For Love of a Bedouin Maid

CHAPTER V

The morning of the 16th of June, 1815, was just dawning; for, away in the Northeast, a faint shimmer in the sky, that grew momentarily stronger, was heralding the approach of day.

The French army was once more on foreign soil; it had advanced into that country which, from its having been the scene of so many well-contested fields, so many sanguinary conflicts, had acquired the name of Europe's Cockpit.

That portion of the army, to which St. Just was for the moment joined, was posted on a height hard by some windmills, which, in an emergency, would form a temporary shelter and give time for the troops to rally after a check.

In the distance facing them, was the Prussian contingent of the Allied army, under Blucher, its center holding Ligny, its right and left wings extending respectively towards St. Amand and Sombrey. Between the two armies was a broad ravine.

St. Just, mounted on a handsome chestnut charger, had arrived, not long before, with despatches from Marshal Ney to the Emperor. At the moment, he had dismounted to give his horse a rest, and was standing motionless by the windmills, his arm thrust through the bridle, his eyes and ears alike on the alert. Suddenly the sound of firing, in the distance, broke on his ear, now rapid, now merely dropping shots; occasionally, for a short space, ceasing altogether. He listened attentively, and the sound grew louder. He judged, from the quarter whence it came, that it was the advanced guard driving the Prussians back from the village of Fleurus. If the two were engaged, it must be the Prussians who were retiring; the French guards would never give ground to such a foe—for St. Just, like most of Napoleon's officers, held the Prussians in contempt.

While, he was figuring to himself the changes in the several positions that the engagement then proceeding would bring about, he heard the tramp of horses, and the Emperor, accompanied by his staff, rode up.

"Ah! St. Just," he cried, "what are you doing here?"

"My horse was tired, Sire, and I was giving him a few moments' rest. I was told by the picket officer that you were expected at the windmills almost immediately, and I thought I should find you sooner by waiting here than by seeking you, since I did not know from which direction you would come. Marshal Ney sent me to say that he is hindered in his advance on Quatre Bras, by the enemy, who are in force beyond Frasnes."

The Emperor, who was habited in his well-known gray overcoat, for the morning was chilly, scribbled these words on a piece of paper:—"Advance, at all hazards, on Quatre Bras at once. Send men by the village of Marchais to occupy the heights of Brie. I must have them by two o'clock. At that hour I shall order a charge of the whole front to support you. You ought not to have lost so much time; if you had already advanced, we should have had the Prussians in our grasp." He handed the paper to St. Just. "Take this at once to Marshal Ney, and ride your hardest. Urge on the Marshal the necessity of an immediate advance."

St. Just mounted and rode off at full gallop, for the Emperor's message was imperative. He would get a remount from Marshal Ney, for he knew that, when he reached him, his horse would be exhausted.

On gaining Frasnes, he found that Ney was only then preparing to advance. Ney read the Emperor's message carefully, and deliberated. It was all very well to give the order, but he doubted the strength of his command for the task before him.

While he was still hesitating, a dragoon rode up in haste. "Marshal,"—he saluted and shot out the words—"Colonel –, commanding the advance guard, bids me say that the Prince of Orange has occupied Quatre Bras."

"Perdition!" shouted Ney, much upset at the intelligence. "At all costs we must drive him out." Then, turning to St. Just; "you see, Colonel, the difficulty I am in. The Emperor does not know of it; it is impossible for me to move the men as he desires; my force is not sufficient in the face of this last news. Here, take those men to the front;" pointing to a squadron of Dragoons. He seemed quite bewildered, and scarce knew what to do, hesitating whether to follow the Emperor's orders or to act on his own knowledge, gained on the spot, of the position.

"But, Sir," St. Just protested, "what about the men for the heights of Brie?"

"I tell you they cannot be spared, Sir," was the Marshal's sharp reply. "Go, Sir; the Emperor has placed me in command here. I must have time."

St. Just was attached to Ney's command, and he durst not disobey; so he made no further protest. He saw that, for some reason, the Marshal was delaying, and it troubled him. He said no word audibly, but he muttered, "It is terrible, but I am helpless. At any rate, I can obey."

He exchanged his wearied horse for a fresher one, then placed himself at the head of the squadron and started for the front. He could hear the sound of firing in the direction of Ligny on the right, and also straight ahead of him. Advancing at a rapid trot, he came up to some battalions of French infantry. They were hotly engaged with the enemy, firing as fast as they could load.

"They run, they run," shouted an officer by his side.

"Who?" asked St. Just sharply.

"The Brunswickers; see!" And he pointed towards the eddying cloud in front.

St. Just looked, but it was impossible to judge in the smoke and the confusion how the fight was going. All he saw was that the French were falling fast; right and left, and all around him they were dropping under the storm of bullets. To remain idly looking on was more than he could stand; the impulse to rush forward at the foe, to ride them down and hack and hew, was tearing him to pieces, and to remain a passive spectator was no longer possible. At last, although he had received no orders to advance, he shouted, "Charge!" and galloped forward to an opening between two squares. With a cheer, his men dashed after him. Straight before them, but concealed by the dense smoke, and formed into a square, were the Forty-second Highlanders, who had been advancing and had missed their position, so that they were unsupported. Into this square plunged St. Just's Dragoons with an impetuosity that could not be withstood. The Highlanders wavered, then broke and, in a moment, the Dragoons were in the midst of them, slashing and thrusting, and hewing like fiends let loose. The English, without knowing it, had approached so near the French lines that the battalions behind St. Just rushed in and attacked the Highlanders with the bayonet.

When St. Just and his men had cut their way through the square, sending, in their passage, many a gallant Scotsman to his account, his sword was red with blood, and yet he could scarce remember that he had used it; in his excitement, he had not had time to think, and had hardly realized what was going on.

His men and himself, mad with the lust of battle and the desire to kill, their appetite for blood increased by what it fed on, now threw themselves on a body of Black Brunswickers. It was reckless folly, for the latter far out-numbered them, and both horses and men were fresh; whereas St. Just's were blown. Blindly and madly, they rushed upon the Germans, but their foe stood firm. They retired and charged again, but not the least impression could they make upon the serried mass before them; St. Just's men were beaten back with frightful loss. Seeing the hopelessness of further fighting, St. Just ordered a retreat. At a short distance on the left was a glade with trees, and to these the discomfited Dragoons betook themselves, in the hope of finding temporary shelter. But the Brunswickers swooped down upon them with shouts of triumph.

In and out between the trees they fought with desperation, dyeing the ground crimson with their blood. More of the victorious Belgians came up, and the glade rang with oaths and shrieks, the clash of arms and the crack of pistol shots; and mingled with them, the cries of the wounded and the dying.

St. Just's horse was killed under him and, in falling, brought his rider to the ground, entangling his leg in the stirrup, so that he could not rise. Thus he was taken prisoner. His captors hurried him through the wood till they came to the highway leading from Brussels to Quatre Bras.

At this point, a mounted general officer with a prominent Roman nose, and dressed in a plain uniform and wearing a cocked hat devoid of plumes, confronted them. He was accompanied by an aide-de-camp.

"Who are you, Sir?" he asked sharply, addressing the prisoner.

St. Just drew himself up and saluted.

"Colonel St. Just," he answered, "of the Emperor's Imperial Guard."

"Hah!" said the aide-de-camp, and, leaning forward, he spoke in a low tone to his companion, who immediately called out to the soldiers, "Fall back there!" Then to St. Just, "A word with you, Sir. Now, Sir, I know who you are, and all about you. I also know your wife. Now, tell me what are Buonaparte's plans, or—" and he paused ominously.

"Or what?" St. Just asked promptly.

"I will have you shot for a spy. You are well known for one."

"I refuse to say a word," was the unflinching answer, and he looked the general officer boldly in the face.

The latter wasted no time in argument. He turned to the aide-de-camp. "Matthews, see this man shot." Then, without another word, he rode away, satisfied that his order would be carried out. As St. Just learned afterwards, he was the Duke of Wellington.

St. Just's position was desperate indeed; for all that, he did not lose his presence of mind. If he should go quietly, he would infallibly be shot. He resolved to make a dash for life; should he fail, the result would be the same as if he had not tried; he would be shot—in the back instead of in the face—a distinction without a difference. Suddenly the thought flashed on him of how Tremeau had acted in somewhat similar circumstances—before his house in Sussex. St. Just was alone before the officer, his captors having fallen back some paces, in obedience to the orders of the Duke. Instantly his resolution was taken. Before any one could dream of his intention, he had dashed upon the officer, hurled him from his horse and vaulted into the vacant saddle. Then, wheeling the horse round, he set off at a gallop, shouting "Vive L'Empereur."

The whole affair had been so sudden, that his captors were dumfounded with astonishment, and, for the moment, were at a loss how to act.

The officer sprang to his feet and shouted, "Fire on him!"

But, by this time, the fugitive had got many yards away. He heard the order given and instantly bent low in his saddle. Crack, crack, crack, went three musket shots. He could feel the bullets whistle past him. Before they could load again, he was out of range.

He rode for his life, tearing down the road at topmost speed. A few stragglers—English—blocked his path.

"Despatches from the Duke!" he shouted. "Make way!"

They did; his English words had saved him. On he flew. Presently he became conscious of a horse's hoofs striking the ground rapidly behind him. He was convinced he was being pursued. It was the officer who had been charged to see him shot. He had caught a Dragoon's stray horse, and was thundering after the runaway. St. Just could feel that his pursuer was gaining on him. Just when life and liberty seemed his, was he to be deprived of both?

But now a greater danger than the officer in his wake assailed him. In a field a few yards from the road was a man in the dreaded scarlet uniform. The officer shouted to him to shoot St. Just. The English soldier leveled his musket, taking a steady aim, his object plainly being to fire point blank, just when St. Just was passing. The Frenchman saw his peril and suddenly ducked his head.

Bang! he felt a sudden, scorching smart and a bullet cut a channel across his forehead; then the blood began to trickle down his face.

All at once, on the other side of a ploughed field on his right, he espied a troop of the Emperor's Polish Lancers. They were sabering some Belgian infantry. He turned into the field and crossed it at a gallop. His strength was failing him, for the blood was pouring from his wound. A few more strides and he had gained his comrades. He was saved! He swayed unsteadily in his saddle, then rolled off and fell unconscious at their feet.

When he awoke to consciousness, he found himself in a clean white bed with a French officer by his side. His comrade also had been wounded, for his head was swathed in a bloodstained cloth.

"Where am I?" St. Just asked in a weak voice, and looking, bewildered, first into the other's face and then around the room.

"At La Belle Alliance, a farm house," was the reply; continuing, "The decisive battle will be fought to-morrow. Hark! what is that? A carriage!"

He went to the window and looked out. "'Tis the Emperor's carriage; and he is getting out."

In less than a minute, a staff officer entered the room, followed immediately by Napoleon.

At the sight of him, St. Just first raised himself to a sitting posture on the bed, then staggered to his feet and saluted. He felt weak and dizzy.

The Emperor, who was now paler than his wont, and looked ill and worried, spoke to him kindly, making a few inquiries about his wound and how he got it. Then he repeated what the officer had said, that the decisive battle would be fought on the morrow, and inquired whether St. Just would be able to take part in it.

To this St. Just replied that nothing should prevent him; that his wound was a mere scratch, and that he was merely a little weak, and that a night's rest would put him on his feet.

The Emperor moved to the window and gazed out. "To-morrow," he muttered musingly, "to-morrow."

The morning of the 18th of June was ushered in with pouring rain. It came down in heavy showers, almost in sheets, drenching the expectant combatants to the skin, and making the ground so soft and spongy that much of it was like a swamp; so that the movements of the artillery were slow and difficult; often the men had to assist the horses in getting the wheels out of the furrows of slush and mud. Thus, it was half past ten before the army had taken up its position.

Before this, the Emperor had posted himself on the heights of Rossome. St. Just, still weak, was by his side. From ten in the morning till six in the evening he remained there, inactive, following with his eyes, as well as he could, the movements of the army.

The Emperor sat motionless on his horse, continually bringing his telescope to his eye to watch the progress of the battle, and sending frequent messages by his aides-de-camp to his generals in all parts of the field. His countenance betrayed the terrible anxiety he felt. Every now and then he gazed out into the far distance for the first sign of reinforcements.

"Grouchy," he murmured, "why does not Grouchy come? He should have been here long ere this."

He turned suddenly to St. Just and spoke to him for the first time for hours. It was now six o'clock.

"Tarry no longer. Say to Kellermann, the cavalry is to advance; and the day is ours. Tell him to sound the charge at once."

St. Just saluted and dashed off.

By the time he had reached General Kellermann, his mind misgave him as to the Emperors meaning. Did he intend all the cavalry to take part in the charge, or only Kellermann's division? There was now no means of ascertaining. All he could do was to repeat to General Kellermann the Emperor's words, and leave him to put his own construction on them. But he did it with great misgiving. "The Emperor's orders are," he said, "that the cavalry is to advance, and that you are to sound the charge at once."

Kellermann thought the whole body of cavalry was to charge, and passed on the order to General Guyot, who commanded a division of seven thousand horse, who had been waiting for hours in ungovernable excitement. This was not what the Emperor had intended; these seven thousand were the reserve.

It was a fatal error, and, too late, Napoleon saw it. It lost the day, for, at this critical period, the battle was drawn. The English could not advance, and, in consequence of the Emperor's having despatched ten thousand men to hold Bulow, the Prussian general, in check, the French were not in a position to follow up any advantage the cavalry charge might give them.

St. Just joined himself to General Kellermann's command and charged with them. They rushed off at a gallop, the thousands of hoofs making the ground shake beneath them. Again and again they dashed with desperate valor at the English infantry, but could make no permanent impression; frequently they broke the line opposed to them; but the stubborn Englishmen had a valor equal to their own, and always rallied, closing up their ranks as fast as they were broken. More and more furiously did the Frenchmen fight, but it was all of no avail. They had made their final throw, and it had proved a blank. Their loss of men was fearful, and, before reinforcements could be hurried up, Blucher, with his Prussians had come up.

This was the turning point of the day. From that moment, the French case was hopeless, and they had to admit defeat. The Retreat was sounded; but soon all order was abandoned, and it became a rout, and the cry of "sauve qui peut" went up. The worsted French scattered pell-mell in all directions.

St. Just, forced back in the rout that followed this welcome and almost indispensable accession to the strength of the "thin red line," of English, once more regained the Emperor's side.

Night was advancing and the Emperor could no longer direct his routed troops. It was too dark for practical orders either to be given, or, if given, carried out. But he still lingered, and was only forced away in the general rush, St. Just and two or three others with him.

Across that ghastly field they rode; and what a ride! Every now and then some bivouac fire, not yet expired, would flicker up in the darkness and show the flying Emperor to the host of wounded that bestrewed his path. Many of the poor creatures, when they recognized him, would raise themselves upon their elbows and, even while they groaned with pain, would faintly cheer, then sink back exhausted by their effort, only to be trampled to death alike by friend and foe in the mad flight of pursuer and pursued.

On and on and on the little party rode, wearied and dejected, almost without a word. A short halt was made at Genappe, merely to obtain fresh horses. At one o'clock on the morning of the 19th they reached Quatre Bras. Here they remained, and rested for an hour, and the Emperor despatched orders to try to check the rout and collect the scattered fragments of the army. Also St. Just says, to inform General Grouchy of their defeat.

At dawn the journey was resumed by way of Laon, and thence, by rapid stages, to Paris.

CHAPTER VI

It was the 28th of June. Much had happened in the ten days that had elapsed since the battle of Waterloo. Napoleon had returned to Paris; had found both the Chamber of Peers and the Chamber of Representatives determined no longer to retain him as the ruler of the country; had abdicated in consequence; and was now on his way to Rochefort with the intention of escaping to the United States.

Near the Tuileries was a cul de sac, called the Ruelle de Dauphin, and here was situated at this time the Hotel Mirabeau, where St. Just was living by himself.

On the afternoon of the day last mentioned a woman, closely veiled, and followed by two men, entered this building and proceeded to the third story. Here a latch-key in the woman's hand admitted them to a small vestibule that led to a long, narrow room. In one corner of this apartment was a door, which, on being opened, disclosed a closet.