‘You will think, doubtless, that it would be easy for us to find him, since we had both his name and his title. You must remember, however, that the Revolution left us without money, and that without money such a search is very difficult. Then came the Empire, and it became more difficult still, for, as you are aware, the Emperor considered that the th Brumaire brought all accounts to a settlement, and that on that day a veil had been drawn across the past. None the less, we kept our own family story and our own family plans.
‘My brother joined the army, and passed with it through all Southern Europe, asking everywhere for the Baron Straubenthal. Last October he was killed at Jena, with his mission still unfulfilled. Then it became my turn, and I have the good fortune to hear of the very man of whom I am in search at one of the first Polish villages which I have to visit, and within a fortnight of joining my regiment. And then, to make the matter even better, I find myself in the company of one whose name is never mentioned throughout the army save in connection with some daring and generous deed.’
This was all very well, and I listened to it with the greatest interest, but I was none the clearer as to what young Duroc wished me to do.
‘How can I be of service to you?’ I asked.
‘By coming up with me.’
‘To the Castle?’
‘Precisely.’
‘When?’
‘At once.’
‘But what do you intend to do?’
‘I shall know what to do. But I wish you to be with me, all the same.’
Well, it was never in my nature to refuse an adventure, and, besides, I had every sympathy with the lad’s feelings. It is very well to forgive one’s enemies, but one wishes to give them something to forgive also. I held out my hand to him, therefore.
‘I must be on my way for Rossel tomorrow morning, but to-night I am yours,’ said I.
We left our troopers in snug quarters, and, as it was but a mile to the Castle, we did not disturb our horses. To tell the truth, I hate to see a cavalry man walk, and I hold that just as he is the most gallant thing upon earth when he has his saddle-flaps between his knees, so he is the most clumsy when he has to loop up his sabre and his sabre-tasche in one hand and turn in his toes for fear of catching the rowels of his spurs. Still, Duroc and I were of the age when one can carry things off, and I dare swear that no woman at least would have quarrelled with the appearance of the two young hussars, one in blue and one in grey, who set out that night from the Arensdorf post-house. We both carried our swords, and for my own part I slipped a pistol from my holster into the inside of my pelisse, for it seemed to me that there might be some wild work before us.
The track which led to the Castle wound through pitch-black fir-wood, where we could see nothing save the ragged patch of stars above our head. Presently, however, it opened up, and there was the Castle right in front of us, about as far as a carbine would carry. It was a huge, uncouth place, and bore every mark of being exceedingly old, with turrets at every corner, and a square keep on the side which was nearest to us. In all its great shadow there was no sign of light save for a single window, and no sound came from it. To me there was something awful in its size and its silence, which corresponded so well with its sinister name. My companion pressed on eagerly, and I followed him along the ill-kept path which led to the gate.
There was no bell or knocker upon the great, iron-studded door, and it was only by pounding with the hilts of our sabres that we could attract attention. A thin, hawk-faced man, with a beard up to his temples, opened it at last. He carried a lantern in one hand, and in the other a chain which held an enormous black hound. His manner at the first moment was threatening, but the sight of our uniforms and of our faces turned it into one of sulky reserve.
‘The Baron Straubenthal does not receive visitors at so late an hour,’ said he, speaking in very excellent French.
‘You can inform Baron Straubenthal that I have come eight hundred leagues to see him, and that I will not leave until I have done so,’ said my companion. I could not have said it with a better voice and manner.
The fellow took a sidelong look at us, and tugged at his black beard in his perplexity.
‘To tell the truth, gentlemen,’ said he, ‘the Baron has a cup or two of wine in him at this hour, and you would certainly find him a more entertaining companion if you were to come again in the morning.’
He had opened the door a little wider as he spoke, and I saw by the light of the lamp in the hall behind him that three other rough fellows were standing there, one of whom held another of these monstrous hounds. Duroc must have seen it also, but it made no difference to his resolution.
‘Enough talk,’ said he, pushing the man to one side. ‘It is with your master that I have to deal.’
The fellows in the hall made way for him as he strode in among them, so great is the power of one man who knows what he wants over several who are not sure of themselves. My companion tapped one of them upon the shoulder with as much assurance as though he owned him.
‘Show me to the Baron,’ said he.
The man shrugged his shoulders, and answered something in Polish. The fellow with the beard, who had shut and barred the front door, appeared to be the only one among them who could speak French.
‘Well, you shall have your way,’ said he, with a sinister smile. ‘You shall see the Baron. And perhaps, before you have finished, you will wish that you had taken my advice.’
We followed him down the hall, which was stone-flagged and very spacious, with skins scattered upon the floor, and the heads of wild beasts upon the walls. At the farther end he threw open a door, and we entered.
It was a small room, scantily furnished, with the same marks of neglect and decay which met us at every turn. The walls were hung with discoloured tapestry, which had come loose at one corner, so as to expose the rough stonework behind. A second door, hung with a curtain, faced us upon the other side. Between lay a square table, strewn with dirty dishes and the sordid remains of a meal. Several bottles were scattered over it. At the head of it, and facing us, there sat a huge man, with a lion-like head, and great shock of orange-coloured hair. His beard was of the same glaring hue; matted and tangled and coarse as a horse’s mane. I have seen some strange faces in my time, but never one more brutal than that, with its small, vicious, blue eyes, its white, crumpled cheeks, and the thick, hanging lip which protruded over his monstrous beard. His head swayed about on his shoulders, and he looked at us with the vague, dim gaze of a drunken man. Yet he was not so drunk but that our uniforms carried their message to him.
‘Well, my brave boys,’ he hiccoughed. ‘What is the latest news from Paris, eh? You’re going to free Poland, I hear, and have meantime all become slaves yourselves – slaves to a little aristocrat with his grey coat and his three-cornered hat. No more citizens either, I am told, and nothing but monsieur and madame. My faith, some more heads will have to roll into the sawdust basket some of these mornings.’
Duroc advanced in silence, and stood by the ruffian’s side.
‘Jean Carabin,’ said he.
The Baron started, and the film of drunkenness seemed to be clearing from his eyes.
‘Jean Carabin,’ said Duroc, once more.
He sat up and grasped the arms of his chair.
‘What do you mean be repeating that name, young man?’ he asked.
‘Jean Carabin, you are a man whom I have long wished to meet.’
‘Supposing that I once had such a name, how can it concern you, since you must have been a child when I bore it?’
‘My name is Duroc.’
‘Not the son of––?’
‘The son of the man you murdered.’
The Baron tried to laugh, but there was terror in his eyes.
‘We must let bygones be bygones, young man,’ he cried. ‘It was our life or theirs in those days: the aristocrats or the people. Your father was of the Gironde. He fell. I was of the mountain. Most of my comrades fell. It
was all the fortune of war. We must forget all this and learn to know each other better, you and I.’ He held out a red, twitching hand as he spoke.
‘Enough,’ said young Duroc. ‘If I were to pass my sabre through you as you sit in that chair, I should do what is just and right. I dishonour my blade by crossing it with yours. And yet you are a Frenchman, and have even held a commission under the same flag as myself. Rise, then, and defend yourself!’
‘Tut, tut!’ cried the Baron. ‘It is all very well for you young bloods––’
Duroc’s patience could stand no more. He swung his open hand into the centre of the great orange beard. I saw a lip fringed with blood, and two glaring eyes above it.
‘You shall die for that blow.’
‘That is better,’ said Duroc.
‘My sabre!’ cried the other; ‘I will not keep you waiting, I promise you!’ and he hurried from the room.
I have said that there was a second door covered with a curtain. Hardly had the Baron vanished when there ran from behind it a woman, young and beautiful. So swiftly and noiselessly did she move that she was between us in an instant, and it was only the shaking curtains which told us whence she had come.
‘I have seen it all,’ she cried. ‘Oh, sir, you have carried yourself splendidly.’ She stooped to my companion’s hand, and kissed it again and again ere he could disengage it from her grasp.
‘Nay, madame, why should you kiss my hand?’ he cried.
‘Because it is the hand which struck him on his vile, lying mouth. Because it may be the hand which will avenge my mother. I am his step-daughter. The woman whose heart he broke was my mother. I loathe him, I fear him. Ah, there is his step!’ In an instant she had vanished as suddenly as she had come. A moment later, the Baron entered with a drawn sword in his hand, and the fellow who had admitted us at his heels.
‘This is my secretary,’ said he. ‘He will be my friend in this affair. But we shall need more elbow-room than we can find here. Perhaps you will kindly come with me to a more spacious apartment.’
It was evidently impossible to fight in a chamber which was blocked by a great table. We followed him out, therefore, into the dimly-lit hall. At the farther end a light was shining through an open door.
‘We shall find what we want in here,’ said the man with the dark beard. It was large, empty room, with rows of barrels and cases round the walls. A strong lamp stood upon a shelf in the corner. The floor was level and true, so that no swordsman could ask for more. Duroc drew his sabre and sprang into it. The Baron stood back with a bow and motioned me to follow my companion. Hardly were my heels over the threshold when the heavy door crashed behind us and the key screamed in the lock. We were taken in a trap.
For a moment we could not realize it. Such incredible baseness was outside all our experiences. Then, as we understood how foolish we had been to trust for an instant a man with such a history, a flush of rage came over us, rage against his villainy and against our own stupidity. We rushed at the door together, beating it with our fists and kicking with our heavy boots. The sound of our blows and our execrations must have resounded through the Castle. We called to this villain, hurling at him every name which might pierce even into his hardened soul. But the door was enormous––such a door as one finds in mediæval castles––made of huge beams clamped together with iron. It was as easy to break as a square of the Old Guard. And our cries appeared to be of as little avail as our blows, for they only brought for answer the clattering echoes from the high roof above us. When you have done some soldiering, you soon learn to put up with what cannot be altered. It was I, then, who first recovered my calmness, and prevailed upon Duroc to join with me in examining the apartment which had become our dungeon.
There was only one window, which had no glass in it and was so narrow that one could not so much as get one’s head through. It was high up, and Duroc had to stand upon a barrel in order to see from it.
‘What can you see?’ I asked.
‘Fir-woods, and an avenue of snow between them,’ said he. ‘Ah!’ he gave a cry of surprise.
I sprang upon the barrel beside him. There was, as he said, a long, clear strip of snow in front. A man was riding down it, flogging his horse and galloping like a madman. As we watched, he grew smaller and smaller, until he was swallowed up by the black shadows of the forest.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Duroc.
‘No good for us,’ said I. ‘He may have gone for some brigands to cut our throats. Let us see if we cannot find a way out of this mouse-trap before the cat can arrive.’
The one piece of good fortune in our favour was that beautiful lamp. It was nearly full of oil, and would last us until morning. In the dark our situation would have been far more difficult. By its light we proceeded to examine the packages and cases which lined the walls. In some places there was only a single line of them, while in one corner they were piled nearly to the ceiling. It seemed that we were in the storehouse of the Castle, for there were a great number of cheeses, vegetables of various kinds, bins full of dried fruits, and a line of wine barrels. One of these had a spigot in it, and as I had eaten little during the day, I was glad of a cup of claret and some food. As to Duroc, he would take nothing, but paced up and down the room in a fever of impatience. ‘I’ll have him yet!’ he cried, every now and then. ‘The rascal shall not escape me!’
This was all very well, but it seemed to me, as I sat on a great round cheese eating my supper, that this youngster was thinking rather too much of his own family affairs and too little of the fine scrape into which he had got me. After all, his father had been dead fourteen years, and nothing could set that right; but here was Etienne Gerard, the most dashing lieutenant in the whole Grand Army, in imminent danger of being cut off at the very outset of his brilliant career. Who was ever to know the heights to which I might have risen if I were knocked on the head in this hole-and-corner business, which had nothing whatever to do with France or the Emperor? I could not help thinking what a fool I had been, when I had a fine war before me and everything which a man could desire, to go off upon a hare-brained expedition of this sort, as if it were not enough to have a quarter of a million Russians to fight against, without plunging into all sorts of private quarrels as well.
‘That is all very well,’ I said at last, as I heard Duroc muttering his threats. ‘You may do what you like to him when you get the upper hand. At present the question rather is, what is he going to do to us?’
‘Let him do his worst!’ cried the boy. ‘I owe a duty to my father.’
‘That is mere foolishness,’ said I. ‘If you owe a duty to your father, I owe one to my mother, which is to get us out of this business safe and sound.’
My remark brought him to his senses.
‘I have thought too much of myself!’ he cried. ‘Forgive me, Monsieur Gerard. Give me your advice as to what I should do.’
‘Well,’ said I, ‘it is not for our health that they have shut us up here among the cheeses. They mean to make an end of us if they can. That is certain. They hope that no one knows that we have come here, and that none will trace us if we remain. Do your hussars know where you have gone to?’
‘I said nothing.’
‘Hum! It is clear that we cannot be starved here. They must come to us if they are to kill us. Behind a barricade of barrels we could hold our own against the five rascals whom we have seen. That is, probably, why they have sent that messenger for assistance.’
‘We must get out before he returns.’
‘Precisely, if we are to get out at all.’
‘Could we not burn down this door?’ he cried.
‘Nothing could be easier,’ said I. ‘There are several casks of oil in the corner. My only objection is that we should ourselves be nicely toasted, like two little oyster pâtés.’
‘Can you not suggest something?’ he cried, in despair. ‘Ah, what is that?’
There had been a low sound at our little window, and a shadow came betwe
en the stars and ourselves. A small, white hand was stretched into the lamplight. Something glittered between the fingers.
‘Quick! Quick!’ cried a woman’s voice.
We were on the barrel in an instant.
‘They have sent for the Cossacks. Your lives are at stake. Ah, I am lost! I am lost!’
There was the sound of rushing steps, a hoarse oath, a blow, and the stars were once more twinkling through the window. We stood helpless upon our barrel with our blood cold with horror. Half a minute afterwards we heard a smothered scream, ending in a choke. A great door slammed somewhere in the silent night.
‘Those ruffians have seized her. They will kill her,’ I cried.
Duroc sprang down with the inarticulate shouts of one whose reason had left him. He struck the door so frantically with his naked hands that he left a blotch of blood with every blow.
‘Here is the key!’ I shouted, picking one from the floor. ‘She must have thrown it in at the instant that she was torn away.’
My companion snatched it from me with a shriek of joy. A moment later he dashed it down upon the boards. It was so small that it was lost in the enormous lock. Duroc sank upon one of the boxes with his head between his hands. He sobbed in his despair. I could have sobbed, too, when I thought of the woman and how helpless we were to save her.
But I am not easily baffled. After all, this key must have been sent to us for a purpose. The lady could not bring us that of the door, because this murderous step-father of hers would most certainly have it in his pocket. Yet this other must have a meaning, or why should she risk her life to place it in our hands? It would say little for our wits if we could not find out what that meaning might be.
I set to work moving all the cases out from the wall, and Duroc, gaining new hope from my courage, helped me with all his strength. It was no light task, for many of them were large and heavy. Onwe went, working like maniacs, slinging barrels, cheeses, and boxes pell-mell into the middle of the room. At last there only remained one huge barrel of vodki, which stood in the corner. With our united strength we rolled it out, and there was a little low wooden door in the wainscot behind it. The key fitted, and with a cry of delight we saw it swing open before us. With the lamp in my hand, I squeezed my way in, followed by my companion.
The Complete Brigadier Gerard Stories Page 16
