The screams of the dying upon the bridge, the thunder of the cannon, the moaning of the bullets—all were lesser sounds than that of the crashing ice and the roaring torrent as it threatened to engulf us. What had become of Valerie St. Antoine I knew not. It seemed to me that I had been carried in an instant from human enemies to wage a combat with Nature omnipotent, before which I must perish. The chill of the water, the freezing wind, the sleet which beat upon my face were the weapons with which this pitiless enemy would have conquered me. Nothing but the instincts of the gallant brute stood between me and the watery grave so many had found. On he pressed and on, fighting as a human thing for the life no less precious to him than to us. I saw dead men's eyes looking up at me from the black torrent; human arms, outstretched but lifeless, touched my flesh and set the child shrieking with terror. The shells fell about us and the foam was as a blinding fountain in our eyes. Yet ever the coveted shore seemed more distant, the sounds of human strife yet farther away, the world gone clean from our knowledge. It is here, then, said I to myself, that Janil de Constant must die. God knows that I would have welcomed death if it could have come quickly.
Such were the episodes of that fateful crossing, through which the mercy of the Almighty alone brought us safely.
I had given up all hope, when a sudden staggering of the horse, a cry from Joan, and another shout of triumph from the bank itself bade me look up and understand the wonder of the moment. We had touched the shore—that shore of all our dreams, and found a footing there. Valerie herself, the water running from her boots, but her eyes triumphant and her arms outstretched, welcomed us with a woman's laughter and claimed the victory.
We had crossed the Bérézina! The horrors of the bridge were done with for ever; we were amid our comrades, and yonder beyond the forgotten leagues stood Paris and our homes.
VII
We crossed the bog with safety and reached the first of the low hills on the hither shore. Hardly had we done so when a loud explosion shook the very earth and caused us to wheel about suddenly. Then we saw the bridge fall asunder, and knew that the thousands upon the far bank were doomed to death or the prison. Such a cry as arose from our comrades yonder has never been heard, nor will be again, I believe, in all the story of the world. It was the voice of the ultimate woe of those who, hoping much, now ceased to hope, and fearing, now feared the more. Many have accused the Emperor of wanton cruelty because of what he did on that November night. Yet we, who served France, believed that he had done well, and we would have laid down our lives for him as readily had the honour of our country demanded it.
Naturally, we said nothing to Joan of the meaning of this tragic event. Assuring her that Gabriel and her father would join us at dawn, we rode on to the first of the bivouacs, where, happily, we found a squadron of the fusiliers, under Colonel Bourgoriau, well known to me, and by him were instantly made welcome. The Emperor, he told us, was camped at a farmhouse not a quarter of a mile from where we stood. His Majesty was cold and suffering, and they had sent wood for his fires, badly as they needed it themselves.
Here I left Valerie and the child, and, returning to the remnant of the bridge, I waited to see if any might yet be saved. Alas! the stranded pontoons showed me but a heap of dying and dead, and some of them were in flames. It may have been the mere fancy of a man whose courage had been sorely tried that day, but amongst those whom the swirling river carried away, and upon whose faces the leaping fires cast a golden aureole, I thought that I saw Gabriel the brave and the father who had loved him.