Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

‘So, then, my caution was not unneeded,’ said the general, as he bent his heavy brows upon me. ‘Now, sir, there is but one amende you can make for this; tell me frankly, have others sent you on this errand, or is the scheme entirely of your own devising? Is this an English plot, or is there a Bourbon element in it?’

‘Neither one nor the other,’ said I boldly, for indignation at last gave me courage. ‘I hazarded my life to tell you what I overheard among the officers of the fleet yonder; you may hold their judgment cheap; you may not think their counsels worth the pains of listening to; but I could form no opinion of this, and only thought if these tidings could reach you, you might profit by them.’

‘And what are they?’ asked he bluntly.

‘They said that your force was wasting away by famine and disease; that your supplies could not hold out above a fortnight; that your granaries were empty, and your hospitals filled.’

‘They scarcely wanted the gift of second-sight to see this,’ said he bitterly. ‘A garrison in close siege for four months may be suspected of as much.’

‘Yes; but they said that as Soult’s force fell back upon the city, your position would be rendered worse.’

‘Fell back from where?’ asked he, with a searching look at me.

‘As I understood, from the Apennines,’ replied I, growing more confident as I saw that he became more attentive. ‘If I understood them aright, Soult held a position called the “Monte Faccio.” Is there such a name?’

‘Go on,’ said he, with a nod of assent.

‘That this could not long be tenable without gaining the highest fortified point of the mountain. The “Monte Creto” they named it.’

‘The attempt on which has failed!’ said Masséna, as if carried away by the subject; ‘and Soult himself is a prisoner! Go on.’

‘They added, that now but one hope remained for this army.’

‘And what was that, sir?’ said he fiercely. ‘What suggestion of cunning strategy did these sea-wolves intimate?’

‘To cut your way through the blockade, and join Suchet’s corps, attacking the Austrians at the Monte Ratte, and by the sea-road gaining the heights of Bochetta.’

‘Do these heroic spirits know the strength of the same Austrian corps? did they tell you that it numbered fifty-four thousand bayonets?’

‘They called them below forty thousand; and that now that Bonaparte was on his way through the Alps, perhaps by this over the Mount Cenis – ’

‘What! did they say this? Is Bonaparte so near us?’ cried he, placing a hand on either shoulder, as he stared me in the face.

‘Yes; there is no doubt of that. The despatch to Lord Keith brought the news a week ago, and there is no secret made about it in the fleet.’

‘Over Mount Cenis!’ repeated he to himself. ‘Already in Italy!’

‘Holding straight for Milan, Lord Keith thinks,’ added I.

‘No, sir, straight for the Tuileries,’ cried Masséna sternly; and then correcting himself suddenly, he burst into a forced laugh. I must confess that the speech puzzled me sorely at the time, but I lived to learn its meaning; and many a time have I wondered at the shrewd foresight which even then read the ambitious character of the future Emperor.

‘Of this fact, then, you are quite certain. Bonaparte is on his march hither?’

‘I have heard it spoken of every day for the last week,’ replied I; ‘and it was in consequence of this that the English officers used to remark, if Masséna but knew it, he’d make a dash at them, and clear his way through at once.’

‘They said this, did they?’ said he, in a low voice, and as if pondering over it.

‘Yes; one and all agreed in thinking there could not be a doubt of the result.’

‘Where have you served, sir?’ asked he, suddenly turning on me, and with a look that showed he was resolved to test the character of the witness.

‘With Moreau, sir, on the Rhine and the Schwarz-wald; in Ireland with Humbert.’

‘Your regiment?’

‘The Ninth Hussar.’

‘The “Tapageurs”’ said he, laughing. ‘I know them, and glad I am not to have their company here at this moment; you were a lieutenant?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, supposing that, on the faith of what you have told me, I was to follow the wise counsel of these gentlemen, would you like the alternative of gaining your promotion in the event of success, or being shot by a peloton if we fail.’

‘They seem sharp terms, sir,’ said I, smiling, ‘when it is remembered that no individual efforts of mine can either promote one result or the other.’

‘Ay, but they can, sir,’ cried he quickly. ‘If you should turn out to be an Austro-English spy; if these tidings be of a character to lead my troops into danger; if, in reliance on you, I should be led to compromise the honour and safety of a French army – your life, were it worth ten thousand times over your own value of it, would be a sorry recompense. Is this intelligible?’

‘Far more intelligible than flattering,’ said I, laughing; for I saw that the best mode to treat him was by an imitation of his own frank and careless humour. ‘I have already risked that life you hold so cheaply to convey this information, but I am still ready to accept the conditions you offer me, if, in the event of success, my name appear in the despatch.’

He again stared at me with his dark and piercing eyes; but I stood the glance with a calm conscience, and he seemed so to read it, for he said —

‘Be it so. I will, meanwhile, test your prudence. Let nothing of this interview transpire – not a word of it among the officers and comrades you shall make acquaintance with. You shall serve on my own staff. Go now, and recruit your strength for a couple of days, and then report yourself at headquarters when ready for duty. – Latrobe, look to the Lieutenant Tiernay; see that he wants for nothing, and let him have a horse and a uniform as soon as may be.’

Captain Latrobe, the future General of Division, was then a young gay officer of about five-and-twenty, very good-looking, and full of life and spirits – a buoyancy which the terrible uncertainties of the siege could not repress.

‘Our general talks nobly, Tiernay,’ said he, as he gave me his arm to assist me; ‘but you ‘ll stare when I tell you that “wanting for nothing” means, having four ounces of black bread, and ditto of blue cheese, per diem; and as to a horse, if I possessed such an animal, I’d have given a dinner-party yesterday and eaten him. You look surprised, but when you see a little more of us here, you’ll begin to think that prison rations in the fleet yonder were luxuries compared to what we have. No matter, you shall take share of my superabundance; and if I have little else to offer, I’ll show you a view from my window, finer than anything you ever looked on in your life, and with a sea-breeze that would be glorious if it didn’t make one hungry.’

While he thus rattled on, we reached the street, and there, calling a couple of soldiers forward, he directed them to carry me along to his quarters, which lay in the upper town, on an elevated plateau that overlooked the city and the bay together.

From the narrow lanes, flanked with tall, gloomy houses, and steep, ill-paved streets, exhibiting poverty and privation of every kind, we suddenly emerged into an open space of grass, at one side of which a handsome iron railing stood, with a richly ornamented gate, gorgeously gilded. Within this was a garden and a fish-pond, surrounded with statues, and farther on, a long, low villa, whose windows reached to the ground, and were shaded by a deep awning of striped blue and white canvas.

Camellias, orange-trees, cactuses, and magnolias abounded everywhere; tulips and hyacinths seemed to grow wild; and there was in the half-neglected look of the spot something of savage luxuriance that heightened the effect immensely.

‘This is my Paradise, Tiernay, only wanting an Eve to be perfect,’ said Latrobe, as he set me down beneath a spreading lime-tree. ‘Yonder are your English friends; there they stretch away for miles beyond that point. That’s the Monte Creto, you may have heard of; and there’s the Bochetta. In that valley, to the left, the Austrian outposts are stationed; and from those two heights closer to the shore, they are gracious enough to salute us every evening after sunset, and even prolong the attention sometimes the whole night through. Turn your eyes in this direction, and you’ll see the “cornice” road, that leads to la belle France, but of which we see as much from this spot as we are ever like to do. So much for the geography of our position; and now to look after your breakfast. You have, of course, heard that we do not revel in superfluities. Never was the boasted excellence of our national cookery more severely tested, for we have successively descended from cows and sheep to goats, horses, donkeys, dogs, occasionally experimenting on hides and shoe-leather, till we ended by regarding a rat as a rarity, and deeming a mouse a delicacy of the season. As for vegetables, there would not have been a flowering plant in all Genoa, if tulip and ranunculus roots had not been bitter as aloes. These seem very inhospitable confessions, but I make them the more freely since I am about to treat you en gourmet. Come in now, and acknowledge that juniper bark isn’t bad coffee, and that commissary bread is not to be thought of “lightly.”’

In this fashion did my comrade invite me to a meal, which, even with this preface, was far more miserable and scanty than I looked for.

CHAPTER XXXV. A NOVEL COUNCIL OP WAR

I had scarcely finished my breakfast, when a group of officers rode up to our quarters to visit me. My arrival had already created an immense sensation in the city, and all kinds of rumours were afloat as to the tidings I had brought. The meagreness of the information would, indeed, have seemed in strong contrast to the enterprise and hazard of the escape, had I not the craft to eke it out by that process of suggestion and speculation in which I was rather an adept.

Little in substance as my information was, all the younger officers were in favour of acting upon it. The English are no bad judges of our position and chances, was the constant argument. They see exactly how we stand; they know the relative forces of our army and the enemy’s; and if the ‘cautious islanders’ – such was the phrase – advised a coup de main, it surely must have much in its favour. I lay stress upon the remark, trifling as it may seem; but it is curious to know, that with all the immense successes of England on sea, her reputation at that time among Frenchmen was rather for prudent and well-matured undertaking than for those daring enterprises which are as much the character of her courage.

My visitors continued to pour in during the morning – officers of every arm and rank, some from mere idle curiosity, some to question and interrogate, and not a few to solve doubts in their mind as to my being really French, and a soldier, and not an agent of that ‘perfide Albion,’ whose treachery was become a proverb amongst us. Many were disappointed at my knowing so little. I neither could tell the date of Napoleon’s passing St. Gothard, nor the amount of his force; neither knew I whether he meant to turn eastward towards the plains of Lombardy, or march direct to the relief of Genoa. Of Moreau’s successes in Germany, too, I had only heard vaguely, and, of course, could recount nothing. I could overhear, occasionally, around and about me, the murmurs of dissatisfaction my ignorance called forth, and was not a little grateful to an old artillery captain for saying, ‘That’s the very best thing about the lad; a spy would have had his whole lesson by heart.’

‘You are right, sir,’ cried I, catching at the words; ‘I may know but little, and that little, perhaps, valueless and insignificant, but my truth no man shall gainsay.’

The boldness of this speech from one wasted and miserable as I was, with tattered shoes and ragged clothes, caused a hearty laugh, in which, as much from policy as feeling, I joined myself.

‘Come here, mon cher,’ said an infantry colonel, as, walking to the door of the room, he drew his telescope from his pocket; ‘you tell us of a coup de main– on the Monte Faccio, is it not?’

‘Yes,’ replied I promptly, ‘so I understand the name.’

‘Well, have you ever seen the place?’

‘Never.’

‘Well, there it is yonder’; and he handed me his glass as he spoke. ‘You see that large beetling cliff, with the olives at the foot? There, on the summit, stands the Monte Faccio. The road – the pathway rather, and a steep one it is – leads up where you see those goats feeding, and crosses in front of the crag, directly beneath the fire of the batteries. There’s not a spot on the whole ascent where three men could march abreast; and wherever there is any shelter from fire, the guns of the “Sprona,” that small fort to the right, take the whole position. What do you think of your counsel now?’

‘You forget, sir, it is not my counsel. I merely repeat what I overheard.’

‘And do you mean to say, that the men who gave that advice were serious, or capable of adopting it themselves?’

‘Most assuredly; they would never recommend to others what they felt unequal to themselves. I know these English well, and so much will I say of them.’

‘Bah!’ cried he, with an insolent gesture of his hand, and turned away; and I could plainly see that my praises of the enemy were very ill-taken. In fact, my unlucky burst of generosity had done more to damage my credit than all the dangerous or impracticable features of my scheme. Every eye was turned to the bold precipice, and the stern fortress that crowned it, and all agreed that an attack must be hopeless.

I saw, too late, the great fault I had committed, and that nothing could be more wanting in tact than to suggest to Frenchmen an enterprise which Englishmen deemed practicable, and which yet, to the former, seemed beyond all reach of success. The insult was too palpable and too direct; but to retract was impossible, and I had now to sustain a proposition which gave offence on every side.

It was very mortifying to me to see how soon all my personal credit was merged in this unhappy theory. No one thought more of my hazardous escape, the perils I encountered, or the sufferings I had undergone. All that was remembered of me was the affront I had offered to the national courage, and the preference I had implied to English bravery.

Never did I pass a more tormenting day. New arrivals continually refreshed the discussion, and always with the same results. And although some were satisfied to convey their opinions by a shake of the head or a dubious smile, others, more candid than civil, plainly intimated that if I had nothing of more consequence to tell, I might as well have stayed where I was, and not added one more to a garrison so closely pressed by hunger. Very little more of such reasoning would have persuaded myself of its truth, and I almost began to wish that I was once more back in the ‘sick bay’ of the frigate.

Towards evening I was left alone. My host went down to the town on duty; and after the visit of a tailor, who came to try on me a staff uniform – a distinction, I afterwards learned, owing to the abundance of this class of costume, and not to any claims I could prefer to the rank – I was perfectly free to stroll about where I pleased unmolested, and, no small blessing, unquestioned.

On following along the walls for some distance, I came to a part where a succession of deep ravines opened at the foot of the bastions, conducting by many a tortuous and rocky glen to the Apennines. The sides of these gorges were dotted here and there with wild hollies and fig-trees, stunted and ill-thriven, as the nature of the soil might imply. Still, for the sake of the few berries, or the sapless fruit they bore, the soldiers of the garrison were accustomed to creep out from the embrasures and descend the steep cliffs – a peril great enough in itself, but terribly increased by the risk of exposure to the enemy’s tirailleurs, as well as the consequences such indiscipline would bring down on them.

So frequent, however, had been these infractions, that little footpaths were worn bare along the face of the cliff, traversing in many a zigzag a surface that seemed like a wall. It was almost incredible that men would brave such peril for so little, but famine had rendered them indifferent to death; and although debility exhibited itself in every motion and gesture, the men would stand unshrinking and undismayed beneath the fire of a battery. At one spot, near the angle of a bastion, and where some shelter from the north winds protected the place, a little clump of orange-trees stood; and towards these, though fully a mile off, many a foot-track led, showing how strong had been the temptation in that quarter. To reach it, the precipice should be traversed, the gorge beneath and a considerable ascent of the opposite mountain accomplished; and yet all these dangers had been successfully encountered, merely instigated by hunger!

High above this very spot, at a distance of perhaps eight hundred feet, stood the Monte Faccio – the large black and yellow banner of Austria floating from its walls, as if amid the clouds. I could see the muzzles of the great guns protruding from the embrasures; and I could even catch glances of a tall bearskin, as some soldier passed or repassed behind the parapet, and I thought how terrible would be the attempt to storm such a position. It was, indeed, true, that if I had the least conception of the strength of the fort, I never should have dared to talk of a coup de main. Still I was in a manner pledged to the suggestion. I had perilled my life for it, and few men do as much for an opinion; for this reason I resolved, come what would, to maintain my ground, and hold fast to my conviction. I never could be called upon to plan the expedition, nor could it by any possibility be confided to my guidance; responsibility could not, therefore, attach to me. All these were strong arguments, at least quite strong enough to decide a wavering judgment.

Meditating on these things, I strolled back to my quarters. As I entered the garden, I found that several officers were assembled, among whom was Colonel de Barre, the brother of the general of that name who afterwards fell at the Borodino. He was chef d‘état-major to Masséna, and a most distinguished and brave soldier. Unlike the fashion of the day, which made the military man affect the rough coarseness of a savage, seasoning his talk with oaths, and curses, and low expressions, De Barre had something of the petit-maître in his address, which nothing short of his well-proved courage would have saved from ridicule. His voice was low and soft, his smile perpetual; and although well bred enough to have been dignified and easy, a certain fidgety impulse to be pleasing made him always appear affected and unnatural. Never was there such a contrast to his chief; but indeed it was said, that to this very disparity of temperament he owed all the influence he possessed over Masséna’s mind.

I might have been a general of division at the very least, to judge from the courteous deference of the salute with which he approached me – a politeness the more striking, as all the others immediately fell back, to leave us to converse together. I was actually overcome with the flattering terms in which he addressed me on the subject of my escape.

‘I could scarcely at first credit the story,’ said he, ‘but when they told me that you were a “Ninth man,” one of the old Tapageurs, I never doubted it more. You see what a bad character is, Monsieur de Tiernay!’ It was the first time I had ever heard the prefix to my name, and I own the sound was pleasurable. ‘I served a few months with your corps myself, but I soon saw there was no chance of promotion among fellows all more eager than myself for distinction. Well, sir, it is precisely to this reputation I have yielded my credit, and to which General Masséna is kind enough to concede his own confidence. Your advice is about to be acted on, Monsieur de Tiernay.’

‘The coup de main– ’

‘A little lower, if you please, my dear sir. The expedition is to be conducted with every secrecy, even from the officers of every rank below a command. Have the goodness to walk along with me this way. If I understand General Masséna aright, your information conveys no details, nor any particular suggestions as to the attack.’

‘None whatever, sir. It was the mere talk of a gunroom – the popular opinion among a set of young officers.’

‘I understand,’ said he, with a bow and a smile – ‘the suggestion of a number of high-minded and daring soldiers, as to what they deemed practicable.’

‘Precisely, sir.’

‘Neither could you collect from their conversation anything which bore upon the number of the Austrian advance guard, or their state of preparation?’

‘Nothing, sir. The opinion of the English was, I suspect, mainly founded on the great superiority of our forces to the enemy’s in all attacks of this kind.’

‘Our esprit “tapageur” eh?’ said he, laughing, and pinching my arm familiarly, and I joined in the laugh with pleasure. ‘Well, Monsieur de Tiernay, let us endeavour to sustain this good impression. The attempt is to be made to-night.’

‘To-night!’ exclaimed I, in amazement, for everything within the city seemed tranquil and still.

‘To-night, sir; and, by the kind favour of General Masséna, I am to lead the attack – the reserve, if we are ever to want it, being under his own command It is to be at your own option on which staff you will serve.’

‘On yours, of course, sir,’ cried I hastily. ‘A man who stands unknown and unvouched for among his comrades, as I do, has but one way to vindicate his claim to credit – by partaking the peril he counsels.’

‘There could be no doubt either of your judgment, or the sound reasons for it,’ replied the colonel; ‘the only question was, whether you might be unequal to the fatigue.’

‘Trust me, sir, you’ll not have to send me to the rear,’ said I, laughing.

‘Then you are extra on my staff, Monsieur de Tiernay.’

As we walked along, he proceeded to give me the details of our expedition, which was to be on a far stronger scale than I anticipated. Three battalions of infantry, with four light batteries, and as many squadrons of dragoons, were to form the advance.

‘We shall neither want the artillery nor cavalry, except to cover a retreat,’ said he; ‘I trust, if it come to that, there will not be many of us to protect; but such are the general’s orders, and we have but to obey them.’

With the great events of that night on my memory, it is strange that I should retain so accurately in my mind the trivial and slight circumstances, which are as fresh before me as if they had occurred but yesterday.

It was about eleven o’clock, of a dark but starry night, not a breath of wind blowing, that, passing through a number of gloomy, narrow streets, I suddenly found myself in the courtyard of the Balbé Palace. A large marble fountain was playing in the centre, around which several lamps were lighted; by these I could see that the place was crowded with officers, some seated at tables drinking, some smoking, and others lounging up and down in conversation. Huge loaves of black bread, and wicker-covered flasks of country wine, formed the entertainment; but even these, to judge from the zest of the guests, were no common delicacies. At the foot of a little marble group, and before a small table, with a map on it, sat General Masséna himself, in his grey overcoat, cutting his bread with a case-knife, while he talked away to his staff.

‘These maps are good for nothing, Bressi,’ cried he. ‘To look at them, you ‘d say that every road was practicable for artillery, and every river passable, and you find afterwards that all these fine chaussées are bypaths, and the rivulets downright torrents. Who knows the Chiavari road?’

‘Giorgio knows it well, sir,’ said the officer addressed, and who was a young Piedmontese from Massena’s own village.

‘Ah, Birbante!’ cried the general, ‘are you here again?’ and he turned laughingly towards a little bandy-legged monster, of less than three feet high, who, with a cap stuck jauntily on one side of his head, and a wooden sword at his side, stepped forward with all the confidence of an equal.

‘Ay, here I am,’ said he, raising his hand to his cap, soldier fashion; ‘there was nothing else for it but this trade,’ and he placed his hand on the hilt of his wooden weapon. ‘You cut down all the mulberries and left us no silkworms; you burned all the olives, and left us no oil; you trampled down our maize crops and our vines. Per Baccho! the only thing left was to turn brigand like yourself, and see what would come of it.’