Tom Burke Of "Ours" Volume Ii Part 24

"Well, Lieutenant-General,--to what happy chance do we owe the pleasure of seeing you here?"

"War, boy,--the old story. But we shall have time enough to talk over these things; and I see we are detaining the countess."

So saying, the general gave his arm to madame, and led the way towards the dinner; whither we followed,--I in a state of surprise and astonishment that left me unable to collect my faculties for a considerable time after.

Although the party, with the exception of Bubbleton, were French, he himself, as was his wont, supported nearly the whole of the conversation; and if his French was none of the most accurate, he amply made up in volubility for all accidents of grammar. It appeared that he had been three years at Verdun, a prisoner; though how he came there, whence, and at what exact period, there was no discovering. And now his arrival at Paris was an event equally shrouded in mystery, for no negotiations had been opened for his exchange whatsoever; but he had had the eloquence to persuade the prefet that the omission was a mere accident,--some blunder of the War-Office people, which he would rectify on his arrival at Paris. And there he was, though with what prospect of reaching England none but one of his inventive genius could possibly guess. He was brimful of politics, ministerial secrets, state news, and Government intentions, not only as regarded England, but Austria and Russia: and communicated in deep confidence a grand scheme by which the Fox ministry were to immortalize themselves,--which was by giving up Malta to the Bourbons, Louis the Eighteenth to be king, Goza to be a kind of dependency to be governed by a lieutenant-general whom "he would not name;" finishing his gla.s.s with an ominous look as he spoke.

Thence he wandered on to his repugnance to state, and dislike to any government, function,--ill.u.s.trating his quiet tastes and simple habits by recounting a career of Oriental luxury in which he described himself as living for years past; every word he spoke, whatever the impression on others, bringing me back most forcibly to my boyish days in the old barrack, where first I met him. Years had but cultivated his talents; his visions were bolder and more daring than ever; while he had chastened down his hurried and excited tone of narrative to a quiet flow of unexaggerated description, which, taking his age and appearance into account, it was difficult to discredit.

Whether the Frenchmen really gave credit to his revelations, or only from politeness affected to do it at first, I cannot say, but a.s.suredly he put all their courtesy to a rude test by a little anecdote before he left the dinner-room.

While speaking of the memorable siege of Valenciennes in '93, at which one of the French officers was present and in a high command, Bubbleton at once launched forth into some very singular anecdotes of the campaign, where, as he alleged, he also had served.

"We took an officer of one of your infantry regiments prisoner in a sortie one evening," said the Frenchman. "I commanded the party, and shall never forget the daring intrepidity of his escape. He leaped from the wall into the fosse, a height of thirty feet and upwards. _Parbleu!_ we had not the heart to fire after him, though we saw that after the shock he crawled out upon his hands and feet, and soon afterwards gained strength enough to run. He gave me his pocket-book with his name; I shall not forget it readily,--it was Stopford."

"Ah, poor Billy! He was my junior lieutenant," said Bubbleton; "an active fellow, but he never could jump with me. Confound him! he has left me a souvenir also, though a very different kind from yours,--a cramp in the stomach I shall never get rid of."

As this seemed a somewhat curious legacy from one brother officer to another, we could not help calling on the general for an explanation,--a demand Bubbleton never refused to gratify.

"It happened in this wise," said he, pushing back his chair as he spoke, and seating himself with the easy att.i.tude of your true story-teller.

"The night before the a.s.sault--the 24th of July, if my memory serves me right--the sappers were pushing forward the mines with all despatch.

Three immense globes were in readiness beneath the walls, and some minor details were only necessary to complete the preparations. The stormers consisted of four British and three German regiments,--my own, the Welsh Fusiliers, being one of the former. We occupied the lines stretching from L'Herault to Damies."

The French officer nodded a.s.sent, and Bubbleton resumed.

"The Fusiliers were on the right, and divided into two parties,--an a.s.saulting column and a supporting one; the advanced companies at half cannon-shot from the walls, the others a little farther off. Thus we were, when, about half-past ten, or it might be even eleven o'clock (we were drinking some mulled claret in my quarters), a low, swooping kind of a noise came stealing along the ground. We listened,--it grew stronger and stronger; and then we could hear musket-shot and shouting, and the tramp of men as if running. Out we went; and, by Jove! there we saw the first battalion in full retreat towards the camp. It was a sortie in force from the garrison, which drove in our advanced posts, and took several prisoners. The drums now soon beat to quarters; the men fell in rapidly, and we advanced to meet them,--no pleasant affair, either, let me remark, for the night was pitch dark, and we could not even guess the strength of your force. It was just then that I was running with all my speed to come up with the flank companies, that my cover-sergeant, a cool, old Scotch fellow, shouted out,--

"'Take care, sir! Stoop there, sir! stoop there!'

"But the advice came too late. I could just discern through the gloom something black, hopping and bounding along towards me; now striking the ground, and then rebounding again several feet in the air.

"'Stoop, sir! down!' cried he.

"But before I could throw myself flat, plump it took me here. Over I went, breathless, and deeming all was finished; but, miraculous to say, in a few minutes after I found myself coming to, and except the shock, nothing the worse for the injury.

"'Was that a sh.e.l.l, Sergeant?' said I; 'a spent sh.e.l.l?'

"'Na, sir,' said he, in his own broad way, 'it was naething o' the kind; it was only Lieutenant Stopford's head that was snapped aff up there.'"

"His head!" exclaimed we all of a breath,--"his head!

"Yes, poor fellow, so it was; a d.a.m.ned hard kind of a bullet-head, too!

The blow has left a weakness of the stomach I suppose I shall never recover from; and the occurrence being so singular, I have actually never asked for a pension,--there are people, by Jove! would throw discredit on it."

This latter observation seemed so perfectly to sum up our own thoughts on the matter that we really had nothing to remark on it; and after a silence of a few seconds, politely relieved by the countess hinting at coffee in the drawing-room, we arose and followed her.

CHAPTER XVII. THE RUE DES CAPUCINES

Before I parted with Bubbleton that evening be promised to breakfast with me on the following morning; and true to his word, entered my quarters soon after ten o'clock. I longed to have an opportunity of talking to him alone, and learning some intelligence of that country, which, young as I had left it, was still hallowed in memory as my own.

"Eh, by Jupiter! this is something like a quarter,--gilded mouldings, frescos, silk hangings, and Persian rugs. I say, Tom, are you sure you haven't made a mistake, my boy, and just imagined that you were somebody else,--Murat or Bernadotte, for example? The thing is far easier than you may think; it happened to me before now."

"Be tranquil on that score," said I, "we are both at home; though these quarters are, as you remark, far beyond the mark of a captain of hussars."

"A captain! Why, hang it, you're not captain already?"

"Yes, to be sure. What signifies it? Only think of your own rapid rise since we parted; you were but a captain then, and to be now a lieutenant-general!"

"Ah, true, very true," said he, hurriedly, while he bustled about the room, examining the furniture, and inspecting the decorations most narrowly. "Capital service this must be," muttered he, between his teeth; "not much pay, I fancy, but a deal of plunder and private robbery."

"I cannot say much on that head," said I, laughing outright at what he intended for a soliloquy; "but I must confess I have no reason to complain of my lot."

"Egad! I should think not," rejoined he; "better than Old George's Street. Well, well, I wish I were but back there,--that's all."

"Come, sit down to your breakfast; and perhaps when we talk it over some plan may present itself for your exchange."

How thoroughly had I forgotten my friend when I uttered the sentiment; for scarcely was he seated at table, when he launched out, as of old, into one of his visionary harangues,--throwing forth dark hints of his own political importance, and the keen watch the Emperor had set upon his movements.

"No, my friend, the thing is impossible," said he, ominously. "Nap.

knows me; he knows my influence with the Tories. To let me escape would be to blow all his schemes to the winds. I am destined for the 'Temple,'

if not for the guillotine."

The solemnity of his voice and manner at this moment was too much for me, and I laughed outright.

"Ay, you may laugh; so does Anna Maria."

"And is Miss Bubbleton here, too?"

"Yes; we are both here," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed he, with a deep sigh. "Rue Neuve des Capucines, No. 46, four flights above the entresol! Ay, and in that entresol they have two spies of Fouche's police; I know them well, though they pretend to be hairdressers. I'm too much for old Fouche yet; depend upon it, Tom."

It was in vain I endeavored to ascertain what circ.u.mstances led him to believe himself suspected by the Government; neither was I more fortunate in discovering how he first became a _detenu_. The mist of imaginary events, places, and people which he had conjured up around him, prevented his ever being able to see his way, or know clearly any one fact connected with his present position. Dark hints about spies, suspicious innuendoes of concealed enemies, plotting prefets and opened letters, had actually filled his brain to the exclusion of everything rational and reasonable, and I began seriously to fear for my poor friend's intellect.

Hoping by a change of topic to induce a more equable tone of thinking, I asked about Ireland.

"All right there! they've hanged 'em all," said he. Then, as if suddenly remembering himself, he added, with a slight confusion, "You were well out of that sc.r.a.pe, Tom. Your old friend Barton had a warrant for you the morning you left, and there was a reward of five hundred pounds for your apprehension; and something, too, for a confounded old piper,--old Blast-the-Bellows, I think they called him."

"Darby! What of him, Bubbleton? they did not take him, I trust?"

"No, by Jove! They hanged two fellows, each of whom they believed to be him, and he was in the crowd looking on, they say. But he's at large still; and the report goes, Barton does not stir out at night for fear of meeting him, as the fellow has an old score to settle with him."

"And so, all hopes of liberty would seem extinguished now," said I, gloomily.

"That is as you may take it, Tom. I'm a bad judge of these things; but I fancy that a man who can live here might contrive to eke out life under a British Government; though he might yearn now and then for a secret police, a cabinet noir, or perhaps a tight cravat in the Temple."

"Hush! my friend."

"Ay, there it is! Now, if we were in Dame Street, we might abuse the ministers and the army and the Lord-Lieutenant to our heart's content; and if Jemmy O'Brien was n't one of the company, I 'd not mind a hit at Barton himself."