For Honour and Life. A tale of the Terror

Front matter

A TALE OF THE TERROR BY WILLIAM WESTALL AUTHOR OF "THE PHANTOM CITY," "BIRCH DENE," " NIGEL FORTESCUE,'' "ROY OF ROY'S COURT," ETC. ETC. LONDON OSGOOD, McILVAINE & CO. 45 ALBEMARLE STREET, W. 1894 [All rights reserved] CONTENTS CHAP, PAGE I. A LANCASHIRE LAD I II. TRYING TIMES 10 III. MOB LAW ig IV. TO THE LANTERN 23 V. A FORLORN HOPE 3r VI. FOR HONOUR 40 VII. FOR LIFE 52 VIII. UP A TREE 62 IX. ANGELIQUE 71 X. A SURPRISE 80 XI. TEN HEADS 93 XII. HIDE-AND-SEEK '. . I03 XIII. MADAME DUFOUR rl4 XIV. THE VICOMTE'S PROPOSAL r25 XV. THE INCIDENT OF THE FLOWER-POT . . I38 XVI. CITIZEN SERIN FIRES A PISTOL .... I46 XVII. BAD NEWS 156 XVIII. IN PERIL CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE XIX. THE RAVEN 173 XX. A NEW ACQUAINTANCE l8l XXI. QUITE OUT OF THE QUESTION .... 190 XXII. KNIGHTS OF THE DAGGER 198 XXIII. TILL WE MEET AGAIN 209 XXIV.

AT THE GOLDEN PIG 2l8 XXV. DOGGED 227 XXVI. BETRAYED 237 XXVII. HOLDING THE PASS 245 XXVIII. CAPTURED 249 XXIX. IN PRISON 258 XXX. WE MEET AGAIN 269 XXXI. LIGHT 279 XXXII. A MESMERISED WARDER 289 XXXIII. I MAKE AN END OF DEPUTY SERIN . . . 302 XXXIV. BY LAND AND SEA 3^

Chapter I

A LANCASHIRE LAD My father was a born Switzer, of Canton Berne, and came of a family which for generations had produced soldiers of fortune, most of whom served in the Swiss regiments of the French kings. Others of the Von Astors, who were ever a pro lific race, took to the professions and to trade. Among these was a certain Frederic von Astor. Having a shrewd head for business and a turn for science, he betook himself to Elsass, studied practical chemistry, and served a long apprentice ship to the arts of dyeing and calico printing. After a while he received an invitation to proceed to Lancashire, where he obtained an important position in the house of Peel, Yates & Co. But Frederick Astor was too enterprising to serve long in a subordinate capacity. He dropped the " von," set up for himself, married a Lancashire wife, and became a British subject and my father.

A Of his three brothers, one was in the French Guards, another in the army of Holland, the third in the army of Naples. My maternal grandfather was also a soldier ; he served with distinction at Dettingen, Fontenoy, Culloden, and Quebec. So I came of a fighting stock on both sides of the house, and it seemed to be in the nature of things that I also should desire to be a soldier, and seek to win the bubble reputation at the cannon's mouth. But it was also in the nature of things that my father, a man of peace from his youth up, should want me to become a calico printer and succeed to the fine business he had built up. Wherefore it came to pass that when, in my seventeenth year, I left Giggleswick Grammar School, where I acquired a smattering of Latin, Greek, arithmetic, and the use of the globes, and attained to a great proficiency in birds'-nesting, boxing, football, and cricket, I was ordered to begin my career " at the works."

I pleaded hard with my father to let me begin it in the army. But he said that was all nonsense, I must buckle to business. So to parody Gibbon, I sighed as a would-be soldier and obeyed as a son. I made my debut in the designing-room, and as I had a turn for sketching, and my father did not " tie me to the bell," and I was allowed to spend a good deal of time out of doors, riding after the harriers, running after the otter-hounds, and what not, I did not find the life altogether intolerable. But one day when I was busy in the designing-room my father chanced to come in, and seeing me hard at work laid his hand on my head and commended me for my industry. " What are you drawing, Fritz ? " says he, looking over my shoulder. " Ach Himmel / soldiers ! Who ever heard of soldiers as a pattern for calico printing ?

This won't do at all. I must put you to something more practical. You shall go into the colour-shop and dye-house. The morning in the one, the afternoon in the other." The change pleased me. I was getting tired of sitting on a stool and bending over a desk. The next day I went into the colour-shop and made a horrid mess of my hands and clothes. But I liked the dye-house best, and had rare sport larking with the men, going with them to the croft, getting up wheelbarrow races, and, when the weather was warm, bathing in the dye becks. But this part of my career was brought to an abrupt termination by an untoward incident. One afternoon I profited by my father's temporary absence to get up a pitched battle in one of the crofts between the dye-house lads and a contingent of tier boys. The weapons were wet pieces, rolled up and used like flails.

I led the tier boys, who were considered to be the weaker party. We had a glorious fight, and I think we should have beaten the dyers if in the very thick of the engagement my father had not appeared on the scene with a horsewhip in his hand. Then there were wild cries of " th' mayster ! " and both armies dispersed in dire dismay and left me in sole possession of the field. My father was very angry, and said that for the future he should keep me in the counting-house, under his own eye, and I was too much ashamed of myself to offer any vain excuses. I went into the counting-house accordingly, and made an honest attempt to master the mysteries of book-keeping, in the which, however, I failed so signally that as a last resort my father resolved to give me a trial at the " Manchester end." Though he had come to the conclusion that I should never shine as a calico printer, he entertained a lingering hope that I might be turned into a tolerable if not a brilliant salesman.

I rather liked the new departure. A bedroom was provided for me at the warehouse, but I spent much of my time at home, and in riding, driving, and coaching on the twenty miles of road between Manchester and the works, or " shop," as Lanca shire folk call a calico-printing factory. All the same I did some work. I was introduced to the customers, and gave several of them a dinner at the White Bear. I even booked a few orders, and my too sanguine parent informed our chief sales'man that he thought I was on the right track at last. It did not last long, however. One morning when I had charge of the warehouse, while the salesmen were making their rounds, a customer came in boiling with rage, and complained that we were sending him nothing but "jobs." Everything was wrong — length, width, reed, picks ; the colours were as bad as they could be, and the printing was worse.

Considering this to be an im putation on the honour of the firm, I told the fellow roundly that the pieces were perfect and that he was a fool, and when he gave me an impertinent answer, kicked him downstairs and half-way across Moseley Street. This proved to be the final incident of my commercial career. My father gave up for good all the attempt to convert me into a business man, and was so angry at my latest escapade that he did not speak to me for a month. Neverthe less, I continued to make occasional visits to the " shop," and one Thursday (somebody being on the sick-list) I was asked to go to Manchester on the following day for the wage money. I complied with alacrity. It was a job that suited me, and early next morning King Corkery was put into the gig and I started for Manchester. The horse was so called because he had been bought at Preston Fair from a dealer who rejoiced in the name of Corkery O'Brien, and said he was descended from an Irish king.

Corkery was an excellent animal. No journey was too long for him. He would do his eight miles an hour, up hill and down dale, all day long, but faster than that he declined to go under any circumstances, and had never been known to gallop even when out at grass. As it was a three-months' pay, and the sum I had to bring back large, I armed myself with a pair of horse-pistols, which I put in a holster strapped to the right-hand rail of the gig. I got the money in two large bags, securely padlocked, which were put under the gig seat, and when King Corkery had had a good feed and three hours rest I set out on my homeward journey. For the greater part of the way all went well. I gruelled the King at Bury, then drove steadily on through hilly Haslingden, which was as cold as it generally is, past Baxenden, and down into Accrington.

By this time it was at the edge of dark, but being within two miles of home, and considering myself and my money quite safe, I pulled Corkery into his slowest trot, so that I might take him in cool. I had been jogging on in this style for three or four minutes when two men, who seemed to spring from the ground, and had, no doubt, been lying in the ditch bottom, caught my horse by the head and brought him to a stand. Then one of them came to the gig side and presented a pistol at my head. " We know what you have got there," said he. " Out with it, or you are a dead man. Two bags." " Very well," I answered. " Better lose my money than my life. Wait half a minute while I open the boot." While speaking I stooped, as though to comply with his demand, at the same time drawing and cocking one of my pistols.

Then, quickly rising, I let fly at the footpad who was holding Corkery. The horse made a plunge that threw the villain on his back, and, as a second shot rang through the air, bounded off at full gallop. The King went like mad. Stopping him was out of the question, even if I had wanted to stop him. The gig swayed so wildly from side to side that it was a wonder we did not capsize, or go bodily into Hynburn Brook, which bordered the road. But the old horse, though terribly scared, knew what he was about, and five minutes after the encounter he turned into the farmyard at my father's house, and stopped at the stable door, trembling violently, and shaking his head as though he had taken leave of his senses. Before I could alight, old Wiggin, the groom, came running with a lantern. " What's up ?

" he exclaimed. " Owd Corkery hasn't taken th' boggart " (bolted) " sure-ly. Bithmon has he ! Why, he is aw of a swat, his heyd's covered wi' blood — and dom me if th' top of one of his ears hasn't getten knocked off! Whativer's been to do ? " At this moment my father, who had been on the look-out for me, came into the yard. " Glad to see you safe back, Fritz," said he. " Got the money all right ? But, God bless me, what has happened to King Corkery ? I thought you knew better than to bring back a horse in this state." " Why, he is th' same hissel," put in Wiggin, holding up the lantern. " Look at him. Dom me, if there isn't blood on his face and a hoyle in his hat." " You have been attacked ! Are you hurt, boy ? " asked my father, anxiously. " No — anyhow not much — I didn't know " (taking off my hat and feeling my head).

" It's only a scratch." " Very nearly a kill, though. Look at these holes ; the bullet went through your hat. Thank God you are no worse. How did it happen and when ? And the wage money ? " When I had answered my father's questions he put his arm round my neck and led me towards the house. " You have saved me fifteen hundred pounds, dear boy," said he. " That is good, but better still is it that you have shown courage and presence of mind. Make light ofit to your mother. She has been blaming me, and rightly, for letting you go alone for the wage money. We shall have to make a soldier of you after all. It is in your blood. We cannot compete with nature, and nature evidently designed you for a man of war. All the same, I don't like the idea of buying you a commission. It seems wrong that a man should pay for the privilege of serving his country.

How ever, your Uncle Daniel is coming next week. We will talk it over with him. I wonder who those fellows were — not regular highwaymen, I am sure. Most likely neighbours, maybe our own men." And so it proved, or rather was presumed, for as, owing to the darkness, I had been unable to recognise my assailants, I could not swear to them. Nevertheless there was every reason to believe — reasons amounting to moral certainty — that the delinquents were two of our own block printers temporarily short of a job, who, having heard of my errand to Manchester, planned to rob and, if need were, to murder me. Both were men of indifferent character. On the day in question their movements were suspicious, and for a week afterwards one of them, known as Jack-off-th'- Shelf, kept his bed, and when he reappeared, carried his arm in a sling, having, as he said, lamed his shoulder by falling downstairs.

We all thought that the bullet that hit King Corkery's ear had gone through Jack's arm. But, as there was no direct evidence connecting him with the offence, he saved his neck, for had his confederate and himself been prosecuted to con viction, they would have had to swing from the battlements of Lancaster Castle.

Chapter II Trying Times

My Uncle Daniel held a captain's commission (which gave him the rank of colonel in the army) in the Royal Swiss Guard of France. He was a tall, handsome, brown-visaged man, decorated with the cross of St. Louis, and a thorough soldier ; and for me, and I think for my father, his visit, his conversation, and his stories were highly enjoy able. He had next to no English, but as I had picked up from my father a fair knowledge of colloquial German, and from my sisters' governess a smattering of French, I understood him per fectly. We became fast friends from the first day of our acquaintance (I had not seen him before). He warmly sympathised with my ambition to be come a soldier, and met my father's objection to buying a commission in the British army by offering to obtain me one without purchase, in his own or some other Swiss regiment.

" But he is English," objected my father. " The English son of a Swiss father. Besides, it is quite enough that he is a Von Astor and my nephew. Since the time of Francis I. there has always been at least one of the family in the Royal Guard, and as no questions will be asked about Fritz's nationality, none need be answered." My father accepted this proposal all the more readily that he was an enthusiastic admirer of the great French Revolution, which was just then in the earlier stage of its wild career. He believed that the rest of Europe would follow the example of France, that we were at the beginning of a new era, an era of peaceful progress and universal brotherhood, and though I might become a soldier I should never need to fight. In the light of subsequent events this may seem rather absurd, but at that time there were few liberal-minded men who did not cherish similar illusions, and nobody, so far as I know, foresaw that Europe was on the eve of a cataclysm, such as had not occurred since the downfall of the Roman Empire.

For the rest, my father behaved very hand somely, gave me an ample outfit, and promised to supplement my pay in such sort as to enable me to live like an officer and a gentleman. But he wisely insisted that before entering a regiment I should spend three or four terms at a military college, in order to better my knowledge of the French tongue, and learn something of the theory of my future calling. So I went with my uncle to France, and after eighteen months of strenuous study and practical work at Angers, I joined the Swiss Guard. I could have had an immediate appointment as ensign in a line regiment ; but my uncle thought, and I agreed with him, that I had better go into the Guards, though I had to wait for my commission, and serve meanwhile as a gentleman volunteer. This was in 1791, and since I left England the conditions and prospects of France had undergone a portentous change.

The revolutionary flood was rising higher and higher, and threatened ere long to overwhelm the throne and sweep away the last vestiges of the ancient institutions of the land. Whatever my uncle may have thought, he had little to say about politics, but the condition of the army gave him great concern. It was simply going to pieces. The privates elected their officers and then refused to obey them. The French Guards and several other regiments mutinied. The Swiss regiment of Chateauvieux broke into open revolt at Nancy, and the mutiny was only suppressed after an action in which five hundred men were killed and wounded. The ringleaders were tried by court-martial, seven of them shot, and forty sent to the galleys. Yet a few months later the prisoners were liberated and brought to Paris, hailed by the populace as heroes and martyrs, and received with honour by the National Assembly.

These things sorely grieved the officers and men of the Swiss Guard. Their only consolation was that the mutineers, being mostly from Geneva and the Welcher Schweiz (the French-speaking cantons), were no true Switzers. " God alone knows what will be the end of it all," said my uncle, sadly. " But our course is clear. We have sworn to defend the king against his enemies, and defend him we shall, even though we have to lay down our lives to the last man. Whatever may betide, the Swiss Guards will be true to their salt." This was the sentiment of every man in the regiment, for noblesse oblige, and privates as well as officers were " gentlemen of the Swiss Guard," jealous of their honour and proud of their fidelity to the flag under which they served. As touching myself, I regarded the outlook foreshadowed by my uncle without misgiving, rejoicing rather than otherwise at the idea of a fight a outrance with the truculent mob that held Paris in terror.

But I thought as a youth who had not yet fronted or even seen death. I also possessed a full measure of youthful vanity, and was so proud of my new clothes that I had a portrait of myself taken in full-dress uniform and sent to my father. It depicts a tall, broad-shouldered young fellow of nineteen or twenty, dressed in a scarlet cutaway coat, with long lappets, white inside and folded back, blue collar and facings, with white button-holes and silver buttons, white waistcoat, belt, breeches, and leggings, the last coming above the knee. His cocked hat is trimmed with silver, his hair powdered, and his arms are sword, musket, and bayonet. When I had gone through a course of drill at Courbevoie, at that time the regimental depot, I went to Paris and took up my quarters in the barracks at the Tuileries, where the main body was then stationed for the protection of their Majesties.

I saw them often. Louis XVI. was a stout, clumsily-built man, with a good-natured yet weak face, and bore himself so unlike a king that I could hardly believe that he came of a kingly race. We of the Swiss Guard had afterwards bitter cause to regret that France had not been blessed with a more masterful monarch, and ourselves with a more resolute chief. But Marie Antoinette was a right queenly woman, whose high qualities more than atoned for her husband's defects- She had a noble face and an imposing presence, and a manner so gracious and winning that all who knew her loved her. Her Majesty took great interest in her Guards, and knew all the officers and many of the privates by name. One day, when we were mustered for parade in the cour royale of the palace, she beckoned to my uncle and spoke a few words to him ; whereupon he beckoned to me, and, the honour being quite unexpected, and myself unused to the etiquette of courts, I stepped forward in some confusion.

" So this is your nephew, Captain d'Astor ? Quel beau garcon!" (what a fine young fellow), said the queen. "What is his name?" " Frederic, madame ; but we generally call him Fritz." "Well, Monsieur Fritz, you bear an honoured name, and I am sure you will prove worthy of it. These are trying times, and we have many enemies and few friends." I was deeply moved, for Marie Antoinette's voice was troubled, and her beautiful eyes were filled with tears. " I would die for your Majesty ! " I exclaimed passionately. " Ah, no ! Don't speak of dying. Rather live for us, for the king, my children — and me." And then she gave me her hand to kiss, and I returned to my place in the ranks, proud of the honour which had been conferred on me, and treasuring the queen's words in my heart. But our fidelity to the king made us hated alike by the Jacobins of the National Assembly and the populace of Paris.

When political excitement ran high, the Guards were either confined to barracks or sent away for a few days, lest their appearance in the streets should give offence to the rabble and lead to trouble ; and it was against regulations to go beyond the precincts of the palace at any time, except in twos and threes. Men who went out alone were apt never to return. Yet I contrived to see a good deal of Paris, luckily, for the time came when a knowledge of its topography, and of the manners and customs of its inhabitants, was a matter of life and death to me. Accompanied by my comrade Glutz, a volunteer like myself, with whom I had struck a warm friendship, now and then by Sergeant Sternberg, who knew his way about as well as a rag-picker or a police-officer, I walked the streets of Paris for hours at a time.

These excursions were generally made in the evening, when we were least likely to attract attention ; and as we were armed, and, I dare say, looked dangerous cus tomers to tackle, we were seldom molested. Nevertheless we could not always keep out of difficulties, and one night, but for Sternberg's coldness and presence of mind, we should have been forced into a fight from which it was hardly possible we could have escaped with our lives. It fell out that, as we turned out of the Rue Feydeau into the Rue St. Marc, we encountered two or three score of sans-culottes,* who, though our scarlet coats were hidden under our cloaks, recognised us at sight, probably by reason of our white gaiters and military bearing. These sans-culottes, a term signifying without breeches, though not necessarily without trousers, were for the most part the dregs of the popula tion, idlers and vagabonds, armed and paid by the municipality, and dressed, or half-dressed, as they pleased.

Having been strictly enjoined by our officers * At the beginning of the Revolution the nobles stigmatised their opponents as sans-culottes, a designation which so delighted " the men of the people " that they adopted it as a title of honour, and it eventually became the name of a party, but did not sur vive the Terror. to behave with circumspection and give no occasion for offence, we wanted to go on quietly, but the ruffians barred the way, brandishing their weapons and yelling " Down with the Swiss ! To the devil with all aristocrats ! " As it had been both ignoble and dangerous to turn back, we kept our ground, and Glutz, who was as brave as a lion, threw back his cloak and laid his hand on his sword. " Quietly," whispered the sergeant in German. " Twenty to one are long odds ; let us see whether they mean mischief before we try fighting."

" You are of the Swiss Guard ? " said the head ragamuffin, coming forward as though he were going to eat us. He had no coat, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows ; on his head was a Phrygian cap, which might easily have been mistaken for a red nightcap, and he carried a fire lock and a sabre. " We are," answered Sternberg, curtly. " Men who would fire on the people at a tyrant's bidding deserve to die. Would you fire on the people at Louis Capet's bidding ? " "I know nothing of tyrants, but I know my duty, and if my commanding officer ordered me I should fire on my own father." " Or me ? " " Certainly. For choice I would much rather fire on you than my father, and I am quite ready to do it now " (pointing to his pistols). On this the others laughed boisterously, and B after saying we were brave fellows, who knew no better, bade us go on.

" After you, gentlemen, if you please," said the sergeant, doffing his hat. "We Switzers never turn our backs — on our friends." The sans-culottes laughed again and marched off, while we stood aside with our backs to the wall. " Why should we wait ? " asked Glutz, inno cently. " Thunder and lightning ! Don't you see ? " growled Sternberg, in his rough vernacular. " If we were to let them get behind us we might be brained before we could turn round."

Chapter III Mob La

W All this time, that is to say from October, 1791, when they fled from Paris and were arrested at Varennes, to August, 1792, when they were removed to the Temple, the royal family were under strict surveillance at the Tuileries. The king was continually watched lest he should make a second attempt to quit the kingdom ; neither he nor the queen could take the air without being followed by gendarmes, who never let them out of sight, and insulted by the un mannerly crowds who thronged the gardens of the palace, and beset the gates of the Cour Royale. The king's deposition was openly demanded both in the National Assembly and the streets. On the 20th of June the mob broke into the palace, forced his Majesty to put on a cap of liberty, assailed him with scurrilous abuse, and threatened him with death.

After this the downfall of the monarchy was merely a question of time. In the sense that during these trials the king showed no fear, he may be said to have behaved nobly. On the other hand, he displayed none of the qualities by which causes are won and king doms saved. His saintly submission to cruel enemies and adverse fate hastened his doom. The royal martyr turned his cheek to the smiters, and they smote again and yet again. Meanwhile the Swiss Guards were sent hither and thither, and matters were so arranged by the ministers, or by some sinister influence behind them, that at the times when our services were most needed at Paris we were generally elsewhere. In the month of July my company was at Courbevoie, which is about a league beyond the bridge of Neuilly. Though it was not easy to obtain leave, we went into Paris twice.

But the declaration of war against Austria and Prussia, and inflammatory speeches by unscrupulous demagogues, had raised popular excitement to fever point, and on the first of these occasions Glutz and myself — owing to the heat of the weather we could not well wear our cloaks — were so ill received that we deemed it prudent to turn back before worse befell us. We could not have gone in mufti without civilian passes, which we did not possess, nor wearing side-arms and pistols, with which it would have been unwise to dispense. The second time we managed better. Sergeant Sternberg and Corporal Waldteufel, of our MOB LAW 21 company, had made friends with some National Guards ; and one evening, when the latter were not to be on duty, they lent us their uniforms — two for Glutz and myself, two for Sternberg and Waldteufel, who were to be of the party.

We had leave from 6 p.m. until midnight, took a fiacre as far as the Rue St. Honore, and after supping at the cafe in the Rue du Luxem bourg began our walk, a walk which was marked by a startling adventure — an adventure which, judged by its consequences, proved to be one of the most momentous incidents of an eventful life. Though France just then was like a seething volcano, though she was in the throes of a revolution, threatened by civil war and foreign invasion, Paris, her heart and brain, seemed as gay and careless as ever. The theatres were open, the cafes full, the shops doing a roaring trade, the boulevards and public garden thronged with pleasure-seeking crowds. Nobody either ques tioned or noticed us, for though the citizen soldiers of the National Guard were less popular with the masses than the sans-culottes, the uniform commanded respect.