The Adventures of Gerard

Chapter 8

The Last Adventure of the Brigadier

--

I will tell you no more stories, my dear friends. It is said

that man is like the hare, which runs in a circle and comes back

to die at the point from which it started.

Gascony has been calling to me of late. I see the blue Garonne

winding among the vineyards and the bluer ocean toward which its

waters sweep. I see the old town also, and the bristle of masts

from the side of the long stone quay. My heart hungers for the

breath of my native air and the warm glow of my native sun.

Here in Paris are my friends, my occupations, my pleasures.

There all who have known me are in their grave. And yet the

southwest wind as it rattles on my windows seems always to be the

strong voice of the motherland calling her child back to that

bosom into which I am ready to sink. I have played my part in my

time. The time has passed. I must pass also.

Nay, dear friends, do not look sad, for what can be happier than

a life completed in honour and made beautiful with friendship and

love? And yet it is solemn also when a man approaches the end of

the long road and sees the turning which leads him into the

unknown. But the Emperor and all his Marshals have ridden round

that dark turning and passed into the beyond. My Hussars,

too--there are not fifty men who are not waiting yonder. I must

go. But on this the last night I will tell you that which is

more than a tale--it is a great historical secret. My lips have

been sealed, but I see no reason why I should not leave behind me

some account of this remarkable adventure, which must otherwise

be entirely lost, since I and only I, of all living men, have a

knowledge of the facts.

I will ask you to go back with me to the year 1821.

In that year our great Emperor had been absent from us for six

years, and only now and then from over the seas we heard some

whisper which showed that he was still alive. You cannot think

what a weight it was upon our hearts for us who loved him to

think of him in captivity eating his giant soul out upon that

lonely island. From the moment we rose until we closed our eyes

in sleep the thought was always with us, and we felt dishonoured

that he, our chief and master, should be so humiliated without

our being able to move a hand to help him. There were many who

would most willingly have laid down the remainder of their lives

to bring him a little ease, and yet all that we could do was to

sit and grumble in our cafes and stare at the map, counting up

the leagues of water which lay between us.

It seemed that he might have been in the moon for all that we

could do to help him. But that was only because we were all

soldiers and knew nothing of the sea.

Of course, we had our own little troubles to make us bitter, as

well as the wrongs of our Emperor. There were many of us who had

held high rank and would hold it again if he came back to his

own. We had not found it possible to take service under the

white flag of the Bourbons, or to take an oath which might turn

our sabres against the man whom we loved. So we found ourselves

with neither work nor money. What could we do save gather

together and gossip and grumble, while those who had a little

paid the score and those who had nothing shared the bottle? Now

and then, if we were lucky, we managed to pick a quarrel with one

of the Garde du Corps, and if we left him on his hack in the Bois

we felt that we had struck a blow for Napoleon once again. They

came to know our haunts in time, and they avoided them as if they

had been hornets' nests.

There was one of these--the Sign of the Great Man --in the Rue

Varennes, which was frequented by several of the more

distinguished and younger Napoleonic officers. Nearly all of us

had been colonels or aides- de-camp, and when any man of less

distinction came among us we generally made him feel that he had

taken a liberty. There were Captain Lepine, who had won the

medal of honour at Leipzig; Colonel Bonnet, aide-de-camp to

Macdonald; Colonel Jourdan, whose fame in the army was hardly

second to my own; Sabbatier of my own Hussars, Meunier of the Red

Lancers, Le Breton of the Guards, and a dozen others.

Every night we met and talked, played dominoes, drank a glass or

two, and wondered how long it would be before the Emperor would

be back and we at the head of our regiments once more. The

Bourbons had already lost any hold they ever had upon the

country, as was shown a few years afterward, when Paris rose

against them and they were hunted for the third time out of

France. Napoleon had but to show himself on the coast, and he

would have marched without firing a musket to the capital,

exactly as he had done when he came back from Elba.

Well, when affairs were in this state there arrived one night in

February, in our cafe, a most singular little man. He was short

but exceedingly broad, with huge shoulders, and a head which was

a deformity, so large was it. His heavy brown face was scarred

with white streaks in a most extraordinary manner, and he had

grizzled whiskers such as seamen wear. Two gold earrings in his

ears, and plentiful tattooing upon his hands and arms, told us

also that he was of the sea before he introduced himself to us as

Captain Fourneau, of the Emperor's navy. He had letters of

introduction to two of our number, and there could be no doubt

that he was devoted to the cause. He won our respect, too, for

he had seen as much fighting as any of us, and the burns upon his

face were caused by his standing to his post upon the Orient, at

the Battle of the Nile, until the vessel blew up underneath him.

Yet he would say little about himself, but he sat in the corner

of the cafe watching us all with a wonderfully sharp pair of eyes

and listening intently to our talk.

One night I was leaving the cafe when Captain Fourneau followed

me, and touching me on the arm he led me without saying a word

for some distance until we reached his lodgings. "I wish to have

a chat with you," said he, and so conducted me up the stair to

his room. There he lit a lamp and handed me a sheet of paper

which he took from an envelope in his bureau. It was dated a few

months before from the Palace of Schonbrunn at Vienna. "Captain

Fourneau is acting in the highest interests of the Emperor

Napoleon.

Those who love the Emperor should obey him without

question.--Marie Louise." That is what I read. I was familiar

with the signature of the Empress, and I could not doubt that

this was genuine.

"Well," said he, "are you satisfied as to my credentials?"

"Entirely."

"Are you prepared to take your orders from me?"

"This document leaves me no choice."

"Good! In the first place, I understand from something you said

in the cafe that you can speak English?"

"Yes, I can."

"Let me hear you do so."

I said in English, "Whenever the Emperor needs the help of

Etienne Gerard I am ready night and day to give my life in his

service." Captain Fourneau smiled.

"It is funny English," said he, "but still it is better than no

English. For my own part I speak English like an Englishman. It

is all that I have to show for six years spent in an English

prison. Now I will tell you why I have come to Paris. I have

come in order to choose an agent who will help me in a matter

which affects the interests of the Emperor. I was told that it

was at the cafe of the Great Man that I would find the pick of

his old officers, and that I could rely upon every man there

being devoted to his interests. I studied you all, therefore,

and I have come to the conclusion that you are the one who is

most suited for my purpose."

I acknowledged the compliment. "What is it that you wish me to

do?" I asked.

"Merely to keep me company for a few months," said he. "You must

know that after my release in England I settled down there,

married an English wife, and rose to command a small English

merchant ship, in which I have made several voyages from

Southampton to the Guinea coast. They look on me there as an

Englishman.

You can understand, however, that with my feelings about the

Emperor I am lonely sometimes, and that it would be an advantage

to me to have a companion who would sympathize with my thoughts.

One gets very bored on these long voyages, and I would make it

worth your while to share my cabin."

He looked hard at me with his shrewd grey eyes all the time that

he was uttering this rigmarole, and I gave him a glance in return

which showed him that he was not dealing with a fool. He took

out a canvas bag full of money.

"There are a hundred pounds in gold in this bag," said he. "You

will be able to buy some comforts for your voyage. I should

recommend you to get them in Southampton, whence we will start in

ten days. The name of the vessel is the Black Swan. I return to

Southampton to-morrow, and I shall hope to see you in the course

of the next week."

"Come now," said I. "Tell me frankly what is the destination of

our voyage?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" he answered. "We are bound for the

Guinea coast of Africa."

"Then how can that be in the highest interests of the Emperor?" I

asked.

"It is in his highest interests that you ask no indiscreet

questions and I give no indiscreet replies," he answered,

sharply. So he brought the interview to an end, and I found

myself back in my lodgings with nothing save this bag of gold to

show that this singular interview had indeed taken place.

There was every reason why I should see the adventure to a

conclusion, and so within a week I was on my way to England. I

passed from St. Malo to Southampton, and on inquiry at the docks

I had no difficulty in finding the Black Swan, a neat little

vessel of a shape which is called, as I learned afterward, a

brig. There was Captain Fourneau himself upon the deck, and

seven or eight rough fellows hard at work grooming her and making

her ready for sea. He greeted me and led me down to his cabin.

"You are plain Mr. Gerard now," said he, "and a Channel Islander.

I would be obliged to you if you would kindly forget your

military ways and drop your cavalry swagger when you walk up and

down my deck.

A beard, too, would seem more sailor-like than those moustaches."

I was horrified by his words, but, after all, there are no ladies

on the high seas, and what did it matter? He rang for the

steward.

"Gustav," said he, "you will pay every attention to my friend,

Monsieur Etienne Gerard, who makes this voyage with us. This is

Gustav Kerouan, my Breton steward," he explained, "and you are

very safe in his hands."

This steward, with his harsh face and stern eyes, looked a very

warlike person for so peaceful an employment.

I said nothing, however, though you may guess that I kept my eyes

open. A berth had been prepared for me next the cabin, which

would have seemed comfortable enough had it not contrasted with

the extraordinary splendour of Fourneau's quarters. He was

certainly a most luxurious person, for his room was new-fitted

with velvet and silver in a way which would have suited the yacht

of a noble better than a little West African trader.

So thought the mate, Mr. Burns, who could not hide his amusement

and contempt whenever he looked at it.

This fellow, a big, solid, red-headed Englishman, had the other

berth connected with the cabin. There was a second mate named

Turner, who lodged in the middle of the ship, and there were nine

men and one boy in the crew, three of whom, as I was informed by

Mr. Burns, were Channel Islanders like myself. This Burns, the

first mate, was much interested to know why I was coming with

them.

"I come for pleasure," said I.

He stared at me.

"Ever been to the West Coast?" he asked.

I said that I had not.

"I thought not," said he. "You'll never come again for that

reason, anyhow."

Some three days after my arrival we untied the ropes by which the

ship was tethered and we set off upon our journey. I was never a

good sailor, and I may confess that we were far out of sight of

any land before I was able to venture upon deck. At last,

however, upon the fifth day I drank the soup which the good

Kerouan brought me, and I was able to crawl from my bunk and up

the stair. The fresh air revived me, and from that time onward I

accommodated myself to the motion of the vessel. My beard had

begun to grow also, and I have no doubt that I should have made

as fine a sailor as I have a soldier had I chanced to be born to

that branch of the service. I learned to pull the ropes which

hoisted the sails, and also to haul round the long sticks to

which they are attached. For the most part, however, my duties

were to play ecarte with Captain Fourneau, and to act as his

companion. It was not strange that he should need one, for

neither of his mates could read or write, though each of them was

an excellent seaman.

If our captain had died suddenly I cannot imagine how we should

have found our way in that waste of waters, for it was only he

who had the knowledge which enabled him to mark our place upon

the chart. He had this fixed upon the cabin wall, and every day

he put our course upon it so that we could see at a glance how

far we were from our destination. It was wonderful how well he

could calculate it, for one morning he said that we should see

the Cape Verd light that very night, and there it was, sure

enough, upon our left front the moment that darkness came. Next

day, however, the land was out of sight, and Burns, the mate,

explained to me that we should see no more until we came to our

port in the Gulf of Biafra. Every day we flew south with a

favouring wind, and always at noon the pin upon the chart was

moved nearer and nearer to the African coast. I may explain that

palm oil was the cargo which we were in search of, and that our

own lading consisted of coloured cloths, old muskets, and such

other trifles as the English sell to the savages.

At last the wind which had followed us so long died away, and for

several days we drifted about on a calm and oily sea, under a sun

which brought the pitch bubbling out between the planks upon the

deck. We turned and turned our sails to catch every wandering

puff, until at last we came out of this belt of calm and ran

south again with a brisk breeze, the sea all round us being alive

with flying fishes. For some days Burns appeared to be uneasy,

and I observed him continually shading his eyes with his hand and

staring at the horizon as if he were looking for land. Twice I

caught him with his red head against the chart in the cabin,

gazing at that pin, which was always approaching and yet never

reaching the African coast. At last one evening, as Captain

Fourneau and I were playing ecarte in the cabin, the mate entered

with an angry look upon his sunburned face.

"I beg your pardon, Captain Fourneau," said he.

"But do you know what course the man at the wheel is steering?"

"Due south," the captain answered, with his eyes fixed upon his

cards.

"And he should be steering due east."

"How do you make that out?"

The mate gave an angry growl.

"I may not have much education," said he, "but let me tell you

this, Captain Fourneau, I've sailed these waters since I was a

little nipper of ten, and I know the line when I'm on it, and I

know the doldrums, and I know how to find my way to the oil

rivers. We are south of the line now, and we should be steering

due east instead of due south if your port is the port that the

owners sent you to."

"Excuse me, Mr. Gerard. Just remember that it is my lead," said

the captain, laying down his cards.

"Come to the map here, Mr. Burns, and I will give you a lesson in

practical navigation. Here is the trade wind from the southwest

and here is the line, and here is the port that we want to make,

and here is a man who will have his own way aboard his own ship."

As he spoke he seized the unfortunate mate by the throat and

squeezed him until he was nearly senseless. Kerouan, the

steward, had rushed in with a rope, and between them they gagged

and trussed the man, so that he was utterly helpless.

"There is one of our Frenchmen at the wheel. We had best put the

mate overboard," said the steward.

"That is safest," said Captain Fourneau.

But that was more than I could stand. Nothing would persuade me

to agree to the death of a helpless man.

With a bad grace Captain Fourneau consented to spare him, and we

carried him to the after-hold, which lay under the cabin. There

he was laid among the bales of Manchester cloth.

"It is not worth while to put down the hatch," said Captain

Fourneau. "Gustav, go to Mr. Turner and tell him that I would

like to have a word with him."

The unsuspecting second mate entered the cabin, and was instantly

gagged and secured as Burns had been.

He was carried down and laid beside his comrade. The hatch was

then replaced.

"Our hands have been forced by that red-headed dolt," said the

captain, "and I have had to explode my mine before I wished.

However, there is no great harm done, and it will not seriously

disarrange my plans.

"Kerouan, you will take a keg of rum forward to the crew and tell

them that the captain gives it to them to drink his health on the

occasion of crossing the line.

"They will know no better. As to our own fellows, bring them

down to your pantry so that we may me sure that they are ready

for business. Now, Colonel Gerard, with your permission we will

resume our game of ecarte."

It is one of those occasions which one does not forget.

This captain, who was a man of iron, shuffled and cut, dealt and

played as if he were in his cafe. From below we heard the

inarticulate murmurings of the two mates, half smothered by the

handkerchiefs which gagged them. Outside the timbers creaked and

the sails hummed under the brisk breeze which was sweeping us

upon our way. Amid the splash of the waves and the whistle of

the wind we heard the wild cheers and shoutings of the English

sailors as they broached the keg of rum. We played half-a-dozen

games and then the captain rose. "I think they are ready for us

now," said he. He took a brace of pistols from a locker, and he

handed one of them to me.

But we had no need to fear resistance, for there was no one to

resist. The Englishman of those days, whether soldier or sailor,

was an incorrigible drunkard.

Without drink he was a brave and good man. But if drink were

laid before him it was a perfect madness-- nothing could induce

him to take it with moderation.

In the dim light of the den which they inhabited, five senseless

figures and two shouting, swearing, singing madmen represented

the crew of the Black Swan. Coils of rope were brought forward

by the steward, and with the help of two French seamen (the third

was at the wheel) we secured the drunkards and tied them up, so

that it was impossible for them to speak or move. They were

placed under the fore-hatch, as their officers had been under the

after one, and Kerouan was directed twice a day to give them food

and drink. So at last we found that the Black Swan was entirely

our own.

Had there been bad weather I do not know what we should have

done, but we still went gaily upon our way with a wind which was

strong enough to drive us swiftly south, but not strong enough to

cause us alarm. On the evening of the third day I found Captain

Fourneau gazing eagerly out from the platform in the front of the

vessel. "Look, Gerard, look!" he cried, and pointed over the

pole which stuck out in front.

A light blue sky rose from a dark blue sea, and far away, at the

point where they met, was a shadowy something like a cloud, but

more definite in shape.

"What is it?" I cried.

"It is land."

"And what land?"

I strained my ears for the answer, and yet I knew already what

the answer would be.

"It is St. Helena."

Here, then, was the island of my dreams! Here was the cage where

our great Eagle of France was confined!

All those thousands of leagues of water had not sufficed to keep

Gerard from the master whom he loved.

There he was, there on that cloud-bank yonder over the dark blue

sea. How my eyes devoured it! How my soul flew in front of the

vessel--flew on and on to tell him that he was not forgotten,

that after many days one faithful servant was coming to his side.

Every instant the dark blur upon the water grew harder and

clearer.

Soon I could see plainly enough that it was indeed a mountainous

island. The night fell, but still I knelt upon the deck, with my

eyes fixed upon the darkness which covered the spot where I knew

that the great Emperor was. An hour passed and another one, and

then suddenly a little golden twinkling light shone out exactly

ahead of us. It was the light of the window of some

house--perhaps of his house. It could not be more than a mile or

two away. Oh, how I held out my hands to it!--they were the

hands of Etienne Gerard, but it was for all France that they were

held out.

Every light had been extinguished aboard our ship, and presently,

at the direction of Captain Fourneau, we all pulled upon one of

the ropes, which had the effect of swinging round one of the

sticks above us, and so stopping the vessel. Then he asked me to

step down to the cabin.

"You understand everything now, Colonel Gerard," said he, "and

you will forgive me if I did not take you into my complete

confidence before. In a matter of such importance I make no man

my confidant. I have long planned the rescue of the Emperor, and

my remaining in England and joining their merchant service was

entirely with that design. All has worked out exactly as I

expected. I have made several successful voyages to the West

Coast of Africa, so that there was no difficulty in my obtaining

the command of this one. One by one I got these old French

man-of-war's-men among the hands. As to you, I was anxious to

have one tried fighting man in case of resistance, and I also

desired to have a fitting companion for the Emperor during his

long homeward voyage. My cabin is already fitted up for his use.

I trust that before to-morrow morning he will be inside it, and

we out of sight of this accursed island."

You can think of my emotion, my friends, as I listened to these

words. I embraced the brave Fourneau, and implored him to tell

me how I could assist him.

"I must leave it all in your hands," said he. "Would that I

could have been the first to pay him homage, but it would not be

wise for me to go. The glass is falling, there is a storm

brewing, and we have the land under our lee. Besides, there are

three English cruisers near the island which may be upon us at

any moment. It is for me, therefore, to guard the ship and for

you to bring off the Emperor."

I thrilled at the words.

"Give me your instructions!" I cried.

"I can only spare you one man, for already I can hardly pull

round the yards," said he. "One of the boats has been lowered,

and this man will row you ashore and await your return. The

light which you see is indeed the light of Longwood. All who are

in the house are your friends, and all may be depended upon to

aid the Emperor's escape. There is a cordon of English sentries,

but they are not very near to the house. Once you have got as

far as that you will convey our plans to the Emperor, guide him

down to the boat, and bring him on board."

The Emperor himself could not have given his instructions more

shortly and clearly. There was not a moment to be lost. The

boat with the seaman was waiting alongside. I stepped into it,

and an instant afterward we had pushed off. Our little boat

danced over the dark waters, but always shining before my eyes

was the light of Longwood, the light of the Emperor, the star of

hope. Presently the bottom of the boat grated upon the pebbles

of the beach. It was a deserted cove, and no challenge from a

sentry came to disturb us. I left the seaman by the boat and I

began to climb the hillside.

There was a goat track winding in and out among the rocks, so I

had no difficulty in finding my way. It stands to reason that

all paths in St. Helena would lead to the Emperor. I came to a

gate. No sentry--and I passed through. Another gate--still no

sentry! I wondered what had become of this cordon of which

Fourneau had spoken. I had come now to the top of my climb, for

there was the light burning steadily right in front of me. I

concealed myself and took a good look round, but still I could

see no sign of the enemy. As I approached I saw the house, a

long, low building with a veranda. A man was walking up and down

upon the path in front. I crept nearer and had a look at him.

Perhaps it was this cursed Hudson Lowe. What a triumph if I

could not only rescue the Emperor, but also avenge him! But it

was more likely that this man was an English sentry. I crept

nearer still, and the man stopped in front of the lighted window,

so that I could see him. No; it was no soldier, but a priest. I

wondered what such a man could be doing there at two in the

morning. Was he French or English? If he were one of the

household I might take him into my confidence. If he were

English he might ruin all my plans.

I crept a little nearer still, and at that moment he entered the

house, a flood of light pouring out through the open door. All

was clear for me now and I understood that not an instant was to

be lost. Bending myself double I ran swiftly forward to the

lighted window.

Raising my head I peeped through, and there was the Emperor lying

dead before me.

My friends, I fell down upon the gravel walk as senseless as if a

bullet had passed through my brain. So great was the shock that

I wonder that I survived it.

And yet in half an hour I had staggered to my feet again,

shivering in every limb, my teeth chattering, and there I stood

staring with the eyes of a maniac into that room of death.

He lay upon a bier in the centre of the chamber, calm, composed,

majestic, his face full of that reserve power which lightened our

hearts upon the day of battle. A half-smile was fixed upon his

pale lips, and his eyes, half-opened, seemed to be turned on

mine. He was stouter than when I had seen him at Waterloo, and

there was a gentleness of expression which I had never seen in

life. On either side of him burned rows of candles, and this was

the beacon which had welcomed us at sea, which had guided me over

the water, and which I had hailed as my star of hope. Dimly I

became conscious that many people were kneeling in the room; the

little Court, men and women, who had shared his fortunes,

Bertrand, his wife, the priest, Montholon--all were there. I

would have prayed too, but my heart was too heavy and bitter for

prayer. And yet I must leave, and I could not leave him without

a sign. Regardless of whether I was seen or not, I drew myself

erect before my dead leader, brought my heels together, and

raised my hand in a last salute. Then I turned and hurried of

through the darkness, with the picture of the wan, smiling lips

and the steady grey eyes dancing always before me.

It had seemed to me but a little time that I had been away, and

yet the boatman told me that it was hours.

Only when he spoke of it did I observe that the wind was blowing

half a gale from the sea and that the waves were roaring in upon

the beach. Twice we tried to push out our little boat, and twice

it was thrown back by the sea. The third time a great wave

filled it and stove the bottom. Helplessly we waited beside it

until the dawn broke, to show a raging sea and a flying scud

above it. There was no sign of the Black Swan. Climbing the

hill we looked down, but on all the great torn expanse of the

ocean there was no gleam of a sail. She was gone. Whether she

had sunk, or whether she was recaptured by her English crew, or

what strange fate may have been in store for her, I do not know.

Never again in this life did I see Captain Fourneau to tell him

the result of my mission. For my own part I gave myself up to

the English, my boatman and I pretending that we were the only

survivors of a lost vessel--though, indeed, there was no pretence

in the matter. At the hands of their officers I received that

generous hospitality which I have always encountered, but it was

many a long month before I could get a passage back to the dear

land outside of which there can be no happiness for so true a

Frenchman as myself.

And so I tell you in one evening how I bade good-bye to my

master, and I take my leave also of you, my kind friends, who

have listened so patiently to the long- winded stories of an old

broken soldier. Russia, Italy, Germany, Spain, Portugal, and

England, you have gone with me to all these countries, and you

have seen through my dim eyes something of the sparkle and

splendour of those great days, and I have brought back to you

some shadow of those men whose tread shook the earth. Treasure

it in your minds and pass it on to your children, for the memory

of a great age is the most precious treasure that a nation can

possess. As the tree is nurtured by its own cast leaves so it is

these dead men and vanished days which may bring out another

blossoming of heroes, of rulers, and of sages. I go to Gascony,

but my words stay here in your memory, and long after Etienne

Gerard is forgotten a heart may be warmed or a spirit braced by

some faint echo of the words that he has spoken. Gentlemen, an

old soldier salutes you and bids you farewell.