The path of honor: A tale of the war in the BocageStevenson, Burton Egbert
History
The path of honor: A tale of the war in the Bocage
Stevenson, Burton Egbert
France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction; Love stories
So we went on through the night, taking at every forking of the road
the way which led nearest the west, for in the west lay safety. But
I knew we had ten leagues and more to cover ere we should reach the
Bocage, and the nearer we approached our destination the more closely
would danger encompass us. From south and east troops were being massed
to crush out by sheer weight of numbers the flame of insurrection which
had arisen so suddenly in the very heart of France. From every town
within fifty leagues the National Guard had been summoned. From Paris
itself levies were hastening--levies of Septembrists, cut-throats,
assassins, asking nothing better than permission to murder and pillage,
and commanded by a general determined not to fight but to destroy, not
to defeat but to exterminate--in a word, not to rest until all Vendée
had been made a wilderness, a barren waste. This line of enemies,
marching forward in this temper, we were forced to pierce in order to
reach our friends.
The moon rose high in the heavens, paused at the zenith, then started
on its course down the western sky. I thanked the fortune which gave us
her friendly light to guide us, for the road grew ever more wild and
rough. In one place indeed it was merely the bed of a torrent little
different from that over which we had already toiled so painfully. So
we left it, and breaking our way through the hedge which bordered the
road, followed along beside it.
Even I was beginning to feel fatigued and I could guess at my
companion’s weariness, yet she refused to listen to my suggestion that
we stop and rest. But dawn was not far distant and we must find some
safe hiding-place for the day. There were no houses in sight, nor had
we seen any for some time, but where there was a road, however bad,
there must also be people to travel it; and to seek rest, to resign
oneself to sleep, save in a safe covert, would be the height of folly.
The country had grown more open and level with only an occasional tree
here and there, and was evidently used for pasturage, though I saw no
sheep nor cattle; but at last along a ridge at our right I caught sight
of a thicket, and toward this we made our way. We found it a dense
growth of small saplings and underbrush and broke our way into it with
difficulty; but the event repaid the labor, for at last we came to a
little glade not over a rod across and carpeted with grass.
“Here is our resting-place,” I said, “and our home for another day.”
My companion sank down with a sigh of utter fatigue.
“I am very tired,” she murmured, and drew off the shoes which I had
slipped over her own.
“You are to sleep until you are quite rested,” I added. “We will remain
here until evening. Then, after darkness falls and before the moon is
up, we shall try to pierce the lines of the Republicans, which cannot
be far away. For that you must be fresh, for we may need to be fleet.”
“But you?” she broke in quickly. “You are going to sleep too?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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