Tom Burke Of "Ours" Volume Ii Part 31

My thoughts permitted my taking no note of time, and I know not how long it was before we reached the crest of the hill, over whose bleak surface a cold, cutting wind was blowing. It seemed as if a great tableland extended now for some distance on every side, over which the Emperor took his way, as though accustomed to the ground. While I was wondering at the certainty with which he appeared to determine on his road, I remarked the feeble flickering of a light far away towards the horizon, and by which it was evident he guided his steps. As we rode on, several watchfires could be seen towards the northwest, stretching away to a great distance, and throwing a yellowish glare in the dark sky above them. Suddenly I perceived the Emperor halt and dismount, and as speedily again he was in the saddle; but now his path took a different direction, and diverged considerably to the southward. Curious to learn what might have caused his change of direction, I rode up to the spot, and got off. It was the embers of a watchfire; they were almost extinguished, but still, as the horse's hoof struck the wood, a few sparks were emitted. It was this, then, which altered his course; and once more he pressed his horse to speed.

A steep ascent of some hundred yards lay before us now. But on gaining the top, a brilliant spectacle of a thousand watchfires met the eye: so close did they seem, it looked like one great volcanic crater blazing on the mountain top; while above, the lurid glow reddened the black sky, and melted away into the darkness in clouds of faint yellowish hue. Far, very far away, and to the north, stretched another much longer line of fires, but at great intervals apart, and occupying, as well as I might guess, about two leagues in extent. Several smaller fires dotted the plain, marking the outpost positions; and it was not difficult to trace the different lines of either army even by these indications.

While I yet looked, the Emperor had gained a short distance in advance of me; and suddenly I heard the hoa.r.s.e challenge of a sentry, calling out, "Qui vive?" Buried in his own thoughts,--perhaps far too deeply lost in meditation to hear the cry,--Napoleon never replied nor slackened his speed. "Qui vive?" shouted the voice again: and before I could advance, the sharp bang of a musket-shot rang out; another and another followed; and then a roll of fire swept along the plain, happily not in the direction of the Emperor. But already he had thrown himself from his horse, and lay flat upon the ground.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 264]

Not a moment was now to be lost. I dashed my spurs into my jaded horse, and rode forwards, calling aloud, at the top of my voice, "The Emperor!

the Emperor!" Still, the panic overbore my words, and another discharge was given: with one bullet I was struck in the shoulder, another killed my horse; but springing to my legs in an instant, I rushed on, repeating my cry. Before I could do more than point to the spot, Napoleon came forward, leading his horse by the bridle. His step was slow and measured, and his face--for many a torchlight was now gathered to the place--was calm and tranquil.

"Ye are well upon the alert, _mes enfant!_" said he, with a smile; "see that ye be as ready with your fire to-morrow!" A wild cheer answered these words, while he continued: "These are the new levies, Lieutenant; the Guards would have had more patience. Where is the officer who followed me?"

"Here, Sire," said I, endeavoring to conceal the appearance of being wounded.

"Mount, sir, and accompany me to headquarters."

"My horse is killed, Sire."

"Yes, _parbleu!_" said a young soldier, who had not learned much respect before his superiors; "and he has a ball in his neck himself."

"Are you wounded?" said the Emperor, with a quickness in his manner.

"A mere flesh-wound in the arm,--of no consequence, Sire."

"Let the surgeon of the detachment see to this at once, Lieutenant,"

said he to the officer of the party; "and do you come to headquarters when you are able."

With this, the Emperor mounted again, and in a few seconds more was lost to our sight.

"_Ventrebleu!_" said the old lieutenant, who had served without promotion from the first battles of the Republic, "you'll be a colonel for that scratch on your epaulette, if we only beat the Prussians to-morrow; and here am I, with eight wounds from lead and steel, and the Pet.i.t Caporal never bade me visit him at his bivouac. Come, come! I don't wish to be unfriendly; it's not _your_ fault, it's only _my_ bad fortune. And here comes the surgeon."

The lieutenant was right,--the epaulette had the worst of the adventure; and, in half an hour I proceeded on my way to headquarters.

CHAPTER XXII. L'HOMME ROUGE

On my way to the imperial quarters, I fell in with some squadrons of our dragoons, from whom I learned that General d'Auvergne had just received orders to repair to the Emperor's bivouac, to which several officers in command were also summoned. As I saw, therefore, that I could have no prospect of meeting the Emperor, I resolved merely to hold myself in readiness, should he, which seemed little likely, think of me; and accordingly I took up my post with some young under-officers of our brigade, at a huge fire, where a species of canteen had been established, and coffee and corn-brandy were served out to all comers.

The recent escape of Napoleon at the outposts was already known far and near, and formed the great topic of conversation, in which, I felt hurt to remark, no mention of the part I took was ever made, although there were at least a dozen different versions of the accident. In one, his Majesty was represented to have rode down upon and sabred the advanced picket; in another, it was the Prussians who fired, he having penetrated within their lines to reconnoitre,--each agreeing in the one great fact, that the feat was something which no one save himself could have done or thought of. As for me, I felt it was not my part to speak of the incident at all until his Majesty should first do so. I listened, therefore, with due patience and some amus.e.m.e.nt to the various narratives about me; which served to show me, by one slight instance, the measure of that exaggeration with which the Emperor's name was ever treated, and convinced me that it required not time nor distance to color every incident of his life with the strongest hues of romance. The topic was a fruitful and favorite one; and certainly few subjects could with more propriety season the hours around a bivouac fire than the exploits of the Emperor Napoleon.

Among those whose reminiscences went farthest back was an old sergeant-major of infantry,--a seared and seamed and weather-beaten little fellow, who, from fatigues and privations, was dried up to a ma.s.s of tendons and fibres. This little man presented one of those strange mixtures with which the army abounded,--the shrewdest common sense on all ordinary topics, with a most credulous faith in any story where Napoleon's name occurred. It seemed, indeed, as though that one element, occurring in any tale, dispensed at once with the rules which govern belief in common cases.

The invulnerability of the Emperor was with him a fruitful theme; and he teemed with anecdotes of the Egyptian and Italian campaigns, in which it was incontestably shown that neither shot nor sh.e.l.l had any effect upon him. But of all the superst.i.tions regarding Napoleon, none had such complete hold on his imagination, nor was more implicitly believed by him, than the story of that little "Red Man," who, it was a.s.serted, visited the Emperor the night before each great battle, and arranged with him the manoeuvres of the succeeding day.

"L'Homme Bouge," as he was called, was an article of faith in the French army that few of the soldiers ever thought of disputing. Some from pure credulity, some from the force of example, and some again from indolence, believed in this famed personage; but even the veriest scoffer on more solemn subjects would have hesitated ere he ventured to a.s.sail the almost universal belief in this supernatural agency.

The Emperor's well-known habit of going out alone to visit pickets and outposts on the eve of a battle was a circ.u.mstance too favorable to this superst.i.tion not to be employed in its defence. Besides, it was well known that he spent hours by himself, when none even of the marshals had access to him; and on these occasions it was said "L'Homme Bouge" was with him. Sentinels had been heard to declare that they could overhear angry words pa.s.sing between the Emperor and his guest; that threats had been interchanged between them; and on one occasion it was said that the "Red Man" went so 'far as to declare, that if his advice were neglected Napoleon should lose the battle, see his artillery fall into the hands of the enemy, and behold the Guard capitulate.

"_Mille tonnerres!_ what are you saying?" broke in the little man, to the grim old soldier who was relating this. "You know nothing of 'L'Homme Rouge,'--not a word; how should you? But I served in the Twenty-second of the Line, old Mongoton's corps; the 'Faubourg Devils,'

as they were called. _He_ knew him well; it was 'L'Homme Rouge' had him shot for treason at Cairo. I was one of the company drawn for his execution; and when he knelt down on the gra.s.s, he held up his hand this way, and cried out,--

"'Voltigeurs of the Line, hear me! You have all known me many years; you have seen whether I could face the enemy like a man; and you can tell whether I cared for the heaviest charge that ever shook a square. You know, also, whether I was true to our general. Well, it is "L'Homme Rouge" who has brought me to this. And now: Carry arms!--all together!

Come, _mes enfants!_ try it again: Carry arms! (ay, that's better) present arms! fire!'

"_Morbleu!_ the word was not well out when he was dead; and there, through the smoke, as plain as I see you now, I saw the figure of a little fellow, dressed in scarlet,--feather and boots all the same! He was standing over the corpse, and threatening it with his hands. And that," said he, in a solemn voice, "that was 'L'Homme Rouge!'"

This anecdote was conclusive. There was no gainsaying the a.s.sertions of a man who had, with his own eyes, seen the celebrated "Red Man;"

and from that instant he enjoyed a decided monopoly of everything that concerned his private history.

According to the sergeant-major's version,--and who could venture to contradict him?--"L'Homme Rouge" was not the confidential adviser and friendly counsellor of the Emperor; but, on the contrary, his evil genius, perpetually employed in thwarting his plans and opposing his views. Each seemed to have his hour of triumph alternately. Now it was the Bed Man, now Napoleon, who stood in the ascendant. Fortune for a long period had been constant to the Emperor, and victory crowned every battle. This had, it seemed, greatly chagrined "L'Homme Bouge," who for years past had not been seen nor heard of. The last tradition of him was a story told by one of the sentinels on guard at the general's quarters at Mont Tabor.

It was midnight: all was still and silent in the camp. The soldiers slept as men sleep before a battle, when the old grenadier who walked his short post before General Bonaparte's tent heard a quick tread approaching him. "Qui vive?" cried he; but there was no reply. "Qui vive?" called the sentry once more; but as he did so he leaped backwards and brought his musket to the charge, for just then something brushed close by him and entered the tent.

For a moment or two he doubted what should be done. Should he turn out the guard? It was only to be laughed at; that would never do. But what if it really were somebody who had penetrated to the general's quarters?

As this thought struck him, he crept up close to the tent; and there, true enough, he heard the voices of two persons speaking.

"Ah! thou here?" said Bonaparte. "I scarce expected to see thee so far from France!"

"Alas!" said the other, with a deep sigh, "what land is now open to me, or whither shall I fly to? I took refuge in Brussels; well, what should I see one morning, but the tall shakos of your grenadiers coming up the steep street. I fled to Holland; you were there the day after. 'Come,'

thought I, 'he's moving northwards; I'll try the other extreme.' So I started for the Swiss. _Sacrebleu_! the roll of your confounded drums resounded through every valley. I reached the banks of the Po; your troops were there the same evening. I pushed for Rome; they were preparing your quarters, which you occupied that night. Away, then, I start once more; I cross mountains and rivers and seas, and gain the desert at last. I thank my fortune that there are a thousand leagues between us; and here you are now. For pity's sake, show me, on that map of the world, one little spot you don't want to conquer, and let me live there in peace, and be sure never to meet you more."

Bonaparte did not speak for some minutes, and it seemed as though he were intently considering the request of "L'Homme Rouge."

"There," said he at length, "there! You see that island in the great sea, with nothing near it; thou mayest go there."

"How is it called?" said "L'Homme Rouge."

"St. Helena," said the general. "It is not very large; but I promise thee to be undisturbed there."

"You 'll never come there, then? Is that a pledge?"

"Never; I promise it. At least, if I do, thou shalt be the master, and I the slave."

"Enough! I go now. Adieu!" said the little man. And the same instant the sentinel felt his arm brushed by some one pa.s.sing close beside him; and then all was silent in the tent once more.

"Thus, you see," said the sergeant-major, "from that hour it was agreed on the Emperor should conquer the whole world, and leave that one little spot for 'L'Homme Rouge.' _Parbleu!_ he might well spare him that much."

"How big might it be, that island?" said an old grenadier, who listened with the deepest attention to the tale.

"Nothing to speak of; about the size of one battalion drawn up in square."

"_Pardieu!_ a small kingdom too!"

"Ah! it would not do for the Emperor," said the sergeant-major, laughing,--an emotion the others joined in at once; and many a jest went round at the absurdity of such a thought.

I sat beside the watchfire, listening to the old campaigning stories, till one by one the speakers dropped off to sleep. The bronzed veteran and the boy conscript, the old soldier of the Sambre and the beardless youth, lay side by side: to some of these it was the last time they should slumber on earth. As the night wore on, the sounds became hushed in the camp, and through the thin frosty air I could hear from a long distance off the tramp of the patrols and the challenge of the reliefs as the outposts were visited. The Prussian sentries were quite close to our advanced posts, and when the wind came from that quarter, I often heard the voices as they exchanged their signals.

Through the entire night, officers came and went to and from the tent of the Emperor. To him, at least, it seemed no season of repose. At length, when nigh morning, wearied with watching and tired out with expectancy, I leaned my head on my knees, and dropped into a half-sleep. Some vague sense of disappointment at being forgotten by the Emperor, was the last thought I had as I fell off, and in its sadness it colored all my dreams. I remembered, with all the freshness of a recent event, the curse of the old hag on the morning I had quitted my home forever,--her prayer that bad luck should track me every step through life; and in the shadowy uncertainty of my sleeping thoughts I believed I was predestined to misfortune.