Moreau was about this time a man thirty-seven years of age, and, with Hoche, the only man who could dispute with Bonaparte—in reputation at least, if not in fortune.
He had at this time just joined an association, which later became a conspiracy, which lasted from 1797 to 1809, when it became extinct at the death of General Oudot, the head of the society, which was called the Philadelphiles. In this society he was known as Fabius, in memory of the famous Roman general who conquered Hannibal by temporizing.
Therefore Moreau was known as the Temporizer.
Unfortunately, temporizing was not with him the resultof calculation nor the effect of character. Moreau was absolutely lacking in firmness in politics and strength of will. Had he been gifted with more instinctive force, he might have had a greater influence upon events in France, and have traced out for himself a career comparable with the most glorious careers of modern or ancient times.
Moreau was born at Morlaix in Brittany. His father was a distinguished lawyer. His family was of high standing, and rich rather than poor. At eighteen years of age, being attracted toward the military profession, he enlisted. His father, who wished him to become a lawyer like himself, bought young Moreau's discharge, and sent him to Rennes to study law. He soon acquired considerable influence over his companions, which was undoubtedly due to his moral superiority. Inferior in intellect to Bonaparte, and inferior in rapidity of thought to Hoche, he was nevertheless superior to most men.
When the troubles which were the precursors of the Revolution burst out in Brittany, Moreau sided with the parliament against the court, and carried with him the whole body of students. Then followed between Moreau, who was thenceforth called the parliamentary general, and the commandant of Rennes a struggle in which the old soldier did not always have the advantage. The commandant at Rennes finally gave orders for Moreau's arrest.
But Moreau, who possessed as a part of his genius the quality of prudence, found means to evade the search, showing himself every day, now at one point, now at another, so that the people should be convinced that the spirit of parliamentary opposition had not departed from the old capital of Amorica.
But later, seeing that this parliament which he was defending opposed the convocation of the States-General, and considering that such a convocation was necessary for the future welfare of France, he changed sides, while still holding the same opinions, supported the convocation of the States-General, and appeared at the head of all the mobswhich were thereafter organized in Brittany. He was president of the Breton youths gathered at Pontivy when the procureur-general, desiring to utilize the talents which he was revealing, made him commander of the first brigade of volunteers from Ille-et-Vilaine.
Here is what Moreau says of himself:
I was destined to the study of the law at the beginning of this revolution which was to burst the bonds of the French people. It changed the whole course of my life; I devoted it to the profession of arms. I did not take my place among the soldiers of liberty through ambition, but I entered upon a military career out of respect for the rights of the nation: I became a warrior because I was a citizen.
I was destined to the study of the law at the beginning of this revolution which was to burst the bonds of the French people. It changed the whole course of my life; I devoted it to the profession of arms. I did not take my place among the soldiers of liberty through ambition, but I entered upon a military career out of respect for the rights of the nation: I became a warrior because I was a citizen.
To his calm and slightly lymphatic nature, Moreau owed a sure insight in times of danger and a coolness which were astonishing in so young a man. Men were still lacking at this time, although they were soon to swarm forward in crowds. His qualities, though of a negative order, procured for Moreau the rank of brigadier-general in the army of which Pichegru was then commander-in-chief. Pichegru, the man of genius, appreciated Moreau, the man of talent, and conferred on him, in 1794, the rank of general of division. From that time he had command of twenty-five thousand men, and was most frequently intrusted with the conduct of siege operations. In the brilliant campaign of 1794, which subdued Holland, Moreau commanded the right wing of the army. The conquest of Holland had been deemed impossible by all strategists, Holland being, as is well known, a land that lies lower than the sea, which was wrested from the seas, and which can be flooded at will.
The Hollanders risked this semi-suicide. They pierced the dikes which held back the seas, and thought to escape invasion by inundating their country. But cold weather fell suddenly, of a severity unknown in the country, in which the mercury fell to fifteen degrees, and which had not been seen there more than once in a century, and froze the canals and the rivers.
Then, with a daring which is peculiar to them, the French ventured out upon the deep. The infantry risked the passage first, then the cavalry, and, finally, the light artillery. Seeing that the ice bore this unaccustomed weight bravely, they ventured upon it with the heavy pieces of field-artillery. They fought on ice as they were in the habit of fighting on dry land. The English were attacked and driven back with the bayonet. The Austrian batteries were captured. That which should have saved Holland was its destruction. The cold which later became the mortal enemy of the Empire was now the faithful ally of the Republic.
After this there was nothing further to hinder the invasion of the United Provinces. The ramparts could no longer defend the town, for they were on a level with the ice. Arnheim, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and the Hague were taken. The conquest of Over-Yssel, Gröningen and Friesland finished the subjugation of Holland.
There remained the Stadtholder's fleet, which was frozen in the ice of the Straits of Texel, the different vessels of which were near the margin of the water. Moreau brought his cannon to bear upon the artillery of the fleet. He fought the vessels as he would have attacked a fortress, sending a regiment of hussars to board it; and the fleet was captured by a regiment of artillery and light cavalry—a thing unheard-of in the annals of nations or in naval history.
These were the achievements which had caused Pichegru and Moreau to grow in stature; but Moreau remained merely the clever lieutenant of the man of genius.
Meanwhile, Pichegru was given the command of the Army of the Moselle and the Rhine, and Moreau that of the Army of the North.
Before long, as we have said, Pichegru fell under suspicion and was recalled to Paris, and Moreau succeeded to his command of the Army of the Rhine and the Moselle.
At the beginning of the campaign, some skirmishers captured a wagon which formed part of the equipage ofthe Austrian General Klinglin. In a little chest which was forwarded to Moreau, the latter discovered the whole correspondence between Fauche-Borel and the Prince de Condé. This correspondence gave a full and detailed account of the relations which had obtained between Fauche-Borel and Pichegru when the former had posed as a travelling wine-merchant.
In this matter every one is free to judge Moreau according to his own way of thinking and his own conscience.
Ought Moreau—the friend, the debtor, the lieutenant of Pichegru—simply to have examined the contents of the chest and then have sent it to his former chief, with the simple recommendation "Take care!" or ought he, putting his country before his affections, the Stoic before the friend, to have done what he did; that is to say, spend six months in deciphering, or having deciphered, all the letters which were in cipher, and then, with his suspicions verified, but with Pichegru's guilt unproved, take advantage of the preliminaries of the treaty of Léoben, and when the tempest was ready to burst over Pichegru's head, go to Barras and say: "Behold me, I am the thunderbolt!"
Now that was what Moreau had come to say to Barras. Just such proofs as these, not of complicity, but of negotiations, were what the Directory needed to accuse Pichegru, and these proofs Moreau supplied.
Barras was closeted alone with Moreau for two hours, satisfying himself that he held weapons that were the more deadly because they were poisoned. Then, when convinced that there were grounds, if not for condemnation, at least for trial, he rang. An usher entered.
"Go," said Barras, "bid the minister of police, and my two colleagues, Rewbell and La Reveillière come hither." Then, looking at his watch, he said: "Ten o'clock of the evening; we still have six hours before us. Citizen-general, you have come in time." Then holding out his hand to Moreau, he added, with his inscrutable smile: "We will reward you for this."
Moreau asked permission to withdraw and it was granted. He would have embarrassed Barras quite as much as Barras would have embarrassed him.
The three directors remained in consultation until three o'clock in the morning. The commissioner of police joined them at once, and they sent him for Merlin (of Douai) and Augereau, one after the other. Then about three o'clock in the morning they sent an address to the government printer which was couched in the following terms:
The Directory, attacked about two o'clock in the morning by the troops of the two councils under General Ramel, was obliged to meet force with force.After about an hour's fighting, the troops of the two councils were defeated, and the government remained victorious.More than a hundred prisoners remained in the hands of the directors; to-morrow a list of their names will be given, together with a more ample list of their conspiracies, which have almost succeeded in overturning the established power.18th Fructidor, fourA.M.
The Directory, attacked about two o'clock in the morning by the troops of the two councils under General Ramel, was obliged to meet force with force.
After about an hour's fighting, the troops of the two councils were defeated, and the government remained victorious.
More than a hundred prisoners remained in the hands of the directors; to-morrow a list of their names will be given, together with a more ample list of their conspiracies, which have almost succeeded in overturning the established power.
18th Fructidor, fourA.M.
This curious production was signed by Barras, Rewbell, and La Reveillière-Lepaux. Sothin, the minister of police, had suggested it and had drawn it up.
"They will not believe in your placard," said Barras, shrugging his shoulders.
"They will believe in it to-morrow," replied Sothin, "and that is all we need. It does not matter what they believe the day after; the trick will be turned then."
The directors separated, giving orders to arrest first of all their two colleagues, Carnot and Barthélemy.
While Sothin, the minister of police, was drawing up his placards, and proposing to have Carnot and forty-two deputies shot—while the directors were annulling the appointment of Barthélemy, the fifth director, and promising his place to Augereau if they had reason to be satisfied with him when the evening of the next day arrived—two men were quietly playing backgammon in a corner of the Luxembourg.
One of these two men, the younger by two years only, had begun as an officer of engineers, and had published mathematical essays which had won him admittance into several societies of learning. He had also composed a eulogy on Vauban which had been crowned by the Academy of Dijon.
At the dawn of the Revolution he was a captain of engineers, and had been appointed Chevalier of Saint-Louis. In 1791 the department of the Pas-de-Calais had elected him deputy to the Legislative Assembly. His first speech there had been directed against the emigré princes at Coblentz, against the Marquis de Mirabeau, against Cardinal de Rohan, and against Monsieur de Calonne, who was intriguing with foreign kings to induce them to declare war upon France. He proposed that non-commissioned officers and sergeants should take the place of the officers belonging to the nobility who had emigrated. In 1792, he asked for the demolition of all the bastilles in the interior of France, and presented measures to abolish the passive obedience which had formerly been exacted from officers and soldiers.
In the days when the Revolution had been threatened by foreign powers, he had asked to have three hundredthousand pikes manufactured to arm the people of Paris. Elected a deputy to the National Assembly, he had unhesitatingly voted the death of the king. He had furthered the acquirement of the principality of Monaco and a part of Belgium by France.
Sent to the Army of the North in 1793, he had degraded General Gratien from his rank upon the field of battle, because he fell back before the enemy, and placing himself at the head of the French column, he won back the ground that had been lost.
In the month of August of the same year he had been chosen a member of the Committee of Public Safety, and, in that position, displayed an extraordinary talent which has become proverbial, by organizing fourteen armies and formulating plans of campaign, not only for each army by itself, but for operations including them all. It was at that time that the French armies won that astonishing series of victories, from the recovery of Toulon to the surrender of the four strongholds in the North.
This man was Lazare-Nicholas-Marguerite Carnot, the fourth director, who, not having been able to agree with Barras, Rewbell, and La Reveillière-Lepaux, had just been condemned to death by them, being thought too dangerous to be allowed to live. His partner, who was shaking the dice with a nonchalance equal to Carnot's energy, was the Marquis François Barthélemy, the last of the directors to be appointed, who had no other merit than that of being the nephew of the Abbé Barthélemy, the author of the "Voyage du jeune Anarcharsis."
As minister from France to Switzerland during the Revolution, he had concluded at Basel two years before the time of which we are now speaking, the treaties of peace with Prussia and Spain, which had put an end to the first coalition. He had been chosen because of the well-known moderation of his opinions; and it was this very moderation which had justly led to his dismissal by his colleagues, and was later to lead to his incarceration.
It was one o'clock when Garnot, by a brilliant play, ended the sixth game of backgammon. The two friends shook hands at parting.
"Au revoir," said Carnot to Barthélemy.
"Au revoir," replied Barthélemy. "Are you sure, my dear colleague? In these times I am never sure when I leave a friend at night that I shall meet him again in the morning."
"What the deuce do you fear?" asked Carnot.
"Hum!" said Barthélemy, "a stroke of the dagger is soon given."
"Nonsense!" said Carnot, "you need not worry about that. You are too goodnatured for them to think of fearing you. They will treat you as one of the do-nothing kings; you will be shaved and shut up in a cloister."
"But then, if you fear that," said Barthélemy, "why do you prefer defeat to victory? For, after the propositions which have been made us, it depends solely on ourselves whether we overthrow our three colleagues or not."
"My dear friend," said Carnot, "you cannot see beyond your nose, which is unfortunately not as long as that of your uncle. Who are the men who have made us these propositions? The royalists. Now do you think the royalists would ever pardon me for the part I have taken against them? It is only a choice of deaths; with the royalists I shall be hanged as a regicide, with the directors I shall be assassinated as a royalist. I would rather be assassinated."
"And with these ideas you can go willingly to bed in your own rooms?" said Barthélemy.
"Where should I go to bed?"
"In some place, no matter where, where you would be safe."
"I am a fatalist; if the dagger is to strike me, it will find me. Good-night, Barthélemy! My conscience is clear; I voted the death of the king, but I saved France. It is for France to take care of me."
And Carnot went to bed as composedly as he always did.
He was not mistaken. A German had received the order to arrest him, and, if he made the least resistance, to assassinate him. At three o'clock in the morning the German and his satellites presented themselves at the door of Carnot's apartments, which he shared with a younger brother.
Carnot's servant, when he saw the men, and heard their leader ask in bad French where citizen Carnot was, took them to his brother, and he, having nothing to fear for himself, left them in error at first.
Then the valet ran to warn his master that they had come to arrest him. Carnot, almost naked, escaped through one of the gates of the Luxembourg garden to which he had the key. Then the servant came back. The brother, when he saw him, knew that the other had escaped, and he made himself known. The soldiers in a rage ran through the apartment, but they found only Carnot's empty bed, which was still warm.
Once in the garden of the Luxembourg, the fugitive paused, not knowing where to go. He finally went to a lodging-house in the Rue de l'Enfer, but was told that there was not a vacant room in the house. He set off again, seeking shelter at random, when suddenly the alarm-guns went off. At the sound several doors and windows were opened. What would become of him, half naked as he was? He would certainly be arrested by the first patrol, and troops were marching toward the Luxembourg from all directions.
While he was deliberating, a patrol appeared at the corner of the Rue de la Vieille-Comédie. A porter half-opened his door and Carnot sprang inside. Chance willed that the porter should be a worthy man who kept him concealed until he had time to prepare another hiding-place.
As for Barthélemy, although Barras had twice sent him warning during the day of the fate that awaited him, he took no precautions. He was arrested in his bed an hour after he had left Carnot. He made no resistance, and didnot even ask to see the warrant, and the words "Oh, my country!" were the only ones he uttered.
His servant, Letellier, who had been with him for twenty years, asked to be arrested with him. This singular favor was refused. We shall see how he obtained it later.
The two councils named a committee which was to sit permanently. The president of the committee was named Siméon. He had not yet arrived when the alarm-guns sounded.
Pichegru had passed the night with this committee, together with those of the conspiracy who were determined to meet force with force; but none thought the moment when the Directory would dare attempt itscoup d'étatwas so near at hand. Several members of the committee were armed, among them Rovère and Villot, who, learning suddenly that they were surrounded, volunteered to go out, pistol in hand. But this Pichegru opposed.
"Our other colleagues assembled here are not armed," he said; "they would be massacred by those wretches, who are only waiting for an opportunity. Do not let us desert them."
Just then the door of the room occupied by the committee opened and a member of the councils, named Delarue, rushed in.
"Ah, my dear Delarue!" exclaimed Pichegru, "what on earth have you come for? We are all going to be arrested."
"Very well; then we will be arrested together," answered Delarue, calmly.
And indeed, in order that he might share the same fate as his comrades, Delarue had had the courage to force his way three times past the guard in order to reach the committee room. He had been warned at his own house of the danger he ran, but he had refused to escape, although it would have been easy for him; and, having kissed his wife and children without waking them, he had come, as we have seen, to join his colleagues.
We have said in a preceding chapter that Pichegru, when he had offered to bring the directors bound to the bar of the Corps Legislatif, if they would give him two hundred men, had not been able to obtain them. They were now eager to defend themselves, but it was too late.
Delarue had scarcely exchanged these few words with Pichegru when the door was burst open, and a crowd of soldiers, led by Augereau, entered. Augereau, finding himself near Pichegru, put out his hand to seize him. Delarue drew a pistol from his pocket, and attempted to fire upon Augereau, but on the instant a bayonet was thrust through his arm.
"I arrest you!" cried Augereau, seizing Pichegru.
"Wretch!" exclaimed the latter, "all you needed was to become a minion of Barras."
"Soldiers," cried a member of the committee, "will you dare lay hands upon Pichegru, your general?"
Without a word, Augereau flung himself upon him, and, with the assistance of four soldiers, succeeded, after a violent struggle, in securing his arms and binding them behind his back.
With Pichegru arrested, the conspiracy had no longer a head, and no one attempted further resistance.
General Mathieu Dumas, the same man who was Minister of War at Naples under Joseph Bonaparte, and has left such interesting memoirs, was with the committee when it was surrounded. He wore the uniform of a general. He left through the door by which Augereau had entered and went downstairs.
In the vestibule he was confronted by a soldier, who thrust a bayonet in his face and said, "No one is allowed to go out."
"I know it," said he, "for it was I who just gave the order."
"I beg your pardon, general," said the soldier, lowering his weapon.
And the general passed out without further hinderance. He was obliged to leave Paris in order to insure his safety.
Mathieu Dumas summoned his two aides-de-camp, ordered them to mount their horses, galloped to the barrier, gave his orders to the guard, and passed outside the walls, to go, as he said, to another post, and disappeared.
This is what had happened.
When a great event takes place like the 13th Vendémiaire, or the 18th Fructidor, it stamps an indelible date upon the book of history. Everybody knows this date; and so when the words "13th Vendémiaire" or "18th Fructidor" are pronounced, everybody knows the results which followed the great events commemorated by these dates, but very few know the secret springs which prepared the way for the accomplishment of these events.
As a result, we have particularly assumed the duty in our historical novels, or romanticized histories, of telling things which no one has told before, and of relating matters which we know, but of which very few persons share that knowledge with us.
Since friendly indiscretion has revealed the source from which we have obtained the priceless volumes and original and rare manuscripts from which we have drawn, this is the proper place for us to acknowledge our indebtedness for the communication of these interesting volumes which it is so hard to coax down from their shelves. They have been for us the beacon which has guided us through the 13th Vendémiaire; and we have only to light it again to penetrate the mazes of the 18th Fructidor.
It is, then, with the certainty of telling the truth, thewhole truth, and nothing but the truth, that we repeat the phrase with which this chapter begins: This is what had happened.
On the evening of the 17th, Adjutant-general Ramel, after he had visited his posts, went to take his orders from the committee, who were to remain in session during the night. He was present when Pichegru, as we have said, having been prevented by his colleagues from taking the initiative, had predicted what would happen, and with his habitual indifference, although he might have fled, and thus have escaped the persecution which he had foreseen, had allowed himself to drift along with the current of his destiny.
When Pichegru had gone, the other deputies became more firmly convinced that the Directory would not dare to attempt anything against them, and if they did, it would not fall at once, and that therefore for several days they were safe. Even before his departure, Pichegru heard several of the deputies, among them Eméry, Mathieu Dumas, Vaublanc, Tronçon de Coudray and Thibaudeau, indignantly denounce this supposition, and decry the terror with which it had inspired the public.
Adjutant-general Ramel was therefore dismissed without further orders; he was merely instructed to do that day what he had done the day before, and what he would do on the morrow. Consequently he returned to his quarters and contented himself with ascertaining that, in case of alarm, his grenadiers were ready to take up arms. Two hours later, at one in the morning, he received orders from the minister of war to report to him.
He hastened to the hall, which was empty save for one solitary inspector, named Rovère, who was asleep. He told him of the order which he had received, and begged him to note its importance at that hour of the night. Ramel added that he had been notified that several columns of troops were entering Paris. But all these threatening probabilities had no effect upon Rovère, who declared that he was very comfortable where he was, and had excellent reasonsfor remaining so. Ramel, when he left the hall, met the commander of the cavalry post whose duty it was, like his own, to guard the councils. The latter announced that he had withdrawn his pickets, and ordered his troops, as well as the two cannon which were in the courtyard of the Tuileries, to cross the bridges.
"How could you do such a thing, when I told you to do just the contrary?" asked Ramel.
"General, it was not my fault," replied the commander; "the commander-in-chief, Augereau, gave the order, and the cavalry officer refused positively to obey yours."
Ramel went back and again begged Rovère to warn his colleague, telling him what had occurred since he had seen him. But Rovère was obstinate in his confidence, and replied that all these movements of troops signified absolutely nothing; that he had known of them before, and that several corps of troops were to go upon the bridges at an early hour to manœuvre. Ramel might therefore be perfectly easy, for Rovère's source of information was reliable, and he could count upon it; and Ramel could obey the order of the minister of war without any hesitation.
But a dread of being separated from his corps prevented Ramel from obeying. He went home, but instead of going to bed remained ready dressed and armed.
At three o'clock in the morning a former member of the bodyguard with whom he had been very intimate in the Army of the Pyrenees, named Poinçot, announced himself as a messenger from General Lemoine, and handed Ramel a note couched in the following terms:
General Lemoine, in the name of the Directory, summons the commander of the grenadiers of the Corps Legislatif to give passage across the swing-bridge to a body of fifteen hundred men charged with executing the government's orders.
General Lemoine, in the name of the Directory, summons the commander of the grenadiers of the Corps Legislatif to give passage across the swing-bridge to a body of fifteen hundred men charged with executing the government's orders.
"I am surprised," said Ramel, "that an old comrade, who should know me better, could consent to bring me an order which I cannot obey without dishonoring myself."
"Do as you please," replied Poinçot; "but I warn you that all resistance will be useless. Eight hundred of your grenadiers have already been covered by four cannon."
"I receive no orders save from the Corps Legislatif," exclaimed Ramel.
And hastening from his house he started on a run to the Tuileries. An alarm-gun sounded so near him that he thought it was a signal for attack. On his way he met two of his chiefs of battalion, Ponsard and Fléchard, both excellent officers in whom he had every confidence.
He hastened to the committee-room again, where he found Generals Pichegru and Villot. He at once sent notices to General Mathieu Dumas and the presidents of the two Councils, Laffon-Ladébat, president of the Council of the Ancients, and Siméon, president of the Five Hundred. He also went to warn the deputies whose lodgings were known to him to be near the Tuileries.
At that moment, they having forced the iron gates of the swing-bridge, the divisions of Augereau and Lemoine were enabled to unite. The soldiers of the two armies filled the garden; a battery was directed against the Hall of the Ancients, all the avenues were closed, and all the posts doubled and covered by superior forces.
We have told how the door opened, how a throng of soldiers entered the hall of the committee, with Augereau at its head, and how, when no one else had dared lay a hand on Pichegru, Augereau himself had committed that sacrilege, and had thrown down and bound the man who had been his general; and finally how, after Pichegru was mastered, the other deputies offered no farther resistance, and the order was given to take the prisoners to the Temple.
The three directors were waiting, together with the minister of police, who, once his placards were posted, had returned to them. The minister of police advised that the prisoners should be instantly shot in the courtyard of the Luxembourg under pretext that they had been taken with arms in their hands. Rewbell agreed with him;the gentle La Reveillière-Lepaux, the man of peace, who had always advised merciful measures, was ready to give the fatal order, saying, like Cicero of Lentullus and Cethegus: "They have lived!"
Barras alone, it is but justice to say, opposed this measure with all his might, saying that, unless they put him in prison during the execution, he should throw himself between the bullets and the prisoners. Finally a deputy named Guillemardet, who had made himself a friend of the directors by joining their faction, proposed that the prisoners be banished to Cayenne "to be done with it." This amendment was put to the vote and enthusiastically carried.
The minister of police considered it his duty to conduct Barthélemy personally to the Temple. We have said that his servant Letellier asked to be permitted to accompany him. They refused at first, but finally granted his request.
"Who is this man?" asked Augereau, who did not recognize him as one of the exiles.
"He is my friend," said Barthélemy; "he asked to be allowed to follow me, and—"
"Pooh!" said Augereau, interrupting him, "when he knows where you are going he will not be so eager."
"I beg your pardon, citizen-general," replied Letellier, "but wherever my master goes I will follow him."
"Even to the scaffold?" asked Augereau.
"Above all, to the scaffold," replied the man.
By dint of entreaties and prayers the doors of the prison were opened to the wives of the prisoners. Every step they took in the courtyard, where a queen of France had suffered so bitterly, was fresh agony to them. Drunken soldiers insulte them at every turn.
"Are you coming to see those beggars?" they asked, pointing to the prisoners. "Make haste and say farewell to them to-day, for they will be shot to-morrow."
As we have already said, Pichegru was not married. When he came to Paris he did not wish to supplant poor Rose, for whom, as we have said, he had bought a cottonumbrella from his savings, which had delighted her much. When he saw his colleagues' wives, he approached them, and took Delarue's little son, who was crying, in his arms.
"Why are you crying so, my child?" he asked with tears in his own eyes as he kissed him.
"Because," replied the child, "wicked soldiers have arrested my papa."
"You are right, poor little fellow," replied Pichegru, darting a look of scorn at those who were watching him, "they are wicked soldiers. Good soldiers would not allow themselves to be turned into executioners."
Augereau wrote Bonaparte that same day as follows:
At last, general, my mission is accomplished; the promises of the Army of Italy were fulfilled last night.The Directory determined upon a bold stroke; the moment for its accomplishment was still undecided, and the preparations were still incomplete, when the fear of being forestalled precipitated matters. At midnight I sent orders to the troops to march upon given points. Before daybreak all those points and all the principal squares were filled with artillery; at daybreak the halls of the councils were surrounded, the guards of the Directory fraternized with our troops, and the members whose name I send you were arrested and taken to the Temple.A large number are being pursued; Carnot has disappeared. Paris is calm, marvelling at a crisis which should have been terrible, but which passed off like a holiday. The robust patriot of the faubourgs proclaims the safety of the Republic, and the black collars are downcast.Now, it is for the wise energy of the Directory and the two councils to do the rest. The place of sessions is changed and the first proceedings promise well. This event has taken us a long stride toward peace; it is for you to cross the intervening space which still separates us from it.Do not forget the bill of exchange for twenty-five thousand francs; it is urgent.Augereau.
At last, general, my mission is accomplished; the promises of the Army of Italy were fulfilled last night.
The Directory determined upon a bold stroke; the moment for its accomplishment was still undecided, and the preparations were still incomplete, when the fear of being forestalled precipitated matters. At midnight I sent orders to the troops to march upon given points. Before daybreak all those points and all the principal squares were filled with artillery; at daybreak the halls of the councils were surrounded, the guards of the Directory fraternized with our troops, and the members whose name I send you were arrested and taken to the Temple.
A large number are being pursued; Carnot has disappeared. Paris is calm, marvelling at a crisis which should have been terrible, but which passed off like a holiday. The robust patriot of the faubourgs proclaims the safety of the Republic, and the black collars are downcast.
Now, it is for the wise energy of the Directory and the two councils to do the rest. The place of sessions is changed and the first proceedings promise well. This event has taken us a long stride toward peace; it is for you to cross the intervening space which still separates us from it.
Do not forget the bill of exchange for twenty-five thousand francs; it is urgent.
Augereau.
Then followed the list, containing seventy-four names.
The Temple suggested associations which were not entirely without remorse for the political consciences of those who had been taken there.
Some of them, after they had sent Louis XVI. to the Temple, that is to say, after they had closed the prison doors upon him, had opened them again only to send him to the scaffold, which means that several of the prisoners were regicides.
Accorded their liberty in the interior of the prison, they rallied around Pichegru, as being the most eminent personality among them. Pichegru, who had nothing to reproach himself with as far as Louis XVI. was concerned, and who, on the contrary, was being punished for the too great pity which he had evinced for the Bourbons—Pichegru, the archeologist, historian, and man of letters, placed himself at the head of the group who asked permission to visit the apartments of the tower.
Lavilleheurnois, former Master of Requests under Louis XVI., secret agent of the Bourbons during the Revolution, and a participant with Brotier-Deprêle in a conspiracy against the Republic, acted as their guide.
"Here is the chamber of the unfortunate Louis XVI.," he said, opening the door of the apartment in which the august prisoner had been confined.
Rovère, the same to whom Ramel had applied, and who had told him that there was nothing to fear from the concentrated movement of the troops—Rovère, the former lieutenant of Jourdan Coupe-Tête, who had apologized to the Assembly for the massacre at the Glacière, could not support this sight, and withdrew, striking his forehead with his hands as he went.
Pichegru, now as calm as though he had been again with the Army of the Rhine, deciphered the inscriptions which were written in pencil on the woodwork and scratched with a diamond on the window pane. He read this one:
"O God! pardon those who have killed my parents!O my brother, watch over me from heaven!May the French be happy!"
"O God! pardon those who have killed my parents!O my brother, watch over me from heaven!May the French be happy!"
There could be no doubt as to who had traced those words, but he wished to assure himself of the truth. Lavilleheurnois asserted that he recognized the handwriting of Madame Royale; but Pichegru sent for the porter, who assured him that it was indeed the august daughter of Louis XVI. who had written these lines, so replete with Christian spirit. Then he added: "Gentlemen, I beg of you not to efface those lines so long as I am here. I have vowed that no one shall touch them."
"Very well, my friend," said Pichegru; "you are a worthy man." And while the other spoke, Delarue wrote beneath the words: "May the French be happy!"
"Heaven will hear the prayers of the innocent."
"Heaven will hear the prayers of the innocent."
Meanwhile, although they were separated from the world, the prisoners had the satisfaction of learning upon several occasions that they were not forgotten.
On the very evening of the 18th Fructidor, as the wife of one of the prisoners was leaving the prison, she was accosted by a man she did not know.
"Madame," said he, "you are doubtless connected with one of the unfortunate men who were arrested this morning."
"Alas! yes, sir," she replied.
"Well, then, permit me to send him, whoever he may be, this slight loan, which he can repay in better times." And so saying, he put three rolls of louis in her hand.
An old man whom Madame Laffon-Ladébat did not know came to her house on the 19th Fructidor.
"Madame," he said, "I feel for your husband all the esteem and the friendship which he deserves. Be good enoughto give him these fifty louis. I regret exceedingly that I have only this small sum at present to offer him." And then, noting her hesitation and divining its cause, he added: "Madame, your delicacy need not suffer. I am only lending this money to your husband; he can repay me when he returns."
Almost all the men who were condemned to exile had occupied the foremost offices of the government for a long time, and it is a remarkable fact that on the 18th Fructidor, when they were about to be exiled, they were all poor.
Pichegru, the poorest of all, when he learned that he was not to be shot, as he had at first supposed, but only exiled, was much disturbed about his brother and sister, whose sole support he had always been. As for poor Rose, we know that she was able to support herself with her needle, and was richer than any of them. Had she known of the trouble which had befallen her friend, she would surely have hastened to him from Besançon and opened her purse to him.
That which most disturbed the man who had saved France on the Rhine and who had conquered Holland, the richest of all the provinces; who had handled millions, and refused to sell himself for millions; was not married, and was accused of having received a million in money, of having exacted a promise of the principality of Arbois, with two hundred thousand livres' income and reversion to his wife and children, and the château of Chambord, with twelve cannon which he had captured from the enemy—that which most disturbed this man, who had no wife or children, who had given himself for nothing when he might have sold himself for a great price, was a debt of six hundred francs, which he had not paid.
He sent for his brother and sister and said to the latter: "You will find at my lodgings the hat, coat and sword which I wore when I conquered Holland. Put them up for sale with the inscription, 'The hat, coat and sword of Pichegru, who has been exiled to Cayenne.'"
His sister did as he bade her, and the following day she came and told him that a pious hand had paid her the six hundred francs and that the debt was cancelled.
Barthélemy, one of the most prominent men of the time, politically speaking, since he had negotiated the treaties with Prussia and Spain, the first which the Republic had ever signed, and who could have compelled each of these powers to have given him a million, had for sole property a farm which brought him in an annual income of eight hundred livres.
Villot, at the time of his arrest, possessed only one thousand francs. A week before he had lent them to a man who called himself his friend, but who failed to return them before his departure.
Laffon-Ladébat, who, since the proclamation of the Republic, had neglected his own interests for those of his country, and who had once possessed an immense fortune, could scarcely get together five hundred francs when he learned of his condemnation. His children, upon whom had devolved the duty of paying his creditors, did so only to find themselves thereafter in penury.
Delarue supported his old father and all his family. Rich before the Revolution, but ruined by it, he owed the help which he received at his departure to friends. His father, an old man of sixty-nine, was inconsolable, but grief could not kill him. He lived in the hope of seeing his son again some day.
Three months later he was told that an officer of the navy, who had just arrived in Paris, had met Delarue in the deserts of Guiana. He at once wished to see and talk with him. The officer's story was of interest to the whole family, and they were all assembled to meet him. The officer entered. Delarue's father rose to go and meet him; but just as he was about to throw his arms around his neck, joy killed him, and he fell dead at the feet of the man who said: "I have seen your son."
As for Tronçon de Coudray, who had nothing but hissalary to live on, he was deprived of all his offices when he was arrested, and went away with two louis for his entire fortune.
Perhaps I am wrong, but it seems to me, since the historians neglect this duty, that it is well for the novelist to follow in the wake of revolutions andcoups d'état, and teach men that it is not always those men to whom statues are erected who are most worthy of respect and admiration.
Augereau, after having been charged with the arrests, was appointed to watch the prisoners. He gave them for their immediate keeper a man who had been, until within a month, at the galleys at Toulon, where he had been sent after a trial by court-martial, for theft, murder, and incendiarism, committed in the Vendée.
The prisoners remained at the Temple from the morning of the 18th Fructidor until the evening of the 21st. At midnight the jailer woke them, telling them that they were to start, and that they had a quarter of an hour in which to get ready. Pichegru, who still preserved the habit of sleeping with his clothes on, was ready first, and went from room to room to hasten his comrades. He went down first, and found ex-director Barthélemy between General Augereau and minister of the police Sothin, who had brought him to the Temple in his own carriage. Sothin had treated him well, and as Barthélemy thanked him, the minister replied: "We know what revolutions are. Your turn to-day, ours, perhaps, to-morrow."
When Barthélemy, anxious about the country rather than about his own affairs, asked if no harm had resulted from it and if the public peace had not been disturbed.
"No," replied the minister; "the people swallowed the pill; and, as the dose was a good one, they took it without any trouble." Then, seeing all the exiles at the foot of the tower, he added: "Gentlemen, I wish you a pleasant journey."
Then getting into his carriage he drove away.
Augereau ordered the roll of the prisoners to be read.As they were named, a guard led them to the carriages past a file of soldiers who insulted them as they went along. Some of those men—miserable river bastards always ready to insult those who were down—tried to reach across the others in order to strike the exiles in the face, to tear their clothing, or to bespatter them with mud.
"Why do you let them go?" they cried. "You promised us that they should be shot."
"My deargeneral," said Pichegru, as he passed Augereau, emphasizing the title, "if you promised those men that, you are doing very wrong not to keep your word."
FOUR carriages, or, rather, four boxes on wheels, inclosed on all sides with iron bars, which bruised the prisoners at every jolt, received the exiles. Four of them were placed in each cage, and no attention was paid either to their weakness or their wounds. Some of them had received sabre cuts; others had been wounded, either by the soldiers who had arrested them or by the mob, whose opinions always will be that the conquered do not suffer enough.
There was a keeper for each wagon and each group of four men, who had the care of the key of the padlock which closed the grating which served in lieu of a door.
General Dutertre commanded the escort, which consisted of four hundred infantry, two hundred cavalry, and two cannon.
Every time the exiles got in or out of the cages, the two pieces were trained diagonally upon the carriages, while gunners stood ready, with lighted matches in their hands, to fire the cannon, should any of them attempt to escape, both upon those who made the attempt and upon those who did not.
The condemned men began their journey on the 22d Fructidor (8th of September) in the midst of a terrible storm. They had to cross the whole length of Paris, starting with the Temple, and leaving the city through the Barrière d'Enfer, to take the road to Orléans. But instead of following the Rue Saint-Jacques, the escort, after crossing the bridge, turned to the right and led the procession to the Luxembourg. Here the three directors, or rather Barras, who was the three in himself, was giving a ball.
Barras, when notified, hastened to the balcony, followed by the guests, and pointed out Pichegru, three days earlier the rival of Moreau, Hoche, and Bonaparte, and with him Barthélemy, his former colleague, Villot, Delarue, Ramel—in short, all those whom the turn of Fortune's wheel or the forgetfulness of Providence had put in his power. The exiles heard Barras, amid noisy bursts of laughter and joy enjoin Dutertre, Augereau's man, "to take good care of these gentlemen." To which Dutertre replied: "Never fear, general."
We shall soon see what Barras meant when he said "Take good care of these gentlemen."
In the meantime the people who were coming out of the Odéon Club surrounded the wagons; and being refused permission to do what they urgently demanded to do—to tear the exiles to pieces—they consoled themselves by throwing fireworks which enabled them to see the prisoners without any trouble.
Finally the procession passed through the Rue d'Enfer to the accompaniment of fierce cries for their death and howls of rage, and left Paris. At two o'clock in the afternoon, having made only twenty-four miles, they reached Arpajon. Barthélemy and Barbé-Marbois, the weakest of the exiles, were lying upon their faces, apparently exhausted.
When they heard that the day's journey was ended, the prisoners hoped that they would be conducted to some suitable place where they could take a little rest. But the commander of the escort took them to the prison reservedfor thieves, eagerly examining their faces and showing the utmost delight when they manifested repulsion and disgust. Unfortunately, the first wagon to be opened was the one in which Pichegru had travelled; his impassive face did not betray the least emotion. He merely said as they approached the hole: "If it is a stairway, give me a light; if it is a well, tell me so at once."
It was a staircase, of which several steps were missing. This calmness exasperated Dutertre.
"Ah, rascal," he said, "you think you can defy me; but we shall see one of these days whether I cannot find the end of your insolence."
Pichegru, who reached the bottom first, called out to his companions that some one had been thoughtful enough to spread straw for them, and thanked Dutertre for the attention. But the straw was soaking wet and the cell was foul.
Barthélemy came next, gentle, calm, but exhausted and aware that he could not expect an instant's repose. Lying half in the icy water, he raised his hands murmuring: "My God! my God!"
Then came Barbé-Marbois, who was upheld by the arms. At the mephitic odor which arose from the cell, he drew back and said: "Shoot me, and spare me the horror of such agony."
But the jailer's wife who stood behind him answered: "You are very particular. Better men than you have gone down there without making such a fuss." And with a vigorous shove she sent him head first from top to bottom of the stairs.
Villot, who was next, heard Barbé-Marbois cry out, and the answering cry of his comrades who darted forward to seize him as he fell, and grabbing the woman by the neck, he said: "Upon my word, I have a good notion to strangle you. What do you all say?"
"Leave her alone, and come down here with us," answered Pichegru.
They had raised Barbé-Marbois. His face was bruised,and his jawbone broken. The three exiles who were safe and sound began to cry: "A surgeon! A surgeon!"
There was no answer. Then they asked for water to bathe their comrade's wounds; but the door was closed and it did not open until two hours later, and then only to pass in their dinner, consisting of a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water.
They were all very thirsty, but Pichegru, accustomed to all sorts of privations, immediately offered his portion of the water to bathe Barbé-Marbois's wound. The other prisoners, however, would not permit this sacrifice. The necessary amount of water was taken from the general fund; and as Barbé-Marbois could not eat, his portion was divided among the others.
On the next day, 23d Fructidor (9th of September), they started again at seven in the morning. No inquiries were made as to how the exiles had passed the night, and the wounded man was not allowed to see a surgeon. They reached Etampes at noon. Dutertre ordered a halt in the middle of the square, and exposed the prisoners to the insults of the crowd, who were permitted to surround the wagons, and who took advantage of the permission to hoot, curse, and bespatter with mud the men of whose crime they were ignorant, and who were prisoners in their eyes simply because they were prisoners. The exiles insisted that they go on, or be allowed to leave the wagons. Both requests were refused. One of the exiles, Tronçon de Coudray, was deputy for the Department of the Seine-et-Oise, which includes Etampes, and which was then the very canton whose inhabitants had supported his candidacy with the most enthusiasm.
He resented this ingratitude and desertion of his people therefore all the more keenly. Rising suddenly, as if he had been in the tribune, and replying to those who had called him by name, he said:
"Yes, it is I—I myself, your representative! Do you recognize him in this iron cage? It is I, whom you have intrusted with your rights, which are being violated in my person. I am dragged to punishment without having been tried, without even having been accused. My crime is that I have protected your liberty, your property, your persons; that I have wished to give peace to France, and by so doing to return to you your children who are being slaughtered by the enemy's bayonets. My crime is that I have been faithful to the Constitution to which we have sworn allegiance, and to-day, as a reward for my zeal in defending you, you join the ranks of my executioners! You are wretches and cowards, unworthy to be represented by a man of heart."
And he relapsed into his apparent indifference once more. The crowd was for a moment crushed and awed by this attack; but they soon renewed their insults, which became more outrageous than ever when the condemned men were given their dinner, which consisted of four loaves of bread and four bottles of wine. This exhibition lasted three hours.
That evening they stopped for the night at Angerville, and Dutertre wished to put the prisoners together in one cell, as he had done the night before. But an adjutant-general, who by an odd coincidence was named Augereau, took it upon himself to lodge them in an inn, where they passed a comfortable night, and where Barbé-Marbois was able to secure the services of a surgeon.
On the 24th Fructidor (10th September) they reached Orléans early, and passed the rest of that day and the following night in a house of confinement which had formerly been an Ursuline convent. This time the deputies were not guarded by their escort, but by gendarmes, who, while obeying orders, treated them with the utmost consideration. They quickly recognized in the two servants who had been sent to help them, in spite of their disguise of coarse clothing, two ladies of rank who had sought this opportunity to offer help and money. They even promised Villot and Delarue to assist them to escape. They could facilitate the escape of two prisoners, but no more. Villot and Delarue refused, fearing that their flight would aggravate the fate of their two companions. The names of these two angels of charity have never been known. To name them at that time would have been to denounce them.
History has from time to time such moments of regret which give rise to a sigh.
The next day the party reached Blois. A crowd of boatmen were waiting for them on the outskirts of the town in the hopes of breaking open the wagons and murdering the prisoners. But the captain of cavalry commanding the detachment, whose name was Gautier—history has preserved his name, as it has that of Dutertre—signalled to the exiles that they need have no fear.
Then he took forty men and routed the rabble. But insults were nevertheless lavished upon them. The names of rascals, regicides, and panders were hurled blindly at them by the furious crowd, through the midst of which they passed on their way to a damp little church, where the prisoners found a small quantity of straw strewn upon the floor.
As they entered the church, the people crowded near enough for Pichegru to feel some one slip a little note into his hand. As soon as they were alone, Pichegru read the little note. It contained these words:
General, it only depends on yourself to leave your prison, mount a horse, and escape under an assumed name by means of a passport. If you consent, as soon as you have read this note, approach the guard who is watching you, taking care to leave your hat on your head; this will mean that you consent. Then, from midnight until two o'clock be dressed and on the alert.
General, it only depends on yourself to leave your prison, mount a horse, and escape under an assumed name by means of a passport. If you consent, as soon as you have read this note, approach the guard who is watching you, taking care to leave your hat on your head; this will mean that you consent. Then, from midnight until two o'clock be dressed and on the alert.
Pichegru walked toward the guard bareheaded. The man who had endeavored to save him cast a glance of admiration at him and walked away.
The preparations for departure from Blois consumed such a length of time that the prisoners feared that they were to make a stay there, and that during that stay some harm would befall them. They were all the more convinced when the adjutant-general, who was in command of their troop under Dutertre—one Colin, well known in the country as the author of the massacres of the 2d of September—and one of his companions, named Guillet, who had no better reputation, entered the prison one morning about six o'clock.
They seemed much excited, grumbled as though to egg themselves on, and looked at the exiles with a baleful eye. The municipal officer who had accompanied the prisoners from Paris had an inspiration. He went straight up to them, and looking them in the eye, said: "Why do you delay the start? Everything has been ready for a long time. The crowd increases and your conduct is more than suspicious. I have seen and heard you both stirring up the people and urging them to acts of violence against the prisoners. I swear to you that should aught befall them when they go out, I will place my deposition upon the register, and that the responsibility shall fall upon you."
The two knaves stammered some excuse. The wagons were brought out, and the prisoners were accompanied with the same shouts, jeers and imprecations which had greeted them on the preceding day; but they were none of them hit by the stones which were thrown or by the blows which were aimed at them.
At Amboise they were placed for the night in a room so small that they were unable to lie down upon the straw. They were obliged either to stand up or to sit down.They hoped to get some rest at Tours, but they were cruelly disappointed. The town authorities had recently been subjected to a weeding-out process, and were still terrorized. The prisoners were taken to the prison reserved for the galley-slaves. They were compelled to mingle with them, and some of the deputies asked for a place by themselves.
"That is your apartment," said the jailer, pointing to a little cell which was both damp and dirty.
Thereupon the galley-slaves gave evidence of more humanity than the jailers, for one of them approached the exiles, and said humbly:
"Gentlemen, we are very sorry to see you here. We are not worthy to approach you; but if, in the unhappy state to which we are reduced, there is any service which we can render you, we pray you to be good enough to accept it. The cell which has been prepared for you is colder and damper than ours; we beg of you to take ours, which is larger and drier than yours."
Pichegru thanked the poor wretches in the name of his companions, and, shaking hands with the one who had acted as spokesman, he said: "So it is to you that we must now look for human hearts!"
The exiles had not eaten for more than thirty hours, and each one now received a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. It was a gala day for them.
The next day they stopped at Saint-Maure. Lieutenant-general Dutertre, having found in this little town a flying column of the National Guard composed of peasants, took advantage of the opportunity to relieve his troops, who could hardly put one foot before the other. He therefore ordered the column to guard the exiles, under the supervision of the municipality, which fortunately had not in this case been weeded out.
These worthy peasants took pity on the unfortunate prisoners. They brought them food and wine in such quantities that they could for the first time eat and drink in ameasure commensurate with their hunger and thirst. Besides this, they were less strictly guarded; and so negligent were these worthy people, most of whom were armed only with pikes, that they were permitted to go as far as the causeway, whence they could see the forest, which seemed to have been placed there expressly to afford them a refuge.
Ramel ventured to suggest a flight; but some opposed it on the score that it would seem like a confession of guilt, and others refused because their escape would have cruelly compromised their keepers, and would have involved the first of their kind who had shown compassion for their sufferings.
Day came and they had hardly slept, for the whole night had slipped away in the discussion, and they were forced to re-enter the iron cages and become once again the property of Dutertre. They crossed the dense forest at which they had gazed so eagerly the previous evening. The roads were frightful. Some of them obtained permission to walk between four of the cavalry. Barbé-Marbois, Barthélemy and Du Coudray, wounded and almost at the point of death, could not take advantage of this permission. They were lying upon the floor, and at every jolt were thrown against the iron bars, which bruised them and drew from them, in spite of their stoicism, cries of agony. Barthélemy was the only one who did not utter a single groan.
At Châtellereault they were confined in a cell so foul that three of them fell down asphyxiated as they entered. Pichegru pushed open the door just as they were about to close it, and seizing a soldier threw him to the rear of the cell. The man almost fainted, and reported that it would be impossible to live in such an atmosphere. The door was left open and a sentinel placed before it.
Barbé-Marbois was very ill. Du Coudray, who was taking care of him, was seated on the straw at his side. A man who for three years had been in irons in the neighboring cell obtained leave to visit them, brought them some fresh water, and offered his bed to Barbé-Marbois, who felt a little better after a couple of hours' sleep.
"Have patience," this man said to them; "one can get accustomed to anything in time. I am an example of this, for I have lived for three years in a cell like yours."
At Lusignan the prison was too small to hold the sixteen exiles. Rain poured in torrents and a cold wind was blowing from the north. Dutertre, who stopped at nothing, ordered the cages to be closed, had the horses unharnessed, and cages and prisoners remained in the public square. They had been there about an hour when the mayor of the town and the commander of the National Guard came and offered to be responsible for them if they were allowed to pass the night at the inn. The authorities gained their point, though not without some difficulty. The prisoners were no sooner established in three rooms, with sentinels at the doors and beneath the windows, than they saw a courier ride up and stop at the same inn to which they had been taken. Some of them, more hopeful than the others, were of the opinion that the courier came with good news. All were convinced that he was the bearer of a message of importance.
In fact he carried an order for the arrest of General Dutertre for extortions and larcenies committed since the departure of the exiles, and to take him back to Paris.
They found the eight hundred louis d'or which had been given him for the expense of the convoy still in his possession, which he had pocketed, levying contributions instead upon the towns through which he had passed. The exiles heard this with joy. They saw the carriage drive up which was to take him; and Ramel, whose curiosity impelled him to neglect precaution, opened the window. The sentinel in the street fired at once, and the ball shattered the window-pane.
Dutertre arrested, the conduct of the convoy fell to his second in command, Guillet.
But, as we have said, Guillet was not much better than Dutertre. On the day following, when they reached Saint-Maixant, the mayor approached the exiles and was so ill-advised as to say to them: "Gentlemen, I sympathize deeply with your situation, and all good citizens share my feeling."
Guillet himself seized the mayor, pushed him toward two soldiers, and ordered him to be imprisoned.
But this act of oppression so revolted the townsfolk, by whom the mayor seemed to be much beloved, that they rose in a body and forced Guillet to return them their mayor.
The thing that most disturbed the exiles was the fact that they were ignorant of their destination. They had heard Rochefort named, but in the vaguest possible manner. Deprived of all communication with their families, they could obtain no information as to the destiny which awaited them.
The secret was revealed at Surgeres. The mayor insisted that all the prisoners should be lodged at the inn, and had gained his point. Pichegru, Aubry, and Delarue were lying upon mattresses spread upon the floor of a room in the second story, separated from the floor below by planks which were so poorly joined that they could see and hear all that was going on below.
The leaders of the escort, all unsuspecting of the fact that they were both seen and heard, were at supper in the room below. A naval officer had just joined them. Every word that they said was of moment to the unfortunate exiles, and they listened attentively.
The supper, which was long and abundant, was very lively. The tortures which they inflicted upon the exiles formed the theme of merriment. But when the supper was finished, about half-past twelve, the naval officer remarked that it was about time to begin operations. This word "operations," as can readily be understood, riveted the attention of the listeners.
A man who was wholly unknown to them, and who acted as Guillet's secretary, brought pens, paper and ink, and began to write at that officer's dictation. He dictated a report, that, in conformity with the last orders of the Directory, the prisoners were to leave their cages only to go aboard the "Brilliant"—a brigantine fitting out at Rochefort to receive them.
Pichegru, Aubry, and Delarue, although thunderstruck by the tenor of this report, made a day ahead of time, which left no doubt as to their deportation, said nothing about it to their companions. They thought that it would be soon enough for them to learn the sad news at Rochefort.
They arrived there on the 21st of September, about three or four o'clock in the afternoon. The convoy left the main street and followed the fortification, where an immense crowd awaited them, turned the corner of the square, and went toward the bank of the Charente. There was now no longer any doubt, either for those who had heard the fatal secret, or for the thirteen who were as yet ignorant of it. They were about to be sent on shipboard, deprived of the barest necessities of life, and exposed to the dangers of a voyage whose goal was unknown to them.
At last the wagons stopped. Some hundreds of sailors and marines, disgracing the uniform of the navy, placed themselves in line with the exiles as they descended from their cages—which they almost regretted, to such extremes were they reduced. Ferocious cries welcomed them: "Down with the tyrants! Into the water with the traitors! Into the water with them!"
One of these men stepped forward, doubtless to accomplish his threat. The others pressed after him. General Villot walked straight up to him, and folding his arms, said: "Villain! you are too great a coward to render me that service!"
A boat approached, an official called to them, and, one after another, as they were named, the exiles got into the boat. The last, Barbé-Marbois, was in such a desperate condition that the official declared that if they took him aboard in that state he would not live two days.
"What is that to you?" brutally demanded Guillet; "you are only responsible for his bones."
A quarter of an hour later the exiles were on board a two-masted vessel lying at anchor in the middle of the river. It was the "Brilliant," a little privateer taken from theEnglish. They were received there by a dozen soldiers who seemed to have been especially chosen for the position of executioners. The exiles were thrust into a little space between decks so narrow that scarcely half of them could sit down, and so low that the others could not stand upright. They were obliged to take turns in two positions between which there was not much choice.
An hour after they had been put there some one remembered that they ought to have something to eat. Two buckets were sent down, one empty, the other filled with half-cooked beans swimming in reddish water that was even more disgusting than the vessel which contained it. A loaf of bread and some water, the only things of which the prisoners partook, completed the foul repast which was destined for men whom their fellow-citizens had chosen as the most worthy among them to be their representatives.
The exiles would not touch the beans in the bucket—although they had eaten nothing for thirty-six hours—either because they were disgusted with their appearance, or because the guards had not seen fit to give them either spoons or forks; and, as they had to leave the door open in order to admit the air, they were obliged to submit to the jeers of the soldiers, who finally grew so offensive in their language that Pichegru, forgetting that he no longer held command over them, ordered them to be silent.