Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER VII. A PASSING ACQUAINTANCE

  If the guide who is to lead us on a long and devious track stops atevery byway, following out each path that seems to invite a ramble orsuggest a halt, we naturally might feel distrustful of his safe conduct,and uneasy at the prospect of the road before us. In the same waymay the reader be disposed to fear that he who descends to slight andtrivial circumstances will scarcely have time for events which oughtto occupy a wider space in his reminiscences; and for this reason I ambound to apologise for the seeming transgression of my last chapter.Most true it is, that were I to relate the entire of my life with asimilar diffuseness, my memoir would extend to a length far beyond whatI intend it to occupy. Such, however, is very remote from my thoughts.I have dwelt with, perhaps, something of prolixity upon the soldier-lifeand characteristics of a past day, because I shall yet have to speak ofchanges, without which the contrast would be inappreciable; but I havealso laid stress upon an incident trivial in itself, because it formedan event in my own fortunes. It was thus, in fact, that I became asoldier.

  Now, the man who carries a musket in the ranks may very reasonably bedeemed but a small ingredient of the mass that forms an army; and in ourday his thoughts, hopes, fears, and ambitions are probably as unknownand uncared for as the precise spot of earth that yielded the ore fromwhich his own weapon was smelted. This is not only reasonable, but it isright in the time of which I am now speaking it was far otherwise. TheRepublic, in extinguishing a class, had elevated the individual; andnow each, in whatever station he occupied, felt himself qualified toentertain opinions and express sentiments which, because they were hisown, he presumed them to be national The idlers of the streets discussedthe deepest questions of politics; the soldiers talked of war with allthe presumption of consummate generalship. The great operations of acampaign, and the various qualities of different commanders, were thedaily subjects of dispute in the camp. Upon one topic only wereall agreed; and there, indeed, our unanimity repaid all previousdiscordance. We deemed France the only civilised nation of the globe,and reckoned that people thrice happy who, by any contingency offortune, engaged our sympathy, or procured the distinction of ourpresence in arms. We were the heaven-born disseminators of freedomthroughout Europe, the sworn enemies of kingly domination, and themissionaries of a political creed, which was not alone to ennoblemankind, but to render its condition eminently happy and prosperous.

  There could not be an easier lesson to learn than this, and particularlywhen dinned into your ears all day, and from every rank and grade aroundyou. It was the programme of every message from the Directory; itwas the opening of every general order from the general; it was thetable-talk of your mess. The burthen of every song, the title of everymilitary march performed by the regimental band, recalled it; even theriding-master, as he followed the recruit around the weary circle,whip in hand, mingled the orders he uttered with apposite axioms uponrepublican grandeur. How I think I hear it still! as the grim oldquartermaster-sergeant, with his Alsatian accent and deep-toned voice,would call out--

  'Elbows back!--wrist lower and free from the side--free, I say, as everycitizen of a great Republic!--head erect, as a Frenchman has a right tocarry it!--chest full out, like one who can breathe the air of heaven,and ask no leave from king or despot!--down with your heel, sir; thinkthat you crush a tyrant beneath it!'

  Such and such like were the running commentaries on equitation, tilloften I forgot whether the lesson had more concern with a seat onhorseback or the great cause of monarchy throughout Europe. I suppose,to use a popular phrase of our own day, 'the system worked well';certainly the spirit of the army was unquestionable. From the grim oldveteran, with snow-white moustache, to the beardless, boy, there was butone hope and wish--the glory of France. How they understood that glory,or in what it essentially consisted, is another and very differentquestion.

  Enrolled as a soldier in the ninth regiment of Hussars, I accompaniedthat corps to Nancy, where, at that time, a large cavalry school wasformed, and where the recruits from the different regiments were trainedand managed before being sent forward to their destination.

  A taste for equitation, and a certain aptitude for catching up thepeculiar character of the different horses, at once distinguished me inthe riding-school, and I was at last adopted by the riding-master of theregiment as a kind of aide to him in his walk. When I thus became a boldand skilful horseman, my proficiency interfered with my promotion,for instead of accompanying my regiment I was detained at Nancy, andattached to the permanent staff of the cavalry school there.

  At first I asked for nothing better. It was a life of continued pleasureand excitement, and while I daily acquired knowledge of a subject whichinterested me deeply, I grew tall and strong of limb, and withthat readiness in danger, and that cool collectedness in moments ofdifficulty, that are so admirably taught by the accidents and mischancesof a cavalry riding-school.

  The most vicious and unmanageable beasts from the Limousin were oftensent to us, and when any one of these was deemed peculiarly untractable,'Give him to Tiernay' was the last appeal, before abandoning him ashopeless. I'm certain I owe much of the formation of my character tomy life at this period, and that my love of adventure, my tastefor excitement, my obstinate resolution to conquer a difficulty, myinflexible perseverance when thwarted, and my eager anxiety for praise,were all picked up amid the sawdust and tan of the riding-school. Howlong I might have continued satisfied with such triumphs, and contentto be the wonder of the freshly joined conscripts, I know not, whenaccident, or something very like it, decided the question.

  It was a calm, delicious evening in April, in the year after I hadentered the school, that I was strolling alone on the old fortifiedwall, which, once a strong redoubt, was the favourite walk of the goodcitizens of Nancy. I was somewhat tired with the fatigues of the day,and sat down to rest under one of the acacia-trees, whose deliciousblossom was already scenting the air. The night was still and noiseless;not a man moved along the wall; the hum of the city was graduallysubsiding, and the lights in the cottages over the plain told that thelabourer was turning homeward from his toil. It was an hour to invitecalm thoughts, and so I fell a-dreaming over the tranquil pleasures ofa peasant's life, and the unruffled peace of an existence passed amidscenes that were endeared by years of intimacy. 'How happily,' thoughtI, 'time must steal on in these quiet spots, where the strife andstruggle of war are unknown, and even the sounds of conflict neverreach!' Suddenly my musings were broken in upon by hearing the measuredtramp of cavalry, as at a walk; a long column wound their way alongthe zigzag approaches, which by many a redoubt and fosse, over many adrawbridge, and beneath many a strong arch, led to the gates of Nancy.The loud, sharp call of a trumpet was soon heard, and, after a briefparley, the massive gates of the fortress were opened for the troops toenter. From the position I occupied exactly over the gate, I could notonly see the long, dark line of armed men as they passed, but also hearthe colloquy which took place as they entered--

  'What regiment?*

  'Detachments of the 12th Dragoons and the 22nd Chasseurs a cheval.'

  'Where from?'

  'Valence.'

  'Whereto?'

  'The army of the Rhine.'

  'Pass on!'

  And with the words the ringing sound of the iron-shod horses was heardbeneath the vaulted entrance. As they issued from beneath the long deeparch, the men were formed in line along two sides of a wide 'Place'inside the walls, where, with that despatch that habit teaches, thebillets were speedily distributed, and the parties 'told off' in squadsfor different parts of the city. The force seemed a considerable one,and with all the celerity they could employ, the billeting occupied along time. As I watched the groups moving off, I heard the directiongiven to one party, 'Cavalry School--Rue de Lorraine.' The young officerwho commanded the group took a direction exactly the reverse of theright one; and hastening down from the rampart, I at once overtook them,and explained the mistake. I offered them my guidance to the place,which
being willingly accepted, I walked along at their side.

  Chatting as we went, I heard that the dragoons were hastily withdrawnfrom La Vendee to form part of the force under General Hoche. The youngsous-lieutenant, a mere boy of my own age, had already served in twocampaigns in Holland and the south of France; had been wounded in theLoire, and received his grade of officer at the hands of Hoche himselfon the field of battle.

  He could speak of no other name--Hoche was the hero of all his thoughts;his gallantry, his daring, his military knowledge, his coolness indanger, his impetuosity in attack, his personal amiability, the mildgentleness of his manner, were themes the young soldier loved todwell on; and however pressed by me to talk of war and its chances, heinevitably came back to the one loved theme--his general.

  When the men were safely housed for the night, I invited my new friendto my own quarters, where, having provided the best entertainment Icould afford, we passed more than half the night in chatting. Therewas nothing above mediocrity in the look or manner of the youth; hisdescriptions of what he had seen were unmarked by anything glowingor picturesque; his observations did not evince either a quick or areflective mind, and yet, over this mass of commonplace, enthusiasmfor his leader had shed a rich glow, like a gorgeous sunlight on alandscape, that made all beneath it seem brilliant and splendid.

  'And now,' said he, after an account of the last action he had seen,'and now, enough of myself; let's talk of thee. Where hast thou been?'

  'Here!' said I, with a sigh, and in a voice that shame had almost madeinaudible. 'Here, here, at Nancy.'

  'Not always here?'

  'Just so. Always here.'

  'And what doing, _mon cher_? Thou art not one of the Municipal Guard,surely?'

  'No,' said I, smiling sadly, 'I belong to the "Ecole d'Equitation.'"

  'Ah, that's it,' said he, in somewhat of confusion; 'I always thoughtthey selected old Serjeants _en retraite_, worn-out veterans, andwounded fellows, for riding-school duty.'

  'Most of ours are such,' said I, my shame increasing at every word--'butsomehow they chose me also, and I had no will in the matter----'

  'No will in the matter, _parbleu!_ and why not? Every man in France hasa right to meet the enemy in the field. Thou art a soldier, a hussar ofthe 9th, a brave and gallant corps, and art to be told that thy comradeshave the road to fame and honour open to them, whilst thou art to mopeaway life like an invalided drummer? It is too gross an indignity, myboy, and must not be borne. Away with you to-morrow at daybreak to theetat-major; ask to see the Commandant. You're in luck, too, for ourcolonel is with him now, and he is sure to back your request. Say thatyou served in the school to oblige your superiors, but that you cannotsee all chances of distinction lost to you for ever by remaining there.They've given you no grade yet, I see,' continued he, looking at my arm.

  'None; I am still a private.'

  'And I a sous-lieutenant, just because I have been where powder wasflashing! You can ride well, of course?'

  'I defy the wildest Limousin to shake me in my saddle.'

  'And, as a swordsman, what are you?'

  'Gros Jean calls me his best pupil.'

  'Ah, true! you have Gros Jean here, the best _sabreur_ in France! Andhere you are--a horseman, and one of Gros Jean's _eleves_--rotting awaylife in Nancy! Have you any friends in the service?'

  'Not one.'

  'Not one! Nor relations, nor connections?'

  'None. I am Irish by descent. My family are only French by onegeneration.'

  'Irish! Ah! that's lucky too,' said he. 'Our colonel is an Irishman. Hisname is Mahon. You're certain of getting your leave now. I'll presentyou to him to-morrow. We are to halt two days here, and before that isover, I hope you'll have made your last caracole in the riding-school ofNancy.'

  'But remember,' cried I, 'that although Irish by family, I have neverbeen there. I know nothing of either the people or the language--and donot present me to the general as his countryman.'

  'I'll call you by your name, as a soldier of the 9th Hussars, and leaveyou to make out your claim as countrymen, if you please, together.'

  This course was now agreed upon, and after some further talking, myfriend, refusing all my offers of a bed, coolly wrapped his cloak abouthim, and, with his head on the table, fell fast asleep, long beforeI had ceased thinking over his stories and his adventures in camp andbattlefield.