The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II)

Kate was so occupied in attentive observation of the scene that she had not noticed the arrival of another person in the apartment, and whose voice now suddenly attracted her. It was Martin himself, hastily aroused from his bed by his servant, who in great alarm told him that the capital was in open revolt, the king’s troops beaten back, and the people victorious everywhere. “There ‘s not a moment to lose,” cried he; “we must escape while we can. The road to Versailles is yet in possession of the troops, and we can take that way.”

Lady Dorothea, partly overcome by the late scene, partly stunned by the repeated shocks she experienced, made no reply whatever; and Martin, judging from the expression of her features the anxiety she was suffering, hastily added, “Let me see Kate Henderson, – where is she?”

Lady Dorothea merely pointed towards the balcony, but did not utter a word.

“Oh, have I found you?” said Martin, stepping out upon the balcony. “You see what is doing, – I might say what is done,” added he; “for I believe the game is well-nigh decided. Nothing but an overwhelming force will now crush this populace. We must get away, and at once. Will you give the orders? Send for post-horses; tell them to pack up whatever they can, – direct everything, in fact. My Lady is too ill, – too much overcome to act, or think of anything. Our whole reliance is upon you.” While he was yet uttering these broken, disjointed sentences, he had drawn Kate by the arm within the room, and now stood beside Lady Dorothea’s chair. Her Ladyship raised her head and fixed her eyes upon Kate, who sustained the gaze calmly and steadily, nor by the slightest movement displayed one touch of any emotion. The glance, at first haughty and defiant, seemed at length to grow weaker under the unmoved stare of the young girl, and finally she bent down her head and sat as though overcome.

“Come, Dora,” said Martin, kindly, “rouse yourself; you are always equal to an effort when necessity presses. Tell Kate here what you wish, and she ‘ll do it.”

“I want no aid, – no assistance, sir. Miss Henderson is her own mistress, – she may do what, or go where she pleases.”

Martin made a sign to Kate not to mind what he believed to be the mere wandering of an over-excited brain; and then bending down over the chair, said, “Dear Dora, we must be active and stirring; the people will soon be masters of the capital, – for a while, at least, – and there is no saying what excesses they will commit.”

“Do not offend Miss Henderson, sir,” interposed Lady Dorothea; “she has equal confidence in their valor and their virtue.”

“What does this mean? – when did she fall into this state?” asked he, eagerly. And although only spoken in a whisper, Lady Dorothea overheard them, and said, – “Let her tell you. She can give you the very fullest explanation.”

“But, Dora, this is no time for trifling; we are here, in the midst of an enraged populace and a maddened soldiery. There, listen! – that was artillery; and now, hear! – the bells of the churches are sounding the alarm.”

“They are ringing the knell of the Monarchy!” said Kate, solemnly.

A hoarse, wild shout – aery like that of enraged wild beasts – arose from the Place beneath, and all rushed to the window to see what had occurred. It was a charge of heavy cavalry endeavoring to force the barricade; and now, vigorously repulsed by the defenders, men and horses were rolling on the ground in terrible confusion, while on the barricade itself a hand-to-hand conflict was raging.

“Sharp work, by George!” said a voice behind Kate’s shoulder. She turned and saw Captain Martin, who had just joined them unobserved.

“I thought you many a mile away,” said Kate, in a whisper.

“So I should have been,” replied he, in the same tone, “but I was n’t going to lose this. I knew it was to come off to-day, and I thought it would have been a thousand pities to be absent.”

“And are your wishes, then, with these gallant fellows?” said she, eagerly. “Do I hear you aright, that it was to aid them you remained? There! see how they bear down on the soldiery; they will not be restrained; they are crossing the barricade, and charging with the bayonet. It is only for liberty that men can fight thus. Oh that I were a man, to be amongst them!”

A stray shot from beneath here struck the architrave above their heads, and sent down a mass of plaster over them.

“Come, Dora, this is needless peril,” said Martin, drawing her within the room. “If you will not leave this, at least do not expose yourself unnecessarily.”

“But it is exactly to get away – to escape while there is time – that I came for,” said the Captain. “They tell me that the mob are getting the best of it, and, worse again, that the troops are joining them; so, to make sure, I ‘ve sent off Fenton to the post for horses, and I ‘m expecting him every moment. But here he is. Well, have you got the horses?”

“No, sir: the horses have all been taken by the people to mount orderlies; the postmaster, too, has fled, and everything is in confusion. But if we had horses the streets are impassable; from here to the Boulevard there are no less than five barricades.”

“Then what is to be done?” cried Martin.

“They say, sir,” replied Fenton, “that by gaining the outer Boulevard on foot, carriages and horses are easily found there, to reach Belleville, St. Germain, or Versailles.”

“He is right,” said the Captain; “there is nothing else to be done. What do you think?” said he, addressing Kate, who stood intently watching the movements in the Place beneath.

“Yes; do you agree with this plan?” asked Martin, approaching her.

“Look!” cried she, eagerly, and not heeding the question; “the troops are rapidly joining the people, – they come in numbers now, – and yonder is an officer in his uniform.”

“Shame on him!” exclaimed Lady Dorothea, indignantly.

“So say I too,” said Kate. “He who wears a livery should not assume the port and bearing of a free man. This struggle is for liberty, and should only be maintained by the free!”

“How are we to pass these barricades?” cried Martin, anxiously.

“I will be your guide, sir, if that be all,” said Kate. “You may trust me. I promise no more than I can perform.”

“She speaks truly,” said Lady Dorothea. “Alas that we should see the day when we cannot reject the aid!”

“There is a matter I want to speak to you about,” said Martin, drawing his father aside, and speaking in a low, confidential tone. “Massingbred – Jack Massingbred – is now here, in my room. I know all about my mother’s dislike to him, and he knows it; indeed, he has as much as owned to me that he deserved it all. But what is to be done? We cannot leave him here.”

“How came he to be here?” asked Martin.

“He accompanied me from the Club, where, in an altercation of some sort, he had just involved himself in a serious quarrel. He came here to be ready to start this morning for Versailles, where the meeting was to take place; but indeed he had no thought of accepting shelter under our roof; and when he found where he was, it was with the greatest difficulty I could persuade him to enter. None of us anticipated such a serious turn of affairs as this; and now, of course, a meeting will be scarcely possible. What are we to do with him?”

“Ask him frankly to join us if we obtain the horses.”

“But my mother?”

“I ‘ll speak to her, – but it were better you did it, Harry. These are not times to weigh scruples and balance difficulties. I don’t myself think that Massingbred treated us fairly, but it is not now I ‘d like to remember it. There, go; tell her what you have told me, and all will be well.”

The Captain drew nigh Lady Dorothea, and, leaning over her chair, whispered to her for some minutes. At first, a slight gesture of impatience burst from her, but afterwards she seemed to hear him calmly and tranquilly.

“It would seem as though the humiliations of this night are never to have an end,” said she, with a sigh. “But I’ll bear my share of them.”

“Remember,” said the other, “that it was by no choice of his he came here. His foot was on the threshold before he suspected it.”

“Miss Henderson sent me, my Lady,” said a servant, entering hastily, “to say that there is not a minute to be lost. They are expecting an attack on the barricade in the Rue de la Paix, and we ought to pass through at once.”

“By whose orders?” began she, haughtily; then, checking herself suddenly, and in a voice weak and broken, added: “I am ready. Give me your arm, Harry, and do not leave me. Where is Mr. Martin?” asked she.

“He is waiting for your Ladyship at the foot of the stairs with another gentleman,” said the servant.

“That must be Massingbred, for I told them to call him,” said the Captain.

When Lady Dorothea, supported by the arm of her son, had reached the gate, she found Martin and Massingbred standing to receive them, surrounded by a numerous escort of servants, each loaded with some portion of the family baggage.

“A hasty summons, sir,” said she, addressing Massingbred, and thus abruptly avoiding the awkwardness of a more ceremonious meeting. “A few hours back none of us anticipated anything like this. Will it end seriously, think you?”

“There is every prospect of such, madam,” said he, bowing respectfully to her salutation. “Every moment brings fresh tidings of defection among the troops, while the Marshal is paralyzed by contradictory orders.”

“Is it always to be the fate of monarchy to be badly served in times of peril?” said she, bitterly.

“It is very difficult to awaken loyalty against one’s convictions of right, madam. I mean,” added he, as a gesture of impatience broke from her, “that these acts of the king, having no support from his real friends, are weak stimulants to evoke deeds of daring and courage.”

“They are unworthy supporters of a Crown who only defend what they approve of. This is but Democracy at best, and smacks of the policy which has little to lose and everything to gain by times of trouble.”

“And yet, madam, such cannot be the case here; at least, it is assuredly not so in the instance of him who is now speaking with Miss Henderson.” And he pointed to a man who, holding the bridle of his horse on his arm, walked slowly at Kate’s side in the street before the door.

“And who is he?” asked she, eagerly.

“The greatest banker in Paris, madam, – one of the richest capitalists of Europe, – ready to resign all his fortune in the struggle against a rule which he foresees intended to bring back the days of a worn-out, effete monarchy, rather than a system which shall invigorate the nation, and enrich it by the arts of commerce and trade.”

“But his name – who is he?” asked she, more impatiently.

“Charles Lagrange, madam.”

“I have heard the name before. I have seen it somewhere lately,” said she, trying to remember where and how.

“You could scarcely have paid your respects at Neuilly, madam, without seeing him. He was, besides, the favored guest at Madame de Mirecourt’s.”

“You would not imply, sir, that the Duchess condescended to any sympathy with this party?”

“More than half the Court, madam, are against the Crown; I will not say, however, that they are, on that account, for the people.”

“There! she is making a sign to us to follow her,” said Martin, pointing towards Kate, who, still conversing with her companion, motioned to the others to come up.

“It is from that quarter we receive our orders,” said Lady Dorothea, sneeringly, as she prepared to follow.

“What has she to do with it?” exclaimed the Captain. “To look at her, one would say she was deep in the whole business.”

A second gesture, more urgent than before, now summoned the party to make haste.

Through the Place, crowded as it was by an armed and excited multitude, way was rapidly made for the little party who now issued from the door of the hotel. Kate Henderson walked in front, with Massingbred at her side talking eagerly, and by his gestures seeming as though endeavoring to extenuate or explain away something in his conduct; next came Lady Dorothea, supported between her husband and her son, and while walking slowly and with faltering steps, still carrying her head proudly erect, and gazing on the stern faces around her with looks of haughty contempt. After them were a numerous retinue of servants, with such effects as they had got hurriedly together, – a terror-struck set, scarcely able to crawl along from fear.

As they drew nigh the barricade, some men proceeded to remove a heavy wagon which adjoined a house, and by the speed and activity of their movements, urged on as they were by the orders of one in command, it might be seen that the operation demanded promptitude.

“We are scarcely safe in this,” cried the officer. “See! they are making signs to us from the windows, – the troops are coming. If you pass out now, you will be between two fires.”

“There is yet time,” said Kate, eagerly. “Our presence in the street, too, will delay them, and give you some minutes to prepare. And as for ourselves, we shall gain one of the side-streets easily enough.”

“Tie your handkerchief to your cane, sir,” said the officer to Massingbred.

“My flag is ready,” said Jack, gayly; “I only hope they may respect it.”

“Now – now!” cried Kate, with eagerness, and beckoning to Lady Dorothea to hasten, “the passage is free, and not a second to be lost!”

“Are you not coming with us?” whispered Martin to her, as they passed out.

“Yes; I’ll follow. But,” added she, in a lower tone, “were the choice given me, it is here I ‘d take my stand.”

She looked full at Massingbred as she spoke, and, bending down his head, he said, “Had it been your place, it were mine also!”

“Quick, – quick, my Lady,” said Kate. “They must close up the passage at once. They are expecting an attack.” And so saying, she motioned rapidly to Martin to move on.

“The woman is a fiend,” said Lady Dorothea; “see how her eyes sparkle, and mark the wild exultation of her features.”

“Adieu, sir, – adieu!” said Kate, waving her hand to one who seemed the chief of the party. “All my wishes are with you. Were I a man, my hand should guarantee my heart.”

“Come – come back!” cried the officer. “You are too late. There comes the head of the column.”

“No, never – never!” exclamed Lady Dorothea, haughtily; “protection from such as these is worse than any death.”

“Give me the flag, then,” cried Kate, snatching it from Massingbred’s hand, and hastening on before the others. And now the heavy wagon had fallen back to its place, and a serried file of muskets peeped over it.

“Where’s Massingbred?” asked the Captain, eagerly.

“Yonder, – where he ought to be!” exclaimed Kate, proudly, pointing to the barricade, upon which, now, Jack was standing conspicuously, a musket on his arm.

The troops in front were not the head of a column, but the advanced guard of a force evidently at some distance off, and instead of advancing on the barricade, they drew up and halted in triple file across the street. Their attitude of silent, stern defiance – for it was such – evoked a wild burst of popular fury, and epithets of abuse and insult were heaped upon them from windows and parapets.

“They are the famous Twenty-Second of the Line,” said the Captain, “who forced the Pont-Neuf yesterday and drove the mob before them.”

“It is fortunate for us that we fall into such hands,” said Lady Dorothea, waving her handkerchief as she advanced. But Kate had already approached the line, and now halted at a command from the officer. While she endeavored to explain how and why they were there, the cries and menaces of the populace grew louder and wilder. The officer, a very young subaltern, seemed confused and flurried; his eyes turned constantly towards the street from which they had advanced, and he seemed anxiously expecting the arrival of the regiment.

“I cannot give you a convoy, Mademoiselle,” he said; “I. scarcely know if I have the right to let you pass. We may be attacked at any moment; for aught I can tell, you may be in the interests of the insurgents – ”

“We are cut off, Lieutenant,” cried a sergeant, running up at the moment. “They have thrown up a barrier behind us, and it is armed already.”

“Lay down your arms, then,” said Kate, “and do not sacrifice your brave fellows in a hopeless straggle.”

“Listen not to her, young man, but give heed to your honor and your loyalty,” cried Lady Dorothea. “Is it against such an enemy as this French soldiers fear to advance?”

“Forward!” cried the officer, waving his sword above his head. “Let us carry the barricade!” And a wild yell of defiance from the windows repeated the speech in derision.

“You are going to certain death!” cried Kate, throwing herself before him. “Let me make terms for you, and they shall not bring dishonor on you.”

“Here comes the regiment!” called out the sergeant. “They have forced the barricade.” And the quick tramp of a column, as they came at a run, now shook the street.

“Remember your cause and your King, sir,” cried Lady Dorothea to the officer.

“Bethink you of your country, – of France, – and of Liberty!” said Kate, as she grasped his arm.

“Stand back! – back to the houses!” said he, waving his sword. “Voltigeurs, to the front!”

The command was scarcely issued, when a hail of balls rattled through the air. The defenders of the barricade had opened their fire, and with a deadly precision, too, for several fell at the very first discharge.

“Back to the houses!” exclaimed Martin, dragging Lady Dorothea along, who, in her eagerness, now forgot all personal danger, and only thought of the contest before her.

“Get under cover of the troops, – to the rear!” cried the Captain, as he endeavored to bear her away.

“Back – back – beneath the archway!” cried Kate, as, throwing her arms around Lady Dorothea, she lifted her fairly from the ground, and carried her within the deep recess of a porte cochère. Scarcely, however, had she deposited her in safety, than she fell tottering backwards and sank to the ground.

“Good Heavens! she is struck,” exclaimed Martin, bending over her.

“It is nothing, – a spent shot, and no more,” said Kate, as she showed the bullet which had perforated her dress beneath the arm.

“A good soldier, by Jove!” said the Captain, gazing with real admiration on the beautiful features before him; the faint smile she wore heightening their loveliness, and contrasting happily with their pallor.

“There they go! They are up the barricade already; they are over it, – through it!” cried the Captain. “Gallantly done! – gloriously done! No, by Jove! they are falling back; the fire is murderous. See how they bayonet them. The troops must win. They move together; they are like a wall! In vain, in vain; they cannot do it! They are beaten, – they are lost!”

“Who are lost?” said Kate, in a half-fainting voice.

“The soldiers. And there ‘s Massingbred on the top of the barricade, in the midst of it all. I see his hat They are driven back – beaten – beaten!”

“Come in quickly,” cried a voice from behind; and a small portion of the door was opened to admit them. “The soldiers are retiring, and will kill all before them.”

“Let me aid you; it is my turn now,” said Lady Dorothea, assisting Kate to rise. “Good Heavens! her arm is broken, – it is smashed in two.” And she caught the fainting girl in her arms.

Gathering around, they bore her within the gate, and had but time to bar and bolt it when the hurried tramp without, and the wild yell of popular triumph, told that the soldiers were retreating, beaten and defeated.

“And this to save me!” said Lady Dorothea, as she stooped over her. And the scalding tears dropped one by one on Kate’s cheek.

“Tear this handkerchief, and bind it around my arm,” said Kate, calmly; “the pain is not very great, and there will be no bleeding, the doctors say, from a gun-shot wound.”

“I’ll be the surgeon,” said the Captain, addressing himself to the task with more of skill than might be expected. “I ‘ve seen many a fellow struck down who did n’t bear it as calmly,” muttered he, as he bent over her. “Am I giving you any pain?”

“Not in the least; and if I were in torture, that glorious cheer outside would rally me. Hear! – listen! – the soldiers are in full retreat; the people, the noble-hearted people, are the conquerors!”

“Be calm, and think of yourself,” said Lady Dorothea, mildly, to her; “such excitement may peril your very life.”

“And it is worth a thousand lives to taste of it,” said she, while her cheek flushed, and her dark eyes gleamed with added lustre.

“The street is clear now,” said one of the servants to Martin, “and we might reach the Boulevard with ease.”

“Let us go, then,” said Lady Dorothea. “Let us look to her and think of nothing till she be cared for.”

CHAPTER IX. SOME CONFESSIONS OF JACK MASSINGBRED

Upon two several occasions have we committed to Jack Massingbred the task of conducting this truthful history; for the third time do we now purpose to make his correspondence the link between the past and what is to follow. We are not quite sure that the course we thus adopt is free from its share of inconvenience, but we take it to avoid the evils of reiteration inseparable from following out the same events from merely different points of view. There is also another advantage to be gained. Jack is before our readers; we are not. Jack is an acquaintance; we cannot aspire to that honor. Jack’s opinions, right or wrong as they may be, are part and parcel of a character already awaiting their verdict. What he thought and felt, hoped, feared, or wished, are the materials by which he is to be judged; and so we leave his cause in his own hands.

His letter is addressed to the same correspondent to whom he wrote before. It is written, too, at different intervals, and in different moods of mind. Like the letters of many men who practise concealment with the world at large, it is remarkable for great frankness and sincerity. He throws away his mask with such evident signs of enjoyment that we only wonder if he can ever resume it; but crafty men like to relax into candor, as royalty is said to indulge with pleasure in the chance moments of pretended equality. It is, at all events, a novel sensation; and even that much, in this routine life of ours, is something!

He writes from Spa, and after some replies to matters with which we have no concern, proceeds thus: —

“Of the Revolution, then, and the Three Glorious Days as they are called, I can tell you next to nothing, and for this simple reason, that I was there fighting, shouting, throwing up barricades, singing the ‘Marseillaise,’ smashing furniture, and shooting my ‘Swiss,’ like the rest. As to who beat the troops, forced the Tuileries, and drove Marmont back, you must consult the newspapers. Personal adventures I could give you to satiety, hairbreadth ‘scapes and acts of heroism by the dozen; but these narratives are never new, and always tiresome. The serious reflectiveness sounds like humbug, and, if one treats them lightly, the flippancy is an offence. Jocular heroism is ever an insult to the reader.

“You say, ‘Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?’ and I answer, it was all her doing. Yes, Harry, she was there. I was thinking of nothing less in the world than a great ‘blow for freedom,’ as the ‘Globe’ has it. I had troubled my head wonderfully little about the whole affair. Any little interest I took was in the notion that if our ‘natural enemies,’ the French, were to fall to and kill each other, there would be so much the fewer left to fight against us; but as to who was to get the upper hand, or what they were to do when they had it, I gave myself no imaginable concern. I had a vague, shadowy kind of impression that the government was a bad one, but I had a much stronger conviction that the people deserved no better. My leanings – my instincts, if you prefer it – were with the Crown. The mob and its sentiments are always repulsive. Popular enthusiasm is a great ocean, but it is an ocean of dirty water, and you cannot come out clean from the contact; and so I should have wished well to royalty, but for an accident, – a mere trifle in its way, but one quite sufficient, even on historic grounds, to account for a man’s change of opinions. The troops shot my cab-horse, sent a bullet through poor ‘Beverley,’ and seriously damaged a new hat which I wore at the time, accompanying these acts with expressions the reverse of compliment or civility. I was pitched out into the gutter, and, most appropriately you will say, I got up a Radical, a Democrat, a Fourierist, – anything, in short, that shouts ‘Down with Kings, and up with the Sovereign People!’