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The Exploits Of Brigadier Gerard
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.