TOM BURKE OF "OURS"
CHAPTER I. THE SICK LEAVE.
"What is it, Minette?" said I, for the third time, as I saw her lean herhead from out the narrow casement, and look down into the valley besidethe river; "what do you see there?"
"I see a regiment of infantry coming along the road from Ulm," said she,after a pause; "and now I perceive the lancers are following them, andthe artillery too. Ah! and farther again, I see a great cloud of dust._Mere de Ciel!_ how tired and weary they all look! It surely cannot be amarch in retreat; and, now that I think of it, they have no baggage, norany wagons with them."
"That was a bugle call, Minette! Did you not hear it?"
"Yes, it's a halt for a few minutes. Poor fellows! they are sadlyexhausted; they cannot even reach the side of the way, but are lyingdown on the very road. I can bear it no longer. I must find out whatit all means." So saying, she threw round her a mantle which, Spanishfashion, she wore over her head, and hurried from the room.
For some time I waited patiently for her return; but when half anhour elapsed, I arose and crept to the window. A succession of rockyprecipices descended from the terrace on which the house stood, downto the very edge of the Danube, and from the point where I sat the viewextended for miles in every direction. What, then, was my astonishmentto see the wide plain, not marked by regular columns in marching array,but covered with straggling detachments, hurrying onward as if withoutorder or discipline. Here was an infantry battalion mixed up with acavalry corps, the foot-soldiers endeavoring to keep up with the amblingtrot of the dragoons; there, the ammunition wagons were covered withweary soldiers, too tired to march. Most of the men were without theirfirelocks, which were piled in a confused heap on the limbers of theguns. No merry chant, no burst of warlike music, cheered them on. Theyseemed like the scattered fragments of a routed army hurrying onward insearch of some place of refuge,-sad and spiritless.
"Can he have been beaten?" was the fearful thought that flashed acrossme as I gazed. "Have the bold legions that were never vanquishedsuccumbed at last? Oh, no, no! I'll not believe it." And while a glow offever warmed my whole blood, I buckled on my sabre, and taking my shako,prepared to issue forth. Scarcely had I reached the door, with totteringlimbs, when I saw Minette dashing up the steep street at the top speedof her pony, while she flourished above her head a great placard, andwaved it to and fro.
"The news! the news!" cried I, bursting with anxiety. "Are theyadvancing; or is it a retreat?"
"Read that!" said she, throwing me a large sheet of paper, headed withthe words, "Proclamation! la Grande Armee!" in huge letters,-"read that!for I've no breath left to tell you."
Soldiers!--The campaign so gloriously begun will soon be completed.
One victory, and the Austrian empire, so great but a week since, will behumbled in the dust. Hasten on, then! Forced marches, by day and night,will attest your eagerness to meet the enemy; and let the endeavor ofeach regiment be to arrive soonest on the field of battle.
"Minette! dearest Minette!" said I, as I threw my arms around herneck, "this is indeed good news." "Gently, gently, Monsieur!" said she,smiling, while she disengaged herself from my sudden embrace. "Very goodnews, without doubt; but I don't think that there is any mention in thebulletin about embracing the vivandieres of the army."
"At a moment like this, Minette--"
"The best thing to do is, to make up one's baggage and join the march,"said she, very steadily, proceeding at the same time to put her planinto execution.
While I gave her all assistance in my power, the doctor entered toinform us that all the wounded who were then not sufficiently restoredto return to duty were to be conveyed to Munich, where general militaryhospitals had been established; and that he himself had receivedorders to repair thither with his sick detachment, in which my name wasenrolled.
"You'll keep your old friend, Francois, company, Lieutenant Burke; he isable to move at last."
"Francois!" said I, in ecstasy; "and will he indeed recover?"
"I have little doubt of it; though certainly he's not likely topractise as maitre d'armes again. You 've spoiled his tierce, though notbefore it cost the army some of the prettiest fellows I ever saw. But asto yourself--"
"As for me, I 'll march with the army. I feel perfectly recovered; myarm--"
"Oh! as for monsieur's arms," said mademoiselle, "I'll answer for it,they are quite at his Majesty's service."
"Indeed!" said the doctor, knowingly; "I thought it would come to that.Well, well, Mademoiselle, don't look saucy; let us part good friends foronce in our lives."
"I hate being reconciled to a surgeon," said she, pettishly.
"Why so, I pray?"
"Oh, you know, when one quarrels with an officer, the poor fellow may bekilled before one sees him again; and it's always a sad thought, that.But your doctor, nothing ever happens to him; you're sure to see him,with his white apron and his horrid weapons, a hundred times after, andone is always sorry for having forgiven such a cruel wretch."
"Come, come, Mademoiselle, you bear us all an ill-will for the faultof one, and that's not fair. It was the hospital aide of the Sixth,Monsieur, (a handsome fellow, too), who did not fall in love with herafter her wound,--a slight scratch."
"A slight scratch, do you call it?" said I, indignantly, as I perceivedthe poor girl's eyes fill at the raillery of her tormentor.
"Ah! monsieur has seen it, then?" said he, maliciously. "A thousandpardons. I have the honor to wish you both adieu." And with that, and asmile of the most impertinent meaning, he took his leave.
"How silly to be vexed for so little, Minette!" said I, approaching andendeavoring to console her.
"Well, but to call my wound a scratch!" said she. "Was it not too bad?and I the only vivandiere of the army that ever felt a bullet."
And with that she turned away her head; but I could see, as she wipedher eyes, that she cared less for the sarcasm on her wounded shoulderthan the insult to her wounded heart. Poor girl! she looked sick andpale the whole day after.
We learned in the course of the day that some cavalry detachments wouldpass early on the morrow, thus allowing us sufficient time to provideourselves with horses, and make our other arrangements for the march.These we succeeded in doing to our satisfaction; I being fortunateenough to secure the charger of an Austrian prisoner, mademoiselle beingalready admirably mounted with her palfrey. Occupied with these details,the day passed rapidly over, and the hour for supper drew near withoutmy feeling how the time slipped past.
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At last the welcome meal made its appearance, and with it mademoiselleherself. I could not help remarking that her toilette displayed a morethan common attention: her neat Parisian cap; her collar, with its deepValenciennes lace; and her _tablier_, so coquettishly embroidered,--wereall signs of an unusual degree of care; and though she was pale and inlow spirits, I never saw her look so pretty. All my efforts to make herconverse were, however, in vain. Some secret weight lay heavily on herspirits, and not even the stirring topics of the coming campaign couldawaken one spark of her enthusiasm. She evaded, too, every allusionto the following day's march, or answered my questions about it withevident constraint. Tired at last with endeavoring to overcome hersilent mood, I affected an air of chagrin, thinking to pique her by it;but she merely remarked that I appeared weary, and that, as I had a longjourney before me, it were as well I should retire early.
The marked coolness of her manner at this moment struck me so forciblythat I began really to feel some portion of the ill-temper I affected,and with the crossness of an over-petted child, I arose to withdraw atonce.
"Good-by, Monsieur; good-night, I mean," said she, blushing sligh
tly.
"Good-night, Mademoiselle," said I, taking her hand coldly as I spoke."I trust I may find you in better spirits to-morrow."
"Good-night,--adieu!" said she, hastily; and before I could add a wordshe was gone.
"She is a strange girl," thought I, as I found myself alone, andtortured my mind to think whether anything I could have dropped hadoffended her. But no: we had parted a few hours before the best friendsin the world; nothing had then occurred to which I could attributethis sudden change. I had often remarked the variable character of herdisposition,--the flashes of gayety mingled with outbursts of sorrow;the playful moods of fancy alternating with moments of deep melancholy;and, after all, this might be one of them.
With these thoughts I threw myself on my bed, but could not sleep. Atone minute my brain went on puzzling about Minette and her sorrow; atthe next I reproached myself for my own harsh, unfeeling manner to thepoor girl, and was actually on the eve of arising to seek her and askher pardon. At last sleep came, and dreams too; but, strange enough,they were of the distant land of my boyhood and the hours of my youth;of the old house in which I was born, and its well-remembered rooms. Ithought I was standing before my father, while he scolded me for someyouthful transgression; I heard his words as though they were reallyspoken, as he told me that I should be an outcast and a wanderer,without a friend, a house, or home; that while others reaped wealth andhonors, I was destined to be a castaway: and in the torrent of my griefI awoke.
It was night,--dark, silent night. A few stars were shining in the sky,but the earth was wrapped in shadow; and as I opened my window to letthe fresh breeze calm my fevered forehead, the deep precipice beneath meseemed a vast gulf of yawning blackness. At a great distance off I couldsee the watchfires of some soldiers bivouacking in the plain; and eventhat much comforted my saddened heart, as it aroused me to the thoughtsof the campaign before me. But again my thoughts recurred to my dream,which I could not help feeling as a sort of prediction.
When our sleep leaves its strong track in our waking moments, we dreadto sleep again for fear the whole vision should come back; and thus Isat down beside the window, and fell into a long train of thought. Theimages of my dream were uppermost in my mind; and every little incidentof childhood, long lost to memory, came now fresh before me,--thesorrows of my schoolboy years, unrelieved by the sense of love awaitingme at home; the clinging to all who seemed to feel or care for me;and the heart-sickening sorrow when I found that what I mistook foraffection was merely pity: all save one,--my mother! Her mild, sadlooks, so seldom cheered by a ray of pleasure,--I remember well how theyfell on me! with such a thrilling sensation at my heart, and such a gushof thankfulness, as I felt then! Oh! if they who live with children knewhow needful it is to open their hearts to all the little sorrows andwoes of infant life; to teach confidence and to feed hope; to train upthe creeping tendrils of young desire, and not to suffer them to liestraggling and tangled on the earth,--what a happier destiny would fallto the lot of many whose misfortunes in late life date from the crushedspirit of childhood!
My mother I--I thought of her as she would bend oyer me at night, herlast kiss pressed on my brow,--the healing balm of some sorrow for whichmy sobs were still breaking,--her pale, worn cheek, her white dress, herhand so bloodless and transparent, the very emblem of her malady. Thetears started to my eyes and rolled heavily along my cheek, my chestheaved, and my heart beat till I could hear it. At this moment a slightrustle stirred the leaves: I listened, for the night was calm and still;not a breeze moved. Again I heard it close beside the window, on thelittle terrace which ran along the building, and occupied the narrowspace beside the edge of the rock. Before I could imagine what it meant,a figure in white glided from the shade of the trees and approachedthe window. So excited was my mind, so wrought up my imagination by thecircumstances of my dream and the thoughts that followed, that I criedout, in a voice of ecstasy, "My mother!" Suddenly the apparition stoodstill, and then as rapidly retreated, and was lost to view in the darkfoliage. Maddened with intense excitement, I sprang from the window, andleaped out on the terrace. I called aloud; I ran about wildly, unmindfulof the fearful precipice that yawned beside me. I searched every bush,I crept beneath each tree, but nothing could I detect. The coldperspiration poured down my face; my limbs trembled with a strange dreadof I knew not what. I felt as if madness was creeping over me, and Istruggled with the thought and tried to calm my troubled brain. Weariedand faint, I gave up the pursuit at last, and, throwing myself on mybed, I sank exhausted into the heavy slumber which only tired natureknows.
"The Sous-Lieutenant Burke," said a gruff voice, awakening me suddenlyfrom my sleep, while by the light of a lantern he held in his hand Irecognized the figure of an orderly sergeant in full equipment.
"Yes. What then?" said I, in some amazement at the summons.
"This is the order of march, sir, for the invalid detachment under yourcommand."
"How so? I have no orders."
"They are here, sir."
So saying, he presented me with a letter from the assistant-adjutantof the corps, with instructions for the conduct of forty men, invalidedfrom different regiments, and now on their way to Lintz. The paper wasperfectly regular, setting forth the names of the soldiers andtheir several corps, together with the daily marches, the halts, anddistances. My only surprise was how this service so suddenly devolved onme, whose recovery could only have been reported a few hours before.
"When shall I muster the detachment, sir?" said the sergeant,interrupting me in the midst of my speculations.
"Now,--at once. It is past five o'clock. I see Langenau is mentioned asthe first halting-place; we can reach it by eight."
The moment the sergeant withdrew, I arose and dressed for the road,anxious to inform mademoiselle as early as possible of this sudden orderof march. When I entered the _salon_, I found to my surprise that thebreakfast table was all laid and everything ready. "What can this mean?"said I; "has she heard it already?" At the same instant I caught sightof the door of her chamber lying wide open. I approached, and looked in.The room was empty; the various trunks and boxes, the little relicsof military glory I remembered to have seen with her, were all gone.Minette had departed; when or whither, I knew not. I hurried through thebuilding, from room to room, without meeting any one. The door was open,and I passed out into the dark street, where all was still and silentas the grave. I hastened to the stable: my horse, ready equipped andsaddled, was feeding; but the stall beside him was empty,--the pony ofthe vivandiere was gone. While many a thought flashed on my brain as toher fate, I tortured my mind to remember each circumstance of our lastmeeting,--every word and every look; and as I called to my memory thepettish anger of my manner towards her, I grew sick at heart, and hatedmyself for my own cold ingratitude. All her little acts of kindness, hertender care, her unwearying good-nature, were before me. I thought ofher as I had seen her often in the silence of the night, when, wakingfrom some sleep of pain, she sat beside my bed, her hand pressed onmy heated forehead; her low, clear voice was in my ear; her soft,mild look, beaming with hope and tender pity. Poor Minette! had I thenoffended you? was such the return I made for all your kindness?
"The men are ready, sir," said the sergeant, entering at the moment.
"She is gone," said I, following out my own sad train of thought, andpointing to the vacant stall where her pony used to stand.
"Mademoiselle Minette--"
"Yes, what of her--where is she?"
"Marched with the cuirassier brigade that passed here last night attwelve o'clock. She seemed very ill, sir, and the officer made her siton one of the wagons."
"Which road did they take? "
"They crossed the river, and moved away towards the forest. I think Iheard the troop-sergeant say something about Salzburg and the Tyrol."
I made no answer, but stood mute and stupefied; when I was againrecalled to thought by his asking if my baggage was ready for thewagons.
With a sullen apathy I pointed
out my trunks in silence, and throwingone last look on the room, the scene of my former suffering, and of muchpleasure too, I mounted my horse, and gave the word to move forward.
As we passed from the gate, I stopped to question the sous-officier asto the route of the cuirassier division. But he could only repeatwhat the sergeant had already told me; adding, there were several menslightly wounded in the squadrons, for they had been engaged twicewithin the week. The gates closed! and we were on the highroad.