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The Adventures of Gerard

A >> Arthur Conan Doyle >> The Adventures of Gerard






VI. How the Brigadier Rode to Minsk

I would have a stronger wine to-night, my friends, a wine of
Burgundy rather than of Bordeaux. It is that my heart, my old
soldier heart, is heavy within me. It is a strange thing, this
age which creeps upon one. One does not know, one does not
understand; the spirit is ever the same, and one does not
remember how the poor body crumbles. But there comes a moment
when it is brought home, when quick as the sparkle of a whirling
sabre it is clear to us, and we see the men we were and the men
we are. Yes, yes, it was so to-day, and I would have a wine of
Burgundy to-night. White Burgundy--Montrachet --Sir, I am your
debtor!

It was this morning in the Champ de Mars. Your pardon, friends,
while an old man tells his trouble. You saw the review. Was it
not splendid? I was in the enclosure for veteran officers who
have been decorated.

This ribbon on my breast was my passport. The cross itself I
keep at home in a leathern pouch. They did us honour, for we
were placed at the saluting point, with the Emperor and the
carriages of the Court upon our right.

It is years since I have been to a review, for I cannot approve
of many things which I have seen. I do not approve of the red
breeches of the infantry. It was in white breeches that the
infantry used to fight. Red is for the cavalry. A little more,
and they would ask our busbies and our spurs! Had I been seen at
a review they might well have said that I, Etienne Gerard, had
condoned it. So I have stayed at home. But this war of the
Crimea is different. The men go to battle.

It is not for me to be absent when brave men gather.

My faith, they march well, those little infantrymen!

They are not large, but they are very solid and they carry
themselves well. I took off my hat to them as they passed. Then
there came the guns. They were good guns, well horsed and well
manned. I took off my hat to them. Then came the Engineers, and
to them also I took off my hat. There are no braver men than the
Engineers. Then came the cavalry, Lancers, Cuirassiers,
Chasseurs, and Spahis. To all of them in turn I was able to take
off my hat, save only to the Spahis.

The Emperor had no Spahis. But when all of the others had
passed, what think you came at the close? A brigade of Hussars,
and at the charge!

Oh, my friends, the pride and the glory and the beauty, the flash
and the sparkle, the roar of the hoofs and the jingle of chains,
the tossing manes, the noble heads, the rolling cloud, and the
dancing waves of steel! My heart drummed to them as they passed.
And the last of all, was it not my own old regiment? My eyes
fell upon the grey and silver dolmans, with the leopard-skin
shabraques, and at that instant the years fell away from me and I
saw my own beautiful men and horses, even as they had swept
behind their young colonel, in the pride of our youth and our
strength, just forty years ago. Up flew my cane. "Chargez! En
avant! Vive l'Empereur!"

It was the past calling to the present. But oh, what a thin,
piping voice! Was this the voice that had once thundered from
wing to wing of a strong brigade? And the arm that could scarce
wave a cane, were these the muscles of fire and steel which had
no match in all Napoleon's mighty host? They smiled at me. They
cheered me. The Emperor laughed and bowed. But to me the
present was a dim dream, and what was real were my eight hundred
dead Hussars and the Etienne of long ago.

Enough--a brave man can face age and fate as he faced Cossacks
and Uhlans. But there are times when Montrachet is better than
the wine of Bordeaux.

It is to Russia that they go, and so I will tell you a story of
Russia. Ah, what an evil dream of the night it seems! Blood and
ice. Ice and blood. Fierce faces with snow upon the whiskers.
Blue hands held out for succour. And across the great white
plain the one long black line of moving figures, trudging,
trudging, a hundred miles, another hundred, and still always the
same white plain. Sometimes there were fir-woods to limit it,
sometimes it stretched away to the cold blue sky, but the black
line stumbled on and on. Those weary, ragged, starving men, the
spirit frozen out of them, looked neither to right nor left, but
with sunken faces and rounded backs trailed onward and ever
onward, making for France as wounded beasts make for their lair.
There was no speaking, and you could scarce hear the shuffle of
feet in the snow. Once only I heard them laugh. It was outside
Wilna, when an aide-de-camp rode up to the head of that dreadful
column and asked if that were the Grand Army. All who were
within hearing looked round, and when they saw those broken men,
those ruined regiments, those fur-capped skeletons who were once
the Guard, they laughed, and the laugh crackled down the column
like a feu de joie. I have heard many a groan and cry and scream
in my life, but nothing so terrible as the laugh of the Grand
Army.

But why was it that these helpless men were not destroyed by the
Russians? Why was it that they were not speared by the Cossacks
or herded into droves, and driven as prisoners into the heart of
Russia? On every side as you watched the black snake winding
over the snow you saw also dark, moving shadows which came and
went like cloud drifts on either flank and behind. They were the
Cossacks, who hung round us like wolves round the flock.

But the reason why they did not ride in upon us was that all the
ice of Russia could not cool the hot hearts of some of our
soldiers. To the end there were always those who were ready to
throw themselves between these savages and their prey. One man
above all rose greater as the danger thickened, and won a higher
name amid disaster than he had done when he led our van to
victory. To him I drink this glass--to Ney, the red-maned Lion,
glaring back over his shoulder at the enemy who feared to tread
too closely on his heels. I can see him now, his broad white
face convulsed with fury, his light blue eyes sparkling like
flints, his great voice roaring and crashing amid the roll of the
musketry. His glazed and featherless cocked hat was the ensign
upon which France rallied during those dreadful days.

It is well known that neither I nor the regiment of Hussars of
Conflans were at Moscow. We were left behind on the lines of
communication at Borodino. How the Emperor could have advanced
without us is incomprehensible to me, and, indeed, it was only
then that I understood that his judgment was weakening and that
he was no longer the man that he had been. However, a soldier
has to obey orders, and so I remained at this village, which was
poisoned by the bodies of thirty thousand men who had lost their
lives in the great battle. I spent the late autumn in getting my
horses into condition and reclothing my men, so that when the
army fell back on Borodino my Hussars were the best of the
cavalry, and were placed under Ney in the rear-guard.

What could he have done without us during those dreadful days?
"Ah, Gerard," said he one evening-- but it is not for me to
repeat the words. Suffice it that he spoke what the whole army
felt. The rear-guard covered the army and the Hussars of
Conflans covered the rear-guard. There was the whole truth in a
sentence.

Always the Cossacks were on us. Always we held them off. Never
a day passed that we had not to wipe our sabres. That was
soldiering indeed.

But there came a time between Wilna and Smolensk when the
situation became impossible. Cossacks and even cold we could
fight, but we could not fight hunger as well. Food must be got
at all costs. That night Ney sent for me to the waggon in which
he slept. His great head was sunk on his hands. Mind and body
he was wearied to death.

"Colonel Gerard," said he, "things are going very badly with us.
The men are starving. We must have food at all costs."

"The horses," I suggested.

"Save your handful of cavalry; there are none left."

"The band," said I.

He laughed, even in his despair.

"Why the band?" he asked.

"Fighting men are of value."

"Good," said he. "You would play the game down to the last card
and so would I. Good, Gerard, good!"

He clasped my hand in his. "But there is one chance for us yet,
Gerard." He unhooked a lantern from the roof of the waggon and
he laid it on a map which was stretched before him. "To the
south of us," said he, "there lies the town of Minsk. I have
word from a Russian deserter that much corn has been stored in
the town- hall. I wish you to take as many men as you think
best, set forth for Minsk, seize the corn, load any carts which
you may collect in the town, and bring them to me between here
and Smolensk. If you fail it is but a detachment cut off. If
you succeed it is new life to the army."

He had not expressed himself well, for it was evident that if we
failed it was not merely the loss of a detachment. It is quality
as well as quantity which counts.

And yet how honourable a mission and how glorious a risk! If
mortal men could bring it, then the corn should come from Minsk.
I said so, and spoke a few burning words about a brave man's duty
until the Marshal was so moved that he rose and, taking me
affectionately by the shoulders, pushed me out of the waggon.

It was clear to me that in order to succeed in my enterprise I
should take a small force and depend rather upon surprise than
upon numbers. A large body could not conceal itself, would have
great difficulty in getting food, and would cause all the
Russians around us to concentrate for its certain destruction.
On the other hand, if a small body of cavalry could get past the
Cossacks unseen it was probable that they would find no troops to
oppose them, for we knew that the main Russian army was several
days' march behind us. This corn was meant, no doubt, for their
consumption. A squadron of Hussars and thirty Polish Lancers
were all whom I chose for the venture. That very night we rode
out of the camp, and struck south in the direction of Minsk.

Fortunately there was but a half moon, and we were able to pass
without being attacked by the enemy. Twice we saw great fires
burning amid the snow, and around them a thick bristle of long
poles. These were the lances of Cossacks, which they had stood
upright while they slept. It would have been a great joy to us
to have charged in amongst them, for we had much to revenge, and
the eyes of my comrades looked longingly from me to those red
flickering patches in the darkness. My faith, I was sorely
tempted to do it, for it would have been a good lesson to teach
them that they must keep a few miles between themselves and a
French army. It is the essence of good generalship, however, to
keep one thing before one at a time, and so we rode silently on
through the snow, leaving these Cossack bivouacs to right and
left. Behind us the black sky was all mottled with a line of
flame which showed where our own poor wretches were trying to
keep themselves alive for another day of misery and starvation.

All night we rode slowly onward, keeping our horses' tails to the
Pole Star. There were many tracks in the snow, and we kept to
the line of these, that no one might remark that a body of
cavalry had passed that way.

These are the little precautions which mark the experienced
officer. Besides, by keeping to the tracks we were most likely
to find the villages, and only in the villages could we hope to
get food. The dawn of day found us in a thick fir-wood, the
trees so loaded with snow that the light could hardly reach us.
When we had found our way out of it it was full daylight, the rim
of the rising sun peeping over the edge of the great snow-plain
and turning it crimson from end to end. I halted my Hussars and
Lancers under the shadow of the wood, and I studied the country.
Close to us there was a small farm-house. Beyond, at the
distance of several miles, was a village. Far away on the
sky-line rose a considerable town all bristling with church
towers. This must be Minsk. In no direction could I see any
signs of troops. It was evident that we had passed through the
Cossacks and that there was nothing between us and our goal. A
joyous shout burst from my men when I told them our position, and
we advanced rapidly toward the village.

I have said, however, that there was a small farm- house
immediately in front of us. As we rode up to it I observed that
a fine grey horse with a military saddle was tethered by the
door. Instantly I galloped forward, but before I could reach it
a man dashed out of the door, flung himself on to the horse, and
rode furiously away, the crisp, dry snow flying up in a cloud
behind him. The sunlight gleamed upon his gold epaulettes, and I
knew that he was a Russian officer. He would raise the whole
country-side if we did not catch him. I put spurs to Violette
and flew after him. My troopers followed; but there was no horse
among them to compare with Violette, and I knew well that if I
could not catch the Russian I need expect no help from them.

But it is a swift horse indeed and a skilful rider who can hope
to escape from Violette with Etienne Gerard in the saddle. He
rode well, this young Russian, and his mount was a good one, but
gradually we wore him down.

His face glanced continually over his shoulder--dark, handsome
face, with eyes like an eagle--and I saw as I closed with him
that he was measuring the distance between us. Suddenly he half
turned; there were a flash and a crack as his pistol bullet
hummed past my ear.

Before he could draw his sword I was upon him; but he still
spurred his horse, and the two galloped together over the plain,
I with my leg against the Russian's and my left hand upon his
right shoulder. I saw his hand fly up to his mouth. Instantly I
dragged him across my pommel and seized him by the throat, so
that he could not swallow. His horse shot from under him, but I
held him fast and Violette came to a stand. Sergeant Oudin of
the Hussars was the first to join us. He was an old soldier, and
he saw at a glance what I was after.

"Hold tight, Colonel," said he, "I'll do the rest."

He slipped out his knife, thrust the blade between the clenched
teeth of the Russian, and turned it so as to force his mouth
open. There, on his tongue, was the little wad of wet paper
which he had been so anxious to swallow. Oudin picked it out and
I let go of the man's throat. From the way in which, half
strangled as he was, he glanced at the paper I was sure that it
was a message of extreme importance. His hands twitched as if he
longed to snatch it from me. He shrugged his shoulders, however,
and smiled good-humouredly when I apologised for my roughness.

"And now to business," said I, when he had done coughing and
hawking. "What is your name?"

"Alexis Barakoff."

"Your rank and regiment?"

"Captain of the Dragoons of Grodno."

"What is this note which you were carrying?"

"It is a line which I had written to my sweetheart."

"Whose name," said I, examining the address, "is the Hetman
Platoff. Come, come, sir, this is an important military
document, which you are carrying from one general to another.
Tell me this instant what it is."

"Read it and then you will know." He spoke perfect French, as do
most of the educated Russians. But he knew well that there is
not one French officer in a thousand who knows a word of Russian.
The inside of the note contained one single line, which ran like
this:--

"Pustj Franzuzy pridutt v Minsk. Min gotovy."

I stared at it, and I had to shake my head. Then I showed it to
my Hussars, but they could make nothing of it. The Poles were
all rough fellows who could not read or write, save only the
sergeant, who came from Memel, in East Prussia, and knew no
Russian. It was maddening, for I felt that I had possession of
some important secret upon which the safety of the army might
depend, and yet I could make no sense of it. Again I entreated
our prisoner to translate it, and offered him his freedom if he
would do so. He only smiled at my request.

I could not but admire him, for it was the very smile which I
should have myself smiled had I been in his position.

"At least," said I, "tell us the name of this village."

"It is Dobrova."

"And that is Minsk over yonder, I suppose."

"Yes, that is Minsk."

"Then we shall go to the village and we shall very soon find some
one who will translate this despatch."

So we rode onward together, a trooper with his carbine unslung on
either side of our prisoner. The village was but a little place,
and I set a guard at the ends of the single street, so that no
one could escape from it. It was necessary to call a halt and to
find some food for the men and horses, since they had travelled
all night and had a long journey still before them.

There was one large stone house in the centre of the village, and
to this I rode. It was the house of the priest --a snuffy and
ill-favoured old man who had not a civil answer to any of our
questions. An uglier fellow I never met, but, my faith, it was
very different with his only daughter, who kept house for him.
She was a brunette, a rare thing in Russia, with creamy skin,
raven hair, and a pair of the most glorious dark eyes that ever
kindled at the sight of a Hussar. From the first glance I saw
that she was mine. It was no time for love-making when a
soldier's duty had to be done, but still, as I took the simple
meal which they laid before me, I chatted lightly with the lady,
and we were the best of friends before an hour had passed.
Sophie was her first name, her second I never knew. I taught her
to call me Etienne, and I tried to cheer her up, for her sweet
face was sad and there were tears in her beautiful dark eyes. I
pressed her to tell me what it was which was grieving her.

"How can I be otherwise," said she, speaking French with a most
adorable lisp, "when one of my poor countrymen is a prisoner in
your hands? I saw him between two of your Hussars as you rode
into the village."

"It is the fortune of war," said I. "His turn to-day; mine,
perhaps, to-morrow."

"But consider, Monsieur--" said she.

"Etienne," said I.

"Oh, Monsieur----"

"Etienne," said I.

"Well, then," she cried, beautifully flushed and desperate,
"consider, Etienne, that this young officer will be taken back to
your army and will be starved or frozen, for if, as I hear, your
own soldiers have a hard march, what will be the lot of a
prisoner?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"You have a kind face, Etienne," said she; "you would not condemn
this poor man to certain death. I entreat you to let him go."

Her delicate hand rested upon my sleeve, her dark eyes looked
imploringly into mine.

A sudden thought passed through my mind. I would grant her
request, but I would demand a favour in return.

At my order the prisoner was brought up into the room.

"Captain Barakoff," said I, "this young lady has begged me to
release you, and I am inclined to do so. I would ask you to give
your parole that you will remain in this dwelling for twenty-four
hours, and take no steps to inform anyone of our movements."

"I will do so," said he.

"Then I trust in your honour. One man more or less can make no
difference in a struggle between great armies, and to take you
back as a prisoner would be to condemn you to death. Depart,
sir, and show your gratitude not to me, but to the first French
officer who falls into your hands."

When he was gone I drew my paper from my pocket.

"Now, Sophie," said I, "I have done what you asked me, and all
that I ask in return is that you will give me a lesson in
Russian."

"With all my heart," said she.

"Let us begin on this," said I, spreading out the paper before
her. "Let us take it word for word and see what it means."

She looked at the writing with some surprise. "It means," said
she, "if the French come to Minsk all is lost." Suddenly a look
of consternation passed over her beautiful face. "Great
Heavens!" she cried, "what is it that I have done? I have
betrayed my country! Oh, Etienne, your eyes are the last for
whom this message is meant. How could you be so cunning as to
make a poor, simple-minded, and unsuspecting girl betray the
cause of her country?"

I consoled my poor Sophie as best I might, and I assured her that
it was no reproach to her that she should be outwitted by so old
a campaigner and so shrewd a man as myself. But it was no time
now for talk. This message made it clear that the corn was
indeed at Minsk, and that there were no troops there to defend
it. I gave a hurried order from the window, the trumpeter blew
the assembly, and in ten minutes we had left the village behind
us and were riding hard for the city, the gilded domes and
minarets of which glimmered above the snow of the horizon.
Higher they rose and higher, until at last, as the sun sank
toward the west, we were in the broad main street, and galloped
up it amid the shouts of the moujiks and the cries of frightened
women until we found ourselves in front of the great town-hall.
My cavalry I drew up in the square, and I, with my two sergeants,
Oudin and Papilette, rushed into the building.

Heavens! shall I ever forget the sight which greeted us? Right
in front of us was drawn up a triple line of Russian Grenadiers.
Their muskets rose as we entered, and a crashing volley burst
into our very faces. Oudin and Papilette dropped upon the floor,
riddled with bullets.

For myself, my busby was shot away and I had two holes through my
dolman. The Grenadiers ran at me with their bayonets.
"Treason!" I cried. "We are betrayed! Stand to your horses!" I
rushed out of the hall, but the whole square was swarming with
troops.

From every side street Dragoons and Cossacks were riding down
upon us, and such a rolling fire had burst from the surrounding
houses that half my men and horses were on the ground. "Follow
me!" I yelled, and sprang upon Violette, but a giant of a Russian
Dragoon officer threw his arms round me and we rolled on the
ground together.

He shortened his sword to kill me, but, changing his mind, he
seized me by the throat and banged my head against the stones
until I was unconscious. So it was that I became the prisoner of
the Russians.

When I came to myself my only regret was that my captor had not
beaten out my brains. There in the grand square of Minsk lay
half my troopers dead or wounded, with exultant crowds of
Russians gathered round them.

The rest in a melancholy group were herded into the porch of the
town-hall, a sotnia of Cossacks keeping guard over them. Alas!
what could I say, what could I do? It was evident that I had led
my men into a carefully- baited trap. They had heard of our
mission and they had prepared for us. And yet there was that
despatch which had caused me to neglect all precautions and to
ride straight into the town. How was I to account for that? The
tears ran down my cheeks as I surveyed the ruin of my squadron,
and as I thought of the plight of my comrades of the Grand Army
who awaited the food which I was to have brought them. Ney had
trusted me and I had failed him. How often he would strain his
eyes over the snow-fields for that convoy of grain which should
never gladden his sight! My own fate was hard enough. An exile
in Siberia was the best which the future could bring me. But you
will believe me, my friends, that it was not for his own sake,
but for that of his starving comrades, that Etienne Gerard's
cheeks were lined by his tears, frozen even as they were shed.

"What's this?" said a gruff voice at my elbow; and I turned to
face the huge, black-bearded Dragoon who had dragged me from my
saddle. "Look at the Frenchman crying! I thought that the
Corsican was followed by brave men and not by children."

"If you and I were face to face and alone, I should let you see
which is the better man," said I.

For answer the brute struck me across the face with his open
hand. I seized him by the throat, but a dozen of his soldiers
tore me away from him, and he struck me again while they held my
hands.

"You base hound," I cried, "is this the way to treat an officer
and a gentleman?"

"We never asked you to come to Russia," said he. "If you do you
must take such treatment as you can get. I would shoot you
off-hand if I had my way."

"You will answer for this some day," I cried, as I wiped the
blood from my moustache.

"If the Hetman Platoff is of my way of thinking you will not be
alive this time to-morrow," he answered, with a ferocious scowl.
He added some words in Russian to his troops, and instantly they
all sprang to their saddles.

Poor Violette, looking as miserable as her master, was led round
and I was told to mount her. My left arm was tied with a thong
which was fastened to the stirrup- iron of a sergeant of
Dragoons. So in most sorry plight I and the remnant of my men
set forth from Minsk.

Never have I met such a brute as this man Sergine, who commanded
the escort. The Russian army contains the best and the worst in
the world, but a worse than Major Sergine of the Dragoons of
Kieff I have never seen in any force outside of the guerillas of
the Peninsula.

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