DOYLE, Arthur Conan - How the Brigadier played for a Kingdom

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HOW THE BRIGADIER PLAYED FOR A KINGDOM

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How the Brigadier played for

a Kingdom

By Arthur Conan Doyle

Get any book for free on: www.Abika.com

HOW THE BRIGADIER PLAYED FOR A KINGDOM

Get any book for free on: www.Abika.com

How the Brigadier played for a Kingdom

by A. Conan Doyle

First published (UK): The Strand Magazine, December 1895, with 8 illustrations by W.B.

Wollen

It has sometimes struck me that some of you, when you have heard me tell these little adventures

of mine, may have gone away with the impression that I was conceited. There could not be a

greater mistake than this, for I have always observed that really fine soldiers are free from this

failing. It is true that I have had to depict myself sometimes as brave, sometimes as full of

resource, always as interesting; but, then, it really was so, and I had to take the facts as I found

them. It would be an unworthy affectation if I were to pretend that my career has been anything

but a fine one. The incident which I will tell you to-night, however, is one which you will

understand that only a modest man would describe. After all, when one has attained such a

position as mine, one can afford to speak of what an ordinary man might be tempted to conceal.

You must know, then, that after the Russian campaign the remains of our poor army were

quartered along the western bank of the Elbe, where they might thaw their frozen blood and try,

with the help of the good German beer, to put a little between their skin and their bones. There

were some things which we could not hope to regain, for I dare say that three large commissariat

fourgons would not have sufficed to carry the fingers and the toes which the army had shed

during that retreat. Still, lean and crippled as we were, we had much to be thankful for when we

thought of our poor comrades whom we had left behind, and of the snowfields — the horrible,

horrible snowfields. To this day, my friends, I do not care to see red and white together. Even my

red cap thrown down upon my white counterpane has given me dreams in which I have seen

those monstrous plains, the reeling, tortured army, and the crimson smears which glared upon the

snow behind them. You will coax no story out of me about that business, for the thought of it is

enough to turn my wine to vinegar and my tobacco to straw.

Of the half-million who crossed the Elbe in the autumn of the year '12, about forty thousand

infantry were left in the spring of '13. But they were terrible men, these forty thousand: men of

iron, eaters of horses, and sleepers in the snow; filled, too, with rage and bitterness against the

Russians. They would hold the Elbe until the great army of conscripts, which the Emperor was

raising in France, should be ready to help them to cross it once more.

But the cavalry was in a deplorable condition. My own hussars were at Borna, and when I

paraded them first, I burst into tears at the sight of them. My fine men and my beautiful horses

— it broke my heart to see the state to which they were reduced. "But, courage," I thought, "they

have lost much, but their Colonel is still left to them." I set to work, therefore, to repair their

disasters, and had already constructed two good squadrons, when an order came that all colonels

HOW THE BRIGADIER PLAYED FOR A KINGDOM

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of cavalry should repair instantly to the depôts of the regiments in France to organise the recruits

and the remounts for the coming campaign.

You will think, doubtless, that I was over-joyed at this chance of visiting home once more. I will

not deny that it was a pleasure to me to know that I should see my mother again, and there were a

few girls who would be very glad at the news; but there were others in the army who had a

stronger claim. I would have given my place to any who had wives and children whom they

might not see again. However, there is no arguing when the blue paper with the little red seal

arrives, so within an hour I was off upon my great ride from the Elbe to the Vosges. At last I was

to have a period of quiet. War lay behind my mare's tail and peace in front of her nostrils. So I

thought, as the sound of the bugles died in the distance, and the long, white road curled away in

front of me through plain and forest and mountain, with France somewhere beyond the blue haze

which lay upon the horizon.

It is interesting, but it is also fatiguing, to ride in the rear of an army. In the harvest time our

soldiers could do without supplies, for they had been trained to pluck the grain in the fields as

they passed, and to grind it for themselves in their bivouacs. It was at that time of year, therefore,

that those swift marches were performed which were the wonder and the despair of Europe. But

now the starving men had to be made robust once more, and I was forced to draw into the ditch

continually as the Coburg sheep and the Bavarian bullocks came streaming past with waggon

loads of Berlin beer and good French cognac. Sometimes, too, I would hear the dry rattle of the

drums and the shrill whistle of the fifes, and long columns of our good little infantry men would

swing past me with the white dust lying thick upon their blue tunics. These were old soldiers

drawn from the garrisons of our German fortresses, for it was not until May that the new

conscripts began to arrive from France.

Well, I was rather tired of this eternal stopping and, dodging, so that I was not sorry when I came

to Altenburg to find that the road divided, and that I could take the southern and quieter branch.

There were few wayfarers between there and Greiz, and the road wound through groves of oaks

and beeches, which shot their branches across the path. You will think it strange that a Colonel

of hussars should again and again pull up his horse in order to admire the beauty of the feathery

branches and the little, green, new-budded leaves, but if you had spent six months among the fir

trees of Russia you would be able to understand me.

There was something, however, which pleased me very much less than the beauty of the forests,

and that was the words and looks of the folk who lived in the woodland villages. We had always

been excellent friends with the Germans, and during the last six years they had never seemed to

bear us any malice for having made a little free with their country. We had shown kindnesses to

the men and received them from the women, so that good, comfortable Germany was a second

home to all of us. But now there was something which I could not understand in the behaviour of

the people. The travellers made no answer to my salute; the foresters turned their heads away to

avoid seeing me; and in the villages the folk would gather into knots in the roadway and would

scowl at me as I passed. Even women would do this, and it was something new for me in those

days to see anything but a smile in a woman's eyes when they were turned upon me.

HOW THE BRIGADIER PLAYED FOR A KINGDOM

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It was in the hamlet of Schmolin, just ten miles out of Altenburg, that the thing became most

marked. I had stopped at the little inn there just to damp my moustache and to wash the dust out

of poor Violette's throat. It was my way to give some little compliment, or possibly a kiss, to the

maid who served me; but this one would have neither the one nor the other, but darted a glance at

me like a bayonet-thrust. Then when I raised my glass to the folk who drank their beer by the

door they turned their backs on me, save only one fellow, who cried, "Here's a toast for you,

boys! Here's to the letter T!" At that they all emptied their beer mugs and laughed; but it was not

a laugh that had good-fellowship in it.

I was turning this over in my head and wondering what their boorish conduct could mean, when I

saw, as I rode from the village, a great T new carved upon a tree. I had already seen more than

one in my morning's ride, but I had given no thought to them until the words of the beer-drinker

gave them an importance. It chanced that a respectable-looking person was riding past me at the

moment, so I turned to him for information.

"Can you tell me, sir," said I, "what this letter T is?"

He looked at it and then at me in the most singular fashion. "Young man," said he, "it is not the

letter N." Then before I could ask further he clapped his spurs into his horse's ribs and rode,

stomach to earth, upon his way.

At first his words had no particular significance in my mind, but as I trotted onwards Violette

chanced to half turn her dainty head, and my eyes were caught by the gleam of the brazen N's at

the end of the bridle-chain. It was the Emperor's mark. And those T's meant something which

was opposite to it. Things had been happening in Germany, then, during our absence, and the

giant sleeper had begun to stir. I thought of the mutinous faces that I had seen, and I felt that if I

could only have looked into the hearts of these people I might have had some strange news to

bring into France with me. It made me the more eager to get my remounts, and to see ten strong

squadrons behind my kettle-drums once more.

While these thoughts were passing through my head I had been alternately walking and trotting,

as a man should who has a long journey before, and a willing horse beneath, him. The woods

were very open at this point, and beside the road there lay a great heap of fagots. As I passed

there came a sharp sound from among them, and, glancing round, I saw a face looking out at me

— a hot, red face, like that of a man who is beside himself with excitement and anxiety. A

second glance told me that it was the very person with whom I had talked an hour before in the

village.

"Come nearer!" he hissed. "Nearer still! Now dismount and pretend to be mending the stirrup

leather. Spies may be watching us, and it means death to me if I am seen helping you."

"Death!" I whispered. "From whom?"

"From the Tugendbund. From Lutzow's nightriders. You Frenchmen are living on a powder

magazine, and the match has been struck that will fire it."

HOW THE BRIGADIER PLAYED FOR A KINGDOM

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"But this is all strange to me," said I, still fumbling at the leathers of my horse. "What is this

Tugendbund?"

"It is the secret society which has planned the great rising which is to drive you out of Germany,

just as you have been driven out of Russia."

"And these T's stand for it?"

"They are the signal. I should have told you all this in the village, but I dared not be seen

speaking with you. I galloped through the woods to cut you off, and concealed both my horse

and myself."

"I am very much indebted to you," said I, "and the more so as you are the only German that I

have met to-day from whom I have had common civility."

"All that I possess I have gained through contracting for the French armies," said he. "Your

Emperor has been a good friend to me. But I beg that you will ride on now, for we have talked

long enough. Beware only of Lutzow's night-riders!"

"Banditti?" I asked.

"All that is best in Germany," said he. "But for God's sake ride forwards, for I have risked my

life and exposed my good name in order to carry you this warning."

Well, if I had been heavy with thought before, you can think how I felt after my strange talk with

the man among the fagots. What came home to me even more than his words was his shivering,

broken voice, his twitching face, and his eyes glancing swiftly to right and left, and opening in

horror whenever a branch cracked upon a tree. It was clear that he was in the last extremity of

terror, and it is possible that he had cause, for shortly after I had left him I heard a distant

gunshot and a shouting from somewhere behind me. It may have been some sportsman halloaing

to his dogs, but I never again heard of or saw the man who had given me my warning.

I kept a good look-out after this, riding swiftly where the country was open, and slowly where

there might be an ambuscade. It was serious for me, since 500 good miles of German soil lay in

front of me; but somehow I did not take it very much to heart, for the Germans had always

seemed to me to be a kindly, gentle people, whose hands closed more readily round a pipe-stem

than a sword-hilt — not out of want of valour, you understand, but because they are genial, open

souls, who would rather be on good terms with all men. I did not know then that beneath that

homely surface there lurks a devilry as fierce as, and far more persistent than, that of the

Castilian or the Italian.

And it was not long before I had shown to me that there was something more serious abroad than

rough words and hard looks. I had come to a spot where the road runs upwards through a wild

tract of heathland and vanishes into an oak wood. I may have been half-way up the hill when,

looking forward, I saw something gleaming under the shadow of the tree-trunks, and a man came

out with a coat which was so slashed and spangled with gold that he blazed like a fire in the

HOW THE BRIGADIER PLAYED FOR A KINGDOM

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sunlight. He appeared to be very drunk, for he reeled and staggered as he came towards me. One

of his hands was held up to his ear and clutched a great red handkerchief, which was fixed to his

neck.

I had reined up the mare and was looking at him with some disgust, for it seemed strange to me

that one who wore so gorgeous a uniform should show himself in such a state in broad daylight.

For his part, he looked hard in my direction and came slowly onwards, stopping from time to

time and swaying about as he gazed at me. Suddenly, as I again advanced, he screamed out his

thanks to Christ, and, lurching forwards, he fell with a crash upon the dusty road. His hands flew

forward with the fall, and I saw that what I had taken for a red cloth was a monstrous wound,

which had left a great gap in his neck, from which a dark blood-clot hung, like an epaulette upon

his shoulder.

"My God!" I cried, as I sprang to his aid. "And I thought that you were drunk!"

"Not drunk, but dying," said he. "But thank Heaven that I have seen a French officer while I have

still strength to speak."

I laid him among the heather and poured some brandy down his throat. All round us was the vast

country-side, green and peaceful, with nothing living in sight save only the mutilated man beside

me.

"Who has done this?" I asked, "and what are you? You are French, and yet the uniform is strange

to me."

"It is that of the Emperor's new guard of honour. I am the Marquis of Château St. Arnaud, and I

am the ninth of my blood who has died in the service of France. I have been pursued and

wounded by the night-riders of Lutzow, but I hid among the brushwood yonder, and waited in

the hope that a Frenchman might pass. I could not be sure at first if you were friend or foe, but I

felt that death was very near, and that I must take the chance."

"Keep your heart up, comrade," said I; "I have seen a man with a worse wound who has lived to

boast of it."

"No, no," he whispered; "I am going fast." He laid his hand upon mine as he spoke, and I saw

that his finger-nails were already blue. "But I have papers here in my tunic which you must carry

at once to the Prince of Saxe-Felstein, at his Castle of Hof. He is still true to us, but the Princess

is our deadly enemy. She is striving to make him declare against us. If he does so, it will

determine all those who are wavering, for the King of Prussia is his uncle and the King of

Bavaria his cousin. These papers will hold him to us if they can only reach him before he takes

the last step. Place them in his hands to-night, and, perhaps, you will have saved all Germany for

the Emperor. Had my horse not been shot, I might, wounded as I am — " he choked, and the

cold hand tightened into a grip, which left mine as bloodless as itself. Then, with a groan, his

head jerked back, and it was all over with him.

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