Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “We can no longer hope to take the enemy by surprise. I shall now communicate to you my new plan of attack.”

  Hardly had Colonel Plouernel uttered these words when they heard a lively rattle of arquebus fire from the lake road. He turned his eyes in that direction, unable at first to conjecture against whom the fire could be directed, seeing that he and his forces were beyond the reach of the shot. Immediately, however, the ricochetting of the balls over the surface of the lake attracted the colonel’s attention, and he soon perceived here and there, at a considerable distance from one another, several casqued heads just above the surface of the water, and ever and anon diving below with the view of escaping the fire of the arquebusiers.

  “It is the Franc-Taupin and his Avengers of Israel. They have been sounding for a ford across the lake and the stream!” exclaimed the colonel in high glee. “Their information will be of great use to us.” But immediately he cried out: “Oh! one of the brave men has been struck!”

  Indeed, one of the Avengers of Israel, who, following the example of the Franc-Taupin, and in order not to offer his full body to the aim of the enemy, crouched lower and lower in the measure that, as he drew nearer to the reed-covered edge of the lake, the water grew shallower — one of the Avengers of Israel was struck by a bullet full in the head. He straightened up with a convulsive movement, threw his arms in the air, reeled, and then dropped, immediately disappearing under the water, whose surface at the spot reddened with his blood. The Franc-Taupin, together with his other companions, continued to drag themselves up through the reeds as far as the shore of the lake. Once there, the balls could not reach them. They picked up their arms and munitions, which they had left close to the bank, put on their cross-belts, and walked towards the group of officers whom they saw at a distance, standing near the last undulation of the ridge that still masked their column. Antonicq, who had alighted from his horse together with Colonel Plouernel, ran to meet the Franc-Taupin and threw his arms around the brave old soldier, saying: “Heaven be thanked, you have had a narrow escape from death!”

  “Good morning, my boy!” answered Josephin. “But quit your embracings — you will get wet; I am streaming water. In my young days I played the mole, now in my old age I play the crawfish — so cease embracing me. Besides, I am angry with you and your father — it was due to you two that the scoundrel Hervé escaped death. We found his prison empty last night. Who but you winked at the demon’s escape? I did not know that you were placed on guard over him.”

  “Uncle, the bonds of blood—”

  “By my sister’s death! Did he respect the bonds of blood!”

  And stepping towards Colonel Plouernel, he said:

  “Colonel, this is the result of our explorations: We arrived here before dawn; we left our horses at the ruined farm-house that you see yonder; we then took to the water. The royalists were not on the watch. The lake is fordable by cavalry from the point where the reeds run obliquely into the water. The stream is fordable in all parts by infantry. The water is not more than four feet deep at its deepest, and the bottom is hard. If you wish to flank the entrenchment on the lake road, you will have to ride up about three thousand feet on the side of the chestnut wood. There you will find, running into the marsh, a long and wide jetty. Ten men can walk abreast on it. It abutts on a palisaded earthwork that can be easily taken. It is the weak side of the enemy’s defenses. You may rely upon the accuracy of these facts, colonel. I made the reconnoissance myself.”

  “I know you are reliable, Josephin,” answered Colonel Plouernel. “The information you bring me confirms me in the plan of attack that I have projected.”

  And stepping back to the group of officers whom Pastor Feron had just joined, the colonel said:

  “Gentlemen, the following is my plan — we would incur a useless loss of men were we to make a front attack upon the lake road fortifications, and the palisaded fort. The enemy is up. The stream that we would have to wade is swept from right and left by a cross artillery fire. We will divide our forces into three corps. The first, which I shall command, will attempt to cross the stream, however perilous the feat, to the end of attracting the enemy’s fire upon us, while our second corps, masked by the chestnut grove, shall march up to the jetty of the swamp in order to take the road fortifications on the flank. Finally, our third corps will move upon that other entrenchment which you see yonder where the stream crosses. The attack being thus made upon three points at once, the bulk of the army that comes close behind us will support our action. The engagement will be hot. Let us spare the blood of our men all we can. Courage and prudence.”

  “Still prudence! Still hesitation! notwithstanding the Lord fights for our rights!” exclaimed Pastor Feron with burning enthusiasm. “We but puff up the pride of the Philistines by not daring to attack them in front! Pusillanimity! Lack of faith in God!”

  “To divide our forces instead of overwhelming the enemy by concentrating them upon one point?” put in one of the principal officers. “Did you consider that, Colonel Plouernel?”

  The exasperated colonel cried: “Rely upon my mature experience — to make a front attack, and in mass, upon the enemy’s position is as foolhardy an enterprise as it is fraught with danger.”

  “Intrepidity is the strength of the children of Israel!” cried the pastor in a louder voice. “United the children of Israel are invincible! Let us all march! Side by side! Like brothers, forward! High our heads and without fear! The finger of God points us the way!”

  “Yes, yes! Let us attack in mass and with fury!” echoed most of the officers. “Forward all! Holding close together, nothing can resist us! God is with us!”

  Alas, once again, as happened so often before in our wars, and to the greater misfortune of our arms, blind foolhardiness, inexperience, lack of discipline, and an exaggerated faith in the triumph of the cause, prevailed over the wise counsels of an officer who had grown grey in harness, and whose military science matched his bravery. First the captains, soon the soldiers also, successively informed from rank to rank upon the subject of the deliberation, and wrought up by the burning words of the pastor, objected to a division of the forces, deeming that such a move would weaken them; and, above all, fearing to seem to waver in sight of the foe, they demanded aloud to be led in mass against the enemy. Colonel Plouernel, who had a long experience with Breton volunteers, and was too well acquainted with their proverbial stubbornness, abandoned all thought of winning them over to his views. Seeing the men elated to the point of delirious heroism, he calmly said to the officers:

  “Is it your wish? Well, let us march! Drummers, beat to the charge! Forward, at the enemy! Battle, all along the line!”

  Colonel Plouernel then drew his sword, clasped Antonicq’s hand, and said:

  “My friend, we are marching to slaughter. If you escape the carnage that I foresee, take my last adieus to my wife and little boys, and also to your worthy father.”

  “These brave fellows are crazy! We shall be mowed down,” observed the Franc-Taupin in turn to Antonicq. “I would die without first having done my twenty-five Catholic priests to death! The devil still owes me seven of them. Be firm, my boy. Let us not be separated from each other. We shall then at least both have the same stream for our tomb. To think of it! I who in my young days loved wine so well, now to die in water!”

  The column set itself in motion in a compact mass, at a quick pace, and with drums beating at its head. Before the drummers marched Pastor Feron, who again intoned a psalm that was speedily taken up in chorus by the Protestants in the midst of a veritable hailstorm of balls and bullets:

  “God ever was both my life and my light!0

  Death, I defy thee! What have I to fear?

  God’s my support with His infinite might!

  Have I not from Him my title quite clear?

  “When the malignants did fire on me,

  When they expected to tear out my heart,

  Have I not seen them all thrown down by Thee, />
  Scattered, and smitten, and struck by Thy dart?

  “Come, let a whole camp surround me on all sides,

  Never my heart will be shaken with fright!

  Close by my side, Oh! the Lord ever strides,

  Need I to fear of a foe any blight?”

  The battle raged with fury. Colonel Plouernel’s apprehensions were realized. Despite prodigies of intrepidity, his column, as it waded through the stream in serried and compact ranks, was received in front and from the two flanks by a terrific cross-fire of arquebuses and artillery. Three-fourths of the volunteers fell under the torrent of lead, even before reaching the middle of the stream. Wondering at the length of this vanguard attack, the successful execution of which he considered certain by entrusting it to Colonel Plouernel. Admiral Coligny suddenly saw Antonicq Lebrenn riding back at top speed with his thigh pierced by a bullet. Informed by Antonicq of the reason of the disastrous result of the encounter, the Admiral promptly ordered Colonels Bueil and Piles to proceed at their swiftest with their respective regiments to the jetty, and take the road entrenchment from the flank. Soubise, La Rochefoucauld and Saragosse received and, with their wonted skill, executed another set of orders. Within shortly battle was engaged all along the line, changing the aspect of the conflict. The Huguenots’ artillery responded to and silenced the fire from the opposite side. Attacked in front, from the right and the left, the royalists were dislodged from their entrenchments near the lake. They retired behind the palisaded ground, from which they kept up a murderous fire. But the palisade was broken through. First the infantry, then the cavalry of the Protestants rushed through the breaches. A stubborn melee ensued, and was at its height when the muffled rumbling of distant thunder, immediately followed by heavy rain-drops from the blackening sky overhead, announced the approach of the storm that Coligny had that morning predicted.

  I, Antonicq Lebrenn, who write this account, am overcome with grief in completing it. Its close revives sad memories.

  After I informed Admiral Coligny of the check sustained by the column of Colonel Plouernel, the kindhearted old man insisted that his own surgeon dress my wound. Though painful, the wound did not prevent me from keeping in the saddle. After being attended by the surgeon, I hastened back to the thick of the battle. A large body of cavalry, commanded by Marshal Tavannes, with the Duke of Anjou, brother of Charles IX, and young Henry of Guise at his side, covered the right wing of the royalist camp. Against that armed body of heavy and light troopers Admiral Coligny hurled twenty squadrons of horsemen under the command of Prince Franz of Gerolstein. It was at that moment that I rejoined the battle. The thunder claps, now succeeding one another with increasing frequency and vehemence, drowned the roar of the artillery. The storm was soon to break out in all its fury. The Protestant cavalry was advancing at a gallop three ranks deep upon the Catholic horsemen. Sword in hand, Franz of Gerolstein led, a few paces in advance of his troopers. The Prince was accompanied by his knights and pages. Among the latter was Anna Bell. The dashing sight soon disappeared from before my eyes in the cloud of pistol smoke, and the dust raised by the horses, as the two opposing masses of riders met each other, pistol in hand and exchanged fire. Suddenly I heard my father’s voice calling to me:

  “God sends you, my son! Come and fight by my side.”

  “Father,” I said to him drawing up my horse beside his own, he being on the right wing of our army and at the end of a line composed of Rochelois volunteer horsemen who followed upon the heels of the charging contingent of the Prince of Gerolstein, “did you have time to see my sister again after you left me last night?”

  “Alas, no; but I found a letter that she left behind, and—”

  My father could proceed no further. Two regiments of mounted arquebusiers under the command of Count Neroweg of Plouernel, the colonel’s brother, made a charge upon us with the object of isolating us from the German troopers. The manoeuvre succeeded. The impetuosity of the charge threw our ranks into disorder. The enemy broke through them. We could no longer fight in line. A general melee ensued. It was a combat of man to man. Despite the disorder I managed to remain at my father’s side. Fate drove us, him and me, face to face with Count Neroweg of Plouernel, at whose side rode his son Odet, a lad of sixteen years, and a great favorite with the Duke of Anjou. I heard the Count cry to him:

  “Courage, my boy! Strike hard, and kill as many of the enemy as you can! Prove yourself worthy of the house of Neroweg!”

  Almost immediately thereupon I saw the Count rise in his stirrups. His sword was on the point of striking my father when the latter crushed the shoulder of Neroweg with a pistol shot fired at close range. The Count dropped his sword and uttered a piercing cry. His son raised his light arquebus and took aim at my father, just then engaged in replacing his pistol in its holster. Instantly, driven by two digs of my spurs, my horse bounded forward, striking the steed of Odet of Plouernel breast against breast; at the very moment that Odet discharged his arquebus upon my father, I struck the lad so furious a blow with my saber that his casque and skull were cleaved in two. Odet stretched out his arms, and dropped backward bleeding upon the crupper of his horse. In the meantime, my own steed, wounded in the loins by a severe cut, collapsed. In falling, the heavy animal rolled over me, pressing with its full weight upon my wounded thigh. Pain deprived me of the strength to extricate myself. Several combatants trampled me under foot. My corselet was torn open under the iron hoofs of the horses. My morion was knocked in and flattened; pressed by its walls my skull felt as if cramped by a vise. My eyes began to swim; I was about to faint, but a frightful vision so stirred my soul at that moment that I seemed to revive. The melee left in its wake upon the field of carnage the dead, the dying, and the wounded among whom I lay. The spectacle I saw took place not far from my right. A few paces from me, my father, unhorsed by the arquebus of young Odet of Plouernel, raised himself livid, and sank again in a sitting posture, carrying his hands to his cuirass which a bullet had perforated. That same instant the diabolical cry smote my ears:

  “Kill all! Kill all!”

  And then, in the midst of the roll of thunder overhead, and across the surrounding sheen of lightning flashes, there appeared before my eyes — Fra Hervé, mounted upon a small black horse with long flowing mane, clad in his brown frock rolled up to his knees, and exposing his fleshless legs, naked like his feet which were strapped in spurred sandals wherewith he kicked his horse’s flank and urged it onward. A fresh bandage covered his recent wound and girded his hairless skull. His hollow eyes sparkled with savage fury. Armed with a long cutlass that dripped blood he continued to cry:

  “Kill all! Kill all!”

  The monk led to carnage a band of gallows-birds, the scum and refuse of the Catholic army, whose duty it was to despatch the wounded with iron maces, axes and knives. Hervé recognized his brother Odelin, who, with one hand upon his wound and the other on the ground, was essaying to rise to his feet. An expression of satanic hatred lighted the face of the Cordelier. He jumped down from his horse, and emitted a roar of ferocious triumph. My father gave himself up for lost. Nevertheless he made an attempt to soften the heart of his executioner, saying:

  “Hervé, brother! I have a wife and children. Last night I saved your life!”

  “Lord!” cried the priest, gasping for breath and raising his fiery eyes and blood-stained cutlass to the thundering and lightning-lighted heaven above. “God of Vengeance! God of the Catholics! Receive as a holocaust the blood of Cain!”

  And Fra Hervé precipitated himself upon his brother, threw him down, squatted upon his chest, seized his hair with one hand and with the other brandished the cutlass. Odelin uttered a cry of horror, closed his eyes and offered his throat. The fratricide was accomplished. Fra Hervé rose bespattered with his brother’s blood, kicked the corpse with his foot, and jumped back upon his horse yelling:

  “Kill all! Slaughter all the wounded!”

  My senses, until then held in suspense by the very terror o
f the frightful spectacle, now abandoned me. I completely lost consciousness. The carnage continued.

  When I recovered from my swoon, I was lying on the straw in our smithy and lodging at St. Yrieix. The Franc-Taupin and Colonel Plouernel sat beside my couch. From them I learned the issue of the battle of Roche-la-Belle. It was disastrous to the royalists; they were roundly routed. The violent thunder storm, followed by a deluge of rain, did not allow Admiral Coligny to pursue the retreating Catholic army. The victorious Protestants re-entered St. Yrieix. The Franc-Taupin and his Avengers of Israel, happening to pass by the spot where I lay motionless under my horse, not far from my father’s corpse, with his throat cut by Fra Hervé, recognized me and laid me upon a wagon used for transporting the munitions of the artillery. The field of battle was ours. With the help of his companions, the Franc-Taupin piously dug a grave in which they buried my father.

  Later I learned from the Prince of Gerolstein the sad fate that overtook my sister, and I also found the letter which she wrote to my father. The unfortunate girl, imagining herself despised and forsaken by us, decided, she wrote, to die, and bade us her heartrending adieus. Desirous that my father and his co-religionists be apprized of the dark and bloody schemes of Catherine De Medici, Anna Bell reported in her letter the secret conversation which the Queen had with Father Lefevre on the subject of the reformers — a conversation that she overheard at the Abbey of St. Severin. After having thus attested her attachment to us to the very end, she obtained the consent of the Prince’s page she had spoken with, to don the clothes and ride the horse of the lad who was killed at the skirmish of that morning. She looked forward to meeting death beside Franz of Gerolstein. Alas! Her wish was realized. She joined the Prince. As much surprised as alarmed at the girl’s purpose, he vainly entreated her to withdraw until after the shock between the two mounted forces. Neither Anna Bell nor Franz of Gerolstein was wounded at the first encounter. But shortly after, as the German horsemen were re-crossing the stream in pursuit of the enemy’s cavalry, my sister was struck in the breast by a stray bullet from the fleeing enemy, and fell from her horse into the river, where she was drowned, without Franz, who was carried along by the impetus of his troopers’ charge, being able to return in time to save her.