Philippi, the Guardsman, etc

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PHILIPPI, THE GUARDSMAN "A wandering mob of . . . fugitives." (Page 175.) Philippi. the Guaidsman.'] [Frontispiece PHILIPPI, THE GUARDSMAN BY T. R. THRELFALL ILLUSTRATED BY POWELL CHASE LONDON : WARD, LOCK & Co., Limited, WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C. NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE. no niB jfrieno W. H. HOLLAND (of southport), THIS PICTURE OF A GREAT HISTORICAL EPOCH IS DEDICATED. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. THE ITALIAN CONSCRIPT ... 9 II. THE AVALANCHE .... 19 THE OLD SERGEANT'S DILEMMA . . 28 III. IV. A TERRIBLE DUEL .... 40 V. ON THE BORDERLAND OF DEATH . . 53 VI. THE COMING OF NAPOLEON . . 64 VII. A BEDLAMITE MARRIAGE ... 76 VIII. THE DUKE DEFIES THE KING . . 88 IX. THE BATTLE OF THE MOSKVO . . IOI THE CAPTURE OF THE GRAND REDOUBT II3 X. XI. THE SACRED CITY I2J THE BURNING OF MOSCOW . . 141 XII XIII.

THE VALLEY OF DRY BONES . . . CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE XIV. THE NIGHT OF THE FIFTEEN HUNDRED FROZEN 167 XV. THE LAND OF TORTURE .... 180 XVI. THE BROTHERS OF SMOLENSK . . I94 XVII. LOVE THE CONQUEROR . . . .210 XVIII. HOW THE BRAVEST OF THE BRAVE ESCAPED 223 XIX. CROSSING THE BEREZINA . . . 236 XX. THE LAST STAND AT KOWNA . . -251 XXI. THE LOVERS OF STUTTGART . . 270 XXII. A STORY OF MANY ESCAPES . . . 288 XXIII. THE LAST MUSTER ....

Chapter I The Italian Conscript When

I look down upon this pleasant village of Pagenisco, with its smiling vineyards, its woods and chestnut groves in all their summer tints, its group of gossiping idlers in front of the ancient inn, its balmy air filled with the flagrance of flowers, the song of the merry maid, the laughter of the children, and the call of the distant herdsman, I am filled with wonder that the grim reaper has spared me so long. Yet, as becomes an old soldier, I am ready and awaiting orders. Sometimes when the twilight gathers in the valley, and the voice of Nature is hushed, I hear the whispers of the loved ones, and know that they are waiting on the other side of the dark river for me. At such times I take the battered sword from the wall, or my old guardsman's coat from the chest in the corner there. Then the narrow walls of my room expand and stately battalions pass, the pale faced Emperor sits im movable on his white charger, and I hear once more the clarion sounds of battle, the ringing cheer or the dying whisper of a loved comrade.

But it all passes, and I come back to earth again. In the early days, when these snow-white locks were black as a raven's wing, and my eyes shone with the light of love and adventure, the war drum resounded from the Ukraine to the Tagus. The young blood of the nations, fired with glory, was poured like water on numberless battlefields, and mankind seemed to have gone mad in its worship of the war god. The soldier was then lord of all. He elbowed the merchant in the street, laughed at the priest on the altar steps, kissed the women before their husbands' faces, and set all civil authority at naught. Wealth, birth, position counted for little, for even the poorest soldier perchance carried a Marshal's baton in his knapsack, or might to-morrow become rich through the sack ing of a city. But behind this glamour of glory the shadows were black enough.

The groaning peasant had to toil one day out of every three to pay the grievous war taxes, and his sons were dragged from him to feed the hungry battlefield. The wail of the widow and the fatherless resounded through every village ; crippled soldiers hobbled along every road ; gaunt-eyed Famine besieged the cottage, and ruthless Plunder fearlessly stretched its hand into the mansion. And yet merciful Nature soon covers the bloodstained plains with its carpet of green, and decks the whitened skeleton with its gayest flowers. Merry children romp where once strong men writhed in agony, and the horrors of one generation are but faint echoes to another. I was intended for the priesthood. But the soldier's instinct was too strong within me, and the times too troubled for a strapping young fellow such as I was to settle down to books and paternosters.

My father, Antonio Farri, was a thorough old war-horse. In his younger days he had been one of the first swordsmen in Naples. By the influence of a friend he had secured an important position in the Army of Frederick the Great, and during the Seven Years War had spent much of his time in Russia, Poland, and Sweden. He thus gained a wide knowledge of the customs of the people of those countries, and was thereby the means indirectly of my escape from the most frightful dangers. When the Great Frederick settled down to his last peace, and his foreign Captains were dismissed, my father returned to Pagenisco with sufficient money to enable him to spend the remainder of his days in comfort. Then he married, and a son and a daughter were born. On the French invading Italy in 1791, the old warrior could not of course remain quietly at home.

Grasping his treasured sword and shouldering his gun, he joined the native army. But, though the Italians fought bravely enough, they were too much divided by the jealousy of their rulers to make common cause against the enemy, and they were steadily driven back until the whole country, save the more difficult mountains, was in the hands of the invaders. On arriving home late one night, the brave old man placed my mother and her two children on mules, and taking the most precious of his earthly possessions with him, fled by little known paths to the Abruzzi, where, amid the difficult ravines and mountain passes, he hoped to escape the hated French. Disregarding the flimsy treaties, he gathered a band of ardent mountaineers and descended into the valleys, where he harassed the enemy to such purpose, that they made the most elaborate preparations to capture him.

But all their attempts failed, and the old man always reached home well laden with booty. During the winter months, however, when snow blocked the upper roads, he devoted himself to instructing me in martial exercises and also in the German and Polish languages. On attaining my fifteenth year, I begged my father so eagerly to allow me to accompany him, that at length he reluctantly consented. On this occasion his band of 400 armed peasants and irregular soldiers overwhelmed a French detachment, and after rifling their wagons, retreated to the security of the mountains. But, to my in expressible grief, my father had been severely wounded, and I could see as he was being borne along on a hastily formed litter that he had not long to live. As he was rapidly growing weaker, we were compelled to stay at a cottage, and here it was that the old man, though suffering greatly, gave me his last commands.

" Philippi, my son," said he, " I know well that the French will overcome the resistance of the brave mountaineers, and it is therefore useless for thee to struggle against them. This all powerful Bonaparte will conquer Europe, and even thou mayest be compelled to fight as a soldier in his armies. But my last dying wish is that thou shalt not accept any command under him. Be upright and manly — loyal to thy comrades — and ever remember that the true soldier is a man of honour. Farewell ! " A priest having now arrived, the sacrament was administered, and the brave old man passed peacefully into his eternal rest. We buried him in a quiet valley in the Abruzza, with the ever lasting hills standing sentinel over him. Returning with my mother and sister to Pagenisco, for two years I took little part in the guerilla warfare, which the French in vain sought to stamp out.

But this enforced restraint was terribly hard, for though the invaders tried to cultivate public favour in the towns, they carried matters with a high hand in the country districts. They pillaged the villages, destroyed the vine yards, and spread terror everywhere. Shortly after Napoleon was crowned King of Italy, the cursed conscript system was introduced, and thousands of young Italians were ruthlessly torn from their homes and compelled to march behind the conqueror. At length I, too, was forced to don the uniform of the Italian Guards, and to leave my loved ones. The parting was made all the more bitter by the fact that Marco Cortona, the truest and noblest comrade ever a soldier had, and who was affianced to my Sister Nannette, was dragged off with me. During the next three years we had plenty of fighting in Austria and Switzerland.

It was while engaged on one of these campaigns that I first met Annetta Doria. Slightly above the middle height, she had one of those beautiful Madonna like faces, which one only sees in the paintings of the old masters. There was an expression of angelic purity in it, and her whole being seemed to breathe of love. Though it is near sixty years since I saw her, I well remember how her grace and beauty affected me, my heart feeling as though it were in an iron grip. Annetta, and her twin brother Lorenzo, lived in a peaceful village some few miles from Milan. The children of a petty noble, they were alone in the world, but never were a brother and sister more attached. Marvellously alike in form and features, they had practised together the exer cises which in those days of insecurity and pillage, were regarded as absolutely necessary by all young men and also by many strong-minded maidens.

You know, of course, what a soldier's courtship is — short, sharp, and decisive. When I learned that Annetta loved me my joy was unspeakable, and when my duties were over, I flew to her side, there to revel in bliss. But, alas, our lovers' dream was soon disturbed. The conscript system also laid its heavy hand on Lorenzo's shoulder, and the Guards were ordered to proceed to Turin. I had only time to take a hasty farewell ere we marched. By means of one of Annetta's trusty peasants, however, we were able to communicate with one another, and were eagerly looking forward to an early meeting, when an event occurred which dashed all our fondest hopes to the ground. For weeks rumours had been in circulation respecting an invasion of Russia, but we who were so far removed from that great Empire, never imagined that we should be called upon to take part in it.

And yet, though the strictest secrecy was observed, we soon found that even in Turin elaborate preparations were being made for some campaign. Vast numbers of wagons, guns, and carriages had been collected, and great activity was displayed in the French quarters. At last the thunderbolt fell. We received orders to march through Lyons to the German frontier. Many of us were seasoned veterans, and grim-visaged war had no terrors for us, but, the thought that we, the Italian Guard, contain ing the flower of the Italian youth, were to be paraded through France as specimens of the soldiers the Emperor had conquered, was maddening. Several of my comrades broke their swords, and, but for the fact that a number of French regiments were quartered in the city, we should have openly rebelled. However, the duty of a soldier is to obey, ,and at daybreak one bright March morning in 1812, we filed through the streets of Turin towards the Alps.

The air was filled with sobs and cries of parting, and with maledictions on the French tyranny. As there was some fear of wholesale desertion, no soldier was allowed to leave his quarters, and to my dismay, I could not bid my Annetta fare well. However, by means of her trusty servant, I sent her full particulars of our speedy departure along with many expressions of my undying love. Poor girl, she was in deep distress. Her brother had been sent with a detachment to the South of Italy, and as he was suspected of plotting against the French, it was probable that he would be detained there for months. Two days later we encamped in one of the valleys at the foot of the Alps. Sorrow sits lightly upon the soldier, and the clear air now resounded with laughter, jest, and song, for wine and food were plentiful, and wealth and adven ture were apparently within reach of all.

While our comrades were painting bright pictures of the future, and Marco and I were thinking sorrowfully of our loved ones, we heard the clatter of a horse's hoofs on the hard road. A few minutes later I saw to my inexpressible delight, Lorenzo approaching. We gave him a soldier's welcome, and then learned that through the influence of a powerful Italian noble, he had secured permission to return to our detachment. On paying a hurried visit to Annetta, he heard the unexpected news of our departure from France, and had followed us without delay. While our comrades were sunk in slumber, we two sat long that night talking of Annetta, and as her brother heard my expressions of devotion, with the ardour of a true Italian, he threw him self into my arms, exclaiming : " Rest well assured ; Annetta loves thee as few women can love." My dreams that night were happy indeed.

Chapter II The Avalanche The

further we penetrated into the difficult Col-de-Lauterat Pass the more did our labours increase. Huge snowdrifts blocked the roadway, and the horses could scarce retain their footing. Guns were lifted from their carriages, placed on sledges, and drawn by detachments of panting soldiers up the pass while the ammunition and baggage were carried by mules or on men's shoulders. Toiling through those great solitudes the sharp word of command, the panting exclamations of the men, the despairing scream of some poor horse as it lost its footing and fell into the awful depths, echoed with startling suddenness through the clear air. Occasionally a distant roar like a peal of thunder told where a destructive avalanche or loosened rock had gone hurling over a precipice. While still some distance from the summit we stopped to rest, for though forty men were har nessed to each gun it was [laborious work to drag it up.

The party ahead of us had also paused, and I noticed that their cannon reclined against a jagged rock bordering the roadside. Suddenly a startled cry from our leading files and a gathering roar drew our eyes to the mountain side on our right, where crashing heavily came a great mass of ice and snow sweeping rocks and earth before it. Spell bound, we had neither the power to cry out nor to turn and flee ere it was upon us. With a frightful roar it swept upon the gun ahead of us and then went hissing and roar ing into the dark gulf at our feet. It was a picture of death, swift and terrible. Though a blinding cloud of snow enveloped us and the heavy fragments grazed our feet, our detachment escaped uninjured. But our com rades in front had disappeared and a white wall filled the place where they had so lately stood.

Yet even while we were reeling under the awful suddenness of the disaster a faint cry for help reached our ears, sounding like a voice from the grave, and a moment after Colonel Delfanti exclaimed : " Some men are buried beneath that mass of snow and ice in front. Quick ! pass forward spades, matchets, and levers." To throw off our tunics and hats, to seize the tools, and to attack the mass in front of us was but the work of a moment. Sanctissima ! how we worked. Even in that cold, thin atmosphere where our breath froze on our beards and hair, when we paused to rest, the perspiration poured off us and we were each exhausted after a few minutes' labour. But the news of the disaster having spread through the ranks willing workers swarmed up, and within an hour fully five yards of the roadway had been cleared.

Commanding silence the Colonel called : " What ho, comrades ! help is near." To our intense surprise there came in response a cry apparently as far off as ever. Where could the owner of that voice be we asked each other. Surely no one could be buried under the pile before us and live. Some of the more super stitious, thinking we were being deluded by evil spirits, crossed themselves and invoked the saints. When the darkness of the Alpine night fell on the scene we continued our work by the aid of torches, though great pieces of rock and ice now becoming dislodged, rolled down and threatened to overwhelm us. Ever and anon the mysterious voice responded to our call, but still like an echo. We were all increasingly puzzled, and the impression began to gain ground that we were the sport of the mischievous goblins which are said to flit amid those icy pinnacles.

Colonel Delfanti, however, soon brushed these fancies aside by telling us that unless we hastened our labours the imprisoned men would die of cold. Shortly afterwards we found our path barred by a huge rock which completely baffled all our efforts to remove it. We were about to blow it up with powder, when a cry from one of the men who had been digging in the corner drew our attention. Striking his spade into a mass of snow he had discovered a little tunnel about two and a half feet high running for some distance under the rock. Only one man could work in this passage at once, yet rapid progress was made, and in a short time a couple of bodies were drawn out, one of which was dead, but signs of life were visible in the other. Nothing further rewarding our most diligent search we blew the rock up, and thus cleared the road.

We were, however, not yet at the end of our mysterious experiences. Just as we were about to resume our journey the strange faint cry struck our ears again. Assured that some soldiers had escaped the avalanche but could not regain the path, the Colonel ordered another diligent search to be made. Strangely enough, the cannon our lost comrades had been dragging still lay by the roadside, and the ropes they had grasped hung over the edge of the precipice. Struck by this circumstance, Marco began to gently pull the thick strands, but finding that some heavy weight was lattached he started back with the exclama tion — " By St. Antonio I believe some poor wretch is hanging at the end of this rope ! " On calling our Colonel's attention to this circumstance he ordered us to haul up the rope, but, to our dismay, it parted suddenly and the frayed edges appeared.

Convinced that some poor fellows were buried in those cavernous depths, Colonel Delfanti now determined to lower a man, and calling for volunteers got one hundred men all eager for the task, but on Captain Arcaria observing that I was one of the most expert mountaineers of the Abruzza I was selected. Furnished with a staff and a torch I began the descent of those gloomy depths. For a considerable distance the sides of the cliff were as smooth as glass, and even a bird would have failed to find a sooting. The thick darkness seemed to roll in dense clouds and strange unearthly sounds echoed through the sombre tomb. After descending about a hundred feet I found three or four sharp dangerous pieces of rock standing out from the face of the precipice, and these had evidently cut the gun-rope, for the lower half was suspended from them.

Fifty feet beyond this point I came to a sloping ledge of rock about twelve feet wide thickly covered with snow. Signalling to those above, I found on examination that the rope ceased here. Receiving no response to my repeated calls I seized the broken strands, and passing it through my hands found that it led to a dark crevice about four feet above the level of the snow. Scrambling into this opening I found the motionless form of a guardsman. The rope was tied tightly round his waist, his clothes were torn to shreds, and there were a couple of ugly bruises on his head, but finding that he still showed signs of life I forced some brandy down his throat, when he began slowly to recover. At length opening his eyes he murmured " Where am I ? " The poor fellow was too weak to be sent up alone or to be left on the snow until I returned with help, but assured that the rope by which I had descended would bear our double weight, I bound my companion securely to me and gave the signal to ascend.

It was well-nigh impossible to guard against the terrible needle-like rocks, and I was breathless with anxiety, until the dangerous point was passed, for if the rope which carried us should become frayed it might give way at any moment and we should be hurled to instant death. This fearful ordeal was the most trying I have ever gone through. I have met the grim tyrant in " I was breathless with anxiety." Pliilippi, the Guardsman] [PslJ. 24. well-nigh every form, — in battle, amid the Russian snows, and at the hands of conspirators, but seldom suffered such agony as during those brief moments when hanging defenceless at the end of a doubtful rope, with a wounded man in my arms, and in profound darkness, for my torch had fallen as I sought to protect my now unconscious com panion from swinging against the rock.

How we got past those jagged points I know not. It may have been fancy, but as my heart went out in prayer as it had never done before it seemed as though an angel form, fashioning itself out of the Egyptian darkness, grasped with shadowy hands that hempen strand and guided it past those cruel teeth. Well-nigh overcome by the fearful strain, I could only remember hearing a confused murmur of voices and seeing the flashing of many lights. I was told afterwards that I had fainted. The story of the injured man was simple enough. At the head of the file drawing the gun he had not removed the rope which had been fastened round his waist, and had been swept over the precipice with the avalanche. By one of those strangely fortunate accidents — or protec tive designs, I know not which — he had fallen on the snow-laden ledge, while the mass of rock and ice had gone whirling past him into the yawning gulf.

When he recovered consciousness he had PHILIPPI, THE GUARDSMAN 26 shouted for help, and was rejoiced to hear answering cries. But he waited in vain. Concluding that he was being mocked by goblins or echoes and feeling numbed, he had managed, how, God knows, to climb into the crevice where he had fainted from exhaustion, and would no doubt have passed from life to death without awaking but for his timely rescue. The joy of Marco and Lorenzo at my escape touched me profoundly. My loved one's brother embraced me tenderly and would not leave my side for days. And when Marco, in that gay, manly, outspoken way of his, would exclaim that Lorenzo was evidently determined that no fair daughter of France should capture Philippi's heart, the spirited young fellow's eyes would blaze and his cheek flush as he replied — " Ah, you know not Annetta's love.

She would die were Philippi lost to her." I know not why such a wealth of love should have been poured upon me, for I was ever a plain soldier, brave enough no doubt, and loyal to my comrades; passably well educated and with a true man's reverence for womankind. Though generally regarded as a handsome man I think I can justly say that I did not presume upon that fact to delude and cozen any gentle-hearted fair ones, but secure in Annetta's love which encircled me like a mantle, the bewitching smiles, the sparkling eyes, and the deft fingers ever weaving their fetters of love, were all passed heedlessly by. Oft in the long watches of the night did my loved one's voice reach me, and I would ask myself whether love had solved secrets of Nature unknown to learned men and sent its message like lightning flashes over the most distant lands.

Chapter III The Old Sergeant's Dilemma The

two days we spent at Lyons was one long carousal, and when we filed through the streets on our way to the north every window and roof was full of bright, smiling faces of people bidding us a merry farewell, and all the time chanting the glories of France, as though war was but a gay parade without a shadow of sorrow or suffering. As we tramped through the south and east of France we found it ever the same. The people alike in town and country were mad with glory. It was food, raiment, and shelter for even the poorest peasant. Though tens of thousands of French soldiers had died upon the battlefields, and grief fluttered her sombre wings in number less cottages, while starvation dogged the people's daily footsteps, the cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" iS rang from every lip, even as tears of sorrow coursed down their cheeks.

Mothers dressed in widow's weeds, surrounded by their children, would stand with sad faces at their cottage doors, but their eyes would brighten, their faces flush, and their figures be drawn proudly up, as they waved us God-speed along that road whence those dearest to them had sped never to return. Sometimes, too, an aged mother whose husband and sons had been slain in battle would bless us in a thin, trembling voice and bid us remember the honour of France. Wherever we went we found crippled soldiers. Some were minus a leg or some an arm. Some lacked both. Others were strangely disfigured, and many were blind. Yet all these must needs hobble or be carried to the doors to see or hear the conquering army pass. It was pitiable to see those shattered and ghastly forms quivering again with the fever of battle, their sunken eyes burn ing with the lust of blood, or stretching out their arms in blind eagerness.

Supported by their friends these wrecks of humanity would remain gasping or crying "Vive l'Empereur!" In vivid contrast to these reminders of a terrible past and suffering present were those rays of divine sunlight, the merry children. The lads, longing to be men, when they too could go to the wars, would stand and cheer the livelong day, or follow us for miles, proud to relieve a tired soldier of his musket or to receive a smile. Truly the dragon teeth of war bespoke a plentiful harvest. Yet many a pleasant adventure served to relieve these sombre pictures, and every night we laughed merrily over the mishap of some comrade or the blunders of a recruit. But no one underwent such embarrassing ex periences as old Sergeant Crispi. He was a grizzled old veteran with many strange ideas, but possessed of a heart of gold.

Brave, tender, and strangely silent, he would sit by the camp fire for hours and never smile at the wittiest saying. Curiously enough, too, he never seemed to be comfortable in the presence of women, and always took a hurried departure when any fair creature approached. It was generally agreed that he had been crossed in love, but we could never induce him to speak of his past. He had been a soldier for over twenty years, and had been wounded several times. In fact, he seemed to be happiest when fighting. Amid the heat of battle he became quite another man, for his eye would brighten, a happy smile illumine his face, and he would charge right into the midst of the enemy either singing some merry love ballad or gaily jesting with the man he attacked. On two occasions, when a poor recruit lay moaning on the battlefield, with the enemy's fire sweeping over him, I have seen brave old Ser geant Crispi step from the ranks and walk as calmly as if on parade to where the suffering lad lay, pick him up in his strong arms, and bring him into shelter amid the cheers of friend and foe.

The father of the regiment, he was the special pride of all the young soldiers. We were passing through the pleasant old town of Pont-a-Mousson, about four o'clock one day, under the admiring inspection of a large crowd, when a little, bad-tempered looking woman, with a sharp, white face and a red nose, suddenly darted at the sergeant, and, seizing him by the coat, began to stoutly belabour him, meanwhile screaming at the top of her voice. Nor was she alone. At her heels followed eight children ranging in age from five to eighteen. The elder ones threw themselves on the poor sergeant's neck while the little ones hugged his legs and body until he was completely hidden from view, and only his bearskin could be seen tossing to and fro above the screaming, crowing little mob. We all stopped in amazement at this strange spectacle, and asked each other what it meant, but as our knowledge of the French tongue was somewhat imperfect we could get but little infor mation.