CHAPTER X.
LAVAL.
When Henri arose from his sleep, the whole house was up and stirring,and men and women were moving about through the dark rooms with candlesin their hands. They all knew that this would be an eventful day fortheir cause; that much must depend on the success of that day's battle.If they were beaten now, their only hope would be to run farther fromtheir homes, towards the coast, from which they expected English aid;but if fortune would once more visit their arms, they might hope to holdtheir position in Laval, and in other towns in the neighbouring andfriendly province of Brittany. The gallant and cordial assistance whichthe Vendeans had received from the strangers among whom they were nowthrown, had greatly tended to give them new hopes; and the yesterday'svictory, which had been gained by the men called La Petite Vendee, overthe advanced troops of the republicans, had made the Poitevinspeculiarly anxious to exhibit their own prowess to their gallantfriends.
Henri, Arthur, and one or two other Vendean officers, sat down to ahurried breakfast, while Marie and Agatha moved about the room, behindtheir chairs, attending to their wants. Chapeau had now too many of asoldier's duties to give his time to those of a serving-man, and thesisters and wives of the Vendean officers had long since learnt to waiton the heroes whom they loved and admired. De Lescure was already seatedon his sofa, by the window, and his wife was, as usual, close to hisside. He had wonderfully improved since he reached Laval; and though itwas the firm conviction, both of himself and of his surgeon, that hiswound must ultimately prove mortal, he was again alive to all that wasdone, and heart and soul intent on the interests of the war.
"Oh! what would I give to be but one hour today on horseback!" said he."To lie pinioned here, and hear the sounds of brave men fighting! Toknow that the enemy are in the very street beneath me, and yet to beunable to strike a blow! Oh! it is fearfully tormenting."
Henri said something intended to comfort him.
"It is well for you to talk," continued de Lescure. "How would you haveborne it yourself? You would have fretted and fumed, and dashed yourselflike a bird against its cage, till either your senses or your breath hadleft you. Henri," he then added, in a calmer tone, "I feel that you willbe successful today."
"That's a most glorious omen," said Henri, jumping up; "I look onsuccess as certain when predicted by Charles, for he is the leastsanguine among us all."
"But, Henri," said he, "take my advice, and don't attack them till theyare close to the town. You may be sure they will be ready enough to giveyou an opportunity. After having driven us across the Loire like wildgeese, Lechelle will not doubt his power to drive us also from thestreets of Laval."
It was agreed among them that de Lescure's advice should be taken, andthat none of the Vendeans should advance above a league on the roadtowards Antrames. It was already known that General Lechelle, and hiswhole army, were in the neighbourhood of that town; and it was notlikely that, as he had pursued the Vendeans so far, he would remainthere long without giving them the opportunity they now desired, ofagain trying their strength with them.
As Henri prepared to leave the room, the little Chevalier rose toaccompany him: "No," said Henri, stopping him. "Do you remain withChapeau today. Wherever you are, I know you will do well, but today wemust not ride together." As the boy looked woefully disappointed, headded, "I will explain to you why, this evening, if we both live throughthe day to meet again."
He then kissed his sister, and Madame de Lescure and his cousin. Theyall of them knew that he was going into the midst of the hottest danger,where the visits of death would be thick and frequent; and they felt howprobable it was that, before many hours were over, he might be broughtback to them dead or dying. He either made some sign to her, or elsefrom a feeling that she was dearer than the others to him, Mariefollowed him from the room. He said but a few words to her, as he heldher in his close embrace, and she answered him with but one; but withthat one she promised him, that if he returned safe and victorious fromthis day's contest, she would no longer object to join her hand and fateto his.
Henri immediately went to the gate, where he had promised to meetAdolphe, and there he found him on horseback, surrounded by his Bretonfollowers, on foot. He had still the same wild, gaunt look about him,which had so startled his friend when he first saw him; but there wasmore of hope and spirit in his countenance, and he spoke, if he did notlook, like a soldier.
We will now leave the warriors of La Vendee to obtain what success theycan against the experienced troops of the republican army--the men sowell known in many a bloody battle as the soldiers of Mayence, and willreturn and stay a while with the women and wounded man, who were leftto all the horrors of a long day's suspense.
For a considerable time they said nothing to each other as to theprobable events of the day, for they knew well that they could hear nonews for some few hours to come. By degrees the cold grey dawn of anOctober morning broke into the room, and the candles were put out. Anyordinary employment at such a time was utterly out of the question, sothey clustered together at the window and waited for such news as chancemight bring them from time to time. Annot Stein, who was now living withthem in the house, came in and joined them, and after a while the oldMarquis was brought into the room, and took his station at the oppositewindow to that occupied by de Lescure.
The noises in the street were incessant. Soldiers on horseback and onfoot; cannons and waggons passed on without a moment's pause: the menshouted as they went by, eager for revenge against the enemy who haddriven them from their homes; and women mixed themselves in the crowd,shrieking and screaming as they parted from their husbands or theirlovers.
The morning air was cold and chill, but still de Lescure insisted onhaving the windows open, that he might cheer with his voice the men asthey passed below him, and that he might call to those by name whom hemight chance to know. His wife was astonished to find how many heremembered, and to perceive that every soldier, as he passed, recognizedthe wan face of his General, and expressed his sincere delight at againseeing his features.
"Well done, Forestier! well done, my gallant friend!" he exclaimed, asa tall, handsome man rode by, who, from his garb and arms, was evidentlyan officer. He had, however, like many of the officers, belonged toa lowly rank, and still looked up with reverence to those of hisfellow-soldiers, whose blood was more noble than his own. "You arenever missing when strong arms are wanted."
The man took off his cap, and bowed low to the saddle bow. Had he beenborn to the manner, he could not have done it with more grace. "Godbless you, General," he said, "God grant that we may soon see you hereamong us again;" and a thousand loud clamorous voices echoed the wish.A tear rose to de Lescure's eye, which none but his wife could mark: heknew that his friend's kind wishes were vain; that he had now,personally, no hope except in death; and he could not entirely repressa vain regret that he might live to witness the success of his party,of which, since his sojourn in Laval, he had taught himself to besanguine.
It was but a moment before the tear was gone, and his eyes were againon fire with enthusiasm. "Ah, de Bauge--good de Bauge!" he exclaimed,as a friend of his early youth passed by, using at the moment everyeffort to repress the wild clamouring hurry of his followers. "Godprosper thee, dear friend! Oh, that we now had but a score or two suchsoldiers as thou art!"
"We have many hundreds here as good," said de Bauge, pausing a momentfrom his work to salute the friends whom he recognized at the window.
"Thousands perhaps as brave, thousands as eager, if they did but knowhow to use their courage," answered de Lescure.
After this there was a lull for a few moments, and then a troop ofcuirassiers trotted down the street, jingling their bridles, swords, andspurs as they moved. This small body of cavalry had been, for some time,the pride and strongest hope of the Vendeans. They had been graduallyarmed, horsed, and trained during the war, by the greatest exertions ofthe wealthiest among their officers, and they had certainly proved tobe worth all the trouble they had cost.
They were now, alas! reduced tohalf the number, which had ridden out of Chatillon before the battle ofCholet; but the remnant were still full of spirit, and anxious to avengetheir fallen brethren. Their bright trappings and completeaccoutrements, afforded a strange contrast to the medley appearance ofthe footmen, who retreated back to the houses, to make way for thehorses; and told more plainly than any words could do, the differencebetween an army of trained soldiers, and a band of brave, but tumultuouspeasants.
It was now nine o'clock; and shortly after the horsemen had all passedthrough the street, the little Chevalier came in with the news, thatthey were immediately about to attack the blues; the republican armybeing already within a mile of the town; and that Henri was at thatmoment leaving the guard-house, and preparing to lead the attack; andwhen he had told so much aloud to them all, he stooped down to whisperto de Lescure, that Adolphe Denot was riding everywhere through the townat Henri's right hand, and that he was the redoubtable Mad Captain, theleader of La Petite Vendee.
De Lescure had not time to question the Chevalier, or to express hissurprise, before Henri was seen coming down the street on horseback,almost at full gallop, and at his right hand rode a man, whom they didnot all immediately recognize. Agatha, however, knew at the first glancewho the stranger was, and with an instinctive feeling that the sight ofher would be painful to him, she retreated behind her father's couch,so that he could not well see her from the street. When Chapeau hadfirst whispered into his master's ear the name of Adolphe Denot as theleader of the Bretons, Agatha had truly guessed the purport of hiswhisper; and it cannot, therefore, be said that she was startled to seeAdolphe once more by her brother's side; but still she could not butshudder as she remembered the circumstances under which she had lastseen him, and the inhuman crime of which he had been guilty.
Henri rode a little in advance, and as he passed, he merely turned hislaughing face towards his friends, and kissed his hand to the window.Denot, till he was nearly close to the house, had not thought of theneighbourhood he was in; nor had he the least idea that any but theusual inhabitants of the town were looking down on him, till hiswandering eyes fell full upon the faces of Marie and Madame de Lescure,who were standing close to the open window. Immediately the blood rushedto his face, and suffused it almost with a purple red: he checked hishorse suddenly, and, for a moment, looked full up at the window, wherehe met the cold gaze of de Lescure fixed full upon him. The pause wasbut for a moment; he could not bear the ordeal of that look, but fixinghis eyes to the ground, he struck his spurs into his horse, and hurriedout of the sight of those on whom he did not dare to turn his face.
"Agatha, my love, in the name of the Blessed Virgin, who was that?" saidthe Marquis, rubbing his eyes, before which an Unearthly apparitionseemed to have appeared. "Who was that that rode by with Henri? onlythat I know it is impossible, I should have said that it was AdolpheDenot."
"It is Adolphe, Sir," said Arthur Mondyon; "it is he that is the MadCaptain, who has been knocking the blues about in such a wonderfulmanner. I suppose he got tired of Santerre, or Santerre of him. Ithought they wouldn't agree long together."
"Arthur!" said Agatha, "you should speak kindly of him now; don't yousee that Henri has forgiven him; if he can forgive him, surely you oughtto do so."
"And is it really true that Henri and Adolphe Denot are again friends?"said the Marquis, speaking rather to himself than to any one else."Well, I should have thought that would have been impossible. If Henrican forgive him, we all ought to do so too; but--but--but I do not thinkthat I could feel at ease if he were in the room with me."
"I do not think he will come to us, father," said Agatha. "Did you notobserve his face as he passed? the very sight of us seemed to cut himto the heart."
Adolphe had been quite right, when he said that they were not at alllike Henri. There was not one of the whole party who did not strive,heartily and truly, to forgive the treason and iniquity of which he hadbeen guilty; but there was not one there who did not, at the same time,feel a secret wish that he or she might never again be under the sameroof with the man who had been a traitor, both to his friends and to hisKing.
Arthur Mondyon soon left them, and hurried out to bear his part in thecontest which was just commencing. He was a little jealous to think thathis accustomed place near Henri should have been taken from him by onewho had proved himself so faithless as Denot, but still he was notinclined to pass such a day as this in-doors, with sick men andtrembling women. He promised, however, to come to them himself from timeto time, or if that were impossible, to send them news of what was goingon; and as it was probable that the thickest of the fight would beeither in the town, or immediately on the skirts of it, there was noreason why he should not keep his promise.
For a couple of hours they remained in dreadful suspense, hearingnothing and fearing everything. It seemed to them as though whole daysmust have passed in those two hours. De Lescure became dreadfullyimpatient, and even irritable; declaring at one moment that he was quiteequal to mount his horse, and that he would go out and see what theywere about; and then again almost fainting, with the exhaustionoccasioned by his intense excitement. Then he would lament theinexperience of Henri, expressing his dread that his indiscretion thisday would ruin all their hopes: and, again, when he saw how painfulthese surmises were to Agatha and Marie, he would begin to praise hiscourage and indomitable good spirits, and declare that their strongestsafeguard lay in the affection to his person, which was shared by everypeasant of La Vendee.
Their suspense was at length broken; not by any visit or message fromtheir own party, but by a most unexpected and unwelcome sight. On asudden, they again heard the tumultuous noise of troops coming down thestreet; but, on this occasion, they were entering, instead of leavingthe town; and as the rushing body of men turned a corner in the street,it was seen that they all wore the well-known blue uniform of therepublican regiments. Yes, there in truth were the blues, nowimmediately under the house they were occupying: file after file ofsturdy, grizzled veteran soldiers, hurried through the streets in quick,but regular time. Men quite unlike their own dear peasant soldiers; menwith muskets in their hands, shakos on their heads, and cartouche boxesslung behind their backs. The three ladies, before whose sight thishorrid reality of a danger, so long apprehended, suddenly appeared, hadnever been so near a scene of absolute battle. Agatha, it is true, hadhad to endure through one long and dreadful night the presence ofSanterre and his men in the chateau of Durbelliere; but then she had noactive part to play; she had only to sit in quiet, and wait for herdoom: now they all felt that something should be done, some means shouldbe tried to escape from the danger which was so close to them.
The women immediately withdrew from the window, and wheeled away thecouch on which the Marquis was lying, but nothing would induce deLescure to allow himself to be stirred; in fixed silence, with his headresting low on the window sill, he gazed on the crowded soldiers, asthey poured thick and numerous into the town.
"Oh, where is Henri now?" said Madame de Lescure. "What shall wedo--where are we to go? Speak, Charles, for heaven's sake, speak!"
Marie had opened the door, and now stood with it in her hands, wishingto run, and yet not choosing to leave her companions in misfortune;while Agatha vainly endeavoured with her unassisted strength to removeher father from the room.
"Henri is just where he ought to be," said de Lescure."There--there--now they come--now they come. By heavens, there's Denotleading--and see, there's de Bauge and Arthur--dear boy, gallant boy.Well done, Henri Larochejaquelin: had you been grey it could not havebeen better done; he has got the blues as it were into a wine-press;poor devils, not one can escape alive."
De Lescure, when he first saw the republicans coming down the street,had for a moment thought that the town was in their hands; but aminute's reflection served to show him, that were such really the case,they would have driven before them hundreds of the retreating Vendeans.The peasants had never yet so utterly forgotten their courage, as to
throw down their weapons at the first sight of their enemy, and flywithout making an effort for victory, and de Lescure was sure that suchcould not now have been the case. It immediately occurred to him, thatthe passage of the gate must have been purposely left free to thedevoted blues, and that Henri and his men would fail upon them in thetown, where their discipline and superior arms, would be but ofcomparatively little use to them.
He was right; for while the women were yet trembling, panic-struck atthe first sight of their enemies, Henri and his party had entered thelong street from the market-place, and with a fierce yell of defiance,the Vendean cavalry rushed upon the astonished blues, meeting themalmost beneath the very window from which de Lescure was looking.
The three women crouched round the aged Marquis in the farthest cornerof the room, comforted to find that he whom they so trusted stillexpected victory; but nearly fainting with fear, and deafened with thesounds of the conflict. To de Lescure the sight was pleasure itself; ashe could not be in the fight, the next thing was to see the combatantsand cheer his friends. The foremost of the republican soldiers soon gaveway beneath the weight of the attack; though they fought sturdily, anddid their best to keep their ground. They could not, however, retreatfar; their own men still advancing behind blocked up the way; and aftera while, that which De Lescure had predicted took place: another partyof Vendeans had attacked them in the rear, and occupied the only gatethrough which they could leave the city.
And now the slaughter in the street was dreadful, and the blues hemmedin on every side fought desperately for their lives, like beasts at bay.Every now and again the Vendeans retreated a step or two, driven backby the fury of their foes, and then again regained their ground,advancing over the bodies of the slain. No one in the strange medley onwhich he was looking, was more conspicuous to de Lescure's eyes thanAdolphe Denot; he had lost his cap in the confusion of the fight, andhis thin, wan face, disfigured by the wound which the Chevalier hadgiven him, was plainly to be seen; and de Lescure was shocked by thechange which he saw there: the only weapon he bore was a huge sabre,which he swung round his head with a strength which could not have beenexpected from his attenuated frame; he was often the most forward,always among the first of the assailants; and frequently becamesurrounded by the blues, who were prevented by the closeness of thecrowd from using their arms. He had caught de Lescure's eye, and fromtime to time turned his face up toward the window, as though anxious todiscover whether he who had before witnessed his cowardice was nowlooking upon his prowess.
"By heavens! he fights well," said de Lescure to his wife, who wasgradually creeping somewhat nearer to her husband, but still unable toface the horrors of that open window. "He is greatly changed--look--lookat him now; well done, Adolphe--well done: there, there; he's down! Poorfellow, I fear he has struck his last blow: gallant Henri, braveHenri--there, they are up again together; but Denot's face is coveredwith blood. He still has his sword, however--well done, Denot: bravelydone Denot: no man of those living or dead, ever struck a better blowthan that."
These last words were distinctly heard by him to whom they wereaddressed, and as he again turned up his face, a ray of triumphillumined his sunken eyes; he did not, however, or he could not speak,for the heat of the battle was carried back again towards the gate, andthe tumultuous sea of fighting men was hurried away from the spot wherethey had been contending.
While this scene was going on in the street, another set of combatantswere engaged near the gate; and here two men of very different natures,but of similar station in life, found themselves together during atemporary pause, after a protracted struggle. These were Michael Stein,and Auguste Emile Septimus Plume. In spite of all that he had himselfsaid against the trade, Michael had, in his old age, turned soldier, andhad been fighting sturdily with a huge woodman's axe, a weapon which hehad chanced to meet with, and the use of which came readily to his hand:he was now sitting on the step of the gate-house, wiping with the sleeveof his coat the perspiration which the unaccustomed work had brought tohis forehead, and listening to the praises of M. Plume, who was standingover him, leaning on his sword.
"That axe of yours," said Auguste, "is a singular weapon, and perhapsnot entirely fitted for military purposes; but I must own you have usedit well--it fell with decided effect this morning on many a poorfellow's head and shoulders. You have probably, my friend, fought manya battle with these fellows of Mayence?"
"Not a battle I ever fought before, Monsieur," said Michael; "nor doI ever wish to fight another; it's horrid weary work, this of knockingmen's brains out, not to talk of the chance a man runs of losing hisown."
"But ain't you one of the Vendeans, my gallant comrade?" asked Auguste.
"If you mean, did I come over from Poitou with them, I certainly did;but I only came because I could not help it, and because I could notlive to see a little girl I have fall into the hands of the butchers;it was not for any love of fighting that I came."
"But yet you take to it kindly, my friend. I am considered to knowsomething of the sword exercise, and I thought you wielded that axe, asthough your arm had been used to a sabre this many a year."
"I am a blacksmith," said Michael, shortly; "and I have been fifty yearsringing hammers on an anvil: that makes a man's arm lusty."
"Indeed," said the other, "a blacksmith--well, you may be a blacksmith,and yet a good soldier. Now you wouldn't believe it, but I'm abaker--you wouldn't take me to be a baker by my trade, would you now?"
Michael Stein looked at him, and told him he couldn't well give anopinion, as he knew nothing about bakers.
"I knew you wouldn't," said the other; "no one on earth would take meto be a tradesman--that's what they all say; I have that kind of mannerabout me, that I look like a soldier--I did when I hadn't been at itabove a week. Every one used to say, Plume, you were born to be anofficer; Plume, you will live to be a General: and if I don't get killedin the wars, I think I shall. Now it's only three months since I joined,and I am already second in command in the whole army."
Michael Stein stared at him, as he repeated his words, "Second incommand in the whole army!"
"Indeed I am, my friend, the second in command. You wouldn't believe it,now, but I was sticking loaves of bread into an oven three or fourmonths ago."
"The second in command!" said Michael, still regarding his companionwith a look in which incredulous surprise and involuntary reverence wereblended. "I suppose you're a great way above Jacques Chapeau, then?"
"Oh, my friend Chapeau--and do you know my friend Chapeau? No, I'm notabove him; he's not in our army; he's second in command himself in theVendean army. You know I belong to La Petite Vendee."
At this moment, the very man of whom they were speaking, the redoubtableChapeau, came up with a large party of straggling Vendeans, out ofbreath with running; they were in full pursuit of the blues, who werenow said to be flying towards Antrames and Chateau-Gonthier.
"Come, my friends," said Chapeau, "no idling now; come to Antrames, andwe'll get plenty of arms, if we get nothing else. What, is it you,Captain Plume. I'm told you did as well as the best today; and what--mydear old friend Michael: a soldier at last, eh, Michael Stein! Come,man, don't be ashamed to give us your hand; you've joined us in verygood time, for the Vendeans never gained such a victory as they havetoday. Come on, old friend, we'll get another sight of these runningdevils at Antrarnes."
"They may run for me, M. Chapeau, and run far enough, before I try tostop them; do you know I'm nearly ashamed of what I've been doing as itis."
"Ashamed!--ashamed of what?" said Chapeau.
"Why look there," said Michael; and as he spoke, he pointed with hisfoot to the body of a republican soldier, who lay calmly at his ease,in the sleep of death, not three yards from the spot where the old manwas now standing.
"Not an hour since, that poor fellow ran this way, and as he passed, hehad no thought of hurting me; he was thinking too much of himself, forhalf-a-dozen hungry devils were after him. Well, I don't know whatpossessed
me, but the smell of blood had made me wild, and I lifted upmy axe and struck him to the ground. I wish, with all my heart, the poorman were safe at Antrames."
It was in vain that Chapeau tried to persuade the smith that he had onlydone his duty in killing a republican, who would certainly have livedto have done an injury to the cause, had he been suffered to escape.Michael Stein would not, or could not, understand the arguments he used;and decidedly declared that if he found it possible to avoid fightingfor the future he would do so.
"Do you know, M. Chapeau," he said at last, "when I first took this axein my hand, this morning, I had hardly made up my mind on which side Ishould use it. It was only when I thought of the boys and of Annot, thatI determined to go with the Vendeans. It wasn't possible for a man notto fight on one side or the other--that's the only reason I had forfighting at all."
Chapeau became rather ashamed of his friend's irregular doctrines, andhurried on; explaining to Plume, who accompanied him, that Michael Steinwas a queer eccentric old man, but a thorough good royalist at heart."Why he has two sons among the red scarfs," he added, to settle thepoint.
"Has he, indeed?" said Plume, who had never heard who the red scarfswere.