CHAPTER IV.
MOROK and DAGOBERT
Goliath had not been mistaken, for Dagobert was washing with thatimperturbable gravity with which he did everything else.
When we remember the habits of a soldier a-field, we need not beastonished at this apparent eccentricity. Dagobert only thought ofsparing the scanty purse of the orphans, and of saving them all care andtrouble; so every evening when they came to a halt he devoted himself toall sorts of feminine occupations. But he was not now serving hisapprenticeship in these matters; many times, during his campaigns, he hadindustriously repaired the damage and disorder which a day of battlealways brings to the garments of the soldier; for it is not enough toreceive a sabre-cut--the soldier has also to mend his uniform; for thestroke which grazes the skin makes likewise a corresponding fissure inthe cloth.
Therefore, in the evening or on the morrow of a hard-fought engagement,you will see the best soldiers (always distinguished by their finemilitary appearance) take from their cartridge-box or knapsack ahousewife, furnished with needles, thread, scissors, buttons, and othersuch gear, and apply themselves to all kinds of mending and darning, witha zeal that the most industrious workwoman might envy.
We could not find a better opportunity to explain the name of Dagobert,given to Francis Baudoin (the guide of the orphans) at a time when he wasconsidered one of the handsomest and bravest horse-grenadiers of theImperial Guard.
They had been fighting hard all day, without any decisive advantage. Inthe evening, the company to which our hero belonged was sent as outliersto occupy the ruins of a deserted village. Videttes being posted, halfthe troopers remained in saddle, whilst the others, having picketed theirhorses, were able to take a little rest. Our hero had charged valiantlythat day without receiving any wound--for he counted as a mere mementothe deep scratch on his thigh, which a kaiserlitz had inflicted inawkwardly attempting an upward thrust with the bayonet.
"You donkey! my new breeches!" the grenadier had exclaimed, when he sawthe wide yawning rent, which he instantly avenged by running the Austrianthrough, with a thrust scientifically administered. For, if he showed astoical indifference on the subject of injury to his skin, it was not sowith regard to the ripping up of his best parade uniform.
He undertook, therefore, the same evening, at the bivouac, to repair thisaccident. Selecting his best needle and thread from the stores of hishousewife, and arming his finger with a thimble, he began to play thetailor by the light of the watch-fire, having first drawn off hiscavalry-boots, and also (if it must be confessed) the injured garmentitself, which he turned the wrong side out the better to conceal thestitches.
This partial undress was certainly a breach of discipline: but thecaptain, as he went his round, could not forbear laughing at the sight ofthe veteran soldier, who, gravely seated, in a squatting position, withhis grenadier cap on, his regimental coat on his back, his boots by hisside, and his galligaskins in his lap, was sewing with all the coolnessof a tailor upon his own shop-board.
Suddenly, a musket-shot is heard, and the videttes fall back upon thedetachment, calling to arms. "To horse!" cries the captain, in a voice ofthunder.
In a moment, the troopers are in their saddles, the unfortunate clothesmender having to lead the first rank; there is no time to turn theunlucky garment, so he slips it on, as well as he can, wrong side out,and leaps upon his horse, without even stopping to put on his boots.
A party of Cossacks, profiting by the cover of a neighboring wood, hadattempted to surprise the detachment: the fight was bloody, and our herofoamed with rage, for he set much value on his equipments, and the dayhad been fatal to him. Thinking of his torn clothes and lost boots, hehacked away with more fury than ever; a bright moon illumined the sceneof action, and his comrades were able to appreciate the brilliant valorof our grenadier, who killed two Cossacks, and took an officer prisoner,with his own hand.
After this skirmish, in which the detachment had maintained its position,the captain drew up his men to compliment them on their success, andordered the clothes-mender to advance from the ranks, that he might thankhim publicly for his gallant behavior. Our hero could have dispensed withthis ovation, but he was not the less obliged to obey.
Judge of the surprise of both captain and troopers, when they saw thistall and stern-looking figure ride forward at a slow pace, with his nakedfeet in the stirrups, and naked legs pressing the sides of his charger.
The captain drew near in astonishment; but recalling the occupation ofthe soldier at the moment when the alarm was given, he understood thewhole mystery. "Ha, my old comrade!" he exclaimed, "thou art like KingDagobert--wearing thy breeches inside out."
In spite of discipline, this joke of the captain's was received withpeals of ill-repressed laughter. But our friend, sitting upright in hissaddle, with his left thumb pressing the well adjusted reins, and hissword-hilt carried close to his right thigh, made a half-wheel, andreturned to his place in the ranks without changing countenance, after hehad duly received the congratulations of his captain. From that day,Francis Baudoin received and kept the nickname of Dagobert.
Now Dagobert was under the porch of the inn, occupied in washing, to thegreat amazement of sundry beer-drinkers, who observed him with curiouseyes from the large common room in which they were assembled.
In truth, it was a curious spectacle. Dagobert had laid aside his graytop-coat, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt; with a vigorous hand,and good supply of soap, he was rubbing away at a wet handkerchief,spread out on the board, the end of which rested in a tub full of water.Upon his right arm, tattooed with warlike emblems in red and blue colors,two scars, deep enough to admit the finger, were distinctly visible. Nowonder then, that, while smoking their pipes, and emptying their pots ofbeer, the Germans should display some surprise at the singular occupationof this tall, moustached, bald-headed old man, with the forbiddingcountenance--for the features of Dagobert assumed a harsh and grimexpression, when he was no longer in presence of the two girls.
The sustained attention, of which he saw himself the object, began to puthim out of patience, for his employment appeared to him quite natural. Atthis moment, the Prophet entered the porch, and, perceiving the soldier,eyed him attentively for several seconds; then approaching, he said tohim in French, in a rather sly tone: "It would seem, comrade, that youhave not much confidence in the washerwomen of Mockern?"
Dagobert, without discontinuing his work, half turned his head with afrown, looked askant at the Prophet, and made him no answer.
Astonished at this silence, Morok resumed: "If I do not deceive myself,you are French, my fine fellow. The words on your arm prove it, and yourmilitary air stamps you as an old soldier of the Empire. Therefore Ifind, that, for a hero, you have taken rather late to wear petticoats."
Dagobert remained mute, but he gnawed his moustache, and plied the soap,with which he was rubbing the linen, in a most hurried, not to say angrystyle; for the face and words of the beast-tamer displeased him more thanhe cared to show. Far from being discouraged, the Prophet continued: "Iam sure, my fine fellow, that you are neither deaf nor dumb; why, then,will you not answer me?"
Losing all patience, Dagobert turned abruptly round, looked Morok full inthe face, and said to him in a rough voice: "I don't know you: I don'twish to know you! Chain up your curb!" And he betook himself again to hiswashing.
"But we may make acquaintance. We can drink a glass of Rhine-winetogether, and talk of our campaigns. I also have seen some service, Iassure you; and that, perhaps, will induce you to be more civil."
The veins on the bald forehead of Dagobert swelled perceptibly; he saw inthe look and accent of the man, who thus obstinately addressed him,something designedly provoking; still he contained himself.
"I ask you, why should you not drink a glass of wine with me--we couldtalk about France. I lived there a long time; it is a fine country; andwhen I meet Frenchmen abroad, I feel sociable--particularly when theyknow how to use the soap as well as you do. If I had a
housewife I'd sendher to your school."
The sarcastic meaning was no longer disguised; impudence and bravado werelegible in the Prophet's looks. Thinking that, with such an adversary,the dispute might become serious, Dagobert, who wished to avoid a quarrelat any price, carried off his tub to the other end of the porch, hopingthus to put an end to the scene which was a sore trial of his temper. Aflash of joy lighted up the tawny eyes of the brute-tamer. The whitecircle, which surrounded the pupil seemed to dilate. He ran his crookedfingers two or three times through his yellow beard, in token ofsatisfaction; then he advanced slowly towards the soldier, accompanied byseveral idlers from the common-room.
Notwithstanding his coolness, Dagobert, amazed and incensed at theimpudent pertinacity of the Prophet, was at first disposed to break thewashing-board on his head; but, remembering the orphans, he thoughtbetter of it.
Folding his arms upon his breast, Morok said to him, in a dry andinsolent tone: "It is very certain you are not civil, my man of suds!"Then, turning to the spectators, he continued in German: "I tell thisFrenchman, with his long moustache, that he is not civil. We shall seewhat answer he'll make. Perhaps it will be necessary to give him alesson. Heaven preserve me from quarrels!" he added, with mockcompunction; "but the Lord has enlightened me--I am his creature, and Iought to make his work respected."
The mystical effrontery of this peroration was quite to the taste of theidlers; the fame of the Prophet had reached Mockern, and, as aperformance was expected on the morrow, this prelude much amused thecompany. On hearing the insults of his adversary, Dagobert could not helpsaying in the German language: "I know German. Speak in German--the restwill understand you."
New spectators now arrived, and joined the first comers; the adventurehad become exciting, and a ring was formed around the two persons mostconcerned.
The Prophet resumed in German: "I said that you were not civil, and I nowsay you are grossly rude. What do you answer to that?"
"Nothing!" said Dagobert, coldly, as he proceeded to rinse out anotherpiece of linen.
"Nothing!" returned Morok; "that is very little. I will be less brief,and tell you, that, when an honest man offers a glass of wine civilly toa stranger, that stranger has no right to answer with insolence, anddeserves to be taught manners if he does so."
Great drops of sweat ran down Dagobert's forehead and cheeks; his largeimperial was incessantly agitated by nervous trembling--but he restrainedhimself. Taking, by two of the corners, the handkerchief which he hadjust dipped in the water, he shook it, wrung it, and began to hum tohimself the burden of the old camp ditty:
"Out of Tirlemont's flea-haunted den, We ride forth next day of the sen, With sabre in hand, ah! Good-bye to Amanda," etc.
The silence to which Dagobert had condemned himself, almost choked him;this song afforded him some relief.
Morok, turning towards the spectators, said to them, with an air ofhypocritical restraint: "We knew that the soldiers of Napoleon werepagans, who stabled their horses in churches, and offended the Lord ahundred times a day, and who, for their sins, were justly drowned in theBeresino, like so many Pharaohs; but we did not know that the Lord, topunish these miscreants, had deprived them of courage--their single gift.Here is a man, who has insulted, in me, a creature favored by divinegrace, and who affects not to understand that I require an apology; orelse--"
"What?" said Dagobert, without looking at the Prophet.
"Or you must give me satisfaction!--I have already told you that I haveseen service. We shall easily find somewhere a couple of swords, and tomorrow morning, at peep of day, we can meet behind a wall, and show thecolor of our blood--that is, if you have any in your veins!"
This challenge began to frighten the spectators, who were not preparedfor so tragical a conclusion.
"What, fight?--a very, fine idea!" said one. "To get yourself both lockedup in prison: the laws against duelling are strict."
"Particularly with relation to strangers or nondescripts," added another."If they were to find you with arms in your hands, the burgomaster wouldshut you up in jail, and keep you there two or three months beforetrial."
"Would you be so mean as to denounce us?" asked Morok.
"No, certainly not," cried several; "do as you like. We are only givingyou a friendly piece of advice, by which you may profit, if you thinkfit."
"What care I for prison?" exclaimed the Prophet. "Only give me a coupleof swords, and you shall see to-morrow morning if I heed what theburgomaster can do or say."
"What would you do with two swords?" asked Dagobert, quietly.
"When you have one in your grasp, and I one in mine, you'd see. The Lordcommands us to have a care of his honor!"
Dagobert shrugged his shoulders, made a bundle of his linen in hishandkerchief, dried his soap, and put it carefully into a little oil-silkbag--then, whistling his favorite air of Tirlemont, moved to depart.
The Prophet frowned; he began to fear that his challenge would not beaccepted. He advanced a step or so to encounter Dagobert, placed himselfbefore him, as if to intercept his passage, and, folding his arms, andscanning him from head to foot with bitter insolence, said to him: "So!an old soldier of that arch-robber, Napoleon, is only fit for awasherwoman, and refuses to fight!"
"Yes, he refuses to fight," answered Dagobert, in a firm voice, butbecoming fearfully pale. Never, perhaps, had the soldier given to hisorphan charge such a proof of tenderness and devotion. For a man of hischaracter to let himself be insulted with impunity, and refuse tofight--the sacrifice was immense.
"So you are a coward--you are afraid of me--and you confess it?"
At these words Dagobert made, as it were, a pull upon himself--as if asudden thought had restrained him the moment he was about to rush on theProphet. Indeed, he had remembered the two maidens, and the fatalhindrance which a duel, whatever might be the result, would occasion totheir journey. But the impulse of anger, though rapid, had been sosignificant--the expression of the stern, pale face, bathed in sweat, wasso daunting, that the Prophet and the spectators drew back a step.
Profound silence reigned for some seconds, and then, by a suddenreaction, Dagobert seemed to have gained the general interest. One of thecompany said to those near him; "This man is clearly not a coward."
"Oh, no! certainly not."
"It sometimes requires more courage to refuse a challenge than to acceptone."
"After all the Prophet was wrong to pick a quarrel about nothing--andwith a stranger, too."
"Yes, for a stranger, if he fought and was taken up, would have a goodlong imprisonment."
"And then, you see," added another, "he travels with two young girls. Insuch a position, ought a man to fight about trifles? If he should bekilled or put in prison, what would become of them, poor children?"
Dagobert turned towards the person who had pronounced these last words.He saw a stout fellow, with a frank and simple countenance; the soldieroffered him his hand, and said with emotion:
"Thank you, sir."
The German shook cordially the hand, which Dagobert had proffered, and,holding it still in his own, he added: "Do one thing, sir--share a bowlof punch with us. We will make that mischief-making Prophet acknowledgethat he has been too touchy, and he shall drink to your health."
Up to this moment the brute-tamer, enraged at the issue of this scene,for he had hoped that the soldier would accept his challenge, looked onwith savage contempt at those who had thus sided against him. But now hisfeatures gradually relaxed; and, believing it useful to his projects tohide his disappointment, he walked up to the soldier, and said to him,with a tolerably good grace: "Well, I give way to these gentlemen. I ownI was wrong. Your frigid air had wounded me, and I was not master ofmyself. I repeat, that I was wrong," he added, with suppressed vexation;"the Lord commands humility--and--I beg your pardon."
This proof of moderation and regret was highly appreciated and loudlyapplauded by the spectators. "He asks your pardon; you cannot expectmore, my brave fello
w?" said one of them, addressing Dagobert. "Come, letus all drink together; we make you this offer frankly--accept it in thesame spirit."
"Yes, yes; accept it, we beg you, in the name of your pretty littlegirls," said the stout man, hoping to decide Dagobert by this argument.
"Many thanks, gentlemen," replied he, touched by the hearty advances ofthe Germans; "you are very worthy people. But, when one is treated, hemust offer drink in return."
"Well, we will accept it--that's understood. Each his turn, and all fair.We will pay for the first bowl, you for the second."
"Poverty is no crime," answered Dagobert; "and I must tell you honestlythat I cannot afford to pay for drink. We have still a long journey togo, and I must not incur any useless expenses."
The soldier spoke these words with such firm, but simple dignity, thatthe Germans did not venture to renew their offer, feeling that a man ofDagobert's character could not accept it without humiliation.
"Well, so much the worse," said the stout man. "I should have liked toclink glasses with you. Good-night, my brave trooper!--Good-night--for itgrows late, and mine host of the Falcon will soon turn us out of doors."
"Good-night, gentlemen," replied Dagobert, as he directed his stepstowards the stable, to give his horse a second allowance of provender.
Morok approached him, and said in a voice even more humble than before:"I have acknowledged my error, and asked your pardon. You have notanswered me; do you still bear malice?"
"If ever I meet you," said the veteran, in a suppressed and hollow tone,"when my children have no longer need of me, I will just say two words toyou, and they will not be long ones."
Then he turned his back abruptly on the Prophet, who walked slowly out ofthe yard.
The inn of the White Falcon formed a parallelogram. At one end rose theprincipal dwelling; at the other was a range of buildings, whichcontained sundry chambers, let at a low price to the poorer sort oftravellers; a vaulted passage opened a way through this latter into thecountry; finally, on either side of the court-yard were sheds andstables, with lofts and garrets erected over them.
Dagobert, entering one of these stables, took from off a chest theportion of oats destined for his horse, and, pouring it into a winnowingbasket, shook it as he approached Jovial.
To his great astonishment, his old travelling companion did not respondwith a joyous neigh to the rustle of the oats rattling on the wickerwork. Alarmed, he called Jovial with a friendly voice; but the animal,instead of turning towards his master a look of intelligence, andimpatiently striking the ground with his fore-feet, remained perfectlymotionless.
More and more surprised, the soldier went up to him. By the dubious lightof a stable-lantern, he saw the poor animal in an attitude which impliedterror--his legs half bent, his head stretched forward, his ears down,his nostrils quivering; he had drawn tight his halter, as if he wished tobreak it, in order to get away from the partition that supported his rackand manger; abundant cold-sweat had speckled his hide with bluish stains,and his coat altogether looked dull and bristling, instead of standingout sleek and glossy from the dark background of the stable; lastly, fromtime to time, his body shook with convulsive starts.
"Why, old Jovial!" said the soldier, as he put down the basket, in orderto soothe his horse with more freedom, "you are like thymaster--afraid!--Yes," he added with bitterness, as he thought of theoffence he had himself endured, "you are afraid--though no coward ingeneral."
Notwithstanding the caresses and the voice of his master, the horsecontinued to give signs of terror; he pulled somewhat less violently athis halter, and approaching his nostrils to the hand of Dagobert, sniffedaudibly, as if he doubted it were he.
"You don't know me!" cried Dagobert. "Something extraordinary must bepassing here."
The soldier looked around him with uneasiness. It was a large stable,faintly lighted by the lantern suspended from the roof, which was coveredwith innumerable cobwebs; at the further end, separated from Jovial bysome stalls with bars between, were the three strong, black, horses ofthe brute-tamer--as tranquil as Jovial was frightened.
Dagobert, struck with this singular contrast, of which he was soon tohave the explanation, again caressed his horse; and the animal, graduallyreassured by his master's presence, licked his hands, rubbed his headagainst him, uttered a low neigh, and gave him his usual tokens ofaffection.
"Come, come, this is how I like to see my old Jovial!" said Dagobert, ashe took up the winnowing-basket, and poured its contents into the manger."Now eat with a good appetite, for we have a long day's march tomorrow;and, above all, no more of these foolish fears about nothing! If thycomrade, Spoil-sport, was here, he would keep you in heart; but he isalong with the children, and takes care of them in my absence. Come, eat!Instead of staring at me in that way."
But the horse, having just touched the oats with his mouth, as if inobedience to his master, returned to them no more, and began to nibble atthe sleeve of Dagobert's coat.
"Come, come, my poor Jovial! there is something the matter with you. Youhave generally such a good appetite, and now you leave your corn. 'Tisthe first time this has happened since our departure," said the soldier,who was now growing seriously uneasy, for the issue of his journeygreatly depended on the health and vigor of his horse.
Just then a frightful roaring, so near that it seemed to come from thestable in which they were, gave so violent a shock to Jovial, that withone effort he broke his halter, leaped over the bar that marked hisplace, and rushing at the open door, escaped into the court-yard.
Dagobert had himself started at the suddenness of this wild and fearfulsound, which at once explained to him the cause of his horse's terror.The adjoining stable was occupied by the itinerant menagerie of thebrute-tamer, and was only separated by the partition, which supported themangers. The three horses of the Prophet, accustomed to these howlings,had remained perfectly quiet.
"Good!" said the soldier, recovering himself; "I understand it now.Jovial has heard another such roar before, and he can scent the animalsof that insolent scoundrel. It is enough to frighten him," added he, ashe carefully collected the oats from the manger; "once in another stable,and there must be others in this place, he will no longer leave his peck,and we shall be able to start early to-morrow morning!"
The terrified horse, after running and galloping about the yard, returnedat the voice of the soldier, who easily caught him by the broken halter;and a hostler, whom Dagobert asked if there was another vacant stable,having pointed out one that was only intended for a single animal, Jovialwas comfortably installed there.
When delivered from his ferocious neighbors, the horse became tranquil asbefore, and even amused himself much at the expense of Dagobert's topcoat, which, thanks to his tricks, might have afforded immediateoccupation for his master's needle, if the latter had not been fullyengaged in admiring the eagerness with which Jovial dispatched hisprovender. Completely reassured on his account, the soldier shut the doorof the stable, and proceeded to get his supper as quickly as possible, inorder to rejoin the orphans, whom he reproached himself with having leftso long.