"Guéchamp," said Gauvain, "I intrust you with the command. Fire as rapidly as possible. Riddle the barricade with cannon-balls, and keep them busy over yonder." "I understand," said Guéchamp. "Mass the whole column with their guns loaded, and hold them in readiness for an attack." He whispered a few words in Guéchamp's ear. "It shall be done," said the latter. Gauvain continued,-- "Are all our drummers ready?" "Yes" "We have nine. Keep two and give me seven." The seven drummers silently ranged themselves in front of Gauvain. "Step forward, battalion of the Bonnet-Rouge!" exclaimed Gauvain. Twelve soldiers, one of whom was a sergeant, stepped from the ranks. "I called for the whole battalion," said Gauvain. "Here it is," replied the sergeant. "Are there but twelve?" "Only twelve of us left." "Very well," said Gauvain. This sergeant was that very Radoub, the rough and kindly soldier who in the name of the battalion had adopted the three children found in the forest of La Saudraie. It will be remarked that only half that battalion was massacred at Herbe-en-Pail, and Radoub, by good luck, was not among them. A forage-wagon was standing near, and Gauvain pointed it out to the sergeant. "Let your men weave ropes of straw and bind them around their muskets to deaden the noise when they clash against each other." A minute went by; the order was silently executed in the darkness. "It is done," said the sergeant. "Take off your shoes, soldiers," continued Gauvain. "We have none," replied the sergeant. Including the drummers, they numbered nineteen men; Gauvain was the twentieth. "Follow me, in single file!" cried Gauvain. "Let the drummers go before the battalion. You will command the battalion, sergeant!" He placed himself at the head of this column, and while the cannonading still continued on both sides, these twenty men glided along like shadows and plunged into the deserted lanes. Thus they proceeded for some time, skirting along the fronts of the houses. It seemed as though the whole town were dead; the citizens had taken refuge in their cellars. Every door was barred and every shutter closed. Not a light was to be seen anywhere. But through this silence they still heard the awful din on the principal street: the cannonading went on; the Republican battery and the Royal barricade spit out their grape-shot with unabated fury. [Illustration 079] After marching twenty minutes, winding in and out, Gauvain, who had led the way unerringly through this darkness, reached the end of a lane that led into the principal street; they were now, however, on the other side of the market.