Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

I accordingly began to read my narrative slowly and deliberately, thereby giving myself time to think what I should best do when I came to that part which became purely personal To omit it altogether would have been dangerous, as the slightest glance at the mass of writing would have shown the deception. There was, then, nothing left, but to invent at the moment another version, in which Maurice Tiernay never occurred, and the incident of the ‘Fels Insel’ should figure as unobtrusively as possible. I was always a better improvisatore than amanuensis; so that without a moment’s loss of time I fashioned a new and very different narrative, and detailing the battle tolerably accurately, minus the share my own heroism had taken in it. The captain made a few, a very few corrections of my style, in which the ‘flourish’ and ‘bom.’ figured, perhaps, too conspicuously; and then told me frankly, that once upon a time he had been fool enough to give himself great trouble in framing these kind of reports, but that having served for a short period in the ‘bureau’ of the minister of war, he had learned better – ‘In fact,’ said he, ‘a district report is never read! Some hundreds of them reach the office of the minister every day, and are safely deposited in the “archives” of the department. They have all, besides, such a family resemblance, that with a few changes in the name of the commanding officer, any battle in the Netherlands would do equally well for one fought beyond the Alps! Since I became acquainted with this fact, Tiernay, I have bestowed less pains upon the matter, and usually deputed the task to some smart orderly of the staff.’

So, thought I, I have been writing history for nothing; and Maurice Tiernay, the real hero of the passage of the Rhine, will be unrecorded and unremembered, just for want of one honest and impartial scribe to transmit his name to posterity. The reflection was not a very encouraging one; nor did it serve to lighten the toil in which I passed many weary hours, copying out my own precious manuscript. Again and again during that night did I wonder at my own diffuseness – again and again did I curse the prolix accuracy of a description that cost such labour to reiterate. It was like a species of poetical justice on me for my own amplifications; and when the day broke, and I still sat at my table writing on, at the third copy of this precious document, I vowed a vow of brevity, should I ever survive to indite similar compositions.

CHAPTER XIII. A FAREWELL LETTER

It was in something less than a week after that I entered upon my new career as orderly in the staff, when I began to believe myself the most miserable of all human beings. On the saddle at sunrise, I never dismounted, except to carry a measuring chain, ‘to step distances,’ mark out intrenchments, and then write away, for hours, long enormous reports, that were to be models of caligraphy, neatness and elegance – and never to be read. Nothing could be less like soldiering than the life I led; and were it not for the clanking sabre I wore at my side, and the jingling spurs that decorated my heels, I might have fancied myself a notary’s clerk. It was part of General Moreau’s plan to strengthen the defences of Kehl before he advanced farther into Germany; and to this end repairs were begun upon a line of earthworks, about two leagues to the northward of the fortress, at a small village called ‘Ekheim.’ In this miserable little hole, one of the dreariest spots imaginable, we were quartered, with two companies of sapeurs and some of the waggon-train, trenching, digging, carting earth, sinking wells, and in fact engaged in every kind of labour save that which seemed to be characteristic of a soldier.

I used to think that Nancy and the riding-school were the most dreary and tiresome of all destinies, but they were enjoyments and delight compared with this. Now it very often happens in life that when a man grows discontented and dissatisfied with mere monotony, when he chafes at the sameness of a tiresome and unexciting existence, he is rapidly approaching to some critical or eventful point, where actual peril and real danger assail him, and from which he would willingly buy his escape by falling back upon that wearisome and plodding life he had so often deplored before. This case was my own. Just as I had convinced myself that I was exceedingly wretched and miserable, I was to know there are worse things in this world than a life of mere uniform stupidity. I was waiting outside my captain’s door for orders one morning, when at the tinkle of his little hand-bell I entered the room where he sat at breakfast, with an open despatch before him.

‘Tiernay,’ said he, in his usual quiet tone, ‘here is an order from the adjutant-general to send you back under an escort to headquarters. Are you aware of any reason for it, or is there any charge against you which warrants this?’

‘Not to my knowledge, mon capitaine,’ said I, trembling with fright, for I well knew with what severity discipline was exercised in that army, and how any, even the slightest, infractions met the heaviest penalties.

‘I have never known you to pillage,’ continued he, ‘have never seen you drink, nor have you been disobedient while under my command; yet this order could not be issued on light grounds; there must be some grave accusation against you, and in any case you must go; therefore arrange all my papers, put everything to rights, and be ready to return with the orderly.’

‘You’ll give me a good character, mon capitaine,’ said I, trembling more than ever – ‘you’ll say what you can for me, I’m sure.’

‘Willingly, if the general or chief were here,’ replied he; ‘but that’s not so. General Moreau is at Strasbourg. It is General Régnier that is in command of the army, and unless specially applied to, I could not venture upon the liberty of obtruding my opinion upon him.’

‘Is he so severe, sir?’ asked I timidly.

‘The general is a good disciplinarian,’ said he cautiously, while he motioned with his hand towards the door, and accepting the hint, I retired.

It was evening when I re-entered Kehl, under an escort of two of my own regiment, and was conducted to the ‘Salle de Police.’ At the door stood my old corporal, whose malicious grin, as I alighted, revealed the whole story of my arrest; and I now knew the charge that would be preferred against me – a heavier there could not be made – was, ‘disobedience in the field.’ I slept very little that night, and when I did close my eyes, it was to awake with a sudden start, and believe myself in presence of the court-martial, or listening to my sentence, as read out by the president. Towards day, however, I sank into a heavy, deep slumber, from which I was aroused by the reveille of the barracks.

I had barely time to dress when I was summoned before the ‘Tribunale Militaire’ – a sort of permanent court-martial, whose sittings were held in one of the churches of the town. Not even all the terror of my own precarious position could overcome the effect of old prejudices in my mind, as I saw myself led up the dim aisle of the church towards the altar rails, within which, around a large table, were seated a number of officers, whose manner and bearing evinced but little reverence for the sacred character of the spot.

Stationed in a group of poor wretches whose wan looks and anxious glances told that they were prisoners like myself, I had time to see what was going forward around me. The president, who alone wore his hat, read from a sort of list before him the name of a prisoner and that of the witnesses in the cause. In an instant they were all drawn up and sworn. A few questions followed, rapidly put, and almost as rapidly replied to. The prisoner was called on then for his defence: if this occupied many minutes, he was sure to be interrupted by an order to be brief. Then came the command to ‘stand by’; and after a few seconds’ consultation together, in which many times a burst of laughter might be heard, the Court agreed upon the sentence, recorded and signed it, and then proceeded with the next case.

If nothing in the procedure imposed reverence or respect, there was that in the despatch which suggested terror, for it was plain to see that the Court thought more of the cost of their own precious minutes than of the years of those on whose fate they were deciding. I was sufficiently near to hear the charges of those who were arraigned, and, for the greater number, they were all alike. Pillage, in one form or another, was the universal offending, and from the burning of a peasant’s cottage, to the theft of his dog or his poulet, all came under this head. At last came number 82 – ‘Maurice Tiernay, hussar of the Ninth.’ I stepped forward to the rails.

‘Maurice Tiernay,’ read the president hurriedly, ‘accused by Louis Gaussin, corporal of the same regiment, “of wilfully deserting his post while on duty in the field, and in the face of direct orders to the contrary, inducing others to a similar breach of discipline.” Make the charge, Gaussin.’

The corporal stepped forward, and began —

‘We were stationed in detachment on the bank of the Rhine, on the evening of the 23rd – ’

‘The Court has too many duties to lose its time for nothing,’ interrupted I. ‘It is all true. I did desert my post, I did disobey orders; and, seeing a weak point in the enemy’s line, attacked and carried it with success. The charge is, therefore, admitted by me, and it only remains for the Court to decide how far a soldier’s zeal for his country may be deserving of punishment. Whatever the result, one thing is perfectly clear, Corporal Gaussin will never be indicted for a similar misdemeanour.’

A murmur of voices and suppressed laughter followed this impertinent and not over-discreet sally of mine, and the president, calling out, ‘Proven by acknowledgment,’ told me to ‘stand by.’ I now fell back to my former place, to be interrogated by my comrades on the result of my examination, and hear their exclamations of surprise and terror at the rashness of my conduct. A little reflection of the circumstances would probably have brought me over to their opinion, and shown me that I had gratuitously thrown away an opportunity of self-defence; but my temper could not brook the indignity of listening to the tiresome accusation and the stupid malevolence of the corporal, whose hatred was excited by the influence I wielded over my comrades.

It was long past noon ere the proceedings terminated, for the list was a full one, and at length the Court rose, apparently not sorry to exchange their tiresome duties for the pleasant offices of the dinner-table. No sentences had been pronounced, but one very striking incident seemed to shadow forth a gloomy future. Three, of whom I was one, were marched off, doubly guarded, before the rest, and confined in separate cells of the ‘Salle,’ where every precaution against escape too plainly showed the importance attached to our safe keeping.

At about eight o’clock, as I was sitting on my bed – if that inclined plane of wood, worn by the form of many a former prisoner, could deserve the name – a sergeant entered with the prison allowance of bread and water. He placed it beside me without speaking, and stood for a few seconds gazing at me.

‘What age art thou, lad?’ said he, in a voice of compassionate interest.

‘Something over fifteen, I believe,’ replied I.

‘Hast father and mother?’

‘Both are dead!’

‘Uncles or aunts living?’

‘Neither.’

‘Hast any friends who could help thee?’

‘That might depend on what the occasion for help should prove, for I have one friend in the world.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Colonel Mahon, of the Cuirassiers.’

‘I never heard of him – is he here?’

‘No, I left him at Nancy; but I could write to him.’

‘It would be too late, much too late.’

‘How do you mean – too late?’ asked I tremblingly.

‘Because it is fixed for to-morrow evening,’ replied he in a low, hesitating voice.

‘What? the – the – ’ I could not say the word, but merely imitated the motion of presenting and firing. He nodded gravely in acquiescence.

‘What hour is it to take place?’ asked I.

‘After evening parade. The sentence must be signed by General Berthier, and he will not be here before that time.’

‘It would be too late then, sergeant,’ said I, musing, ‘far too late. Still I should like to write the letter; I should like to thank him for his kindness in the past, and show him, too, that I have not been either unworthy or ungrateful. Could you let me have paper and pen, sergeant?’

‘I can venture so far, lad; but I cannot let thee have a light, it is against orders; and during the day, thou ‘ll be too strictly watched.*

‘No matter; let me have the paper, and I’ll try to scratch a few lines in the dark; and thou ‘lt post it for me, sergeant? I ask thee as a last favour to do this.’

‘I promise it,’ said he, laying his hand on my shoulder. After standing for a few minutes thus in silence, he started suddenly and left the cell.

I now tried to eat my supper, but although resolved on behaving with a stout and unflinching courage throughout the whole sad event, I could not swallow a mouthful. A sense of choking stopped me at every attempt, and even the water I could only get down by gulps. The efforts I made to bear up seemed to have caused a species of hysterical excitement that actually rose to the height of intoxication, for I talked away loudly to myself, laughed and sung. I even jested and mocked myself on this sudden termination of a career that I used to anticipate as stored with future fame and rewards. At intervals, I have no doubt that my mind wandered far beyond the control of reason, but as constantly came back again to a full consciousness of my melancholy position, and the fate that awaited me. The noise of the key in the door silenced my ravings, and I sat motionless as the sergeant entered with the pen, ink, and paper, which he laid down upon the bed, and then as silently withdrew.

A long interval of stupor, a state of dreary half consciousness, now came over me, from which I aroused myself with great difficulty to write the few lines I destined for Colonel Mahon. I remember even now, long as has been the space of years since that event, full as it has been of stirring and strange incidents, I remember perfectly the thought which flashed across me, as I sat, pen in hand, before the paper. It was the notion of a certain resemblance between our actions in this world with the characters I was about to inscribe upon that paper. Written in darkness and in doubt, thought I, how shall they appear when brought to the light! Perhaps those I have deemed the best and fairest shall seem but to be the weakest or the worst! What need of kindness to forgive the errors, and of patience to endure the ignorance! At last I began: ‘Mon Colonel, – Forgive, I pray you, the errors of these lines, penned in the darkness of my cell, and the night before my death. They are written to thank you ere I go hence, and to tell you that the poor heart whose beating will soon be still, throbbed gratefully towards you to the last! I have been sentenced to death for a breach of discipline of which I was guilty. Had I failed in the achievement of my enterprise by the bullet of an enemy, they would have named me with honour; but I have had the misfortune of success, and to-morrow am I to pay its penalty. I have the satisfaction, however, of knowing that my share in that great day can neither be denied nor evaded; it is already on record, and the time may yet come when my memory will be vindicated. I know not if these lines be legible, nor if I have crossed or recrossed them. If they are blotted they are not my tears have done it, for I have a firm heart and a good courage; and when the moment comes – ’ Here my hand trembled so much, and my brain grew so dizzy, that I lost the thread of my meaning, and merely jotted down at random a few words, vague, unconnected, and unintelligible, after which, and by an effort that cost all my strength, I wrote ‘Maurice Tiernay, late Hussar of the 9th Regiment.’

A hearty burst of tears followed the conclusion of this letter; all the pent-up emotion with which my heart was charged broke out at last, and I cried bitterly. Intense passions are, happily, never of long duration, and, better still, they are always the precursors of calm. Thus, tranquil, the dawn of morn broke upon me, when the sergeant came to take my letter, and apprise me that the adjutant would appear in a few moments to read my sentence, and inform me when it was to be executed.

‘Thou’It bear up well, lad; I know thou wilt,’ said the poor fellow, with tears in his eyes. ‘Thou hast no mother, and thou ‘lt not have to grieve for her.’

‘Don’t be afraid, sergeant; I’ll not disgrace the old 9th. Tell my comrades I said so.’

‘I will. I will tell them all! Is this thy jacket, lad?’

‘Yes; what do you want it for?’

‘I must take it away with me. Thou art not to wear it more?’

‘Not wear it, nor die in it! and why not?’

‘That is the sentence, lad; I cannot help it. It’s very hard, very cruel; but so it is.’

‘Then I am to die dishonoured, sergeant; is that the sentence?’

He dropped his head, and I could see that he moved his sleeve across his eyes; and then, taking up my jacket, he came towards me.

‘Remember, lad, a stout heart; no flinching. Adieu – God bless thee.’ He kissed me on either cheek, and went out.

He had not been gone many minutes, when the tramp of marching outside apprised me of the coming of the adjutant, and the door of my cell being thrown open, I was ordered to walk forth into the court of the prison. Two squadrons of my own regiment, all who were not on duty, were drawn up, dismounted, and without arms; beside them stood a company of grenadiers and a half battalion of the line, the corps to which the other two prisoners belonged, and who now came forward, in shirtsleeves like myself, into the middle of the court.

One of my fellow-sufferers was a very old soldier, whose hair and beard were white as snow; the other was a middle-aged man, of a dark and forbidding aspect, who scowled at me angrily as I came up to his side, and seemed as if he scorned the companionship. I returned a glance, haughty and as full of defiance as his own, and never noticed him after.

The drum beat a roll, and the word was given for silence in the ranks – an order so strictly obeyed, that even the clash of a weapon was unheard, and, stepping in front of the line, the Auditeur Militaire read out the sentences. As for me, I heard but the words ‘Peine afflictive et infamante‘; all the rest became confusion, shame, and terror commingled; nor did I know that the ceremonial was over when the troops began to defile, and we were marched back again to our prison quarters.

CHAPTER XIV. A SURPRISE AND AN ESCAPE

It is a very common subject of remark in newspapers, and as invariably repeated with astonishment by the readers, how well and soundly such a criminal slept on the night before his execution. It reads like a wonderful evidence of composure, or some not less surprising proof of apathy or indifference. I really believe it has as little relation to one feeling as to the other, and is simply the natural consequence of faculties overstrained, and a brain surcharged with blood; sleep being induced by causes purely physical in their nature. For myself, I can say that I was by no means indifferent to life, nor had I any contempt for the form of death that awaited me. As localities which have failed to inspire a strong attachment become endowed with a certain degree of interest when we are about to part from them for ever, I never held life so desirable as now that I was going to leave it; and yet, with all this, I fell into a sleep so heavy and profound, that I never awoke till late in the evening. Twice was I shaken by the shoulder ere I could throw off the heavy weight of slumber; and even when I looked up, and saw the armed figures around me, I could have lain down once more and composed myself to another sleep.

The first thing which thoroughly aroused me, and at once brightened up my slumbering senses, was missing my jacket, for which I searched every corner of my cell, forgetting that it had been taken away, as the nature of my sentence was declared infamante. The next shock was still greater, when two sapeurs came forward to tie my wrists together behind my back; I neither spoke nor resisted, but in silent submission complied with each order given me.

All preliminaries being completed, I was led forward, preceded by a pioneer, and guarded on either side by two sapeurs of ‘the guard’; a muffled drum, ten paces in advance, keeping up a low monotonous rumble as we went.

Our way led along the ramparts, beside which ran a row of little gardens, in which the children of the officers were at play. They ceased their childish gambols as we drew near, and came closer up to watch us. I could mark the terror and pity in their little faces as they gazed at me; I could see the traits of compassion with which they pointed me out to each other, and my heart swelled with gratitude for even so slight a sympathy. It was with difficulty I could restrain the emotion of that moment, but with a great effort I did subdue it, and marched on, to all seeming, unmoved. A little farther on, as we turned the angle of the wall, I looked back to catch one last look at them. Would that I had never done so! They had quitted the railings, and were now standing in a group, in the act of performing a mimic execution. One, without his jacket, was kneeling on the grass. But I could not bear the sight, and in scornful anger I closed my eyes, and saw no more.

A low whispering conversation was kept up by the soldiers around me. They were grumbling at the long distance they had to march, as the ‘affair’ might just as well have taken place on the glacis as two miles away. How different were my feelings – how dear to me was now every minute, every second of existence; how my heart leaped at each turn of the way, as I still saw a space to traverse and some little interval longer to live!

‘And mayhap after all,’ muttered one dark-faced fellow, ‘we shall have come all this way for nothing. There can be no fusillade without the general’s signature, so I heard the adjutant say; and who’s to promise that he ‘ll be at his quarters?’

‘Very true,’ said another; ‘he may be absent, or at table.’

‘At table!’ cried two or three together; ‘and what if he were?’

‘If he be,’ rejoined the former speaker, ‘we may go back again for our pains! I ought to know him well; I was his orderly for eight months, when I served in the “Légers,” and can tell you, my lads, I wouldn’t be the officer who would bring him a report or a return to sign when once he had opened out his napkin on his knee; and it’s not very far from his dinner-hour now.’

What a sudden thrill of hope ran through me! Perhaps I should be spared for another day.

‘No, no we’re all in time,’ exclaimed the sergeant; ‘I can see the general’s tent from this; and there he stands, with all his staff around him.’

‘Yes; and there go the other escorts – they will be up before us if we don’t make haste; quick-time, lads. Come along, mon cher,’ said he, addressing me – ‘thou’rt not tired, I hope?’

‘Not tired!’ replied I; ‘but remember, sergeant, what a long journey I have before me.’

‘Pardi! I don’t believe all that rhodomontade about another world,’ said he gruffly; ‘the Republic settled that question.’

I made no reply, for such words, at such a moment, were the most terrible of tortures to me. And now we moved on at a brisker pace, and crossing a little wooden bridge, entered a kind of esplanade of closely shaven turf, at one corner of which stood the capacious tent of the Commander-in-chief, for such, in Moreau’s absence, was General Berthier. Numbers of staff-officers were riding about on duty, and a large travelling-carriage, from which the horses seemed recently detached, stood before the tent.

We halted as we crossed the bridge, while the adjutant advanced to obtain the signature to the sentence. My eyes followed him till they swam with rising tears, and I could not wipe them away, as my hands were fettered. How rapidly did my thoughts travel during those few moments. The good old Père Michel came back to me in memory, and I tried to think of the consolation his presence would have afforded me; but I could do no more than think of them.