Part 4 — THE PLEASURES OF BATTLE.[4]

THE PLEASURES OF BATTLE.^[4]

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I was coming down the hill, and about five miles distant from the town, but my eyes had been rendered more keen by my hunter’s sports, and I was quite sure that it was so. The glittering of arms, both upon the heights above the city, and in the valley on the other side of the river, was perfectly distinct. Yet so still and silent was every thing, that I could hardly believe two hostile armies were there in presence of each other. Not a sound broke the stillness of the mountain air. No trumpet, no drum was heard at that moment; and my companion, Karl, would not believe that what I said was true. Soon after, we dipped into one of those profound wooded ravines which score the side of the mountains, and the scene was lost to our sight; but as we crossed over one of the shoulders of the hill again, and were forced to rise a little, in order to descend still farther, the loud boom of a cannon came echoing through the gorges, like a short and distant clap of thunder. The moment after, the full roar of a whole park of artillery was heard, shaking the hills around; and when we topped the height, we could see a dense cloud of bluish smoke rolling along to well-defined lines below.

Karl paused abruptly, saying, “We are well here, Louis. Better stay till it is over. We can help neither party, and shall only get our heads broke.”

Such reasoning was good enough for him—an orphan and tieless as he was—a mere child of the mountain; but I thought of good Father Bonneville, and told him, at once, that I should go on, and why. He would then fain have gone with me; but I would not suffer him; and leaving the chamois with him, I hurried as rapidly down as I could, taking many a bold leap, and many a desperate plunge, while the sound of cannon and musketry kept ringing in my ears, till I reached a spot where it was absolutely necessary to pause, and consider what was to be done next. I had come unexpectedly, not exactly into the midst of the battle that was going on, but to a point near that at which on the right of the French line, a strong body of infantry were pushing forward with fixed bayonets against an earthwork cresting the plateau, well defended by cannon. The guns were thundering upon the advancing column at the distance of about three hundred yards upon my left, and the Austrian infantry were already within a hundred paces of the steep ascent, along the face of which my path led toward the town. I was myself upon a pinnacle of the hill, a little above either party, and my only chance of making my way forward, was by taking a leap of some ten feet down, to a spot where a sapin started from the bold rock, and thence by a small circuit, getting into the rear of the Austrian infantry. It was a rash attempt; for if I missed my footing on the roots of the tree, I was sure to be dashed to pieces; and I was somewhat incumbered by my rifle. I took the risk, however, and succeeded; and then hurried forward as fast as I could go. But now a new danger was before me—to say nothing of the murderous fire from the French battery—for by the time I had reached the point from which I could best pass into the suburb, the Austrian infantry had been repulsed for the moment, and were retreating in great confusion. I know not how to describe my feelings at that moment—afraid I certainly was not; but I felt my head turn with the wild bustle and indistinct activity of the scene. A number of men passed me, running in utter disarray. An officer galloped after them, shouting and commanding, for some time, in vain. At length, however, he succeeded in rallying them, just as I was passing along. The moment they were once more formed, he turned his eyes to the front, where another regiment, or part of a regiment, had been already rallied, and seeing me at some forty yards distance, he spurred on and asked me, in German, whether there was a way up the steep to the left of the line. Luckily, I spoke the language fluently, and replied that there was, pointing out to him the path by which I usually descended. Without paying any further attention to me, he hurried back to the head of his corps, and I ran on as fast as possible to get out of the way of the next charge. There was a little bridge which I had to pass, where not more than four or five men could go abreast, and over it a small body of Austrians were forcing their way, at the point of the bayonet, against a somewhat superior party of the French troops, who, in fact, were willing enough to retreat, seeing that a considerable impression had been made upon their right, and that they were likely to be cut off. At the same time, however, they would not be driven back without resistance, and several men fell. I followed impulsively the rear of the Austrians, where I observed one or two of the Swiss hunters appareled very much like myself, who were using their rifles, with deadly effect, amongst the officers of the Republican army; nor was it to be wondered at, after all that had happened. I could not, however, bring myself to give any assistance, and kept my gun under my arm, with the belt twisted round my wrist.

As soon as the bridge was forced, the Austrians debouched upon the ground beyond with greater rapidity and precision than the French seemed to expect; and while their right retreated in tolerable order toward the heights, their left scattered in confusion, and sought refuge in the suburbs of the town. I took the same direction, and the first little street I entered was so crowded with fugitives, comprising a number of the townspeople, who, looking forth to see the battle, had been taken by surprise on the sudden rush of the French soldiers in that direction, that it was impossible to pass; and although I saw a sort of tumult going on before me, and heard a gun or two fire, I turned away down the first narrow street, only eager to be with my good preceptor, who lived in a little street beyond the third turning.

When I entered that street, the sun, a good deal declined, poured straight down it, and I could see two or three groups of not more than two or three persons in each, with the dress of the Republican French soldier conspicuous here and there. I ran on eagerly, and passed three persons all apparently struggling together. One was a woman, another a French soldier, and the third, who had his back toward me, so that I could not see his face, was endeavoring to protect the woman from violence, and seemed to me, in figure, very like Lavater. I should have certainly stopped to aid him; but there was another scene going on a little in advance, which left me no time to think of any thing else; but the moment I had passed, I heard a shot behind me, and then a deep groan.

I gave it no thought; for within a stone’s throw I beheld an old man whose face and figure I knew well, brutally assaulted by one of the soldiers, and falling on his knees, under a blow from the butt-end of a musket. The next instant, the soldier—if such a brute deserved the name—drew back the weapon, and ere I could have reached the spot, the bayonet would have been through Father Bonneville’s body. I sent a messenger of swifter pace to stop the deed. In an instant the rifle was at my shoulder, and before I well knew that I touched the trigger, the Frenchman sprang more than a foot from the ground, and fell dead with the ball through his head.

I paused not to think—to ask myself what I had done—to consider what it is to take a human life, or to fight against one’s countrymen. I only thought of good, kind, gentle Father Bonneville, and springing forward, I raised him from the ground. He was bleeding from the blow on the forehead, but did not seem much hurt, and only bewildered and confused.

“Quick, into the house, good Father,” I cried. “Shut the lower windows and lock the door.”

“Oh, my son, my son!” he exclaimed, looking at me wildly, “do not mingle in this strife!”

“Lavater is behind,” I said; “I must hasten to help him. Go in, and I will join you in an instant.”

“Did you do that?” he inquired, looking at the dead soldier, and then at the rifle in my hand.

“I did,” I answered, in a firmer tone than might have been expected, “and he deserved his fate. But go in, dear Father. I will return in a moment.”

I led him toward the door as I spoke, and saw him enter the house; and then ran up the street to the spot where I had seen the struggle I have mentioned. Two dead bodies were lying on the pavement. One was that of a young woman of the lower class, fallen partly on her side, with a bayonet-wound in the chest. The other was that of a man dressed in black, who had fallen forward on his face. I turned him over, and beheld the features of Lavater; I took his hand, and the touch showed me that death was there.

I had knelt while doing this, when a sudden sound made me attempt to rise—but I could not do so; for, while still upon my knee, I was struck by the feet of two or three men, cast back upon the ground, and trampled under foot by a number of Austrians in full flight. Every thing became dark and confused. I saw the long gaiters, and caught a glance of arms and accoutrements, and felt heavy feet set upon my chest, and on my head—and then all was night.

Although the weather was hot, and summer at its height, in that high mountain region the night was almost invariably cool. Probably that circumstance saved my life; for I must have remained, I know, several hours on the pavement untended, and perhaps unnoticed by any one. When I recovered my senses, it was nearly midnight, and then I found several good souls around me. One woman was bathing my head and chest with cold water, while a man supported my shoulders upon his knee. The first objects I saw, however, were three or four persons moving the body of the woman, near whom I had fallen, to a small hand-bier. The body of Lavater was already gone.

“Look, look, he opens his eyes!” cried the woman who was tending me so kindly. “Poor lad! we shall get him round! Where will you be taken to, young man?”

I named faintly the house where we lodged, and then another woman, who was standing by, exclaimed, “Heaven! it is young Lassi! Better take him to the hospital.”

I tried in vain to inquire after Father Bonneville; for a faint, death-like sensation came over me, and I was obliged to let them do what they pleased with me. A blanket was soon procured, and placed in it, as in a hammock, I was carried up into the higher part of the town to the hospital, and there laid upon a bed, in a ward where some hundreds of wounded men were already congregated. A surgeon, with his hands bloody, an apron on, and a saw under his arm, soon came to me, and asked where I was wounded. I endeavored to answer, but could not make myself intelligible; and putting down the saw, he ordered me to be stripped, and examined me all over. Two of my ribs, it seemed had been broken, and my head terribly beaten about. Indeed, I was one general bruise. But my limbs were all sound, and in four or five days, although I suffered a great deal of pain, and the scenes which were going on around me were not calculated to revive the spirits of any one, I was sufficiently recovered to make inquiries for Father Bonneville, whenever I saw a new face, and to send a message for him to the house where we lodged, giving him notice that I was to be found at the hospital.

Father Bonneville himself did not appear, but our landlord came in his stead—a good, plain, honest man, of a kindly disposition. He told me, much to my consternation, that my good friend, as he called him, had been carried off as a prisoner by the Austrians, after they got possession of the town; that he was suspected of being one of the French Revolutionary Agents, and that most likely he would have been hanged at once, without the testimony of himself, our landlord, who had come forward to prove that he was a quiet, inoffensive man, who meddled not with politics in any shape, and would have gladly got out of the town, after the French occupation, had it been possible. This saved his life for the time; but the only favor that could be obtained was that the case should be reserved for further investigation. At the time he was carried away, Father Bonneville was perfectly ignorant of my fate, the landlord said, and feared that I had been killed. The good man, however, promised that he would make every inquiry for my friend, and urged me, in the meantime, to have myself carried to his house as soon as possible. For more than a fortnight, during which time I was unable to quit the hospital, he came every day to see me, but brought no intelligence of Father Bonneville. At length he had me removed to his own house, and there he, and his good old wife, attended upon me with great kindness till I was quite well.

As soon as I could move about, the landlord told me that Monsieur Charlier, as he called him, had left with him a hundred louis d’ors for me, in case of my return. “And lucky he did so,” added the old gentleman, “for the Austrians ransacked every thing in both your rooms, upon the pretence of searching for papers, and left not a bit of silver worth a batz that they could lay their hands upon.”

Days passed—weeks, and yet no tidings could be obtained of good Father Bonneville; and thus was I left, ere I had reached the age of nineteen, to make a way for myself in life, with a small store of clothing, a few books, a ride, and one hundred louis.

[To be continued.