The Chasseur D'Afrique, and other tales

Preface

. Truth is, it is said, stranger than fiction; and the only hope the author of this work has of attracting the attention of the reading public to his book lies in its truthfulness. The short tale entitled " The Chasseur d'Afrique" is, word for word, a truthful account of the adventures of a French cavalry officer during the late Italian War. The name alone has been altered; and though the writer of these lines helped to commit to the earth, after the battle of Solferino, the lifeless body of as good a man and as brave a soldier as ever lived, yet his mission of sorrow did not end there. Another remained, and a more painful one, namely, to convey to the dead soldier's young widow those cherished, yet sad memorials of the past, the dead man's sword — in this case broken in his last fight — and the glittering Cross of the Legion, stained with

PREFACE.

. VIII the blood traitorously shed by a bad and revengeful man. The mournful mission was never fulfiUed. The tale itself tells why. But if any of those who read this tale ever pass through the old forest, they may yet find wandering there an aged, grey-haired man — a dreamer of forest dreams ; and they may yet look from the battlements of Dennecourt's Fort de l'Empereur on the mighty trees of the forest, and the far landscape stretching away towards distant Paris. Old "Pere Ganne" is dead; but the httle inn exists at Barbizon, its walls covered with the works of men whose names still live in the minds of all. The second tale is equally truthful, though the scenes narrated in it are those which passed in days long since gone by. An old house existed, and yet exists, in the Grande Rue Fontainebleau.

It had formerly been used as a convent, and one part of it, under the name of " Pere la Chaise," was said to have been inhabited by the old priest of that name, whose memory lives in the cemetery called after him in Paris. By a curious chain of accidents, the pro perty passed into the hands of the writer. When

PREFACE.

. IX making some alterations, a wall was removed. In its thickness there was a cupboard, the wood-work eaten away by damp and by time. Some pieces of what seemed to have once been priests' vestments, a quantity of dust, and a lot of mouldy papers, were all the cupboard contained. It had doubtless been walled up when some alterations had been made, and its contents ignored by the workmen. Even the names in this tale have been retained. The Count d'HervUy reaUy perished as is related ; and if any of his descendants yet live, there is nothing in this history of a rough and eventful period to hurt or to annoy them. b

Chapter I. Fontainebleau

— THE GOOD LADIE. The very name which heads this opening chapter calls up a host of vague, shadowy remembrances, looming dimly through the veil of romance thrown over an old town and its older forest by the half-for gotten traditions of the past. Reign after reign has contributed some historical event to be for ever con nected with the grey towers and waving oaks of Fontainebleau ; those towers whose very origin is now lost in the haze of past years, and that forest where once the robber and tlie outlaw lurked waiting for their prey ; while the kingly St. Louis administered simple justice under the shade of the mighty oaks and beech-trees. The town itself remains pretty much what it ever was, and its inhabitants yet lead the quiet, dreamy life they love, surrounded by their old forest, whose trees seem to shut out with their B leafy screen the noise and tumult of the outer world, and to keep in the old tales and legends of the past, which hang hke a mirage over the grey towers of the chateau, and the mighty oaks of the circling forest.

Formerly, outlaw and robber contended for the owner ship of its forest glades with the wUd boar and the wolf, and when the royal hunt swept through the land, the courtiers, well-mounted as they necessarily were, often met with more perilous adventures than they anticipated. It was when returning from one of these hunts the king himself nearly lost his life. The legend runs that being separated from his suite, and finding himse*lf quite alone in the then pathless and tangled forest, he ascended a little conical hill, whose summit yet towers above the tree-tops, in the hope of either seeing some of his retinue, or of at least discovering his whereabouts. He found neither, but instead of that was attacked by an armed band of robbers, who had marked the rich dresses of the royal hunt, and had been lying in wait for stragglers.

They did not know the king, and perhaps would not have respected him had they done so ; but St. Louis, though a saint, was a soldier also, and laid about him so vigorously, that what between the sturdy blows he dealt with his good sword, and the repeated calls for help which his hunting-horn gave forth, he remained master of the hiU-top ; and the conqueror, in memory of the risk he had run, built there a small chapel. The chapel soon obtained a certain sanctity, and when the solemn chant of the mass was heard floating over the tree-tops in the stillness of the night, the passers-by, few and far between as they then were, would cross themselves, muttering a hasty prayer to be protected from the robber and the outlaw, and hurry on their way invoking the pro tection of the dead warrior saint, King Louis.

Suddenly the solemn chant was silent, and even tually the bodies of the monks who had inhabited the httle chapel on the hiU of St. Louis, were dis covered. They had been ruthlessly slaughtered by the prowling robber bands for the sake of the wretched plunder the simple chapel afforded. Their places were not long vacant, but the new comers fulfilled their mission only for a time, meeting sooner or later the same fate at the hands of the rude banditti of the day, who, not respecting even the altars of their professed faith, plundered the forest chapel, and killed the unresisting monks from time to time. The casual visitor to the forest notices the ruined remains of more than one of these little chapels, but hardly dreams of the many tales of suffering, privation, and death connected with these crumbling walls, but the tale of one teUs that of all.

At length the government of the day, in order to stay the useless effusion of blood, forbade the solemnization of religious rites in the forest. But even this did not put an end to the evil, for though the little chapels gradually mouldered away as years went by, fanatic monks, eager to gain what they looked on as a crown of martyrdom, took up their abode from time to time in B one or otlier of the ruinous forest chapels, and then blood still flowed around the desecrated altar stones. Human life was not of much value in those early days of French history, but as the law found itself powerless to protect the fanatic monks, the little chapels, scattered here and there amidst the spreading beeches and gnarled oaks of the forest land, were almost wholly destroyed in order that their walls might not be stained with murder wliich the hand of justice could seldom punish, and never prevent.

The remains of a few of the principal ones are yet to be. traced, but only two of these enjoy any celebrity. A few time-worn stones, covered by thick brushwood, mark the spot where the good King Louis fought with the outlaw band, and here, where many a poor priest's blood has flowed beneath the midnight robbers' blows, the peasant seeks among the scattered stones the early violets, and the wood anemone. They are found peeping from the fern and broken ruin, and the poor peasant girls, who usually seek them to deck the altar of the only chapel which yet exists as such in the forest, believe that these early flowers, gathered on the conical hill of St. Louis, are in some way connected with the place, and they never fail, while gathering them, to breathe a prayer for the souls of the slaughtered monks whose blood so often flowed on the same spot as that where the early violet and wood anemone bloom.

The Hermitage of Franchard, another of these sylvan chapels, and a larger one than that of St. Louis ever was, yet exists, but it has wholly failed to retain the halo of sanctity, and wild romance, which still floats over the conical hill of the warlike king. Every one who visits the forest, and finds his way to the Hermitage of Franchard, observes the ruined remains, listens to the old tale of priestly murders, and then visits the thriving restaurant which has risen to celebrity on the ruins of the old Hermitage. A fair is held there once a year. The peojile flock from all the adjacent towns and villages to see and be seen ; -even Imperial Paris contributes hundreds of curious sight-seers. Booths, games, races, and small theatres drive a thriving trade by day, while by night the sur rounding forest is illuminated, the lights glimmering through the trees, and shedding a vague brightness here and there, soon to be swallowed up in the thick darkness of the forest night.

Dancing, singing and playing goes on all night long. Punch is here in his glory, the small theatres and refreshment tents are crowded; and figures appear, emerging from the darkness of the forest into the light of the circle illuminated, and disappear from the light into the darkness in quick succession. The breeze sighs through the forest leaves, and the music and laughter is borne away into the far solitudes where the deer wander alarmed by the midnight sounds which invade their rest. St. Louis' Chapel has passed away, a few ruined stones and old legends remain to mark its former glories, and if the cowled forms of the martyred monks of Franchard could revisit the spot where they lived as hermits in that lonely forest but to gain the martyr's crown they coveted, they would be anything but edified by the transformation their old moss-grown hermitage has undergone.

But there is stiU one, and one only, of the woodland chapels which yet exists on something of the same footing as it once did, and from which the reputation of former virtues has not departed. It is even to this day a quiet little spot, its grey walls hardly to be marked at a distance among the old stems of the oaks, and its origin is nearly forgotten. In days gone by there was, runs the legend, a great boar -hunt in the forest, and the king, with his court, was present. Who that king was tradition has not said, but the hunt was successful, and the horns rang merrily through the wild glades, mixed with the loud shouts and laughter of the royal suite. At last the boar, fairly tired out, turned to bay, and as the ringing horns gave out their cheering notes, a young noble, eager for distinction, dashed for ward to confront the enraged animal.

Alarmed by the terrific appearance of the huge boar — wliich had been harboured for the royal pleasure on account of its enormous size and known ferocity — the young noble's horse bolted, and, refusing to obey the rider's efforts, at last fairly run away with him. The tale says that the king was very much amused at this incident, but it certainly was no laughing matter to the unfortunate man, who, turning his back, by compulsion, on the laughing monarch, took his way, at top speed, through the forest. Bending low in his saddle, to escape being swept out of it, and doing his utmost to attain a mastery over the fiery horse which had thus disgraced him, the frightened noble swept on. Many a mighty tree, many a huge boulder of rock, had been safely passed ; the margin where the forest land ceased was nearly gained, and the breathless rider was just offering up his thanks for his preservation from imminent danger, when he was swept out of his saddle.

Whether he had been struck by the bough of a tree, or had lost his seat from some sudden swerve of the frightened horse, he never knew, but his foot remaining firmly fixed in the stirrup, a terrible death awaited him. Just as he fell — just as his eyes took their last glance around him, concentrating in one long earnest look the past, the present and the future — just at that very moment when his head touching the ground, death seemed inevitable, the horse stopped, trembling and affrighted, while the rider, confused by the rough usage through wliich he had passed, saw a white figure standing near him. The poor terrified, be wildered noble picked himself up. Extricating his foot from the stirrup, he soothed his no less fright ened steed, which stood stock-still, trembling with terror. A few weeks elapsed, and on the spot where the horse had stopped in his mad career, the white walls of a little chapel rose among the forest trees, built by the grateful noble, who was fuUy convinced that, to the actual and visible interposition of the "Holy Virgin," he owed his life.

A splendid statue adorned it, and as the legend became known, the chapel of the " Good Ladie " beneath the oaks of the forest became, and still remains, a sacred spot. Once a year the ladies of the place, headed by the priests of the parish church carrying the cross, walk in procession from the town to the httle chapel. This ceremony presents a picturesque appearance as the ladies and young girls, dressed in white, with long white veils, their heads uncovered, save by wreaths • if flowers, move along the broad High Street towards the forest. Passing the barrier, they enter among the trees, and the loud chant of the choristers floats among the green leaves as the procession winds its way to where the little chapel of the " Good Ladie " peeps through the forest trees. The handsome marble statue has been replaced by a more modern work of art, but the chapel itself enjoys a high repute, and it is not often unoccupied.

StUl there are times and periods when the kind offices of the "Good Ladie " of the forest are more eagerly sought after than at others, and that, too, not always by the lower orders or peasantry of the neighbourhood, and such was the case at the period when our tale opens. It was spring time ; not that first early spring, when the bursting buds have not yet opened, and when there is little or no shade beneath the forest trees. For the spring of the year was just merginointo t-ummer, the beeches and the oak-trees of the forest were in full leaf, and the cuckoo's note, which had sounded late and early through the green glades, was nearly silent now. There were plenty of strangers wandering that year over France, and many of them found their way to the forest ; the consequence of which was the old wrinkled beggar woman, who from time immemorial has sat upon the steps just inside the iron rail which separates the " Good Ladie's " Chapel from the overshadowing oak-trees, was reaping a good harvest.

How that decrepid, wrinkled old woman is ever to be seen, winter and summer, in the accustomed place, seems a mystery. The trees about the chapel grow larger and larger, some of them die away from age, or are marked for felling ; the young children who play about in the forest glades near the town grow older, finally disappear; their children take their place, and go the same way ; and yet an old wrinkled, decrepid woman, ever dressed in faded black, sits on the steps of the Ladie's Chapel, receiving in silence the little donation the " Good Ladie's " votaries see fit to give her. Mighty events were progressing then, and that summer time was destined to see changes, affecting not only France alone but the whole world. Kings were to be wiped out of the muster-roll of royalty ; the loud-mouthed guns thundered on the battle-plains of Italy and Lom bardy, and their sound echoed in the hearts of many who dwelt near the forest-land, for Fontainebleau is a garrison town.

Muttering and grumbling to herself, the old woman sat on the stone steps leading to the chapel, and a smile of satisfaction was on her old wrinkled face. " Good morning, madame," she said, as she held out her shaking palm to receive the expected coin. " Good morning ; how quiet the forest is to-day." A lady stood inside the rail, and one, too, evidently well known to the old beggar woman. Every morning she might be seen taking her way up the forest path towards the little chapel. Her clear olive coloured complexion and large dark eyes telling of southern birth ; of the fertUe plains and olive-trees of sunny Provence. She took her way, accompanied only by a large black Newfoundland, to the little chapel, dropping the usual two-sous piece into the old woman's extended palm, and answering the mut tered good morning as she passed on to the httle altar ; while the dog, apparently perfectly accustomed to the whole affair, lay lazily down just outside the building, his black muzzle turned towards the gate, and resting on his outstretched paws.

" Hum ! " muttered the old crone ; " Madame Isabey has heard good news to-day, and yet there is only the old two-sous piece for the poor old Marie." And many went and came : some merely looking into the little chapel from curiosity ; others kneeling by the lady's side before the forest altar, where the wreaths made of the early forest flowers hung ; and the lar°-e dog went fast asleep, and struggled and whined in his dreams ; while the old woman counted over the coppers she had received that morning, grumbling and muttering to herself because they were not more. It was the twenty-first of June, and the sun was hot and powerful, making itself felt even beneath the leafy screen of forest boughs, and still the lady knelt before the "Good Ladie's" altar, her thoughts far away, until the black Newfoundland, wearied with waiting, rose, and peeping into the iron rail, shook himself, uttering several sharp barks one after another.

Roused from her reverie, the lady rose, and her eyes were filled with tears, as she passed out of the little chapel, and stopped to speak to the old woman on the threshold. " We have good news, Marie ; good news from the army, and from my husband." " Ay, ay, Madame Isabey, there is good news for every one except old Marie ; and the only news for her is that winter will be here anon, and the sticks are hard to find in the forest now for the winter's fire." " Well, Marie, if wood is scarce, here's something to help," replied Madame Isabey, as she moved for ward, the old woman thanking her in a surly kind of tone as she passed on, and the big dog bounding and barking with delight, for the time passed before the httle chapel had been a sore trial to him ; and the lady and the dog passed down the forest glade, the bright June sunshine streaming through the trees, and falling in lines of light along the green grass, and over the grey rocks ; while the woodpecker's note, and the sharp stroke of the axe, or crack of the breaking boughs, came to her ear as she moved along, leaving the white walls of tlie Ladie's Chapel glaring in the light, with the withered old crone seated on the step, counting, and grumbling over her morning's gains.

Pleasant thoughts were accompanying Madame Isabey's footsteps as she moved down the forest glades ; and, if all the " Good Ladie's " votaries left the little chapel as happy and contented as she did, a morning's walk there, under the shade of the oaks and beeches, were worth under taking.

Chapter II. The Reconnaissance

ThPiEE days after Madame's Isabey's pleasant walk under the greenwood, the French army, commanded by the Emperor in person, lay encamped on the plains near Milan. Rapid and decided in their movements, the French generals had led their men to success after success. The victory of Montebello had been won, a discouraged but not yet demoralized army lay7 before them, barring the victors' way7, and the Austrians were supposed to be retreating, and massing their columns on some strong post in their rear. Milan was free ; the rich plains of Lombardy were at the mercy of the conqueror; but right in front lay7 the strong fortress of the QuadrUateral, and, retreating on them for a base, the whole Austrian army7, under the direct command of their chivalrous Emperor. No easy task lay before the victors, and what made matters worse was, that information as to the position of the enemy was sorely needed.

So while the sun shone brightly over the oaks and beeches of Fontainebleau, while Madame Isabey and her faithful companion, the black Newfoundland, wandered under the shade, this duty7, on the intelligent performance of which much of the future of the war depended, was entrusted to Captain Isabey. The Cross of the Legion now glittered on his breast, and it was the news of this which had made his young wife's eyes sparlde, and her step light, the day we have seen her walking to the Ladie's Chapel, where her wreath of early wild flowers hung. The glittering Cross had been won at MontebeUo, and the 23rd of June found the young captain at the head of his squadron, moving cautiously over the plain towards Malegnano. It was no easy duty that was to be performed, for the whole Austrian force lay in front.

The day wore on, and it was evening when a small vUlage was discovered, and as the blaze of the Italian sun sank gradually towards nightfall, its rays glistened from the steel trappings, and on the white uniforms of an Austrian outpost. Isabey and his men had been skirting the borders of one of those small deep streams so often met with in wandering through the rich plains of Lombardy. High fields of Indian corn lay between him and Malegnano, the first scattered buildings of which were just discernable from the spot where he had halted his troop, It was evident an Austrian force held the place, but what that force was, whether an outpost, or part of the main body, became his duty to discover. There are, perhaps, few situations more trying to a young and ardent Frenchman than such a one as this.

Honour, distinction, promotion lay before him, as pushing aside the long stalks of the maize which concealed his THE RECONNAISSANCE. troop, he cautiously forced his way onward, on foot and alone ; for he had dismounted, and leaving his troop under the charge of a subaltern, he had crept forward to profit by the last rays of the setting sun, hghting up the buddings and houses of Malegnano. Just as he reached the edge of the maize plantation, beyond which he would find little cover, and was hesitating whether he should proceed any further or return to his men, whom he knew to be anxiously waiting him, a small wooden hut, not fifty yards from him, caught his eye. Where there was a human habitation he would find, in all probability, some one from whom he could glean information as to the number and nature of the force in his front ; so, still keeping within the belt of maize, which so effectually concealed him, he pushed his way onwards towards the hut.

Well for him that he did not emerge from the friendly cover, for hardly had he gone half a dozen yards when the clatter of horses and the jingle of accoutrements struck his ear, whUe just round the corner of a neighbouring clump of trees a troop of some twenty mounted men was seen, the setting sun lighting up their glittering accoutrements and tinging the points of their long lances with its light. Onward they came, at a sharp trot, raising a cloud of dust as they jingled and clanked along the dried up road. On they came, preceded by their officer, right for the spot where Isabey crouched in the maize. A minute more and they were close to him, another and they were passed. He was safe, and peeping THE CHASSEUR D'AFMQUE. from between the maize stalks, he could see the whole troop halt beside the very hut towards which he had been taking his way.

Five minutes later and he would have been caught like a rat in a trap. The hut was used as an Austrian outpost, and a guard was mounted there every night at sunset, with orders to retire on Malegnano if attacked. It must have been deemed an important post, for the subaltern officer, whom Isabey had marked as riding in front of the troop, entered the hut, and when, after a quarter of an hour's watching, the Austrians rode away, once more passing him, their numbers were diminished, while ten horses picquetted in front of the little hut, and one in rear, showed the out picquet to consist of ten men, under the command of a subaltern. Isabey was on the point of retiring, but the danger of his situation was not yet at an end. Out of the hut at this moment came five men. One of them was evidently intended as a vidette, for mounting his horse, wliich, like the rest, had remained fully ac coutred, he rode forward some twenty paces from the hut.

Here the ground dipped, rising again with a gentle undulation, for some hundred paces, so that the mounted vidette, having the crest of the rise marked sharply against the clear sky, could not fail to see and mark the smallest object crossing it. The remaining four men, drawing their swords, came forward towards the spot where Isabey, crouching among the maize, eagerly noted their movements. He knew their object at once. It was to procure forage and bedding THE RECONNAISSANCE. 17 for their horses, and he therefore did not fear for himself, but he was indeed very anxious respecting his own men. They were not a quarter of a mile distant, and his prolonged absence might alarm them for his safety, and justify his subaltern in sending to look after him. Minute after minute passed. The Austrian officer came out of his hut, and smoking a short pipe, took his way towards the advanced vidette.

The four men plied their long swords vigorously, every sweep of them bringing them a step nearer to where the Frenchman was concealed ; but the danger lay not with them. Laughing and talking, though he could not understand them, they walked on until they were nearly within fifteen paces of him, and then, collecting the corn they had cut, and which the poor Lombard who had planted it never destined for such a use, they tied it into large bundles by means of a rope each man carried over his shoulders, and hoisting their burthens on their backs, they took their way towards the horses, who pawed and whinnied at their approach. The officer had not yet returned, and Isabey waited, hoping to see him do so, but minute after minute passed, and his impatience prompted him to move. Slowly, carefully, and with great caution he effected his retreat, creeping through the long stalks, and putting them aside as he moved on for fear their unusual motion should be noticed by the outlying vidette.

Every step he took, however, decreased the danger. He had now passed over half the distance which separated him from his men. It c was nearly dark, and before him lay a little water course, dividing the fields of maize. He had left his sword behind him before starting, and was armed only with his pistol. Thus unencumbered he easily cleared the little brook, and having done so, just before he plunged into the second maize field, he turned, and looking in the direction of the post he had left, paused to listen. Not a sound was to be heard, save the gentle trickling of the water and the rustle of the Indian corn as the evening breeze swept through it. The stars were peeping out here and there, but there was no moon, and he was just in the act of turning round to pursue his way, when a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder.

Turning suddenly, two glittering eyes glared full into his face, and the starlight glinted from the steel trappings and polished accoutrements ofthe Uhlan officer he thought safe in the little hut. In moments such as these, thoughts whirl swiftly through the brain, and Isabey felt instinctively that it was not only a matter of life and death with him, but one dearer stUl, the failure or success of his mission. The Austrian had doubtless discovered his troop just as he had stumbled on the hut. In an instant Isabey sprang at the Uhlan's throat, clutching it in his nervous grasp. A fierce struggle ensued, and the quiet stars shone forth, the only witness of the scene. Encumbered with his sabre, the Austrian fought at a disadvantage, but in his first emotion Isabey had dropped his pistol, and had he not done so he dared not have fired.