CHAPTER XXXVI. GENOA DURING THE SIEGE
If the natural perils of the expedition were sufficient to suggestgrave thoughts, the sight of the troops that were to form it was evena stronger incentive to fear. I could not believe my eyes, as I watchedthe battalions which now deployed before me. Always accustomed,whatever the hardships they were opposed to, to see French soldierslight-hearted, gay, and agile, performing their duties in a spirit ofsportive pleasure, as if soldiering were but fun, what was the shock Ireceived at sight of these careworn, downcast, hollow-cheeked fellows,dragging their legs wearily along, and scarcely seeming to hear thewords of command; their clothes, patched and mended, sometimes too big,sometimes too little, showing that they had changed wearers withoutbeing altered; their tattered shoes, tied on with strings round theankles; their very weapons dirty and uncared for; they resembled rathera horde of bandits than the troops of the first army of Europe. Therewas, besides, an expression of stealthy, treacherous ferocity in theirfaces, such as I never saw before. To this pitiable condition had theybeen brought by starvation. Not alone the horses had been eaten, butdogs and cats; even the vermin of the cellars and sewers was consumed asfood. Leather and skins were all eagerly devoured; and there is but tooterrible reason to believe that human flesh itself was used to prolongfor a few hours this existence of misery.
As they defiled into the 'Piazza,' there seemed a kind of effort toassume the port and bearing of their craft; and although many stumbled,and some actually fell, from weakness, there was an evident attempt toput on a military appearance. The manner of the adjutant, as he passeddown the line, revealed at once the exact position of affairs. Nolonger inspecting every little detail of equipment, criticising this, orremarking on that, his whole attention was given to the condition ofthe musket, whose lock he closely scrutinised, and then turned to thecartouch-box. The ragged uniforms, the uncouth shakos, the belts dirtyand awry, never called forth a word of rebuke. Too glad, as it seemed,to recognise even the remnants of discipline, he came back from hisinspection apparently well satisfied and content.
'These fellows turn out well,' said Colonel de Barre, as he looked alongthe line; and I started to see if the speech were an unfeeling jest.Far from it; he spoke in all seriousness. The terrible scenes he had formonths been witnessing; the men dropping from hunger at their posts; thesentries fainting as they carried arms, and borne away to the hospitalto die; the bursts of madness that would now and then break forth frommen whose agony became unendurable, had so steeled him to horrors, thateven this poor shadow of military display seemed orderly and imposing.
'They are the 22nd, colonel,' replied the adjutant, proudly, 'a corpsthat always have maintained their character, whether on parade or underfire!'
'Ah! the 22nd, are they? They have come up from Ronco, then?'
'Yes, sir; they were all that General Soult could spare us.'
'Fine-looking fellows they are,' said De Barre, scanning them throughhis glass. 'The third company is a little, a very little to therear--don't you perceive it?--and the flank is a thought or so restlessand unsteady.'
'A sergeant has just been carried to the rear ill, sir,' said a youngofficer, in a low voice.
'The heat, I have no douht; a _colpo di sole_, as they tell useverything is,' said De Barre. 'By the way, is not this the regimentthat boasts the pretty vivandiere? What's this her name is?'
'Lela, sir.'
'Yes, to be sure, Lela. I'm sure I've heard her toasted often enough atcafes and restaurants.'
'There she is, sir, yonder, sitting on the steps of the fountain'; andthe officer made a sign with his sword for the girl to come over. Shemade an effort to arise at the order, but tottered back, and would havefallen if a soldier had not caught her. Then suddenly collectingher strength, she arranged the folds of her short scarlet jupe, andsmoothing down the braids of her fair hair, came forward, at thatsliding, half-skipping pace that is the wont of her craft.
The exertion, and possibly the excitement, had flushed her cheek, sothat as she came forward her look was brilliantly handsome; but as thecolour died away, and a livid pallor spread over her jaws, lank anddrawn in by famine, her expression was dreadful. The large eyes,lustrous and wild-looking, gleaming with the fire of fever, while herthin nostrils quivered at each respiration.
Poor girl, even then, with famine and fever eating within her, thetraits of womanly vanity still survived, and as she carried her hand toher cap in salute, she made a faint attempt at a smile.
'The 22nd may indeed be proud of their vivandiere,* said De Barregallantly.
'What hast in the _tonnslet_, Lela?' continued he, tapping the littlesilver-hooped barrel she carried at her back.
'_Ah, que voulez-vous?_ cried she laughing, with a low, husky sound, thelaugh of famine.
'I must have a glass of it to your health, _ma belle_ Lela, if it costme a crown-piece'; and he drew forth the coin as he spoke.
'For such a toast, the liquor is quite good enough,' said Lela, drawingback at the offer of money; while slinging the little cask in front, sheunhooked a small silver cup, and filled it with water.
'No brandy, Lela?'
'None, colonel,' said she, shaking her head; 'and if I had, those poorfellows yonder would not like it so well.'
'I understand,' said he significantly; 'theirs is the thirst of fever.'
A short, dry cough, and a barely perceptible nod of the head, was allher reply; but their eyes met, and any so sad an expression as theyinterchanged I never beheld! it was a confession in full of all each hadseen of sorrow, of suffering, and of death--the terrible events threemonths of famine had revealed, and all the agonies of pestilence andmadness.
'That is delicious water, Tiernay,' said the colonel, as he passed methe cup, and thus trying to get away from the sad theme of his thoughts.
'I fetch it from a well outside the walls every morning,' said Lela;'ay, and within gunshot of the Austrian sentries, too.'
'There's coolness for you, Tiernay,' said the colonel; 'think what the22nd are made of when their vivandiere dares to do this!'
'They'll not astonish him,' said Lela, looking steadily at me
'And why not, _ma belle?_' cried De Barre. 'He was a Tapageur, one ofthe "Naughty Ninth," as they called them.'
'How do you know that, Lela? Have we ever met before?' cried I eagerly.
'I've seen you, sir,' said she slyly. 'They used to call you thecorporal that won the battle of Kehl. I know my father always said so.'
I would have given worlds to have interrogated her further; sofascinating is selfishness, that already at least a hundred questionswere presenting themselves to my mind. Who could Lela be? and who washer father? and what were these reports about me? Had I really won famewithout knowing it? and did my comrades indeed speak of me with honour?All these, and many more inquiries, were pressing for utterance, asGeneral Massena walked up with his staff. The general fully corroboratedDe Barre's opinion of the '22nd.' They were, as he expressed it, a'magnificent body.' It was a perfect pleasure to see such troops underarms.' 'Those fellows certainly exhibited few traces of a starved-outgarrison.'
Such and such like were the observations bandied from one to the other,in all the earnest seriousness of truth What more terrible evidence ofthe scenes they had passed through, than these convictions! What morestunning proof of the condition to which long suffering had reducedthem!
'Where is our pleasant friend, who talked to us of the Black Forest lastnight? Ah, there he is; well, Monsieur Tiernay, do you think GeneralMoreau's people turned out better than that after the retreat fromDonau-eschingen?'
There was no need for any reply, since the scornful burst of laughter ofthe staff already gave the answer he wanted; and now he walked forwardto the centre of the piazza, while the troops proceeded to march past.
The band, a miserable group, reduced from fifty to thirteen in number,struck up a quick step, and the troops, animated by the sounds, and morestill, perhaps, by Massena's presence, made an effort to step
out inquick time; but the rocking, wavering motion, the clinking muskets anduncertain gait, were indescribably painful to a soldier's eye. Theircolonel, De Vallence, however, evidently did not regard them thus, foras he joined the staff, he received the general's compliments with allthe good faith and composure in the world.
The battalions were marched off to barracks, and the group of officersbroke up to repair to their several quarters. It was the hour of dinner,but it had been many a day since that meal had been heard of amongstthem. A stray cafe here and there was open in the city, but a cup ofcoffee, without milk, and a small roll of black bread, a horrid compoundof rye and cocoa, was all the refreshment obtainable; and yet, I am boldto say that a murmur or a complaint was unheard against the generalor the Government. The heaviest reverses, the gloomiest hours of illfortune, never extinguished the hope that Genoa was to be relievedat last, and that all we had to do was to hold out for the arrival ofBonaparte. To the extent of this conviction is to be attributed thewide disparity between the feeling displayed by the military and thetownsfolk.
The latter, unsustained by hope, without one spark of speculation tocheer their gloomy destiny, starved, and sickened, and died in masses.The very requirements of discipline were useful in averting thedespondent vacuity which comes of hunger. Of the sanguine confidence ofthe soldiery in the coming of their comrades, I was to witness a strongillustration on the very day of which I have been speaking.
It was about four o'clock in the afternoon, the weather had been heavyand overcast, and the heat excessive, so that all who were free fromduty had either lain down to sleep, or were quietly resting withindoors, when a certain stir and movement in the streets, a rare eventduring the hours of the siesta, drew many a head to the windows. Thereport ran, and like wildfire it spread through the city, that theadvanced guard of Bonaparte had reached Ronco that morning, and werealready in march on Genoa. Although nobody could trace this story toany direct source, each believed and repeated it; the tale growing moreconsistent and fuller at every repetition. I need not weary my readerwith all the additions and corrections the narrative received, norrecount how now it was Moreau with the right wing of the army of theRhine; now it was Kellermann's brigade; now it was Macdonald, who hadpassed the Ticino; and last of all, Bonaparte. The controversy wasoften even an angry one, when, finally, all speculation was met by theofficial report, that all that was known lay in the simple fact, thatheavy guns had been heard that morning, near Ronco, and as the Austriansheld no position with artillery there, the firing must needs be French.
This very bare announcement was, of course, a great 'come down' for allthe circumstantial detail with which we had been amusing ourselves andeach other, but yet it nourished hope, and the hope that was nearest toall our hearts, too! The streets were soon filled; officers and soldiershastily dressed, and with many a fault of costume were allcommingled, exchanging opinions, resolving doubts, and even bandyingcongratulations. The starved and hungry faces were lighted up with anexpression of savage glee. It was like the last flickering gleam ofpassion in men whose whole vitality was the energy of fever! The heavydebt they owed their enemy was at last to be paid, and all the insultinginjury of a besieged and famine-stricken garrison to be avenged. Asurging movement in the crowd told that some event had occurred; itwas Massena and his staff, who were proceeding to a watch-tower in thebastion, from whence a wide range of country could be seen. This wasreassuring. The general himself entertained the story, and here wasproof that there was 'something in it.' All the population now madefor the walls; every spot from which the view towards Ronco couldbe obtained was speedily crowded, every window filled, and all thehousetops crammed. A dark mass of inky cloud covered the tops of theApennines, and even descended to some distance down the sides. With whatshapes and forms of military splendour did our imaginations people thespace behind that sombre curtain! What columns of stern warriors, whatprancing squadrons, what earth-shaking masses of heavy artillery! Howlongingly each eye grew weary watching--waiting for the veil to be rent,and the glancing steel to be seen glistening bright in the sun-rays!
As if to torture our anxieties, the lowering mass grew darker andheavier, and, rolling lazily adown the mountain, it filled up thevalley, wrapping earth and sky in one murky mantle.
'There, did you hear that?' cried one; 'that was artillery.'
A pause followed, each ear was bent to listen, and not a word wasuttered for full a minute or more; the immense host, as if swayed bythe one impulse, strained to catch the sounds, when suddenly, from thedirection of the mountain top, there came a rattling, crashing noise,followed by the dull, deep booming that every soldier's heart respondsto What a cheer then burst forth! never did I hear--never may Ihear--such a cry as that was; it was like the wild yell of a shipwreckedcrew, as some distant sail hove in sight; and yet, through its cadence,there rang the mad lust for vengeance! Yes, in all the agonies ofsinking strength, with fever in their hearts, and the death sweat ontheir cheeks, their cry was Blood! The puny shout, for such it seemednow, was drowned in the deafening crash that now was heard; peal afterpeal shook the air, the same rattling, peppering noise of musketrycontinuing through all.
That the French were in strong force, as well as the enemy, there couldnow be no doubt. Nothing but a serious affair and a stubborn resistancecould warrant such a fire. It had every semblance of an attack with allarms. The roar of the heavy guns made the air vibrate, and the clatterof small-arms was incessant. How each of us filled up the picture fromthe impulses of his own fancy! Some said that the French were stillbehind the mountain, and storming the heights of the Borghetto; othersthought that they had gained the summit, but not _en force_, and wereonly contesting their position there; and a few, more sanguine, of whomI was one myself, imagined that they were driving the Austrians down theApennines, cleaving their ranks, as they went, with their artillery.
Each new crash, every momentary change of direction of the sounds,favoured this opinion or that, and the excitement of partisanship roseto an immense height. What added indescribably to the interest of thescene, was a group of Austrian officers on horseback, who, in theireagerness to obtain tidings, had ridden beyond their lines, and werenow standing almost within musket range of us. We could see that theirtelescopes were turned to the eventful spot, and we gloried to think ofthe effect the scene must have been producing on them.
'They've seen enough!' cried one of our fellows, laughing, while hepointed to the horsemen, who, suddenly wheeling about, galloped back totheir camp at full speed.
'You 'll have the drums beat to arms now; there's little time to lose.Our cuirassiers will soon be upon them,' cried another, in ecstasy.
'No, but the rain will, and upon us, too,' said Giorgio, who hadnow come up; 'don't you see that it's not a battle yonder, it's a_burrasca_. There it comes.' And as if the outstretched finger of thedwarf had been the wand of a magician, the great cloud was suddenly tornopen with a crash, and the rain descended like a deluge, swept along bya hurricane wind, and came in vast sheets of water, while high over ourheads, and moving onward towards the sea, growled the distant thunder.The great mountain was now visible from base to summit, but not asoldier, not a gun, to be seen! Swollen and yellow, the gushing torrentsleaped madly from crag to crag, and crashing trees, and falling rocks,added their wild sounds to the tumult.
There we stood, mute and sorrow-struck, regardless of the seething rain,unconscious of anything save our disappointment. The hope we built uponhad left us, and the dreary scene of storm around seemed but a type ofour own future! And yet we could not turn away, but with eyes strainedand aching, gazed at the spot from where our succour should have come.
I looked up at the watch-tower, and there was Massena still, his armsfolded, on a battlement; he seemed to be deep in thought. At lasthe arose, and, drawing his cloak across his face, descended thewinding-stair outside the tower. His step was slow, and more than oncehe halted, as if to think. When he reached the walls, he walked rapidlyon, his suite following him.
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br /> 'Ah, Monsieur Tiernay,' said he, as he passed me, 'you know what anApennine storm is now; but it will cool the air and give us deliciousweather'; and so he passed on with an easy smile.
Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune Page 36