Section 2 of 16 - Table of Contents
The track which led to the Castle wound through a pitch-black fir-wood,
where we could see nothing save the ragged patch of stars above our
heads. Presently, however, it opened up, and there was the Castle right
in front of us, about as far as a carbine would carry. It was a huge,
uncouth place, and bore every mark of being exceedingly old, with
turrets at every corner, and a square keep on the side which was nearest
to us. In all its great shadow there was no sign of light save from a
single window, and no sound came from it. To me there was something
awful in its size and its silence, which corresponded so well with its
sinister name. My companion pressed on eagerly, and I followed him along
the ill-kept path which led to the gate.
There was no bell or knocker upon the great iron-studded door, and it
was only by pounding with the hilts of our sabres that we could attract
attention. A thin, hawk-faced man, with a beard up to his temples,
opened it at last. He carried a lantern in one hand, and in the other a
chain which held an enormous black hound. His manner at the first moment
was threatening, but the sight of our uniforms and of our faces turned
it into one of sulky reserve.
'The Baron Straubenthal does not receive visitors at so late an hour,'
said he, speaking in very excellent French.
'You can inform Baron Straubenthal that I have come eight hundred
leagues to see him, and that I will not leave until I have done so,'
said my companion. I could not myself have said it with a better voice
and manner.
The fellow took a sidelong look at us, and tugged at his black beard in
his perplexity.
'To tell the truth, gentlemen,' said he, 'the Baron has a cup or two of
wine in him at this hour, and you would certainly find him a more
entertaining companion if you were to come again in the morning.'
He had opened the door a little wider as he spoke, and I saw by the
light of the lamp in the hall behind him that three other rough fellows
were standing there, one of whom held another of these monstrous hounds.
Duroc must have seen it also, but it made no difference to his
resolution.
'Enough talk,' said he, pushing the man to one side. 'It is with your
master that I have to deal.'
The fellows in the hall made way for him as he strode in among them, so
great is the power of one man who knows what he wants over several who
are not sure of themselves. My companion tapped one of them upon the
shoulder with as much assurance as though he owned him.
'Show me to the Baron,' said he.
The man shrugged his shoulders, and answered something in Polish. The
fellow with the beard, who had shut and barred the front door, appeared
to be the only one among them who could speak French.
'Well, you shall have your way,' said he, with a sinister smile. 'You
shall see the Baron. And perhaps, before you have finished, you will
wish that you had taken my advice.'
We followed him down the hall, which was stone-flagged and very
spacious, with skins scattered upon the floor, and the heads of wild
beasts upon the walls. At the farther end he threw open a door, and we
entered.
It was a small room, scantily furnished, with the same marks of neglect
and decay which met us at every turn. The walls were hung with
discoloured tapestry, which had come loose at one corner, so as to
expose the rough stonework behind. A second door, hung with a curtain,
faced us upon the other side. Between lay a square table, strewn with
dirty dishes and the sordid remains of a meal. Several bottles were
scattered over it. At the head of it, and facing us, there sat a huge
man with a lion-like head and a great shock of orange-coloured hair. His
beard was of the same glaring hue; matted and tangled and coarse as a
horse's mane. I have seen some strange faces in my time, but never one
more brutal than that, with its small, vicious, blue eyes, its white,
crumpled cheeks, and the thick, hanging lip which protruded over his
monstrous beard. His head swayed about on his shoulders, and he looked
at us with the vague, dim gaze of a drunken man. Yet he was not so drunk
but that our uniforms carried their message to him.
'Well, my brave boys,' he hiccoughed. 'What is the latest news from
Paris, eh? You're going to free Poland, I hear, and have meantime all
become slaves yourselves--slaves to a little aristocrat with his grey
coat and his three-cornered hat. No more citizens either, I am told, and
nothing but monsieur and madame. My faith, some more heads will have to
roll into the sawdust basket some of these mornings.'
Duroc advanced in silence, and stood by the ruffian's side.
'Jean Carabin,' said he.
The Baron started, and the film of drunkenness seemed to be clearing
from his eyes.
'Jean Carabin,' said Duroc, once more.
He sat up and grasped the arms of his chair.
'What do you mean by repeating that name, young man?' he asked.
'Jean Carabin, you are a man whom I have long wished to meet.'
'Supposing that I once had such a name, how can it concern you, since
you must have been a child when I bore it?'
'My name is Duroc.'
'Not the son of----?'
'The son of the man you murdered.'
The Baron tried to laugh, but there was terror in his eyes.
'We must let bygones be bygones, young man,' he cried. 'It was our life
or theirs in those days: the aristocrats or the people. Your father was
of the Gironde. He fell. I was of the mountain. Most of my comrades
fell. It was all the fortune of war. We must forget all this and learn
to know each other better, you and I.' He held out a red, twitching hand
as he spoke.
'Enough,' said young Duroc. 'If I were to pass my sabre through you as
you sit in that chair, I should do what is just and right. I dishonour
my blade by crossing it with yours. And yet you are a Frenchman, and
have even held a commission under the same flag as myself. Rise, then,
and defend yourself!'
'Tut, tut!' cried the Baron. 'It is all very well for you young
bloods--'
Duroc's patience could stand no more. He swung his open hand into the
centre of the great orange beard. I saw a lip fringed with blood, and
two glaring blue eyes above it.
'You shall die for that blow.'
'That is better,' said Duroc.
'My sabre!' cried the other. 'I will not keep you waiting, I promise
you!' and he hurried from the room.
I have said that there was a second door covered with a curtain. Hardly
had the Baron vanished when there ran from behind it a woman, young and
beautiful. So swiftly and noiselessly did she move that she was between
us in an instant, and it was only the shaking curtains which told us
whence she had come.
'I have seen it all,' she cried. 'Oh, sir, you have carried yourself
splendidly.' She stooped to my companion's hand, and kissed it again and
again ere he could disengage it from her grasp.
'Nay, madame, why should you kiss my hand?' he cried.
'Because it is the hand which struck him on his vile, lying mouth.
Because it may be the hand which will avenge my mother. I am his
step-daughter. The woman whose heart he broke was my mother. I loathe
him, I fear him. Ah, there is his step!' In an instant she had vanished
as suddenly as she had come. A moment later, the Baron entered with a
drawn sword in his hand, and the fellow who had admitted us at his
heels.
'This is my secretary,' said he. 'He will be my friend in this affair.
But we shall need more elbow-room than we can find here. Perhaps you
will kindly come with me to a more spacious apartment.'
It was evidently impossible to fight in a chamber which was blocked by a
great table. We followed him out, therefore, into the dimly-lit hall. At
the farther end a light was shining through an open door.
'We shall find what we want in here,' said the man with the dark beard.
It was a large, empty room, with rows of barrels and cases round the
walls. A strong lamp stood upon a shelf in the corner. The floor was
level and true, so that no swordsman could ask for more. Duroc drew his
sabre and sprang into it. The Baron stood back with a bow and motioned
me to follow my companion. Hardly were my heels over the threshold when
the heavy door crashed behind us and the key screamed in the lock. We
were taken in a trap.
For a moment we could not realize it. Such incredible baseness was
outside all our experiences. Then, as we understood how foolish we had
been to trust for an instant a man with such a history, a flush of rage
came over us, rage against his villainy and against our own stupidity.
We rushed at the door together, beating it with our fists and kicking
with our heavy boots. The sound of our blows and of our execrations must
have resounded through the Castle. We called to this villain, hurling at
him every name which might pierce even into his hardened soul. But the
door was enormous--such a door as one finds in mediaeval castles--made
of huge beams clamped together with iron. It was as easy to break as a
square of the Old Guard. And our cries appeared to be of as little avail
as our blows, for they only brought for answer the clattering echoes
from the high roof above us. When you have done some soldiering, you
soon learn to put up with what cannot be altered. It was I, then, who
first recovered my calmness, and prevailed upon Duroc to join with me in
examining the apartment which had become our dungeon.
There was only one window, which had no glass in it, and was so narrow
that one could not so much as get one's head through. It was high up,
and Duroc had to stand upon a barrel in order to see from it.
'What can you see?' I asked.
'Fir-woods and an avenue of snow between them,' said he. 'Ah!' he gave a
cry of surprise.
I sprang upon the barrel beside him. There was, as he said, a long,
clear strip of snow in front. A man was riding down it, flogging his
horse and galloping like a madman. As we watched, he grew smaller and
smaller, until he was swallowed up by the black shadows of the forest.
'What does that mean?' asked Duroc.
'No good for us,' said I. 'He may have gone for some brigands to cut
our throats. Let us see if we cannot find a way out of this mouse-trap
before the cat can arrive.'
The one piece of good fortune in our favour was that beautiful lamp. It
was nearly full of oil, and would last us until morning. In the dark our
situation would have been far more difficult. By its light we proceeded
to examine the packages and cases which lined the walls. In some places
there was only a single line of them, while in one corner they were
piled nearly to the ceiling. It seemed that we were in the storehouse of
the Castle, for there were a great number of cheeses, vegetables of
various kinds, bins full of dried fruits, and a line of wine barrels.
One of these had a spigot in it, and as I had eaten little during the
day, I was glad of a cup of claret and some food. As to Duroc, he would
take nothing, but paced up and down the room in a fever of anger and
impatience. 'I'll have him yet!' he cried, every now and then. 'The
rascal shall not escape me!'
This was all very well, but it seemed to me, as I sat on a great round
cheese eating my supper, that this youngster was thinking rather too
much of his own family affairs and too little of the fine scrape into
which he had got me. After all, his father had been dead fourteen years,
and nothing could set that right; but here was Etienne Gerard, the most
dashing lieutenant in the whole Grand Army, in imminent danger of being
cut off at the very outset of his brilliant career. Who was ever to know
the heights to which I might have risen if I were knocked on the head in
this hole-and-corner business, which had nothing whatever to do with
France or the Emperor? I could not help thinking what a fool I had been,
when I had a fine war before me and everything which a man could desire,
to go off on a hare-brained expedition of this sort, as if it were not
enough to have a quarter of a million Russians to fight against, without
plunging into all sorts of private quarrels as well.
'That is all very well,' I said at last, as I heard Duroc muttering his
threats. 'You may do what you like to him when you get the upper hand.
At present the question rather is, what is _he_ going to do to us?'
'Let him do his worst!' cried the boy. 'I owe a duty to my father.'
'That is mere foolishness,' said I. 'If you owe a duty to your father, I
owe one to my mother, which is to get out of this business safe and
sound.'
My remark brought him to his senses.
'I have thought too much of myself!' he cried. 'Forgive me, Monsieur
Gerard. Give me your advice as to what I should do.'
'Well,' said I, 'it is not for our health that they have shut us up here
among the cheeses. They mean to make an end of us if they can. That is
certain. They hope that no one knows that we have come here, and that
none will trace us if we remain. Do your hussars know where you have
gone to?'
'I said nothing.'
'Hum! It is clear that we cannot be starved here. They must come to us
if they are to kill us. Behind a barricade of barrels we could hold our
own against the five rascals whom we have seen. That is, probably, why
they have sent that messenger for assistance.'
'We must get out before he returns.'
'Precisely, if we are to get out at all.'
'Could we not burn down this door?' he cried.
'Nothing could be easier,' said I. 'There are several casks of oil in
the corner. My only objection is that we should ourselves be nicely
toasted, like two little oyster pates.'
'Can you not suggest something?' he cried, in despair. 'Ah, what is
that?'
There had been a low sound at our little window, and a shadow came
between the stars and ourselves. A small, white hand was stretched into
the lamplight. Something glittered between the fingers.
'Quick! quick!' cried a woman's voice.
We were on the barrel in an instant.
'They have sent for the Cossacks. Your lives are at stake. Ah, I am
lost! I am lost!'
There was the sound of rushing steps, a hoarse oath, a blow, and the
stars were once more twinkling through the window. We stood helpless
upon the barrel with our blood cold with horror. Half a minute
afterwards we heard a smothered scream, ending in a choke. A great door
slammed somewhere in the silent night.
'Those ruffians have seized her. They will kill her,' I cried.
Duroc sprang down with the inarticulate shouts of one whose reason has
left him. He struck the door so frantically with his naked hands that he
left a blotch of blood with every blow.
Here is the key!' I shouted, picking one from the floor. 'She must have
thrown it in at the instant that she was torn away.'
My companion snatched it from me with a shriek of joy. A moment later he
dashed it down upon the boards. It was so small that it was lost in the
enormous lock. Duroc sank upon one of the boxes with his head between
his hands. He sobbed in his despair. I could have sobbed, too, when I
thought of the woman and how helpless we were to save her.
But I am not easily baffled. After all, this key must have been sent to
us for a purpose. The lady could not bring us that of the door, because
this murderous step-father of hers would most certainly have it in his
pocket. Yet this other must have a meaning, or why should she risk her
life to place it in our hands? It would say little for our wits if we
could not find out what that meaning might be.
I set to work moving all the cases out from the wall, and Duroc, gaining
new hope from my courage, helped me with all his strength. It was no
light task, for many of them were large and heavy. On we went, working
like maniacs, slinging barrels, cheeses, and boxes pell-mell into the
middle of the room. At last there only remained one huge barrel of
vodka, which stood in the corner. With our united strength we rolled it
out, and there was a little low wooden door in the wainscot behind it.
The key fitted, and with a cry of delight we saw it swing open before
us. With the lamp in my hand, I squeezed my way in, followed by my
companion.
We were in the powder-magazine of the Castle--a rough, walled cellar,
with barrels all round it, and one with the top staved in in the centre.
The powder from it lay in a black heap upon the floor. Beyond there was
another door, but it was locked.
'We are no better off than before,' cried Duroc. 'We have no key.'
'We have a dozen!' I cried.
'Where?'
I pointed to the line of powder barrels.
'You would blow this door open?'
'Precisely.'
'But you would explode the magazine.'
It was true, but I was not at the end of my resources.
'We will blow open the store-room door,' I cried.
I ran back and seized a tin box which had been filled with candles. It
was about the size of my busby--large enough to hold several pounds of
powder. Duroc filled it while I cut off the end of a candle. When we had
finished, it would have puzzled a colonel of engineers to make a better
petard. I put three cheeses on the top of each other and placed it above
them, so as to lean against the lock. Then we lit our candle-end and ran
for shelter, shutting the door of the magazine behind us.
It is no joke, my friends, to be among all those tons of powder, with
the knowledge that if the flame of the explosion should penetrate
through one thin door our blackened limbs would be shot higher than the
Castle keep. Who could have believed that a half-inch of candle could
take so long to burn? My ears were straining all the time for the
thudding of the hoofs of the Cossacks who were coming to destroy us. I
had almost made up my mind that the candle must have gone out when there
was a smack like a bursting bomb, our door flew to bits, and pieces of
cheese, with a shower of turnips, apples, and splinters of cases, were
shot in among us. As we rushed out we had to stagger through an
impenetrable smoke, with all sorts of debris beneath our feet, but there
was a glimmering square where the dark door had been. The petard had
done its work.
In fact, it had done more for us than we had even ventured to hope. It
had shattered gaolers as well as gaol. The first thing that I saw as I
came out into the hall was a man with a butcher's axe in his hand, lying
flat upon his back, with a gaping wound across his forehead. The second
was a huge dog, with two of its legs broken, twisting in agony upon the
floor. As it raised itself up I saw the two broken ends flapping like
flails. At the same instant I heard a cry, and there was Duroc, thrown
against the wall, with the other hound's teeth in his throat. He pushed
it off with his left hand, while again and again he passed his sabre
through its body, but it was not until I blew out its brains with my
pistol that the iron jaws relaxed, and the fierce, bloodshot eyes were
glazed in death.
There was no time for us to pause. A woman's scream from in front--a
scream of mortal terror--told us that even now we might be too late.
There were two other men in the hall, but they cowered away from our
drawn swords and furious faces. The blood was streaming from Duroc's
neck and dyeing the grey fur of his pelisse. Such was the lad's fire,
however, that he shot in front of me, and it was only over his shoulder
that I caught a glimpse of the scene as we rushed into the chamber in
which we had first seen the master of the Castle of Gloom.
The Baron was standing in the middle of the room, his tangled mane
bristling like an angry lion. He was, as I have said, a huge man with
enormous shoulders; and as he stood there, with his face flushed with
rage and his sword advanced, I could not but think that, in spite of all
his villainies, he had a proper figure for a grenadier. The lady lay
cowering in a chair behind him. A weal across one of her white arms and
a dog-whip upon the floor were enough to show that our escape had hardly
been in time to save her from his brutality. He gave a howl like a wolf
as we broke in, and was upon us in an instant, hacking and driving, with
a curse at every blow.
I have already said that the room gave no space for swordsmanship. My
young companion was in front of me in the narrow passage between the
table and the wall, so that I could only look on without being able to
aid him. The lad knew something of his weapon, and was as fierce and
active as a wild cat, but in so narrow a space the weight and strength
of the giant gave him the advantage. Besides, he was an admirable
swordsman. His parade and riposte were as quick as lightning. Twice he
touched Duroc upon the shoulder, and then, as the lad slipped on a
lunge, he whirled up his sword to finish him before he could recover his
feet. I was quicker than he, however, and took the cut upon the pommel
of my sabre.
'Excuse me,' said I, 'but you have still to deal with Etienne Gerard.'
He drew back and leaned against the tapestry-covered wall, breathing in
little, hoarse gasps, for his foul living was against him.
'Take your breath,' said I. 'I will await your convenience.'
'You have no cause of quarrel against me,' he panted.
'I owe you some little attention,' said I, 'for having shut me up in
your store-room. Besides, if all other were wanting, I see cause enough
upon that lady's arm.'
'Have your way, then!' he snarled, and leaped at me like a madman. For
a minute I saw only the blazing blue eyes, and the red glazed point
which stabbed and stabbed, rasping off to right or to left, and yet ever
back at my throat and my breast. I had never thought that such good
sword-play was to be found at Paris in the days of the Revolution. I do
not suppose that in all my little affairs I have met six men who had a
better knowledge of their weapon. But he knew that I was his master. He
read death in my eyes, and I could see that he read it. The flush died
from his face. His breath came in shorter and in thicker gasps. Yet he
fought on, even after the final thrust had come, and died still hacking
and cursing, with foul cries upon his lips, and his blood clotting upon
his orange beard. I who speak to you have seen so many battles, that my
old memory can scarce contain their names, and yet of all the terrible
sights which these eyes have rested upon, there is none which I care to
think of less than of that orange beard with the crimson stain in the
centre, from which I had drawn my sword-point.
It was only afterwards that I had time to think of all this. His
monstrous body had hardly crashed down upon the floor before the woman
in the corner sprang to her feet, clapping her hands together and
screaming out in her delight. For my part I was disgusted to see a woman
take such delight in a deed of blood, and I gave no thought as to the
terrible wrongs which must have befallen her before she could so far
forget the gentleness of her sex. It was on my tongue to tell her
sharply to be silent, when a strange, choking smell took the breath from
my nostrils, and a sudden, yellow glare brought out the figures upon the
faded hangings.
'Duroc, Duroc!' I shouted, tugging at his shoulder. 'The Castle is on
fire!'
The boy lay senseless upon the ground, exhausted by his wounds. I rushed
out into the hall to see whence the danger came. It was our explosion
which had set alight to the dry frame-work of the door. Inside the
store-room some of the boxes were already blazing. I glanced in, and as
I did so my blood was turned to water by the sight of the powder barrels
beyond, and of the loose heap upon the floor. It might be seconds, it
could not be more than minutes, before the flames would be at the edge
of it. These eyes will be closed in death, my friends, before they cease
to see those crawling lines of fire and the black heap beyond.
How little I can remember what followed. Vaguely I can recall how I
rushed into the chamber of death, how I seized Duroc by one limp hand
and dragged him down the hall, the woman keeping pace with me and
pulling at the other arm. Out of the gateway we rushed, and on down the
snow-covered path until we were on the fringe of the fir forest. It was
at that moment that I heard a crash behind me, and, glancing round, saw
a great spout of fire shoot up into the wintry sky. An instant later
there seemed to come a second crash, far louder than the first. I saw
the fir trees and the stars whirling round me, and I fell unconscious
across the body of my comrade.
* * * * *
It was some weeks before I came to myself in the post-house of
Arensdorf, and longer still before I could be told all that had befallen
me. It was Duroc, already able to go soldiering, who came to my bedside
and gave me an account of it. He it was who told me how a piece of
timber had struck me on the head and laid me almost dead upon the
ground. From him, too, I learned how the Polish girl had run to
Arensdorf, how she had roused our hussars, and how she had only just
brought them back in time to save us from the spears of the Cossacks who
had been summoned from their bivouac by that same black-bearded
secretary whom we had seen galloping so swiftly over the snow. As to the
brave lady who had twice saved our lives, I could not learn very much
about her at that moment from Duroc, but when I chanced to meet him in
Paris two years later, after the campaign of Wagram, I was not very
much surprised to find that I needed no introduction to his bride, and
that by the queer turns of fortune he had himself, had he chosen to use
it, that very name and title of the Baron Straubenthal, which showed him
to be the owner of the blackened ruins of the Castle of Gloom.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: The term Brigadier is used throughout in its English and
not in its French sense.]
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