The Exploits Of Brigadier Gerard
Arthur Conan Doyle
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The Exploits of BRIGADIER GERARD
SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
_This book is published by arrangement with the Estate of the late Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle_
1896
BY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
_The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_
_The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes_
_The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_
_The Return of Sherlock Holmes_
_His Last Bow_
_The Hound of the Baskervilles_
_The Sign of Four_
_The Valley of Fear_
_Sir Nigel_
_The White Company_
_Micah Clarke_
_The Refugees_
_Rodney Stone_
_Uncle Bernac_
_Adventures of Gerard_
_The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard_
_The Lost World_
_The Tragedy of the Korosko_
OMNIBUS VOLUMES
_Great Stories_
_The Conan Doyle Stories_
_The Sherlock Holmes Short Stories_
_The Sherlock Holmes Long Stories_
_The Historical Romances_
_The Complete Professor Challenger Stories_
_The Complete Napoleonic Stories_
* * * * *
_The Life of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle_
by John Dickson Carr
* * * * *
CONTENTS
1. How the Brigadier came to the Castle of Gloom
2. How the Brigadier slew the brothers of Ajaccio
3. How the Brigadier held the King
4. How the King held the Brigadier
5. How the Brigadier took the field against the Marshal Millefleurs
6. How the Brigadier played for a kingdom
7. How the Brigadier won his Medal
8. How the Brigadier was tempted by the Devil
1. HOW THE BRIGADIER CAME TO THE CASTLE OF GLOOM[A]
You do very well, my friends, to treat me with some little reverence,
for in honouring me you are honouring both France and yourselves. It is
not merely an old, grey-moustached officer whom you see eating his
omelette or draining his glass, but it is a fragment of history. In me
you see one of the last of those wonderful men, the men who were
veterans when they were yet boys, who learned to use a sword earlier
than a razor, and who during a hundred battles had never once let the
enemy see the colour of their knapsacks. For twenty years we were
teaching Europe how to fight, and even when they had learned their
lesson it was only the thermometer, and never the bayonet, which could
break the Grand Army down. Berlin, Naples, Vienna, Madrid, Lisbon,
Moscow--we stabled our horses in them all. Yes, my friends, I say again
that you do well to send your children to me with flowers, for these
ears have heard the trumpet calls of France, and these eyes have seen
her standards in lands where they may never be seen again.
Even now, when I doze in my arm-chair, I can see those great warriors
stream before me--the green-jacketed chasseurs, the giant cuirassiers,
Poniatowsky's lancers, the white-mantled dragoons, the nodding bearskins
of the horse grenadiers. And then there comes the thick, low rattle of
the drums, and through wreaths of dust and smoke I see the line of high
bonnets, the row of brown faces, the swing and toss of the long, red
plumes amid the sloping lines of steel. And there rides Ney with his red
head, and Lefebvre with his bulldog jaw, and Lannes with his Gascon
swagger; and then amidst the gleam of brass and the flaunting feathers I
catch a glimpse of _him_, the man with the pale smile, the rounded
shoulders, and the far-off eyes. There is an end of my sleep, my
friends, for up I spring from my chair, with a cracked voice calling and
a silly hand outstretched, so that Madame Titaux has one more laugh at
the old fellow who lives among the shadows.
Although I was a full Chief of Brigade when the wars came to an end, and
had every hope of soon being made a General of Division, it is still
rather to my earlier days that I turn when I wish to talk of the glories
and the trials of a soldier's life. For you will understand that when an
officer has so many men and horses under him, he has his mind full of
recruits and remounts, fodder and farriers, and quarters, so that even
when he is not in the face of the enemy, life is a very serious matter
for him. But when he is only a lieutenant or a captain he has nothing
heavier than his epaulettes upon his shoulders, so that he can clink his
spurs and swing his dolman, drain his glass and kiss his girl, thinking
of nothing save of enjoying a gallant life. That is the time when he is
likely to have adventures, and it is often to that time that I shall
turn in the stories which I may have for you. So it will be tonight when
I tell you of my visit to the Castle of Gloom; of the strange mission of
Sub-Lieutenant Duroc, and of the horrible affair of the man who was once
known as Jean Carabin, and afterwards as the Baron Straubenthal.
You must know, then, that in the February of 1807, immediately after the
taking of Danzig, Major Legendre and I were commissioned to bring four
hundred remounts from Prussia into Eastern Poland.
The hard weather, and especially the great battle at Eylau, had killed
so many of the horses that there was some danger of our beautiful Tenth
of Hussars becoming a battalion of light infantry. We knew, therefore,
both the Major and I, that we should be very welcome at the front. We
did not advance very rapidly, however, for the snow was deep, the roads
detestable, and we had but twenty returning invalids to assist us.
Besides, it is impossible, when you have a daily change of forage, and
sometimes none at all, to move horses faster than a walk. I am aware
that in the story-books the cavalry whirls past at the maddest of
gallops; but for my own part, after twelve campaigns, I should be very
satisfied to know that my brigade could always walk upon the march and
trot in the presence of the enemy. This I say of the hussars and
chasseurs, mark you, so that it is far more the case with cuirassiers or
dragoons.
For myself I am fond of horses, and to have four hundred of them, of
every age and shade and character, all under my own hands, was a very
great pleasure to me. They were from Pomerania for the most part, though
some were from Normandy and some from Alsace, and it amused us to notice
that they differed in character as much as the people of those
provinces. We observed also, what I have often proved since, that the
nature of a horse can be told by his colour, from the coquettish light
bay, full of fancies and nerves, to the hardy chestnut, and from the
docile roan to the pig-headed rusty-black. All this has nothing in the
world to do with my story, but how is an officer of cavalry to get on
with his tale when he finds four hundred horses waiting for him at the
outset? It is my habit, you see, to talk of that which interests myself
and so I hope that I may interest you.
We crossed the Vistula opposite Marienwerder, and had got as far as
Riesenberg, when Major Legendre came into my room in the post-house with
an open paper in his hand.
'You are to leave me,' said he, with despair upon his face.
It was no very great grief to me to do that, for he was, if I may say
so, hardly worthy to have such a subaltern. I saluted, however, in
silence.
'It is an order from General Lasalle,' he continued; 'you are to
proceed to Rossel instantly, and to report yourself at the headquarters
of the regiment.'
No message could have pleased me better. I was already very well thought
of by my superior officers. It was evident to me, therefore, that this
sudden order meant that the regiment was about to see service once more,
and that Lasalle understood how incomplete my squadron would be without
me. It is true that it came at an inconvenient moment, for the keeper of
the post-house had a daughter--one of those ivory-skinned, black-haired
Polish girls--with whom I had hoped to have some further talk. Still, it
is not for the pawn to argue when the fingers of the player move him
from the square; so down I went, saddled my big black charger, Rataplan,
and set off instantly upon my lonely journey.
My word, it was a treat for those poor Poles and Jews, who have so
little to brighten their dull lives, to see such a picture as that
before their doors! The frosty morning air made Rataplan's great black
limbs and the beautiful curves of his back and sides gleam and shimmer
with every gambade. As for me, the rattle of hoofs upon a road, and the
jingle of bridle chains which comes with every toss of a saucy head,
would even now set my blood dancing through my veins. You may think,
then, how I carried myself in my five-and-twentieth year--I, Etienne
Gerard, the picked horseman and surest blade in the ten regiments of
hussars. Blue was our colour in the Tenth--a sky-blue dolman and pelisse
with a scarlet front--and it was said of us in the army that we could
set a whole population running, the women towards us, and the men away.
There were bright eyes in the Riesenberg windows that morning which
seemed to beg me to tarry; but what can a soldier do, save to kiss his
hand and shake his bridle as he rides upon his way?
It was a bleak season to ride through the poorest and ugliest country in
Europe, but there was a cloudless sky above, and a bright, cold sun,
which shimmered on the huge snowfields. My breath reeked into the
frosty air, and Rataplan sent up two feathers of steam from his
nostrils, while the icicles drooped from the side-irons of his bit. I
let him trot to warm his limbs, while for my own part I had too much to
think of to give much heed to the cold. To north and south stretched the
great plains, mottled over with dark clumps of fir and lighter patches
of larch. A few cottages peeped out here and there, but it was only
three months since the Grand Army had passed that way, and you know what
that meant to a country. The Poles were our friends, it was true, but
out of a hundred thousand men, only the Guard had waggons, and the rest
had to live as best they might. It did not surprise me, therefore, to
see no signs of cattle and no smoke from the silent houses. A weal had
been left across the country where the great host had passed, and it was
said that even the rats were starved wherever the Emperor had led his
men.
By midday I had got as far as the village of Saalfeldt, but as I was on
the direct road for Osterode, where the Emperor was wintering, and also
for the main camp of the seven divisions of infantry, the highway was
choked with carriages and carts. What with artillery caissons and
waggons and couriers, and the ever-thickening stream of recruits and
stragglers, it seemed to me that it would be a very long time before I
should join my comrades. The plains, however, were five feet deep in
snow, so there was nothing for it but to plod upon our way. It was with
joy, therefore, that I found a second road which branched away from the
other, trending through a fir-wood towards the north. There was a small
auberge at the cross-roads, and a patrol of the Third Hussars of
Conflans--the very regiment of which I was afterwards colonel--were
mounting their horses at the door. On the steps stood their officer, a
slight, pale young man, who looked more like a young priest from a
seminary than a leader of the devil-may-care rascals before him.
'Good-day, sir,' said he, seeing that I pulled up my horse.
'Good-day,' I answered. 'I am Lieutenant Etienne Gerard, of the Tenth.'
I could see by his face that he had heard of me. Everybody had heard of
me since my duel with the six fencing masters. My manner, however,
served to put him at his ease with me.
'I am Sub-Lieutenant Duroc, of the Third,' said he.
'Newly joined?' I asked.
'Last week.'
I had thought as much, from his white face and from the way in which he
let his men lounge upon their horses. It was not so long, however, since
I had learned myself what it was like when a schoolboy has to give
orders to veteran troopers. It made me blush, I remember, to shout
abrupt commands to men who had seen more battles than I had years, and
it would have come more natural for me to say, 'With your permission, we
shall now wheel into line,' or, 'If you think it best, we shall trot.' I
did not think the less of the lad, therefore, when I observed that his
men were somewhat out of hand, but I gave them a glance which stiffened
them in their saddles.
'May I ask, monsieur, whether you are going by this northern road?' I
asked.
'My orders are to patrol it as far as Arensdorf,' said he.
'Then I will, with your permission, ride so far with you,' said I. 'It
is very clear that the longer way will be the faster.'
So it proved, for this road led away from the army into a country which
was given over to Cossacks and marauders, and it was as bare as the
other was crowded. Duroc and I rode in front, with our six troopers
clattering in the rear. He was a good boy, this Duroc, with his head
full of the nonsense that they teach at St Cyr, knowing more about
Alexander and Pompey than how to mix a horse's fodder or care for a
horse's feet. Still, he was, as I have said, a good boy, unspoiled as
yet by the camp. It pleased me to hear him prattle away about his
sister Marie and about his mother in Amiens. Presently we found
ourselves at the village of Hayenau. Duroc rode up to the post-house and
asked to see the master.
'Can you tell me,' said he, 'whether the man who calls himself the Baron
Straubenthal lives in these parts?'
The postmaster shook his head, and we rode upon our way. I took no
notice of this, but when, at the next village, my comrade repeated the
same question, with the same result, I could not help asking him who
this Baron Straubenthal might be.
'He is a man,' said Duroc, with a sudden flush upon his boyish face, 'to
whom I have a very important message to convey.'
Well, this was not satisfactory, but there was something in my
companion's manner which told me that any further questioning would be
distasteful to him. I said nothing more, therefore, but Duroc would
still ask every peasant whom we met whether he could give him any news
of the Baron Straubenthal.
For my own part I was endeavouring, as an officer of light cavalry
should, to form an idea of the lay of the country, to note the course of
the streams, and to mark the places where there should be fords. Every
step was taking us farther from the camp round the flanks of which we
were travelling. Far to the south a few plumes of grey smoke in the
frosty air marked the position of some of our outposts. To the north,
however, there was nothing between ourselves and the Russian winter
quarters. Twice on the extreme horizon I caught a glimpse of the glitter
of steel, and pointed it out to my companion. It was too distant for us
to tell whence it came, but we had little doubt that it was from the
lance-heads of marauding Cossacks.
The sun was just setting when we rode over a low hill and saw a small
village upon our right, and on our left a high black castle, which
jutted out from amongst the pine-woods. A farmer with his cart was
approaching us--a matted-haired, downcast fellow, in a sheepskin jacket.
'What village is this?' asked Duroc.
'It is Arensdorf,' he answered, in his barbarous German dialect.
'Then here I am to stay the night,' said my young companion. Then,
turning to the farmer, he asked his eternal question, 'Can you tell me
where the Baron Straubenthal lives?'
'Why, it is he who owns the Castle of Gloom,' said the farmer, pointing
to the dark turrets over the distant fir forest.
Duroc gave a shout like the sportsman who sees his game rising in front
of him. The lad seemed to have gone off his head--his eyes shining, his
face deathly white, and such a grim set about his mouth as made the
farmer shrink away from him. I can see him now, leaning forward on his
brown horse, with his eager gaze fixed upon the great black tower.
'Why do you call it the Castle of Gloom?' I asked.
'Well, it's the name it bears upon the countryside,' said the farmer.
'By all accounts there have been some black doings up yonder. It's not
for nothing that the wickedest man in Poland has been living there these
fourteen years past.'
'A Polish nobleman?' I asked.
'Nay, we breed no such men in Poland,' he answered.
'A Frenchman, then?' cried Duroc.
'They say that he came from France.'
'And with red hair?'
'As red as a fox.'
'Yes, yes, it is my man,' cried my companion, quivering all over in his
excitement. 'It is the hand of Providence which has led me here. Who can
say that there is not justice in this world? Come, Monsieur Gerard, for
I must see the men safely quartered before I can attend to this private
matter.'
He spurred on his horse, and ten minutes later we were at the door of
the inn of Arensdorf, where his men were to find their quarters for the
night.
Well, all this was no affair of mine, and I could not imagine what the
meaning of it might be. Rossel was still far off, but I determined to
ride on for a few hours and take my chance of some wayside barn in which
I could find shelter for Rataplan and myself. I had mounted my horse,
therefore, after tossing off a cup of wine, when young Duroc came
running out of the door and laid his hand upon my knee.
'Monsieur Gerard,' he panted, 'I beg of you not to abandon me like
this!'
'My good sir,' said I, 'if you would tell me what is the matter and what
you would wish me to do, I should be better able to tell you if I could
be of any assistance to you.'
'You can be of the very greatest,' he cried. 'Indeed, from all that I
have heard of you, Monsieur Gerard, you are the one man whom I should
wish to have by my side tonight.'
'You forget that I am riding to join my regiment.'
'You cannot, in any case, reach it tonight. Tomorrow will bring you to
Rossel. By staying with me you will confer the very greatest kindness
upon me, and you will aid me in a matter which concerns my own honour
and the honour of my family. I am compelled, however, to confess to you
that some personal danger may possibly be involved.'
It was a crafty thing for him to say. Of course, I sprang from
Rataplan's back and ordered the groom to lead him back into the stables.
'Come into the inn,' said I, 'and let me know exactly what it is that
you wish me to do.'
He led the way into a sitting-room, and fastened the door lest we should
be interrupted. He was a well-grown lad, and as he stood in the glare of
the lamp, with the light beating upon his earnest face and upon his
uniform of silver grey, which suited him to a marvel, I felt my heart
warm towards him. Without going so far as to say that he carried himself
as I had done at his age, there was at least similarity enough to make
me feel in sympathy with him.
'I can explain it all in a few words,' said he. 'If I have not already
satisfied your very natural curiosity, it is because the subject is so
painful a one to me that I can hardly bring myself to allude to it. I
cannot, however, ask for your assistance without explaining to you
exactly how the matter lies.
'You must know, then, that my father was the well-known banker,
Christophe Duroc, who was murdered by the people during the September
massacres. As you are aware, the mob took possession of the prisons,
chose three so-called judges to pass sentence upon the unhappy
aristocrats, and then tore them to pieces when they were passed out into
the street. My father had been a benefactor of the poor all his life.
There were many to plead for him. He had the fever, too, and was carried
in, half-dead, upon a blanket. Two of the judges were in favour of
acquitting him; the third, a young Jacobin, whose huge body and brutal
mind had made him a leader among these wretches, dragged him, with his
own hands, from the litter, kicked him again and again with his heavy
boots, and hurled him out of the door, where in an instant he was torn
limb from limb under circumstances which are too horrible for me to
describe. This, as you perceive, was murder, even under their own
unlawful laws, for two of their own judges had pronounced in my father's
favour.
'Well, when the days of order came back again, my elder brother began to
make inquiries about this man. I was only a child then, but it was a
family matter, and it was discussed in my presence. The fellow's name
was Carabin. He was one of Sansterre's Guard, and a noted duellist. A
foreign lady named the Baroness Straubenthal having been dragged before
the Jacobins, he had gained her liberty for her on the promise that she
with her money and estates should be his. He had married her, taken her
name and title, and escaped out of France at the time of the fall of
Robespierre. What had become of him we had no means of learning.
'You will think, doubtless, that it would be easy for us to find him,
since we had both his name and his title. You must remember, however,
that the Revolution left us without money, and that without money such a
search is very difficult. Then came the Empire, and it became more
difficult still, for, as you are aware, the Emperor considered that the
18th Brumaire brought all accounts to a settlement, and that on that day
a veil had been drawn across the past. None the less, we kept our own
family story and our own family plans.
'My brother joined the army, and passed with it through all Southern
Europe, asking everywhere for the Baron Straubenthal. Last October he
was killed at Jena, with his mission still unfulfilled. Then it became
my turn, and I have the good fortune to hear of the very man of whom I
am in search at one of the first Polish villages which I have to visit,
and within a fortnight of joining my regiment. And then, to make the
matter even better, I find myself in the company of one whose name is
never mentioned throughout the army save in connection with some daring
and generous deed.'
This was all very well, and I listened to it with the greatest interest,
but I was none the clearer as to what young Duroc wished me to do.
'How can I be of service to you?' I asked.
'By coming up with me.'
'To the Castle?'
'Precisely.'
'When?'
'At once.'
'But what do you intend to do?'
'I shall know what to do. But I wish you to be with me, all the same.'
Well, it was never in my nature to refuse an adventure, and, besides, I
had every sympathy with the lad's feelings. It is very well to forgive
one's enemies, but one wishes to give them something to forgive also. I
held out my hand to him, therefore.
'I must be on my way for Rossel tomorrow morning, but tonight I am
yours,' said I.
We left our troopers in snug quarters, and, as it was but a mile to the
Castle, we did not disturb our horses. To tell the truth, I hate to see
a cavalry man walk, and I hold that just as he is the most gallant thing
upon earth when he has his saddle-flaps between his knees, so he is the
most clumsy when he has to loop up his sabre and his sabre-tasche in one
hand and turn in his toes for fear of catching the rowels of his spurs.
Still, Duroc and I were of the age when one can carry things off, and I
dare swear that no woman at least would have quarrelled with the
appearance of the two young hussars, one in blue and one in grey, who
set out that night from the Arensdorf post-house. We both carried our
swords, and for my own part I slipped a pistol from my holster into the
inside of my pelisse, for it seemed to me that there might be some wild
work before us.
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