CHAPTER V.
THE VENDEANS AT ST. FLORENT.
The reader, it is hoped, will remember St. Florent; it was here that thefirst scene of this tale opened; it was here that Cathelineau firstopposed the exactions of the democratic government and that theVendeans, not then rejoicing in that now illustrious name, felt thefirst flush of victory. It was here that 'Marie Jeanne' was taken fromthe troops of the Republic by the valour of the townsmen, and, adornedwith garlands by their sisters and daughters, was dragged in triumphthrough the streets, with such bright presentiments of future successand glory.
The men of St. Florent had ever since that day borne a prominent partin the contest; they felt that the people of Poitou had risen in a massto promote the cause, which they had been the first to take up; and theyhad considered themselves bound in honour to support the character forloyalty which they had assumed: the consequence was that many of thebravest of its sons had fallen, and that very few of its daughters hadnot to lament a lover, a husband, or a father.
St. Florent was now a melancholy careworn place. The people no longermet together in enthusiastic groups to animate each other's courage, andto anticipate the glorious day when their sovereign should come amongthem in person, to thank them for having been the first in Poitou tounfurl the white flag. It is true that they did not go back from theirhigh resolves, or shrink from the bloody effects of their braveenterprise, but their talk now was of suffering and death; theywhispered together in twos and threes, at their own door-sills, insteadof shouting in the market-place. Cathelineau was dead, and Foret wasdead, and they were the gallantest of their townsmen. They had now alsoheard that everything had been staked on a great battle, and that thatbattle had been lost at Cholet--that Bonchamps and d'Elbee had fallen,and that de Lescure had been wounded and was like to die. They knew thatthe whole army was retreating to St. Florent, and that the Republicantroops would soon follow them, headed by Lechelle, whose name alreadydrove the colour from the cheeks of every woman in La Vendee. They knewthat a crowd of starving wretches would fall, like a swarm of locusts,on their already nearly empty granaries; and that all the horrorsattendant on a civil war were crowding round their hearths.
It was late in the evening that the news of the battle reached the town,and early on the next morning the landlord of the auberge was standingat his door waiting the arrival of Henri Larochejaquelin and de Lescure.The town was all up and in a tumult; from time to time small parties ofmen flocked in from Cholet, some armed, and some of whom had lost theirarms; some slightly wounded, and some fainting with fatigue, as theybegged admission into the houses of the town's-people. The aubergistewas resolute in refusing admittance to all; for tidings had reached himof guests who would more than fill his house, on whom he looked asentitled to more than all he could give them. It was at his hall doorthat the first blow had been struck, it was in rescuing his servant thatthe first blood had been shed; and though the war had utterly ruinedhim, he still felt that it would ill become him to begrudge anythingthat remained to him to those who had suffered so much in the cause.
Peter Berrier, his ostler, stood behind him, teterrima belli causa! Thisman had at different times been with the army, but had managed to bringhimself safe out of the dangers of the wars back to the little inn, andnow considered himself an hero. He looked on himself in the light inwhich classic readers look on Helen, and felt sure that the wholestruggle had been commenced, and was continued on his account. He wasamazed to find how little deference was paid to him, not only by theVendeans in general, but even by his own town's-people.
"I shall never be made to understand this business of Cholet," said heto his master, "never. There must have been sad want there of a goodhead; aye, and of a good heart too, I fear. Well, well, to turn and run!Vendean soldiers to turn and run before those beggarly blues!"
"You'd have been the first, Peter, to show a clean pair of heelsyourself, if you'd been there," said the landlord.
"Me show a clean pair of heels! I didn't run away at Saumur, nor yet atFontenay, nor yet at many another pitched battle I saw. I didn't runaway here at St. Florent, I believe, when a few of us took the barracksagainst a full regiment of soldiers."
"You couldn't well run then, for you were tied by the leg in the stablethere."
"No, I was not; it was only for a minute or two I was in the stable.Would Cathelineau or Foret have turned their backs, think ye? When I wasalongside of those two men, I used to feel that the three of us were amatch for the world in arms; and they had the same feeling too exactly.Well, two of the three are gone, but I would sooner have followed themthan have turned my back upon a blue."
"You're a great warrior, Peter, and it's a pity you didn't stay with thearmy."
"Perhaps it is, perhaps it is. Perhaps I shouldn't have left it; but Iwas driven away by little jealousies. Even great men have theirfailings. But they certainly made some queer selections when they chosethe twelve captains at Saumur. There's not one of them left with thearmy now but M. Henri, and what's he but a boy?"
"He has done a man's work at any rate!"
"He's brave, there's no denying that. He's very brave, but what then;there's that impudent puppy of a valet of his, Chapeau; he's brave too:at least they say so. But what's bravery? Can they lead an army? isthere anything of the General about them? Can they beat the blues?
"Didn't he manage to beat the blues at Amaillou and at Coron, and atDurbelliere? Faith, I think he has done nothing but beat them thesethree months."
"There's nothing of the General in him, I tell you. Haven't I seen himin battle now; he's quite at home at a charge, I grant you; and he's notbad in a breach; but Lord bless you, he can't command troops."
The landlord and his servant were still standing at the door of the inn,when the party for whom they were waiting made its appearance in thesquare of the town. It consisted of a waggon, in which the wounded manwas lying, of three or four men on horseback, among whom were HenriLarochejaquelin and the little Chevalier, and a crowd of men on foot,soldiers of the Vendean army, who had not left the side of their Generalsince he had fallen at Cholet.
During the latter part of his journey, de Lescure had been sensible, andhad suffered dreadfully both in mind and body. He had never felt soconfident of success as Henri and others had done, and had carried onthe war more from a sense of duty than from a hope of restoring thepower of the crown. He now gave way to that despondency which so oftenaccompanies bodily suffering. He felt certain that his own dissolutionwas near, and on that subject his only anxiety was that he might see hiswife before he died. He had, since the power of speech had been restoredto him, more than once asserted that the cause of the royalists wasdesperate, and had, by doing so, greatly added to the difficulties bywhich Henri was now surrounded. He did not, however, despair; nothingcould make him despondent, or rob him of that elastic courage which, inspite of all the sufferings he had endured, gave him a strange feelingof delight in the war which he was waging.
An immense concourse of people gathered round the waggon, as de Lescurewas lifted from it and carried up to the bedroom, which had beenprepared for him; and they showed their grief at his sufferings, andtheir admiration of his character as a soldier, by tears and prayers forhis recovery. The extreme popularity of M. de Lescure through the wholewar, and the love which was felt for him by all the peasants concernedin it, proved their just appreciation of real merit; for he had notthose qualities which most tend to ingratiate an officer with his men.He could not unbend among them, and talk to them familiarly of theirprowess, and of the good cause, as Henri did. He had the manners of anaustere, sombre man; and though always most anxious for the security andgood treatment of the prisoners, had more than once severely punishedmen among his own followers for some breach of discipline. He had, onone occasion, threatened to leave the army entirely if he was not obeyedwith the same exactness, as though he actually bore the King'scommission; and the general feeling that he would most certainly keephis word, and that the army could not succeed
without him, had greatlytended to repress any inclination towards mutiny.
"God bless him, and preserve him, and restore him to us all!" said awoman who had pushed her way through the crowd, so as to catch a glanceat his pale wasted face, one side of which was swathed in bandages,which greatly added to the ghastliness of his appearance. "We have lostour husbands, and our sons, and our sweethearts; but what matters, wedo not begrudge them to our King. The life of Monseigneur is moreprecious than them all. La Vendee cannot afford to lose her greatGeneral."
De Lescure heard and understood, but could not acknowledge, the sympathyof the people; but Henri, as he tenderly raised his cousin's head, andbore him in his arms from the waggon, spoke a word or two to the crowdwhich satisfied them; and Arthur Mondyon remained among them a while totell them how bravely their countrymen had fought at Cholet, againstnumbers more than double their own, before they would consent to ownthemselves beaten.
There was an immense deal for Henri Larochejaquelin to do. In the firstplace he had to collect together the fragments of the disbanded army;to separate the men who were armed from those who had lost their arms,and to divide the comparatively speaking small number of the former,into such bands or regiments as would make them serviceable in case ofneed.
De Lescure was unable to give him any actual assistance in his work; buthis thoughtful brain, reflecting on all the difficulties of Henri'ssituation, conceived how much they would be increased by the want of anyabsolute title to authority; he therefore determined, ill as he was, toinvest him with the command-in-chief of the shattered army.
Early on the morning after their arrival he begged that all such men ashad acted as chief officers among the Vendeans, and who were now in St.Florent, would form themselves into a council in his room, and that itmight be proclaimed to the army that they were about to nominate aGeneral-in-Chief. The council was not so numerously attended as thatwhich on a former occasion was held at Saumur. As Peter Berrier hadsaid, most of those who then sat around that council table were nowdead, or were, at any rate, hors-de-combat. Only four of the number werenow present. De Lescure was lying on his bed, and was a spectacledreadful to look upon. The hair had been all cut from his head. His facewas not only pale, but livid. The greater portion of it had beenenveloped in bandages, which he had partly removed with his own hand,that his mouth might be free, so that he could use his weak voice toaddress his comrades, perhaps for the last time. He uttered neithercomplaint or groan, but the compressed lips, careworn cheeks, and sunkeneyes, gave too certain signs of the agony which he suffered. Henri wasthere, but he knew the proposal which his cousin was about to make, andhe felt, not only that he was unequal to the heavy task which was aboutto be put on his shoulders, but also that there were still some amongtheir number who were superior to him in skill, rank, and age, and whowere to be excluded from the dangerous dignity by the partial admirationwhich was felt for himself He sat apart in a corner of the room, withhis face buried in his handkerchief; his manly heart was overcome; andwhile de Lescure named him as the only person possessed of sufficientnerve and authority to give the Vendeans a chance of an escape fromutter ruin, he was shedding tears like a child.
D'Autachamps and the Prince de Talmont were there also; men, whothroughout the war had lent every energy to its furtherance. At anothertime, and under other circumstances, they might have expressedindignation at being called on to serve under a man so much theirjunior; but de Lescure's position checked, not only the expression ofany such feeling, but the feeling itself. They could not differ from aman who had lost so much in the cause, and was now sealing his devotionwith his life. There were five or six others in the room; officers whowere now well known in the army, whose courage history has not forgottento record, but whose names are unnecessary to our tale.
"Gentlemen," said de Lescure to them, as soon as he saw them seatedround his bed, and had contrived to get himself so propped up withpillows as to be able to address them, "you all know why I have wishedto see you here; you all know the paramount importance of that dutywhich requires us to provide, as far as may be possible, for thesecurity of the unfortunate peasants who have followed us with suchcourage, who have shown so much generous loyalty, so much truepatriotism. Our first step must be to name some one whom we can allobey. We all know that the army cannot act in unison without oneabsolute Commander. He who was lately our Commander has fallen in theperformance of his duty. Our dear friend Bonchamps is no more. Had Iescaped from that awful battle unwounded, it is not improbable that youmight have chosen me to undertake the now unenviable duty of guiding abroken army. You will not accuse a dying man of vanity in saying so;but, gentlemen, you all see that such a chance is now impossible. Mywound is mortal. A few days, perhaps a few hours, and I shall be removedfrom this anxious, painful, all but hopeless conflict, in which you, myfriends, must still engage; in which some of you will probably fall. Icannot suffer with you future reverses, or lead you to future triumphs;but, if you will allow me, I will use my last breath in naming to youone, whom, I believe, every peasant in La Vendee, and every gentlemanengaged in the cause, will follow, if it be necessary, to death. HenriLarochejaquelin is the only man whom all the peasants, all the soldiers,all the officers, know intimately; and the last duty I can perform inthe service of my King is to implore you to put him at the head of yourtroops. He is young, and you will assist his youth with your counsel.He is diffident of himself, and you will encourage him with yourassurance and obedience; but he is brave, he is beloved, he is trusted;and above all, he possesses that innate aptitude for war, that power ofinfusing courage into the timid and lending strength to the weak, whichis the gift of God alone, and without which no General can command anarmy."
Henri had promised his cousin that he would neither interrupt him, orraise any objection to the proposition about to be made. He kept hisword as long as de Lescure was speaking, but when he had finished hecould not restrain himself from expressing his own sense of hisunfitness for the duties they were calling on him to perform. He cameforward, and leaning against the head of the wounded man's bed, put hishand upon his shoulder, and speaking almost in a whisper, like a younggirl pleading for delay before her lover, he said, "Charles, youforget, I am but one-and-twenty."
No one, however, seconded his objection. No other voice was raised tocounteract the wishes of the man who had suffered so much in the cause,and who, had he been spared, would have been at once chosen to guidetheir future movements.
"With this exception," said the Prince de Talmont; "your case we knowis doubtful, but should you recover, should you again be able to comeamong us before the war be over, Larochejaquelin shall then give placeto you."
"There is little chance of that, Prince," said de Lescure, smilingsadly; "but should it occur, there will be no quarrel between me andHenri. I will serve with him as his aide-de-camp."
Henri Larochejaquelin now found himself General-in-Chief of the Vendeanarmy. As he himself had said, he was but one-and-twenty, and yet neverwas greater energy, firmness, and moral courage required from a General,than was required from him at this moment. Eighty thousand people wereon that day told to look to him as the man who was to save them fromfamine and from the enemy's sword, to protect their lives and the livesof all whom they loved, and eventually to turn their present uttermisery and despair into victory and triumph.
Eighty thousand people were there collected in and around St. Florent,men, women, and children; the old and infirm, the maimed and sick, themutilated and the dying. Poor wretches who had gotten themselves draggedthither from the hospitals, in which they feared to remain, were lyingin every ditch, and under every wall, filling the air with their groans.Everything was in confusion; no staff existed competent to arrange theiraffairs, and to husband the poor means at their disposal. Food waswasted by some, while hundreds were starving. Some houses in the townwere nearly empty, while others were crowded almost to suffocation.There was very much to be done, yet every one was idle.
The great work to be accomplished
was to transport the Vendean multitudeover to the other side of the Loire. It had been at first feared by somethat the men of Brittany would be unwilling to receive the beatenroyalist army, flying from the bloody vengeance of the republicans, buttheir neighbours did not prove so unhospitable. A thousand welcomes weresent over to them, and many a happy messenger of good tidings came,assuring Henri that the people of Poitou should find arms, food,clothing, and shelter on the other side of the water.
Henri sat himself to work in earnest. His first difficulty was to getvessels or rafts sufficient to carry the people over. All he couldobtain was seven or eight little boats, each capable of holding aboutsix persons, besides the two men who rowed. Timber there was none ofsize sufficient to make a raft; and though he sent messengers forleagues, both up and down the river, he could not get a barge. He putthe small boats to work, but the passage of the river was so tediousthat it seemed to him that it would be impossible for him to take overall those who crowded on the banks. The river is broad at St. Florent,and between the marshes which lie on the southern side and the northernbank there is a long island. Between St. Florent and the island thewater is broad and the stream slow, but between the island and the othershore the narrow river runs rapidly. Henri at first contented himselfwith sending the women and children, together with the sick and aged,into the island, thinking that there they would be at any rate for atime safe from the blues, and that some effort might probably be madefrom the other shore to convey them across the narrow passage.Gradually, however, the island became full, and he was obliged to sendhis boats round to take the people from thence to the main land.
All day the work continued, and when the dark night came on, the boatsdid not for a moment cease to ply. Immediately after sunset, the rainbegan to fall in torrents, and as the anxious wretches did not like toleave the close vicinity of the river, which they had spent the wholeday in struggling to attain, thousands of them remained there wet andshivering until the morning. Mothers during the darkness were partedfrom their children, and wives from their husbands. Those who, worn outwith fatigue and weakness, were forced to lie down upon the ground, weretrodden upon by others, who pressed on, to reach the river. Some werepushed into the water and screamed aloud that they were about to drown,and when the dawn of the morning came, misery, wretchedness, and fearwere to be seen on every face.
During the whole day and night, Henri was either on the bank, or passingbetween it and the town. He had, early in the day, stripped himself ofhis coat, and when the evening came, he could not find it. Wet through,in his shirt sleeves, this young generalissimo passed the first nightof his command, guarding the entrance into his little vessels;prohibiting more than eight from embarking at a time; striving to hisuttermost that none but the weak and aged should be taken over; solacingthe sufferings of those near him; bidding the wretched not to despair,and pointing to the opposite shore as the land of hope, where they wouldsoon again find plenty, comfort, and triumph.
He was still at the same duty on the following morning, reckoning up,with something like despair, the small number of those who had as yetpassed over, and the multitude who were yet to pass, when the youngChevalier came down to him with the news that Madame de Lescure, and hersister-in-law were in St. Florent. Even the work, on which he was sointent, could not keep him from those respecting whom he was so anxious,and he hurried into town for an hour or two, leaving the Chevalier inhis place.