University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

Rokeby.

Hastily springing to my feet, I had already
donned my clothes, and was buckling on my Milan
corslet, when old Martin entered my chamber,
fully equipped as a supernumerary subaltern of
my regiment. It was one of those customs of the
day, which has, since the time of which I write,
fallen completely into disuse, that every corps,
independent of its regular stands of national
and regimental colours, was distinguished by a

smaller standard, bearing the coat-armorial of its
commanding officer. This usage—which had
probably originated during the civil wars, wherein
each regiment was, for the most part, raised by its
colonel from among his own territorial and feudatory
dependants—I was particular to maintain in
my own instance the more scrupulously, as being
a stranger in a foreign land, and of course conscious
that, unless asserted by myself, my personal
dignity would not be much regarded by others.
It was partly with a view to this, as well as to
secure to myself a bold and trusty follower in the
field, that I had solicited for the foster-brother of
my father an appointment which certainly would
appear more suitable for a far younger man. But
no one, who had seen Martin Lydford on that
morning, would have deemed it possible that nearly
two-thirds of a century had passed over the head
of the erect and powerful veteran, who unfolded,
with a smile of daring exultation, the tattered and
time-honoured banner of my ancient house. He
wore a heavy antique helmet, with breast and back-pieces
of bright steel; immense jack-boots, and
high buff gauntlets reaching nearly to his elbows.
A long broadsword of English manufacture—
which, by-the-way, had done good service in its
time on many a stricken field—with a poniard of
formidable dimensions, completed his personal
equipment. But in addition to these he carried,
slung transversely across his shoulders, my petronel,
a choice piece of Spanish workmanship,
with an exceedingly small bore, and an indented,
or, as it is now termed, a rifled[1] barrel. It was
not the fashion for officers to carry so cumbersome
a weapon, but I was, at the same time, unwilling
to lose a friend that had in several instances
served my turn, and perhaps saved my
life. The old man's eyes were full of tears as he
unfurled the colours, which had not floated for
many a day in action; but a sunny smile played on
his lips.

“Thank God, and thee, my master, that I have
lived once more to see the argent bugles on their
field of vert displayed amid the merry trumpets!”
he said. “Now could I die in peace, that I have
seen my lord again the leader of a host worthy
his name and country.”

“I would not wish that they should wave in
trustier hands than yours, old Lydford,” was my

reply. “But did you get the charger of St.
Agrève last night? or what am I to ride this morning?”

“I got him not, sir; his chestnut steed is lame,
and he has none for his own service, save the black.
Colonel le Chaumont's, too, and the count's chargers,
are all worn out with duty. Bayard is overdone
with last night's skirmish—a murrain on
those rascal grooms of the commander! they let
the good horse stand till he was wellnigh perished
after a hot gallop. There is naught for it, sir, but
you must ride Majestic.”

“I could not ride a better; and, indeed, 'twas
but a foolish fancy that made me hesitate. But
reach yon flask of Auvergnât, and that old cheese
from the Swiss pastures. We have scant time,
indeed, but we are too old soldiers, Lydford, to
ride forth without our breakfast. Old man, I
pledge you—Good fortune to the argent bugles!”

Our light repast was finished almost as soon as
begun; and I was opening the door to go forth,
when the veteran, looking steadfastly in my face,
suddenly exclaimed,—

“Surely you go not forth in such gay habits!
You cannot but be marked. That scarlet cassock
and rich armour, with the white scarf and plumes,
are fearfully conspicuous. Best don the old buff

coat you wore at Marston; it stood you then in
stead, I well remember.”

“A truce to your fears, good fellow,” I replied;
“conspicuous or not, thus I go forth to-day.
What! want you that the French cavaliers should
say, we men of England are more chary of our
lives than of our honour? Fy on you, man! I
thought I had in you a better counsellor.”

I descended the staircase, followed by my true retainer;
in another instant I was in the saddle. The
troops were already mustered; and, though the
skies were still all dark and cheerless, I well knew
that it could scarcely lack three hours of daybreak.

The word was given—the trumpets sounded—
and we marched steadily, but briskly, to our position.
We had reached the heights of St. Mandé
before the slightest streaks of dawning day were
to be seen on the eastern horizon, but not before our
indefatigable leader had commenced his preparations.
As I rode up the ridge of the hill, one of
the videttes fell back to me with the intelligence
that the summit was already occupied by men and
horses! For a moment I fancied that the enemy
had been beforehand with us; and, on the instant,
wheeled my leading troops into line for a charge.
Having done this, I rode forward myself, and was
agreeably surprised to find that the group which

had created the alarm consisted of a score or two
of artillerymen, with three light field-pieces. The
captain in command handed me a note from Condé,
containing further directions than I had received
on the preceding night, and a promise that he
would be on the spot in person soon after the commencement
of the action. I had scarcely completed
the arrangements necessary for the maintenance
of my position, if attacked, and for displaying
my little force so as to give it an appearance
of the greatest possible numerical force, when
the day began to break; and, almost simultaneously
with the first dappling of the east, I heard the sullen
tramp of the infantry under De Châtillon, as
they advanced upon the post of Charenton. In a
few minutes a single musket-shot rang from the
enclosures below; and immediately afterward
the rattling fire of the skirmishers, as those of our
army attacked and drove in the pickets of the
Frondeurs. Gallantly was the struggle maintained
by both parties; nor did the enemy's outposts
retire upon the main body till they were literally
crushed back by the solid columns of our advances.
Then came the deep hoarse roar and the wide glare
of cannon after cannon—the long rolling volleys of
the musketeers—the deafening clang of the tocsins,
pealing the alarm from many a village steeple—
and the shouts of a furious contest. Nearly at the
same moment, the great glorious sun peered up
above the distant hills, and bathed the whole country
in broad light.

To our left, and immediately before us, lay
a long stretch of meadow-land, partially broken
by coppices and small enclosures, with the blue
Seine rolling as calmly through its rich landscape
as though human strife had never approached
its quiet borders. To the right lay the
orchards and enclosures of Charenton, the narrow
streets protected by powerful barricades, the avenues
enfiladed by heavy cannon, and the whole
position skilfully fortified, and manned by an immense
garrison, under as bold a leader as ever
buckled steel blade to buff belt. Below us lay the
road, leading through Vincennes and Picpus to the
metropolis, at the distance of some five miles,
by which we expected ere long to see the Parisian
forces advancing to support their comrades. An
hour passed, and nothing was to be made out of
the fortunes of the day, though it was evident that
the strife was desperate, and nearly balanced. It
was in vain that I directed my glass, with the utmost
anxiety, to the immediate scene of action; for
the morning was damp, and somewhat misty—the
frost seeming to be on the point of yielding—so

far misty, at least, as to cause the smoke to hang in
heavy wreaths upon the low grounds, and to obscure
the conflict with a dense veil; which was
never moved entirely aside, although it was at
times sufficiently agitated to enable us to discover
the dark masses of men who were engaged, unseen
and undistinguished within its folds, in the desperate
game of war.

The battle had raged incessantly for the space of
nearly two hours, ere the commander-in-chief rode
up with a gallant staff. He was in high spirits,
having just learned from an aid-de-camp that the
first barricade had been gallantly carried, though
not without severe loss—the enemy fighting to the
last, and succeeding in the removal of their artillery
to the next line of defence. The prince highly
commended my dispositions; but, having brought
up with him a brigade of veteran infantry, directed
me to lead two regiments of cavalry—one being
that under my own peculiar command—somewhat
lower down the hill, and to mask their position entirely
from the high-road—which, as I have before
said, ran below us, across the open meadows, lying
between our position and the Seine—by a small
plantation of young timber, that grew about midway
of the slope. I saw the object at once; and a masterly
disposition it was. From the extreme left of

the wood, a hollow sandy lane ran transversely
down to the main road, between two high straggling
fences, which, though leafless, were thick enough
to cover our movements. By this lane a column
of troops, to almost any extent, might be made to
debouch upon the flank of whatever force should
move along the road, with scarcely a possibility of
their being discovered till within five hundred paces
of the enemy; and I, of course, perceived that a
well-executed charge would cut off any succour
that might otherwise be thrown into the beleaguered
village. I had scarcely executed this manœuvre
to my own satisfaction, and resumed my place beside
the prince, ere a vidette galloped in from the
direction of Picpus, with intelligence that the
Parisians had marched out of the city thirty thousand
strong—the heads of their columns having
actually reached Vincennes before their rear had
left the Place Royale; that the generals had announced
their intention of giving battle; and that
the coadjutor, De Retz, was with the army in person,
mounted on a war-horse, with pistols in his
holsters, and impetuously demanding an immediate
advance.

In the mean time, the action to our right became
even hotter than before. Another horseman
dashed up to the general from Charenton—a

second barricade had been carried, but Châtillon
had lost above one-third of his men, and required
instant reinforcement, and a fresh supply of ammunition.
While he was yet speaking, a third rider
came in, spurring his jaded horse furiously onward
from the opposite direction,—De Chateaufort was
advancing with sixteen or eighteen hundred men
—arquebusiers and pikemen—having crossed the
river nearer to Paris, and hoping to fall upon the
flank and rear of Châtillon, and to cut him off from
the main army. It was a desperate crisis, but
Condé was superior to it. I saw his eye flash,
and his lip curl, as he issued his complicated
orders with the most perfect coolness.

“De Grammont, my good friend, lead down
your gallant infantry, at once, to the support of
Châtillon! Champfort, spur thou to Meilleraye;
spur for thy life, and bid him advance with the reserve!
Thou, Mornington, down with thee to thy
men! get them, at once, into close column in yon
hollow way—I leave the rest to your own good
judgment; but drive De Chateaufort into the
Seine! Away, sir! I can see the heads of his
advance even now! Away!”

And down the slope I went, driving the spurs
into the conspicuous white charger, and riding
straight across the enclosures to my command.

In ten minutes, we were moving in a direction
nearly parallel to the line of De Chateaufort's
march; but still edging so much towards it that
we were certain of commanding his flank and
rear, unless he should, by some unforeseen circumstance,
detect our ambuscade.

I will confess that, as I rode down, the thought
occurred to me, at least a dozen times, that this De
Chateaufort might well be the persecutor of my beloved
Isabel; and the thought fired my heart, and
nerved my arm! But little time was given me
for thought or speculation. When we had arrived
within a hundred paces of the debouchure of the
lane, I halted my men; and, dismounting, stole forward
on foot myself to reconnoitre. On came
the enemy—a powerful brigade of pikemen in the
van, led by a mounted officer; then a brief interval—two
field-pieces—a regiment of musketeers—
and then another corps of pikemen bringing up
the rear. They were marching gallantly forward,
with their drums beating, and their colours displayed,
evidently quite unprepared for the reception
they were about to meet. They had no flanking-parties—no
advanced guard; and were hurrying
on, looking neither to the right nor to the left,
towards Charenton, whence the din of conflict—
which had slackened for a while, from the want of

ammunition, as I concluded—came louder than
ever, satisfying me that our reserve was already
in action, and that our affairs were going on successfully.

I had barely time to get back to my men, and to
explain my plan to the officers, ere I saw the van
of the pikemen defiling past the mouth of the lane;
but so completely were we favoured by the ground,
and by the carelessness of the enemy, that we were
still undiscovered.

“We will charge,” I said to De Charmi, who
commanded the second regiment, “as we are, in
column, full upon the flank of the musketeers; cut
our way through, or over them; and having broken
their column, wheel into line to the right and left,
and charge at once on both divisions of the pike-men.
No shouting, men--trumpets, be silent till
we clear the lane; then shout, and sound, till the
welkin rings!”

As I finished my command, the field-pieces
passed the lane, and the front files of the musketeers
began to show themselves. We charged,
silently and steadily, till we were on the open
meadow; then kettledrum, and trumpet, and the
united voices of a thousand men, whose souls were
on their tongues, burst forth at once. The enemy
was surprised, it is true, but he strove nobly

to retrieve his error. The musketeers wheeled
promptly into line, and gave us one close volley; but
their column of march had been too open, so that
their line was necessarily shallow, and their front
was unguarded by pikemen. A score of our saddles
were emptied, and twice as many horses went
over; but ere they could reload we rode them
down. So far we had done well; but the hardest
part was yet to come. We wheeled both regiments
into line in opposite directions; De Charmi's
front facing the flank of the vanguard of pikemen,
and mine the flank of the reserve. We charged
at once, and I was again victorious; we dispersed—then
cut them down—we drove them to
the devil in an instant—but again with heavy loss.
Then, as ill-luck would have it, my men, who had
behaved steadily enough up to this moment, maddened
at the sight of blood, became for the time
unmanageable, and pursued the fugitives clear off
the ground, making a fearful and almost unresisted
slaughter. In the mean while, De Charmi had
been checked by a brilliant manœuvre of Chateaufort
himself, whom I had not yet seen, as he had
been from the commencement of the action on the
extreme right of the vanguard. Finding at once
that his musketry and rear-guard were annihilated,
he had contrived, with admirable skill, to form a
new front to his vanguard, which consisted of
nearly a thousand fresh men, where his flank had
been, by simply facing every man half to the left-about
on his own ground; so that, when De
Charmi charged, instead of coming upon a naked
flank, he was received by a steady phalanx of bristling
pikes, and by a discharge of two field-pieces,
which made fearful havoc with his men.

Such was the state of affairs, when I was enabled
to look round; my own troops in partial disorder,
and De Charmi halted, and cutting up the
pikemen, to the best of his power, with the petronels
of his troopers. His fire was imperfectly
returned by an occasional volley from the few arquebusiers
who had escaped our first charge, and
taken refuge among the pikes. Urging my subalterns
to hurry to their duty, and to recall the men
with all possible speed, I joined De Charmi with
two troops. While galloping forward, at the head
of my men, I distinctly heard a cry among the
enemy's ranks.

“Mark him!—mark the red cassock and white
horse!”

And at once half a dozen pieces were discharged,
and with a pretty good aim, two of
the bullets rattling against my breastplate; but
—thanks to the good Italian armourer—glancing

off like hailstones from a castle-wall. At the
next moment, I observed my friend, the querist
of the preceding night, mounted on a tall bay horse
within the pikemen, who were now formed in a
hollow square—and instantly recognised him, in
his martial attire, for the servant who had waylaid
me on my march to Bar le Duc. He was reloading
a long Spanish-barrelled musket, as I doubted
not, for my own private benefit; and not being
particularly anxious that he should have another
chance of trying his skill on me, or that my men
should receive another point blank discharge of
the field-guns, which were nearly reloaded, I gave
the word for a simultaneous charge on their front
and flank; myself executing a lateral movement,
which enabled me to take them at a disadvantage.
This was in our favour; and, more than this, that
the enemy were already disheartened by the defeat
of their comrades, and by the certainty that
they should receive no further aid, while they
could see a regiment of infantry already moving
down to our support. We dashed upon them gallantly;
and, before we were within ten paces of
them, I could see they would not stand our charge:
they wavered—broke off—and received the shock
of our swords and chargers on their backs—it was
a massacre! Just as the pikemen turned, I caught
sight of De Chateaufort; and—though splendidly
equipped in a frock of orange-tawny velvet, with
brass inlaid armour and the blue scarf of the
Fronde—I knew him, at half a glance, for the THIRD
BROTHER. He saw me, too; and, as if by common
consent, we spurred our horses forward to end
our controversy by the sole true arbiter—the
mortal sword. But, as I struck the spurs into his
flank, my charger bounded nearly erect from the
ground, plunged forward, and fell over and over
in the death agony. Instinctively, I cleared my
feet of the stirrups; but was still thrown so heavily
upon my head, that for a second or two I was
stunned. As I went down, however, I saw to
whom I owed my fall. It was the self-same murderous
slave who again drew the trigger; but
again my good-luck baffled him. As I rose to my
feet, sorely bruised and shaken, I saw old Lydford—who
had been at my elbow throughout the
whole day—deliberately levelling my petronel,
which he had unslung, at the servant, whom he
believed to be the slayer of his lord; and who,
having joined De Chateaufort, was galloping off
the ground with him, as hard as their steeds could
carry them.

“Not him!” I shouted—“not him, Martin.
Down with the other!” But it was too late; the

piece flashed; and, ere the sound of the report
reached my ear, I saw the scoundrel reel in his
stirrups, and, in a few more bounds of his horse,
fall heavily to the earth! De Chateaufort himself,
though hard chased by some of my troopers, reached
the Seine, took water gallantly, and, swimming
well across, gained the other side, and made good
his escape.

Mounting a fresh horse, I rode about the field, collecting
my men, and putting an end to the slaughter;
the rout of the enemy being too complete to allow
even a possibility of their rallying. I drew my
rein over the body of the servant, who had twice
so nearly cut short my career. Though desperately
hurt, he was yet alive and sensible; but, having
no time to devote even to that which was next my
heart, I directed two or three of my troopers to
carry him carefully to my quarters; and then led
back my regiments, sorely diminished in numbers,
but exulting in their victory, to the commander-in-chief.

Condé himself rode out to meet me. “'Fore
God,” he cried, “you have done masterly and
well! Louis de Bourbon thanks you, sir! Ay—
and, by Heaven, the cardinal shall hear of this!
The King of France shall thank you. Charenton
is ours; De Châtillon has won it bravely; and

Chanleu as bravely lost it—dying like a noble gentleman
on the last barricade, which he held to the last,
and refusing to survive his glory—though, Heaven
knows, that is deathless. Yes, sir,” he continued,
“Charenton is ours; for which—before these gentlemen
I say it—for which I hold myself mainly
indebted to your intelligence and valour. But
for you, Chanleu must have been relieved; and
had it been so, we could not have won an inch
of Charenton; and now all Paris cannot rob us
of it!”