“Now,” said the brigand chief, “you see the camp and you see also the road which leads to Coimbra. It is crowded with your fourgons and your ambulances. Does this mean that Massena is about to retreat?”
One could see the dark moving lines of waggons with an occasional flash of steel from the escort. There could, apart from my promise, be no indiscretion in admitting that which was already obvious.
“He will retreat,” said I.
“By Coimbra?”
“I believe so.”
“But the army of Clausel?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Every path to the south is blocked. No message can reach them. If Massena falls back the army of Clausel is doomed.”
“It must take its chance,” said I.
“How many men has he?”
“I should say about fourteen thousand.”
“How much cavalry?”
“One brigade of Montbrun&csq;s Division.”
“What regiments?”
“The 4th Chasseurs, the 9th Hussars, and a regiment of Cuirassiers.”
“Quite right,” said he, looking at his note-book. “I can tell you speak the truth, and Heaven help you if you don&csq;t.” Then, division by division, he went over the whole army, asking the composition of each brigade. Need I tell you that I would have had my tongue torn out before I would have told him such things had I not a greater end in view? I would let him know all if I could but save the army of Clausel.
At last he closed his note-book and replaced it in his pocket. “I am obliged to you for this information, which shall reach Lord Wellington to-morrow,” said he.
“You have done your share of the bargain; it is for me now to perform mine. How would you wish to die? As a soldier you would, no doubt, prefer to be shot, but some think that a jump over the Merodal precipice is really an easier death. A good few have taken it, but we were, unfortunately, never able to get an opinion from them afterward. There is the saw, too, which does not appear to be popular. We could hang you, no doubt, but it would involve the inconvenience of going down to the wood. However, a promise is a promise, and you seem to be an excellent fellow, so we will spare no pains to meet your wishes.”
“You said,” I answered, “that I must die before midnight. I will choose, therefore, just one minute before that hour.”
“Very good,” said he. “Such clinging to life is rather childish, but your wishes shall be met.”
“As to the method,” I added, “I love a death which all the world can see. Put me on yonder pile of fagots and burn me alive, as saints and martyrs have been burned before me. That is no common end, but one which an Emperor might envy.”
The idea seemed to amuse him very much. “Why not?” said he. “If Massena has sent you to spy upon us, he may guess what the fire upon the mountain means.”
“Exactly,” said I. “You have hit upon my very reason. He will guess, and all will know, that I have died a soldier&csq;s death.”
“I see no objection whatever,” said the brigand, with his abominable smile. “I will send some goat&csq;s flesh and wine into your hut. The sun is sinking and it is nearly eight o&csq;clock. In four hours be ready for your end.”
It was a beautiful world to be leaving. I looked at the golden haze below, where the last rays of the sinking sun shone upon the blue waters of the winding Tagus and gleamed upon the white sails of the English transports. Very beautiful it was, and very sad to leave; but there are things more beautiful than that. The death that is died for the sake of others, honour, and duty, and loyalty, and love–these are the beauties far brighter than any which the eye can see. My breast was filled with admiration for my own most noble conduct, and with wonder whether any soul would ever come to know how I had placed myself in the heart of the beacon which saved the army of Clausel. I hoped so and I prayed so, for what a consolation it would be to my mother, what an example to the army, what a pride to my Hussars! When de Pombal came at last into my hut with the food and the wine, the first request I made him was that he would write an account of my death and send it to the French camp. He answered not a word, but I ate my supper with a better appetite from the thought that my glorious fate would not be altogether unknown.