Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

‘You risk life and limb here in these pine forests, and hazard existence for a bear or a chamois goat,’ cried one, ‘and half the peril in real war would perhaps make you a chef d escadron or even a general.’

‘Ay,’ said another, ‘we serve in an army where crowns are military distinctions, and the epaulette is only the first step to a kingdom.’

‘True,’ broke in a third, ‘Napoleon has changed the whole world, and made soldiering the only trade worth following. Masséna was a drummer-boy within my own memory, and see him now! Ney was not born to great wealth and honours. Junot never could learn his trade as a cobbler, and for want of better has become a general of division.’

‘Yes; and,’ said I, following out the theme, ‘under that wooden roof yonder, through that little diamond-paned window the vine is trained across, a greater than any of the last three first saw the light. It was there Kléber, the conqueror of Egypt, was born.’

‘Honour to the brave dead!’ said the soldiers from their places around the fire, and carrying their hands to the salute. ‘We’ll fire a salvo to him to-morrow before we set out!’ said the corporal. ‘And so Kléber was born there!’ said he, resuming his place, and staring with admiring interest at the dark outline of the old house, as it stood out against the starry and cloudless sky.

It was somewhat of a delicate task for me to prevent my companions offering their tribute of respect, but which the old peasant would have received with little gratitude, seeing that he had never yet forgiven the country nor the service for the loss of his son. With some management I accomplished this duty, however, promising my services at the same time to be their guide through the Bregenzerwald, and not to part with them till I had seen them safely into Bavaria.

Had it not been for my thorough acquaintance with the Tyroler dialect, and all the usages of Tyrol life, their march would have been one of great peril, for already the old hatred against their Bavarian oppressors was beginning to stir the land, and Austrian agents were traversing the mountain districts in every direction, to call forth that patriotic ardour which, ill-requited as it has been, has more than once come to the rescue of Austria.

So sudden had been the outbreak of this war, and so little aware were the peasantry of the frontier of either its object or aim, that we frequently passed recruits for both armies on their way to headquarters on the same day – honest Bavarians, who were trudging along the road with pack on their shoulders, and not knowing, nor indeed much caring, on which side they were to combat. My French comrades scorned to report themselves to any German officer, and pushed on vigorously in the hope of meeting with a French regiment. I had now conducted my little party to Immenstadt, at the foot of the Bavarian Alps, and, having completed my compact, was about to bid them good-bye.

We were seated around our bivouac fire for the last time, as we deemed it, and pledging each other in a parting glass, when suddenly our attention was attracted to a bright red tongue of flame that suddenly darted up from one of the Alpine summits above our head. Another and another followed, till at length every mountain-peak for miles and miles away displayed a great signal-fire! Little knew we that behind that giant range of mountains, from the icy crags of the Glockner, and from the snowy summit of the Orteler itself, similar fires were summoning all Tyrol to the combat, while every valley resounded with the war-cry of ‘God and the Emperor!’ We were still in busy conjecture what all this might portend, when a small party of mounted men rode past us at a trot. They carried carbines slung over their peasant frocks, and showed unmistakably enough that they were some newly-raised and scarcely disciplined force. After proceeding about a hundred yards beyond us, they halted, and drew up across the road, unslinging their pieces as if to prepare for action.

‘Look at those fellows, yonder,’ said the old corporal, as he puffed his pipe calmly and deliberately; ‘they mean mischief, or I ‘m much mistaken. Speak to them, Tiernay; you know their jargon.’

I accordingly arose and advanced towards them, touching my hat in salute as I went forward. They did not give me much time, however, to open negotiations, for scarcely had I uttered a word, when bang went a shot close beside me; another followed; and then a whole volley was discharged, but with such haste and ill direction that not a ball struck me. Before I could take advantage of this piece of good fortune to renew my advances, a bullet whizzed by my head, and down went the left-hand horse of the file, at first on his knees, and then, with a wild plunge into the air, he fell, stone-dead, on the road, the rider beneath him. As for the rest, throwing off carbines, and cartouch-boxes, they sprang from their horses, and took to the mountains with a speed that showed how far more they were at home amidst rocks and heather than when seated on the saddle. My comrades lost no time in coming up; but while three of them kept the fugitives in sight, covering them all the time with their muskets, the others secured the cattle, as in amazement and terror they stood around the dead horse.

Although the peasant had received no other injuries than a heavy fall and his own fears inflicted, he was overcome with terror, and so certain of death that he would do nothing but mumble his prayers, totally deaf to all the efforts I made to restore his courage. ‘That comes of putting a man out of his natural bent,’ said the old corporal. ‘On his native mountains, and with his rifle, that fellow would be brave enough; but making a dragoon of him is like turning a Cossack into a foot-soldier. One thing is clear enough, we’ve no time to throw away here; these peasants will soon alarm the village in our rear, so that we had better mount and press forward.’

‘But in what direction?’ cried another; ‘who knows if we shall not be rushing into worse danger?’

‘Tiernay must look to that,’ interposed a third. ‘It’s clear he can’t leave us now; his retreat is cut off, at all events.’

‘That’s the very point I was thinking of, lads,’ said I. ‘The beacon-fires show that “the Tyrol is up”; and safely as I have journeyed hither, I know well I dare not venture to retrace my road; I ‘d be shot in the first Dorf I entered. On one condition, then, I’ll join you; and short of that, however, I’ll take my own path, come what may of it.’

‘What’s the condition, then?’ cried three or four together.

‘That you give me the full and absolute command of this party, and pledge your honour, as French soldiers, to obey me in everything, till the day we arrive at the headquarters of a French corps.’

‘What, obey a Pekin! take the mot d’ordre from a civilian that never handled a firelock!’ shouted three or four in derision.

‘I have served, and with distinction, too, my lads,’ said I calmly; ‘and if I have not handled a firelock, it is because I wielded a sabre, as an officer of hussars. It is not here, nor now, that I am going to tell why I wear the epaulette no longer. I’ll render account of that to my superiors and yours! If you reject my offer (and I don’t press you to accept it), let us at least part good friends. As for me, I can take care of myself.’ As I said this, I slung over my shoulder the cross-belt and carbine of one of the fugitives, and selecting a strongly built, short-legged black horse as my mount, I adjusted the saddle, and sprang on his back.

‘That was done like an old hussar, anyhow,’ said a soldier, who had been a cavalry man, ‘and I ‘ll follow you, whatever the rest may do.’ He mounted as he spoke, and saluted as if on duty. Slight as the incident was, its effect was magical. Old habits of discipline revived at the first signal of obedience, and the corporal having made his men fall in, came up to my side for orders.

‘Select the best of these horses,’ said I, ‘and let us press forward at once. We are about eighteen miles from the village of Wangheim; by halting a short distance outside of it, I can enter alone, and learn something about the state of the country, and the nearest French post. The cattle are all fresh, and we can easily reach the village before daybreak.’

Three of my little ‘command’ were tolerable horsemen, two of them having served in the artillery train, and the third being the dragoon I have alluded to. I accordingly threw out a couple of these as an advanced picket, keeping the last as my aide-de-camp at my side. The remainder formed the rear, with orders, if attacked, to dismount at once, and fire over the saddle, leaving myself and the others to manoeuvre as cavalry. This was the only way to give confidence to those soldiers, who in the ranks would have marched up to a battery, but on horseback were totally devoid of self-reliance. Meanwhile I imparted such instructions in equitation as I could, my own old experience as a riding-master well enabling me to select the most necessary and least difficult of a horseman’s duties. Except the old corporal, all were very creditable pupils; but he, possibly deeming it a point of honour not to discredit his old career, rejected everything like teaching, and openly protested that, save to run away from a victorious enemy, or follow a beaten one, he saw no use in cavalry.

Nothing could be in better temper, however, nor more amicable than our discourses on this head; and as I let drop, from time to time, little hints of my services on the Rhine and in Italy, I gradually perceived that I grew higher in the esteem of my companions, so that ere we rode a dozen miles together, their confidence in me became complete.

In return for all their anecdotes of ‘blood and field,’ I told them several stories of my own life, and, at least, convinced them that if they had not chanced upon the very luckiest of mankind, they had, at least, fallen upon one who had seen enough of casualties not to be easily baffled, and who felt in every difficulty a self-confidence that no amount of discomfiture could ever entirely obliterate. No soldier can vie with a Frenchman in tempering respect with familiarity; so that while preserving towards me all the freedom of the comrade, they recognised in every detail of duty the necessity of prompt obedience, and followed every command I gave with implicit submission.

It was thus we rode along, till in the distance I saw the spire of a village church, and recognised what I knew to be Dorf Wangheim. It was yet an hour before sunrise, and all was tranquil around. I gave the word to trot, and after about forty minutes’ sharp riding, we gained a small pine wood, which skirted the village. Here I dismounted my party, and prepared to make my entry alone into the Dorf, carefully arranging my costume for that purpose, sticking a large bouquet of wild flowers in my hat, and assuming as much as I could of the Tyrol look and lounge in my gait. I shortened my stirrups, also, to a most awkward and inconvenient length, and gripped my reins into a heap in my hand.

It was thus I rode into Wangheim, saluting the people as I passed up the street, and with the short dry greeting of ‘Tag,’ and a nod as brief, playing Tyroler to the top of my bent. The ‘Syndicus,’ or the ruler of the village, lived in a good-sized house in the ‘Platz,’ which, being market-day, was crowded with people, although the articles for sale appeared to include little variety, almost every one leading a calf by a straw rope, the rest of the population contenting themselves with a wild turkey, or sometimes two, which, held under the arms, added the most singular element to the general concert of human voices around. Little stalls for rustic jewellery and artificial flowers, the latter in great request, ran along the sides of the square, with here and there a booth where skins and furs were displayed – more, however, as it appeared, to give pleasure to a group of sturdy Jagers, who stood around, recognising the track of their own bullets, than from any hope of sale. In fact, the business of the day was dull, and an experienced eye would have seen at a glance that turkeys were ‘heavy,’ and calves ‘looking down.’ No wonder that it should be so, the interest of the scene being concentrated on a little knot of some twenty youths, who, with tickets containing a number in their hats, stood before the syndic’s door. They were fine-looking, stalwart, straight fellows, and became admirably the manly costume of their native mountains; but their countenances were not without an expression of sadness, the reflection, as I soon saw, of the sadder faces around them. For so they stood, mothers, sisters, and sweethearts, their tearful eyes turned on the little band. It puzzled me not a little at first to see these evidences of a conscription in a land where hitherto the population had answered the call to arms by a levy en masse, while the air of depression and sadness seemed also strange in those who gloried in the excitement of war. The first few sentences I overheard revealed the mystery. Wangheim was Bavarian; although strictly a Tyrol village, and Austrian Tyrol, too, it had been included within the Bavarian frontier, and the orders had arrived from Munich at the Syndicate to furnish a certain number of men by a certain day. This was terrible tidings; for although they did not as yet know that the war was against Austria, they had heard that the troops were for foreign service, and not for the defence of home and country, the only cause which a Tyroler deems worthy of battle. As I listened, I gathered that the most complete ignorance prevailed as to the service or the destination to which they were intended. The Bavarians had merely issued their mandates to the various villages of the border, and neither sent emissaries nor officers to carry them out. Having seen how the ‘land lay,’ I pushed my way through the crowd, into the hall of the Syndicate, and by dint of a strong will and stout shoulder, at length gained the audience-chamber, where, seated behind an elevated bench, the great man was dispensing justice. I advanced boldly, and demanded an immediate audience in private, stating that my business was most pressing, and not admitting of delay. The syndic consulted for a second or two with his clerk, and retired, beckoning me to follow.

‘You’re not a Tyroler,’ said he to me, the moment we were alone.

‘That is easy to see, Herr Syndicus,’ replied I. ‘I’m an officer of the staff, in disguise, sent to make a hasty inspection of the frontier villages, and report upon the state of feeling that prevails amongst them, and how they stand affected towards the cause of Bavaria.’

‘And what have you found, sir?’ said he, with native caution; for a Bavarian Tyroler has the quality in a perfection that neither a Scotchman nor a Russian can pretend to.

‘That you are all Austrian at heart,’ said I, determined to dash at him with a frankness that I knew he could not resist. ‘There’s not a Bavarian amongst you. I have made the whole tour of the Vorarlberg – through the Bregenzer-wald, down the valley of the Lech, by Immenstadt, and Wangheim – and it’s all the same. I have heard nothing but the old cry of “Gott und der Kaiser!”’

‘Indeed!’ said he, with an accent beautifully balanced between sorrow and astonishment.

‘Even the men in authority, the syndics, like yourself, have frankly told me how difficult it is to preserve allegiance to a Government by whom they have been so harshly treated. ‘I’m sure I have the “grain question,” as they call it, and the “Freiwechsel” with South Tyrol, off by heart,’ said I, laughing. ‘However, my business lies in another quarter. I have seen enough to show me that save the outcasts from home and family, that class so rare in the Tyrol, that men call adventurers, we need look for no willing recruits here; and you’ll stare when I say that I ‘m glad of it – heartily glad of it.’

The syndic did, indeed, stare, but he never ventured a word in reply.

‘I’ll tell you why, then, Herr Syndicus. With a man like yourself one can afford to be open-hearted. Wangheim, Luttrich, Kempenfeld, and all the other villages at the foot of these mountains, were never other than Austrian. Diplomatists and map-makers coloured them pale blue, but they were black and yellow underneath; and what’s more to the purpose, Austrian they must become again. When the real object of this war is known, all Tyrol will declare for the House of Hapsburg. We begin to perceive this ourselves, and to dread the misfortunes and calamities that must fall upon you and the other frontier towns by this divided allegiance; for when you have sent off your available youth to the Bavarians, down will come Austria to revenge itself upon your undefended towns and villages.’

The syndic apparently had thought of all these things exactly with the same conclusions, for he shook his head gravely, and uttered a low, faint sigh.

‘I’m so convinced of what I tell you,’ said I, ‘that no sooner have I conducted to headquarters the force I have under my command – ’

‘You have a force, then, actually under your orders?’ cried he, starting.

‘The advanced guard is picketed in yonder pine wood, if you have any curiosity to inspect them; you’ll find them a little disorderly, perhaps, like all newly-raised levies, but I hope not discreditable allies for the great army.’

The syndic protested his sense of the favour, but begged to take all their good qualities on trust.

I then went on to assure him that I should recommend the Government to permit the range of frontier towns to preserve a complete neutrality; by scarcely any possibility could the war come to their doors; and that there was neither sound policy nor humanity in sending them to seek it elsewhere. I will not stop to recount all the arguments I employed to enforce my opinions, nor how learnedly I discussed every question of European politics. The syndic was amazed at the vast range of my acquirements, and could not help confessing it.

My interview ended by persuading him not to send on his levies of men till he had received further instructions from Munich; to supply my advanced guards with the rations and allowances intended for the others; and lastly, to advance me the sum of one hundred and seventy crown thalers, on the express pledge that the main body of my ‘marauders,’ as I took opportunity to style them, should take the road by Kempen and Durcheim, and not touch on the village of Wangheim at all.

When discussing this last point, I declared to the syndic that he was depriving himself of a very imposing sight; that the men, whatever might be said of them in point of character, were a fine-looking, daring set of rascals, neither respecting laws nor fearing punishment, and that our band, for a newly-formed one, was by no means contemptible. He resisted all these seducing prospects, and counted down his dollars with the air of a man who felt he had made a good bargain. I gave him a receipt in all form, and signed Maurice Tiernay at the foot of it as stoutly as though I had the Grand Livre de France at my back.

Let not the reader rashly condemn me for this fault, nor still more rashly conclude that I acted with a heartless and unprincipled spirit in this transaction. I own that a species of Jesuistry suggested the scheme, and that while providing for the exigencies of my own comrades, I satisfied my conscience by rendering a good service in return. The course of war, as I suspected it would, did sweep past this portion of the Bavarian Tyrol without inflicting any heavy loss. Such of the peasantry as joined the army fought under Austrian banners, and Wangheim and the other border villages had not to pay the bloody penalty of a divided allegiance. I may add, too, for conscience’ sake, that while travelling this way many years after, I stopped a day at Wangheim to point out its picturesque scenery to a fair friend who accompanied me. The village inn was kept by an old, venerable-looking man, who also discharged the functions of Vorsteher– the title Syndicus was abolished. He was, although a little cold and reserved at first, very communicative after a while, and full of stories of the old campaigns of France and Austria; amongst which he related one of a certain set of French freebooters that once passed through Wangheim, the captain having actually breakfasted with himself, and persuaded him to advance a loan of nigh two hundred thalers on the faith of the Bavarian Government.

‘He was a good-looking, dashing sort of fellow,’ said he, ‘that could sing French love-songs to the piano and jodle Tyroler Lieder for the women. My daughter took a great fancy to him, and wore his sword-knot for many a day after, till we found that he had cheated and betrayed us. Even then, however, I don’t think she gave him up, though she did not speak of him as before. This is the fellow’s writing,’ added he, producing a much-worn and much-crumpled scrap of paper from his old pocket-book, ‘and there’s his name. I have never been able to make out clearly whether it was Thierray or Iierray.’

‘I know something about him,’ said I, ‘and, with your permission, will keep the document and pay the debt. Your daughter is alive still?’

‘Ay, and married, too, at Bruck, ten miles from this.’

‘Well, if she has thrown away the old sword-knot, tell her to accept this one in memory of the French captain, who was not, at least, an ungrateful rogue’; and I detached from my sabre the rich gold tassel and cord which I wore as a general officer.

This little incident I may be pardoned for interpolating from a portion of my life of which I do not intend to speak further, as with the career of the Soldier of Fortune I mean to close these memoirs of Maurice Tiernay.