“Is he so severe, sir?” asked I, timidly.
“The general is a good disciplinarian,” said he, cautiously, while he motioned with his hand toward the door, and accepting the hint, I retired.
It was evening when I re-entered Kehl, under an escort of two of my own regiment, and was conducted to the “Salle de Police.” At the door stood my old corporal, whose malicious grin as I alighted revealed the whole story of my arrest; and I now knew the charge that would be preferred against me—a heavier there could not be made—was, “disobedience in the field.” I slept very little that night, and when I did close my eyes, it was to awake with a sudden start, and believe myself in presence of the court-martial, or listening to my sentence, as read out by the president. Toward day, however, I sunk into a heavy, deep slumber, from which I was aroused by the reveillée of the barracks.
I had barely time to dress when I was summoned before the “Tribunale Militaire”—a sort of permanent court-martial, whose sittings were held in one of the churches of the town. Not even all the terror of my own precarious position could overcome the effect of old prejudices in my mind, as I saw myself led up the dim aisle of the church toward the altar rails, within which, around a large table, were seated a number of officers, whose manner and bearing evinced but little reverence for the sacred character of the spot.
Stationed in a group of poor wretches whose wan looks and anxious glances told that they were prisoners like myself, I had time to see what was going forward around me. The president, who alone wore his hat, read from a sort of list before him the name of a prisoner and that of the witnesses in the cause. In an instant they were all drawn up and sworn. A few questions followed, rapidly put, and almost as rapidly replied to. The prisoner was called on then for his defense: if this occupied many minutes, he was sure to be interrupted by an order to be brief. Then came the command to “stand by;” and after a few seconds consultation together, in which many times a burst of laughter might be heard, the court agreed upon the sentence, recorded and signed it, and then proceeded with the next case.
If nothing in the procedure imposed reverence or respect, there was that in the dispatch which suggested terror, for it was plain to see that the court thought more of the cost of their own precious minutes than of the years of those on whose fate they were deciding. I was sufficiently near to hear the charges of those who were arraigned, and, for the greater number, they were all alike. Pillage, in one form or another, was the universal offending; and from the burning of a peasant's cottage, to the theft of his dog or his “poulet,” all came under this head. At last came number 82—“Maurice [pg 632] Tiernay, hussar of the Ninth.” I stepped forward to the rails.
“Maurice Tiernay,” read the president, hurriedly, “accused by Louis Gaussin, corporal of the same regiment, ‘of willfully deserting his post while on duty in the field, and in the face of direct orders to the contrary; inducing others to a similar breach of discipline.’ Make the change, Gaussin.”
The corporal stepped forward, and began,
“We were stationed in detachment on the bank of the Rhine, on the evening of the 23d—”
“The court has too many duties to lose its time for nothing,” interrupted I. “It is all true. I did desert my post; I did disobey orders; and, seeing a weak point in the enemy's line, attacked and carried it with success. The charge is, therefore, admitted by me, and it only remains for the court to decide how far a soldier's zeal for his country may be deserving of punishment. Whatever the result, one thing is perfectly clear, Corporal Gaussin will never be indicted for a similar misdemeanor.”