The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (sneezy the snowman read aloud .txt) 📕

rope around my arm, and I swam to the rock. The water seemed to subside before my breast. I reached the man. His father and brothers held the rope. He gained the land. I could have returned as he did, fastening the rope to the rocks. I flung it away from me; I trusted to God and cast myself into the waves. They floated me gently and surely to the shore, even as the waters of the Nile bore Moses’ basket to Pharaoh’s daughter. The enemy’s outposts were stationed around the village of Saint-Nolf; I was hidden in the woods of Grandchamp with fifty men. Recommending my soul to God, I left the woods alone. ‘Lord God,’ I said, ‘if it be Thy will that Millière die, let that sentry fire upon me and miss me; then I will return to my men and leave that sentry unharmed, for Thou wilt have been with him for an instant.’ I walked to the Republican; at twenty paces he fired and missed me. Here is the hole in my hat, an inch from my head; the hand of God had aimed that weapon. That happened yesterday. I thought that Millière was at Nantes. Tonight they came and told me that Millière and his guillotine were at La Roche-Bernard. Then I said: ‘God has brought him to me; he shall die.’”

Roland listened with a certain respect to the superstitious narrative of the Breton leader. He was not surprised to find such beliefs and such poetry in a man born in face of a savage sea, among the Druid monuments of Karnac. He realized that Millière was indeed condemned, and that God, who had thrice seemed to approve his judgment, alone could save him. But one last question occurred to him.

“How will you strike him?” he asked.

“Oh!” said Georges, “I do not trouble myself about that; he will be executed.”

One of the two men who had brought in the supper table now entered the room.

“Brise-Bleu,” said Cadoudal, “tell Coeur-de-Roi that I wish to speak to him.”

Two minutes later the Breton presented himself.

“Coeur-de-Roi,” said Cadoudal, “did you not tell me that the murderer Thomas Millière was at Roche-Bernard?”

“I saw him enter the town side by side with the Republican colonel, who did not seem particularly flattered by such companionship.”

“Did you not add that he was followed by his guillotine?”

“I told you his guillotine followed between two cannon, and I believe if the cannon could have got away the guillotine would have been left to go its way alone.”

“What precautions does Millière take in the towns he visits?”

“He has a special guard about him, and the streets around his house are barricaded. He carries pistols always at hand.”

“In spite of that guard, in spite of that barricade and the pistols, will you undertake to reach him?”

“I will, general.”

“Because of his crimes, I have condemned that man; he must die.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Coeur-de-Roi, “the day of justice has come at last!”

“Will you undertake to execute my sentence, Coeur-de-Roi?”

“I will, general.”

“Go then, Coeur-de-Roi. Take the number of men you need; devise what stratagem you please, but reach the man, and strike.”

“If I die, general—”

“Fear not; the curate of Leguerno shall say enough masses in your behalf to keep your poor soul out of purgatory. But you will not die, Coeur-de-Roi.”

“That’s all right, general. Now that I am sure of the masses, I ask nothing more. I have my plan.”

“When will you start?”

“Tonight.”

“When will he die?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Go. See that three hundred men are ready to follow me in half an hour.”

Coeur-de-Roi went out as simply as he had entered.

“You see,” said Cadoudal, “the sort of men I command. Is your First Consul as well served as I, Monsieur de Montrevel?”

“By some, yes.”

“Well, with me it is not some, but all.”

Bénédicité entered and questioned Georges with a look.

“Yes,” replied Georges, with voice and nod.

Bénédicité went out.

“Did you see any one on your way here?” asked Cadoudal.

“Not one.”

“I asked for three hundred men in half an hour, and they will be here in that time. I might have asked for five hundred, a thousand, two thousand, and they would have responded as promptly.”

“But,” said Roland, “you have, in number at least, a limit you cannot exceed.”

“Do you want to know my effective? It is easily told, I won’t tell you myself, for you wouldn’t believe me. Wait. I will have some one tell you.”

He opened the door and called out: “Branched’Or!”

Two seconds later Branched’Or appeared.

“This is my major-general,” said Cadoudal, laughing. “He fulfils the same functions for me that General Berthier does for the First Consul. Branched’Or—”

“General.”

“How many men are stationed along the road from here to La Roche-Bernard, which the gentleman followed in coming to see me?”

“Six hundred on the Arzal moor, six hundred among the Marzan gorse, three hundred at Péaule, three hundred at Billiers.”

“Total, eighteen hundred. How many between Noyal and Muzillac?”

“Four hundred.”

“Two thousand two hundred. How many between here and Vannes?”

“Fifty at Theix, three hundred at the Trinité, six hundred between the Trinité and Muzillac.”

“Three thousand two hundred. And from Ambon to Leguerno?”

“Twelve hundred.”

“Four thousand four hundred. And in the village around me, in the houses, the gardens, the cellars?”

“Five to six hundred, general.”

“Thank you, Bénédicité.”

He made a sign with his head and Bénédicité went out.

“You see,” said Cadoudal, simply, “about five thousand. Well, with those five thousand men, all belonging to this country, who know every tree, every stone, every bush, I can make war against the hundred thousand men the First Consul threatens to send against me.”

Roland smiled.

“You think that is saying too much, don’t you?”

“I think you are boasting a little, general; boasting of your men, rather.”

“No; for my auxiliaries are the whole population. None of your generals can make a move unknown to me; send a despatch without my intercepting it; find a retreat where I shall not pursue him. The very soil is royalist and Christian! In default of the inhabitants, it speaks and tells me: ‘The Blues passed here; the slaughterers are hidden there!’ For the rest, you can judge for yourself.”

“How?”

“We are going on an expedition about twenty-four miles from here. What time is it?”

Both young men looked at their watches.

“Quarter to twelve,” they said together.

“Good!” said Georges, “our watches agree; that is a good sign. Perhaps some day our hearts will do the same.”

“You were saying, general?”

“I was saying that it was a quarter to twelve, colonel; and that at six o’clock, before day, we must be twenty miles from here. Do you want to rest?”

“I!”

“Yes; you can sleep an hour.”

“Thanks; it’s unnecessary.”

“Then we will start whenever you are ready.”

“But your men?”

“Oh! my men are ready.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“I should like to see them.”

“You shall.”

“When?”

“Whenever agreeable to you. My men are very discreet, and never show themselves till I make the signal.”

“So that whenever I want to see them—”

“You will tell me; I shall give the signal and they’ll appear.”

“Let us start, general.”

“Yes, let us start.”

The two young men wrapped themselves in their cloaks and went out. At the door Roland collided against a small group of five men. These five men wore Republican uniforms; one of them had sergeant stripes on his sleeve.

“What is all this?” asked Roland.

“Nothing,” replied Cadoudal, laughing.

“But who are these men?”

“Coeur-de-Roi and his party; they are starting on that expedition you know of.”

“Then they expect by means of this uniform—”

“Oh! you shall know all, colonel; I have no secrets from you.” Then, turning to the little group, Cadoudal called: “Coeur-de-Roi!”

The man with the stripes on his sleeves left the group, and came to Cadoudal.

“Did you call me, general?” asked the pretended sergeant.

“Yes, I want to know your plan.”

“Oh! general, it is very simple.”

“Let me judge of that.”

“I put this paper in the muzzle of my gun.” Coeur-de-Roi showed a large envelope with an official red seal, which had once, no doubt, contained some Republican despatch intercepted by the Chouans. “I present myself to the sentries, saying: ‘Despatch from the general of division.’ I enter the first guardhouse and ask to be shown the house of the citizen-commissioner; they show me, I thank them; always best to be polite. I reach the house, meet a second sentry to whom I tell the same tale as to the first; I go up or down to citizen Millière accordingly as he lives in the cellar or the garret. I enter without difficulty, you understand—‘Despatch from the general of division’. I find him in his study or elsewhere, present my paper, and while he opens it, I kill him with this dagger, here in my sleeve.”

“Yes, but you and your men?”

“Ah, faith! In God’s care; we are defending his cause, it is for him to take care of us.”

“Well, you see, colonel,” said Cadoudal, “how easy it all is. Let us mount, colonel! Good luck, Coeur-de-Roi!”

“Which of these two horses am I to take?” asked Roland.

“Either; one is as good as the other; each has an excellent pair of English pistols in its holsters.”

“Loaded?”

“And well-loaded, colonel; that’s a job I never trust to any one.”

“Then we’ll mount.”

The two young men were soon in their saddles, and on the road to Vannes; Cadoudal guiding Roland, and Branched’Or, the major-general of the army, as Georges called him, following about twenty paces in the rear.

When they reached the end of the village, Roland darted his eyes along the road, which stretches in a straight line from Muzillac to the Trinité. The road, fully exposed to view, seemed absolutely solitary.

They rode on for about a mile and a half, then Roland said: “But where the devil are your men?”

“To right and left, before and behind us.”

“Ha, what a joke!”

“It’s not a joke, colonel; do you think I should be so rash as to risk myself thus without scouts?”

“You told me, I think, that if I wished to see your men I had only to say so.”

“I did say so.”

“Well, I wish to see them.”

“Wholly, or in part?”

“How many did you say were with you?”

“Three hundred.”

“Well, I want to see one hundred and fifty.”

“Halt!” cried Cadoudal.

Putting his hands to his mouth he gave the hoot of the screech-owl, followed by the cry of an owl; but he threw the hoot to the right and the cry to the left.

Almost instantly, on both sides of the road, human forms could be seen in motion, bounding over the ditch which separated the bushes from the road, and then ranging themselves beside the horses.

“Who commands on the right?” asked Cadoudal.

“I, Moustache,” replied a peasant, coming near.

“Who commands on the left?” repeated the general.

“I, Chante-en-hiver,” replied another peasant, also approaching him.

“How many men are with you, Moustache?”

“One hundred.”

“How many men are with you, Chante-en-hiver?”

“Fifty.”

“One hundred and fifty in all, then?” asked Georges.

“Yes,” replied the two Breton leaders.

“Is that your number, colonel?” asked Cadoudal laughing.

“You are a magician, general.”

“No; I am a poor peasant like them; only I command a troop in which each brain knows what it does, each heart beats singly for the two great principles of this world, religion and monarchy.” Then, turning to his men, Cadoudal asked: “Who commands the advanced guard?”

“Fend-l’air,” replied the two Chouans.

“And the rearguard?”

“La Giberne.”

The second reply was made with the same unanimity as the first.

“Then we