III. How the Brigadier Slew the Fox [*]
[*] This story, already published in The Green Flag, is included here so that all of the Brigadier Gerard stories may appear together.
In all the great hosts of France there was only one officer towardwhom the English of Wellington's Army retained a deep, steady, andunchangeable hatred.
There were plunderers among the French, and men of violence, gamblers,duellists, and roues. All these could be forgiven, for others of theirkidney were to be found among the ranks of the English. But one officerof Massena's force had committed a crime which was unspeakable, unheardof, abominable; only to be alluded to with curses late in the evening,when a second bottle had loosened the tongues of men. The news of it wascarried back to England, and country gentlemen who knew little of thedetails of the war grew crimson with passion when they heard of it, andyeomen of the shires raised freckled fists to Heaven and swore. Andyet who should be the doer of this dreadful deed but our friend theBrigadier, Etienne Gerard, of the Hussars of Conflans, gay-riding,plume-tossing, debonair, the darling of the ladies and of the sixbrigades of light cavalry.
But the strange part of it is that this gallant gentleman did thishateful thing, and made himself the most unpopular man in the Peninsula,without ever knowing that he had done a crime for which there is hardlya name amid all the resources of our language. He died of old age,and never once in that imperturbable self-confidence which adorned ordisfigured his character knew that so many thousand Englishmen wouldgladly have hanged him with their own hands. On the contrary, henumbered this adventure among those other exploits which he has given tothe world, and many a time he chuckled and hugged himself as he narratedit to the eager circle who gathered round him in that humble cafe where,between his dinner and his dominoes, he would tell, amid tears andlaughter, of that inconceivable Napoleonic past when France, likean angel of wrath, rose up, splendid and terrible, before a coweringcontinent. Let us listen to him as he tells the story in his own way andfrom his own point of view.
You must know, my friends, said he, that it was toward the end of theyear eighteen hundred and ten that I and Massena and the others pushedWellington backward until we had hoped to drive him and his army intothe Tagus. But when we were still twenty-five miles from Lisbon we foundthat we were betrayed, for what had this Englishman done but build anenormous line of works and forts at a place called Torres Vedras, sothat even we were unable to get through them! They lay across the wholePeninsula, and our army was so far from home that we did not dare torisk a reverse, and we had already learned at Busaco that it was nochild's play to fight against these people. What could we do, then, butsit down in front of these lines and blockade them to the best ofour power? There we remained for six months, amid such anxieties thatMassena said afterward that he had not one hair which was not white uponhis body.
For my own part, I did not worry much about our situation, but I lookedafter our horses, who were in much need of rest and green fodder. Forthe rest, we drank the wine of the country and passed the time as bestwe might. There was a lady at Santarem--but my lips are sealed. It isthe part of a gallant man to say nothing, though he may indicate that hecould say a great deal.
One day Massena sent for me, and I found him in his tent with a greatplan pinned upon the table. He looked at me in silence with that singlepiercing eye of his, and I felt by his expression that the matterwas serious. He was nervous and ill at ease, but my bearing seemed toreassure him. It is good to be in contact with brave men.
"Colonel Etienne Gerard," said he, "I have always heard that you are avery gallant and enterprising officer."
It was not for me to confirm such a report, and yet it would be folly todeny it, so I clinked my spurs together and saluted.
"You are also an excellent rider."
I admitted it.
"And the best swordsman in the six brigades of light cavalry."
Massena was famous for the accuracy of his information.
"Now," said he, "if you will look at this plan you will have nodifficulty in understanding what it is that I wish you to do. These arethe lines of Torres Vedras. You will perceive that they cover a vastspace, and you will realise that the English can only hold a positionhere and there. Once through the lines you have twenty-five miles ofopen country which lie between them and Lisbon. It is very importantto me to learn how Wellington's troops are distributed throughout thatspace, and it is my wish that you should go and ascertain."
His words turned me cold.
"Sir," said I, "it is impossible that a colonel of light cavalry shouldcondescend to act as a spy."
He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.
"You would not be a Hussar if you were not a hot-head," said he. "If youwill listen you will understand that I have not asked you to act as aspy. What do you think of that horse?"
He had conducted me to the opening of his tent, and there was a chasseurwho led up and down a most admirable creature. He was a dapple grey, notvery tall, a little over fifteen hands perhaps, but with the shorthead and splendid arch of the neck which comes with the Arab blood. Hisshoulders and haunches were so muscular, and yet his legs so fine,that it thrilled me with joy just to gaze upon him. A fine horse or abeautiful woman--I cannot look at them unmoved, even now when seventywinters have chilled my blood. You can think how it was in the year '10.
"This," said Massena, "is Voltigeur, the swiftest horse in our army.What I desire is that you should start tonight, ride round the linesupon the flank, make your way across the enemy's rear, and return uponthe other flank, bringing me news of his disposition. You will wear auniform, and will, therefore, if captured, be safe from the death of aspy. It is probable that you will get through the lines unchallenged,for the posts are very scattered. Once through, in daylight you canoutride anything which you meet, and if you keep off the roads youmay escape entirely unnoticed. If you have not reported yourself byto-morrow night, I will understand that you are taken, and I will offerthem Colonel Petrie in exchange."
Ah, how my heart swelled with pride and joy as I sprang into the saddleand galloped this grand horse up and down to show the Marshalthe mastery which I had of him! He was magnificent--we were bothmagnificent, for Massena clapped his hands and cried out in his delight.
It was not I, but he, who said that a gallant beast deserves a gallantrider. Then, when for the third time, with my panache flying and mydolman streaming behind me, I thundered past him, I saw upon his hardold face that he had no longer any doubt that he had chosen the man forhis purpose. I drew my sabre, raised the hilt to my lips in salute, andgalloped on to my own quarters.
Already the news had spread that I had been chosen for a mission, andmy little rascals came swarming out of their tents to cheer me. Ah!it brings the tears to my old eyes when I think how proud they were oftheir Colonel.
And I was proud of them also. They deserved a dashing leader.
The night promised to be a stormy one, which was very much to my liking.It was my desire to keep my departure most secret, for it was evidentthat if the English heard that I had been detached from the army theywould naturally conclude that something important was about to happen.My horse was taken, therefore, beyond the picket line, as if forwatering, and I followed and mounted him there. I had a map, a compass,and a paper of instructions from the Marshal, and with these in thebosom of my tunic and my sabre at my side I set out upon my adventure.
A thin rain was falling and there was no moon, so you may imagine thatit was not very cheerful. But my heart was light at the thought ofthe honour which had been done me and the glory which awaited me. Thisexploit should be one more in that brilliant series which was to changemy sabre into a baton. Ah, how we dreamed, we foolish fellows, young,and drunk with success! Could I have foreseen that night as I rode,the chosen man of sixty thousand, that I should spend my life plantingcabbages on a hundred francs a month! Oh, my youth, my hopes, mycomrades! But the wheel turns and never stops. Forgive me, my friends,for an old m
an has his weakness.
My route, then, lay across the face of the high ground of Torres Vedras,then over a streamlet, past a farmhouse which had been burned down andwas now only a landmark, then through a forest of young cork oaks, andso to the monastery of San Antonio, which marked the left of the Englishposition. Here I turned south and rode quietly over the downs, for itwas at this point that Massena thought that it would be most easy for meto find my way unobserved through the position. I went very slowly,for it was so dark that I could not see my hand in front of me. Insuch cases I leave my bridle loose and let my horse pick its own way.Voltigeur went confidently forward, and I was very content to sit uponhis back and to peer about me, avoiding every light.
For three hours we advanced in this cautious way, until it seemed tome that I must have left all danger behind me. I then pushed on morebriskly, for I wished to be in the rear of the whole army by daybreak.There are many vineyards in these parts which in winter become openplains, and a horseman finds few difficulties in his way.
But Massena had underrated the cunning of these English, for it appearsthat there was not one line of defence but three, and it was the third,which was the most formidable, through which I was at that instantpassing. As I rode, elated at my own success, a lantern flashed suddenlybefore me, and I saw the glint of polished gun-barrels and the gleam ofa red coat.
"Who goes there?" cried a voice--such a voice! I swerved to the rightand rode like a madman, but a dozen squirts of fire came out of thedarkness, and the bullets whizzed all round my ears. That was no newsound to me, my friends, though I will not talk like a foolish conscriptand say that I have ever liked it. But at least it had never kept mefrom thinking clearly, and so I knew that there was nothing for itbut to gallop hard and try my luck elsewhere. I rode round the Englishpicket, and then, as I heard nothing more of them, I concluded rightlythat I had at last come through their defences.
For five miles I rode south, striking a tinder from time to time to lookat my pocket compass. And then in an instant--I feel the pang once moreas my memory brings back the moment--my horse, without a sob or staggersfell stone-dead beneath me!
I had never known it, but one of the bullets from that infernal pickethad passed through his body. The gallant creature had never winced norweakened, but had gone while life was in him. One instant I was secureon the swiftest, most graceful horse in Massena's army. The next he layupon his side, worth only the price of his hide, and I stood there thatmost helpless, most ungainly of creatures, a dismounted Hussar. Whatcould I do with my boots, my spurs, my trailing sabre? I was far insidethe enemy's lines. How could I hope to get back again?
I am not ashamed to say that I, Etienne Gerard, sat upon my dead horseand sank my face in my hands in my despair.
Already the first streaks were whitening the east.
In half an hour it would be light. That I should have won my way pastevery obstacle and then at this last instant be left at the mercy of myenemies, my mission ruined, and myself a prisoner--was it not enough tobreak a soldier's heart?
But courage, my friends! We have these moments of weakness, the bravestof us; but I have a spirit like a slip of steel, for the more you bendit the higher it springs.
One spasm of despair, and then a brain of ice and a heart of fire. Allwas not yet lost. I who had come through so many hazards would comethrough this one also. I rose from my horse and considered what had bestbe done.
And first of all it was certain that I could not get back. Long before Icould pass the lines it would be broad daylight. I must hide myself forthe day, and then devote the next night to my escape. I took the saddle,holsters, and bridle from poor Voltigeur, and I concealed them amongsome bushes, so that no one finding him could know that he was a Frenchhorse. Then, leaving him lying there, I wandered on in search of someplace where I might be safe for the day. In every direction I could seecamp fires upon the sides of the hills, and already figures had begun tomove around them. I must hide quickly, or I was lost.
But where was I to hide? It was a vineyard in which I found myself, thepoles of the vines still standing, but the plants gone. There was nocover there. Besides, I should want some food and water before anothernight had come. I hurried wildly onward through the waning darkness,trusting that chance would be my friend.
And I was not disappointed. Chance is a woman, my friends, and she hasher eye always upon a gallant Hussar.
Well, then, as I stumbled through the vineyard, something loomed infront of me, and I came upon a great square house with another long, lowbuilding upon one side of it. Three roads met there, and it was easy tosee that this was the posada, or wine-shop.
There was no light in the windows, and everything was dark and silent,but, of course, I knew that such comfortable quarters were certainlyoccupied, and probably by someone of importance. I have learned,however, that the nearer the danger may really be the safer place, andso I was by no means inclined to trust myself away from this shelter.The low building was evidently the stable, and into this I crept, forthe door was unlatched.
The place was full of bullocks and sheep, gathered there, no doubt, tobe out of the clutches of marauders.
A ladder led to a loft, and up this I climbed and concealed myself verysnugly among some bales of hay upon the top. This loft had a small openwindow, and I was able to look down upon the front of the inn and alsoupon the road. There I crouched and waited to see what would happen.
It was soon evident that I had not been mistaken when I had thought thatthis might be the quarters of some person of importance. Shortly afterdaybreak an English light dragoon arrived with a despatch, and from thenonward the place was in a turmoil, officers continually riding up andaway. Always the same name was upon their lips: "Sir Stapleton--SirStapleton."
It was hard for me to lie there with a dry moustache and watch thegreat flagons which were brought out by the landlord to theseEnglish officers. But it amused me to look at their fresh-coloured,clean-shaven, careless faces, and to wonder what they would think ifthey knew that so celebrated a person was lying so near to them. Andthen, as I lay and watched, I saw a sight which filled me with surprise.
It is incredible the insolence of these English! What do you supposeMilord Wellington had done when he found that Massena had blockaded himand that he could not move his army? I might give you many guesses. Youmight say that he had raged, that he had despaired, that he had broughthis troops together and spoken to them about glory and the fatherlandbefore leading them to one last battle. No, Milord did none of thesethings. But he sent a fleet ship to England to bring him a number offox-dogs; and he with his officers settled himself down to chase thefox. It is true what I tell you. Behind the lines of Torres Vedras thesemad Englishmen made the fox chase three days in the week.
We had heard of it in the camp, and now I was myself to see that it wastrue.
For, along the road which I have described, there came these very dogs,thirty or forty of them, white and brown, each with its tail at the sameangle, like the bayonets of the Old Guard. My faith, but it was a prettysight! And behind and amidst them there rode three men with peaked capsand red coats, whom I understood to be the hunters. After them came manyhorsemen with uniforms of various kinds, stringing along the roads intwos and threes, talking together and laughing.
They did not seem to be going above a trot, and it appeared to me thatit must indeed be a slow fox which they hoped to catch. However, it wastheir affair, not mine, and soon they had all passed my window and wereout of sight. I waited and I watched, ready for any chance which mightoffer.
Presently an officer, in a blue uniform not unlike that of our flyingartillery, came cantering down the road--an elderly, stout man he was,with grey side-whiskers. He stopped and began to talk with an orderlyofficer of dragoons, who waited outside the inn, and it was then that Ilearned the advantage of the English which had been taught me. I couldhear and understand all that was said.
"Where is the meet?" said the officer, and I thought that he washung
ering for his bifstek. But the other answered him that it was nearAltara, so I saw that it was a place of which he spoke.
"You are late, Sir George," said the orderly.
"Yes, I had a court-martial. Has Sir Stapleton Cotton gone?"
At this moment a window opened, and a handsome young man in a verysplendid uniform looked out of it.
"Halloa, Murray!" said he. "These cursed papers keep me, but I will beat your heels."
"Very good, Cotton. I am late already, so I will ride on."
"You might order my groom to bring round my horse," said the youngGeneral at the window to the orderly below, while the other went on downthe road.
The orderly rode away to some outlying stable, and then in a few minutesthere came a smart English groom with a cockade in his hat, leadingby the bridle a horse--and, oh, my friends, you have never known theperfection to which a horse can attain until you have seen a first-classEnglish hunter. He was superb: tall, broad, strong, and yet as gracefuland agile as a deer. Coal black he was in colour, and his neck, and hisshoulder, and his quarters, and his fetlocks--how can I describe him allto you? The sun shone upon him as on polished ebony, and he raised hishoofs in a little playful dance so lightly and prettily, while he tossedhis mane and whinnied with impatience. Never have I seen such a mixtureof strength and beauty and grace. I had often wondered how the EnglishHussars had managed to ride over the chasseurs of the Guards in theaffair at Astorga, but I wondered no longer when I saw the Englishhorses.
There was a ring for fastening bridles at the door of the inn, and thegroom tied the horse there while he entered the house. In an instant Ihad seen the chance which Fate had brought to me. Were I in that saddleI should be better off than when I started. Even Voltigeur could notcompare with this magnificent creature. To think is to act with me. Inone instant I was down the ladder and at the door of the stable. Thenext I was out and the bridle was in my hand. I bounded into the saddle.
Somebody, the master or the man, shouted wildly behind me. What cared Ifor his shouts! I touched the horse with my spurs and he bounded forwardwith such a spring that only a rider like myself could have sat him. Igave him his head and let him go--it did not matter to me where, solong as we left this inn far behind us. He thundered away across thevineyards, and in a very few minutes I had placed miles between myselfand my pursuers. They could no longer tell in that wild country in whichdirection I had gone. I knew that I was safe, and so, riding to thetop of a small hill, I drew my pencil and note-book from my pocket andproceeded to make plans of those camps which I could see and to draw theoutline of the country.
He was a dear creature upon whom I sat, but it was not easy to draw uponhis back, for every now and then his two ears would cock, and he wouldstart and quiver with impatience. At first I could not understand thistrick of his, but soon I observed that he only did it when a peculiarnoise--"yoy, yoy, yoy"--came from somewhere among the oak woods beneathus. And then suddenly this strange cry changed into a most terriblescreaming, with the frantic blowing of a horn. Instantly he wentmad--this horse. His eyes blazed. His mane bristled. He bounded fromthe earth and bounded again, twisting and turning in a frenzy. My pencilflew one way and my note-book another. And then, as I looked down intothe valley, an extraordinary sight met my eyes.
The hunt was streaming down it. The fox I could not see, but the dogswere in full cry, their noses down, their tails up, so close togetherthat they might have been one great yellow and white moving carpet. Andbehind them rode the horsemen--my faith, what a sight! Consider everytype which a great army could show. Some in hunting dress, but the mostin uniforms: blue dragoons, red dragoons, red-trousered hussars, greenriflemen, artillerymen, gold-slashed lancers, and most of all red, red,red, for the infantry officers ride as hard as the cavalry.
Such a crowd, some well mounted, some ill, but all flying along as bestthey might, the subaltern as good as the general, jostling and pushing,spurring and driving, with every thought thrown to the winds savethat they should have the blood of this absurd fox! Truly, they are anextraordinary people, the English!
But I had little time to watch the hunt or to marvel at these islanders,for of all these mad creatures the very horse upon which I sat wasthe maddest. You understand that he was himself a hunter, and that thecrying of these dogs was to him what the call of a cavalry trumpet inthe street yonder would be to me. It thrilled him. It drove him wild.Again and again he bounded into the air, and then, seizing the bitbetween his teeth, he plunged down the slope and galloped after thedogs.
I swore, and tugged, and pulled, but I was powerless.
This English General rode his horse with a snaffle only, and the beasthad a mouth of iron. It was useless to pull him back. One might as welltry to keep a grenadier from a wine-bottle. I gave it up in despair,and, settling down in the saddle, I prepared for the worst which couldbefall.
What a creature he was! Never have I felt such a horse between my knees.His great haunches gathered under him with every stride, and he shotforward ever faster and faster, stretched like a greyhound, whilethe wind beat in my face and whistled past my ears. I was wearing ourundress jacket, a uniform simple and dark in itself--though some figuresgive distinction to any uniform--and I had taken the precaution toremove the long panache from my busby. The result was that, amidst themixture of costumes in the hunt, there was no reason why mine shouldattract attention, or why these men, whose thoughts were all with thechase, should give any heed to me. The idea that a French officer mightbe riding with them was too absurd to enter their minds. I laughed as Irode, for, indeed, amid all the danger, there was something of comic inthe situation.
I have said that the hunters were very unequally mounted, and so at theend of a few miles, instead of being one body of men, like a chargingregiment, they were scattered over a considerable space, the betterriders well up to the dogs and the others trailing away behind.
Now, I was as good a rider as any, and my horse was the best of themall, and so you can imagine that it was not long before he carried meto the front. And when I saw the dogs streaming over the open, andthe red-coated huntsman behind them, and only seven or eight horsemenbetween us, then it was that the strangest thing of all happened, for I,too, went mad--I, Etienne Gerard!
In a moment it came upon me, this spirit of sport, this desire to excel,this hatred of the fox. Accursed animal, should he then defy us? Vilerobber, his hour was come!
Ah, it is a great feeling, this feeling of sport, my friends, thisdesire to trample the fox under the hoofs of your horse. I have madethe fox chase with the English. I have also, as I may tell you some day,fought the box-fight with the Bustler, of Bristol. And I say to you thatthis sport is a wonderful thing--full of interest as well as madness.
The farther we went the faster galloped my horse, and soon there werebut three men as near the dogs as I was.
All thought of fear of discovery had vanished. My brain throbbed, myblood ran hot--only one thing upon earth seemed worth living for, andthat was to overtake this infernal fox. I passed one of the horsemen--aHussar like myself. There were only two in front of me now: the one in ablack coat, the other the blue artilleryman whom I had seen at the inn.His grey whiskers streamed in the wind, but he rode magnificently. For amile or more we kept in this order, and then, as we galloped up a steepslope, my lighter weight brought me to the front.
I passed them both, and when I reached the crown I was riding level withthe little, hard-faced English huntsman.
In front of us were the dogs, and then, a hundred paces beyond them, wasa brown wisp of a thing, the fox itself, stretched to the uttermost. Thesight of him fired my blood. "Aha, we have you then, assassin!" I cried,and shouted my encouragement to the huntsman. I waved my hand to showhim that there was one upon whom he could rely.
And now there were only the dogs between me and my prey. These dogs,whose duty it is to point out the game, were now rather a hindrance thana help to us, for it was hard to know how to pass them. The huntsmanfelt the difficulty as
much as I, for he rode behind them, and couldmake no progress toward the fox. He was a swift rider, but wanting inenterprise. For my part, I felt that it would be unworthy of the Hussarsof Conflans if I could not overcome such a difficulty as this.
Was Etienne Gerard to be stopped by a herd of fox-dogs?
It was absurd. I gave a shout and spurred my horse.
"Hold hard, sir! Hold hard!" cried the huntsman.
He was uneasy for me, this good old man, but I reassured him by a waveand a smile. The dogs opened in front of me. One or two may have beenhurt, but what would you have? The egg must be broken for the omelette.I could hear the huntsman shouting his congratulations behind me. Onemore effort, and the dogs were all behind me. Only the fox was in front.
Ah, the joy and pride of that moment! To know that I had beaten theEnglish at their own sport. Here were three hundred, all thirsting forthe life of this animal, and yet it was I who was about to take it. Ithought of my comrades of the light cavalry brigade, of my mother, ofthe Emperor, of France. I had brought honour to each and all. Everyinstant brought me nearer to the fox. The moment for action had arrived,so I unsheathed my sabre. I waved it in the air, and the brave Englishall shouted behind me.
Only then did I understand how difficult is this fox chase, for one maycut again and again at the creature and never strike him once. He issmall, and turns quickly from a blow. At every cut I heard those shoutsof encouragement from behind me, and they spurred me to yet anothereffort. And then at last the supreme moment of my triumph arrived. Inthe very act of turning I caught him fair with such another back-handedcut as that with which I killed the aide-de-camp of the Emperor ofRussia. He flew into two pieces, his head one way and his tail another.I looked back and waved the blood-stained sabre in the air. For themoment I was exalted--superb!
Ah! how I should have loved to have waited to have received thecongratulations of these generous enemies.
There were fifty of them in sight, and not one who was not waving hishand and shouting. They are not really such a phlegmatic race, theEnglish. A gallant deed in war or in sport will always warm theirhearts. As to the old huntsman, he was the nearest to me, and I couldsee with my own eyes how overcome he was by what he had seen. He waslike a man paralysed, his mouth open, his hand, with outspread fingers,raised in the air. For a moment my inclination was to return and toembrace him.
But already the call of duty was sounding in my ears, and these English,in spite of all the fraternity which exists among sportsmen, wouldcertainly have made me prisoner. There was no hope for my mission now,and I had done all that I could do. I could see the lines of Massena'scamp no very great distance off, for, by a lucky chance, the chase hadtaken us in that direction.
I turned from the dead fox, saluted with my sabre, and galloped away.
But they would not leave me so easily, these gallant huntsmen. I was thefox now, and the chase swept bravely over the plain. It was only at themoment when I started for the camp that they could have known that I wasa Frenchman, and now the whole swarm of them were at my heels. We werewithin gunshot of our pickets before they would halt, and then theystood in knots and would not go away, but shouted and waved their handsat me. No, I will not think that it was in enmity. Rather would I fancythat a glow of admiration filled their breasts, and that their onedesire was to embrace the stranger who had carried himself so gallantlyand well.