What other surety can I give,or can you require? What am I, or what are the royalists to gain by myproving false?"
"You say truly," answered Westerman; "you give us your life as a suretyfor your good faith to us. You may be assured that we will exact thepenalty, if we have the slightest suspicion of foul play."
Denot made no answer, and he was questioned no further. The party soonafter broke up, and the young deserter was handed over to the care ofone of Santerre's sub-officers, with injunctions that he should be welland civilly treated, but that he should not be allowed to go abroad byhimself; in fact, he was to be regarded as a prisoner.
"Do not be disheartened," said Santerre to him. "You can understand thatunder the circumstances, such precautions must be necessary. The dayafter tomorrow we start on our march, and you shall ride close tomyself. When Clisson and Durbelliere are in ashes, you shall be free totake your own course; in the meantime, no indignity shall be offered toyou."
On the day named by Santerre, the whole republican army started fromAngers, and commenced their march towards the Bocage. They proceeded ontheir route for several days without finding any enemy to contend with.They kept on the northern shore of the Loire till they reached Saumur,where they remained a couple of days, and employed themselves inpunishing the inhabitants in whose houses the leaders of the Vendeanshad been entertained. It was in vain that these poor men pleaded thatthey had not even opened their doors to the royalists till after therepublican General had capitulated; that they had given nothing whichthey had been able to refuse, and, in fact, that they had only soldtheir goods and let their rooms to the Vendeans, when they could notpossibly have declined to do so. Their arguments were of no avail; theywere thrown into prison as criminals, and left for trial by therevolutionary tribunal.
Although Saumur had so lately been besieged and taken by the royalists,there was hardly a vestige of the conquerors left in it. Their attemptto place a garrison in the town had proved entirely a failure; thepeasants who had undertaken the work had left the place by scores at atime, and before a fortnight was over, the commandant found himself withabout twenty-five men, and consequently he marched back into La Vendeeafter his army. The town was perfectly tranquil when the republicansentered it, but the citizens were afflicted and out of spirits; theirshops were closed, and their goods hidden; the bakers had no bread, thebutchers no meat, and the grocers had neither oil nor sugar. They knewwell what it was to sell their merchandise to the troops of theConvention, and to be paid for them by the government in assignats.
Many of those who had formed the former garrison of Saumur, were nowwith the army; men whom Chapeau and his assistants had shaven, men stillbald, and smarting from the indignity to which they had been subjected.They wreaked their vengeance on the scene of their disgrace, and on allthose who had in any way lent, or were suspected to have lent, their aidto its consummation. The furniture of the Town-hall was broken inpieces; the barbers' shops were ransacked, and their razors, brushes,and basins scattered through the street; nor was this the worst; onepoor wretch was recognized who had himself wielded a razor on theoccasion; he was dragged from his little shop by those on whom he hadoperated, and was swung up by his neck from a lamp-iron in the sight ofhis wife and children, who had followed his persecutors through thestreet. The poor woman pleaded on her knees for the life of her husband,as a wife can plead for the life of him whom she loves better than thewhole world. She offered all her little wealth and her prayers; shesupplicated them with tears and with blessings; she seized hold of theknees of the wretch who held the rope, and implored him by hisremembrance of his father, by his regard for his own wife, his love forhis own children, to spare to her the father of her infants; but sheasked in vain; the man, feeling that his legs were encumbered, spurnedthe woman from him with his foot, and kept his hand tight upon thelamp-rope till the dying convulsions of the poor barber had ceased.
No notice was taken by the republican Generals of this murder; at anyrate no punishment followed it; the next morning the army resumed itsmarch, and left the town hated, cursed, feared, and yet obeyed. Thepeople were now royalists in their hearts, but they did not dare toexpress their feelings even in whispers to each other, so frightful tothem was the vengeance of the Republic. There was much policy in thefearful cruelty of the Jacobins; it was the only means by which theycould have retained their power for a month.
The republicans marched on from Saumur to Montreuil, and from Montreuilto Thouars, and still found no one in arms to oppose them. Here theyseparated; a small party, headed by Santerre and Denot, penetrated atonce from Thouars into the Bocage, and made for the chateau ofDurbelliere. It was believed that both de Lescure and Larochejaquelinwere there, and Santerre expected that by hurrying across the countrywith a small force, he would be able to take them both and burn thechateau, and afterwards rejoin Westerman at Chatillon. Barrere, whoseduties were not strictly those of a soldier, had not accompanied thearmy beyond Saumur. Westerman and the main body of the army stillcontinued southward till they reached Parthenay, from which place it washis intention to proceed through the revolted district, burning everyvillage; utterly destroying the towns which had not proved themselvesdevoted to the Republic, and slaughtering the peasants, their wives, andchildren wherever he could find them.
The Vendeans had not yet sufficiently matured their plans to enable themto encounter successfully the republican army. The death of Cathelineauhad had a great effect upon the peasants: those who were with him hadreturned home in sorrow and despair, and this feeling was general, evenamong those who had not been at Nantes. De Lescure and Henri, however,had not despaired; after having seen the body of his General consignedto the dust, Henri had returned to Clisson, and he and his cousin wereagain busy in raising recruits, or rather in collecting their men, whenthey heard that Westerman, with an enormous army, was marching intoParthenay, and that it was his intention to proceed from thence into theBocage, by way of Amaillou and Bressuire.
They had hardly heard this report, when the little village of Amaillouwas on fire; it was the first place that was utterly burnt down, andlaid in ashes by the republicans; not a house was left standing, orhardly the ruined wall of a house. The church itself was set on fire an
dburnt, with its pictures, its altars, and all its sacred treasures; thepeasants ran from the ruins, carrying with them their wives andchildren, the old, the crippled, and infirm: hundreds were left dead anddying among the smoking ashes. This feat having been accomplished,Westerman continued on towards Bressuire, intending to burn the chateauat Clisson, as he passed it on his way.
The district between Amaillou and Bressuire is thickly studded withtrees. The roads, or rather lanes, are all lined by avenues of limes andbeeches. The fields are small, and surrounded by lofty hedges, which arealso, in a great measure, composed of large trees, and the whole countryin July, when the foliage is at the thickest, has almost the aspect ofone continued forest.
Westerman had obtained guides to show him the road to Clisson. It wasabout six o'clock in the evening when the advanced portion of his army,consisting of three thousand men, had proceeded about a league fromAmaillou. He was himself riding nearly at the front of the column,talking to his aide-de-camp and one of the guides, when he was startledby hearing a noise as of disturbed branches in the hedge, only a fewfeet in advance of the spot in which he was standing; he had not,however, time to give an order, or speak a word on the subject, beforea long sudden gleam of fire flashed before his eyes; it was so near tohim that it almost blinded him: a cannon had been fired off close to hisface, and it was easy to track the fatal course of the ball; it had beendirected right along the road, and was glutted with carnage before itsstrength was spent.
Nor did the cannon shot come alone: a fearful fire from about fivehundred muskets was poured from the hedge on either side, directly intothe road: the assailants were within a few feet of their enemy at themoment they were firing, and every shot took effect. Out of the fourhundred men who headed the column, above half were killed, or so badlywounded as to be incapable of motion. The narrow lane, for it was nomore than a lane, was nearly blocked up with carcases. Westerman, whowas possessed of a courage that was never shaken, was nevertheless sothunderstruck, that he knew not what orders to give. The republicans atthe head of the column, who had not themselves been struck, fired theirfusils into the hedges, but their fire did no injury; it was all lostamong the leaves, for the men who had attacked them were kneeling ontheir knees or lying on their bellies, and in the confusion which theyhad occasioned, were reloading their muskets.
The guide and the aide-de-camp to whom Westerman was speaking, had bothfallen, and the horse upon which he himself was riding was so badlywounded, as to be unmanageable. He got off, and ran along under thehedge till he met an officer. "Give me your horse, Gerard," said he;"but no, stay where you are, gallop back, and tell Bourbotte to bringup the men. Quick, mind--so quick, that they can neither see nor hearwhat has happened. Bid him force his way through the hedge to the right,when he gets to the corner."
The young officer turned quickly to obey the command of his General, andhad already put his spur to the horse's flank, when another broad flashof light streamed through the hedge on the left, and the horseman andhorse fell to the ground, and were mingled with a heap of wounded anddying. Young Gerard did not live long enough to be conscious of the blowwhich killed him. Another volley of musketry followed the cannon shot,and hardly left a man standing of those who had been the foremost. Theattack had taken place so quickly, that the Vendeans had not yet hadtime to load again; but one of two cannons had been kept as a reserve,and about a hundred muskets had not been fired till de Lescure gave theword of command. The first attack was made under the direction of HenriLarochejaquelin.
Westerman was standing between the hedge and the mounted officer, whenthe latter fell with his horse, and the blood from the poor animalnearly covered him from head to foot. "Into the field, my men," said heto those who were near enough to hear him; "follow me through thehedge," and with a considerable effort he forced his way through theunderwood, and he was followed and accompanied by all those who werestill standing near him; but when he got there, not one of the Vendeanswas to be seen; there were traces enough of them in the grass, and amongthe broken boughs, but the men had retreated after the first fire, andwere now again lying in ambush behind the next hedge.
In about five minutes, there were two or three hundred republicans inthe fields to the right of the road, for the army was still advancing;but they did not know where to go or what to do. They were looking aboutfor an enemy, and in dread of being fired on, not only from the hedges,but even out of the trees. Westerman, however, got the men formed intosome kind of order, and bid them advance; they did so, and on comingnear to the second hedge, received another murderous fire, for everyroyalist had now had time to reload.
The combat continued for some time, for the republicans contrived tomake their way into the second field; but the royalists again shelteredthemselves behind the further hedge, and repeated their fire from theirlurking-place. It was in vain that the republicans fired into thehedges; their shot either passed over the heads of the Vendeans, or werelost among the roots and trunks of the trees. Every one of theroyalists, on the other hand fired, with a clear aim, and almostinvariably with deadly effect. Westerman felt that it would be uselessto pursue them; his soldiers, moreover, were already flying withoutorders. He had not the least idea what was the number of the enemy withwhom he was engaged, what was their means of carrying on the battle, oron what side of him the greater number of them were situated; hetherefore determined to retreat, and led back the whole of his army overthe still burning ashes of the miserable village which he had destroyedthat morning. The greater portion of the men were forced to go back asfar as Parthenay, but he himself remained with a small detachment in theneighbourhood of Amaillou. He was determined, if possible, to berevenged that same night for the defeat which he had experienced.
The two cousins were at Clisson when they first heard that Westerman wasactually on his road towards Bressuire, and they had lost no time intaking the best measures in their power to stop his progress, but theyhad not even hoped that their effort would have been so successful asit proved. The tocsin had been rung in the three neighbouring parishes,and about seven hundred men had been collected. These men all possessedmuskets, but they themselves had no ammunition, and the whole supplywhich could be found in the district, including the little depot atClisson, only sufficed to give the men some three and some four roundseach. When Westerman, with his ten thousand men, retreated from aboutseven hundred, the royalists had not one charge of powder to threemuskets among them.
About ten in the evening Henri and de Lescure returned on foot from thebattle to the chateau of Clisson. Henri still had the red scarf roundhis neck and waist, and stuck in the latter he had three or fourpistols, of various sizes, all of which had been used in the recentengagement. On his shoulder he held a rifle, which he carried like afowling-piece, and he walked home with the air and look of a manreturning from a day's sport, well contented with the execution he haddone.
Not so de Lescure: he was thoughtful, if not sad; and though he wouldnot, either by a tone or a look, rebuke the gaiety of his companion, itwas very evident that he did not share it. The peasants returned alongthe road, hurrying to their homes, shouting with glee and full oftriumph. As they passed their leaders, they cheered the darling heroeswho had led them to another victory, and would, had they been allowedto do so, have carried them home upon their shoulders. They had nothoughts of any further battle, or of future bloodshed and misery. Theyhad been victorious over the blues, and that was sufficient for thepresent evening. They were able to return home and tell their wives andsweethearts of their triumph, and that without any drawback from friendslost or wounded. In all their contests, the Vendeans had never beenvictorious with so few calamities to themselves.
"I saw Westerman himself," said Henri to his friend. "I am sure I did,and what's more I was within pistol shot of him, but I hadn't a pistolloaded at the moment, or I would have put an end to his career. I wonderhow he likes his reception in the Bocage."
"He is not the man to be easily daunted," said de Lescure. "You'll findit
will not be long before he advances again. If he were to march toBressuire tomorrow, what is to stop him?"
"Why not stop him tomorrow as we have done today?" said Henri.
"The men are all gone home," said the other.
"They will all assemble again tomorrow," said Henri; "we have only tohave the bells rung at seven o'clock, or six, or five, or when you will,and you will find that every man will be ready for another day's work,and that without a murmur."
"And will they bring powder with them, Henri?"
"Why, we are rather short off for powder," said he. "Our affair tonightwas all very well, for the enemy lost an immense number, and we lostnone; but yet it was unsatisfactory, for the fellows have left nothingbehind them. I'll tell you what, Charles, we ought to follow them toParthenay."
"Impossible," said de Lescure.
"Why impossible, Charles? Why is Parthenay, which is not betterfortified than Clisson, be more unassailable than Saumur, whereeverything appeared to be against us?"
"We were all together then, and now we are scattered. I'll tell youwhat, Henri," he continued, after walking on silent for a few steps."I'll tell you what we must do: we must leave this district altogether;we must leave it to be ravaged by fire and sword; we must leave it toWesterman, to wreak his vengeance on it, and go to Chatillon, takingwith us every armed man that will follow us. We cannot stand an invasionhere in the south."
"Heavens, Charles! what do you mean? Will you not stay to protect thepoor wretches who are so ready to fight for us?"
"We can protect no one by staying here. We cannot hope to contendsingle-handed with such an army as that which was but just now advancingto Bressuire. We can have given them a check, but you know we cannotrepeat the effort of this evening. D'Elbee and Stofflet are atChatillon; your own followers are all in that vicinity. When there, wecan communicate with Bonchamps and Charette. We must go to Chatillon."
"And your wife, Charles, and Marie! you will not leave them in thechateau?"
"If your father and Agatha will receive them, they shall go toDurbelliere."
"There you are right," said Henri. "Whatever may be the danger, let ushave them together; we shall then at any rate be able to feel that weknow the point which is to be defended most closely."
"We will start tomorrow, Henri; tomorrow evening. May God grant thatthat may be time enough. Westerman cannot collect his men so as to forcea march as far as Clisson tomorrow; but before a week is over, I knowthat the chateau will be a ruin."
"Will you leave the furniture?" said Henri.
"Yes," answered de Lescure; "furniture, horses, cattle, corn--everythingbut my wife and child. Let everything go: am I not giving it to myKing?"