THE TRAGEDY OF HOUGOMONT.

Otago Witness, Issue 2663, 29 March 1905, Page 81

THE TRAGEDY OF HOUGOMONT.

By EtHjsl F. Hr-DDL-E, in Chambers's Journal.

CHAPTER I.— BEFORE THE BATTLE

"Antoinette! Hist!"

Something in the hiss of the last word made Antoinette pause and suddenly place the pail of water she was carrying on the ground. There was just light enouglit left in the stormy sky above the chateau for her to see that something, or some one, ■was lurking in the shadow behind* the farm door.

"Who is it?" she demanded without moving, her voice stilled suddenly. Then a long, lean hand touched her fiom the dusk, and the girl shivered from head to foot. "Francois I Is it you?'*

'"Yes. it is Francois. Is theie any onr ->\ithin? lam starving.' She closed tbc door hastily and shot the bolt, acting \%ith a swift haste mid precision. Her pretty face had her hands trembled. She passed lliiough an outer kitchen, and then the tvo sloou in an inner room, ocro c^ the quaint, low window of v.-hich a screen of given leaves was tapping and swaying n the wind. A coming stuim tths in the air ; a cm ions, dull haze brooded over Hougomont. The chateau, the orchards, the lane, the farm, the little ch?pel, seemed to stand in a white oasis of light, round which was gathering a murky pall of violet-black. The leaves, tapping restlessly, seemed to shiver together, and Antoinette heard them as if they wete heait -boats, as she stood facing the soldier before her. "How is it," she breathed then, "that yon are here? The English are all around — outside, everywhere ! On the orchard wall they are barricading — they are f warming in the orchard. And the seigneur has gone to Brussels. Only Jean and I are left in charge." "So I heard," he said coolly ; "you and Jean! When did you give in and marry Jean?"

She drew back at that, flushed and trembling. Her voice came in a low. shamed -whisper — '■Last spring We were starving! My father was dying! And you — you never wrote ! They" told me you were with the Kmperor ; that you had forgotten me. They told me there was another — that you v. ere married ; that you made mock of Belgian girls !" "And you believed it all? Well, no

matter, since it is all over and done." He sat down by the white, well-scrubbed table, and stretched out his legs. "I am to hungry to be sentimental or to talk of love! Fetch me bread, Antoinette, >.nd wine. I have hidden all day in the farm buildings/ and heard these English talk. I have news now for M. le General. Perhaps I shall see the Emperor! But I wanted a peep of you, and now you must hide me till they sleep, and I can escape •by the orchard wall. Bread ! Bread ! I have a wolf here inside." He waved his hand impatiently', and Antoinette ran to the dresser and pulled out_a long loaf, a piece of Gruyere cheese, and a flagon of red wine. She stood trembling while the^ French soldier ate and drank, starting at every sound ; but when he put out his hand and would have drawn her to him, she shivered again. Once they had loved ; he was half-French, half-Bel-gian, and had fought with the Emperor in •many of his battles, and she had looked up to him as a hero. She had never loved honest Jean Baptist* because of Francois ; "but she "was too terrified to think of loveand dalliance now. 1 "Make haste, Francois ! At any moment they may come in — Jean may come in!" ' "And then?" "They would see you, and take you prisoner. Spies axe shot ." "I would die hard," he .-.aid coolly, looking round the room. It was bare, save for the tables, two benches, and a high, carved clock of light oak which stood against the wall. On the mantelpiece was a small image of the Virgin, and under it Antoinette's rosary. "I would shoot him, this thieving Jean I" he said abruptly then, his gaze wandering over her slim figure and sunny, loosened hair. "I will foe equal with him some day."' She was desirable, suddenly, in his eyes, this little Belgian girl, to whom he had once been betrothed, but whom he had almost forgotten in the excitement of his life, till he found she could be of use to him as chatelaine of Hougomont. Her frightened eyes, too, were like the forget-xne-not he had seen in the orchard ditch

that day. Cl I hate him because he took you from me ! I hate him ." he said. "Jean is good," Antoinette whispered under her breath. ''Though I do not love him, he is good. And you, Francois Ah, mon Dieu ! here they come!" Tall figures were passing the window. A loud rat-tat sounded on the door. Francois rose and coolly moved the clock, placing himself behind it in the shadow. He was inured to danger, and the kitchen would be badly lit. He had been in tighter places than this. "Let ■ them in," he said carelessly. "When, all is Hark I can slip out to the outhouses, and so over the orchard wall. One loss! No? You are shy." -He could even laugh carelessly. Antoinette looked at him as if half-fascinated, half^terrified. She hastily put away the remains of the meal and went to the door. In, another moment the kitchen was full of , English soldiers, Jem Baptists meeting them as they entered from the courtyard. He was a tall Belgian, with a quiet, resolute face and calm, grey eyes. Antoinette looked up with a strange sense of relief as he stood between her and the soldiers and helped her to lay the table. Jean was good, though she did not love iiim — he was good! Yet all this time her heart thudded against her side. She scarcely dared glance at the tall clock. Oh, if they saw ■Mm! If they killed him there, before her eyes! Francois, whose gay, careless courage and laughing eyes had won her lieart, the cool touch of whose lean hand h&& seemed to reach her with the power of an electric current — Francois, whom she loved ! The soldiers talked and laughed. Tomorrow they would teach "Boney" a lesion ; to-morrow the French would fly as chaff before the wind. The storm, they said, was coming fast ; the clouds lowered 'dark and neaT ; low peals of thunder were muttering in the distance. »All around, the British were makin°r bivouac, the villagers coming in with billets of wood to keep their fires alive. Soldiers rested everywhere, some under bushes, some in Bti&w stolen, from the farmhouses. Old campaigners had rigged up blanket on bayonet ; but the bulk of the army lay unsheltered under the lowering, threatenitfg sky. Across the valley the French had hidden their rifles ; but they were reflected in the gloomy canopy overhead in a dull red glow. At Caillon the Emperor sup"ped late with his staff. Antoinette listened to the talk of the jreldiers, sick at heart. Once, when they fnentioned the orchard barricades and the Jiigh platform over the gate, and declared that there was not a loophole now by Ivhich the enemy could ■enter, she thought she heard a movement behind the clock ; but at last they were gone, and she and ifean were left alone. He said he would go on to bed, as he had been up since dawn ; and Antoinette worked on, scarcely answering. He lingered for a little, looking at her. then went away. When at last ehe stood 1 in the room alone, blowing out all the candles, the rain was falling in deluges, and tremendous peals of heaven's artillery rolled overhead. The night was one of terror. Terror was in her heart. How would Francois escape? How could he? There was not a loophole unguarded In Hougomont. She knew from the English soldiers' words that every crevice ■was occupiedi; the Trail By which he had lioped to escape was lined with men armed sto the teeth. He was in a trap — a trap of Steel. He came out as she stood waiting, and taking her hand, whispered that he would >iide in the barn. He Knew a place benind ths hay-rick. And next day the ■^French would take the farm ; they would chase out these rats of English, and burn JBEougomont to the ground. He would save lier If he could Nothing and no on© ever

resisted the French and the Emperor ! !3ut now, in case Jean returned, let them start for the bam.

Antoinette, breathless and trembling, stole out to reconnoitre. The soldiers lay everywhere, thick as bees, crouching on every side under their blankets, under the trees in the orchard, in the shelter of the walls, but all weary, all in a dead sleep. Francois stepped between them with a careless smile. In the dark he would only have been taken for a late patrol. At the door of the barn, which Antoinette unlocked, he paused to put his arm round her waist. For a moment she yielded, and a tall man who had crept on to the rough platform above the gate with a lantern to fetch some forgotten tools saw them stand thus, the girl's white face illumined by a blinding flash of lightning. "If we win to-morrow, Antoinette " Francois kissed her then. His breath scorched her cheek. "But you will not win." She drew back. She had learned to hate and dread Napoleon. " We always win where he goes — always. You shall see. I shall make you my prisoner of war. Little Antoinette ! He, Jean, will be killed. The Little Corporal will not leave a soul alive in Hougomont-." Someone stirred in the dark. Francois crept noiselessly into the barn and behind the hay-rielc. Antoinette waited till there was silence; then she, too, moved away. For a moment she had rested her head on his shoulder, felt his kiss ; she had been disloyal! And though she had not loved Jean she had never meant She stood still in the pouring rain and shivered. The dark silhouette of the little chapel was before her, and she crept in. War, and the terror of war, was all around. A cloud, as of bloody obscured her eyes, but she could see a candle burning on the stand befofe the white image of Christ hanging above the door, and another was before the Virgin on the altar. The tiny chapel was the one place in all the earth, she felt, in which there was peace ; and yet, even here, soldiers lay in heavy slumber all around. She crept between then* silent figures, and fell on her knees before the little, rude wooden image. "Holy Mother, forgive me ! Mother of all sorrows ! Sinless Mary ! lam Jean's wife, and Francois has kissed me, and now I feel far from thee."

She wept as she whispered ; the tears rained down her face. Outside, the thunder roared and muttered 1 , heaven's great artillery mocking the feeble imitation of yesterday. Splitting, blinding swords of light played over the battlefield and the summer woods and the ripe corn, soon to be trodden down and drenched with blood. At last a quiet hand touched her shoulder. " Antoinette, there is a time to sleep and a time to pray. Come, petite ! And tomorrow — we know not what to-morrow brings — perhaps for you hope — deliverance ! "

Jean's grave, kindly face. What did he mean?

He stood, tall and serene, waiting. He did not touch her. But he followed the light figure closely when she stepped between the sleeping men, and he watched, later, till her fair head was on the pillow and she slept, worn out. His love for her was an adoration. Then he moved to the bed, and stood looking down at the small face pitifully. " I saw she had hidden someone behind the clock. I saw the edge of his sleeve, and it was a French coat. The man she told me of was French. He is hidden here ! Poor child ! Poor child ! " In her sleep Antoinette tossed her arms. " Jean ! " she cried. "He is good, but I do not love him ! "

He went back to the window with a stifled groan. He sat there till dawn, the coming battle forgotten, the storm^ the morrow's tragedy. Dawn, a cheerless dawn, found him still there, fighting his own battle. And over at Caillon Napoleon had risen, grey of face, with only life in his blazing eyes and steely lips, to see if his enemy lay still in his grasp. . - He cried with delight when the red light on either side of Mont Saint Jean showed him the English were still there, "irTthe hollow of his hand." The light was obscured, and it was only half-past 3 when the dawn broke over sodden fields, and dripping woods, and plashy ground, and deep, secret pools. The air was filled with mist ; between the two armies stood watchihil sentries and vedettes. No other sign of life broke the grey, dreary expanss. It was a day that broke in tears, that crept shamefaced and trembling from the womb of night.

And then, about 6, for the last time, thousands and thousands woke to look upon an earthly dawn. They would see it again nevermore.

The two mighty armies stirred, and men, blue, cold, wet," unshaven, looked up to the pitiless sky. Then, rousing to life, they began to carry wood, to light fires, to feed horses. The sound rolled over Waterloo. It was "like the sound of a great sea beating on a rocky shore" — the sea of life that was so soon to beat against the rocky shores of death.