It was this simplicity, this serenity, and persistency, that carried them forward now. A regular army would have been hampered by a hundred needs and cares and strategies. Arnaud and his men went from Nyon to Sallenches, from Mont Blanc to Mont Cenis, from the Arve to the Doire, stepping forward with the confidence of children and the ‘foolishness’ of the saints.
Some opposition they had already overcome. They avoided the French garrison of Exilles, but they could not avoid the Marquis de Larrey, who with two thousand five hundred soldiers kept the passage of the Doire at Salabertrand.
They had hurried past Exilles, hoping to win this bridge as they had won the bridge over the Arve, but the night was falling as they came within sight of the place, and they were forced to halt at a village to snatch rest and a meal. They asked if they could buy bread. The answer, significantly spoken, sounded threatening.
‘Come on to the river, you will get there all you want; they are preparing excellent suppers for you.’
It was Gaspard Botta to whom those words were said, and he reported them at once to Arnaud. The chief shared his fears as to what they might mean, but there was no room for hesitation in Arnaud’s heart. He gathered his men for the usual evening prayer; perhaps his words were more intensely fervent, higher in their note of faith than they had been before, and the ‘Amen’ that rose from the tightened bearded lips was fit echo to such petitions.
The darkness was lying on the world unbroken by moon or star; only the snow-gleam and the pale line below the western clouds gave light enough to see the strongly-rushing river, white here and there with broken water, and the dark span of the wooden arches stemming the torrent.
The tramp of their feet provoked the sharp challenge—
‘Who goes there?’
‘Friends,’ cried Arnaud; ‘all we ask is——’
But the answer came in a tempest of bullets, and wild cries of ‘Kill! kill!’ The mountaineers flung themselves on their faces, and the deadly hail flew almost harmless above their heads. Then when the French muskets were empty Arnaud dashed on.