Obrazy na stronie
PDF
ePub

CHAPTER XXIV

THE FIRST FIGHT AND THE LAST

THE night passed quietly enough-the morning rose gloomy and dark.

The three trumpeters, who had gone out to reconnoitre, came home about ten o'clock, and gave it as their opinion that it would be safe to venture on Cugan.

The marquis shrugged his shoulders, but made no further comment.

They were tearing down the old trophies which adorned the hall, busily arming themselves with any weapon they could find, when a loud shout made everyone start, and a tremendous cry rang out, 'To arms!'

'The sound comes from the direction of Clisson,' said the marquis; 'the Reds must be near enough. We cannot get out-that is certain-but they shall find that it is not so easy for them to get in. Up to the landing on the first story, boys! Quick! Monsieur le Romain will command there.'

He tore a leaf from his pocket-book.

There are eight windows. The four brothers de Girardin-the elder and the younger Fourré-René le Romain-one of you to each, and take what supports you need. I will see to the seven windows on the ground-floor. Go with Le Romain, Sylvestre. Anyone who has pistols, here! You twelve men to

the Chapel! Trumpeters on the first-floor! Carbines and bayonets, there! Look to your swords! The rest, load and pass up!'

The clamorous voices hushed. Each man got silently to his place. Lucien held the window in the centre, next to Le Romain's. When he looked up, the marquis was standing by him. Under the gray sky the hostile regiments pressed on.

6

There are thousands of them!' cried Le Romain. 'Will they never stop? May we fire, sir?'

'Not yet. Wait till they reach the Chapel. We have not much ammunition. Remember not to waste it. Steady!'

He laid his hand on the shoulder of an eager marksman whose fingers were trembling.

Stillness had fallen on the defenders.

Every man was at his post. Everyone had his lips tight-his eyes

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]
[ocr errors]

'Surrender!'

May we shout, sir?'

'No, wait.'

Surrender, brigands that you are!'

'When?' said Le Romain, between his teeth.

'Not yet, not before they touch the angle of the Chapel wall.'

'How slow they are!'

Even as he spoke Lucien saw that the soldiers were coming on at a run.

'Sound trumpets!' cried the marquis. 'Long live Henri Cinq.'

The clangour of brass mingled with the wild shout

that echoed him. Fifteen men fell from the front rank. Every shot from every window had gone home. The soldiers halted.

Lucien shut his eyes for a second.

'Is this murder that I have done?' Again!' said the marquis.

In the image of God'

The words flashed before one of the defenders bright as the flash of the muskets.

'Long live the Regent!' cried Le Romain.

The loaded weapons were given back-the second volley whistled through the air.

Again fifteen men fell; but their places were filled up rapidly from behind, and this time the men came on-only a few steps, however. The blood rushed back to Lucien's heart, the faint horror left him as a ball flew past his head and lodged in the wainscot.

'They are aiming wildly,' said the marquis. 'A few more rounds like that, and they will retire. Gentlemen against the world, always!'

He was right. Encouraged by their officers, the Reds made a few more half-hearted attempts, and fell back.

Lucien and his fellows took breath.

In the momentary lull the marquis was here, there, everywhere. He had no need to complain of the spirit of his little garrison.

Peals of laughter greeted him.

Everyone worked with a will.

'Let not a man cross the yard!' he cried.

If they

fire the house, we are lost. Pull down the ceiling, you lazy loons here! Get out the beams! We must have loopholes up above. Consolidate the barricades!'

'Glorious!' shouted Le Romain.

'Glorious!' cried Lucien, seizing the musket as it was passed up to him and firing again. All the time he thought that glory was very much like murder. Glorious!' repeated Le Romain. If Victor Hugo were here, he

[ocr errors]

The rest of the sentence was lost in the clatter of falling beams, as a gigantic man with an axe let the light in behind.

'They are within twenty steps of us.

Fire!'

A hail of bullets descended. The besiegers shook, wavered, fled. Shrieks of derisive triumph went up from the besieged.

'See, they are coming on again!'

Again they rushed across the yard. Again they came within twenty paces, only to be repulsed with heavier loss. In the pause that followed, Lucien heard a little clock on the mantelshelf strike five, and wondered if he had gone mad. Had they been fighting

there seven hours?

'Volunteers for a forlorn hope!' cried the marquis. 'They are trying to get into the barn. If they set it on fire, the wind is towards us-we are lost. There is no loophole in that gable-the farm wall gives them cover. Volunteers to defend the barn!'

Here am I!'

Lucien heard his own voice alone.

'It is desperate, sir,' said Le Romain, no one can possibly escape.'

[ocr errors]

One will do,' said the marquis. 'Down the corridor, Lucien-the first door on the right. There are planks across. Hold the window of the barn while we pull the roof down. If they get that ladder planted, retire.'

Out of the storm of heat and noise into the momentary silence, the cool, narrow darkness of the arched passage! As he ran Lucien touched the thick stone wall with his hand to feel the fresh cold of it.

A moment after, besiegers and besieged saw his form clear against the sky on the plank bridge leading from the house to the barn, and heard a strong young voice sing:

'Death is gone a-riding

Where many riders be.

Not a man is hiding,

Never a man would flee.'

There was a breathless pause on either side. The last two lines were lost as he clambered in.

'Fire!' cried the leader of the Reds.

Lucien had reached the window of the barn and flung it open. When the smoke cleared away, there he still stood, laughing and singing.

A ringing cheer went up from his own-broke, as if by compulsion, from the ranks of the enemy. He levelled his musket, and the private advancing with the ladder fell.

A second took it, a third, a fourth, only to meet the same fate.

The young fellow singing at the window bore a charmed life. Within the château itself man after man fell, badly wounded. Nothing could touch him. The roof was coming down bit by bit, but slowly, because few could be spared from the windows. The party in the Chapel had been compelled to retire; they reinforced the workers. While the ladder was not set up there was hope, for the Reds could not fire the barn.

« PoprzedniaDalej »