CHAPTER VIII.
CLISSON.
De Lescure had calculated wrongly with regard to Westerman's return. Itwas true that he could not have again put his ten thousand men inmarching order, and have returned with his whole force the next day fromBressuire as far as Clisson, but Westerman himself did not go backbeyond Amaillou, and he detained there with him a small detachment ofmounted men, whom he had commanded at Valmy, and whom he well knew. Hekept no officers but one cornet and two sergeants, and with this smallforce he determined, if possible, to effect that night what his army often thousand men had so signally failed in accomplishing.
About half a mile from Amaillou there was a large chateau, the owner ofwhich had emigrated; it had been left to the care of two or threeservants, who had deserted it on the approach of the republican army,and when Westerman and his small troop rode up to the front gate, theyfound no one either to admit them or to dispute their entrance. Here hebivouacked for an hour or two, and matured his project, which, as yet,he had communicated to no one.
He had entrusted the retreat of the army to General Bourbotte, who, inspite of their quarrel at Angers, was serving with him; and withoutstaying even to ascertain what was the amount of loss he had sustained,or to see whether the enemy would harass the army as it retreated, hehad separated from it at Amaillou, and reached the chateau about teno'clock in the evening. He had with him a couple of guides, who knew thecountry well, and accompanied by these, he resolved to attack Clissonthat night, to burn the chateau of M. de Lescure, and, if possible, tocarry back with him to Bressuire the next morning the two Vendeanchiefs, whom he knew were staying there.
Westerman understood enough of the tactics of the Vendeans to know thatthis was practicable, and he had the quick wit and ready hand toconceive the plan, and put it in practice: he knew that the peasantswould not remain in barracks, or even assembled together during thenight, if they were near enough to their own homes to reach them; heknew that they would spend the remainder of their long summer eveningin drinking, dancing, and rejoicing, and that they would then sleep asthough no enemy were within a hundred miles of them; he knew thatnothing could induce them to take on themselves the duties of sentinels,and that there would, in all probability, be but little to oppose himin attacking Clisson that night.
Westerman first had the horses fed, and having then refreshed his menwith meat, wine, and brandy, he started at two o'clock. He was distantfrom Clisson about three leagues, according to the measurement of thecountry, or a little better than seven miles. There had hardly been anydarkness during the night, and as he and his troopers sallied out of thechateau-yard, the dawn was just breaking in the East.
"Never mind," said he to the young cornet who rode by his side; "thelight will not hurt us, for we will make them hear us before they seeus. We will be back as far as this before thirty men in the parish areawake. It will be best for them who sleep soundest."
"Except for those in the chateau, General," said the cornet: "those whosleep there will wake to a warm breakfast."
"They will never eat breakfast more, I believe and trust," saidWesterman; "for I do not think that we shall be able to take thebrigands alive. Their women, however, may receive some of our roughrepublican hospitality at Bressuire. You had better prepare yourprettiest bow and your softest words, for this sister of de Lescure is,they say, a real beauty. She shall ride to Bressuire before you on yoursaddle-cloth, if you choose to load your arms with such a burden; butdon't grow too fond of her kisses, for though she were a second Venus,the guillotine must have the disposal of her."
The cornet made no answer, but his young heart turned sick at thebrutality of his companion. His breast had glowed with republican zealat the prospect of a night attack on the two most distinguished of theroyalist chiefs. The excitement of the quick ride through the night-air,the smallness of the party, the importance of the undertaking, theprobable danger, and the uncertainty, had all seemed to him delightful;and the idea of rescuing a beautiful girl from the flames was moredelightful than all; but the coarseness and cruelty of his General haddestroyed the romance, and dissipated the illusion. He felt that hecould not offer a woman his protection, that he might carry her to ascaffold.
At about two, Westerman started on his expedition. His men carried theirsabres, still sheathed, in their hands, to prevent the noise which theywould have made rattling against their saddles; but still their journeythrough the country was anything but quiet. They only rode two abreast,as the roads were too narrow to admit of more. Westerman himself and oneof the guides headed the column, and the young cornet and veteransergeant closed the rear. They went at a fast trot, and the noise oftheir horses' hoofs sounded loudly on the hard parched ground. In spiteof their precautions, their sabres rattled, and the curbs on theirbridles jingled; and the absence of all other noises made Westerman fearthat their approach must be audible, even through the soundness of apeasant's sleep.
On they rode, and as they drew near to the chateau, Westerman put spursto his horse, and changed his trot into a gallop; his troop of coursefollowed his example, and as they came to the end of their journeythey abandoned all precautions; each man dropped his scabbard to hisside, and drew the blade; each man put his hand to his holster, andtransferred his pistol to his belt, for he did not know how soon hemight have to leave his saddle; each man drew the brazen clasps of hishelmet tight beneath his chin, and prepared himself for action.
"These are the Clisson woods," said the guide, almost out of breath withthe quickness of his motion.
"How infernally dark they make it," said Westerman, speaking to himself."We had light enough till we got here."
"And there are the gates," said the guide. "That first entrance whichis open, goes to the back of the house; a little beyond, there isanother, which leads to the front; there you will find a gate, but itis merely closed with a latch."
"Craucher," said Westerman, speaking to the second sergeant, who wasriding immediately behind him, "stand at the corner, and bid the menfollow me at a quick trot--all of them, mind; tell Cornet Leroy that Ihave changed my mind," and Westerman, followed by his troop, dashed upthe narrow avenue which led through the wood to the back of the house.
The chateau of Clisson was surrounded by large woods, through whichcountless paths and little roads were made in every direction for theconvenience of the woodmen, and the small tumbrils which were used forbringing out the timber and faggots. These woods came close up to thefarm-yard of the chateau, which was again divided from the house bylarge walled gardens, into which the back windows opened. The road upwhich Westerman had ridden led under the garden-wall to the farm-yard,but another road from the front, running along the gable-end of thehouse, communicated with it. The door used by the servants was at theside of the chateau, and consequently the readiest way from the publicroad to the servants' door, was that by which Westerman had, at the lastmoment, determined to force an entrance into the chateau.
He trotted up till he faced the garden-wall, and then turned short roundto the house, and as he rode close up under the gable-end, he gaveSergeant Craucher directions to take three men and force the door; buthe and the sergeant soon saw that this trouble was spared them, for thedoor stood wide open before them.
We will now go back to the inhabitants of the chateau. De Lescure andHenri had returned thither about eleven o'clock, and although their safereturn, and account of the evening's victorious engagement for a whilequieted the anxious fears of Marie and Madame de Lescure, those ladiesby no means felt inclined to rest quietly as though all danger wereremoved from their pillows. They were in a dreadful alarm at thenearness of the republicans; they knew well that their ruthless enemiesspared none that fell into their hands. I should belie these heroinesif I said that they feared more for themselves than for those they lovedso dearly, but they were not accustomed yet to the close vicinity ofdanger; and when they learned that a battle had been lost and won thatevening, within a mile or two, in the very next parish to that in whichthey lived, th
ey looked at each other, and trembling asked what next wasto be done.
"You must not leave us, Charles, you must not leave us again," saidMadame de Lescure to her husband; "indeed you must not leave us here."She paused a moment, and then added, with an accent of horror which shecould not control, "What would become of us if these men came upon uswhen you were away?"
"Wherever you go, let us go with you," said Marie, forgetting in herexcitement her usual maidenly reserve, and laying her little hand as shespoke upon her lover's arm; then blushing, she withdrew it, and turnedto her brother.
"Do not turn from him, Marie," said her sister-in-law. "You will soonwant his strong arm, and his kind, loving heart."
"Charles will not desert me, Victorine," said Marie, blushing now morebeautifully than ever, for though she knew that Henri loved her, he hadnever absolutely told her so. "Though you are his dearest care, he willalways have a hand to stretch to his poor Marie."
Before she had finished speaking, Henri held her close in his embrace.It was perhaps hardly a fitting time for him to make an avowal of hislove; but lovers cannot always choose the most proper season for theirconfessions. He was still hot from the battle which he had fought; hishands were still black with powder; the well-known red scarf was stilltwisted round his belt, and held within its folds his armament ofpistols. His fair, long hair was uncombed, and even entangled with hisexertions. His large boots were covered with dust, and all his clotheswere stained and soiled with the grass and weeds through which he hadthat night dragged himself more than once, in order to place himselfwithin pistol-shot of his enemies; and yet, soiled and hot as he was,fatigued with one battle, and meditating preparations for another,there, in the presence of de Lescure and his wife, he clasped Marie tohis manly heart, and swore to her that his chief anxiety as long as thewar lasted, should be to screen her from all harm, and that his fondestcare through his whole life should be to protect her and make her happy.
Unusual circumstances and extraordinary excitement often cause thecustomary rules and practices of life to be abandoned; and so it wasnow. Marie received the love that was offered her, frankly,affectionately, and with her whole heart. She owned to her lover howwell and truly she had loved him, and there, before her brother and hiswife, plighted to him her troth, and promised to him then the obedienceand love, which she soon hoped to owe him as his wife. Such declarationsare usually made in private, but the friends now assembled had nosecrets from each other, and they all felt that strange times madestrange scenes necessary.
They then arranged their plans for the morrow. The day had already beenan eventful one, but they little dreamed how much more was to be donebefore the morrow's sun was in the heavens; and yet even then they didnot separate for the night: luckily for them all, they determined thattoo much was to be done to allow them yet to retire to rest.
It was resolved that on the following day they should leave Clisson forDurbelliere, and hand over the chateau and all it contained--the farmand all its well-filled granaries, the cattle and agricultural wealthof the estate, to the fire and plunder of the republicans. The plate,however, they thought they could save, as well as the ladies' jewels andclothes, and other precious things which might be quickly packed andeasily moved. They went to work at once to fill their trunks andbaskets; and as the means of conveyance were then slow, de Lescure wentout into the stables, and had the waggon prepared at once, and orderedthat the oxen which were to draw it should be ready to start at threeo'clock, in order that the load, if possible, might reach Durbellierethe same night.
Master and mistress, servants and guests, worked hard, and at about twoo'clock, the hour at which Westerman and his troop were starting fortheir quick ride, they had completed their task.
"You have killed yourself, dearest love," said Henri, pressing his armround Marie's waist.
"Oh, no!" said she, smiling, but still so weary that she could hardlyhave stood unless he had held her; "I have not fought and conquered tenthousand republicans; but I don't know how you must feel."
Henri, however, insisted that she should go to bed and she, delightedto show her first act of obedience to his will, did as he desired her.She was soon undressed; she offered her prayers to heaven for herbrother and sister-in-law, but with a stronger fervour for the dearcompanion and protector to whom she had sworn to devote her life, andthen she laid her head upon her pillow, intending to think over herhappiness; a few moments, however, were sufficient to change her halffearful thoughts of love and danger into blessed dreams of love andhappiness. Poor girl! she did not long enjoy her happy rest.
De Lescure and Henri determined to remain up till the departure of thewaggon. Madame de Lescure went up to her room, and the two gentlemenwent down towards the farmyard. The waggon stood at the kitchen-dooralready packed, and the two servants were bringing the oxen down theroad to yoke them to it.
"Go out at the front gate, Francois, and by the church at Terves; it isthe better road. You will remain a couple of hours in Bressuire. Weshall overtake you before you reach Beaulieu."
The servant acknowledged his master's commands, and fastened the lastrope which bound the oxen to their burden. He spoke to his beasts, andaccompanied his word with a goad from a pointed stick he held in hishand, when his farther progress was stopped by Henri's calling from alittle distance down the road.
"Stop, Francois, stop!" said he. "Charles, come here; some one is cominghither at the top of his speed. Don't you hear the noise of hoofs uponthe road?"
De Lescure ran to him, and kneeling down, put his ear to the ground."It's a donkey or a mule," said he; "it is not a horse's foot."
"Come down the avenue," said Henri, "and let us see who it is. Whethermule or horse, the beast is going at his full speed."
"Better stay where we are," said de Lescure. "If he be coming to us, hisnews will reach the house quicker than by our going to meet him."
The rider grew nearer and nearer, and in a few moments turned up theroad leading to the back of the house. The steps of the tired brutebecame slower as he trotted up the avenue, although the sound of acudgel on his ribs were plainly audible. Henri and de Lescure werestanding under the garden wall, and as the animal drew near them, theysaw it was a jaded donkey, ridden by a peasant girl.
"Fly, for the sake of God!" said the girl, even before she dismountedfrom the donkey; "fly for the sake of the blessed Virgin. Take theladies from the chateau, or they will be burnt--be burnt--be burnt!"
As she screamed the last words she slipped from the donkey, and almostfainted with the exertion she had undergone. She was the daughter of oneof M. de Lescure's servants, and had been sent from Clisson into serviceat the chateau, from whence Westerman started on his expedition. Whenthe republicans made their appearance there, she had fled with the otherservants, but she had hung about the house, and about an hour and a halfbefore Westerman left the place she learnt, through some of thesoldiers, his intention of attacking Clisson that night.
"Who is coming to burn us, Marian?" said de Lescure, endeavouring by hisown assumed coolness to enable her to collect her thoughts and power ofspeech.
"The blues--the blues!" screamed the girl. "They had all but overtakenme when I got to the short cut through the wood. There they are, therethey are," and the noise of the advancing troop was distinctly audiblethrough the stillness of the night.
The poor girl was quite exhausted, and fell to the ground fainting. DeLescure and Henri had both stood still for a moment, after having beenmade to comprehend that an immediate attack was about to be made on thechateau, but it was only for a moment.
"We must carry them through the wood, Charles," said Henri, whispering."It is our only chance."
"True--true," said de Lescure. "Turn the oxen, Francois, turn them backthrough the yard into the farm-road, and then keep to the left into thewood. We will meet you at the seven limes."
"Take Victorine out through the garden," said Henri to his cousin, whowas now hurrying into the house, "and through the iron gate. I saw theot
her day that the key was in it, and we can turn it. I tried it myself.I will bring Marie after you."
Henri stayed a moment to assist in turning the cumbrous waggon, and ranback to open the farm gates.
"Close the gates after you, Francois," said he, "and put the tresselsclose against them. If you lose a minute in doing it, you will gain fivein delaying these devils. If you hear them following you in thewood-road, draw the waggon across the track and leave it."
He was only delayed two minutes by going back to the yard gates, butthose two minutes were nearly fatal to him and Marie. Marian alsodelayed him again as he returned to the house.
"Where am I to go, M. Henri," said she; "what am I to do? they will besure to kill me, for they saw me at Amaillou, and will know that I gavethe warning."
"Hide yourself, my girl," said Henri: "hide yourself, but not in thehouse, for that will soon be a mass of ruins. Hide yourself in thewoods; there cannot be many of these devils here, and they will notremain long."
He hurried into the house as he ceased speaking, and at the moment hedid so Westerman and his thirty men turned the corner of the avenue. Herushed from the back door through the passages of the chateau into thehall, where he seized hold of a large cloak belonging to de Lescure,which he threw over his shoulder as he ran up stairs. On the stairs hemet his cousin, with Madame de Lescure and the nurse and child.
"Haste, Henri, for God's sake, haste," said she; "I heard the tramp oftheir horses through my open window."
De Lescure had opened the summer door leading into the garden as he cameup stairs, to have it ready for his exit, and he, and those under hiscare, escaped through it into the garden.
"Shut the garden door," roared Henri to him from the top of thestaircase. "Shut the door, whatever you do." De Lescure could notunderstand his object, but he trusted his cousin, and closed the dooras he passed through it. Henri had perceived that it would be impossiblefor him to regain the hall, and had resolved to jump from the window ofthe staircase into the garden, with his precious burden in his arms. Heforesaw that if the door were left open, pursuit through it would beboth inevitable and fatal.
Marie's room was close to the top of the stairs, and her lover did notuse much ceremony in opening the door. In going to and from his wife'schamber, de Lescure had not passed it, and therefore the innocent girlslept soundly till Henri's sudden entrance roused her from her dreams.
"Who's that--who's that," said she, raising her head upon her pillow.The window curtains of the room were hardly closed, and she recognisedimmediately Henri's tall figure, and singular costume. "Oh! Henri, whathas happened? what brings you here?"
"Rise, dearest, we must fly," said he: "we have not a moment--we fearthe blues are coming." He dreaded that she would have lost all power ofmotion, had he told her that they were already beneath the windows.
"Haven't I time to dress?" said she; "I won't be a moment--not oneminute."
"No, darling," answered he, raising her from the bed, as though she werean infant, and folding her in her brother's cloak. "We haven't oneinstant to throw away. Remember who has you in his arms: remember thatit is I, your own Henri, who am pressing you to my heart." He took herup from the bed in his left arm, and with his right hand arraigned thecloak around her person, and carrying her out into the passage, hurriedto the window which he had left open.
This window looked from the opposite end of the house to that at whichWesterman found the open door. It was on the first landing of thestaircase, and was therefore distant from the ground but little morethan half the height of the ground floor, but a hard gravel path ranimmediately under it; and though the leap was one which few young menmight much hesitate to take with empty arms, it was perilous with sucha burden as Henri had to carry. He however did not think twice about it,and would have considered himself and his charge nearly safe could hehave reached the window unmolested, but that he was not allowed to do.
As he began to descend the stairs the loud noise of the troopers' boots,and the quick voice of Westerman giving his commands in the hall, toldhim at once that the house was already occupied by the blues. Even then,at that awful moment, he rejoiced at his precaution in having desiredde Lescure to close the garden door. He took a large horse pistol fromhis belt, and holding it by the barrel, jumped down three stairs at atime, and already had his foot on the sill of the open window, whenserjeant Craucher, who had been the first of the blues to enter thehouse, rushing up the stairs, succeeded in getting hold of the cloakwhich covered Marie. He pulled it from off her neck and shoulders, andher beautiful dark clustering curls fell down over Henri's shoulder. Herpale face, and white neck and bosom were exposed: her eyes were fastclosed, as though she expected instant death, but both her arms weretightly fastened round her lover.
Craucher stumbled in his hurry in rushing up the stairs, but he stillheld fast to the collar of the cloak.
"I must stop your further journey, my pretty dear," said he: "the nightair is not good for you--by heavens it's the red--"
He never finished his speech, or attempted to make another. On enteringthe back door he had struck his brazen head-piece against the lintel;the shock had broken the clasp, and his head was consequently bare. Ashe pulled at the cloak, Henri raised his right arm powerfully, and drovethe butt-end of the pistol which he held, right through his skull, andscattered his brains upon the staircase. The grasp of the dying man wasso firm that he could not extricate the cloak from his fingers. He sawthat his only chance of escape was to relinquish it; he did so, and ashe leapt from the window to the ground, poor Marie had nothing round herbut her slight night dress.
Henri stumbled as he came to the hard gravel, but still he allowed noportion of Marie's body to touch the ground. He recovered himself in amoment, and made for the iron gate leading from the garden to the wood,through which de Lescure and his wife had escaped.
As Henri leapt from the window Westerman's eye had caught sight of thered scarf, and he knew that it was Larochejaquelin who was escaping. Herushed himself to the window, though, had he known it, he might havegone into the garden through the door, which was close at his hand. Heleapt on the path, and was immediately on Henri's track. It was aboutthree hundred yards from the house to the iron gate, and when Westermanwas again on his feet, Henri had covered two thirds of the distance.
Run now, Henri, run your best, for the load you carry is heavy, and theGerman is strong and light of foot; his pistols, too, are loaded, andhe well knows how to use them; but yours are empty, and you will notfind another bare skull opposed to your heavy right hand; run, dearfriend, and loving cousin; run faster with that precious tremblingburden of yours, or all you have yet done, will have been done in vain.
But what avails his running: he did run fast and well, laden as he was,and fatigued with no ordinary day's work: he gained the gate, while asyet his pursuer was above a hundred yards behind him; but of what availwould that be, if he were obliged to leave the passage free for hisenemy: it was impossible that he should continue to hold his ground,while he carried the fainting girl in his arms. It was then that thatwonderful presence of mind, in the midst of the most urgent danger, ofwhich Henri Larochejaquelin showed so many instances during war, stoodhim in stead, and saved two lives, when salvation seemed impossible.
In wandering about the place some days before, he had passed throughthis gate, and observing that the key stood in the lock, he had idlyturned it backwards and forwards, locking and relocking the gate withoutan object; he had then observed that though the key worked easily, therewas something wrong about the wards which prevented him from drawing itout after the lock was turned. The gate was made of iron bars, whichwere far enough asunder to allow of his hand and arm being passedthrough, so that when outside the gate he could then turn the key whichwas on the inside.
All these particulars he remembered in that moment of agony, andresolved what he would do to overcome the difficulties which they threwin his way. Having passed through the gate, he dropped his now senselesscompanion benea
th the shelter of the wall, and passing his hands throughthe bars, turned the key and locked it. He then took out a shorthunting-knife which he wore, and passing that also through the bars ofthe gate, he inserted it in the handle of the key, and then wrenchingit round with all his force, broke the key in the wards: all the smithsin Poitou could not have locked the gate closer, or made it moreimpossible to open it.
Though the feat is tedious to explain, it did not take half a minute inperformance; but still it allowed Westerman to come within pistol shotof him before he could get beneath the shelter of the wall. The German,however, in his anxiety to get through the gate, omitted to fire, thoughhe had the pistol in his hand; he seized hold of the iron bars and shookthem impotently: strong as he was, the gate was much too firm to bemoved by his strength; the wall was twelve feet high, and utterly beyondhis power to scale without a ladder.
He felt that he was foiled, and returned to the chateau to wreak hisvengeance upon the inhabitants who might be left there, and on thefurniture and walls of the house itself.
Henri pursued his way unopposed, and at the appointed spot, a littlegreensward surrounded by seven lime trees, he found his cousin and therest of the party waiting for him, as well as Francois with the waggon.
"Is she safe--is she alive?" asked Madame de Lescure, almost franticwith grief and fear.
"She is alive, and I believe unhurt," said Henri; "but I fear she issenseless. She is quite undressed, too, as I was obliged to leave thecloak in which I had covered her, in the dying grasp of a trooper whomI killed." He gently laid her down, with her head in the lap of her kindsister, and then turned his back upon the party, that he might not gazeon the fair bosom, which was all exposed, and the naked limbs, which herdishevelled night dress did not suffice to cover.
Madame de Lescure and her nurse hastened to strip themselves of aportion of their clothes; it had been lucky that neither of them wereundressed at the time of the attack, and though they were ill-preparedfor a long journey, having neither caps nor strong shoes, nor shawls ofany kind, yet they contrived between them to dress poor Marie decently.The nurse gave her shoes and stockings, declaring that going barefootwould not trouble her the least, and before many minutes had beenwasted, they were again ready to proceed.
De Lescure and Henri had not lost these precious moments: the waggon wasagain put into motion: the three men carefully armed themselves: theyloaded their pistols, for among the goods they were taking away, was thelittle remnant of gunpowder which was left among them: they decided thaton hearing the first sound of pursuit, they would leave the waggon, andbetake themselves to the thickest part of the woods; but both de Lescureand Henri were of opinion that they would not be followed.
"There cannot be many of them," said Henri, "and what there are, are allmounted. They are the German hussars; I know them by their brazenhelmets. They won't attempt to follow us through the woods."
"They would have been after us before now had they intended doing so,"said de Lescure. "The way was clear for them through the farm-yard,Francois, was it not?"
"No, Monseigneur," said Francois. "It was anything but clear. I turnedthe big bull out of his stall into the yard as I came out, and closedthe gate behind me: he would gore a dozen of them before they could maketheir way through."
Whether the pursuit was arrested by the bull, or prevented by any othercause, the fugitives were not interrupted. They walked wearily andpainfully, but yet patiently, and without a complaint above a league,before the women ventured to get upon the waggon. They then got out uponthe road to Bressuire, at no great distance from that town, and onreaching Bressuire they got refreshment and proper clothes, and hireda voiture for the remainder of their journey.
Marie had hardly spoken from the moment when Henri dragged her from herbed, to that in which he helped her in the waggon; but after she hadbeen sitting for a while, she indulged in a flood of tears, which shehad restrained as long as she felt that her life depended on herexertions, and then calling Henri to her side, she thanked him, as sheso well knew how to do, for all he had done for her.
"You have saved my life, dearest, now," said she, "and ten times morethan my life; but I will not say that I love you better than I didbefore. Had I not known that it was your arms which were around me, Imust have died when that horrid countenance glared over me on thestairs. Have I dreamt since, or was I really looking upon that face,when the agony of death came across it?" And as she asked the question,she closed her eyes, and her whole body trembled violently.
"I will tell you all that happened another time, love," said he; "wewill not talk of these things now. A day or two at Durbelliere willrestore you to your spirits, and then we will rejoice over our escape."
They got into a voiture at Bressuire, and from thence continued theirjourney in something more like comfort, while Francois with the waggonfollowed them; but the two ladies were not destined to reach Durbellierethat night. When they were about half-way between Bressuire and thechateau, they were met by a man on horseback, who was already on his wayto Clisson. It was Jean Stein, who was hurrying as fast as his beastcould carry him from Durbelliere to M. Larochejaquelin; but instead ofexplaining now what was the purport of his errand, we will return toClisson, and see how Westerman finished there the task he hadundertaken.
When he found himself foiled at the gate, he returned as quickly aspossible to the house. His men had already ransacked every room, and intheir anxiety to find the more distinguished inhabitants of the chateau,allowed the domestics to escape; but few of them had been in bed, andeven they were overlooked in the anxiety of the troopers to find M. deLescure. They did not dream that any warning could have been given tothe chateau, nor could they conceive it possible that at three o'clockin the morning the royalists should have been up, and ready for instantflight. It was not till nearly five that they satisfied themselves thatneither de Lescure nor his wife, nor any of his family were in thehouse; and then, at the command of their General, they commenced thework of destruction.
The troopers got hay and straw from the farm-yard (not without someopposition from the loose bull,) and piled them in every room in thechateau; they then took the furniture, beds, curtains, wearing apparel,and every article of value they could find, and placed them in heaps,in such a way as to render them an immediate prey to the flames. Theydid the same to the barns and granaries, in which there were largestores of corn, and also to the stables, in which stood the horses andcattle; the bull, which Francois had loosened, was the only animal aboutthe place that did not perish. Having systematically prepared thechateau and out-houses for a huge bonfire, they put a light to the strawin various places, and re-mounting their horses, stood around it tillthey saw that no efforts which the peasants might use could extinguishthe flames. Westerman then gave the word of command for their return;they started at a sharp trot, and he did not allow them to slacken theirpace till he had again passed the ruins of the little village ofAmaillou.
While the troopers were thus preparing to set the chateau in a blaze,the General himself was not idle; he seated himself in the salon, andhaving had pen, ink, and paper brought to him, he wrote the followingdespatch to the President of the Convention, in which, it will beobserved, he studiously omitted all mention of the defeat which he hadincurred between Amaillou and Clisson, and the retreat which his armyhad been forced to make. The date is given in the denomination whichwill be intelligible to the reader, as the Fructidors and the Messidors,Brumaires and Nivoses, which had then been adopted by the republicans,now convey no very defined idea to people, who have not yet scrupled tocall the months by their old aristocratic names, or to count the yearfrom their Saviour's birth.
"Chateau of Clisson,July 1798.
"Citizen President,
"I have the honour to acquaint you that I have already succeeded incarrying the arms of the Convention as far as the residence of the mostpowerful of the rebel leaders. As I am writing, my men are preparing toset fire to this den of aristocratic infamy, and within an hour thestron
ghold of the redoubted de Lescure will be level with the ground.
"This wretched country is so crowded with ravines and rocks, and theroads are so narrow, so deep, and so bad, that I have been forced tomake my way hither with a small detachment of thirty men only, but Ihave found that sufficient to drive the tiger from his lair. He, and theother rebel leader, Larochejaquelin, have fled into the woods, withouteither money, arms, or even clothing; and I doubt not soon to be ableto inform the Convention that, at any rate, they can never again putthemselves at the head of a rebellious army.
"Citizen President, deign to receive from my hands the only trophieswhich I have deemed myself justified in rescuing from the flames whichare about to consume this accursed chateau. I enclose the will and aminiature portrait of the aristocrat, de Lescure.
"I pray you to receive, and to make acceptable to the Convention, themost distinguished,
"&c. &c. &c.
"WESTERMAN."