The figures before me, whom I could now dimly trace in the darkness, were descending step by step a rugged and narrow path, where a tall hedge formed a wall on either side. To get before them here, therefore, was out of the question; my only chance was by a detour through the fields to come down upon the village, and if possible gain the bridge he spoke of before them. Quick as the thought, I turned from the deep road to the still deeper earth of the ploughed field beside it. My horse, a strong and powerful Norman, needed but the slightest movement of the hand to plunge hotly on. My eyes bent upon the twinkle of the few lights that still marked the little hamlet, I rode fearlessly forward,—now tearing madly through some low osier fence; now slipping in the wet and plashy soil, where each stride threatened to bring us both to the earth. The descent became soon almost precipitous; but the deep ground gave a footing, and I never slackened my speed. At length, with a crashing sound, I found that we had burst the little enclosure of some village garden, and could dimly trace the outline of a cottage at some distance in front. Dismounting now, I felt my way cautiously for the path that usually conducts at the end of the cabin to the garden. This I soon made out, and the next minute was in the street. Happily, the storm, which raged still as violently as before, suffered no one to be without doors, and save the rare glimmer of a light, all was sunk in darkness.
I walked on beside my horse for some minutes, and at last I heard the rushing sound of a swollen river as it tore along in its narrow bed; and approaching step by step discovered the little bridge, which simply consisted of two planks, unprotected by any railing at either side. With a little difficulty I succeeded in leading my horse across, and was just about to mount, when the sound of the trooper's voice from the village street again reached me.
A sudden thought flashed through my mind. Each moment might now be precious; and stooping down, I lifted the end of the plank and sent it with a crash into the stream; the other soon followed it, and before I was in my saddle again the torrent was carrying them along amid the rocks of the stream.
“Here is a misfortune,” cried the peasant, in a tone of misery; “the bridge has been carried away by the flood.”
“Tonnerre de ciel! and is there no other way across?” said the dragoon, in a voice of passion.
I waited not to hear more, but giving the spur to my horse, dashed up the steep bank, and the next moment saw the light of the château,—for such I guessed to be a bright star that twinkled at a distance. “Speed now will do it,” said I, and put my strong Norman to his utmost. The wind tore past me scarce faster than I went, while the beating rain came round me. The footway soon altered, and I found that we were crossing a smooth turf like a lawn. “Ha! this is the old gate,” thought I, as a tall archway, overhung with ivy and closed by a strong door, opposed farther progress. I beat loudly against it with the heavy handle of my whip, but to no purpose; the hoarse voice of the storm drowned all such sounds. I dismounted and endeavored to make myself heard by knocking with a large stone. I shouted, I cried aloud, but all in vain. My terror increased every instant. What was to be done? The dragoon might arrive at any moment, and then I myself must share the ruin of the others. Maddened by the emergency that each moment grew more pressing, I sprang into the saddle, and following the direction of the wall, rode round to the other side of the château, seeking some open spot, some break whereby to enter.
I had not gone far when I saw a portion of the wall which broken and dilapidated, afforded the opportunity desired. I hesitated not, but dashed wildly at it. My horse, unaccustomed to such an effort, chested the barrier, and came rolling head foremost to the earth, throwing me several yards before him. A cry of pain escaped me as I fell; and I scarcely could gain my knees to rise, when the hoarse bay of a savage dog broke upon my ear, and I heard the animal tearing through the brushwood towards me. I drew my sabre in a trice, and scarce knowing at what side to defend myself, laid wildly about me, while I shouted with all my might for help. The furious beast sprang like a tiger at my throat, and, though wounded by a chance cut, seized me in his terrible fangs. Fortunately the strong collar of my uniform served to protect me; but the violence of the assault carried me off my balance, and we rolled one over the other to the ground. Grasping his throat with both hands, I endeavored to strangle him, while he vainly sought to reach my face.
At this critical moment my cries were heard within, and numerous lights flitted up and down in front of the château, and a crowd of persons, all armed, were quickly about me. Seizing the dog by his collar, a peasant tore him away; while another, holding a lantern to my face, cried out in a voice of terror, “They are upon us! we are lost!”
“Parbleu! you should let Colbert finish his work,—he is a 'blue;' they are but food for dogs any day.”