La Vendee by Anthony Trollope

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Chapeau, however, would not leave her to herself, but took her up bodily
in his arms, and carrying her down to the water's edge, put her on the
raft. He and Michael soon followed, and the frail vessel was hauled for
the last time over into the island. The news that the enemy was already
in St. Florent soon passed from month to mouth, and each wretched
emigrant congratulated himself in silence that he had so far escaped
from republican revenge. Many of them had still to sojourn on the island
for the night, but there they were comparatively safe; and Arthur,
Chapeau, and his friends, succeeded in gaining the opposite shore.

Poor Annot was truly in a bad state. When they heard that the ladies had
left Chatillon, she and. her father, and, indeed, all the inhabitants
of Echanbroignes, felt that they could no longer be safe in the village;
and they had started off to follow the royalist army on foot through the
country. From place to place they had heard tidings, sometimes of one
party, and sometimes of another. The old man had borne the fatigue and
dangers of the journey well; for, though now old, he had been a
hard-working man all his life, and was tough and seasoned in his old
age; but poor Annot had suffered dreadfully. The clothes she had brought
with her were nearly falling off her back; her feet were all but bare,
and were cut and blistered with walking. Grief and despair had taken the
colour and roundness from her cheek, and she had lacked time on her
mournful journey to comb the pretty locks of which she was generally so
proud.

"Oh, Jacques, Jacques, how could you leave us! how could you go away and
leave us, after all that's been between us," she said, as he bustled
about to make some kind of bed for her in the little hut, in which they
were to rest for the night.

"Leave you," said Chapeau, who had listened for some time in silence to
her upbraidings; "leave you, how could I help leaving .you? Has not
everybody left everybody? Did not M. Henri leave his sister, and M. de
Lescure leave his wife? And though they are now here all together, it's
by chance that they came here, the same as you have come yourself. As
long as these wars last, Annot dear, no man can answer as to where he
will go, or what he will do."

"Oh, these weary wars, these weary wars!" said she, "will they never be
done with? Will the people never be tired of killing, and slaying, and
burning each other? And what is the King the better of it? Ain't they
all dead: the King, and the Queen, and the young Princes, and all of
them?"

"You wouldn't have us give up now, Annot, would you? You wouldn't have
us lay down our arms, and call ourselves republicans, after all we have
done and suffered?"

Annot didn't answer. She wouldn't call herself a republican; but her
sufferings and sorrows had greatly damped the loyal zeal she had shown
when she worked her little fingers to the bone in embroidering a white
flag for her native village. She was now tired and cold, wet and hungry;
for Chapeau had been able to get no provisions but a few potatoes: so
she laid herself down on the hard bed which he had prepared for her; and
as he spread his own coat over her shoulders, she felt that it was, at
any rate, some comfort to have her own lover once more near her.

Jacques and the old smith had no bed, so they were fain to content
themselves with sitting opposite to each other on two low stools; the
best seats which the hut afforded. Jacques felt that it was incumbent
on him to do the honours of the place, and that some apology was
necessary for the poor accommodation which he had procured for his
friends.

"This is a poor place for you, Michael Stein," he commenced, "a very
poor place for both of you, after your own warm cottage at
Echanbroignes."

"It's a poor place, truly, M. Chapeau," said the smith, looking round
on the bare walls of the little hut.

"Indeed it is, my friend, and sorry am I to see you and Annot so badly
lodged. But what then; we shall be in Laval tomorrow, and have the best
of everything--that is, if not tomorrow, the day after."

"I don't much care about the best of everything, M. Chapeau. I've not
used myself to the best, but I would it had pleased God. to have allowed
me to labour out the rest of my days in the little smithy at
Echanbroignes. I never wanted more than the bread which I could earn."

"You never did, Michael, you never did," said Chapeau, trying to flatter
the old man; "and, like an honest man, you endure without flinching what
you suffer for your King. Give us your hand, my friend, we've no wine
to drink his health, but as long as our voices are left, let us cry:
Vive le Roi!"

The old man silently rejected Chapeau's proposal that he should evince
his loyalty just at present by shouting out the Vendean war-cry. "I take
no credit, M. Chapeau," said he, "for suffering for my King, though,
while he lived, he always had my poor prayers for his safety. It wasn't
to fight the blues that I left my little home. It was because I couldn't
stay any without fearing to see that girl there in the rude hands of
Lechelle's soldiers, and my own roof in a blaze. It's all gone now,
forge and tools; the old woman's chair, the children's cradle; it's all
gone, now and for ever. I don't wish to curse any one, M. Chapeau, but
I am not in the humour to cry Vive le Roi!"

"But Michael Stein, my dear friend," urged Chapeau, "look what others
have lost too. Have not others suffered as much? Look at the old
Marquis, turned out of his house and everything lost; and yet you won't
hear a word of complaint fall from his mouth. Look at Madame de Lescure,
her husband dying; her house burnt to the ground; without a bed to lie
on, or a change of dress and yet she does not complain."

"They have brought it on themselves by their own doings," answered the
smith; "and they have brought it on me also, who have done nothing."

"Done nothing! but, indeed, you have, Michael. Have you not made pikes
for us, and have not your sons fought for us like brave soldiers?"

"I have done the work for which I was paid, as a good smith should; and
as for the boys, they took their own way. No, Jacques Chapeau, I have
taken no part in your battles. I have neither been for nor against you.
As for King or Republic, it was all one to me; let them who understand
such things settle that. For fifty years I have earned my bread, and
paid what I owed; and now I am driven out from my home like a fox from
its hole. Why should I say Vive le Roi! Look at that girl there, with
her bare feet bleeding from the sharp stones, and tell me, why should
I say Vive le Roi!"

Chapeau was flabbergasted, for all this was rank treason to him; and yet
he didn't want to quarrel with the smith; so he sat still and gazed into
his face, as though he were struck dumb with astonishment.

"I remember when you came to my cottage," continued the old man, "and
told me that the wars were all over, that the King was coming to
Durbelliere, and that you would marry Annot, and make a fine lady of
her. I told you then what I thought of your soldiering, and your fine
ladies. I told you then what it would come to, and I told you true. I
don't throw this in your teeth to blame you, M. Chapeau, for you have
only served those you were bound to serve; but surely they who first put
guns and swords into the hands of the poor people, and bade them go out
for soldiers, will have much to answer for. All this blood will be upon
their heads."

"You don't mean to blame M. Henri and M. de Lescure, and the good
Cathelineau, for all that they've done?" said Chapeau, awe-struck at the
language used by his companion.

"It's not for me to blame them; but look at that girl there, and then
tell me, mustn't there be some great blame somewhere?"

Chapeau did look at the girl, and all the tenderness of his heart rose
into his eyes, as the flickering light of the fire showed him her
tattered and draggled dress.

"Thank God! the worst of it is over now, Michael. You're safe now, at
any rate, from those blood-hounds; and when we reach Laval, we shall all
have plenty."

"And where's this Laval, M. Chapeau?"

"We're close to it--it's just a league or so; or, perhaps, seven or
eight leagues to the north of us."

"And how is it, that in times like these, such a crowd of strangers will
find plenty there?"

"Why, the whole town is with us. There's a blue garrison in it; but
they're very weak, and the town itself is for the King to the backbone.
They've sent a deputation to our Generals, and invited us there; and
there are gentlemen there, who have come from England, with sure
promises of money and troops. The truth is, Michael, we never were
really in a position to beat the blues as they ought to be beat till we.
got to this side of the river. We never could have done anything great
in Poitou."

"I'm sorry they ever tried, M. Chapeau; but I remember when you came
back, after taking Saumur, you told me the war was over then. You used
to think that a great thing."

"So it was, Michael; it was well done. The taking of Saumur was very
well done; but it was only a detail. We've found out now that it won't
do to beat them in detail; it's too slow. The Generals have a plan now,
one great comprehensive plan, for finishing the war in a stroke, and
they're only waiting until they reach Laval."

"It's a great pity they didn't hit on that plan before," said Michael
Stein.

The two men laid themselves down on the ground before the fire, and
attempted to sleep; but they had hardly composed themselves when they
were interrupted by a loud rumour, that there was a vast fire, close
down on the opposite side of the river. They both jumped up and went
out, and saw that the whole heavens were alight with the conflagration
of St. Florent--the blues had burnt the town. The northern bank of the
river was covered with the crowd of men and women, gazing at the flames,
which were consuming their own houses; and yet, so rejoiced were they
to have escaped themselves from destruction, that they hardly remembered
to bewail the loss of their property. The town of St. Florent was
between three or four miles from the place where they were congregated,
and yet they could plainly see the huge sparks as they flew upwards, and
they fancied they felt the heat of the flames on their upturned faces.

Early on the following morning, the whole army was on its march towards
Laval. The Vendean leaders were well aware that the republicans were now
on their track, and they were truly thankful that some unaccountable
delay in the movement of the enemy, had enabled them to put a great
river between themselves and their pursuers. The garrisons, which the
Convention had thrown into the towns of Brittany, were very
insufficient, both in numbers and spirit, and the blues abandoned one
place after another as the Vendeans approached. They passed through
Cande, Segre, and Chateau-Gonthier without having to fire a shot, and
though the gates of the town of Laval were closed against them, it was
only done to allow the republican soldiers time to escape from the other
side of the town.

The inhabitants of Laval flocked out in numbers to meet the poor
Vendeans, and to offer them hospitality, and such comfort as their small
town could afford to so huge a crowd. They begrudged them nothing that
they possessed, and spared neither their provisions nor their houses.
It seemed that Chapeau's promise was this time true; and that, at any
rate, for a time, they all found plenty in Laval. Henri established his
head-quarters in a stone house, in the centre of the town, and here also
he got accommodation for the three ladies and M. de Lescure. Nor did
Chapeau forget to include Annot Stein in the same comfortable
establishment, under the pretext that her services would be
indispensable.

M. de Lescure had suffered grievously through the whole journey, but he
seemed to rally when he reached Laval, and the comparative comfort of
his quiet chamber gave him ease, and lessened his despondency. The whole
party recovered something of their usual buoyancy, and when Henri
brought in word, in the evening, that if the worst came to the worst,
he could certainly hold out the town against the republican army until
assistance reached them from England, they were all willing to hope that
the cause in which they were engaged might still prosper.

CHAPTER IX

LA PETITE VENDEE

For four or five days they all remained quiet in Laval, with nothing to
disturb their tranquillity, but rumours of what was going on on both
sides of the river. The men, with the exception of the old Marquis and
de Lescure, were hard at work from morning until night; but they had
hardly time or patience to describe accurately what was going on, to
those who were left within; and the time passed very heavily with them.
Two sofas had been carried to the windows of the sitting-room which they
occupied. These windows looked out into the main thoroughfare of the
town, and here the Marquis and the wounded man were placed, so that they
might see all that was passing in the street. Various reports reached
them from time to time, a few of which were confirmed, many proved to
be false, and some still remained doubtful; but two facts were
positively ascertained. Firstly, that the main army of the republicans
had passed the river at Angers, and were advancing towards Laval; and
secondly, that there was a considerable number of Breton peasants,
already under arms, in the country, who were harassing the blues
whenever they could meet them in small parties, and very frequently
menacing the garrisons which they found in the small towns.

This last circumstance created a great deal of surprise, not so much
from the fact of the Bretons having taken up arms against the
Convention, as from a certain degree of mystery which were attached to
the men who were roving about the country. It appeared that they were
all under the control of one leader, whose name was not known in Laval,
but who was supposed to have taken an active part in many of the battles
fought on the other side of the river. His tactics, however, were very
different from those which had been practised in La Vendee. He never
took any prisoners, or showed any quarter; but slaughtered
indiscriminately every republican soldier that fell into his hands. He
encouraged his men to pillage the towns, where the inhabitants were
presumed to be favourable to the Convention; and this licence which he
allowed was the means of drawing many after him, who might not have been
very willing to fight merely for the honour of defending the throne.
After the custom of their country, which was different from that which
prevailed in Poitou and Anjou, these peasant-soldiers wore their long
flaxen hair hanging down over their shoulders, and were clothed in rough
dresses, made of the untanned skins of goats or sheep, with the hair on
the outside. The singularity of their appearance at first added a terror
to their arms, which was enhanced by the want of experience and
cowardice of the republican troops through the country. This wild,
roving band of lawless men had assumed to themselves the name of La
Petite Vendee, and certainly they did much towards assisting the
Vendeans; for they not only cleared the way for them, in many of the
towns of Brittany, but they prepared the people to expect them, and
created a very general opinion that there would be more danger in siding
with the blues than with the royal party.

If the men of La Petite Vendee, had rendered themselves terrible, their
Captain had made--not his name, for that was unknown--but his character
much more so. He was represented to be a young man, but of a fierce and
hideous aspect; the under part of his face was covered with his black
beard, and he always wore on his head a huge heavy cap, which covered
his brows, shaded his eyes from sight, and concealed his face nearly as
effectually as a vizor. He was always on horseback, and alone; for he
had neither confidant nor friend. The peasant-soldiers believed him to
be invulnerable, for they represented him to be utterly careless as to
where he went, or what danger he encountered. The only name they knew
him by, was that of the Mad Captain; and, probably, had he been less
ugly, less mysterious, and less mad, the people would not have obeyed
him so implicitly, or followed him so faithfully.

Such were the tales that were repeated from time to time to Madame de
Lescure and her party by the little Chevalier and Chapeau; and according
to their accounts, the Mad Captain was an ally who would give them most
valuable help in their difficulties. The whole story angered de Lescure,
whose temper was acerbated by his own inactivity and suffering, and
whose common sense could not endure the seeming folly of putting
confidence in so mysterious a warrior.

"You don't really believe the stories you hear of this man, I hope," he
said to his wife and sister, one morning; "he is some inhuman ruffian,
who is disgracing, by his cruelty, the cause which he has joined, for
the sake of plunder and rapine."

"At any rate," said Marie, "he seems to have scared the blues in this
country; and if so, he must be a good friend to us."

"If we cannot do well without such friends, we shall never do well with
them. Believe me, whoever he may be, this man is no soldier."

De Lescure was, perhaps, right in the character which he attributed to
the Captain of La Petite Vendee; but the band of men which that
mysterious leader now commanded, held its ground in Brittany long after
the Vendean armies were put down in Poitou and Anjou. They then became
known by another name, and the Chouan bands for years carried on a
fearful war against the government in that part of the province which
is called the Morbihan.

About eight o'clock in the evening, Henri and Arthur Mondyon returned
to the house, after a long day's work, and were the first to bring new
tidings both of the blues and their new ally, the Mad Captain. A portion
of the republican army had advanced as far as Antrames, within a league
or two of Laval; and they had hardly taken up their quarters in the
town, before they were attacked, routed, and driven out of it by the men
of La Petite Vendee. Many hundreds of the republicans had been
slaughtered, and those who had escaped, carried to the main army an
exaggerated account of the numbers, daring, and cruelty of the Breton
rebels.

"Whoever he is," said Henri, in answer to a question from his sister,
"he is a gallant fellow, and I shall be glad to give him my hand. There
can be no doubt of it now, Charles, for the blues at Antrames certainly
numbered more than double the men he had with him; and I am told he
drove them helter-skelter out of the town, like a flock of sheep."

"And do you mean to let him have the rest of the war all to himself?"
said de Lescure, who was rather annoyed than otherwise at the success
of a man whom he had stigmatized as a ruffian.

"I am afraid we shan't find it quite so easy to get the war taken off
our hands," said Henri, laughing; "but I believe it's the part of a good
General to make the most of any unexpected assistance which may come in
his way."

"But, Henri," said Marie, "you must have some idea who this wonderful
wild man is. Don't they say he was one of the Vendean chiefs?"

"He says so himself," said Arthur. "He told some of the people here that
he was at Fontenay and Saumur; and he talked of knowing Cathelineau and
Bonchamps. I was speaking to a man who heard him say so."

"And did the man say what he was like?" said Marie.

"I don't think he saw him at all," answered Arthur. "It seems that he
won't let any one see his face, if he can help it; but they all say he
is quite a young man."

Chapeau now knocked at the door, and brought farther tidings. The Mad
Captain and all his troop had returned from Antrames to Laval, and had
just now entered the town.

"Our men are shaking the Bretons by the hand," said Chapeau, "and
wondering at their long hair and rough skins. Three or four days ago,
I feared the Vendeans would never have faced the blues again; but now
they are as ready to meet them as ever they were."

"And the Captain, is he actually in Laval at present, Chapeau?"

"Indeed he is, M. Henri. I saw him riding down the street, by the Hotel
de Ville, myself, not ten minutes since."

"Did you see his face, Chapeau?" asked Marie.

"Did he look like any one you knew?" asked Madame de Lescure.

"Did he ride well?" asked the little Chevalier.

"Did he look like a soldier?" asked M. de Lescure.

"Who do you think he is, Chapeau?" asked Henri Larochejaquelin.

Chapeau looked from one to another, as these questions were asked him;
and then selecting those of M. de Lescure and his sister, as the two
easiest to answer, he said:

"I did not see his face, Mademoiselle. They say that he certainly is a
good soldier, M. Charles, but he certainly does not look like any one
of our Vendean officers."

"Who can it be?" said Henri. "Can it be Marigny, Charles?"

"Impossible," said de Lescure; "Marigny is a fine, robust fellow, with
a handsome open face. They say this man is just the reverse."

"It isn't d'Elbee come to life again, is it?" said Arthur Mondyon. "He's
ugly enough, and not very big."

"Nonsense, Arthur, he's an old man; and of all men the most unlikely to
countenance such doings as those of these La Petite Vendee. I think,
however, I know the man. It must be Charette. He is courageous, but yet
cruel; and he has exactly that dash of mad romance in him which seems
to belong to this new hero."

"Charette is in the island of Noirmoutier," said de Lescure, "and by all
accounts, means to stay there. Had he been really willing to give us his
assistance, we never need have crossed the Loire."

"Oh! it certainly was not Charette," said Chapeau. "I saw M. Charette
on horseback once, and he carries himself as though he had swallowed a
poker; and this gentleman twists himself about like--like--"

"Like a mountebank, I suppose," said de Lescure.

"He rides well, all the same, M. Charles," rejoined Chapeau.

"And who do you think he is, Chapeau?" said Henri.

Chapeau shrugged his shoulders, as no one but a Frenchman can shrug
them, intending to signify the impossibility of giving an opinion;
immediately afterwards he walked close up to his master, and whispered
something in his ear. Henri looked astonished, almost confounded, by
what his servant said to him, and then replied, almost in a whisper:
"Impossible, Chapeau, quite impossible."

Immediately afterwards, Chapeau left the room, and Henri followed him;
and calling him into a chamber in the lower part of the house, began to
interrogate him as to what he had whispered upstairs.

"I did not like to speak out before them all, M. Henri," said Jacques,
"for I did not know how the ladies might take it; but as sure as we're
standing here, the man I saw on horseback just now was M. Adolphe
Denot."

"Impossible, Chapeau, quite impossible. How on earth could he have got
the means to raise a troop of men in Brittany? Besides, he never would
have returned to the side he deserted."

"It does not signify, M. Henri, whether it be likely or unlikely: that
man was Adolphe Denot; I'd wager my life on it, without the least
hesitation. Why, M. Henri, don't I know him as well as I know yourself?"

"But you didn't see his face?"

"I saw him rise in his saddle, and throw his arms up as he did so, and
that was quite enough for me; the Mad Captain of La Petite Vendee is no
other than M. Adolphe Denot."

Henri Larochejaquelin was hardly convinced, and yet he knew that Chapeau
would not express himself so confidently unless he had good grounds for
doing so. He was aware, also, that it was almost impossible for any one
who had intimately known Denot to mistake his seat on horseback; and,
therefore, though not quite convinced, he was much inclined to suspect
that, in spite of improbabilities, his unfortunate friend was the
mysterious leader of the Breton army. He determined that he would, at
any rate, seek out the man, whoever he might be; and that if he found
that Adolphe Denot was really in Laval, he would welcome him back, with
all a brother's love, to the cause from which, for so Henri had always
protested, nothing but insanity had separated him.

"At any rate, Chapeau, we must go and find the truth of all this.
Moreover, whoever this man be, it is necessary that I should know him:
so come along."

They both sallied out into the street, which was quite dark, but which
was still crowded with strangers of every description. The wine-shops
were all open, and densely filled with men who were rejoicing over the
victory which had been gained that morning; and the Breton soldiers were
boasting of what they had done, while the Vendeans talked equally loudly
of what they would do when their Generals would once more lead them out
against the blues.

From these little shops, and from the house-windows, an uncertain
flicker of light was thrown into the street, by the aid of which Henri
and Chapeau made their way to the market-place, in which there was a
guard-house and small barrack, at present the position of the Vendean
military head-quarters. In this spot a kind of martial discipline was
maintained. Sentinels were regularly posted and exchanged; and some few
junior officers remained on duty, ready for any exigence for which they
might be required. Here they learnt that the Bretons, after returning
from Antrames, had dispersed themselves through the town, among the
houses of the citizens, who were willing to welcome their victorious
neighbours, but that nothing had been seen of their Captain since he
disbanded his men on the little square. They learnt, however, that he
had been observed to give his horse in charge to a man who acted as his
Lieutenant, and who was known to be a journeyman baker, usually employed
in Laval.

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