Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume II

  CHAPTER IV. THE FIELD AT MIDNIGHT.

  We passed the night on the field of battle,--a night dark and starless.The heavens were, indeed, clothed with black, and a heavy atmosphere,lowering and gloomy, spread like a pall over the dead and the dying. Nota breath of air moved; and the groans of the wounded sighed through thestillness with a melancholy cadence no words can convey. Far away in thedistance the moving lights marked where fatigue parties went in searchof their comrades. The Emperor himself did not leave the saddle tillnigh morning; he went, followed by an ambulance, hither and thither overthe plain, recalling the names of the several regiments, enumeratingtheir deeds of prowess, and even asking for many of the soldiers byname. He ordered large fires to be lighted throughout the field, andwhere medical assistance could not be procured, the officers of thestaff might be seen covering the wounded with greatcoats and cloaks, andrendering them such aid as lay in their power.

  Dreadful as the picture was,--fearful reverse to the gorgeous splendorof the vast army the morning sun had shone upon, and in the pride ofstrength and spirit,--yet even here was there much to make one feel thatwar is not bereft of its humanizing influences. How many a soldier did Isee that night, blackened with powder, his clothes torn and ragged withshot, sitting beside a wounded comrade--now wetting his lips with acool draught, now cheering his heart with words of comfort! Many, thoughwounded, were tending others less able to assist themselves. Acts ofkindness and self-devotion--not less in number than those of heroism andcourage--were met with at every step; while among the sufferers therelived a spirit of enthusiasm that seemed to lighten the worst pang oftheir agony. Many would cry out, as I passed, to know the fate of theday, and what became of this regiment or of that battalion. Others couldbut articulate a faint "Vive l'Empereur!" which in the intervals of painthey kept repeating, as though it were a charm against suffering; whileone question met me every instant,--"What says the Petit Caporal? Is hecontent with us?" None were insensible to the glorious issue ofthat day; nor amid all the agony of death, dealt out in every shape ofhorror and misery, did I hear one word of anger or rebuke to him forwhose ambition they had shed their heart's blood.

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  Having secured a fresh horse, I rode forward in the direction ofAusterlitz, where our cavalry, met by the chevaliers of the RussianImperial Guard, sustained the greatest check and the most considerableloss of the day. The old dragoon who accompanied me warned me I shouldfind few, if any, of our comrades living there.

  "_Ventrebleu!_ lieutenant, you can't expect it. The first four squadronswent down like one man; for when our fellows fell wounded from theirhorses, they always sabred or shot them as they lay."

  I found this information but too correct. Lines of dead men lay besidetheir horses, ranged as they stood in battle, while before them lay thebodies of the Russian Guard, their gorgeous uniform all slashed withgold, marking them out amid the dull russet costumes of their comrades.In many places were they intermingled, and showed where a hand-to-handcombat had been fought; and I saw two clasped rigidly in each other'sgrasp, who had evidently been shot by others while struggling for themastery.

  "I told you, mon lieutenant, it was useless to come here; this was _a lamort_ while it lasted; and if it had continued much longer in the samefashion, it's hard to say which of us had been going over the field nowwith lanterns."

  Too true, indeed! Not one wounded man did we meet with, nor did onehuman voice break the silence around us. "Perhaps," said I, "they mayhave already carried up the wounded to the village yonder; I see a greatblaze of light there. Bide forward, and learn if it be so."

  When I had dismissed the orderly, I dismounted from my horse, and walkedcarefully along the ridge of ground, anxious to ascertain if any poorfellow still remained alive amid that dreadful heap of dead. A lowbrushwood covered the ground in certain places; and here I perceivedbut few of the cavalry had penetrated, while the infantry were alltirailleurs of the Russian Guard, bayoneted by our advancing columns.As I approached the lake the ground became more rugged and uneven; andI was about to turn back, when my eye caught the faint glimmering ofa light reflected in the water. Picketing my horse where he stood, Iadvanced alone towards the light, which I saw now was at the foot of alittle rocky crag beside the lake. As I drew near, I stopped to listen,and could distinctly hear the deep tones of a man's voice, as if brokenat intervals by pain, while in his accents I thought I could trace atone of indignant passion rather than of bodily suffering.

  "Leave me, leave me where I am," cried he, peevishly. "I thought I mighthave had my last few moments tranquil, when I staggered thus far."

  "Come, come, Comrade!" said another, in a voice of comforting; "come,thou wert never faint-hearted before. Thou hast had thy share ofbruises, and cared little about them too. Art dry?"

  "Yes; give me another drink. Ah!" cried he, in an excited tone, "theycan't stand before the cuirassiers of the Guard. _Sacrebleu!_ how proudthe Petit Caporal will be of this day!" Then, dropping his voice,he muttered, "What care I who's proud? I have my billet, and must begoing."

  "Not so, _mon enfant_; thou'lt have the cross for thy day's work. Heknows thee well; I saw him smile to-day when thou madest the salute inpassing."

  "Didst thou that?" said the wounded man, with eagerness; "did he smile?Ah, villain! how you can allure men to shed their heart's blood by asmile! He knows me! That he ought, and, if he but knew how I lay herenow, he 'd send the best surgeon of his staff to look after me."

  "That he would, and that he will; courage, and cheer up."

  "No, no; I don't care for it now. I'll never go back to the regimentagain; I could n't do it!"

  As he spoke the last words his voice became fainter and fainter, andat last was lost in a hiccup; partly, as it seemed, from emotion, andpartly from bodily suffering.

  "_Qui vive?_" cried his companion, as the clash of my sabre announced myapproach.

  "An officer of the Eighth Hussars," said I, in a low voice, fearing todisturb the wounded man, as he lay with his head sunk on his knees.

  "Too late, Comrade! too late," said he, in a stifled tone; "the order ofroute has come. I must away."

  "A brave cuirassier of the Guard should never say so while he has achance left to serve his Emperor in another field of battle."

  "Vive l'Empereur! vive l'Empereur!" shouted he, madly, as he lifted hishelmet and tried to wave it above his head. But the exertion brought ona violent fit of coughing, which choked his utterance, while a torrentof red blood gushed from his mouth, and deluged his neck and chest.

  "Ah, _mon Dieu!_ that cry has been his death," said the other, wringinghis hands in utter misery.

  "Where is he wounded?" said I, kneeling down beside the sick man, whonow lay, half on his face, upon the grass.

  "In the chest, through the lung," whispered the other. "He doesn't knowthe doctor saw him; it was he told me there was no hope. 'You may leavehim,' said he; 'an hour or two more are all that 's left him;' as if Icould leave a comrade we all loved. My poor fellow, it is a sad day forthe old Fourth when thou art taken from them!"

  "Ha! was he of the Fourth, then?" said I, remembering the regiment.

  "Yes, _parbleu!_ and though but a corporal, he was well known throughoutthe army. Pioche--"

  "Pioche!" cried I, in agony; "is this Pioche?"

  "Here," said the wounded man, hearing the name, and answering as if onparade,--"here, mon commandant! but too faint, I 'm afraid, for duty.I feel weak to-day," said he, as he pressed his hand upon his side, andthen slowly sank back against the rock, and dropped his arms at eitherside.

  "Come," said I, "we must lose no time. Let us carry him to the rear. Ifnothing else can be done, he 'll meet with care--"

  "Hush! mon lieutenant! don't let him hear you speak of that. He stormedand swore so much when the ambulance passed, and they wanted to bringhim along, that it brought on a coughing fit, just like what you saw,and he lay in a faint for half an hour after. He vows he 'll never stirfrom where he is. Truth is, Commandant," said
he, in the lowest whisper,"he is determined to die. When his squadron fell back from the Russiansquare, he rode on their bayonets, and cut at the men while theartillery was playing all about him. He told me this morning he 'd neverleave the field."

  "Poor fellow! what was the meaning of this sad resolution?"

  "_Ma foi!_ a mere trifle, after all," said the other, shrugging hisshoulders, and making a true French grimace of contempt. "You 'll smilewhen I tell you; but he takes it to heart, poor fellow. His mistress hasbeen false to him,--no great matter that, you 'd say,--but so it is, andnothing more. See how still he lies now! is he sleeping?"

  "I fear not; he looks exhausted from loss of blood. Come, we must havehim out of this; here comes my orderly to assist us. If we carry him tothe road I 'll find a carriage of some sort."

  I said this in a tone of command, to silence any scruples he mightstill have about obeying his comrade in preference to the orders of anofficer. He obeyed with the instinct of discipline, and proceeded tofold his cloak in such a manner that we could carry the wounded manbetween us.

  The poor corporal, too weak to resist us, faint from bleeding andsemi-stupid, suffered himself to be lifted upon the cloak, and neveruttered a word or a cry as we bore him along between us.

  We had not proceeded far when we came up with a convoy, conductingseveral carts with the wounded to the convent of Reygern, which had nowbeen fitted up as an hospital. On one of these we secured a place forour poor friend, and walked along beside him towards the convent. As wewent along I questioned his comrade closely on the point; and he toldme that Pioche had resolved never to survive the battle, and had takenleave of his friends the evening before.

  "Ah, _parbleu!_" added he, with energy, "mademoiselle is prettyenough,--there 's no denying that; but her head is turned by flatteryand soft speeches. All the gay young fellows of the hussar regiment,the aides-de-camp,--ay, and some of the generals, too,--have paid herso much attention that it could not be expected she'd care for a poorcorporal. Not but that Pioche is a brave fellow and a fine soldier._Sapristi!_ he 'd be no discredit to any girl's choice. But Minette--"

  "Minette, the vivandiere?"

  "Ay, to be sure, mon lieutenant; I'd warrant you must have known her."

  "What of her? where is she?" said I, burning with impatience.

  "She's with the wounded, up at Reygern yonder. They sent for her toHeilbrunn yesterday, where she was with the reserve battalions. _Mafoi!_ you don't think our fellows would do without Minette at theambulance, where there was a battle to be fought. They say they'd hardwork enough to make her come up. After all, she's a strange girl; thatshe is."

  "How was that? Has she taken offence with the Fourth?"

  "No, that is not it; she likes the old regiment in her heart. I'd neverbelieve she didn't; but" (here he dropped his voice to a low whisper,as if dreading to be overheard by the wounded man), "but they say--whoknows if it's true?--that when she was left behind at Ulm or Elchingen,or somewhere up there on the Danube, that there was a young fellow--Iheard his name, too, but I forget it--who was brought in badly wounded,and that mademoiselle was left to watch and nurse him. He got well intime, for the thing was not so serious as they thought. And what do youthink was the return he made the poor girl? He seduced her!"

  "It's false! false as hell!" cried I, bursting with passion. "Who hasdared to spread such a calumny?"

  "Don't be angry, mon lieutenant; there are plenty to answer for thereport. And if it was yourself--"

  "Yes; it was by _my_ bedside she watched; it was to _me_ she gave thatcare and kindness by which I recovered from a dangerous wound. But sofar from this base requital--"

  "Why did she leave you, then, and march night and day with the chasseurbrigade into the Tyrol? Why did she tell her friends that she'd neversee the old Fourth again? Why did she fret herself into an illness--"

  "Did she do this, poor girl?"

  "Ay, that she did. But, mayhap, you never heard of all this. I can onlysay, mon lieutenant, that you'd be safer in a broken square, charged bya heavy squadron, than among the Fourth, after what you 've done."

  I turned indignantly from him without a reply; for while my priderevolted at answering an accusation from such a quarter, my mind washarassed by the sad fate of poor Minette, and perplexed how to accountfor her sudden departure. My silence at once arrested my companion'sspeech, and we walked along the remainder of the way without a word oneither side.

  The day was just breaking when the first wagon of the convoy entered thegates of the convent. It was an enormous mass of building, originallydestined for the reception of about three thousand persons; for, inaddition to the priestly inhabitants, there were two great hospitals andseveral schools included within the walls. This, before the battle, hadbeen tenanted by the staffs of many general officers and the corps ofengineers and sappers, but now was entirely devoted to the wounded ofeither army; for Austrians and Russians were everywhere to be met with,receiving equal care and attention with our own troops.

  It was the first time I had witnessed a military hospital after abattle, and the impression was too fearful to be ever forgotten by me.

  The great chambers and spacious rooms of the convent were soon foundinadequate for the numbers who arrived; and already the long corridorsand passages of the building were crowded with beds, between which anarrow path scarcely permitted one person to pass. Here, promiscuously,without regard to rank, officers in command lay side by side with themeanest privates, awaiting the turn of medical aid, as no other orderwas observed than the necessities of each case demanded. A blackmark above the bed, indicating that the patient's state was hopeless,proclaimed that no further attention need be bestowed; while thesame mark, with a white bar across it, implied that it was a case foroperation. In this way the surgeons who arrived at each moment fromdifferent corps of the army discovered, at a glance, where theirservices were required, and not a minute's time was lost.

  The dreadful operations of surgery--for which, in the events ofevery-day life, every provision of delicate secrecy, and every minutedetail which can alleviate dread, are so rigidly studied,--were heregoing forward on every side; the horrible preparations moved from bed tobed with a rapidity which showed that where suffering so aboundedthere was no time for sympathy; and the surgeons, with arms bare to theshoulder and bedaubed with blood, toiled away as though life no longermoved in the creeping flesh beneath the knife, and human agony spoke notaloud with every motion of their hand.

  "Place there! move forward!" said an hospital surgeon, as they carriedup the litter on which Pioche lay stretched and senseless.

  "What's this?" cried a surgeon, leaning forward, and placing his hand onthe sick man's pulse. "Ah! take him back again; it 's all over there!"

  "Oh, no!" cried I, in agony, "it can scarcely be; they lifted him alivefrom the wagon."

  "He's not dead, sir," replied the surgeon, in a whisper, "but he willsoon be; there's internal bleeding going on from that wound, and a fewhours, or less perhaps must close the scene."

  "Can nothing be done? nothing?"

  "I fear not." He opened the jacket of the wounded man as he spoke, andslitting the inner clothes asunder with a quick stroke of his scissors,disclosed a tremendous sabre-wound in the side. "That is not the worst,"said he. "Look here," pointing to a small bluish mark of a bullet holeabove it; "here lies the mischief."

  An hospital aid whispered something at the instant in the surgeon's ear,to which he quickly replied, "When?"

  "This instant, sir; the ligature slipped, and--"

  "Remove him," was the reply. "Now, sir, I have a bed for your poorfellow here; but I have little hope to give you. His pulse is stronger,otherwise the endeavor would be lost time."

  While they carried the litter forward, I perceived that another partywere lifting from a bed near a figure, over whose face the sheet wascarelessly thrown. I guessed from the gestures that the form they liftedwas lifeless; the heavy sumph of the body upon the ground showed itbeyond a doubt. The bearers r
eplaced the dead man by the dying body ofpoor Pioche; and from a vague feeling of curiosity, I stooped down anddrew back the sheet from the face of the corpse. As I did so, my limbstrembled, and I leaned back almost fainting against the wall. Pale withthe pallor of death, but scarcely altered from life, I beheld the deadfeatures of Amedee Pichot, the captain whose insolence had left anunsettled quarrel between us. The man for whose coming I waited toexpiate an open insult, now lay cold and lifeless at my feet. What arush of sensations passed through my mind as I gazed on that motionlessmass! and oh, what gratitude my heart gushed to think that he did notfall by _my_ hand!

  "A brave soldier, but a quarrelsome friend," said the surgeon, stoopingdown to examine the wound, with all the indifference of a man whoregarded life as a mere problem. "It was a cannon-shot carried it off."As he said this, he disclosed the mangled remains of a limb, torn fromthe trunk too high to permit of amputation. "Poor Amedee! it was thedeath he always wished for. It was a strange horror he had of fallingby the hand of an adversary, rather than being carried off thus. And nowfor the cuirassier."

  So saying, he turned towards the bed on which Pioche lav, still as deathitself. A few minutes' careful investigation of the case enabled him topronounce that although the chances were many against recovery, yet itwas not altogether hopeless.

  "All will depend on the care of whoever watches him," said the surgeon."Symptoms will arise, requiring prompt attention and a change intreatment; and this is one of those cases where a nurse is worth ahundred doctors. Who takes charge of this bed?" he called aloud.

  "Minette, Monsieur," said a sergeant. "She has lain down to take alittle rest, for she was quite worn out with fatigue."

  "Me voici!" said a silvery voice I knew at once to be hers. And thesame instant she pierced the crowd around the bed, and approached thepatient. No sooner had she beheld the features of the sick man than shereeled back, and grasped the arms of the persons on either side. For afew seconds she stood, with her hands pressed upon her face, and whenshe withdrew them, her features were almost ghastly in their hue, while,with a great effort over her emotion, she said, in a low voice, "Can herecover?"

  "Yes, Minette!" replied the surgeon, "and will, if care avail anything.Just hear me for a moment."

  With that he drew her to one side, and commenced to explain thetreatment he proposed to adopt. As he spoke, her cloak, which up to thisinstant she wore, dropped from her shoulders, and she stood there in thedress of the vivandiere: a short frock coat, of light blue, with a thingold braid upon the collar and the sleeve; loose trousers of white jean,strapped beneath her boots; a silk sash of scarlet and gold entwined wasfastened round her waist, and fell in a long fringe at her side; whilea cap of blue cloth, with a gold band and tassel, hung by a hook at hergirdle. Simple as was the dress, it displayed to perfection the symmetryof her figure and her carriage, and suited the character of her air andgesture, which, abrupt and impatient at times, was almost boyish in thewayward freedom of her action.

  The surgeon soon finished his directions, the crowd separated, andMinette alone remained by the sick man's bed. For some minutes her caresdid not permit her to look up; but when she did, a slight cry broke fromher, and she sank down upon the seat at the bedside.

  "Minette, dear Minette, you are not angry with me?" said I, in a low andtrembling tone. "I have not done aught to displease you,--have I so?"

  She answered not a word, but a blush of the deepest scarlet suffused herface and temples, and her bosom heaved almost convulsively.

  "To you I owe my life," continued I, with earnestness; "nay more, I owethe kindness which made of a sick-bed a place of pleasant thoughts andhappy memories. Can I, then, have offended you, while my whole heart wasbursting with gratitude?"

  A paleness, more striking than the blush that preceded it, now stoleover her features, but she uttered not a word. Her eyes turned fromme and fell upon her own figure, and I saw the tears till up and rollslowly along her cheeks.

  "Why did you leave me, Minette?" said I, wound up by her obstinatesilence beyond further endurance. "Did the few words of impatience--"

  "No, no, no!" broke she in, "not that! not that!"

  "What then? Tell me, for Heaven's sake, how have I earned yourdispleasure? Believe me, I have met with too little kindness in my waythrough life, not to feel poignantly the loss of a friend. What was it,I beseech you?"

  "Oh, do not ask me!" cried she, with streaming eyes; "do not, I beg ofyou. Enough that you know--and this I swear to you,--that no fault ofyours was in question. You were always good and always kind to me,--tookind, too good,--but not even your teaching could alter the waywardnessof my nature. Speak of this no more, I ask you, as the greatest favoryou can bestow on me. See here," cried she, while her lips trembled withemotion; "I have need of all my courage to be of use to him; and youwill not, I am sure, render me unequal to my task."

  "But we are friends, Minette; friends as before," said I, taking herhand, and pressing it within mine.

  "Yes, friends!" muttered she, in a broken voice, while she turned herhead from me. "Adieu! Monsieur, adieu!"

  "Adieu, then, since you wish it so, Minette! But whatever your secretreason for this change towards me, you never can alter the deep-rootedfeeling of my heart, which makes me know myself your friend forever."

  The more I thought of Minette's conduct, the more puzzled I was. Nojealousy on the part of Pioche could explain her abrupt departure fromElchingen, and her resolve never to rejoin the Fourth. She was, indeed,a strange girl, wayward and self-willed; but her impulses all had theirsource in high feelings of honor and exalted pride. It might have beenthat some chance expression had given her offence; yet she denied this.But still, her former frankness was gone, and a sense of coldness, ifnot distrust, had usurped its place. I could make nothing of it. Onething alone did I feel convinced of,--she did not love Pioche. Poorfellow! with all the fine traits of his honest nature, the manlysimplicity and openness of his character, he had not those arts ofpleasing which win their way with a woman's mind. Besides that, Minette,from habit and tone of voice, had imbibed feelings and ideas of a verydifferent class in society, and with a feminine tact, had contrived toform acquaintance with, and a relish for, the tastes and pleasures ofthe cultivated World. The total subversion of all social order effectedby the Revolution had opened the path of ambition in life equally towomen as to men; and all the endeavors of the Consulate and the Empirehad not sobered down the minds of France to their former condition.The sergeant to-day saw no reason why he might not wear his epaulettesto-morrow, and in time exchange his shako even for a crown; and so thevivandiere, whose life was passed in the intoxicating atmosphere ofglory, might well dream of greatness which should be hers hereafter,and of the time when, as the wife of a marshal or a peer of France, shewould walk the _salons_ of the Tuileries as proudly as the daughter of aRohan or a Tavanne.

  There was, then, nothing vain or presumptuous in the boldest flight ofambition. However glittering the goal, it was beyond the reach of none;and the hopes which, in better-ordered communities, had been deemedabsurd, seemed here but fair and reasonable. And from this element aloneproceeded some of the greatest actions, and by far the greatest portionof the unhappiness, of the period. The mind of the nation was unfixed;men had not as yet resolved themselves into those grades and classes,by the means of which public opinion is brought to bear upon individualsfrom those of his own condition. Each was a law unto himself, suggestinghis own means of advancement and estimating his own powers of success;and the result was, a general scramble for rank, dignity, and honors,the unfitness of the possessor for which, when attained, brought neithercontempt nor derision. The epaulette was noblesse; the shako, a coronet.What wonder, then, if she, whose personal attractions were so great, andwhose manners and tone of thought were so much above her condition, hadfelt the stirrings of that ambition within her heart which now appearedto be the moving spirit of the nation!

  Lost in such thoughts, I turned homewards towards my quarters, and
wasalready some distance from the convent when a dragoon galloped up to myside, and asked eagerly if I were the surgeon of the Sixth Grenadiers.As I replied in the negative, he muttered something between his teeth,and added louder, "The poor general; it will be too late after all."

  So saying, and before I could question him further, he set spurs tohis horse, and dashing onwards, soon disappeared in the darkness of thenight. A few minutes afterwards I beheld a number of lanterns straightbefore me on the narrow road, and as I came nearer, a sentinel calledout,--

  "Halt there! stand!"

  I gave my name and rank, when the man, advancing towards me, said in ahalf whisper,--

  "It is our general, sir; they say he cannot be brought any farther, andthey must perform the operation here."

  The soldier's voice trembled at every word, and he could scarcely falterout, in reply to my question, the name of the wounded officer.

  "General St. Hilaire, sir, who led the grenadiers on the Pratzen," saidthe poor fellow, his sorrow struggling with his pride.

  I pressed forward; and there on a litter lay the figure of a large andsingularly fine-looking man. His coat, which was covered with orders,lay open, and discovered a shirt stained and clotted with blood; but hismost dangerous wound was from a grapeshot in the thigh, which shatteredthe bone, and necessitated amputation. A young staff surgeon, theonly medical man present, was kneeling at his side, and occupied incompressing some wounded vessels to arrest the bleeding, which, at theslightest stir of the patient, broke out anew. The remainder ofthe group were grenadiers of his own regiment, in whose sad andsorrow-struck faces one might read the affection his men invariably borehim.

  "Is he coming? can you hear any one coming?" said the young surgeon, inan anxious whisper to the soldier beside him.

  "No, sir; but he cannot be far off now," replied the man.

  "Shall I ride back to Reygern for assistance?" said I, in a low voice,to the surgeon.

  "I thank you, sir," said the wounded man, in a low, calm tone,--for withthe quick ear of suffering he had overheard my question,--"I thank you,but my orderly has already been sent thither. If you could relieve myyoung friend here from his fatiguing duty for a little, you would renderus both a service. I am truly grieved to see him so much exhausted."

  "No, no, sir!" stammered the youth, as the tears ran fast down hischeeks; "this is my place. I will not leave it."

  "Kind fellow!" muttered the general, as he pressed his hand gently onthe young man's arm; "I can bear this better than you can."

  "Ah, here he comes now," said the sentinel; and the same moment a mandismounted from his horse, and came forward towards us.

  It was Louis, the surgeon of the Emperor himself, despatched by Napoleonthe moment he heard of the event. At any other moment, perhaps, theabrupt demeanor of this celebrated surgeon would have savored littleof delicacy or feeling; nor even then could I forgive the suddenannouncement in which he conveyed to the sufferer that immediateamputation must be performed.

  "No chance left but this, Louis?" said the general.

  "None, sir," replied the doctor, while he unlocked an instrument case,and busied himself in preparation for the operation.

  "Can you defer it a little; an hour or two, I mean?"

  "An hour, perhaps; not more, certainly."

  "But am I certain of your services then, Louis?" said the general,trying to smile. "You know I always promised myself your aid when thishour came."

  "I shall return in an hour," replied the doctor, pulling out his watch;"I am going to Rapp's quarters."

  "Poor Rapp! is he wounded?"

  "A mere sabre-cut; but Sebastiani has suffered more severely. Now then,Lanusse," said he, addressing the young surgeon, "you remain here.Continue as you are doing, and in an hour--"

  "In an hour," echoed the wounded man, with a shudder, as though theanticipation of the dreadful event had thrilled through his very heart.Nor was it till the retiring sounds of the surgeon's horse had diedaway in the distance that his features recovered their former calm andtranquil expression.

  "A prompt fellow is Louis," said he, after a pause; "and though onemight like somewhat more courtesy in the Faubourg, yet on the fieldof battle it is all for the best; this is no place nor time forcompliments."

  The young man answered not a word, either not daring to criticise tooharshly his superior, or perhaps his emotion at the moment was toostrong for utterance. In reply to my offer to remain with him, however,he thanked me heartily, and seemed gratified that he was not to be leftalone in such a trying emergency.

  "Come," said St. Hilaire, after a pause, "I have asked for time, andam already forgetting how to employ it. Who can write here? Can you,Guilbert?"

  "Alas, no, sir!" said a dark grenadier, blushing to the very eyes.

  "If you will permit a stranger, sir," said I, "I will be but too proudand too happy to render you any assistance in my power. I am on thestaff of General d'Auvergne, and--"

  "A French officer, sir," interrupted he; "quite enough. I ask for noother guerdon of your honor. Sit down here, then, and--But first try ifyou can discover a pocket-book in my sabretache; I hope it has not beenlost."

  "Here it is, General," said a soldier, coming forward with it; "I foundit on the ground beside you."

  "Well, then, I will ask you to write down from my dictation a few lines,which, should this affair,"--he faltered slightly here,--"this affairprove unfortunate, you will undertake to convey, by some means or other,to the address I shall give you in Paris. It is not a will, I assureyou," continued he with a faint smile. "I have no wealth to leave; butI know his Majesty too well to fear anything on that score. But mychildren, I wish to give some few directions--" Here he stopped forseveral minutes, and then, in a calm voice, added, "Whenever you areready."

  It was with a suffering spirit and a faltering hand I wrote down, fromhis dictation, some short sentences addressed to each member of hisfamily. Of these it is not my intention to speak, save in one instance,where St. Hilaire himself evinced a wish that his sentiments should notbe a matter of secrecy.

  "I desire," said he, in a firm tone of voice, as he turned round andaddressed the soldiers on either side of him,--"I desire that my son,now at the Polytechnique, should serve the Emperor better than, and asfaithfully as, his father has done, if his Majesty will graciouslypermit him to do so, in the grenadier battalion, which I have longcommanded; it will be the greatest favor I can ask of him." A low murmurof grief, no longer repressible, ran through the little group around thelitter. "The grenadiers of the Sixth," continued he, proudly, while foran instant his pale features flushed up, "will not love him the less forthe name he bears. Come, come, men! do not give way thus; what will mykind young friend here say of us, when he joins the hussar brigade? Thisis not their ordinary mood, believe me," said he, addressing me. "TheRussian Guard would give a very different account of them; they arestouter fellows at the _pas de charge_ than around the litter of awounded comrade."

  While he was yet speaking, Louis returned, followed by two officers, oneof whom, notwithstanding his efforts at concealment, I recognized to beMarshal Murat.

  "We must remove him, if it be possible," said the surgeon, in a whisper."And yet the slightest motion is to be dreaded."

  "May I speak to him?" said Murat, in a low voice.

  "Yes, that you may," replied Louis, who now pushed his way forward andapproached the litter.

  "Ah, so soon!" said the wounded man, looking up; "a man of your word,Louis. And how is Rapp? Nothing in this fashion, I hope," added he,pointing to his fractured limb with a sickly smile.

  "No, no," replied the surgeon. "But here is Marshal Murat come toinquire after you, from the Emperor."

  A flush of pride lit up St. Hilaire's features as he heard this, and heasked eagerly, "Where, where?"

  "We must remove you, St. Hilaire," said Murat, endeavoring to speakcalmly, when it was evident his feelings were highly excited; "Louissays you must not remain here."

  "As you like, Ma
rshal. What says his Majesty? Is the affair as decisiveas he looked for?"

  "Far more so. The allied army is destroyed; the campaign is ended."

  "Come, then, this is not so bad as I deemed it," rejoined St. Hilaire,with a tone of almost gayety; "I can afford to be invalided if theEmperor has no further occasion for me."

  While these few words were interchanging, Louis had applied a tourniquetaround the wounded limb, and having given the soldiers directions howthey were to step, so as not to disturb or displace the shattered bones,he took his place beside the litter, and said,--

  "We are ready now, General."

  They lifted the litter as he spoke, and moved slowly forward. Muratpressed the hand St. Hilaire extended to him without a word; and then,turning his head away, suffered the party to pass on.

  Before we reached Beygern, the wounded general had fallen into a heavysleep, from which he did not awake as they laid him on the bed in thehospital.

  "Good-night, sir,--or rather, good-morning," said Louis to me, as Iturned to leave the spot. "We may chance to have better news for youthan we anticipated, when you visit us here again."

  And so we parted.