Alexandre Dumas - The Last Cavalier - Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon

A coat was spread out on a little mound, and there Brise-Bleu laid out a roast chicken, a piece of cold salt pork, some bread, and buckwheat crêpes. Since they were on a campaign, he thought it important also to provide the luxury of a bottle of wine and a glass. “There, do you see?” said Cadoudal to Roland.

Roland need no further invitation. He leaped down from his horse and handed the bridle to a Chouan. Cadoudal did the same.

“Now,” said Cadoudal, turning toward his men. “You have twenty minutes to do the same as we. Those who have not finished eating in twenty minutes are forewarned that they will be fighting on an empty stomach.”

As if awaiting this invitation, they all pulled from their pockets a piece of bread and a buckwheat crêpe and, minus the chicken and pork, followed the example of their general and his guest.

As there was only one glass, Cadoudal and Roland both drank from it. In the light of the dawning day, they ate side by side, just as two hunting friends might.

From one moment to the next, as Cadoudal had predicted, the fog was becoming less dense. Soon, a half league away on the road from Grand-Champ to Plescop, they could see the force of two hundred Chouans led by Monte-à-l’Assaut, Chante-en-Hiver, La Giberne, and Fend-l’Air.

Inferior in numbers—fewer than one hundred—the Republicans had stopped and were waiting for the fog to dissipate so they could estimate enemy numbers and determine what kind of force they would be facing.

At the sight of the Republicans confronting a force three times their strength, at the sight of their blue uniforms, the color that gave them their nickname, the Blues, Roland stood up suddenly. As for Cadoudal, he remained nonchalantly stretched out on the grass, finishing his meal.

Roland had only to glance at the Republicans to realize they were lost. Cadoudal watched the succession of emotions that crossed the young man’s face. “Well,” Cadoudal asked after a moment of silence that allowed Roland to evaluate the situation, “do you think I have taken the proper dispositions, Colonel?”

“You might even say your proper precautions, General,” said Roland with a mocking smile.

“Is it not one of the First Consul’s customs,” asked Cadoudal, “to accept his advantages when the occasion permits?”

Roland bit his lips. “General,” he said, “I have a favor to ask and I hope you will not refuse.”

“What is it?”

“The permission to go die with my comrades.”

Cadoudal got to his feet. “I was expecting such a request,” he said.

“Then will you grant it?” said Roland, his eyes sparkling with joy.

“Yes, but first I would like to request a service from you,” said the Royalist leader in his dignified tone.

“Speak, monsieur.”

And Roland waited, no less serious and no less proud than the Royalist chief. Old France and New France found their epitomes in those two men.

ROLAND LISTENED.

“The service I ask of you, monsieur, is to negotiate with General Harty for me.”

“To what end?”

“I have several proposals to make before we begin battle.”

“I presume,” said Roland, “that among the proposals which you do me the honor of charging me with, you are not including one that asks him to lay down his arms?”

“On the contrary, Colonel. You must understand that such a proposal is at the top of my list.”

“General Harty will refuse,” said Roland, clenching his fists.

“Probably,” Cadoudal answered calmly.

“And then?”

“And then I shall offer him the option of two other proposals that he will be perfectly free to accept without forfeiting his honor and without damaging his reputation.”

“May I know what they are?” Roland asked.

“You will know them at the appropriate time. Please be so good as to begin with the first proposal.”

“Spell it out for me.”

“General Harty and his one hundred men are surrounded by a force three times stronger. You know it, and you can say as much to him. I offer them safe conduct, but they must lay down their arms and swear that for five years they will not serve against the Vendée or Brittany.”

“A useless message,” said Roland.

“That would be better than getting crushed, both him and his men.”

“True, but he will prefer to have them crushed and himself crushed with them.”

“Beforehand, it would be good, however, to make him the proposal.”

“As for that, you are right,” said Roland. “My horse?”

They brought his horse to him. He leaped into the saddle and rapidly crossed the space separating them from the waiting group.

General Harty’s surprise was great when he saw an officer wearing the uniform of a Republican colonel coming toward him. He moved three paces toward the messenger, who introduced himself, explained how he happened to be with the Royalist Whites, and conveyed Cadoudal’s proposal. As the young officer had predicted, the general refused.

Roland galloped back toward where Cadoudal was waiting. “He refuses!” he shouted as soon as he was within earshot.

“In that case,” said Cadoudal, “take him my second proposal. I don’t want to have anything to blame myself for afterwards, having to answer to an honorable judge such as you.”

Roland bowed. “Let us move on the second proposal,” he said.

“Here it is,” answered Cadoudal. “General Harty is on horseback, as am I. He will leave the ranks of his soldiers and ride out to meet me in the space between the two armies. Like me, he will be carrying his saber and his pistols. And then we can decide the issue between ourselves. If I kill him, his men will accept the conditions I’ve dictated, not to serve for five years against us; for you surely understand that I cannot take any prisoners. If he kills me, his men will have free passage to Vannes with their supplies intact and with no fear of attack by my troops. Ah! I hope this is a proposal you would be able to accept, Colonel?”

“I do accept it,” said Roland.

“Yes, but you are not General Harty. For the moment, just be content with your role as negotiator. And if this proposal—which, in his place, I would not pass up—is not enough to satisfy him, well, you will come back, and, good soul that I am, I shall make him a third one.”

Roland galloped back to the Republicans and General Harty, who were waiting impatiently for him. He conveyed his message to the general.

“Colonel,” the general answered, “I must give account to the First Consul for my actions. You are his aide-de-camp, and when you return to Paris, I charge you with being my witness when you speak to him. What would you do in my place? I will do what you would do.”

Roland winced. An expression of deep gravity spread over his face. He paused to reflect. Then, a few moments later: “General,” he said, “I would refuse.”

“Give me your reasons,” Harty answered, “so that I may see if they are in accordance with my own.”

“The outcome of a duel is totally uncertain, and you cannot subject the destiny of one hundred brave men to such chances. In a business such as this, where each is engaged for himself, each man should defend his hide as best he can.”

“Is that your opinion, Colonel?”

“Yes, on my honor.”

“It is mine as well. So, take my answer back to the Royalist general.”

Roland returned to Cadoudal as fast as he had ridden to meet Harty.