CHAPTER XX.

More than a quarter of a hour had elapsed since Thaddeus, his arm in a sling, had glided into the tent without any of the listeners noticing his arrival, and, taking up his position in a remote corner, he had by occasional gestures expressed the interest that he took in his captain’s narrative; but at last, considering that this direct allusion to himself ought not to be permitted to pass without some acknowledgement on his part, he stammered out—

“You are too good, captain.”

A general burst of laughter followed this speech, and D’Auverney, turning towards him, exclaimed severely—

“What, Thaddeus, you here?—and your arm?”

On being addressed in so unaccustomed a tone, the features of the old soldier grew dark; he quivered, and threw back his head, as though to restrain the tears which seemed to struggle to his eyes.

“I never thought,” said he, in a low voice, “that you, captain, could have omitted to say thou when speaking to your old sergeant.”

“Pardon me, old friend,” answered the captain, quickly; “I hardly knew what I said. Thou wilt pardon me, wilt thou not?”

The tears sprang to the sergeant’s eyes in spite of his efforts to repress them.

“It is the third time,” remarked he—“but these are tears of joy.”

Peace was made, and a short silence ensued.

“But tell me, Thaddeus, why hast thou quitted the hospital to come here?” asked D’Auverney, gently.

“It was—with your permission, captain—to ask if I should put the laced saddle-cloth on the charger for to-morrow.”

Henri laughed. “You would have been wiser, Thaddeus, to have asked the surgeon-major if you should put two more pieces of lint on your arm,” said he.

“Or to ask,” continued Paschal, “if you might take a glass of wine to refresh yourself. At any rate, here is some brandy; taste it—it will do you good, my brave sergeant.”

Thaddeus advanced, saluted, and, apologizing for taking the glass with his left hand, emptied it to the health of the assembled company.

“You had got, captain, to the moment when—yes, I remember, it was I who proposed to take shelter under the creepers, to prevent our men being smashed by the rocks. Our officer, who did not know how to swim, was afraid of being drowned, and, as was natural, was dead against it until he saw—with your permission, gentlemen—a great rock fall on the creepers without being able to get through them. ‘It is better to die like Pharaoh than like St. Stephen,’ said he: ‘for we are not saints, and Pharaoh was a soldier like ourselves.’ The officer was a learned man, you see. And so he agreed to my proposal, on the condition that I should first try the experiment myself. Off I went; I slid down the bank and caught hold of the roof of creepers, when all of a sudden some one took a pull at my legs. I struggled, I shouted for help, and in a minute I received half a dozen sabre cuts. Down came the dragoons to help me, and there was a nice little skirmish under the creepers. The blacks of Morne-Rouge had hidden themselves there, never for a moment thinking that we should fall right on the top of them. This was not the right time for fishing, I can tell you. We fought, we swore, we shouted. They had nothing particular on, and were able to move about in the water more easily than we were; but, on the other hand, our sabres had less to cut through. We swam with one hand and fought with the other. Those who could not swim, like my captain, hung on to the creepers, whilst the negroes pulled them by the legs. In the midst of the hullabaloo I saw a big negro fighting like Beelzebub against five or six of ours. I swam up to him, and I recognized Pierrot, otherwise called Bug——But I musn’t tell that yet, must I, captain? Since the capture of the fort I owed him a grudge, so I took him hard and fast by the throat; he was going to rid himself of me by a thrust of his dagger, when he recognized me, and gave himself up at once. That was very unfortunate, was it not, captain? for if he had not surrendered, he would not——But you will know that later on, eh? When the blacks saw that he was taken they made a rush at me to get him off; when Pierrot, seeing no doubt that they would all lose their lives, said some gibberish or other, and in the twinkling of an eye they plunged into the water, and were out of sight in a moment. This fight in the water would have been pleasant enough if I had not lost a finger, and wetted ten cartridges, and if the poor man——but it was to be, was it not, captain?”

And the sergeant respectfully placed the back of his hand to his forage cap, and then raised it to heaven with the air of an inspired prophet.

D’Auverney was violently agitated.

“Yes,” cried he, “thou art right, my old Thaddeus; that night was a fatal night for me.”

He would have fallen into one of his usual reveries had they not urgently pressed him to conclude his story.

After a while he continued.