La Vendee by Anthony Trollope

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The Vendeans had not yet sufficiently matured their plans to enable them
to encounter successfully the republican army. The death of Cathelineau
had had a great effect upon the peasants: those who were with him had
returned home in sorrow and despair, and this feeling was general, even
among those who had not been at Nantes. De Lescure and Henri, however,
had not despaired; after having seen the body of his General consigned
to the dust, Henri had returned to Clisson, and he and his cousin were
again busy in raising recruits, or rather in collecting their men, when
they heard that Westerman, with an enormous army, was marching into
Parthenay, and that it was his intention to proceed from thence into the
Bocage, by way of Amaillou and Bressuire.

They had hardly heard this report, when the little village of Amaillou
was on fire; it was the first place that was utterly burnt down, and
laid in ashes by the republicans; not a house was left standing, or
hardly the ruined wall of a house. The church itself was set on fire and
burnt, with its pictures, its altars, and all its sacred treasures; the
peasants ran from the ruins, carrying with them their wives and
children, the old, the crippled, and infirm: hundreds were left dead and
dying among the smoking ashes. This feat having been accomplished,
Westerman continued on towards Bressuire, intending to burn the chateau
at Clisson, as he passed it on his way.

The district between Amaillou and Bressuire is thickly studded with
trees. The roads, or rather lanes, are all lined by avenues of limes and
beeches. The fields are small, and surrounded by lofty hedges, which are
also, in a great measure, composed of large trees, and the whole country
in July, when the foliage is at the thickest, has almost the aspect of
one continued forest.

Westerman had obtained guides to show him the road to Clisson. It was
about six o'clock in the evening when the advanced portion of his army,
consisting of three thousand men, had proceeded about a league from
Amaillou. He was himself riding nearly at the front of the column,
talking to his aide-de-camp and one of the guides, when he was startled
by hearing a noise as of disturbed branches in the hedge, only a few
feet in advance of the spot in which he was standing; he had not,
however, time to give an order, or speak a word on the subject, before
a long sudden gleam of fire flashed before his eyes; it was so near to
him that it almost blinded him: a cannon had been fired off close to his
face, and it was easy to track the fatal course of the ball; it had been
directed right along the road, and was glutted with carnage before its
strength was spent.

Nor did the cannon shot come alone: a fearful fire from about five
hundred muskets was poured from the hedge on either side, directly into
the road: the assailants were within a few feet of their enemy at the
moment they were firing, and every shot took effect. Out of the four
hundred men who headed the column, above half were killed, or so badly
wounded as to be incapable of motion. The narrow lane, for it was no
more than a lane, was nearly blocked up with carcases. Westerman, who
was possessed of a courage that was never shaken, was nevertheless so
thunderstruck, that he knew not what orders to give. The republicans at
the head of the column, who had not themselves been struck, fired their
fusils into the hedges, but their fire did no injury; it was all lost
among the leaves, for the men who had attacked them were kneeling on
their knees or lying on their bellies, and in the confusion which they
had occasioned, were reloading their muskets.

The guide and the aide-de-camp to whom Westerman was speaking, had both
fallen, and the horse upon which he himself was riding was so badly
wounded, as to be unmanageable. He got off, and ran along under the
hedge till he met an officer. "Give me your horse, Gerard," said he;
"but no, stay where you are, gallop back, and tell Bourbotte to bring
up the men. Quick, mind--so quick, that they can neither see nor hear
what has happened. Bid him force his way through the hedge to the right,
when he gets to the corner."

The young officer turned quickly to obey the command of his General, and
had already put his spur to the horse's flank, when another broad flash
of light streamed through the hedge on the left, and the horseman and
horse fell to the ground, and were mingled with a heap of wounded and
dying. Young Gerard did not live long enough to be conscious of the blow
which killed him. Another volley of musketry followed the cannon shot,
and hardly left a man standing of those who had been the foremost. The
attack had taken place so quickly, that the Vendeans had not yet had
time to load again; but one of two cannons had been kept as a reserve,
and about a hundred muskets had not been fired till de Lescure gave the
word of command. The first attack was made under the direction of Henri
Larochejaquelin.

Westerman was standing between the hedge and the mounted officer, when
the latter fell with his horse, and the blood from the poor animal
nearly covered him from head to foot. "Into the field, my men," said he
to those who were near enough to hear him; "follow me through the
hedge," and with a considerable effort he forced his way through the
underwood, and he was followed and accompanied by all those who were
still standing near him; but when he got there, not one of the Vendeans
was to be seen; there were traces enough of them in the grass, and among
the broken boughs, but the men had retreated after the first fire, and
were now again lying in ambush behind the next hedge.

In about five minutes, there were two or three hundred republicans in
the fields to the right of the road, for the army was still advancing;
but they did not know where to go or what to do. They were looking about
for an enemy, and in dread of being fired on, not only from the hedges,
but even out of the trees. Westerman, however, got the men formed into
some kind of order, and bid them advance; they did so, and on coming
near to the second hedge, received another murderous fire, for every
royalist had now had time to reload.

The combat continued for some time, for the republicans contrived to
make their way into the second field; but the royalists again sheltered
themselves behind the further hedge, and repeated their fire from their
lurking-place. It was in vain that the republicans fired into the
hedges; their shot either passed over the heads of the Vendeans, or were
lost among the roots and trunks of the trees. Every one of the
royalists, on the other hand fired, with a clear aim, and almost
invariably with deadly effect. Westerman felt that it would be useless
to pursue them; his soldiers, moreover, were already flying without
orders. He had not the least idea what was the number of the enemy with
whom he was engaged, what was their means of carrying on the battle, or
on what side of him the greater number of them were situated; he
therefore determined to retreat, and led back the whole of his army over
the still burning ashes of the miserable village which he had destroyed
that morning. The greater portion of the men were forced to go back as
far as Parthenay, but he himself remained with a small detachment in the
neighbourhood of Amaillou. He was determined, if possible, to be
revenged that same night for the defeat which he had experienced.

The two cousins were at Clisson when they first heard that Westerman was
actually on his road towards Bressuire, and they had lost no time in
taking the best measures in their power to stop his progress, but they
had not even hoped that their effort would have been so successful as
it proved. The tocsin had been rung in the three neighbouring parishes,
and about seven hundred men had been collected. These men all possessed
muskets, but they themselves had no ammunition, and the whole supply
which could be found in the district, including the little depot at
Clisson, only sufficed to give the men some three and some four rounds
each. When Westerman, with his ten thousand men, retreated from about
seven hundred, the royalists had not one charge of powder to three
muskets among them.

About ten in the evening Henri and de Lescure returned on foot from the
battle to the chateau of Clisson. Henri still had the red scarf round
his neck and waist, and stuck in the latter he had three or four
pistols, of various sizes, all of which had been used in the recent
engagement. On his shoulder he held a rifle, which he carried like a
fowling-piece, and he walked home with the air and look of a man
returning from a day's sport, well contented with the execution he had
done.

Not so de Lescure: he was thoughtful, if not sad; and though he would
not, either by a tone or a look, rebuke the gaiety of his companion, it
was very evident that he did not share it. The peasants returned along
the road, hurrying to their homes, shouting with glee and full of
triumph. As they passed their leaders, they cheered the darling heroes
who had led them to another victory, and would, had they been allowed
to do so, have carried them home upon their shoulders. They had no
thoughts of any further battle, or of future bloodshed and misery. They
had been victorious over the blues, and that was sufficient for the
present evening. They were able to return home and tell their wives and
sweethearts of their triumph, and that without any drawback from friends
lost or wounded. In all their contests, the Vendeans had never been
victorious with so few calamities to themselves.

"I saw Westerman himself" said Henri to his friend. "I am sure I did,
and what's more I was within pistol shot of him, but I hadn't a pistol
loaded at the moment, or I would have put an end to his career. I wonder
how he likes his reception in the Bocage."

"He is not the man to be easily daunted," said de Lescure. "You'll find
it will not be long before he advances again. If he were to march to
Bressuire tomorrow, what is to stop him?"

"Why not stop him tomorrow as we have done today?" said Henri.

"The men are all gone home," said the other.

"They will all assemble again tomorrow," said Henri; "we have only to
have the bells rung at seven o'clock, or six, or five, or when you will,
and you will find that every man will be ready for another day's work,
and that without a murmur."

"And will they bring powder with them, Henri?"

"Why, we are rather short off for powder," said he. "Our affair tonight
was all very well, for the enemy lost an immense number, and we lost
none; but yet it was unsatisfactory, for the fellows have left nothing
behind them. I'll tell you what, Charles, we ought to follow them to
Parthenay."

"Impossible," said de Lescure.

"Why impossible, Charles? Why is Parthenay, which is not better
fortified than Clisson, be more unassailable than Saumur, where
everything appeared to be against us?"

"We were all together then, and now we are scattered. I'll tell you
what, Henri," he continued, after walking on silent for a few steps.
"I'll tell you what we must do: we must leave this district altogether;
we must leave it to be ravaged by fire and sword; we must leave it to
Westerman, to wreak his vengeance on it, and go to Chatillon, taking
with us every armed man that will follow us. We cannot stand an invasion
here in the south."

"Heavens, Charles! what do you mean? Will you not stay to protect the
poor wretches who are so ready to fight for us?"

"We can protect no one by staying here. We cannot hope to contend
single-handed with such an army as that which was but just now advancing
to Bressuire. We can have given them a check, but you know we cannot
repeat the effort of this evening. D'Elbee and Stofflet are at
Chatillon; your own followers are all in that vicinity. When there, we
can communicate with Bonchamps and Charette. We must go to Chatillon."

"And your wife, Charles, and Marie! you will not leave them in the
chateau?"

"If your father and Agatha will receive them, they shall go to
Durbelliere."

"There you are right," said Henri. "Whatever may be the danger, let us
have them together; we shall then at any rate be able to feel that we
know the point which is to be defended most closely."

"We will start tomorrow, Henri; tomorrow evening. May God grant that
that may be time enough. Westerman cannot collect his men so as to force
a march as far as Clisson tomorrow; but before a week is over, I know
that the chateau will be a ruin."

"Will you leave the furniture?" said Henri.

"Yes," answered de Lescure; "furniture, horses, cattle, corn--everything
but my wife and child. Let everything go: am I not giving it to my
King?"

CHAPTER VIII

CLISSON

De Lescure had calculated wrongly with regard to Westerman's return. It
was true that he could not have again put his ten thousand men in
marching order, and have returned with his whole force the next day from
Bressuire as far as Clisson, but Westerman himself did not go back
beyond Amaillou, and he detained there with him a small detachment of
mounted men, whom he had commanded at Valmy, and whom he well knew. He
kept no officers but one cornet and two sergeants, and with this small
force he determined, if possible, to effect that night what his army of
ten thousand men had so signally failed in accomplishing.

About half a mile from Amaillou there was a large chateau, the owner of
which had emigrated; it had been left to the care of two or three
servants, who had deserted it on the approach of the republican army,
and when Westerman and his small troop rode up to the front gate, they
found no one either to admit them or to dispute their entrance. Here he
bivouacked for an hour or two, and matured his project, which, as yet,
he had communicated to no one.

He had entrusted the retreat of the army to General Bourbotte, who, in
spite of their quarrel at Angers, was serving with him; and without
staying even to ascertain what was the amount of loss he had sustained,
or to see whether the enemy would harass the army as it retreated, he
had separated from it at Amaillou, and reached the chateau about ten
o'clock in the evening. He had with him a couple of guides, who knew the
country well, and accompanied by these, he resolved to attack Clisson
that night, to burn the chateau of M. de Lescure, and, if possible, to
carry back with him to Bressuire the next morning the two Vendean
chiefs, whom he knew were staying there.

Westerman understood enough of the tactics of the Vendeans to know that
this was practicable, and he had the quick wit and ready hand to
conceive the plan, and put it in practice: he knew that the peasants
would not remain in barracks, or even assembled together during the
night, if they were near enough to their own homes to reach them; he
knew that they would spend the remainder of their long summer evening
in drinking, dancing, and rejoicing, and that they would then sleep as
though no enemy were within a hundred miles of them; he knew that
nothing could induce them to take on themselves the duties of sentinels,
and that there would, in all probability, be but little to oppose him
in attacking Clisson that night.

Westerman first had the horses fed, and having then refreshed his men
with meat, wine, and brandy, he started at two o'clock. He was distant
from Clisson about three leagues, according to the measurement of the
country, or a little better than seven miles. There had hardly been any
darkness during the night, and as he and his troopers sallied out of the
chateau-yard, the dawn was just breaking in the East.

"Never mind," said he to the young cornet who rode by his side; "the
light will not hurt us, for we will make them hear us before they see
us. We will be back as far as this before thirty men in the parish are
awake. It will be best for them who sleep soundest."

"Except for those in the chateau, General," said the cornet: "those who
sleep there will wake to a warm breakfast."

"They will never eat breakfast more, I believe and trust," said
Westerman; "for I do not think that we shall be able to take the
brigands alive. Their women, however, may receive some of our rough
republican hospitality at Bressuire. You had better prepare your
prettiest bow and your softest words, for this sister of de Lescure is,
they say, a real beauty. She shall ride to Bressuire before you on your
saddle-cloth, if you choose to load your arms with such a burden; but
don't grow too fond of her kisses, for though she were a second Venus,
the guillotine must have the disposal of her."

The cornet made no answer, but his young heart turned sick at the
brutality of his companion. His breast had glowed with republican zeal
at the prospect of a night attack on the two most distinguished of the
royalist chiefs. The excitement of the quick ride through the night-air,
the smallness of the party, the importance of the undertaking, the
probable danger, and the uncertainty, had all seemed to him delightful;
and the idea of rescuing a beautiful girl from the flames was more
delightful than all; but the coarseness and cruelty of his General had
destroyed the romance, and dissipated the illusion. He felt that he
could not offer a woman his protection, that he might carry her to a
scaffold.

At about two, Westerman started on his expedition. His men carried their
sabres, still sheathed, in their hands, to prevent the noise which they
would have made rattling against their saddles; but still their journey
through the country was anything but quiet. They only rode two abreast,
as the roads were too narrow to admit of more. Westerman himself and one
of the guides headed the column, and the young cornet and veteran
sergeant closed the rear. They went at a fast trot, and the noise of
their horses' hoofs sounded loudly on the hard parched ground. In spite
of their precautions, their sabres rattled, and the curbs on their
bridles jingled; and the absence of all other noises made Westerman fear
that their approach must be audible, even through the soundness of a
peasant's sleep.

On they rode, and as they drew near to the chateau, Westerman put spurs
to his horse, and changed his trot into a gallop; his troop of course
followed his example, and as they.. came to the end of their journey
they abandoned all precautions; each man dropped his scabbard to his
side, and drew the blade; each man put his hand to his holster, and
transferred his pistol to his belt, for he did not know how soon he
might have to leave his saddle; each man drew the brazen clasps of his
helmet tight beneath his chin, and prepared himself for action.

"These are the Clisson woods," said the guide, almost out of breath with
the quickness of his motion.

"How infernally dark they make it," said Westerman, speaking to himself.
"We had light enough till we got here"

"And there are the gates," said the guide. "That first entrance which
is open, goes to the back of the house; a little beyond, there is
another, which leads to the front; there you will find a gate, but it
is merely closed with a latch."

"Craucher," said Westerman, speaking to the second sergeant, who was
riding immediately behind him, "stand at the corner, and bid the men
follow me at a quick trot--all of them, mind; tell Cornet Leroy that I
have changed my mind," and Westerman, followed by his troop, dashed up
the narrow avenue which led through the wood to the back of the house.

The chateau of Clisson was surrounded by large woods, through which
countless paths and little roads were made in every direction for the
convenience of the woodmen, and the small tumbrils which were used for
bringing out the timber and faggots. These woods came close up to the
farm-yard of the chateau, which was again divided from the house by
large walled gardens, into which the back windows opened. The road up
which Westerman had ridden led under the garden-wall to the farm-yard,
but another road from the front, running along the gable-end of the
house, communicated with it. The door used by the servants was at the
side of the chateau, and consequently the readiest way from the public
road to the servants' door, was that by which Westerman had, at the last
moment, determined to force an entrance into the chateau.

He trotted up till he faced the garden-wall, and then turned short round
to the house, and as he rode close up under the gable-end, he gave
Sergeant Craucher directions to take three men and force the door; but
he and the sergeant soon saw that this trouble was spared them, for the
door stood wide open before them.

We will now go back to the inhabitants of the chateau. De Lescure and
Henri had returned thither about eleven o'clock, and although their safe
return, and account of the evening's victorious engagement for a while
quieted the anxious fears of Marie and Madame de Lescure, those ladies
by no means felt inclined to rest quietly as though all danger were
removed from their pillows. They were in a dreadful alarm at the
nearness of the republicans; they knew well that their ruthless enemies
spared none that fell into their hands. I should belie these heroines
if I said that they feared more for themselves than for those they loved
so dearly, but they were not accustomed yet to the close vicinity of
danger; and when they learned that a battle had been lost and won that
evening, within a mile or two, in the very next parish to that in which
they lived, they looked at each other, and trembling asked what next was
to be done.

"You must not leave us, Charles, you must not leave us again," said
Madame de Lescure to her husband; "indeed you must not leave us here."
She paused a moment, and then added, with an accent of horror which she
could not control, "What would become of us if these men came upon us
when you were away?"

"Wherever you go, let us go with you," said Marie, forgetting in her
excitement her usual maidenly reserve, and laying her little hand as she
spoke upon her lover's arm; then blushing, she withdrew it, and turned
to her brother.

"Do not turn from him, Marie," said her sister-in-law. "You will soon
want his strong arm, and his kind, loving heart."

"Charles will not desert me, Victorine," said Marie, blushing now more
beautifully than ever, for though she knew that Henri loved her, he had
never absolutely told her so. "Though you are his dearest care, he will
always have a hand to stretch to his poor Marie."

Before she had finished speaking, Henri held her close in his embrace.
It was perhaps hardly a fitting time for him to make an avowal of his
love; but lovers cannot always choose the most proper season for their
confessions. He was still hot from the battle which he had fought; his
hands were still black with powder; the well-known red scarf was still
twisted round his belt, and held within its folds his armament of
pistols. His fair, long hair was uncombed, and even entangled with his
exertions. His large boots were covered with dust, and all his clothes
were stained and soiled with the grass and weeds through which he had
that night dragged himself more than once, in order to place himself
within pistol-shot of his enemies; and yet, soiled and hot as he was,
fatigued with one battle, and meditating preparations for another,
there, in the presence of de Lescure and his wife, he clasped Marie to
his manly heart, and swore to her that his chief anxiety as long as the
war lasted, should be to screen her from all harm, and that his fondest
care through his whole life should be to protect her and make her happy.

Unusual circumstances and extraordinary excitement often cause the
customary rules and practices of life to be abandoned; and so it was
now. Marie received the love that was offered her, frankly,
affectionately, and with her whole heart. She owned to her lover how
well and truly she had loved him, and there, before her brother and his
wife, plighted to him her troth, and promised to him then the obedience
and love, which she soon hoped to owe him as his wife. Such declarations
are usually made in private, but the friends now assembled had no
secrets from each other, and they all felt that strange times made
strange scenes necessary.

They then arranged their plans for the morrow. The day had already been
an eventful one, but they little dreamed how much more was to be done
before the morrow's sun was in the heavens; and yet even then they did
not separate for the night: luckily for them all, they determined that
too much was to be done to allow them yet to retire to rest.

It was resolved that on the following day they should leave Clisson for
Durbelliere, and hand over the chateau and all it contained--the farm
and all its well-filled granaries, the cattle and agricultural wealth
of the estate, to the fire and plunder of the republicans. The plate,
however, they thought they could save, as well as the ladies' jewels and
clothes, and other precious things which might be quickly packed and
easily moved. They went to work at once to fill their trunks and
baskets; and as the means of conveyance were then slow, de Lescure went
out into the stables, and had the waggon prepared at once, and ordered
that the oxen which were to draw it should be ready to start at three
o'clock, in order that the load, if possible, might reach Durbelliere
the same night.

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