Chapter 11
CHAPTER V. THE YOKE FELLOW. The angels of affliction spread their toils alike for the virtuous and the wicked, for the mighty and the mean. CHAPTER XXXVIII.
There, at the end of the file, shouted the mounted subaltern in charge. It was nine o'clock on Monday morning. The mutineers, destined for the hulks, drawn up just inside the south gate of Norman Cross, murmured and stared as an officer was marched up to join them, and Raoul swept a hasty glance over the double rank of sullen, reckless faces.
He had just learned that prisoners were handcuffed two and two upon the march, and as his escort brought him nearer he beheld his future companion in irons, a big man of forty-five or thereabouts, grizzled and not over clean, and with a general stamp of a rogue. A droop of the right eyelet did not improve his appearance. His hairy and unengaging right wrist was already encircled by a handcuff, and near him a soldier
was waiting with some keys. "'Oh, look sharp now,' said the lieutenant impatiently. Raoul took his place by the large man and held out his own chafed wrist without a word. His companion looked down at it curiously. The sergeant hesitated.
"'Have you got a handkerchief, sir?' he asked in a low tone. Raoul produced it and the man wrapped it round his wrist. "'I should do that all the time if I were you,' he muttered, as the iron snapped into place over it. "'Thank you,' said Raoul and gave him a little smile.
All he could give in return for the man's humane impulse for his small store of money had been taken from him after his attempted escape, though he had been told this morning that it would be returned to him on arrival at his destination, and he had not yet received the allowance of six pence a day which was made to prisoners on the road for their subsistence. Five minutes later, marching in double file, the armed escort either side, the officer
bringing up the rear on his horse, the string of unfortunates was on the tree-shaded Peterborough road where, a week ago, Raoul had hoped to find himself in very different circumstances. A few minutes more, and they debouched onto the great north road and turned their faces south. There was life and traffic here.
It was strange to see it once more, and they had not gone very far upon its excellent surface before a coach passed them laden with passengers. As it drew abreast of the gang and its escort, the horn began fumblingly to bray out the Marseillaise. It was a brutality for which nothing in his English captivity had so far prepared Raoul,
and he clenched his hands and swore under his breath. Quite a pretty attention remarked his comrade, speaking for the first time in a husky voice. They don't play it very well, though. Oh, it is an abominable thing to do, said Raoul between his teeth, as the derisive strains The man to whom he was handcuffed laughed.
For me, I've heard that air too often to care who plays it. You are too sensitive, Captain, that comes of being an officer. And speaking of that, I ought to feel honored to share this with you. He gave the short bit of chain a little shake. I don't suppose you could return the compliment, Captain, if you were to be a captain.
He gave the short bit of chain a little shake. I don't suppose you could return the compliment, though. I'm not exactly a dandy, am I? Oh, but I should not feel flattered, even if I were tied up with Soult or Masséna, responded Raoul.
On the other hand, you and I have both fought for the Emperor, and we have both known captivity and misfortune, so there's not much to choose between us. His companion gave a hoarse laugh. I've done as little fighting for the Emperor these last years as I could manage, he said, with great frankness.
I deserted twice. Once in Germany, once in that devil's own country, Portugal. But I don't think the English officer knew that when he picked me out for you, Captain. It was just chance. And I can tell you this, that you're lucky not to be coupled with a sailor, for they
don't understand that. And to a soldier, once an officer, always an officer, they treat a broke parole just as one of themselves. You'll not have to complain of that sort of thing from me, at any rate, Muntapi Ten. Thank you for the assurance, returned Raoul rather dryly.
And in any case, let me tell you that I'm not a broke parole. What is your name and regiment? Oh, excuse me, Captain, said the man with a grin. If in the circumstances I don't tell you my regiment. And my name.
Well, I'm always called Saint-Louis. I'm from Lorraine. A little farther, and he was inquiring quite respectfully and in fact admiringly about his companion's frustrated escape. They'd all heard about it, of course, in their casern.
The captain had had hard luck indeed, though not so hard as if the sentry had died. At one time it was reported that he himself was dying from the effect of the blow on the head. Raoul assured him that this had never been the case, and that, though he still had to wear a bandage, the wound was nearly healed.
He did not add that to him the chief disadvantage of this adornment, besides adding to the conspicuousness already conferred upon him by his rank and bright uniform, was that he could not wear his tight-fitting shako, but must march bareheaded for the present. At the village of Stilton they quitted the great north road, turning off to the right and making for the Northampton main road through a network of minor roads and lanes.
At their first halt Raoul discovered the composition of the party. There were thirty-two prisoners, a guard of eight men, a sergeant and a corporal, and the officer in charge, one lieutenant hunter. Besides these there was the conductor, whose business it was to ride on ahead and make arrangements for the billeting of the men for the night in some barn or outhouse, and
to pay them their allowance of six pence a day. With such affairs the officer in charge had no concern. His business was to see that no prisoner escaped en route, and he looked as if he would carry out this duty all the more efficiently, and that he plainly had no fancy for journeying to Devonshire in charge of what amounted to a gang of convicts.
Yet life at Yaxley must have been monotonous enough. For Raoul at least, and despite a slow, unhurried progress and frequent halts, Thrapston village on the Northampton Road, where they were to spend the night, was not attained any too soon. To a man not long out of bed it had seemed a pretendously lengthy twelve miles, which
Sager Louis had informed him was the usual day's stage. And indeed, though we did not know it, it had been nearer fifteen. Raoul had rather liked the narrow lanes, for they seemed to hold out better prospects of the turnpike road, and at one he had seen belated primroses. But as it happened they were never afterwards to engage in such byways.
At Thrapston they were shepherded into a large barn which had been engaged for their occupation, and to Raoul's relief were unshackled for the night. He had already been speculating as to his reception at the hands of his fellow prisoners when they were removed from the constraint of their guards. Once shut into the great dusky building, they were not allowed a light.
He soon discovered what it was to be. They began by exhibiting an ironic and exaggerated respect which was in itself insulting. Such cries resounded as, A room for the officer, make way for the captain of his sars. Now, you wretched linesmen and sailors, out of the way, here comes the cavalry. Raoul the general condescend to sit on this here tub.
Raoul declined, and taking as little notice of their facetiousness as might be, went and sat himself down on a heap of turnips in a far corner, and tried to tear his attention away from this stupid mockery and to the wonderful thing that had happened to him on Saturday. Which, indeed, had been with him ever since like a sustaining hand. He might be miserable, but he was unbelievably blessed as well.
As a particularly offensive remark about the honor of officers came to his ears, he told himself that not one of these poor devils who were now trying his temper had a single soul in England to care what became of him. But he, once again he was sitting on that bench, once again he heard her voice so deeply stirred, felt her agitated hands, and then miraculously her lips on his brow like the
kiss of a saint, which he should have received on his knees. For he had no illusions about the feeling which had inspired it, so might Adrienne have kissed him had she seen him then. But he was recalled from that mental place of refuge to the realization that the disorder in the barn was growing, and that, for the sake of the future, it was time to put a stop
to it if he could. Oh, look here, my men, he said, suddenly emerging from his dark corner. Do you imagine that the English sentinels outside are gaining a very favorable idea of what the Emperor's soldiers are like? Because I do not.
Oh, what! Not if they see us in our beautiful new uniforms, you and me, Captain, mockingly inquired a scarecrow figure, lurching up to the young man and bringing his rags into juxtaposition with a smart silver gray. We were soldiers once, we ain't even deserters now, growled another voice.
And most of us never was soldiers, observed a privateer's man, and added, oh, thank God, on which there was a nascent scuffle. Oh, at any rate, we are all French here, went on, oh, making his voice heard with some difficulty. For it is not that I want to claim any superiority over you, or any right to your obedience, because I am an officer, for I am only, like each of you, a Frenchman in misfortune.
How but you brought your misfortune on yourself, Captain, by breaking your parole, put in someone quickly. You wasn't in misfortune before that, like us poor devils, for no fault of our own, but living on the fat of the land in a fine house, and free to go where you liked, along with being an officer.
Raoul kept his temper. How am I to persuade you, Mifye, that I did not break my parole? Oh, not very easily, sniggered the same speaker. For if you didn't, why were you sent to prison? Begging your pardon, of course, for the liberty, General.
I was sent there because an enemy bore false witness against me, replied Raoul succinctly. I will swear that by anything you please. You have therefore no reason for treating me with disrespect, and so giving the English a handle against the Emperor, for that is what you are doing by this behavior. A voice declared that the Emperor would feel this burden very little, having enough on
his hands without it. And then a prisoner of a waggish turn suggested, Oh, hasn't the Captain got a demoiselle? For sure, he asked, a handsome who saw like him. Let him swear by the white hands of his demoiselle that he is not a broke parole, and I for one
will believe him. The idea caught the unruly assembly. It seemed an odd and not very suitable way of asserting his position and his innocence. And he had no demoiselle. But surely Miss Forrest, who had been so heavenly kind, would lend him her white hands and thought.
So he swore, thinking of them again as they had touched him, and no doubt he swore with fervor. The shadowy, wolfish crowd acclaimed him, and the same wit who had proposed this ceremony struck up, with bitter and calculated irony, the marching song, A la Première au beige, and the rest roared out the refrain. Compagnon, dites-moi donc, dites-moi donc, dites, dites, dites-moi donc, si les demoiselles
sont belles, où nous allons? And then, with an odd mixture of bravado and respect, they asked the Captain if he would sing them a soldier's song, just to show that there was no ill will. So Raoul, seated on the tub, sang them, after a moment's thought, the old air, charming and a little wistful, which had floated round the campfires of Louis Gatocs and many allegorists
since. Au jardin de mon père, le lourdier son fleuri, au jardin de mon père, le lourdier son fleuri, tous les oisons du monde vont eu faire leur knif, auprès de ma blonde, dès qu'il fait bon, fait bon, fait bon, auprès de ma blonde, dès qu'il fait bon, dormi. And they took up the chorus till he came to the seventh verse.
Dites-nous donc, la belle, au don est votre mari, dites-nous donc, la belle, au don est votre mari, il est dans la Hollande, les Hollandais l'ont pris. Auprès de ma blonde, dès qu'il fait bon, fait bon, fait bon, auprès de ma blonde, dès qu'il fait bon, dormi. Il est dans la Hollande, les Hollandais l'ont pris, il est dans la Hollande, les Hollandais
l'ont pris. Que donneriez-vous belle pour avoir votre ami? Auprès de ma blonde, dès qu'il fait bon, fait bon, fait bon, auprès de ma blonde, dès qu'il fait bon, dormi. Que donneriez-vous belle pour avoir votre ami?
Que donneriez-vous belle pour avoir votre ami? Je donnerai Versailles, Paris et Saint-Denis. Auprès de ma blonde dès qu'il fait bon, fait bon, fait bon, auprès de ma blonde dès qu'il fait bon, dormi. Je donnerai Versailles, Paris et Saint-Denis.
Je donnerai Versailles, Paris et Saint-Denis. Le tour de Notre-Dame et le cloche de mon pays. But before he could finish the remaining stanza, someone burst out with a tremendous oath, and Raoul, looking round in surprise, saw that it was his yoke-fellow, Sager Louis, who had taken no part in the previous altercation.
Oh, no more of this, comrades, or one will play the crybaby. Who wants to be reminded of the clocher de son pays here? Besides, you should remember that a few days ago the Captain bayoneted a sentry which none of us had the pluck or the luck to do, and had his head cut open in doing it. You might give him the chance of getting a little rest and sleep, you blank blank.
Agreed, coerced the now-quieted audience. We will all go to sleep. They dispersed at once to divide the straw which had been thrown into the barn for them. And one meek-looking little man with a lisp, who, as Raoul afterward discovered, possessed a most murderous disposition, came up to him with tears in his eyes and faltered.
Oh, you sing like an angel, mon Capitaine. Ah, my poor wife, at l'un des soleil, and does she ever think of me like that, I wonder. And ten minutes later Raoul himself was lying in a corner on a double pile of straw, fenced off from the rest by two hen coops and an old trough which Sager Louis had discovered and placed in position.
The march, however, had tired him so much that for long he could not sleep. And persistently there came into his mind the memory of that winter night before the battle of the Gaborah, when he had lain with his men in a barn in Estremadoura, much like this. But they were his own men, and the Murrow had brought that victorious charge, for his
share in which he had been mentioned in the order of the day had got his promotion, and very nearly the Legion of Honour too. Now he was merely one of a gang of malefactors going to a living death. On the other side of the hen coops Sager Louis snored like a pig, another man was cursing steadily in his sleep, and the smell of unwashed humanity at its garments was increasing in
volume. But for all that, Raoul's last thought, his last sensation, was of Julie on a forest and her lips on his brow. And to whatever depth he was henceforward to sink, he would always have that memory, that seal.
Although the first day's stage was a long and tiring one, the weather had been cool. But next day, as they trampled along the road to Wellingborough, the sun took to shining with unspring-like intensity, and in spite of the fact that it was a shady road, Raoul's damaged head soon began to ache. By the close of the next day, when they were nearing Northampton, he had had sufficient
experience to warrant the theory that it was always likely to trouble him in heat and sunshine, and could only pray that these might not be his portion too often, for he was determined not to complain, and indeed had not much chance of doing so. The officer in command took no more notice of him than of any other of the prisoners. None of the escort was brutal, but their charges might have been cattle for all the interest
that was shown. Sager Louis the deserter, however, turned out better than Raoul could have believed possible. He never took advantage of his position. He never inflicted on his companion during their hours of enforced intimacy any of the
filthy language which he had at his command for others. He made up as good a bed for him every night as was possible, and never tried to share it. In fact, he seemed to have constituted himself a kind of orderly. But he could do nothing to make the weather less hot and thundery, though he displayed
a genuine solicitude at its results, and on the sixth night. It was a chipping Norton in Oxfordshire, stirred up the most fiendish tumult, in an endeavour to impose silence on the whole Barnfall because his captain had a headache. It almost came to a pitched battle between the marine and the military sections, and when the fracas had subsided and Sager Louis, comically crestfallen, came up to Raoul where
he lay on some sacks with his hands over his ears, and the latter very nearly cursed him for his misplaced zeal. A burning sun next morning gave promise of an abnormally hot day, and so it proved. And after an hour or two on the road, Raoul, in addition to his usual headache, began to suffer from momentary spells of dizziness.
Sager Louis, in consequence, shoved his elbow under his as a support, which was not very comfortable for either of them, but served to steady the young man when he needed it. The sun got hotter and hotter as they trudged along the high, shadeless road towards Shipton under Ritchwood, and Raoul began to fear that he might not hold out till the end of the march, especially as it was rumoured that it was to be a long one.
At midday, when they crossed the evil load by Shipton, a halt was called, and Raoul and his inseparable companion lay down in the shade of a hedge. Listening to the murmur of the stream, and longing inexpressibly to strip off his hot, dusty clothes and plunge in, Raoul drifted into a doze, from which he was waken by clumsy fingers spreading something wet and cool on his forehead as he lay there.
That is delicious, he murmured, but how did you get it, mon bon? For without dragging his comrade with him, Saint-Louis could not have gone to the river brink to soak the linen. I got a soldier to go, responded the Lorraine, bending over him. It is your own handkerchief.
Mon capitaine, report yourself now to the officer and fall out, and you will not be able to go much further, I think. You are as pale as a winding sheet. No, said Raoul with his eyes shut. I am not going to do that, and how could I fall out?
We have to go on somehow, Muvire, until we arrive. I fell out once in Portugal before I deserted, observed Saint-Louis lying down beside him again, but my God, that cured me of doing it for a bit. You got into the hands of the country people, or the guerrillas, I suppose. If so, you are lucky to be alive to tell it.
Agreed, said Saint-Louis. Since you are indisposed, I will not tell you what they did to my companion. My faith, every time I thought of it for days afterwards, when I was hiding, I would bring up what little food I had managed to put into my belly. But if one got away here, he went on, musingly.
The country people are not like that devil's spawn of Portugal and Spain. No, not at all, I think. Name of a name, is it time to go on again already? Oh, wait, I'll help you up, mon petit capitaine. It was Sunday, and the bells were ringing for afternoon service in the great church
of Burford, as they came down the hill into the little town. But by the time that they were climbing up the wide, steep street out of it again, other bells seemed to be ringing in Raoul's head also. They had all thought that they were at least going to halt in the old wool trading centre, which indeed, by mileage, should have been the end of their day's tramp.
But, presumably because it was church time, Lieutenant Hunter would not allow it, and they pushed on up the hill, the escort as much discontented as the prisoners. And when they were up, they were ordered to proceed along the turnpike which made for North Leech and Cheltenham, instead of taking the road which made more directly for Simoncester by way of Aldworth, the officer trusting, apparently, to come upon the turning to this
Whereas they had already passed it, just outside Burford. Neither Raoul nor Sagerluy was, naturally, aware of this fact from his own topographical knowledge, which was nil, but the nearest member of the escort, who happened to have observed a signpost, was grumbling under his breath, and Raoul understood the reason only too well.
They were going miles out of their way, and would either have to retrace it, or plod along as far as North Leech, and then turn south. And the road still went, though less steeply, uphill, and the sun was hotter than ever. Right and left stretched the great Gloucestershire fields, fading into miles of distance, down on the right, green and inviting, but not for them was the valley of the Windrush from
which they had just ascended. I will not give in, declared Raoul to himself, but he kept stumbling. O head going round again, inquired Sagerluy in his husky tones. I would put an arm round you if I could, and devil knows. O la, Englishman, cannot you give the officer an arm, he said, of Raoul's head to the grumbling
soldier next the latter. Yes, if he will carry my musket and pack, retorted the militiaman, soured by his geographical presentiments. Sagerluy shrugged his shoulders, and Raoul set his teeth, and half closed his eyes. They passed through a double belt of trees, which was a slight relief, but when they came
out into the full glare again, he felt quite sick with vertigo, and his brain seemed to be hammering at his skull. The soldier by his side muttered savagely and far from encouragingly, going on like this all the way to Northleet, I suppose, eight or nine mortal miles before he finds out that we have passed the blank turn.
However, he was saved that test of endurance. For about a quarter of a mile farther on, the young Hussar captain by his side suddenly swayed violently and pitched forward in the dust, though his fall was broken by his companion, whom he albeit dragged down with him. The end of the column immediately stopped.
The officer, looking annoyed, came riding forward from the rear, dismounted, and stooped over the fallen prisoner. Undo the irons, he said curtly to the sergeant. How damnable nuisance this! Where can we get water?
He himself was unfastening Raoul's collar. There's an inn just ahead, sir, replied the sergeant, preparing to free Saheloui, who was kneeling in the road beside his prostrate comrade. In fact, we're almost there. And no doubt his own thoughts were suddenly gilded with the prospects of another beverage
than water. It was true. Although it stood on the highway, the great elms hid the new inn until one was within a few yards of it, but there was no doubt about its presence, low, gray, and solid, with attendant barns and orchards behind it.
Saheloui, now on his feet, signified that he could carry his captain so far. Assisted by the sergeant, he got the insensible Raoul up and over his shoulder, and they moved on again. By the time that the head of the column, with its shuffling or its military step, had come abreast of the new inn, the whole personnel of that establishment was collected outside.
Seeing that there was a wide, low wall in front, Saheloui carefully deposited his burden thereupon and asked for water, which request was also repeated more intelligibly by English voices. However, the motherly-looking landlady, after one glance at the young man with a bandaged lying so limply upon her wall, said to the world in general,
"'Are you bring him inside at once? This way, and I'd like to know what you soldiers has been doing to him." And before the officer at the far end of the throng filling the road could either give or withhold his consent to this move, Saheloui had picked up the still, unconscious Raoul with surprising ease and celerity and was following the speaker in.
Awareness of the situation, she proceeded him through a passage and into a large parlor. "'Lay the poor boy there,' she said, indicating an enormous sofa under the geranium-filled window. And, as I say, whatever have they been doing to him?' Marion fed some brandy.
She bent over Raoul and began to rub his hands. Now look at this wrist now. And then finding the room filling up behind her back. Now I don't want all you soldiers in here. Thank you.
Out you go. What do you suppose the poor fellow can do, laying here like this?' No, Raoul could do nothing, except unintentionally give an opportunity to a very astute philanthropist. By the time it became any one man's business to see what Saheloui was about, the Lorraine was nowhere to be found.
The hurly-burly which ensued was the first thing that greeted Raoul when he opened his eyes again, but all the commotion was in vain. The deserter must have slipped out of the room unobserved, left the inn by a back way, raced down through the sloping orchards, perhaps swum the windrush at the bottom, and was either lying pegged or running for his life through the lonely Cotswold uplands.
It was unlikely that without money or much of the English tongue he would retain his freedom long. But at any rate he had snatched it now, together with Raoul's only possession of value, his watch. The officer, naturally, was furious over the business.
He accused Raoul of having known of the project and feigned collapse in order to get the chain unfastened. Raoul, sitting bewildered on the horsehair sofa, and really more dizzy than before, with a different kind of dizziness from the quantity of brandy which the kind landlady had poured down his throat, could only shrug his shoulders.
He did not much mind what was said to him, provided only that they did not start along that road in the sun again. Mercifully they did not. Lieutenant Hunter, who had by now discovered his mistake about the route to Sirencester, decided to go no farther that day.
And indeed the twelve miles had already been considerably exceeded. Very ill-temperedly, thinking no doubt of the similar arrangements already made by the conductor along the Aldworth road, he settled with the mistress of the new inn to quarter his charges for the night in one of her barns. Despite her protests, Raoul was removed from the large parlour and the unwanted comfort
of its sofa, and committed to the same incarceration. But before this happened he had unbandaged and bathed his head, and thrust various excellent small pasties upon him. Moreover the straw in her barn was fresher than he had met of late, and his companions in misfortune were unusually quiet and attentive, considering that he had deserved well for
Saint-Louis' escape, some of them indeed believing, like the officer, that the whole thing had been pre-arranged. As for Raoul, he wondered with whom he would be conjoined tomorrow, someone less tolerable, perhaps, than his late partner. Judging from the trend of the conversation, there might even be some competition for the
privilege. And then he remembered that they were now an uneven number, thirty-one and all, and fell asleep trying to divide thirty-one by two, and by some strange process succeeding. End of section eleven.
