The Span o' Life Part 12

My blood ran cold at the thought. I stared at the lanthorn until my eyes ached, and, when I looked elsewhere, the image of the flame only faded to give place to another scene in the drama that tried my fort.i.tude almost beyond endurance: It was early dawn outside the Brouillon Bastion, chilling sheets of fog swept in from over the dull waters, and there, with back against the ramparts, stood a coatless figure, with pinioned arms and bandaged eyes, facing a file of soldiers--the dreadful waiting in the dark, the whispered commands, the sudden movement of the men, and then--I jumped to my feet trembling in every limb, and with shaking hand wiped the gathered perspiration from my forehead, but could not wipe away the vision of the men staring at the motionless figure lying face downward on the trampled gra.s.s, dishonoured, never to be spoken of, until the Great Day, when all the injustices of the ages shall be righted and made clear.

I again seized the lanthorn and re-examined every stone and corner with feverish hope, only to have despair triumph over it more completely than before. Then came a season of mad revolt. It was too horrible! too impossible! that I, Hugh Maxwell, a gentleman, who had lived delicately, who had shone in society which the world courted, who had loved fair women, had talked, and smiled, and sung to them, could in a few short hours be lying a mangled corpse in this obscure corner of the world, could die the death of a dog, of a traitor, the most shameful that can come to a man of honour. I was filled with a vast pity for myself, so mighty and overwhelming that tears filled my eyes as for another, for I saw myself apart, as it were, as distinctly as I saw that pitiful figure before the ramparts; then the childishness of it flashed across me and I laughed aloud; but my laughter was no more real than my tears, for neither brought relief, and the weary round began again.

How many hours this continued I do not know, but my attention was suddenly arrested by a sound at the door, and I made out a jingle of keys. Quickly blowing out the light, I drew my sword and prepared to force an exit, no matter what the odds. But scarce had the door moved when I caught a low whisper. "The chest against the wall!

Quick!" Then followed the voice of Madame Prevost raised in dismay: "Mon Dieu, Charles! My candle has gone out! Hurry, bring a light!"

The moment's delay sufficed; I gained the chest and squeezed myself in, letting the lid down over me.

In a moment and before my heart ceased beating I heard her clear accents again. "There, Charles! There, Antoine! Take it up and carry it to my room." And I felt the chest slowly lifted, and the men staggered out, complaining loudly of its weight.

Up the stairs we travelled, uncomfortably for me; then on a level again along the pa.s.sage; and I was laughing to myself at the probable outcome of my adventure, when I heard,

"Where in the name of all the devils are you lugging that thing?"

It was the Commissary!

"To my room. I want to put my furs away," came the soft answer from madame.

"Blague! Put it down!" And I was jarred on the stone flags.

Then came a pause, and I was speculating on the best mode of attack for a man in my ridiculous position, when the chest was lifted at one end and again dropped heavily.

Then came the same voice, but with a tone of triumph to it:

"Well, do as you like; but there is a lot of old rubbish in it.

Take it first, and empty it over the Princess's Bastion!" And once more the chest was slowly lifted.

A pretty situation surely, and clever on the part of M. the Commissary again. A tumble down on those rocks or into the moat would be equally effective, and would not require such explanations as if my body were found in the King's vaults; but my gentleman reckoned without his host.

My scheme was as simple as his own. Hardly had we got clear of the house before my mind was made up. When I judged we were at the open s.p.a.ce between the end of the barricaded street and the ramparts I uttered a terrifying yell and flapped the lid. It was enough.

The chest went cras.h.i.+ng to the ground, and I crawled out, bruised but otherwise unhurt, and my valiant porters were out of sight.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I crawled out bruised, but otherwise unhurt."]

Without delay I made my way to M. Bois de la Mothe, in charge of the fleet, and stated the case, carefully suppressing, however, all mention of my personal adventure, and by morning was in possession of the desired stores, extracted from the Commissary by a peremptory threat to put him in irons and send him to France if they were not forth-coming.

Long before our preparations could be made for leaving the town, the sound of musketry reached us from La Cormorandiere, and we knew the landing was attempted. I was all impatience to be off, but our scanty stores could not be risked if the attempt were successful; so with the others I anxiously awaited the result. But, alas! our stoutest hopes were dashed by the sight of white uniforms straggling over the crest of the hill in full flight, and, instead of a hospital train, I was soon heading a sortie to support the retreat of our troops, with the cannon thundering over our heads to cover their entry into the threatened town.

CHAPTER XI

"A FRIEND AT ONE'S BACK IS A SAFE BRIDGE"

One after another our positions were abandoned or driven in, until the plan of defence by our outlying works entirely failed, and we were forced to fall back on the sorry defences of the town itself.

Our s.h.i.+ps did little or no effective service, and though we succeeded in closing the mouth of the harbour and were comparatively safe on that side, the English crept closer and closer, until they hemmed us in between their ever-contracting lines and the sea.

On the evening of the 8th of July the colonel of the regiment of Bourgogne called for volunteers, and leaving the town by night, six hundred strong, we hurled ourselves upon the enemy's southern line, only to be driven back with heavy enough losses on each side, and at daybreak to see the English General, Wolfe, in a more advanced position.

Among the prisoners we carried in with us was a young officer of the 78th, a Highland regiment.

My services as interpreter were not required, as he spake French perfectly, so it was not until after his interview with M. de Drucour that I met him in company with my colonel.

"Chevalier, a countryman of your own, an unwilling guest on our poor hospitality. Captain Nairn, the Chevalier de Kirkconnel."

We bowed, but I supplemented the courtesy by extending my hand, for I was in no doubt for a moment as to his ident.i.ty, his likeness to his sister Margaret being remarkable.

"Captain Nairn is well known to me," I said, laughing. "I could even name him more intimately."

"Indeed, and what might that be?" he returned, on his guard.

"Archie."

"G.o.d bless my soul! Who are you, sir? I haven't heard that name for ten years!" he exclaimed, in the greatest surprise.

"I can go even further. I can name a certain mission which ended in Fort William."

"Sir," he answered, with grave dignity, "I dislike mystifications.

Who told you these things?"

"One Maxwell."

"Have a care, sir; you are naming one to whom I am under deep obligation."

"I am naming one, Captain Nairn, who will be as pleased to be of service to you now as then."

At this his face fairly flamed with pleasure, and he caught my hand in both his.

"Chevalier, I know you now. Maxwell of Kirkconnel! There is no man I would rather meet in this world than yourself."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Chevalier, I know you now".]

"I cannot make out a word of your jargon," broke in M. de St.

Julhien, "but you seem to understand each other. Barbarians, va!

You are best left in charge of each other. You are on parole, remember, Captain Nairn--and you are on your honour as host, remember, Chevalier. Do not disgrace our reputation for hospitality.

If your cellar be low, I have a bottle or two uncracked," he cried, as he bowed and walked off, and we took our way to my quarters.

My heart was bursting for news of my dear Margaret, but these were the last tidings I could ask of a brother whose sister had cast him off. In ordinary courtesy I had to abandon my personal gratification and feign a lively interest in his adventures.

These, however, I have no intention of inflicting upon my reader.

I have refrained from telling much of interest in connection with myself through a reticence which is, perhaps, blamable; and Captain Nairn, although relating a tale which bore every impress of truth, was bald in his manner, lacking that lively sensibility which is the charm of all cultivated narration, and, being unable to view any occurrence save from a personal stand, was utterly lacking in any sense of humour.

At length I felt I was justified in asking for tidings of her, who for me, stood first among all women.

"You are aware, Captain Nairn, that when with my cousin Lady Jane Drummond in London and Paris I saw much of your sister Margaret.

I know of the unhappy resolution she took, on hearing of your acceptance of service under King George, but may I hope that it is dissipated ere now, and that you can give me news of her, for these hostilities have prevented all correspondence for near a year past?"