“I have a debt to pay, Charles, and have come to discharge it. In an hour hence I shall leave this with despatches for the left of our line. Before I go, I’ll come here with two or three others, as it were, to wish you a good-night. I’ll take care to carry a second cloak and a foraging cap; I’ll provide a fast horse; you shall accompany us for some distance. I’ll see you safe across our pickets; for the rest, you must trust to yourself. C’est arrangé, n’est-ce-pas?”
One firm grasp of his hand, to which I responded by another, followed, and he was gone.
Everything concurred to show me that a tremendous battle must ensue on the morrow, if the British forces but held their position. It was, then, with a feeling of excitement approaching to madness that I saw my liberty before me; that once more I should join in the bold charge and the rude shock of arms, hear the wild cry of my gallant countrymen, and either live to triumph with them in victory, or wait not to witness our defeat. Fast flew my hopes, as with increasing impatience I waited St. Croix’s coming, and with anxious heart listened to every sound upon the stairs which might indicate his approach. At length he came. I heard the gay and laughing voices of his companions as they came along; the door opened, and affecting the familiarity of old acquaintance to deceive the sentry, they all shook me by the hand and spoke in terms of intimacy.
“Labedoyère is below,” said St. Croix, in a whisper; “you must wait here a few moments longer, and I’ll return for you; put on the cloak and cap, and speak not a word as you pass out. The sentry will suppose that one of our party has remained behind; for I shall call out as if speaking to him, as I leave the room.”
The voice of an officer calling in tones of impatience for the party to come down, cut short the interview; and again assuring me of their determination to stand by me, they left the chamber and descended into the court. Scarcely had the door closed behind them, when my fellow-prisoner, whom I had totally forgotten, sprang on his legs and came towards me. His figure screening the lamplight as he stood, prevented my recognizing his features, but the first tones of his voice told me who he was.
“Stay, sir,” cried he, as he placed his hand upon my arm; “I have overheard your project. In an hour hence you will be free. Can you—-will you perform a service for one who will esteem it not the less that it will be the last that man can render him? The few lines which I have written here with my pencil are for my daughter.”
I could bear no more, and called out in a voice broken as his own,—
“Oh, be not deceived, sir. Will you, even in an hour like this, accept a service from one whom you have banished from your house?”
The old man started as I spoke; his hand trembled till it shook my very arm, and after a pause and with an effort to seem calm and collected, he added,—
“My hours are few. Some despatches of General Bourmont with which the duke intrusted me were found in my possession. My sentence is a hurried one, and it is death. By to-morrow’s sunrise—”