This delay had been unfortunate, and thereafter we pressed on as fast as the difficulties of the path would permit. The night was speeding, and the fate of the French army depended upon our swiftness. The day must be an enemy if the Emperor were not discovered.
This was all very well, but we knew no more than the dead how far from Bobr we then stood; nor did the young Jew who guided us. Indeed, it dawned upon me after a time that he himself was lost, and knew the way no better than we. This was a terrible reflection, and led me to the bitterest reproaches upon them both. I swore that they should be shot if they had played us false; to which the woman answered bravely enough, while the man whined an excuse which led me to doubt him more than ever. The road must be across the wide ravine which we were then entering, he declared. There was a bridle path through the thicket, and that would lead us out to the high road to Bobr. So much he said, and so little did the facts justify him.
We had now come to a wide pit, deep in snow and everywhere surrounded by the forest. Even the path by which we entered it was difficult to trace once we had been caught in the trap. And so we went, round and round, the horses often up to their girths and Isidore to his neck in the half-melted slush. Half an hour of it found the brutes exhausted and we at the end of our tether. The night had been lost, and, perhaps, the army with it. Never have I known a greater chagrin than overtook me at such an hour. To have been entrusted with so great a thing and to have failed! Good God! what a reckoning when next we came before His Majesty!
All this was black in the mind when the day began to dawn and a wan glimmer of chilly light to break above the white foreground of the frozen trees.
The young Jew, who had been weeping bitterly, recovered his composure when the day broke, and, seeming to recollect himself, he declared that a shrine in the wood was the landmark, and that if we could but detect it the road also would be regained. Perhaps he would have proved a false prophet after all, but for the distant blare of a bugle, and upon it the echo of rifle-shots far away down the valley. This immediately indicated to us that we looked towards the south, and another ten minutes had not passed when madame clapped her hands and declared that she espied the shrine in a clearing of the trees.
Rarely can a mistake have been redeemed with such tragic irony as upon this fatal morning. We had lost the way and had found it—alas, too late!
It was a safe passage thereafter, and one of which I remember little. The forest became less dense from league to league, and ultimately showed us the great white plains we knew so well. Even from afar the black bodies of our dead were to be discerned. We knew that this was the road to Bobr, and, as our guides declared, that we stood barely a league from the hamlet itself.
Of the Jews we had now no further need, and paying them the money we had promised, we set spurs to our jaded horses and rode on at a gallop. The last I saw of Isidore and the woman showed them quarrelling over the money at the wood's edge; and this was just what one would have expected them to be doing. We had almost forgotten their existence when, some half an hour later, we set eyes upon the whitened spires and low walls of the picturesque town of Bobr. The Emperor was there, and to him we must give an account of our stewardship.
God knows it was with no fair prospect that we entered the place at the moment when the army was waking to hear the fatal news.
I say it was with no fair prospect, and yet there is an after-word. Hardly were we in the main street of the place when we heard the clatter of horses' hoofs ahead of us, and presently we perceived a young hussar coming down the street at a canter.
"Good God!" cried Léon. "It's Valerie!"
I stared with all my eyes.
"Valerie, by all that's wonderful! Then she has followed us after all, and herself has carried the news to the Emperor. Thank God for that."
He admitted the truth of it with a sigh.
"We shall look the biggest fools in Russia to-day," said he.
But that I doubted.
"She is a woman," said I, "and—well, you are the best judge of what she has done. I will wager a hundred louis that she has not said a word of our failure."
He seemed to think it possible. Valerie herself had now drawn rein before the door of a considerable house, and there she waited for us to come up.
The news that the Russians had cut the bridge across the Bérézina came as a thunderclap to the army.
We had believed that we had only to cross that fatal river to find ourselves immediately in a land overflowing with milk and honey. We never thought of the long leagues lying between ourselves and the city of Paris, or remembered that this dreadful Russian winter had but just begun. Food and shelter lay beyond the river, we thought—so little did we know.
Then the news came that the Cossacks of the south had cut the bridge. The men said that we were caught like rats in a trap. Our generals were hourly in consultation. None could declare with truth that he had now any real hope of escaping death or the horrors of a Russian prison.
It was at this crisis of our fate that the good fortune befell me of being of some personal service to the army and to His Majesty.
We had advanced a stage upon the road to the Bérézina, and in the middle of the night of November 20th we arrived at the town of Borisoff. The Emperor's quarters were in a country mansion near the town. I myself, with Léon and Valerie St. Antoine, took refuge in a mean house occupied by the priest of the place, and, having eaten a little black bread and boiled a handful of rice (all the poor fellow could offer us), we lay about his stove to sleep.
For the others this proved easy enough. No sooner had they laid their heads upon the sheepskins which the holy father provided for us, than their deep breathing responded to the measure of their fatigue. For myself, however, there was no such refuge. I could not sleep a wink despite my weariness. Beyond that, strange visions tormented me even when awake. For this, the doom which threatened the remnant of that once great army may have been responsible. I believed that I should never see my country again—and God only knows what that meant to one who had suffered so much.
Such was my condition when I heard someone tapping faintly upon the door of the priest's house, and then a sound of weeping. A common instinct of self-preservation should have made me callous, for those were the days when a man would have denied meat to his own brother—yet, whether it were the hour of the night or the despair of our situation, I know not—but, rising immediately, I took the rushlight in my hand and opened to the unknown.
The new-comer was dressed from head to foot in the fur of the silver fox, and had a grey woollen shawl about her head. I have rarely seen a more beautiful face upon a child or eyes so sorrowful.
Apparently of fourteen years of age or thereabouts, I perceived at once that she was of noble birth, while the sweetness of her voice was beyond words. Weeping upon the threshold, she ceased to weep directly she had entered the room, and, drawing herself up with a dignity worthy of her race, she told me that her name was Joan d'Izambert, and begged me to come immediately to the help of her brother, who was dying.
This was an astonishing request, and I could not forbear a question.
"Mademoiselle," I asked, "who is your brother, and what brought you to this house?"
She replied immediately that her brother was Gabriel d'Izambert, one of thepontonniers, and that he had been sent to the river by General Roguet. From this excursion I understood that the young man had returned in a state of delirium, and was now lying in an arbour of a garden close by.
"Sergeant Picard sent me to you," she explained. "He knows my brother well, and said that you would come. Oh, monsieur, we have suffered so much, and now there is this. Will you not help me?"
I told her that I would go. For another, perchance, I would not have stirred a foot that night; but there was so much in the child's manner—a gift to command and a nobility of mien which were remarkable—that I put on my great fur coat without more ado, and went down to the garden with her. It lay, perhaps, a hundred paces from the house which we occupied, and was attached to a considerable mansion, of which General Roguet and his staff had then taken possession.
The arbour itself proved to be a spacious summer-house, matted and thatched, and provided with a stove, in which a good fire had been kindled. I was presented immediately to a distinguished old gentleman, well advanced in years, but still wearing a uniform of the engineers. He told me in a word that he had followed his son as far as Smolensk upon our outward journey, and there had waited for the army's return.
"His mother was with us then," he said—and so he indicated that his wife had perished during these dreadful days.
The son himself—a fine young man of noble presence—lay upon the floor by the stove, wrapped in a bearskin coat, but plainly the victim of delirium. I found him in a burning fever, his pulse running high, and his cheeks gone scarlet. He raved incessantly of the river and the bridge, and of the Russians who had hunted us.
It was no new thing to hear a man talk thus at a moment when the army perished by tens of thousands; but the spectacle of this bare place, and the glowing stove, and the stricken old man, and the child that was left to him, touched me beyond words, and I promised him immediately all the help that lay in my power.
"Yet, God knows," I exclaimed, "that is little enough, for we are all likely to be in a Russian prison to-morrow. You know, sir," I said, turning to him, "that the bridge is down and the army trapped."
"The bridge is down," he cried, "but another may be built. Save my son, major, and you may yet save France."
I had no idea of his meaning. If I thought of it at all, it was to remind myself that this family had suffered much, and that the father's talk might be little more rational than the son's at such a moment. Bidding the child run back to the house I had quitted, and thence bring my nephew and my case of instruments, I assured the old gentleman that I would do my best and that he might count upon me. The young man, meanwhile, did not cease to rave in a voice which was most distressing to hear, and, catching me by the hand as I bent over him, he implored me, for God's sake, to let the Emperor know immediately. When I, however, asked him for a message he could give me none. "The bridge!" he would cry, and repeat the words a hundred times. His very frenzy was a terrible thing to see.
My nephew and Mademoiselle Valerie returned to the arbour with the child anon, being anxious as to my whereabouts. Léon was frankly disgusted with the whole business, and would have had me return to the house immediately.
"There are a thousand worse than this man for every league you march," said he. "Really, mon oncle, this is no time for sentiment."
In her turn, Valerie told him to be silent, and seemed really concerned at the misfortunes of the unhappy family.
"I know them well," she said to me. "The mother is a relative of the Duke de Melun, and old General d'Izambert often came to my father's house. Imagine the madness which brought such old people to Russia because their boy was going!"
I rejoined that it was the kind of madness which had become common in France during recent years. And this was the truth, for many a family had gone out merely because sons or brothers were there. It was clear that an unusual bond of affection united these brave people, and that the memory of the dead mother provoked a sentiment very real. Father and daughter alike watched me with pitiful eyes while I bled the youngpontonnier, and they hastened to obey me when I commanded them to melt snow in a cup and to give him a cooling drink.
"I will speak to General Roguet at dawn," said I. "You shall find a place for him in the house. God alone knows whether any of us will be here to help you then; it depends upon his fellows. If there is no ford discovered in the next twenty-four hours, the river is shut to us, and the army is lost. You, monsieur, know that as well as I."
He assented, looking at me with grave eyes.
"Major," he said very solemnly, "there is a ford. My son discovered it this day."
The news astounded me.
"Good God!" said I. "You are speaking the truth?"
"Look at me, major. Would I lie to you?"
"Then the Emperor knows. You have told him, monsieur?"
He shook his head.
"Swear by Almighty God that you will not desert us, and I will name the place to you," he said.
I knew not what to say to him—the dilemma was beyond all words. If I pledged myself to these people, then truly must I be a prisoner in Russia. If I did not pledge myself, the army was lost.
"But," I cried, "there is my regiment—my duty, Monsieur d'Izambert."
It was then that Valerie spoke.
"Go," she said to Léon, pointing to the door; "let the Emperor know. I will stay with these people."
Here was an astonishing turn, and one little looked for.
The idea of this dashing girl, clad in her hussar uniform, yet womanly beyond compare, the idea of her becoming the guardian of the sick man at first astounded and then delighted Monsieur d'Izambert. Helpless and infirm himself, the companion of a mere child caught in the toils of suffering, he responded warmly to such a pledge and thanked her most graciously.
The boy himself had now sunk into a kind of coma, and there were moments when I thought he was dead. Meanwhile, Léon did not return, and we waited in the silence of the night for the alarm which must presently attend the momentous tidings. When it came, it was as though the whole army woke upon the dawn of a feast-day. Bugles blared; a babel of voices arose in the street; the wagons of the engineers went through at a gallop; lights appeared in every house. Anon you heard men calling the news from door to door. A ford had been discovered; the army would cross the Bérézina this day.
So they said, and such was my own belief. The youngpontonnierhad given the clearest directions to old Monsieur d'Izambert before the fever overtook him, and these, marked upon his map, had gone to head-quarters. Nothing remained to be done that our engineers could not do. They would bridge the shallow stream, and the remnant of the six hundred thousand would pass over. I reflected that I should not be among them. The promise that Valerie had given bound me no less than her. Impossible to leave her here in this God-forsaken hamlet, with a sick man for her charge and a veteran of threescore years for her bodyguard. She had pledged herself to stay, and I must stand by her. It seemed to me, then, that our liberty, if not our lives, depended upon the youth, who lay alternately burning with fever and shivering with cold upon the boards at our feet. His death would have set us free. I say it with truth that neither she nor I desired freedom at such a price.
You will have understood that it was day by this time.
The bruit of alarm was still to be heard in the street before the house where the remnants of the army pressed on headlong towards the river. I did not suppose that we should be left to ourselves, we who possessed the precious secret of the ford, and in this I was not mistaken. Many from head-quarters came down to General Roguet's house when daylight appeared, and it must have been a little after eight o'clock when the Emperor himself strode into the arbour and demanded to see Gabriel d'Izambert.
I had not been unprepared for this, and be sure I made haste to explain the situation to His Majesty.
"Sire," I said, "the young man is overtaken by a fever, caught in the river yesterday. It will probably be but a passing attack, but meanwhile his father knows all that your Majesty should know, and you will find him very much at your service. He has at the moment gone to the house yonder in quest of necessaries; but there is one here with whom you are acquainted and whom you will not be displeased to meet again under such circumstances."
With this I presented Mademoiselle Valerie to him, and he greeted her very warmly. The youngpontonnierwas still asleep, and it seemed idle to wake him. Nevertheless, the Emperor insisted, with his usual impetuosity, and nothing would content him but an immediate audience of this unhappy Gabriel. Judge of my astonishment when, upon being awakened, the lad seemed in possession of his normal faculties and ready to answer as though he were fresh from a healthy sleep.
"The ford is below Studianka," he said, with a warmth of feeling which betrayed an ardent loyalty. "It is four miles above the old bridge, your Majesty, and, should the river remain as it is, the engineers could cross it before nightfall. I beg you now to let me accompany you, for I am quite well again."
And then he said, lifting pathetic eyes which betrayed his youthful earnestness, "Your Majesty will not refuse me this last favour?"
Such was his request, which won an immediate assent from the Emperor. The lives of a hundred thousand men may have depended upon this youth's loyalty, and who would count the loss of his life if thereby the army could pass over? Not I, certainly—nor His Majesty, who never stood at a sentiment where his own interests were concerned. Half an hour had not elapsed when Gabriel d'Izambert had been lifted into one of the baggage wagons, and we had all set out for the Bérézina.
Put briefly, it was a race where life or death was the stake. If we could neither ford nor bridge the river by nightfall, assuredly was the Grand Army lost. There was not a man amongst us who did not know as much as we drew near to the fatal scene and set eyes for the first time upon those waters which had baffled us. Had the river risen during the night, or should we find it as Gabriel d'Izambert had found it yesterday? The lad himself put the question a hundred times as we tramped by the side of the wagon, and descended at length toward that gloomy Styx which was so soon to be the scene of our overwhelming desolation.
Naturally, I considered myself released at this time from my understanding with the old gentleman. He, however, was of no such opinion, and, with an anxiety very natural under the circumstances, he reminded me frequently of the undertaking.
"You will not leave us, major," he said. "We are so very helpless, and you see what is about to happen to my son. We cannot leave him, and, if the bridge be built, naturally the army will be the first to cross. Remember what you have promised me, and let it be an honourable understanding between us."
It was difficult to answer such an appeal, and, for that matter, a greater anxiety concerning the state of the river led me to dismiss it lightly. What mattered it whether we crossed early or late if the army could be saved and the honour of France upheld? These thoughts were in my mind when, at length, the Bérézina came into view and all that gloomy panorama was unrolled before our wistful eyes. Let me tell you of this that you may understand more fully the calamity which subsequently overtook us.
As we first saw it, the Bérézina did not appear to be a formidable river. It ran beneath a sky heavy with cloud and through a marsh, of which the thaws of recent days had made nothing but a treacherous bog.
When it first came into view there were some thousands of the Fusiliers and Chasseurs of the Guard encamped upon its eastern bank. A drizzle of snow fell, and it was clear that the waters of the river had begun to flow with some rapidity. Little waves lapped the marshy shore; great blocks of ice went careering here and there as though they were monstrous fish at play. The wind moaned dismally and the damp searched our very bones.
Of shelter there was none, save that of a few miserable huts upon the hillside and of a low farmhouse, which the general's staff now occupied. Luckily for us, we took possession of one of the former, and there I left Valerie with Monsieur d'Izambert and his daughter, while I myself rode on to the river to get what tidings I could. These, to be sure, were not of ill-omen, and the fact that they were not so is to be set down to the bravery of the gallant fellows who were then working for our salvation.
Never in all the story of a retreat can there be a more glorious page written than that which told of our ownpontonnierson this famous day of November.
Let me tell you in brief words that, despite the bitter cold, the snow which beat upon their faces and the icy water of the river, they plunged boldly into the stream, and stood there, often working up to their necks, that the bridge which should save the army might be built. The feat has been made light of by subsequent writers; yet here I bear witness that a nobler thing was never done, nor any task achieved so heroically in all the years of His Majesty's victories.
Imagine it, my friends, and think upon our situation.
We knew that the Russians were to the north and the south of us. The ancient bridge below Borisoff had been cut. If we could not ford this icy stream, then death or the horrors of a Russian prison awaited us. Our one hope was this determined band of ten, who offered their own lives upon the altar of our safety and plunged into the river that they might win it for us.
Hour by hour we watched them with feverish eyes. Even the Emperor came down to the place, and with his own hand served wine to those heroes who were winning life for him. One by one the pontoons were moored, and the gap between the coveted shores made narrower.
To me it seemed as though it were a race between Fate and the fortunes of France. I saw the river rising every hour; the moaning wind became a dreadful thing to hear as the day waxed and waned. And ever through the terrible hours the snow fell pitilessly and the ice gathered and crashed in the torrent which lashed the pontoons.
Would our fellows win by nightfall, or was all indeed lost? I answered the question for myself when, at sunset, the triumphant cries of the fusiliers announced that a communication with the opposite shore was established, and I saw the Guard ride over, their trumpets blaring and their eagles proudly proclaiming their victory.
A few minutes later I myself rode over the bridge, and immediately rode back again. It was something to feel that the devilish stream was conquered and the fruits of brave men's toil reaped to the full. Alas, how little I knew of what was to come after or of the slaughter which must attend the unspeakable morrow!
I have told you that I crossed the bridge and immediately recrossed it. This was upon an order of General Roguet himself, who told me that every surgeon would be needed upon the other side to help the sick across, and that I must rejoin our own company of Vélites as quickly as might be. It had never been in my head to desert old Monsieur d'Izambert and his daughter, and I sought them out directly I had recrossed to the eastern bank. My nephew was with them at this time, but Gabriel d'Izambert had not yet returned from the river, nor did any know his whereabouts. Naturally, we hoped that he had gone across with the Fusiliers of the Guard, but the old gentleman refused to believe that he had done so, and was already determined to spend the night in the shepherd's hut. Here he was well enough, and, for that matter, I thought we had all done wisely to camp where we were rather than to find an open bivouac on the farther shore.
That this was the general opinion the scene upon our side of the river quickly made manifest. Far to the north and south of the twin bridges which thepontonniershad now erected were the bivouac fires and the camps of the gathered remnants. Baggage wagons began to roll up, and their attendants to gather in hundreds, eyeing the dismal waters and promising to cross at dawn. No one seemed to think that there was any hurry or that it mattered where he slept to-night. In truth, I think the army believed that a great moral victory had already been won, and that the end of its sufferings was at hand. Let them but cross the river, and the fair fields of France would beckon them. Again I say that they had forgotten the bitter leagues which lay between them and liberty.
My own duty at this time was to see to the sick of our own regiment, and to provide for their crossing. Here I found willing helpers. We collected the wagons with their unhappy burdens, and drew them up as near to the river as we dared. Why they were not sent across that night, I cannot tell you. When I recall the precious hours that we wasted, the solitude of the bridges, and the miracle of the opportunity, it seems to me that no words can describe truly the magnitude of that blunder. Yet there it was, and so at length we slept during the long hours of storm and darkness. When we awoke the Russians were upon the hills about us, and their shells were already thundering upon our bivouac. God, what an awakening for men who had hoped so much!
The sound of cannon broke in upon our sleep a little after the hour of dawn.
We had made a comfortable bivouac in the hut, and were all dozing in the straw which covered its floor, when the earth about us began to tremble, and everyone started up to realise the dread alarm.
It chanced that I was lying cheek by jowl with Valerie St. Antoine, and that we were the first of them all to run into the open and ascertain the truth. It needed but a single glance at the hills and the river to tell us that story in all its menace.
It was just light at this time—a colder morning than that of yesterday, with a clearer heaven. As the clouds of night rolled away, the black figures of the Cossacks upon the hills were clearly to be discerned, while the smoke of their cannon drifted slowly upon the still air and hovered above the swirling river. It was plain that a considerable force had come up in the night, and, having discovered our intention, began immediately to fire upon the bridges. We could see their cannon-balls plumping into the water, striking the floes of driving ice, or even rending the frail pontoons which our engineers had moored with such difficulty. And while they did this a cry of horror ran from end to end of our own encampment—the cries of those who believed that delay had undone them, and that they were betrayed.
From every camp fire now, from the shelter of puny huts and caves dug out of the earth, from wagons and tents, there appeared a stream of men and women, too, camp followers who mingled with the soldiery and cursed or entreated as the mood dictated.
Standing upon a knoll not a hundred paces from the bridge, Mademoiselle Valerie and I were soon enveloped by these pitiful creatures, who ran to and fro like driven sheep, and had lost what little wit they had possessed. It was a dreadful thing to see women of all ages, with the tears streaming down their faces, their hair unkempt and their dress but a tatter of rags, throwing themselves at the feet of officers as helpless as they, and begging instantly to be escorted across the bridge. Yet such was the scene into which I was now plunged, and such the disorderly mob with which the remnant of the army had to deal. As for ourselves, it did not seem very much to matter what we did.
Mademoiselle Valerie, as imperturbable as ever, addressed words of comfort to the unhappy people and begged them to be patient.
"The soldiers will protect you," she said; and, God knows, how much I wished that the boast could be made good.
We, however, were as helpless as they, and, when we found ourselves alone, the truth was not to be concealed.
"They will destroy the bridge, Monsieur Constant," she said; "and what then? Is there anyone here who can tell us what to do?"
I rejoined that wiser heads would have told us last night, and reminded her that we had the old man and the child to think of.
"The bridge must be crossed at any cost," said I. "Convince the old gentleman of that, and we will set out immediately. It is idle to stop here on the supposition that his son will return. Do you not see yourself how unreasonable it is?"
She agreed with me, and returned immediately to the hut. Unfortunately, we had to deal with the obstinacy of a father to whom the only son was all that mattered in this world. Monsieur d'Izambert refused to move a step until the youngpontonnierhad returned. Nor would he hear of our escorting his daughter across the river.
"We will cross together," he said, "or we will not cross at all. My daughter would wish it, major. How would it help her to return to France when those dear to her remain the prisoners of this unhappy country? You do not know what you are asking me—to leave my only son; it is impossible."
I saw that nothing would convince him, and taking Valerie aside, I told her as much.
"It will be a case of sauve qui peut," said I. "We are under no obligation to these people, and why should we perish because of them? Come with me now, and, if it is possible to do so, I will recross the river later in the day. I pledge my word upon that. But, mademoiselle," said I, "it is madness for you to listen to them."
She shook her head, smiling in the old, alluring way.
"It has all been madness," she exclaimed; and that was as true a thing as ever she said.
"We shall stand a better chance to-night, Monsieur Constant, than now, when there are so many on the bridge," she continued. "Let us wait upon our opportunity. Surely you would not attempt the passage at this moment?" And she pointed to the bridges, thronged already by a terrified mob, and pounded by the cannon of the Russians.
My answer to this was a shrug of the shoulders, for no other seemed possible.
Any man who was at the Bérézina will understand the terror and pity of the scene I now witnessed and the helplessness of any Frenchman who stood upon the eastern bank of the cursed river.
As a hail of death, the shells and the bullets of the Russians poured down upon the terror-stricken fugitives. Dreadful cries arose. So great was the press upon the pontoons that hundreds of our people were thrust headlong into the swirling waters, hundreds of the weak crushed beneath the feet of the stronger. All huddled together—wagons driven over living men, cavalry hewing their way with swords, the cries of cantinières, women and children screaming for pity—all, I say, pressed on in that mad quest of shelter which was to be offered to so few.
Soon the river was black with the bodies of the drowned. I saw wretched creatures clinging to the ice-floes or the pontoons of the bridge; some fighting as devils for a foothold upon the narrow way; others too weak to struggle as the strong thrust them aside and the black water enveloped them. Wisely indeed had Valerie insisted upon delay. Yet it was a melancholy thing to reflect that even an hour before the day had dawned we might all have passed over in safety and set out upon our way to the Paris of our dreams.
I shall not weary you with any undue recital of the horrors of that unnameable day. From dawn to dusk the slaughter continued. It was a tragic moment indeed when the Russians at length destroyed the greater bridge, and with it a regiment of cavalry of the Guard then passing over. This was quite early in the day, and thereafter the scenes upon the pontoons became beyond all words awful to witness. Even the bravest were as helpless as children in that terriblelutte pour la vie. I remember, about one o'clock in the afternoon, riding down to the water's edge with my old friend Gros-Jean of the Vélites, and watching the frantic endeavour that most courageous of men made to cross the bridge, despite my entreaties. Alas! he had but plunged into the medley when a Cuirassier of the Guard thrust him down, and he, in turn, clinging to his aggressor's cloak, they rolled headlong on to a great floe of ice, and were presently engulfed with the thousands the insatiable waters already had claimed. Who in the face of such scenes would have advised a woman and an old man to dare the transit? Not I, in truth, whatever the cost.
The miseries of our own situation will now be perceived by all. We had refrained from crossing upon a quixotic impulse, and it seemed that our sacrifice had cost us our liberty if not our lives. Hour by hour the Cossacks were drawing nearer, their fire becoming more terrible and their hosts more plainly to be seen. Night must find them down upon us, or we ourselves but units amidst the maddened people who fought like wild beasts for a foothold on the bridge. Even old Monsieur d'Izambert began to perceive the folly of it as the day waxed and waned, and vainly he waited for the son who did not return.
"We should have crossed," he said; "Gabriel must have gone with the Emperor."
So much I believed to be the truth until about the hour of five o'clock, when to our great astonishment the youngpontonnierhimself appeared at the hut, and carried that dire intelligence which was all that was needed to consummate our despair.
"I am to blow up the bridge," he said. "It is by the Emperor's orders. We must save the army; the others must perish."
We did not answer him. To such had our mistaken folly led us. It was death or the Russian prison indeed; there could be no alternative.
You will see the nature of the difficulty which now confronted us.
It was almost certain death to venture upon the bridge; the alternative meant that we faced the Cossacks and accepted grace at their hands.
To myself, an old soldier who had served His Majesty so many years, it mattered little now what befell me. So much had I suffered, so bitter had been the days, that any shelter—even that of a prison, in which I could eat and sleep—would have been a welcome harbourage from this march of death.
But for Valerie St. Antoine, she who had carried herself so bravely during the terrible weeks, she who had served France with such valour and loyalty—that she should become the prisoner and the victim of these devils, was indeed the last calamity. What to say to her in the face of the Emperor's order I knew not. The bridge must be destroyed to save His Majesty. Would she deny the necessity of that?
These thoughts were in my mind when I took her aside and questioned her as to the course we should pursue. To my astonishment I found that she herself had already debated the question, and that her mind was made up.
"We must swim the river, Monsieur Constant," she said; "you and I. Let Joan go with us. Monsieur d'Izambert will not leave his son. I do not blame him, but now we must think of ourselves."
It was a bold response, and yet I will not say that I had not thought of it.
From time to time during the hours of the day's agony I had seen intrepid cavalry men go down to the swirling Bérézina, and boldly put their horses to the water. Few who did so had lived. Some were struck by Russian bullets, and died in the saddle. The horses of others, overcome by the cold, sank without warning, and dragged their masters with them. A few gained the marsh upon the opposite shore, and either breasted it or ended their sufferings there. All this we had witnessed together, and yet, as Valerie said, it was the only way—the river or the prison! Do you wonder that our choice was soon made?
We returned to the hut, and, taking Monsieur d'Izambert aside, I put the alternatives to him.
"Your son," said I, "is a very noble fellow. Be sure, monsieur, that his name will not be forgotten when the story of this day is told. The command which has been given him is a very great compliment. No doubt he will be clever enough to save himself when he has done his duty; but we must now save ourselves. It would be a madman's task to attempt to cross the bridge at such a time. There is only one way, and it is that which Mademoiselle Valerie and I propose to take."
And then I told him of our intention to swim the river.
"Your daughter," said I, "may go upon my saddle-bow. If you yourself have a mind for the venture, I will find you a horse quickly enough. The decision must rest with you. We have no time to lose, for the river is rising every hour. If you decide to remain here, being a civilian and a non-combatant, I doubt if the Russians will trouble you. That, monsieur, is for you to say. I will save your daughter if I can; the rest is in the hands of God."
He was much distressed, but he did not fail to perceive the realities of the situation. His love for his son touched me deeply, and when he declared that he would remain with Gabriel, I could not gainsay him.
"Save Joan," he said, putting both his hands into mine. "If the time should ever come that we meet again in Paris, I will never forget this day, Major Constant. I am an old man, and it can matter little to me now—but the child has all her life before her."
I thought it a wise resolution, and told him as much.
"We will wait for you on the other side," said I, though in my heart I doubted it I should ever see him there. Then, bidding him be of good courage, and taking a cordial farewell of his son, I set out immediately.
Valerie awaited me on the brink of the river. Her black charger appeared to be as fresh as though he had left his stable at Moscow but yesterday; her uniform of hussars was as trim and well kept as any good soldier might have desired. As for little Joan, the tale we had told her was one which a child would not question. We were to carry her across the river, and her father and brother would follow presently in the baggage wagons. She believed us with a child's faith, and, being drawn up upon the saddle before me, she asked when we would cross the bridge. Then I told her the truth.
"You see for yourself," said I, "what a dreadful place the bridge now is. We are going to swim the river, ma petite, and in that way we shall cheat the Russians. Now, cling to me with both your arms, and do not mind what happens. Why should you be afraid?"
She told me very proudly that she was not, and, calling to Valerie, I put my horse at the water.
The place might have been some twenty yards from the first pontoon, and for awhile the good beast which carried me found ground for his feet. In those moments I could see how wise we had been to prefer the hazard of the water to that of the bridge. Such a scene as was then taking place upon that frail structure has surely never been witnessed in all the story of His Majesty's wars.
Pell-mell upon it went wagons and cannon and the terrified camp-followers. Horsemen cut their way as though sabreing an enemy; women screamed with terror; the strong were dragged down with the weak; men trampled one another under foot without a thought of mercy. The number of the dead and dying no man might estimate, and over these the living crawled as they could, the Russian shells falling ceaselessly amidst them, and the deadly bullets finding many a billet.
All this I beheld as in some swift vision of horror, from which the eyes turned almost with gratitude to the fetid waters about me. The swirling torrent, the crashing of the ice-floes, the bobbing corpses everywhere but fostered that pursuit of safety which now grew upon me as a fever. I must win the opposite shore, I said, or all were lost. Let me but set foot upon those black slopes which were the goal of my desire and all were won by this supreme endeavour. It was easy to be said, but how remote the hope of it!
I should tell you that the darkness had now come down, and with it a return of the bitter cold.
I had caught the child up with my left arm, and, giving the good horse his head, I felt the water strike me suddenly with a deadly chill, and heard Joan's shrill cry of horror as at length the current caught us and we were swept away into the vortex of the river.
Now, indeed, we stood face to face with Death and felt his icy hand upon us.
The screams of the dying upon the bridge, the thunder of the cannon, the moaning of the bullets—all were lesser sounds than that of the crashing ice and the roaring torrent as it threatened to engulf us. What had become of Valerie St. Antoine I knew not. It seemed to me that I had been carried in an instant from human enemies to wage a combat with Nature omnipotent, before which I must perish. The chill of the water, the freezing wind, the sleet which beat upon my face were the weapons with which this pitiless enemy would have conquered me. Nothing but the instincts of the gallant brute stood between me and the watery grave so many had found. On he pressed and on, fighting as a human thing for the life no less precious to him than to us. I saw dead men's eyes looking up at me from the black torrent; human arms, outstretched but lifeless, touched my flesh and set the child shrieking with terror. The shells fell about us and the foam was as a blinding fountain in our eyes. Yet ever the coveted shore seemed more distant, the sounds of human strife yet farther away, the world gone clean from our knowledge. It is here, then, said I to myself, that Janil de Constant must die. God knows that I would have welcomed death if it could have come quickly.
Such were the episodes of that fateful crossing, through which the mercy of the Almighty alone brought us safely.
I had given up all hope, when a sudden staggering of the horse, a cry from Joan, and another shout of triumph from the bank itself bade me look up and understand the wonder of the moment. We had touched the shore—that shore of all our dreams, and found a footing there. Valerie herself, the water running from her boots, but her eyes triumphant and her arms outstretched, welcomed us with a woman's laughter and claimed the victory.
We had crossed the Bérézina! The horrors of the bridge were done with for ever; we were amid our comrades, and yonder beyond the forgotten leagues stood Paris and our homes.