The Great White Army Part 27

But for Valerie St. Antoine, she who had carried herself so bravely during the terrible weeks, she who had served France with such valour and loyalty--that she should become the prisoner and the victim of these devils, was indeed the last calamity. What to say to her in the face of the Emperor's order I knew not. The bridge must be destroyed to save His Majesty. Would she deny the necessity of that?

These thoughts were in my mind when I took her aside and questioned her as to the course we should pursue. To my astonishment I found that she herself had already debated the question, and that her mind was made up.

"We must swim the river, Monsieur Constant," she said; "you and I. Let Joan go with us. Monsieur d'Izambert will not leave his son. I do not blame him, but now we must think of ourselves."

It was a bold response, and yet I will not say that I had not thought of it.

From time to time during the hours of the day's agony I had seen intrepid cavalry men go down to the swirling Berezina, and boldly put their horses to the water. Few who did so had lived. Some were struck by Russian bullets, and died in the saddle. The horses of others, overcome by the cold, sank without warning, and dragged their masters with them. A few gained the marsh upon the opposite sh.o.r.e, and either breasted it or ended their sufferings there. All this we had witnessed together, and yet, as Valerie said, it was the only way--the river or the prison! Do you wonder that our choice was soon made?

We returned to the hut, and, taking Monsieur d'Izambert aside, I put the alternatives to him.

"Your son," said I, "is a very n.o.ble fellow. Be sure, monsieur, that his name will not be forgotten when the story of this day is told. The command which has been given him is a very great compliment. No doubt he will be clever enough to save himself when he has done his duty; but we must now save ourselves. It would be a madman's task to attempt to cross the bridge at such a time. There is only one way, and it is that which Mademoiselle Valerie and I propose to take."

And then I told him of our intention to swim the river.

"Your daughter," said I, "may go upon my saddle-bow. If you yourself have a mind for the venture, I will find you a horse quickly enough.

The decision must rest with you. We have no time to lose, for the river is rising every hour. If you decide to remain here, being a civilian and a non-combatant, I doubt if the Russians will trouble you.

That, monsieur, is for you to say. I will save your daughter if I can; the rest is in the hands of G.o.d."

He was much distressed, but he did not fail to perceive the realities of the situation. His love for his son touched me deeply, and when he declared that he would remain with Gabriel, I could not gainsay him.

"Save Joan," he said, putting both his hands into mine. "If the time should ever come that we meet again in Paris, I will never forget this day, Major Constant. I am an old man, and it can matter little to me now--but the child has all her life before her."

I thought it a wise resolution, and told him as much.

"We will wait for you on the other side," said I, though in my heart I doubted it I should ever see him there. Then, bidding him be of good courage, and taking a cordial farewell of his son, I set out immediately.

Valerie awaited me on the brink of the river. Her black charger appeared to be as fresh as though he had left his stable at Moscow but yesterday; her uniform of hussars was as trim and well kept as any good soldier might have desired. As for little Joan, the tale we had told her was one which a child would not question. We were to carry her across the river, and her father and brother would follow presently in the baggage wagons. She believed us with a child's faith, and, being drawn up upon the saddle before me, she asked when we would cross the bridge. Then I told her the truth.

"You see for yourself," said I, "what a dreadful place the bridge now is. We are going to swim the river, ma pet.i.te, and in that way we shall cheat the Russians. Now, cling to me with both your arms, and do not mind what happens. Why should you be afraid?"

She told me very proudly that she was not, and, calling to Valerie, I put my horse at the water.

The place might have been some twenty yards from the first pontoon, and for awhile the good beast which carried me found ground for his feet.

In those moments I could see how wise we had been to prefer the hazard of the water to that of the bridge. Such a scene as was then taking place upon that frail structure has surely never been witnessed in all the story of His Majesty's wars.

Pell-mell upon it went wagons and cannon and the terrified camp-followers. Hors.e.m.e.n cut their way as though sabreing an enemy; women screamed with terror; the strong were dragged down with the weak; men trampled one another under foot without a thought of mercy. The number of the dead and dying no man might estimate, and over these the living crawled as they could, the Russian sh.e.l.ls falling ceaselessly amidst them, and the deadly bullets finding many a billet.

All this I beheld as in some swift vision of horror, from which the eyes turned almost with grat.i.tude to the fetid waters about me. The swirling torrent, the crashing of the ice-floes, the bobbing corpses everywhere but fostered that pursuit of safety which now grew upon me as a fever. I must win the opposite sh.o.r.e, I said, or all were lost.

Let me but set foot upon those black slopes which were the goal of my desire and all were won by this supreme endeavour. It was easy to be said, but how remote the hope of it!

I should tell you that the darkness had now come down, and with it a return of the bitter cold.

I had caught the child up with my left arm, and, giving the good horse his head, I felt the water strike me suddenly with a deadly chill, and heard Joan's shrill cry of horror as at length the current caught us and we were swept away into the vortex of the river.

Now, indeed, we stood face to face with Death and felt his icy hand upon us.

The screams of the dying upon the bridge, the thunder of the cannon, the moaning of the bullets--all were lesser sounds than that of the crashing ice and the roaring torrent as it threatened to engulf us.

What had become of Valerie St. Antoine I knew not. It seemed to me that I had been carried in an instant from human enemies to wage a combat with Nature omnipotent, before which I must perish. The chill of the water, the freezing wind, the sleet which beat upon my face were the weapons with which this pitiless enemy would have conquered me.

Nothing but the instincts of the gallant brute stood between me and the watery grave so many had found. On he pressed and on, fighting as a human thing for the life no less precious to him than to us. I saw dead men's eyes looking up at me from the black torrent; human arms, outstretched but lifeless, touched my flesh and set the child shrieking with terror. The sh.e.l.ls fell about us and the foam was as a blinding fountain in our eyes. Yet ever the coveted sh.o.r.e seemed more distant, the sounds of human strife yet farther away, the world gone clean from our knowledge. It is here, then, said I to myself, that Janil de Constant must die. G.o.d knows that I would have welcomed death if it could have come quickly.

Such were the episodes of that fateful crossing, through which the mercy of the Almighty alone brought us safely.

I had given up all hope, when a sudden staggering of the horse, a cry from Joan, and another shout of triumph from the bank itself bade me look up and understand the wonder of the moment. We had touched the sh.o.r.e--that sh.o.r.e of all our dreams, and found a footing there.

Valerie herself, the water running from her boots, but her eyes triumphant and her arms outstretched, welcomed us with a woman's laughter and claimed the victory.

We had crossed the Berezina! The horrors of the bridge were done with for ever; we were amid our comrades, and yonder beyond the forgotten leagues stood Paris and our homes.

VII

We crossed the bog with safety and reached the first of the low hills on the hither sh.o.r.e. Hardly had we done so when a loud explosion shook the very earth and caused us to wheel about suddenly. Then we saw the bridge fall asunder, and knew that the thousands upon the far bank were doomed to death or the prison. Such a cry as arose from our comrades yonder has never been heard, nor will be again, I believe, in all the story of the world. It was the voice of the ultimate woe of those who, hoping much, now ceased to hope, and fearing, now feared the more.

Many have accused the Emperor of wanton cruelty because of what he did on that November night. Yet we, who served France, believed that he had done well, and we would have laid down our lives for him as readily had the honour of our country demanded it.

Naturally, we said nothing to Joan of the meaning of this tragic event.

a.s.suring her that Gabriel and her father would join us at dawn, we rode on to the first of the bivouacs, where, happily, we found a squadron of the fusiliers, under Colonel Bourgoriau, well known to me, and by him were instantly made welcome. The Emperor, he told us, was camped at a farmhouse not a quarter of a mile from where we stood. His Majesty was cold and suffering, and they had sent wood for his fires, badly as they needed it themselves.

Here I left Valerie and the child, and, returning to the remnant of the bridge, I waited to see if any might yet be saved. Alas! the stranded pontoons showed me but a heap of dying and dead, and some of them were in flames. It may have been the mere fancy of a man whose courage had been sorely tried that day, but amongst those whom the swirling river carried away, and upon whose faces the leaping fires cast a golden aureole, I thought that I saw Gabriel the brave and the father who had loved him.

CHAPTER X

THE LAST REVIEW

I

The loss of the Grand Army at the River Berezina will never be fully told.

All the world knows now that more than twelve thousand corpses were taken from the river when the ice melted in the spring; but this is to give no account of the many who were butchered by the Cossacks, and of the thousands of unhappy men, and women too, who went into the Russian prisons when the last of the bridges was blown up.

We were a mere remnant that got away in safety.

I have heard the number variously estimated, but in my own opinion no more than thirty thousand of those who marched to Moscow so proudly struggled on towards Kovno when the battle of the Berezina had been fought.

At this time, too, we were so many hordes of miserable men rather than an army. Many lost the road and wandered for weeks in the frozen wilderness. Hardly a regiment preserved anything of its original formation; those that did so were inspired by loyalty to His Majesty the Emperor. When he left us at Smorgoni on the morning of December 5th and entrusted the command to Murat all order was finally done with.

The Cossacks pursued us as sheep are hunted by wolves. We struggled into Vilna to find the town plundered. The mighty host which had set out to conquer Russia now rotted beneath the snows of the steppes we had crossed.

It was every man for himself afterwards, as you can well imagine. We made up little companies of friends and went together in the fashion of the East. Naturally, Valerie St. Antoine was of my own party; and with the child Joan and my own nephew Leon we had Sergeant Bardot, who had been with us in the adventure at Moscow. I have told you of the sergeant's adroitness, and we found him invaluable these later days.

Where others starved he would plunder. From a brawl at Vilna, when the stores were rifled, Gustav Bardot emerged with as many bottles of brandy as would have made a regiment drunk, and a supply of flour under which our horses staggered. With this we set out almost gaily upon our journey to the Prussian frontier. France seemed near to us now, though so many hundreds of leagues away.

To be sure we lost the road frequently enough, and were yet to meet with some surprising adventures. It is of one of the most curious of these that I am now about to write.

II

It was the second day after our leaving Kovno.