Historical Novels & Novellas of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Arthur Conan Doyle

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      “This morning.”

      “Were they married?”

      “Yes.”

      He put his hand against the door-post to steady himself.

      “Any message for me?”

      “She said that you would forgive her.”

      “May God blast my soul on the day I do! Where have they gone to?”

      “To France, I should judge.”

      “His name was de Lapp, I think?”

      “His real name is de Lissac; and he is no less than a colonel in Boney’s Guards.”

      “Ah! he would be in Paris, likely. That is well! That is well!”

      “Hold up!” I shouted. “Father! Father! Bring the brandy!”

      His knees had given way for an instant, but he was himself again before the old man came running with the bottle.

      “Take it away!” said he.

      “Have a soop, Mister Horscroft,” cried my father, pressing it upon him. “It will give you fresh heart!”

      He caught hold of the bottle and sent it flying over the garden hedge.

      “It’s very good for those who wish to forget,” said he; “I am going to remember!”

      “May God forgive you for sinfu’ waste!” cried my father aloud.

      “And for well-nigh braining an officer of his Majesty’s infantry!” said old Major Elliott, putting his head over the hedge. “I could have done with a nip after a morning’s walk, but it is something new to have a whole bottle whizz past my ear. But what is amiss, that you all stand round like mutes at a burying?”

      In a few words I told him our trouble, while Jim, with a grey face and his brows drawn down, stood leaning against the door-post. The Major was as glum as we by the time I had finished, for he was fond both of Jim and of Edie.

      “Tut, tut!” said he. “I feared something of the kind ever since that business of the peel tower. It’s the way with the French. They can’t leave the women alone. But, at least, de Lissac has married her, and that’s a comfort. But it’s no time now to think of our own little troubles, with all Europe in a roar again, and another twenty years’ war before us, as like as not.”

      “What d’ye mean?” I asked.

      “Why, man, Napoleon’s back from Elba, his troops have flocked to him, and Louis has run for his life. The news was in Berwick this morning.”

      “Great Lord!” cried my father. “Then the weary business is all to do over again!”

      “Aye, we thought we were out from the shadow, but it’s still there. Wellington is ordered from Vienna to the Low Countries, and it is thought that the Emperor will break out first on that side. Well, it’s a bad wind that blows nobody any good. I’ve just had news that I am to join the 71st as senior major.”

      I shook hands with our good neighbour on this, for I knew how it had lain upon his mind that he should be a cripple, with no part to play in the world.

      “I am to join my regiment as soon as I can; and we shall be over yonder in a month, and in Paris, maybe, before another one is over.”

      “By the Lord, then, I’m with you, Major!” cried Jim Horscroft. “I’m not too proud to carry a musket, if you will put me in front of this Frenchman.”

      “My lad, I’d be proud to have you serve under me,” said the Major. “And as to de Lissac, where the Emperor is he will be.”

      “You know the man,” said I. “What can you tell us of him?”

      “There is no better officer in the French army, and that is a big word to say. They say that he would have been a marshal, but he preferred to stay at the Emperor’s elbow. I met him two days before Corunna, when I was sent with a flag to speak about our wounded. He was with Soult then. I knew him again when I saw him.”

      “And I will know him again when I see him!” said Horscroft, with the old dour look on his face.

      And then at that instant, as I stood there, it was suddenly driven home to me how poor and purposeless a life I should lead while this crippled friend of ours and the companion of my boyhood were away in the forefront of the storm. Quick as a flash my resolution was taken.

      “I’ll come with you too, Major,” I cried.

      “Jock! Jock!” said my father, wringing his hands.

      Jim said nothing, but put his arm half round me and hugged me. The Major’s eyes shone and he flourished his cane in the air.

      “My word, but I shall have two good recruits at my heels,” said he. “Well, there’s no time to be lost, so you must both be ready for the evening coach.”

      And this was what a single day brought about; and yet years pass away so often without a change. Just think of the alteration in that four-and-twenty hours. De Lissac was gone. Edie was gone. Napoleon had escaped. War had broken out. Jim Horscroft had lost everything, and he and I were setting out to fight against the French. It was all like a dream, until I tramped off to the coach that evening, and looked back at the grey farm steading and at the two little dark figures: my mother with her face sunk in her Shetland shawl, and my father waving his drover’s stick to hearten me upon my way.

      Chapter 11.

       The Gathering of the Nations

       Table of Contents

      And now I come to a bit of my story that clean takes my breath away as I think of it, and makes me wish that I had never taken the job of telling it in hand. For when I write I like things to come slow and orderly and in their turn, like sheep coming out of a paddock. So it was at West Inch. But now that we were drawn into a larger life, like wee bits of straw that float slowly down some lazy ditch, until they suddenly find themselves in the dash and swirl of a great river; then it is very hard for me with my simple words to keep pace with it all. But you can find the cause and reason of everything in the books about history, and so I shall just leave that alone and talk about what I saw with my own eyes and heard with my own ears.

      The regiment to which our friend had been appointed was the 71st Highland Light Infantry, which wore the red coat and the trews, and had its depot in Glasgow town. There we went, all three, by coach: the Major in great spirits and full of stories about the Duke and the Peninsula, while Jim sat in the corner with his lips set and his arms folded, and I knew that he killed de Lissac three times an hour in his heart. I could tell it by the sudden glint of his eyes and grip of his hand. As to me, I did not know whether to be glad or sorry; for home is home, and it is a weary thing, however you may brazen it out, to feel that half Scotland is between you and your mother.

      We were in Glasgow next day, and the Major took us down to the depot, where СКАЧАТЬ