France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction
The subsoil of such a forest was like a madrepore pierced and
intersected in all directions by a secret labyrinth of mines, cells,
and galleries. Each of these hidden cells was large enough to shelter
five or six men; the only difficulty was in breathing. Certain
mysterious ciphers have been preserved that give us a clew to this
powerful organization of the peasant rebellion. In Ille-et-Vilaine, in
the forest of Pertre, where the Prince de Talmont had taken refuge,
not a breath could be heard, not a trace of human life was visible;
and yet Focard had there mustered six thousand men. In Morbihan,
in the forest of Meulac, not a man of all the eight thousand there
was to be seen. These two forests, le Pertre and Meulac, are not,
however, to be reckoned among the great Breton forests. It would have
been dangerous walking over their explosive soil. These treacherous
copses, with their multitudes of combatants lurking in a sort of
subterranean labyrinth, were like great black sponges, from which,
beneath the pressure of Revolution's giant foot, civil war gushed
forth. Invisible battalions were lying in wait. This army, unknown to
the world, wound its way along under the feet of the Republican armies,
leaping out of the ground at times in vast numbers, and disappearing
as suddenly,--possessing the power of vanishing at will no less than
the gift of ubiquity. It was like the descending avalanche that leaves
but a cloud of dust behind, colossi with a marvellous genius for
contraction, giants in warfare, dwarfs in flight, jaguars with the
habits of moles. Moreover, there were woods as well as forests. As the
village ranks below the city, so the woods, bear a similar relation
to the forests, which they serve to connect after the fashion of a
labyrinth. Old castles, fortresses once upon a time, hamlets that had
been camps, farms covered with ambushes and snares, divided by ditches
and fenced in by trees, formed the meshes of the net in which the
Republican armies were caught.
All this was called the Bocage.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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