Adventure stories, English; France -- History -- Consulate and First Empire, 1799-1815 -- Fiction; Soldiers of fortune -- Fiction
As for myself, too much interested in the scene to remember that I was,
in some sort, an actor in it, I sat upon the caisson, watching all
that went forward so eagerly, that I never noticed the departure of my
companions, nor perceived that I was left by myself. I know not how much
later this discovery might have been deferred to me had not an officer
of the Guard ridden up to where I was, and said, ‘Move up, move up, my
lad; keep close to the battery.’ He pointed at the same time with his
sabre in the direction where a number of guns and carriages were already
proceeding.
Not a little flattered by the order, I gathered up reins and whip, and,
thanks to the good drilling of the beasts, who readily took their proper
places, soon found myself in the line, which now drew up in the rear of
the artillery of the Guard, separated from the front by a great mass of
horse and foot. I knew nothing of what went forward in the Place;
from what I gathered, however, I could learn that the artillery was
in position, the matches burning, and everything in readiness for a
cannonade. Thus we remained for above an hour, when the order was given
to march. Little knew I that, in that brief interval, the whole fortunes
of France--ay, of humanity itself--had undergone a mighty change--that
the terrible reign of blood, the tyranny of Robespierre, had closed,
and that he who had sent so many to the scaffold now lay bleeding and
mutilated upon the very table where he had signed the death-warrants.
The day was just beginning to dawn as we entered the barracks of the
Conciergerie, and drew up in a double line along its spacious square.
The men dismounted, and stood ‘at ease,’ awaiting the arrival of the
staff of the National Guard, which, it was said, was coming; and now the
thought occurred to me of what I should best do, whether make my escape
while it was yet time, or remain to see by what accident I had come
there. If a sense of duty to the Père Michel urged me on one side, the
glimmering hope of some opening to fortune swayed me on the other. I
tried to persuade myself that my fate was bound up with his, and that
he should be my guide through the wild waste before me; but these
convictions could not stand against the very scene in which I stood. The
glorious panoply of war--the harnessed team--the helmeted dragoon--the
proud steed in all the trappings of battle! How faint were the pleadings
of duty against such arguments! The père, too, designed me for a priest.
The life of a seminarist in a convent was to be mine! I was to wear the
red gown and the white cape of an acolyte!--to be taught how to swing a
censer, or snuff the candles of the high altar--to be a train-bearer
in a procession, or carry a relic in a glass-case! The hoarse bray of a
trumpet that then rung through the court routed these ignoble fancies,
and as the staff rode proudly in, my resolve was taken. I was determined
to be a soldier.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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