CHAPTER XXXV
The ledge of rock upon which Baron d'Escorval and Corporal Bavois restedin their descent from the tower was very narrow.
In the widest place it did not measure more than a yard and a half, andits surface was uneven, cut by innumerable fissures and crevices, andsloped suddenly at the edge. To stand there in the daytime, with thewall of the tower behind one, and the precipice at one's feet, wouldhave been considered very imprudent.
Of course, the task of lowering a man from this ledge, at dead of night,was perilous in the extreme.
Before allowing the baron to descend, honest Bavois took every possibleprecaution to save himself from being dragged over the verge of theprecipice by the weight he would be obliged to sustain.
He placed his crowbar firmly in a crevice of the rock, then bracing hisfeet against the bar, he seated himself firmly, throwing his shoulderswell back, and it was only when he was sure of his position that he saidto the baron:
"I am here and firmly fixed, comrade; now let yourself down."
The sudden parting of the rope hurled the brave corporal rudely againstthe tower wall, then he was thrown forward by the rebound.
His unalterable _sang-froid_ was all that saved him.
For more than a minute he hung suspended over the abyss into which thebaron had just fallen, and his hands clutched at the empty air.
A hasty movement, and he would have fallen.
But he possessed a marvellous power of will, which prevented him fromattempting any violent effort. Prudently, but with determined energy,he screwed his feet and his knees into the crevices of the rock, feelingwith his hands for some point of support, and gradually sinking to oneside, he finally succeeded in dragging himself from the verge of theprecipice.
It was time, for a cramp seized him with such violence that he wasobliged to sit down and rest for a moment.
That the baron had been killed by his fall, Bavois did not doubt for aninstant. But this catastrophe did not produce much effect upon the oldsoldier, who had seen so many comrades fall by his side on the field ofbattle.
What did _amaze_ him was the breaking of the rope--a rope so large thatone would have supposed it capable of sustaining the weight of ten menlike the baron.
As he could not, by reason of the darkness, see the ruptured place,Bavois felt it with his finger; and, to his inexpressible astonishment,he found it smooth. No filaments, no rough bits of hemp, as usual aftera break; the surface was perfectly even.
The corporal comprehended what Maurice had comprehended below.
"The scoundrels have cut the rope!" he exclaimed, with a frightful oath.
And a recollection of what had happened three or four hours previousarose in his mind.
"This," he thought, "explains the noise which the poor baron heard inthe next room! And I said to him: 'Nonsense! it is a rat!'"
Then he thought of a very simple method of verifying his conjectures. Hepassed the cord about the crowbar and pulled it with all his strength.It parted in three places.
This discovery appalled him.
A part of the rope had fallen with the unfortunate baron, and it wasevident that the remaining fragments tied together would not be longenough to reach to the base of the rock.
From this isolated ledge it was impossible to reach the ground uponwhich the citadel was built.
"You are in a fine fix, Corporal," he growled.
Honest Bavois looked the situation full in the face, and saw that it wasdesperate.
"Well, Corporal, your jig is up!" he murmured, "At daybreak they willfind that the baron's cell is empty. They will poke their heads outof the window, and they will see you here, like a stone saint upon hispedestal. Naturally, you will be captured, tried, condemned; and youwill be led out to take your turn in the ditches. Ready! Aim! Fire! Andthat will be the end of your story."
He stopped short. A vague idea had entered his mind, which he felt mightpossibly be his salvation.
It came to him in touching the rope which he had used in his descentfrom the prison to the ledge, and which, firmly attached to the bars,hung down the side of the tower.
"If you had that rope which hangs there useless, Corporal, you could addit to these fragments, and then it would be long enough to carry youto the foot of the rock. But how shall I obtain it? It is certainlyimpossible to go back after it! and how can I pull it down when it is sosecurely fastened to the bars?"
He sought a way, found it, and pursued it, talking to himself all thewhile as if there were two corporals; one prompt to conceive, the other,a trifle stupid, to whom it was necessary to explain everything indetail.
"Attention, Corporal," said he. "You are going to knot these five piecesof rope together and attach them to your waist; then you are going toclimb up to that window, hand over hand. Not an easy matter! A carpetedstaircase is preferable to that rope dangling there. But no matter, youare not finical, Corporal! So you climb it, and here you are in the cellagain. What are you going to do? A mere nothing. You are unfastening thecord attached to the bars; you will tie it to this, and that will giveyou eighty feet of good strong rope. Then you will pass the rope aboutone of the bars that remain intact; the rope will thus be doubled; thenyou let yourself down again, and when you are here, you have onlyto untie one of the knots and the rope is at your service. Do youunderstand, Corporal?"
The corporal did understand so well that in less than twenty minuteshe was back again upon the narrow shelf of rock, the difficult anddangerous operation which he had planned accomplished.
Not without a terrible effort; not without torn and bleeding hands andknees.
But he had succeeded in obtaining the rope, and now he was certainthat he could make his escape from his dangerous position. He laughedgleefully, or rather with that chuckle which was habitual to him.
Anxiety, then joy, had made him forget M. d'Escorval. At the thought ofhim, he was smitten with remorse.
"Poor man!" he murmured. "I shall succeed in saving my miserable life,for which no one cares, but I was unable to save him. Undoubtedly, bythis time his friends have carried him away."
As he uttered these words he was leaning over the abyss. He doubted theevidence of his own senses when he saw a faint light moving here andthere in the depths below.
What had happened? For something very extraordinary must have happenedto induce intelligent men like the baron's friends to display thislight, which, if observed from the citadel, would betray their presenceand ruin them.
But Corporal Bavois's moments were too precious to be wasted in idleconjectures.
"Better go down on the double-quick," he said aloud, as if to spur onhis courage. "Come, my friend, spit on your hands and be off!"
As he spoke the old soldier threw himself flat on his belly and crawledslowly backward to the verge of the precipice. The spirit was strong,but the flesh shuddered. To march upon a battery had always been a merepastime to the worthy corporal; but to face an unknown peril, to suspendone's life upon a cord, was a different matter.
Great drops of perspiration, caused by the horror of his situation,stood out upon his brow when he felt that half his body had passed theedge of the precipice, and that the slightest movement would now launchhim into space.
He made this movement, murmuring:
"If there is a God who watches over honest people let Him open His eyesthis instant!"
The God of the just was watching.
Bavois arrived at the end of his dangerous journey with torn andbleeding hands, but safe. He fell like a mass of rock; and the rudenessof the shock drew from him a groan resembling the roar of an infuriatedbeast.
For more than a minute he lay there upon the ground stunned and dizzy.
When he rose two men seized him roughly.
"Ah, no foolishness," he said quickly. "It is I, Bavois."
This did not cause them to relax their hold.
"How does it happen," demanded one, in a threatening tone, "that Barond'Escorval falls and you succeed in ma
king the descent in safety a fewmoments later?"
The old soldier was too shrewd not to understand the whole import ofthis insulting question.
The sorrow and indignation aroused within him gave him strength to freehimself from the hands of his captors.
"_Mille tonnerres_!" he exclaimed; "so I pass for a traitor, do I! No,it is impossible--listen to me."
Then rapidly, but with surprising clearness, he related all the detailsof his escape, his despair, his perilous situation, and the almostinsurmountable obstacles which he had overcome. To hear was to believe.
The men--they were, of course, the retired army officers who hadbeen waiting for the baron--offered the honest corporal their hands,sincerely sorry that they had wounded the feelings of a man who was soworthy of their respect and gratitude.
"You will forgive us, Corporal," they said, sadly. "Misery renders mensuspicious and unjust, and we are very unhappy."
"No offence," he growled. "If I had trusted poor Monsieur d'Escorval, hewould be alive now."
"The baron still breathes," said one of the officers.
This was such astounding news that Bavois was utterly confounded for amoment.
"Ah! I will give my right hand, if necessary, to save him!" heexclaimed, at last.
"If it is possible to save him, he will be saved, my friend. That worthypriest whom you see there, is an excellent physician. He is examiningMonsieur d'Escorval's wounds now. It was by his order that we procuredand lighted this candle, which may bring our enemies upon us at anymoment; but this is not a time for hesitation."
Bavois looked with all his eyes, but from where he was standing he coulddiscover only a confused group of moving figures.
"I would like to see the poor man," he said, sadly.
"Come nearer, my good fellow; fear nothing!"
He stepped forward, and by the flickering light of the candle whichMarie-Anne held, he saw a spectacle which moved him more than thehorrors of the bloodiest battle-field.
The baron was lying upon the ground, his head supported on Mme.d'Escorval's knee.
His face was not disfigured; but he was pale as death itself, and hiseyes were closed.
At intervals a convulsive shudder shook his frame, and a stream of bloodgushed from his mouth. His clothing was hacked--literally hackedin pieces; and it was easy to see that his body had sustained manyfrightful wounds.
Kneeling beside the unconscious man, Abbe Midon, with admirabledexterity, was stanching the blood and applying bandages which had beentorn from the linen of those present.
Maurice and one of the officers were assisting him. "Ah! if I had myhands on the scoundrel who cut the rope," cried the corporal, in apassion of indignation; "but patience. I shall have him yet."
"Do you know who it was?"
"Only too well!"
He said no more. The abbe had done all it was possible to do, and he nowlifted the wounded man a little higher on Mme. d'Escorval's knee.
This change of position elicited a moan that betrayed the unfortunatebaron's intense sufferings. He opened his eyes and faltered a fewwords--they were the first he had uttered.
"Firmin!" he murmured, "Firmin!" It was the name of the baron's formersecretary, a man who had been absolutely devoted to his master, but whohad been dead for several years. It was evident that the baron's mindwas wandering. Still he had some vague idea of his terrible situation,for in a stifled, almost inaudible voice, he added:
"Oh! how I suffer! Firmin, I will not fall into the hands of the Marquisde Courtornieu alive. You shall kill me rather--do you hear me? Icommand it."
This was all; then his eyes closed again, and his head fell back a deadweight. One would have supposed that he had yielded up his last sigh.
Such was the opinion of the officers; and it was with poignant anxietythey drew the abbe a little aside.
"Is it all over?" they asked. "Is there any hope?"
The priest sadly shook his head, and pointing to heaven:
"My hope is in God!" he said, reverently.
The hour, the place, the terrible catastrophe, the present danger, thethreatening future, all combined to lend a deep solemnity to the wordsof the priest.
So profound was the impression that, for more than a minute, these men,familiar with peril and scenes of horror, stood in awed silence.
Maurice, who approached, followed by Corporal Bavois, brought them backto the exigencies of the present.
"Ought we not to make haste and carry away my father?" he asked. "Mustwe not be in Piedmont before evening?"
"Yes!" exclaimed the officers, "let us start at once."
But the priest did not move, and in a despondent voice, he said:
"To make any attempt to carry Monsieur d'Escorval across the frontier inhis present condition would cost him his life."
This seemed so inevitably a death-warrant for them all, that theyshuddered.
"My God! what shall we do?" faltered Maurice. "What course shall wepursue?"
Not a voice replied. It was clear that they hoped for salvation throughthe priest alone.
He was lost in thought, and it was some time before he spoke.
"About an hour's walk from here," he said, at last, "beyond the Croixd'Arcy, is the hut of a peasant upon whom I can rely. His name isPoignot; and he was formerly in Monsieur Lacheneur's employ. With theassistance of his three sons, he now tills quite a large farm. We mustprocure a litter and carry Monsieur d'Escorval to the house of thishonest peasant."
"What, Monsieur," interrupted one of the officers, "you wish us toprocure a litter at this hour of the night, and in this neighborhood?"
"It must be done."
"But, will it not awaken suspicion?"
"Most assuredly."
"The Montaignac police will follow us."
"I am certain of it."
"The baron will be recaptured!"
"No."
The abbe spoke in the tone of a man who, by virtue of assuming all theresponsibility, feels that he has a right to be obeyed.
"When the baron has been conveyed to Poignot's house," he continued,"one of you gentlemen will take the wounded man's place upon the litter;the others will carry him, and the party will remain together until ithas reached Piedmontese territory. Then you will separate and pretendto conceal yourselves, but do it in such a way that you are seeneverywhere." All present comprehended the priest's simple plan.
They were to throw the emissaries sent by the Duc de Sairmeuse and theMarquis de Courtornieu off the track; and at the very moment it wasapparently proven that the baron was in the mountains, he would be safein Poignot's house.
"One word more," added the priest. "It will be necessary to make the_cortege_ which accompanies the pretended baron resemble as much aspossible the little party that would be likely to attend Monsieurd'Escorval. Mademoiselle Lacheneur will accompany you; Maurice also.People know that I would not leave the baron, who is my friend; mypriestly robe would attract attention; one of you must assume it. Godwill forgive this deception on account of its worthy motive."
It was now necessary to procure the litter; and the officers weretrying to decide where they should go to obtain it, when Corporal Bavoisinterrupted them.
"Give yourselves no uneasiness," he remarked; "I know an inn not farfrom here where I can procure one."
He departed on the run, and five minutes later reappeared with a smalllitter, a thin mattress, and a coverlid. He had thought of everything.
The wounded man was lifted carefully and placed upon the mattress.
A long and difficult operation which, in spite of extreme caution, drewmany terrible groans from the baron.
When all was ready, each officer took an end of the litter, and thelittle procession, headed by the abbe, started on its way. They wereobliged to proceed slowly on account of the suffering which the leastjolting inflicted upon the baron. Still they made some progress, and bydaybreak they were about half way to Poignot's house.
It was then that they met some peasan
ts going to their daily toil. Bothmen and women paused to look at them, and when the little _cortege_ hadpassed they still stood gazing curiously after these people who wereapparently carrying a dead body.
The priest did not seem to trouble himself in regard to theseencounters; at least, he made no attempt to avoid them.
But he did seem anxious and cautious when, after a three hours' march,they came in sight of Poignot's cottage.
Fortunately there was a little grove not far from the house. The abbemade the party enter it, recommending the strictest prudence, whilehe went on in advance to confer with this man, upon whose decision thesafety of the whole party depended.
As the priest approached the house, a small, thin man, with gray hairand a sunburned face emerged from the stable.
It was Father Poignot.
"What! is this you, Monsieur le Cure!" he exclaimed, delightedly."Heavens! how pleased my wife will be. We have a great favor to ask ofyou----"
And then, without giving the abbe an opportunity to open his lips, hebegan to tell him his perplexities. The night of the revolt he had givenshelter to a poor man who had received an ugly sword-thrust. Neither hiswife nor himself knew how to dress the wound, and he dared not call in aphysician.
"And this wounded man," he added, "is Jean Lacheneur, the son of myformer employer." A terrible anxiety seized the priest's heart.
Would this man, who had already given an asylum to one woundedconspirator, consent to receive another?
The abbe's voice trembled as he made known his petition.
The farmer turned very pale and shook his head gravely, while the priestwas speaking. When the abbe had finished:
"Do you know, sir," he asked, coldly, "that I incur a great risk byconverting my house into a hospital for these rebels?"
The abbe dared not answer.
"They told me," Father Poignot continued, "that I was a coward, because_I_ would not take part in the revolt. Such was not my opinion. Now Ichoose to shelter these wounded men--I shelter them. In my opinion, itrequires quite as much courage as it does to go and fight."
"Ah! you are a brave man!" cried the abbe.
"I know that very well! Bring Monsieur d'Escorval. There is no one herebut my wife and boys--no one will betray him!"
A half hour later the baron was lying in a small loft, where JeanLacheneur was already installed.
From the window, Abbe Midon and Mme. d'Escorval watched the little_cortege_, organized for the purpose of deceiving the Duc de Sairmeuse'sspies, as it moved rapidly away.
Corporal Bavois, with his head bound up with bloodstained linen, hadtaken the baron's place upon the litter.
This was one of the troubled epochs in history that try men's souls.There is no chance for hypocrisy; each man stands revealed in hisgrandeur, or in his pettiness of soul.
Certainly much cowardice was displayed during the early days of thesecond Restoration; but many deeds of sublime courage and devotion wereperformed.
These officers who befriended Mme. d'Escorval and Maurice--who lenttheir aid to the abbe--knew the baron only by name and reputation.
It was sufficient for them to know that he was the friend of theirformer ruler--the man whom they had made their idol, and they rejoicedwith all their hearts when they saw M. d'Escorval reposing under FatherPoignot's roof in comparative security.
After this, their task, which consisted in misleading the governmentemissaries, seemed to them mere child's play.
But all these precautions were unnecessary. Public sentiment haddeclared itself in an unmistakable manner, and it was evident thatLacheneur's hopes had not been without some foundation.
The police discovered nothing, not so much as a single detail of theescape. They did not even hear of the little party that had travellednearly three leagues in the full light of day, bearing a wounded manupon a litter.
Among the two thousand peasants who believed that this wounded man wasBaron d'Escorval, there was not one who turned informer or let drop anindiscreet word.
But on approaching the frontier, which they knew to be strictly guarded,the fugitives became even more cautious.
They waited until nightfall before presenting themselves at a lonelyinn, where they hoped to procure a guide to lead them through thedefiles of the mountains.
Frightful news awaited them there. The innkeeper informed them of thebloody massacre at Montaignac.
With tears rolling down his cheeks, he related the details of theexecution, which he had heard from an eyewitness.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, he knew nothing of M. d'Escorval's flightor of M. Lacheneur's arrest.
But he was well acquainted with Chanlouineau, and he was inconsolableover the death of that "handsome young fellow, the best farmer in thecountry."
The officers, who had left the litter a short distance from the inn,decided that they could confide at least a part of their secret to thisman.
"We are carrying one of our wounded comrades," they said to him. "Canyou guide us across the frontier to-night?"
The innkeeper replied that he would do so very willingly, that he wouldpromise to take them safely past the military posts; but that he wouldnot think of going upon the mountain before the moon rose.
By midnight the fugitives were _en route_; by daybreak they set foot onPiedmont territory.
They had dismissed their guide some time before. They now proceeded tobreak the litter in pieces; and handful by handful they cast the wool ofthe mattress to the wind.
"Our task is accomplished," the officer said to Maurice. "We will nowreturn to France. May God protect you! Farewell!"
It was with tears in his eyes that Maurice saw these brave men, who hadjust saved his father's life, depart. Now he was the sole protector ofMarie-Anne, who, pale and overcome with fatigue and emotion, trembled onhis arm.
But no--Corporal Bavois still lingered by his side.
"And you, my friend," he asked, sadly, "what are you going to do?"
"Follow you," replied the old soldier. "I have a right to a home withyou; that was agreed between your father and myself! So do not hurry,the young lady does not seem well, and I see the village only a shortdistance away."