“They had two men to one against us, besides the advantage of position, discipline and arms, and yet they marched the best part of their troops off in the night without striking a blow.”
“Thanks be to the Lord, we will have our King again; we will have our dear King once more, thanks be to the Almighty,” said the old man, eager with joy. “And they fled, did they, without striking a blow!”
“Some of them did, father; but some fought well enough; it was desperate sharp work when poor Charles was wounded.”
“God bless him! God bless him! I didn’t doubt it was sharp work; but even with valour, or without valour, what could sedition and perjury avail against truth and loyalty! they were two to one; they had stone walls and deep rivers to protect them; they had arms and powder, and steel cuirasses; they had disciplined troops and all the appanages of war, and yet they were scattered like chaff; driven from their high walls and deep moats, by a few half-armed peasants; and why? why have our batons been more deadly than their swords? because we have had truth and loyalty on our side. Why have our stuff jackets prevailed against their steel armour; because they covered honest hearts that were fighting honestly for their King. His Majesty shall enjoy his own again, my boy. Vive le Roi! Vive le Roi!”
“I trust he may, father; but, as you say, we shall have some hard work to do first. Cathelineau and Charette will be before Nantes in a week’s time. I should have been with them had we not heard that a strong body of republican troops is to be stationed at Parthenay. They say that Santerre is to command a party of Marseillaise, commissioned to exterminate the Vendeans.”
“What, Santerre, the brewer of the Faubourgs?”
“The same, Danton’s friend, he who used to be so loud at the Cordeliers; and Westerman is to assist him,” said Henri.
“Worse again, Henri, worse again; was it not he who headed the rebels on the tenth of August, when our sainted King was driven from his home?”
“Yes, the same Westerman is now to drive us from our homes; or rather to burn us, our homes, and all together—such at least is the task allotted to him.”
“God help our babes and our women!” said the old Marquis shuddering, “if they fall into the clutches of Santerre, and that other still blacker demon!”