The Companions of Jehu - Alexandre Dumas (best biographies to read txt) 📗

of his horse. The young man dropped his sword and tried to seize his pistols, but before he could lay hand upon the holsters two men had him by the arms, while the four others dragged his horse from between his legs. The thing was done with such unanimity that it was easy to see the manoeuvre had been planned.

Roland roared with rage. Branched’Or came up to him and put his hat in his hand.

“I do not surrender!” shouted Roland.

“Useless to do so, Monsieur de Montrevel,” replied Branched’Or with the utmost politeness.

“What do you mean?” demanded Roland, exhausting his strength in a struggle as desperate as it was useless.

“Because you are captured, sir.”

It was so true that there could be no answer.

“Then kill me!” cried Roland.

“We don’t want to kill you, sir,” replied Branched’Or.

“Then what do you want?”

“Give us your parole not to fight any more, and you are free.”

“Never!” exclaimed Roland.

“Excuse me, Monsieur de Montrevel,” said Branched’Or, “but that is not loyal!”

“What!” shrieked Roland, in a fury, “not loyal! You insult me, villain, because you know I can’t defend myself or punish you.”

“I am not a villain, and I didn’t insult you, Monsieur de Montrevel; but I do say that by not giving your word, you deprive the general of nine men, who might be useful to him and who are obliged to stay here to guard you. That’s not the way the Big Round Head acted toward you. He had two hundred men more than you, and he sent them away. Now we are only eighty-nine against one hundred.”

A flame crossed Roland’s face; then almost as suddenly he turned pale as death.

“You are right, Branched’Or,” he replied. “Succor or no succor, I surrender. You and your men can go and fight with your comrades.”

The Chouans gave a cry of joy, let go their hold of Roland, and rushed toward the Republicans, brandishing their hats and muskets, and shouting: “Vive le roi!”

Roland, freed from their grip, but disarmed physically by his fall, morally by his parole, went to the little eminence, still covered by the cloak which had served as a tablecloth for their breakfast, and sat down. From there he could see the whole combat; not a detail was lost upon him.

Cadoudal sat erect upon his horse amid fire and smoke, like the Demon of War, invulnerable and implacable.

Here and there the bodies of a dozen or more Chouans lay stretched upon the sod. But it was evident that the Republicans, still massed together, had lost double that number. Wounded men dragged themselves across the open space, meeting, rearing their bodies like mangled snakes, to fight, the Republicans with their bayonets, and the Chouans with their knives. Those of the wounded Chouans who were too far off to fight their wounded enemies hand to hand, reloaded their guns, and, struggling to their knees, fired and fell again.

On either side the struggle was pitiless, incessant, furious; civil war—that is war without mercy or compassion—waved its torch above the battlefield.

Cadoudal rode his horse around these living breastworks, firing at twenty paces, sometimes his pistols, sometimes a musket, which he discharged, cast aside, and picked up again reloaded. At each discharge a man fell. The third time he made this round General Hatry honored him with a fusillade. He disappeared in the flame and smoke, and Roland saw him go down, he and his horse, as if annihilated. Ten or a dozen Republicans sprang from the ranks and met as many Chouans; the struggle was terrible, hand to hand, body to body, but the Chouans, with their knives, were sure of the advantage.

Suddenly Cadoudal appeared, erect, a pistol in each hand; it was the death of two men; two men fell. Then through the gap left by these ten or twelve he flung himself forward with thirty men. He had picked up an army musket, and, using it like a club, he brought down a man with each blow. He broke his way through the battalion, and reappeared at the other side. Then, like a boar which returns upon the huntsman he has ripped up and trampled, he rushed back through the gaping wound and widened it. From that moment all was over.

General Hatry rallied a score of men, and, with bayonets down, they fell upon the circle that enveloped them. He marched at the head of his soldiers on foot; his horse had been killed. Ten men had fallen before the circle was broken, but at last he was beyond it. The Chouans wanted to pursue them, but Cadoudal, in a voice of thunder, called them back.

“You should not have allowed him to pass,” he cried, “but having passed he is free to retreat.”

The Chouans obeyed with the religious faith they placed in the words of their chief.

“And now,” said Cadoudal, “cease firing; no more dead; make prisoners.”

The Chouans drew together and surrounded the heaps of dead, and the few living men, more or less wounded, who lay among the dead.

Surrendering was still fighting in this fatal war, where on both sides the prisoners were shot—on the one side, because Chouans and Vendéans were considered brigands; on the other, because they knew not where to put the captives.

The Republicans threw their guns away, that they might not be forced to surrender them. When their captors approached them every cartridge-box was open; every man had fired his last shot.

Cadoudal walked back to Roland.

During the whole of this desperate struggle the young man had remained on the mound. With his eyes fixed on the battle, his hair damp with sweat, his breast heaving, he waited for the result. Then, when he saw the day was lost, his head fell upon his hands, and he still sat on, his forehead bowed to the earth.

Cadoudal reached him before he seemed to hear the sound of footsteps. He touched the young man’s shoulder. Roland raised his head slowly without attempting to hide the two great tears that were rolling down his cheeks.

“General,” said Roland, “do with me what you will. I am your prisoner.”

“I can’t make the First Consul’s ambassador a prisoner,” replied Cadoudal, laughing, “but I can ask him to do me a service.”

“Command me, general.”

“I need a hospital for the wounded, and a prison for prisoners; will you take the Republican soldiers, wounded and prisoners, back to Vannes.”

“What do you mean, general?” exclaimed Roland.

“I give them, or rather I confide them to you. I regret that your horse was killed; so is mine. But there is still that of Brise-Bleu; accept it.”

The young man made a motion of rejection.

“Until you can obtain another, of course,” added Cadoudal, bowing.

Roland felt that he must put himself, at least in simplicity, on a level with the man with whom he was dealing.

“Shall I see you again, general?” he asked, rising.

“I doubt it, sir. My operations call me to the coast near Port-Louis; your duty recalls you to the Luxembourg.”

“What shall I tell the First Consul, general?”

“What you have seen, sir. He must judge between the Abbé Bernier’s diplomacy and that of Georges Cadoudal.”

“After what I have seen, sir, I doubt if you ever have need of me,” said Roland; “but in any case remember that you have a friend near the First Consul.”

And he held out his hand to Cadoudal. The royalist took it with the same frankness and freedom he had shown before the battle.

“Farewell, Monsieur de Montrevel,” said he, “I need not ask you to justify General Hatry. A defeat like that is fully as glorious as a victory.”

During this time Brise-Bleu’s horse had been led up for the Republican colonel.

He sprang into the saddle.

“By the bye,” said Cadoudal, “as you go through La Roche-Bernard, just inquire what has happened to citizen Thomas Millière.”

“He is dead,” said a voice.

Coeur-de-Roi and his four men, covered with mud and sweat, had just arrived, but too late for the battle.

Roland cast a last glance at the battlefield, sighed, and, waving a last farewell to Cadoudal, started at a gallop across the fields to await, on the road to Vannes, the wagon-load of wounded and the prisoners he was asked to deliver to General Hatry.

Cadoudal had given a crown of six sous to each man.

Roland could not help reflecting that the gift was made with the money of the Directory sent to the West by Morgan and the Companions of Jehu.