Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

‘None. I am Irish by descent. My family are only French by one generation.’

‘Irish! Ah! that’s lucky too,’ said he. ‘Our colonel is an Irishman. His name is Mahon. You’re certain of getting your leave now. I’ll present you to him to-morrow. We are to halt two days here, and before that is over, I hope you’ll have made your last caracole in the riding-school of Nancy.’

‘But remember,’ cried I, ‘that although Irish by family, I have never been there. I know nothing of either the people or the language – and do not present me to the general as his countryman.’

‘I’ll call you by your name, as a soldier of the 9th Hussars, and leave you to make out your claim as countrymen, if you please, together.’

This course was now agreed upon, and after some further talking, my friend, refusing all my offers of a bed, coolly wrapped his cloak about him, and, with his head on the table, fell fast asleep, long before I had ceased thinking over his stories and his adventures in camp and battlefield.

CHAPTER VIII. ‘TRONCHON’

My duties in the riding-school were always over before mid-day, and as noon was the hour appointed by the young lieutenant to present me to his colonel, I was ready by that time, and anxiously awaiting his arrival. I had done my best to smarten up my uniform, and make all my accoutrements bright and glistening. My scabbard was polished like silver, the steel front of my shako shone like a mirror, and the tinsel lace of my jacket had undergone a process of scrubbing and cleaning that threatened its very existence. My smooth chin and beardless upper-lip, however, gave me a degree of distress that all other deficiencies failed to inflict. I can dare to say, that no mediaeval gentleman’s bald spot ever cost him one-half the misery as did my lack of moustache occasion me. ‘A hussar without beard, as well without spurs or sabretache’; a tambour major without his staff, a cavalry charger without a tail, couldn’t be more ridiculous; and there was that old serjeant of the riding-school, ‘Tron-chon,’ with a beard that might have made a mattress! How the goods of this world are unequally distributed! thought I; still why might he not spare me a little – a very little would suffice – just enough to give the ‘air hussar’ to my countenance. He’s an excellent creature, the kindest old fellow in the world. I ‘m certain he ‘d not refuse me. To be sure, the beard is a red one, and pretty much like bell-wire in consistence; no matter, better that than this girlish smooth chin I now wear.

Tronchon was spelling out the Moniteurs account of the Italian campaign as I entered his room, and found it excessively difficult to get back from the Alps and Apennines to the humble request I preferred.

‘Poor fellows!’ muttered he – ‘four battles in seven days, without stores of any kind or rations – almost without bread; and here comest thou, whining because thou hasn’t a beard.’

‘If I were not a hussar – ’

‘Bah!’ said he, interrupting, ‘what of that? Where shouldst thou have had thy baptism of blood, boy? Art a child – nothing more.’

‘I shared my quarters last night with one, not older, Tronchon, and he was an officer, and had seen many a battlefield.’

‘I know that, too,’ said the veteran, with an expression of impatience – ‘and that General Bonaparte will give every boy his epaulettes before an old and tried soldier.’

‘It was not Bonaparte. It was – ’

‘I care not who promoted the lad; the system is just the same with them all. It is no longer, “Where have you served? – what have you seen?” but, “Can you read glibly? – can you write faster than speak? – have you learned to take towns upon paper, and attack a breastwork with a rule and a pair of compasses?” This is what they called “le génie” “le génie” – ha! ha! ha!’ cried he, laughing heartily; ‘that’s the name old women used to give the devil when I was a boy.’

It was with the greatest difficulty I could get him back from these disagreeable reminiscences to the object of my visit, and, even then, I could hardly persuade him that I was serious in asking the loan of a beard. The prayer of my petition being once understood, he discussed the project gravely enough; but to my surprise he was far more struck by the absurd figure he should cut with his diminished mane, than I with my mock moustache.

‘There’s not a child in Nancy won’t laugh at me – they’ll cry, “There goes old Tronchon – he’s like Kléber’s charger, which the German cut the tail off, to make a shako plume!”’

‘I assured him that he might as well pretend to miss one tree in the forest of Fontainebleau – that after furnishing a squadron like myself, his would be still the first beard in the Republic; and at last he yielded, and gave in.

Never did a little damsel of the nursery array her doll with more delighted looks, and gaze upon her handiwork with more self-satisfaction, than did old Tronchon survey me, as, with the aid of a little gum, he decorated my lip with a stiff line of his iron-red beard.

‘Diantre!’ cried he, in ecstasy, ‘if thou ben’t something like a man after all. Who would have thought it would have made such a change? Thou might pass for one that saw real smoke and real fire, any day, lad. Ay! thou hast another look in thine eye, and another way to carry thy head, now! Trust me, thou’lt look a different fellow on the left of the squadron.’

I began to think so too, as I looked at myself in the small triangle of a looking-glass which decorated Tronchon’s wall, under a picture of Kellermann, his first captain. I fancied that the improvement was most decided. I thought that, bating a little over-ferocity, a something verging upon the cruel, I was about as perfect a type of the hussar as need be. My jacket seemed to fit tighter – my pelisse hung more jauntily – my shako sat more saucily on one side of my head – my sabre banged more proudly against my boot – my very spurs jangled with a pleasanter music – and all because a little hair bristled over my lip, and curled in two spiral flourishes across my cheek! I longed to see the effect of my changed appearance, as I walked down the ‘Place Carrière,’ or sauntered into the café where my comrades used to assemble. What will Mademoiselle Josephine say, thought I, as I ask for my petit verre, caressing my moustache thus! Not a doubt of it, what a fan is to a woman a beard is to a soldier! – a something to fill up the pauses in conversation, by blandly smoothing with the finger, or fiercely curling at the point.

‘And so thou art going to ask for thy grade, Maurice?’ broke in Tronchon, after a long silence.

‘Not at all. I am about to petition for employment upon active service. I don’t seek promotion till I have deserved it.’

‘Better still, lad. I was eight years myself in the ranks before they gave me the stripe on my arm. Parbleu! the Germans had given me some three or four with the sabre before that time.’

‘Do you think they ‘ll refuse me, Tronchon?’

‘Not if thou go the right way about it, lad. Thou mustn’t fancy it’s like asking leave from the captain to spend the evening in a guinguette, or to go to the play with thy sweetheart. No, no, boy. It must be done en règle. Thou’lt have to wait on the general at his quarters at four o’clock, when he “receives,” as they call it. Thou’lt be there, mayhap, an hour, ay, two or three belike, and after all, perhaps, won’t see him that day at all! I was a week trying to catch Kellermann, and, at last, he only spoke to me going downstairs with his staff —

‘"Eh, Tronchon, another bullet in thy old carcass; want a furlough to get strong again, eh?”

‘"No, colonel; all sound this time. I want to be a sergeant – I’m twelve years and four months corporal.”

‘"Slow work, too,” said he, laughing; “ain’t it, Charles?” and he pinched one of his young officers by the cheek. “Let old Tronchon have his grade; and I say, my good fellow,” said he to me, “don’t come plaguing me any more about promotion till I’m General of Division. You hear that?”

‘Well, he’s got his step since; but I never teased him after.’

‘And why so, Tronchon?’ said L

‘I’ll tell thee, lad,’ whispered he, in a low, confidential tone, as if imparting a secret well worth the hearing. ‘They can find fellows every day fit for lieutenants and chefs d’escadron. Parbleu! they meet with them in every café, in every “billiard” you enter; but a sergeant! Maurice, one that drills his men on parade – can dress them like a wall – see that every kit is well packed, and every cartouch well filled – who knows every soul in his company as he knows the buckles of his own sword-belt – that’s what one should not chance upon in haste. It’s easy enough to manoeuvre the men, Maurice; but to make them, boy, to fashion the fellows so that they be like the pieces of a great machine, that’s the real labour – that’s soldiering indeed.’

‘And you say I must write a petition, Tronchon?’ said I, more anxious to bring him back to my own affairs than listen to these speculations of his. ‘How shall I do it?’

‘Sit down there, lad, and I’ll tell thee. I’ve done the thing some scores of times, and know the words as well as I once knew my “Pater.” Parbleu! I often wish I could remember that now, just to keep me from gloomy thoughts when I sit alone of an evening.’

It was not a little to his astonishment, but still more to his delight, that I told the poor fellow I could help to refresh his memory, knowing, as I did, every word of the litanies by heart; and, accordingly, it was agreed on that I should impart religious instruction in exchange for the secular knowledge he was conferring upon me.

‘As for the petition,’ said Tronchon, seating himself opposite to me at the table, ‘it is soon done; for mark me, lad, these things must always be short; if thou be long-winded, they put thee away, and tell some of the clerks to look after thee – and there’s an end of it. Be brief, therefore, and next – be legible – write in a good, large, round hand; just as, if thou wert speaking, thou wouldst talk with a fine, clear, distinct voice. Well, then, begin thus: – “Republic of France, one and indivisible!” Make a flourish round that, lad, as if it came freely from the pen. When a man writes – “France!” he should do it as he whirls his sabre round his head in a charge! Ay, just so.’

‘I ‘m ready, Tronchon, go on.’

‘“Mon Général!” Nay, nay —Général mustn’t be as large as France– yes, that’s better. “The undersigned, whose certificates of service and conduct are herewith inclosed.” Stay, stop a moment, Tronchon; don’t forget that I have got neither one nor t’other. No matter; I’ll make thee out both. Where was I? – Ay, “herewith inclosed; and whose wounds, as the accompanying report will show – “’

‘Wounds! I never received one.’

‘No matter, I’ll – eh – what? Feu d’enfer! how stupid I am! What have I been thinking of? Why, boy, it was a sick-furlough I was about to ask for – the only kind of petition I have ever had to write in a life long.’

‘And I am asking for active service.’

‘Ha! That came without asking for in my case.’

‘Then what’s to be done, Tronchon? – clearly this won’t do!’

He nodded sententiously an assent, and, after a moment’s rumination, said —

‘It strikes me, lad, there can be no need of begging for that which usually comes unlooked for; but if thou don’t choose to wait for thy billet for t’other world, but must go and seek it, the best way will be to up and tell the general as much.’

‘That was exactly my intention.’

‘If he asks thee, “Canst ride?” just say, “Old Tronchon taught me”; he ‘ll be one of the young hands, indeed, if he don’t know that name! And, mind, lad, have no whims or caprices about whatever service he names thee for, even were ‘t the infantry itself! It’s a hard word, that – I know it well; but a man must make up his mind for anything and everything. Wear any coat, go anywhere, face any enemy thou ‘rt ordered, and have none of those newfangled notions about this general, or that army. Be a good soldier and a good comrade. Share thy kit and thy purse to the last sou, for it will not only be generous in thee, but that so long as thou hoardest not, thou’lt never be over-eager for pillage. Mind these things, and with a stout heart and a sharp sabre, Maurice, tu iras loin. Yes, I tell thee again, lad, tu iras loin.’

I give these three words as he said them, for they have rung in my ears throughout all my life long. In moments of gratified ambition, in the glorious triumph of success, they have sounded to me like the confirmed predictions of one who foresaw my elevation in less prosperous hours. When fortune has looked dark and lowering, they have been my comforter and support, telling me not to be downcast or depressed, that the season of sadness would pass away, and the road to fame and honour again open before me.

‘You really think so, Tronchon? You think that I shall be something yet?’

‘Tu iras loin, I say,’ repeated he emphatically, and with the air of an oracle who would not suffer further interrogation. I therefore shook his hand cordially, and set out to pay my visit to the general.

CHAPTER IX. A SCRAPE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

When I reached the quarters of the état-major, I found the great courtyard of the ‘hotel’ crowded with soldiers of every rank and arm of the service. Some were newly joined recruits waiting for the orders to be forwarded to their respective regiments, some were invalids just issued from the hospital, some were sick and wounded on their way homeward. There were sergeants with their billet-rolls, and returns, and court-martial sentences. Adjutants with regimental documents hastening hither and thither. Mounted orderlies, too, continually came and went; all was bustle, movement, and confusion. Officers in staff uniforms called out the orders from the different windows, and despatches were sent off here and there with hot haste. The building was the ancient palace of the Dukes of Lorraine, and a splendid fountain of white marble in the centre of the cour, still showed the proud armorial bearings of that princely house. Around the sculptured base of this now were seated groups of soldiers, their war-worn looks and piled arms contrasting strangely enough with the great porcelain vases of flowering plants that still decorated the rich plateau. Shakos, helmets, and greatcoats were hung upon the orange-trees. The heavy boots of the cuirassier, the white leather apron of the sapeur, were drying along the marble benches of the terrace. The richly traceried veining of gilt iron-work, which separated the court from the garden, was actually covered with belts, swords, bayonets, and horse-gear, in every stage and process of cleaning. Within the garden itself, however, all was silent and still – two sentries, who paced backwards and forwards beneath the grille, showing that the spot was to be respected by those whose careless gestures and reckless air betrayed how little influence the mere ‘genius of the place’ would exercise over them.

To me the interest of everything was increasing; and whether I lingered to listen to the raw remarks of the new recruit, in wonder at all he saw, or stopped to hear the campaigning stories of the old soldiers of the army, I never wearied. Few, if any, knew whither they were going – perhaps to the north to join the army of the Sambre; perhaps to the east to the force upon the Rhine. It might be that they were destined for Italy – none cared! Meanwhile, at every moment, detachments moved off, and their places were filled by fresh arrivals – all dusty and wayworn from the march. Some had scarcely time to eat a hurried morsel, when they were called on to ‘fall in,’ and again the word ‘forward’ was given. Such of the infantry as appeared too weary for the march were sent on in great charrettes drawn by six or eight horses, and capable of carrying forty men in each; and of these there seemed to be no end. No sooner was one detachment away than another succeeded. Whatever their destination, one thing seemed evident, the urgency that called them was beyond the common. For a while I forgot all about myself in the greater interest of the scene; but then came the thought that I too should have my share in this onward movement, and now I set out to seek for my young friend, the sous-lieutenant. I had not asked his name, but his regiment I knew to be the 22nd Chasseurs à cheval. The uniform was light green, and easily enough to be recognised; yet nowhere was it to be seen. There were cuirassiers, and hussars, heavy dragoons, and carabiniers in abundance – everything, in short, but what I sought.

At last I asked of an old quartermaster where the 22nd were quartered, and heard, to my utter dismay, that they had marched that morning at eight o’clock. There were two more squadrons expected to arrive at noon, but the orders were that they were to proceed without further halt.

‘And whither to,’ asked I.

‘To Treves, on the Moselle,’ said he, and turned away as if he would not be questioned further. It was true that my young friend could not have been much of a patron, yet the loss of him was deeply felt by me. He was to have introduced me to his colonel, who probably might have obtained the leave I desired at once; and now I knew no one, not one even to advise me how to act. I sat down upon a bench to think, but could resolve on nothing; the very sight of that busy scene had now become a reproach to me. There were the veterans of a hundred battles hastening forward again to the field; there were the young soldiers just flushed with recent victory; even the peasant boys were ‘eager for the fray’; but I alone was to have no part in the coming glory. The enthusiasm of all around only served to increase and deepen my depression. There was not one there, from the old and war-worn veteran of the ranks to the merest boy, with whom I would not gladly have exchanged fortunes. Some hours passed over in these gloomy reveries, and when I looked up from the stupor my own thoughts had thrown over me, the cour was almost empty. A few sick soldiers, waiting for their billets of leave, a few recruits not yet named to any corps, and a stray orderly or two standing beside his horse, were all that remained.

I arose to go away, but in my preoccupation of mind, instead of turning toward the street, I passed beneath a large archway into another court of the building, somewhat smaller, but much richer in decoration and ornament than the outer one. After spending some time admiring the quaint devices and grim heads which peeped out from all the architraves and friezes, my eye was caught by a low, arched doorway, in the middle of which was a small railed window, like the grille of a convent. I approached, and perceived that it led into a garden, by a long, narrow walk of clipped yew, dense and upright as a wall The trimly raked gravel, and the smooth surface of the hedge, showed the care bestowed on the grounds to be a wide contrast to the neglect exhibited in the mansion itself; a narrow border of hyacinths and carnations ran along either side of the walk, the gorgeous blossoms appearing in strong relief against the background of dark foliage.

The door, as I leaned against it, gently yielded to the pressure of my arm, and almost without knowing it, I found myself standing within the precincts of the garden. My first impulse, of course, was to retire and close the door again, but somehow, I never knew exactly why, I could not resist the desire to see a little more of a scene so tempting. There was no mark of footsteps on the gravel, and I thought it likely the garden was empty. On I went, therefore, at first with cautious and uncertain steps, at last with more confidence, for as I issued from the hedge-walk, and reached an open space beyond, the solitude seemed unbroken. Fruit-trees, loaded with blossom, stood in a closely shaven lawn, through which a small stream meandered, its banks planted with daffodils and water-lilies. Some pheasants moved about through the grass, but without alarm at my presence; while a young fawn boldly came over to me, and although in seeming disappointment at not finding an old friend, continued to walk beside me as I went.

The grounds appeared of great extent: paths led off in every direction; and while, in some places, I could perceive the glittering roof and sides of a conservatory, in others the humble culture of a vegetable garden was to be seen. There was a wondrous fascination in the calm and tranquil solitude around; and coming, as it did, so immediately after the busy bustle of the ‘soldiering,’ I soon not only forgot that I was an intruder there, but suffered myself to wander ‘fancy free,’ following out the thoughts each object suggested. I believe at that moment, if the choice were given me, I would rather have been the ‘Adam of that Eden’ than the proudest of those generals that ever led a column to victory! Fortunately, or unfortunately – it would not be easy to decide which – the alternative was not open to me. It was while I was still musing, I found myself at the foot of a little eminence, on which stood a tower whose height and position showed it had been built for the view it afforded over a vast tract of country. Even from where I stood, at its base, I could see over miles and miles of a great plain, with the main roads leading towards the north and eastward. This spot was also the boundary of the grounds, and a portion of the old boulevard of the town formed the defence against the open country beyond. It was a deep ditch, with sides of sloping sward, cropped neatly, and kept in trimmest order, but, from its depth and width, forming a fence of a formidable kind. I was peering cautiously down into the abyss, when I heard a voice so close to my ear that I started with surprise. I listened, and perceived that the speaker was directly above me, and leaning over the battlements at the top of the tower.

‘You’re quite right,’ cried he, as he adjusted a telescope to his eye, and directed his view towards the plain. ‘He has gone wrong! He has taken the Strasbourg road, instead of the northern one.’

An exclamation of anger followed these words; and now I saw the telescope passed to another hand, and, to my astonishment, that of a lady.

‘Was there ever stupidity like that? He saw the map like the others, and yet – Parbleu! it’s too bad!’

I could perceive that a female voice made some rejoinder, but did not distinguish the words; when the man again spoke —

‘No, no; it’s all a blunder of that old major; and here am I without an orderly to send after him. Diable! it is provoking.’

‘Isn’t that one of your people at the foot of the tower?’ said the lady, as she pointed to where I stood, praying for the earth to open and close over me; for, as he moved his head to look down, I saw the epaulettes of a staff-officer.

‘Holloa!’ cried he, ‘are you on duty?’

‘No, sir; I was – ’

Not waiting for me to finish an explanation, he went on —

‘Follow that division of cavalry that has taken the Strasbourg road, and tell Major Roquelard that he has gone wrong; he should have turned off to the left at the suburbs. Lose no time, but away at once. You are mounted, of course?’

‘No, sir, my horse is at quarters; but I can – ’

‘No, no; it will be too late,’ he broke in again. ‘Take my troop-horse, and be off. You’ll find him in the stable to your left.’

Then turning to the lady I heard him say —

‘It may save Roquelard from an arrest.’

I did not wait for more, but hurried off in the direction he had pointed. A short gravel walk brought me in front of a low building, in the cottage style, but which, decorated with emblems of the chase, I guessed to be the stable. Not a groom was to be seen; but the door being unlatched I entered freely. Four large and handsome horses were feeding at the racks, their glossy coats and long silken manes showing the care bestowed upon them. Which is the trooper? thought I, as I surveyed them all with keen and scrutinising eye. All my skill in such matters was unable to decide the point; they seemed all alike valuable and handsome – in equally high condition, and exhibiting equal marks of careful treatment. Two were stamped on the haunches with the letters ‘R. F.’; and these, of course, were cavalry horses. One was a powerful black horse, whose strong quarters and deep chest bespoke great action, while the backward glances of his eye indicated the temper of a ‘tartar.’ Making choice of him without an instant’s hesitation, I threw on the saddle, adjusted the stirrups to my own length, buckled the bridle, and led him forth. In all my ‘school experience’ I had never seen an animal that pleased me so much; his well-arched neck and slightly dipped back showed that an Arab cross had mingled with the stronger qualities of the Norman horse. I sprang to my saddle with delight; to be astride such a beast was to kindle up all the enthusiasm of my nature; and as I grasped the reins, and urged him forward, I was half wild with excitement.