Tom Burke Of "Ours" Volume Ii Part 41

"You know the Fourth, then?" rejoined the man, as he witnessed the agitation of my manner.

"Know the Fourth?" echoed his comrade, in a voice of half-indignant meaning. "_Sacrebleu!_who does not know them? Does not all the world know them by this time?"

"It is the Fourth who wear the motto 'Dix contre un' on their caps,"

said I, desirous to flatter the natural vanity of my companions.

"Yes, Monsieur; I see you have served also."

I answered by a nod, for already every word, every gesture, recalled to me the career I had quitted; and my regrets, so late subdued by reason and reflection, came thronging back, and filled ray heart to bursting.

Hurrying onward now, I mounted the steep path, and soon regained the spot I sought. The poor father was sleeping; overcome by fatigue and weariness, he had fallen on the mossy bank, and lay in a deep, soft slumber. Lifting him gently, the strong troopers crossed their hands beneath, and bore him along between them. For an instant he looked up; but seeing me at his side, he merely pressed my hand, and closed his eyes again.

"_Ma foi!_" said one of the dragoons, in a low voice, "I should not be surprised if this were the Pere a.r.s.ene, who served with the army in Italy. We used to call him 'old Scapulaire'. He was the only priest I ever saw in the van of a brigade. You knew him too, Auguste."

"Yes, that I did," replied the other soldier. "I saw him at Elkankah, where one of ours was unhorsed by a Mameluke, spring forward, and seizing a pistol at the holster, shoot the Turk through the head, and then kneel down beside the dying man he was with before, and go on with his prayers. _Ventrebleu!_ that's what I call discipline."

"Where was that, Comrade?"

"At Elkankah."

"At Quoreyn, rather, my friend, two leagues to the southward," whispered a low voice.

"_Tonnerre de ciel!_" cried the two soldiers in a breath, "it is himself;" for the words were spoken by the priest, who was no other than the Pere a.r.s.ene they spoke of.

The effort of speech and memory was, however, a mere pa.s.sing one; for to all their questions he was now deaf, and lay apparently unconscious between them. On me, therefore, they turned their inquiries, but with little more of success; and thus we descended the mountain, eager to reach some place of succor for the good father.

As we approached the village, I was soon made aware of the objects of the party who occupied it. The little street was crowded with cattle, bullocks, and sheep, fast wedged up amid huge wagons of forage and carts of corn; mounted dragoons urging on the jaded animals, regardless of the angry menaces or the impatient appeals incessantly making by the peasantry, who in great numbers had followed their stock from their farms.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BrowneForagingParty121]

The soldiers, who were detachments of different corps, were also quarrelling among themselves for their share of the spoil; and these altercations, in which more than once I saw a sabre flash, added to the discord. It was, indeed, a scene of tumult and confusion almost inconceivable. Here were a party of cuira.s.siers, carbine in hand, protecting a drove of sheep; around which the country people were standing, seemingly irresolute whether they should essay an attack,--a movement often prompted by the other soldiers, who hoped in the _melee_ to seize a part of the prey. Many of the oxen were bestrode by hussars or lancers, whose gay trappings formed a strange contrast with the beasts they rode on; while more than one stately horseman held a sheep before him on the saddle, for whose protection a c.o.c.ked pistol seemed no ineffectual guarantee.

The task of penetrating this dense and turbulent mob seemed to me almost impossible, and I expressed my fears to the soldiers. But they replied that there were too many _braves_ of Egypt there not to remember the Pere a.r.s.ene; saying which, one of the soldiers, whispering a word to his companion, laid the priest gently upon the ground, and then mounting rapidly on a forage-cart, he shouted, in a voice heard above the din,--

"Comrades of the Fourth, we have found an old companion; the Pere Scapulaire is here. Place for the good father! place there!"

A hundred loud _vivas_ welcomed this announcement; for the name was well known to many who never had seen the priest, and cheer after cheer for the _bon pere_ now rang through this motley a.s.semblage.

To the wild confusion of a moment before the regularity of discipline at once succeeded, and a lane was quickly formed for the soldiers to advance with the priest between them, each horseman saluting as he pa.s.sed as if to his general on parade.

"To the Trauben,--the Trauben!" cried several voices, as we went along; and this I learned was the little inn of the village, where the non-commissioned officers in charge of the several parties were seated in council to arrange the subdivision of the booty.

Had not a feeling stronger than mere personal consideration occupied me, I would have now left the good priest among his old comrades, with whom he was certain to meet kindness and protection. But I could not so readily part with one whom, even in the few hours of our intercourse, I had learned to like; and therefore, enduring as well as I was able the rugged insubordination of a soldiery free from the restraint of discipline, I followed on, and soon found myself at the door of the Trauben.

A dismounted dragoon, with drawn sword, guarded the entrance, around which a group of angry peasants were gathered, loudly protesting against the robbery of their flocks and farmyards. It was with great difficulty I could persuade the sentry to suffer me to enter; and when I at last succeeded, I found none willing to pay any attention to my request regarding a billet for the priest, for unhappily his name and character were unknown to those to whom I addressed myself. In this dilemma I was deliberating what step to take, when one of the soldiers, who with such zealous devotion had never left us, came up to say that his corporal had just given up his own quarters for the good father's use; and this, happily, was a small summer-house in the garden at the back of the inn.

"He cannot come with us himself," said the soldier, "for he is engaged with the forage rations, but I have got his leave to take the quarters."

A small wicket beside the inn led us into a large, wildly-grown orchard, through which a broad path led to the summer-house in question; at least such we guessed to be the little building from whose windows there gleamed the bright glare of a cheerful fire.

The door lay open into a little hall, from which two doors led into different chambers. Over one of these was marked in chalk "quartier-general," in imitation of the t.i.tle a.s.signed to a general's quarters, and this the soldiers p.r.o.nounced must belong to the corporal.

I opened it accordingly and entered. The room was small and neatly furnished, and with the blazing wood upon the hearth, looked most comfortable and inviting.

"Yes, we are all right here; I know his helmet,--this is it," said the dragoon. "So here we must leave you. You'll tell the good father it was two troopers of the Fourth who carried him hither, won't ye? Ay, and say Auguste Prevot was one of them; he 'll know the name,--he nursed me in a fever I had in Italy."

"I wish he were able to give me his blessing again," said the other; "I had it before that affair at Brescia, and there were four of my comrades killed about me, and never a shot touched me. But good-night, Comrade; goodnight." And so saying, having left the father at his length upon a couch, they made their military salute and departed.

A rude-looking flagon of beer which stood on the table was the only thing I could discover in the chamber, save a canvas bag of tobacco and some pipes. I filled a goblet with the liquor and placed it to the priest's lips. He swallowed a little of it, and then opening his eyes, slowly looked around him, while he murmured to my question a faint sound of "Better,--much better." I knew enough of such matters to be aware that perfect rest and repose were the greatest aids to his recovery; and so, replenishing the fire, I threw myself down on the large dragoon cloak which lay on the floor, and prepared to pa.s.s my night where I was.

The long-drawn breathings of the sleeping man, the perfect quiet and stillness of all around,--for though not far distant from the village, the thick wood of trees intercepted every sound from that quarter,--and my fatigue combined, soon brought on drowsiness.

I struggled, so long as I was able, against the tendency; but a humming sound filled my ears, the objects grew fainter before my vision, and I sank into that half-dreamy state when consciousness remains, but clouded and indistinct in all its perceptions. Twice the door was opened and some persons entered; but though they spoke loudly, I heard not their words, nor could I recognize their appearance. To this succeeded a deep, sound sleep, the recompense of great fatigue.

The falling of a piece of firewood on the hearth awoke me. I opened my eyes and looked about. The room had no other light than from the embers of the wood fire and the piece of blazing pine which had just fallen; but even by that uncertain glare I could see enough to amaze and confuse me.

On the couch where I had left the priest sleeping, the old man was now seated, his head uncovered, and a scarf of light blue silk across his shoulders and falling to his feet. Before him, and kneeling, was a figure, of which for some minutes I in vain endeavored to ascertain the traits; for while in the military air of the dress there was something to mark the soldier, a waving ma.s.s of hair loosely falling on the back bespoke another s.e.x. While I yet doubted, the flickering flame burst forth and showed me the small and beautiful shaped foot which from beneath a loose trouser peeped forth, and in the neat boot and tastefully ornamented spur I recognized in an instant it was a vivandiere of the army,--one of those who, amid all the reckless abandon of the life of camps and battlefields, can yet preserve some vestige of coquetry and feminine grace.

So strange the sight, so complete the heavy stupor of my faculties, that again and again I doubted whether the whole might not be the creation of a dream; but the well-known tones of the old man's voice soon rea.s.sured me, as I heard him say,--

"I know it too, my child; I have followed too long the fortunes of an army not to feel and to sorrow for these things. But be comforted."

A pa.s.sionate burst of tears from her who knelt at his feet interrupted him here; nor did it seem that all he could speak of consolation was able to a.s.suage the deep sorrow of the poor girl, whose trembling frame bespoke her agony.

By degrees, however, she grew calmer. A deep sob or a long-drawn sigh alone would be heard, as the venerable father, with impa.s.sioned eloquence, depicted the happiness of those who sought the blessings of religion, and could tear themselves from the world and its ambitions.

Warming with his theme, he descanted on the lives of those saints on earth whose every minute was an offering of heavenly love; and contrasted the holy calm of a convent with the wild revelry of the camp, or the more revolting carnage of the battlefield.

"Speak not of these things, Father; your own voice trembles with proud emotion at the mention of glorious war. Tell me, oh! tell me that I may have hope, and yet leave not all that makes life endurable."

The old man spoke again; but his tones were low, and his words seemed a reproof, for she bowed her head between her hands and sobbed heavily.

To the long and impa.s.sioned appeal of the priest there now succeeded a silence, only broken by the deep-drawn sighs of her who knelt in sadness and penitence before him.

"And his name?" said the father; "you have not told his name."

A pause followed, in which not even a breathing was heard; then a low, murmuring sound came, and it seemed to meas though I heard my own name uttered. I started at the sound, and with the noise the vivandiere sprang to her feet.

"I heard a noise there," said she, resolutely.

"It is my companion of the journey," said the priest. "Poor fellow! he is tired and weary; he sleeps soundly."

"I did not know you had a fellow-traveller, Father."

"Yes; we met in the Creutz Mountains, and since that have wended our way together. A soldier--"

"A soldier! Is he wounded, then?"

"No, my child; he is leaving the army."