University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

Sardanapalus.

The morning was as dark as midnight; the
moon had set two hours before, and not a star
was twinkling in the firmament, when our bugles
sounded the reveillé. Yet, unaccustomed as they
were to early risings or forced marches, so perfect
was the influence I had gained over the spirits
both of men and officers, during the occurrences of
the preceding day, that they mustered on that
torch-light parade, not only without complaint or
murmur, but with alacrity and glee. It was with
a degree of pleasurable excitement which I cannot

well describe, that I listened to their reckless
exclamations, mingled with the clash of spur and
scabbard, as they fell into their ranks beneath my
casement; and as I descended the creaking stairs
of the rude hostelry, I felt that I was no longer a
homeless, helpless fugitive, but a leader well prepared
to do battle—if that battle were for a
crown.

A more brilliant spectacle has rarely met my
eyes than that which presented itself as I passed
through the low doorway, and stood upon the village-green:
the skies black as a funeral canopy
above—the massive architectural front of the
Gothic abbey on the right, its salient angles splendidly
touched by the red light of the torches; and,
in the foreground of the picture, three thousand
gallant horsemen marshalled in one long line—
their casques and corslets throwing back the glare
of the flambeaux borne by their orderlies—the
subalterns wheeling rapidly through their files, the
restless chargers stamping and tossing their proud
heads, and the banners waving in the night-wind.

Scarcely, however, had my foot pressed the
threshold, ere the scene was altered. As I first beheld
them, all save a dozen figures were motionless
as steel-clad statues; not a sound was heard
but the occasional clash of armour, or the kick and

scream of some vicious steed: but when I stood
before my followers, not, as on the previous evening,
in the rough garb of a mere mercenary trooper,
but wearing, in addition to a bright helmet and
breastplate, the full uniform of the corps—furnished
for the occasion by the officer next in command—a
shout, that might have been heard at a
mile's distance, broke the silence—again and again
it pealed—louder and louder yet, till the affrighted
martins, fluttering down from their nests on the
minster-towers, circled, with startled wing and
short shrill cry, above our heads in the lurid torch-light.

Words cannot depict the sensations of that moment—independent
of all the gratified feelings of
the man, all the military pride of the soldier, a load
of care was lifted from my heart by the sincere
expression of that clamour. Till I had heard “all
hearts and tongues uniting in that cry,” I had been
plunged in a sea of doubts, almost of fears. I had,
it is true, introduced myself, and successfully, to
troops bearing a character of the wildest license;
I had found them, in the main, orderly and well
affectioned, and had gained, in an incredibly short
period, their good opinion at least, if not their love.
But I had yet a harder task before me. Whether my
credentials would have been deemed satisfactory,

had they not been backed by a fortunate display of
the bearer's prowess, was far from being a settled
point; and—although it had become evident to
me, in the course of the preceding evening, that
the men were willing, and perhaps eager, to follow
a leader who was likely to afford them a fair
chance of gaining both repute and plunder in the
regular routine of duty—I was, till that moment,
doubtful how far they might be trusted in a matter
of such delicacy as the escort and protection of a
lady, whose presence might, moreover, impose a
check upon the celerity of their movements and
the license of their manners. But with that honest
shout my hesitation vanished. Tell me not of the
expression of countenance, of the flash of the eye,
or the wreathing of the lip: the stoic can freeze
their living language into icy indifference—the
man of the world can mould them into the semblance
of a smile—but let me hear the voice—the
human voice—I care not whether in the familiar
sounds of my childhood, or in the unknown accents
of a foreign tongue—and I can read the feelings
which give birth and being to those tones, as
clearly as though they were written in the pages
of a book. In the softest whisper or the deepest
roar, I can detect—I have a hundred times detected—the
lurking devil; but in that shout, although
I listened as the criminal listens for the
footsteps which may bear to him his reprieve, I
could not catch a single note but of unanimous
and heartfelt greeting.

In a brief speech, pointed, and eloquent of
thought, if not of words, I tendered them my
thanks—spoke cheerily of success, and confidently
of danger—hinted that I might, perchance, have
occasion ere long to prove that loyalty which
they so freely proffered—leaped on my good
charger, wheeled the long line into column—gave
the word to quench the torches, and to march—
and in an instant all was gloom and silence, except
the heavy onward tramp of the squadrons,
and the lights of the town, which soon vanished
behind us as we rode briskly forward.

Before the morning dawned, we had already
passed the scene of the preceding day's engagement;
and as we filed along the causeway, I could
hear the stifled merriment and whispered conversation
of the soldiers, recounting to their comrades
the various incidents of that brief conflict. It was
evident that they were all in the highest spirits,
full of emulation between themselves, and of
ardour against the foe—the men who had already
fleshed their swords, eager to maintain their place
in my opinion, and those whom fortune had not

yet favoured, burning to achieve an equal reputation.

At noon we halted to refresh our horses, and to
dine the men, in the hamlet at which I had paused
during my upward march; and great was the surprise
of mine host at recognising, in the leader of
a gallant squadron, the weather-beaten and neglected
trooper whom, two short days before, he
had treated with scant courtesy. Here it was that
an event occurred which, although in itself of little
moment, had the effect of bringing down my spirits
from the pitch to which they had towered, and of
rendering me miserably anxious during the remainder
of our march. On going out, after a brief
repast, into the inn-yard, for the purpose of inspecting
the horses of the troopers, and seeing with my
own eyes that no means were left untried for
maintaining their condition, I was struck by observing
a fresh horse-track, which certainly had
not been there when we filed an hour before through
the arched gateway. I know not why it was,
but at the instant of my discovering that some one
had left the inn since our arrival, a deep presentiment
of coming evil crossed my mind. I actually
shuddered at the idea which, with the rapidity
and nearly the force of lightning, flashed upon my
soul.

“Sergeant le Vasseur,” I cried, to a fine young
orderly busily employed in rubbing dry the fet-locks
of a vicious charger—“Sergeant le Vasseur,
has any one gone hence on horseback since the
troops marched in, or whence this hoof-track?”

Two or three voices were raised at once in
reply, that a servitor, apparently of a noble family,
who had been in the hostelry when we entered,
had immediately proceeded to the stables, saddled
a fine and highly-blooded jennet, with marks of
extreme haste, and ridden away on a hard gallop.

“Ha!” I exclaimed, more deeply annoyed than
I was willing to admit; “ha!—but it matters not!
Let the men get to horse—we have yet a long
day's march before us, and the sun has already
passed the meridian. To horse—sound trumpets!”
and, for a space, all was confusion, noise,
and bustle.

During the tumult, I returned to the hostelry,
and, calling for a measure of the best, took the
opportunity of inquiring concerning the stranger.
What I learned was far from quieting my apprehensions.
It was, to the best of his recollection,
the landlord said, on the afternoon of the day which
I had passed beneath his roof, that the servant had
arrived. He had questioned him closely concerning
the travellers who had passed that way lately;

and I could easily judge from the speaker's manner,
that he had acquired all the information concerning
me which could be derived from the limited knowledge
and unlimited garrulity of mine host. Here
he had remained, living of the best, and paying with
lavish liberality, until our approach had scared him
from his roost. When, in addition to this, I learned
that his liveries were tawny, guarded with blue
lace, my fears wanted no further confirmation:
that I had been tracked was evident; and I was
painfully apprehensive that some deadly evil was
meditated, in the only quarter where evil would be
intolerable. Still there was no remedy; I was
pressing on as quickly as was consistent with certainty,
and a few hours must bring about a solution
of my terrors.

“Monsieur de Charmi,” I cried to my second in
command—“it was my original purpose to have
halted for the night at Bar le Duc, but we
must on to St. Dizier, though we trespass on
the hours of darkness. Our route is noted, and
I have fearful reason to press forward. Think
you the horses of the third regiment can hold out?
they are somewhat jaded even now.”

“I doubt it not, sir; they are well-blooded and
in good condition, though somewhat under-sized;
but should the worst occur, Colonel le Chaumont's

regiment is fresh, and, if you deem it good, can
march with ease to St. Dizier, and accomplish the
distance in two hours less time than the division;”—
he paused for a moment; but, seeing that I offered
no reply, continued, though not without some hesitation—“and
if a single regiment might serve your
turn to-night, I dare be sworn to join you with
the rest ere daybreak.”

“It shall be so, sir,” I replied, eagerly grasping
at the idea—“see Chaumont's regiment equipped
at once, and in their lightest marching order: let
St. Agreve's regiment bring their baggage up to-morrow;
and, hark ye, sir—I trust all to your
prudence, and a heavy trust it is.—On no account
delay. There must be no fighting that can by any
means—by any means I say, sir—be avoided. If
you must fight, tarry not for pursuit or victory—
cut your way through whatever shall oppose your
advance, though it be ten times your force. Join
me, if possible, to-night; but I leave it to your discretion
to halt, if so it must be, at Bar le Duc, or
even at Villotte; but, at the latest, I shall look for
you before to-morrow's noon! Farewell, sir, fare
ye well; be prudent, and be fortunate!”

And, clapping spurs to Bayard, I led the freshest
regiment of my division, at a pace which I should
hardly have ventured to adopt, had I not been

fully aware that night was fast approaching. It
was nearly four o'clock in the afternoon when we
reached Bar le Duc; but my horses were so fresh,
that, after a brief halt, I hurried on towards St.
Dizier, about three miles to the right of which lay
the convent of St. Benedict aux Layes.

In this manner we continued to advance, as fast
as prudence and the state of the roads would permit;
still, however, the shades of evening were
closing fast around us, as we entered the woody
country which lies on all sides of the little village
of Saudrupt, on the river Saulx. The road, for
the most part, ran between high banks of reddish
sand, clothed on either hand with a stunted undergrowth
of ash and hazel, mingled with a few still
verdant hollies, and with dark patches of the
prickly furze; it was, in parts, overflowed with
water, which by the rigour of the season had been
converted into broad sheets of ice. Wherever
these occurred, I had continually observed the
horse-track which had caused me so much uneasiness,
deeply dinted into the smooth surface. The
horse had been shod with a bar-shoe on the near
foot before, so that I had not the least difficulty in
distinguishing the prints from those of the country
garrons which had occasionally crossed or followed
the highway. We were just entering one

of the deepest of those sandy gorges which I have
described, when the report of a musket rang, with
its oft-repeated echoes, through the woodland;
and after a moment's pause, the horse of the
vidette who had preceded us galloped madly
back upon our main body, with the rein dangling
loose from his head, and the carcass of the unfortunate
trooper, who had bestridden him a few
seconds before in all the pride of vigorous manhood,
dragged by the stirrup, and leaving a long
trace of gore upon the frozen road. My resolution
was taken on the instant. Shrewdly suspecting an
ambuscade, and perfectly convinced of the importance
of forcing the obstacle, I dismounted three
or four files, spreading them out as skirmishers on
either flank, to clear the woods by the fire of their
petronels. I then put myself at the head of my best
troop; and pressed steadily forward, keeping my
front, however, a few paces in the rear of the
skirmishers, who performed their duty with intelligence
and activity, darting from tree to tree as
they advanced, and beating every covert that
could conceal a lurking foeman. In a few moments
the flash of the right-hand flanker's petronel,
sending its bright stream of flame through the increasing
darkness of the coppice, announced that
the enemy was discovered. A more beautiful
effect I never witnessed than the brilliant running
fire that ensued: but little time had I at that moment
to think of sights or sounds; for, the object
of their advance having been effected, the skirmishers
were already retiring to their horses,
while the troopers whom they had dislodged,
dashing into the open path, and discharging their
pistols at the head of our column, fled furiously
along the road. At a glance I recognised the
liveries of the hindmost rider, and the figure of the
Andalusian jennet—on the instant I comprehended
the object of the attack. The small number of the
assailants proved at once that no check upon the
column could have been intended—murder—my
murder was contemplated. The villain had observed,
on the entrance of our squadrons into the
courtyard of the inn, that I had ridden foremost.
His aim had been unerring, although the gloom of
the evening had prevented his discovering the features,
or even the accoutrements, of his victim
with sufficient accuracy.

My blood in my veins, as I whirled my
good rapier from its sheath, and, dashing the spurs
into my charger's flank, charged with a fierce
shout full on the retreating ruffians. Ere I had
overtaken the little group, which I did, as it appeared
to me, in a dozen bounds, the servant,

whose capture was my principal inducement to
pursue, had outstripped the whole of his party.
The first man I reached, seeing that he had no
hope of safety in flight, attempted to wheel his
horse and face me; but the attempt was his destruction.
I was too close to his haunches when
he commenced the manœuvre, and, before he could
complete it, I was upon him. In full career, the
broad chest of Bayard struck the flank of his charger,
as he turned; over he went, and over, regaining
his feet only to be cut down by the troopers who
followed me, while I, unmoved by the slight shock,
held onward. One other, as I passed him standing
in my stirrups, I struck full on the head-piece with
my rapier's point; and the heavy clang of his
armour, as he fell, alone told me the consequences
of the blow. Scattering to the right and left, as I
drove through them, the rest avoided me, to perish
by the weapons of my men; for, unwilling to
waste time upon the mere accomplices, I spurred
hard upon the traces of the principal. Fiercely,
however, as I rode, I soon perceived that I gained
nothing on the fugitive; and that there was no
option but to suffer him to escape, or to desert my
troops with scarcely a possibility of again effecting
a junction. I was therefore compelled to pull up,
and to gaze upon the wretch, to secure whose capture
I would have sacrificed willingly the sum of
all my earthly goods, carrying off the news of his
frustrated effort, and of my approach, to those who,
I too well knew, would profit by the intelligence.

Words cannot express the misery I endured, as
I was compelled to creep along at the slow pace
of the troops; while my mind, darting over the
well-remembered road, had already arrived at the
place of my destination. Miles appeared to my
excited fancy leagues, minutes dragged along like
hours: the attempt to describe the images of evil
that crossed the horizon of my excited mind would
be a mere absurdity; words cannot describe them.
By my honour, I shook in my steel-bound saddle
at every shadow that fell across my path; I started
at every howl of the wolves from the near forest;
I grasped my ready weapon a hundred times at
the sight of some gray pollard-tree, decked with
the glitter of the rising moonbeams, and converted,
to my heated fancy, into the guise of an
armed foeman. At length we reached the brow
of the last hill, from which the land slopes, in a
gradual and park-like sweep, down to the banks of
the Marne. About midway of the declivity stood
a small hamlet, bosomed in its orchards, and at its
foot the well-known convent of St. Benedict aux
Layes. The moon had risen brilliantly, the firmament

was cloudless, and every object lay for miles
bathed in a radiance as pervading as the glare of
daylight, though far less gorgeous in its hues.
The population of the district, quiet and happy
rustics, had long since sunk upon their careless
pillows. Not a light glanced from the windows,
as we passed the cabins on the outskirts of the
village; not a sound was heard throughout the
wide expanse of country that lay before us, buried,
as it were, in dreamless slumbers, save the long
howl of a mastiff swelling upon the gale, as he
bayed the queen of night, or the wailing cry of the
night-owl from his ivyed tower. So calm was
the scene beneath my eyes, so free from every
sound or sight of danger, and so nearly had I
reached the haven of all my hopes, that I had
already begun to deem my previous terrors the
mere wanderings of an excited fancy. We reached
the little green before the village inn, and, in ten
words, I gave the orders for the night to the officer
next in command. The convent was but a bare
mile distant. Outposts were to be detailed upon
our flanks and rear, a picket to be pushed forward
to the river's brink, and connected, by a chain of
sentries, to the convent, and thence to the corps de
garde. Subalterns were selected for the various
duties of the night; the freshest men and horses
were drafted for service; and then, accompanied
by the files which were to guard our front, I bade a
cheery adieu to my bold lieutenant, and cantered
on my way with a heart almost at ease.

So completely had I recovered from the temporary
depression of spirits into which I had been
thrown, that I was occupied as I rode along, not
merely in looking forward to the delight of clasping
in my arms the form of her whom I as yet
could hardly call my own, but in building up gay
edifices in the dark futurity,—edifices soon to fade
into sorrow and desolation. I did not, however,
in the exhilaration of the moment, forget to apply
the means necessary to the maintenance of my
happiness. At regular intervals I posted my sentries,
exercising to the utmost the military fore-sight
which, acquired by long and hard experience,
had at length become almost intuitive. On
the crest of every hillock, in the slack of every
valley, did I dispose one of my trusty followers;
so that eye might answer to eye, and voice to
voice, along the entire chain. The last guard I
left at the fork of the road leading from the highway,
through two deep meadows, to the conventgate.
The non-commissioned officer and dozen
men who had been detailed to perform the duty of
videttes saluted, and rode forward. All was at

last accomplished. I stood within a stone's throw
of my bride; friends were around me on every
side, watchful, well-armed, and trusty; the silence
of security and peace brooded upon those holy
walls. I breathed a heartfelt prayer of gratitude
to the Giver of all good; dismounted from the
noble beast, which had in truth suffered all and
won all for his master, flung his rein to the orderly
who had accompanied me, and strode with light
steps and a happy spirit towards the temporary
dwelling of my Isabel. I could hear, as I pursued
my way, the receding clatter of the hoofs, and the
successive challenges of sentry after sentry, as
my servant hurried to rejoin his comrades; and
so still was the night, that the guargling of the river
sounded distinct and near. It was already long
past midnight; and the lamp which burned before
the patron saint above the gateway was already
waning in its socket: just as I raised my hand to
strike the wicket, it leaped brightly upwards, fluttered
for a moment, flashed up again yet higher
than before, and expired. Was it an omen? My
heart, at least, acknowledged it as such; and the
hot streams that had been hurrying thither in the
fierce eagerness of expectation, ebbed coldly. I
shrunk back, dismayed, I knew not wherefore! It
was—by heaven! I believe it, firmly, faithfully, as
I believe the Gospel—that sudden chill was ominous!
Ere I had rallied from the momentary
start, a voice, a shrieking voice—that I had heard
once, only once before, and never can forget—
rang, like the blast of the eternal trumpet which
all must hear and answer, in my trembling ears.
I sprang backward from the untouched gate, firm
and collected; for not from that direction came
the fatal clamour. Again—again—from the rear
of the building—again it pealed, clearer and nearer
than before; harrowing up my nerves, and driving
my blood, now boiling with tenfold heat,
through every vein and artery. “Harry!” it
cried, “Harry! Save—save me—now or never!”
A wall was on either side, some five feet high, but
ivy-grown and time-worn. With a single effort
of hand, foot, and eye, I reached the summit of
the right-hand boundary; for that way was the
voice. There was a ditch below me—a wide,
yawning ditch. I saw it not—heeded it not—for,
scarce thirty yards distant, I beheld a ladder
propped against a turret window; at its foot there
was a busy, silent group; and half-way from its
summit, two armed figures—their corslets glittered
in the rays of light that streamed from out the open
casement—bearing with forcible yet careful grasp
a struggling, shrieking female.

Tottering, as I stood on that frail summit, I discharged
my pistol, aimlessly, as I thought—for my
object was but the recall of my soldiers; yet—
as I saw even in that instant of dread anxiety
—it took effect. At one bound I cleared the
trench, alighted firmly on my feet, and, sword in
hand, rushed to the rescue. My signal had
reached wakeful ears: I heard shout answering to
shout along the line; and then the gallop of the
nearest picket came thickly up the tremulous
wind. “Isabel!” I shouted, “Isabel! fear nothing—
it is I!” I was within a spear's length of the spot
whereon she stood, struggling in the sacrilegious
grasp of the same cavelier who had so closely
pressed our flight three days before. My muscles
were braced, my weapon raised for the death-blow,
when a bright glare was shot into my very eyes.
I felt two sharp quick strokes, on my sword-arm
and my left side; a deadly sickness—a swimming
of the brain—and all was darkness. Faintly, and
as it were in a dream, I heard a cry, a struggle,
and a shot—no more! I had no note of time. I
half-unclosed my eyes; I turned them upward,
and, bestriding me, I saw—her blue eyes flashing,
her lip curling, and her nostril dilated—that tall
fair girl. Her light brown hair—the fillets which
had restrained it rent asunder—streamed on the

night-wind. Erect she stood and fearless, as a
Judith or a Jael, braving the armed oppressor.
In her hand, her delicate white hand, a pistol—
my own pistol—shone to the clear moonshine. I
gazed upon her, wonderingly, in my delirium, and
I knew her not—yet it was SHE. For a moment
the dark figures shrunk from before her, cowed
like base and carrion vultures in the presence of
a royal eagle. There was a rush, a shouting, and
a tumult; yet my eyes were fixed, fascinated, as
it were, upon that form of superhuman beauty.
Another flash—and my eyes closed, my brain
reeled, sicker and more dizzy than before. I strove
to rise, fell, and—to all knowledge of myself or
consciousness of things around me—was dead for
many days.