“These are Cambronne’s keys,” said Lestocque, “and you’ll find enough for your present wants in the saddle-bags. Take the gray, he’s the better horse, and come up with us as fast as you can.”
I saw that I had forfeited something of General Massena’s good opinion by my dandyism; but I was consoled in a measure for the loss, as I saw the price at which I bought the forfeiture. The young officer, who had fallen three days before, and was a nephew of the General Cambronne, was a lieutenant in Murat’s celebrated corps, the Lancers of “Berg,” whose uniform was the handsomest in the French army. Even the undress scarlet frock and small silver helmet were more splendid than many full parade uniforms; and as I attired myself in these brilliant trappings, I secretly vowed that the Austrians should see them in some conspicuous position ere a month was over. If I had but one sigh for the poor fellow to whose “galanterie” I succeeded, I had many a smile for myself as I passed and re-passed before the glass, adjusting a belt or training an aigrette to fall more gracefully. While thus occupied, I felt something heavy clink against my leg, and opening the sabertasch, discovered a purse containing upward of forty golden Napoleons and some silver. It was a singular way to succeed to a “heritage,” I thought, but, with the firm resolve to make honest restitution, I replaced the money where I found it, and descended the stairs, my sabre jingling and my spurs clanking, to the infinite admiration of the hostess and her handmaiden, who looked on my transformation as a veritable piece of magic.
I’m sure Napoleon himself had not framed one-half as many plans for that campaign as I did while I rode along. By a close study of the map, and the aid of all the oral information in my power, I had at length obtained a tolerably accurate notion of the country; and I saw, or I thought I saw, at least, half a dozen distinct ways of annihilating the Austrians. I have often since felt shame, even to myself, at the effrontery with which I discussed the great manœuvres going forward, and the unblushing coolness with which I proffered my opinions and my criticisms: and I really believe that General Massena tolerated my boldness rather for the amusement it afforded him than from any other cause.
“Well, Tiernay,” said he, as a fresh order reached him, with the most pressing injunction to hurry forward, “we are to move at once on Moosburg—what does that portend?”
“Sharp work, general,” replied I, not noticing the sly malice of the question; “the Austrians are there in force.”
“Do your grenadiers say so?”—asked he, sarcastically.
“No, general; but as the base of the operations is the Iser, they must needs guard all the bridges over the river, as well as protect the high road to Vienna by Landshut.”
“But you forget that Landshut is a good eight leagues from that!” said he, with a laugh.
“They’ll have to fall back there, nevertheless,” said I, coolly, “or they suffer themselves to be cut off from their own centre.”
“Would you believe it,” whispered Massena to a colonel at his side, “the fellow has just guessed our intended movement?”