Charles James Lever.

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THE GIFT OF

MAY TREAT MORRISON

IN MEMORY OF

ALEXANDER F MORRISON





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TOM BURKE



OF "OURS'-



TOM BURKE



OF "OURS"



CHARLES LEVER

AUTHOR OF "CHARLES o'mALLEV "



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS



VOL. 11.



LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
Broadway, Ludgate Hill
GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK

,,>.,.>, > > ^ 'o i \ '

1 , , ) > i > • - . . 9 3 i \ , '

, J ) J J J , ) > . , ) 3 ' )■" I



CHARLES LEVER'S WORKS.

THE "HARRY LORREQURR " EDITION.
In Crown 8vo, with Illustratimis,



!__■



Harry Lorrequer.

Jack Hinton.

Charles O'Walley, vol. i.

Charles O'Malley, vol. a.

Con Cregan.

I'he O'Donoghue.

Tom Burke, vol. i.

Tcm Burke, vol. 2.

One of Them.

'J he Dal tons, vol. t.

The Daltons, vol. 2.

The Knight of Gwynne, vol. 1.

The Krigh* of Gwynne, vol. a.

Arthui O'Leary.

Poland Cashel. vo'l. i.

Rolar.d C^iE-hpi, vol- x.

Siiiritig-nJa.



The Dodd Family, vol. t.

T?,t Dodd Family, vol. a.

Luttrell of Arran.

Davenport Dunn, vol. I.

Davenport Dunn, vol. 2.

The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly.

Lord Kilgobbin.

The Martins of Cro' Martin, vol. 1.

The Martins of Cro' Martin, vol. a.

That Boy of Norcott's.

The Fortunes of Glencore.

Sir Jasper Carew.

Maurice Tiemay.

A Day's Ride : A Life's Romanct.

Tony Butler.

Sir Brooke Fosbrooi 1.

Horace Templeton.



-T ^ T

i/, ^



CONTENTS.



CHAPTER I.
Thk Sick Leavk :....!



CHAPTER II.

LiNTZ 10



CHAPTER III.

^USTERLITZ tp



CHAPTER IV,
The Field at Midnight 31,



CHAPTER V,
A "Maitre d'Armes" 47



Vi CONTENTS.



CHAPTER VI.

PAQK

Thk Miil on thk HoLiTscii Road 60



CHAPTER VII.
The ARMibTicE .,..••



. 72



CHAPTER VIII.
The " Compagnie ©'Elite " . 80



CHAPTER IX.
Paris in 1806 92



CHAPTER X,
The "IIotkl de Clicby" 102



CHAPTER XI.
A "Salle i>f, Police ' . . • 114



CONTENTS. . Vll



CHAPTER XII.

PAG a

Toe Return of the Wounded . . . , • • .127



CHAPTER XIII.
" The Chevalier " 138



CHAPTER XIV.
A Boyish Remikiscekce 145



CHAPTER XV.
A Good-Uye 152



CHAPTER XVI.
-In Oll> Frie.nd Unchanged • 160



CHAPTER XVII.
The Rue des Capucines ... . . • . . 171



Vlil CONTENTS.



CHAPTER XVIU

PAOE

The "Moisson d'Or" 183



CHAPTER XIX.
The Two Soirees ID?



CHAPTER XX
A Sudden Departure ....,.,. 206



CHAPTER XXI.
The Summit op the Lasdorafenberq ..... 212



CHAPTER XXII.
L'Homme Rouge 221



CHAPTER XXIII.'
Jeka and Auerstadt 229



CONTENTS. IX



CHAPTER XXIV.

PAOB

A Fragment of a Maitke d'Armes' Experiences . . . 244



CHAPTER XXV.
Berlin after "Jena" 257



CHAPTER XXYI.
A Forest Path , , 274



CHAPTER XXVII.
A Chance Meeting 28^



CHAPTER XXVIII.
The " Pension de la Rue Mi-Careme " 2!<S



CHAPTER XXIX.
Ms NAii2S.'.SE 309



X CONTENTS.



CHAPTER XXX.

PAGE

An Old Sailor OF "The Empire" 31&



CHAPTER XXXI.
A MooNLiGUT Recognition 834



CHAPTER XXXIL
The "Falaise de Biville" < 33&



CHAPTER XXXIII.
The Landing • 348



CHAPTER XXXIV.
A Character of "Old Dublin" ...... 356



CHAPTER XXXV.
An IJnforkbeen Evil 364



CONTENTS. XI



CHAPTER XXXVI.

PAGE

The Peril Averted. .,..,... 378

^



CHAPTER XXXVII.
A Hastt Resolution , 410



CHAPTER XXXVIII.
The Last Camp^igk 420



CHAPTER XXXIX.
The Bridge of Montereau 434



CHAPTER XL.

fONaAINEBLEAU 44S



CHAPTER X;j.
The Conolvsiok • • . 462



TOi\I BUEKE OF "OURS."



CHAPTER I.



THE SICK LEAVE.



1^



•' What is it, Minette ? " said I, for the tliix^d time, as I
saw her lean her head from out the narrow casement, and
look down into the valley beside the river — " what do you
see there? "

" I see a regiment of infantry coming along the road
from Ulm," said she, after a pause, " and now I perceive
the lancers are following them, and the artillery too. Ah !
and farther again, I see a great cloud of dust. Mere de
Ciel ! how tired and weary they all look ! It surely cannot
be a march in retreat ; and, now that I think of it, they
have no baggage, nor any waggons with them."

" That was a bugle call, Minette ! Did you not hear it ? "

" Yes, it's a halt for a few minutes. Poor fellows ! they
are sadly exhausted ; they cannot even reach the side of
the way, but are lying down on the very road. I can bear
it no longer. I must find out what it all means." So
saying, she threw a mantle which, Spanish fashion, she
wore over her head, round her, and hurried from the
room.

For some time I waited patiently for her return ; but
when half an hour elapsed, I arose and crept to the
window. A succession of rocky precipices descended from
the terrace on which the house stood, down to the very
.edge of the Danube, and from the point where I sat the

VOL. II. B



2 TOM BURKE OF " OURS."

view extended for miles in every direction. What, then,
was my astonishment to see the wide plain, not marked by
regialar columns in',i?'ia>:"(ih'''.ng g.rray, but covered with strag-
gling detachments, hurrying onward as if without order
or diGciplinb.. He.re, was an infantry battalion mixed up
with si cav^li-y corpfci^-bhe foot ' soldiers endeavouring to
keep up with the ambling trot of the dragoons ; there,
the ammunition waggons were covered with weary soldiers,
too tired to march. Most of the men were without their
firelocks, which were piled in a confused heap on the
limbers of the guns. No merry chant — no burst of war-
like music cheered them on. They seemed like the scat-
tered fragments of a routed army hurrying onward in
search of some place of refuge — sad and spiritless.

" Can he have been beaten ? " was the fearful thought
that flashed across me as I gazed. " Have the bold legions
that were never vanquished succumbed at last! Oh, no !
no ! — I'll not believe it ; " and while a glow of fever
warmed my whole blood, I buckled on my sabre, and,
taking my chako, prepared to issue forth. Scarcely had
1 reached the door, with tottering limbs, when 1 saw
Minette dashing up the steep street at the top speed
of her pony, while she flourished above her head a great
placard, and waved it to and fro.

'' The news ! the news ! " cried I, bursting with anxiety.
" Are they advancing ; or is it a retreat? "

" Read that! " said she, throwing me a large sheet of
paper, headed with the words, " PKOCLAiiATiON A LA Grande
Arjiee," in huge letters. " Read that! for I've no breath
left to tell you."

" Soldiers ! — The campaign so gloriously begun will
soon be completed. One victory, and the Austrian em-
pire, so great but a week since, will be humbled in the dust.
Hasten on, then : forced marches, by day and night, will
attest your eagerness to meet the enemy ; and let the
endeavour of each regiment be to arrive soonest on the
field of battle."

" Minette ! — dearest Minette ! " said I, as I threw my
arms around her neck, " (iiis is indeed good news."

"Gently, gently, monsieur'" said she, smiling, while



THE SICK LEAVE, 3

she disenga^-ed herself from my sudden embrace. "Very
good news, without doubt ; but I don't think that tliere
is any mention in the bulletin about embracing the vivan-
dieres of the army."

" At*a moment like this, Minette "

" The best thing to do is, to make up one's baggage,
and join the march," said she, very steadily, proceeding
at the same time to put her plan into execution. While
I gave her all assistance in my power, the doctor entered
to inform us that all the wounded who were then not
sufficiently restored to retui'n to duty, were to be conveyed
to Munich, where genei-al military hospitals had been
established, and that he himself had received orders to
repair thither, with his sick detachment, in which my
name was enrolled.

"You'll keep your old friend, FraQ9ois, company, Lieu-
tenant Burke — he is able to move at last."

"Francois! " said I, in ecstasy, *' and will he, indeed,
recover ? "

" I have little doubt of it ; though certainly he's not
likely to practise as maitre cVarmes again. You've spoiled
his ' tierce ' — though not before it cost the army some of
the prettiest fellows I ever saw ; but as to yourself — — "

" As for me, I'll march with the army. I feel perfectly
recovered ; my arm "

" Oh ! as for monsieur's arms," said mademoiselle, " I'll
answer for it, they are quite at his Majesty's service."

"Indeed!" said the doctor, knowingly. "I thought
it would come to that. Well, well ! mademoiselle, don't
look saucy. Let us part good friends for once in our
lives."

" I hate being reconciled to a surgeon," said she,
pettishly.

"Why so, I pray?"

" Oh, you know, when one quarrels with an officer, the
poor fellow may be killed before one sees him again, and
it's always a sad thought, that — but your doctor, nothing
everhappens to him; you're sure to see him, with his white
apron and his horrid weapons, a hundred times after, and
one is always sorry for having forgiven such a cruel wretch."

"Come, come! mademoiselle! you bear us all an ill-

B 2



4 TOM BURKE OF ''' OURS."

will for the fault of one, and that's not fair. It was the
hospital aide of the Sixth, monsieur, a handsome fellow,
too, who did not fall in love with her after her wound — a
slight scratch."

" A slight scratch ! do you call it ? " said I, indignantly,
as I perceived the poor girl's eyes fill at the raillery of
her tormentor.

" Ah ! monsieur has seen it, then," said he, maliciously.
" A thousand pardons. I have the honour to wish you
both adieu." And with that, and a smile of the most
impertinent meaning, he took his leave.

" How silly to be vexed for so little, Minette ! " said I,
approaching and endeavouring to console her.

" Well ! but to call my wound a scratch ! " said she.
" Was it not too bad ? and I the only vivandiere of the
army that ever felt a bullet." And with that she turned
away her head, but I could see, as she wiped her eyes,
that she cared less for the sarcasm on her wounded
shoulder than the insult to her wounded heart. Poor
girl ! she looked sick and pale the whole day after.

We learned in the course of the day that some cavalry
detachments would pass early on the morrow, thus allow-
ing us sufficient time to provide ourselves with horses,,
and make our other arrangements for the march. These
we succeeded in doing to our satisfaction : I being fortu-
nate enough to secure the charger of an Austrian prisoner ;
mademoiselle being already admirably mounted with her
palfrey. Occupied with these details, the day passed
rapidly over, and the hour for supper drew near without
my feeling how the time slipped past. At last the wel-
come meal made its appearance, and with it mademoiselle
herself. I could not help remarking that her toilette dis-
played a more than common attention : her neat Parisian
cap — her collar, with its deep Valenciennes lace, and her
tablier, so coquettishly embroidered, were all signs of an
unusual degree of care, and though she was pale and in
low spirits, I never saw her look so pretty.

All my efforts to make her converse were, however, in
vain. Some secret weight lay heavily on her spirits, and
not even the stirring topics of the coming campaign
could awaken one spark of her enthusiasm. She evaded,.



THE SICK LEAVE. 5



too, every allusion to the following day's march, or an-
swered my questions about it with evident constraint.
Tired at last with endeavouring to overcome her silent
mood, I afiected an air of chagrin, thinking to pique her
by it ; but she merely remarked that I appeared weary,
and th^, as I had a long journey before me, it were as
-well I should retire early.

The marked coolness of her manner at this moment
struck me so forcibly, that I began really to feel some por-
tion of the ill-temper I affected, and, with the crossness
•of an over-petted child, I arose to withdraw at once.

" Good-bye, monsieur — good night, I mean," said she,
blushing slightly.

" Good night, mademoiselle," said I, taking her hand
coldly as I spoke. " I trust I may find you in better
spirits to-morrow."

"Goodnight — adieu!" said she, hastily; and before I
could add a word she was gone.

" She is a strange girl," thought I, as I found myself
alone, and tortured my mind to think whether anything I
could have dropped had offended her. But no ; we had
parted a few hours before the best friends in the world :
nothing had then occurred to which I could attribute this
sudden change. I had often remarked the variable cha-
racter of her disposition ; the flashes of gaiety, mingled
with outbursts of sorrow — the playful moods of fancy,
alternating with moments of deep melancholy ; and, after
all, this might be one of them.

With these thoughts I threw myself on my bed, but
could not sleep. At one minute my brain went on puz-
zling about Minette and her sorrow ; at the next I re-
proached myself for my own harsh, unfeeling manner to
ihe poor girl, and was actually on the eve of arising to
seek her and ask her pardon. At last sleep came, and
dreams too ; but, strange enough, they were of the distant
land of my boyhood and the hours of my youth — of the
old house in which I was born, and its well-remembered
rooms. I thought I was standing before my father, while
he scolded me for some youthful transgression ; I heard
his words as though they were really spoken, as he told
me that I should be an outcast and a wanderer, without a



tJ TOM BUEKE OF *' OURS."

friend, a house, or home ; that while others reaped wealth
and honours, I was destined to be a castaway : and in the
torrent of my grief I awoke.

It was night — dark, silent night ; a few stars were
shining in the sky, but the earth was wrapped in shadow ;
and as I opened my window to let the fresh breeze calm
my fevered forehead, the deep precipice beneath me
seemed a vast gulf of yawning blackness. At a great
distance off I could see the watch-fires of some soldiers
bivouacking in the plain ; and even that much comforted
my saddened heart, as it aroused me to the thoughts of
the campaign before me. But again my thoughts recurred
ko my dream, which I could not help feeling as a sort of
jtrediction.

When our sleep leaves its strong track in our waking
moments, we dread to sleep again, for fear the whole
vision should come back; and thus I sat down beside the
window, and fell into a long train of thought. The images
of my dream were uppermost in my mind, and every little
incident of childhood, long lost to mem.ory, came now
fresh before me — the sorrows of my schoolboy years, un-
relieved by the sense of love awaiting me at home ; the
clinging to all who seemed to feel or care for me, and the
heart-sickening sorrow when I found that what I mistook
for affection was merely pity ; all save one — my mother.
Her mild, sad looks, so seldom cheered by a ray of
pleasure, I remember well how they fell on me ! with such
a thi'illing sensation at my heart, and such a gush of
thankfulness as I have felt then. Oh ! if they who live
with children knew how needful it is to open their hearts
to all the little sorrows and woes of infant life ; to teach
confidence, and to feed hope ; to train up the creeping
tendi^ils of young desire, and not to suffer them to lie
straggling and tangled on the earth— what a happier des-
tiny would fall to the lot of many whose misfortunes in
late life date from the crushed spirit of childhood.

My mother ! — I thought of her, as she would bend over
me at night, her last kf.ss pressed on my brow — the heal-
ing balm of some sorrow, for which my sobs were still
breaking ; her pale, worn cheek, her white dress, her hund
so bloodless and transpard nt, the very emblem of her



THE SICK LEAVE. 7

malady — tlae tears started to my eyes, and rolled heavily
along my cheek, my chest heaved, and my heart beat, till
I could hear it. At this moment a slight rustle stirred
the leaves. 1 listened, for the night was calm and still ;
not a breeze moved. As^ain I heard it close beside the
window, on the little terrace which ran along the building,
and occupied the narrow space beside the edge of the rock.
Before I could imagine what it meant, a figure in white
glided from the shade of the trees, and approached the
window. So excited was my mind, so wrought up my
imagination by the circumstances of my dream, and the
thoughts that followed, that I cried out, in a voice of
ecstasy, "My mother I" Suddenly the apparition stood
still, and then as rapidly retreated, and was lost to view
in the dark foliage. Maddened with intense excitement,
I sprang from the window, and leaped out on the terrace.
I called aloud — I ran about wildly, unmindful of the fear-
ful precipice that yawned beside me. I searched every
bush, I crept beneath each tree, but nothing could I detect.
The cold perspiration poured down my face, my limbs
trembled with a strange dread of I knew not what ; I felt
as if madness was creeping over me, and 1 struggled
with the thought, and tried to calm my troubled brain.
Wearied and faint, I gave up the pursuit at last, and,
throwing myself on my bed, I sank exhausted into the
heavy slumber which only tired nature knows.

"The Sous-Lieutenant Burke," said a gruff voice,
awakening me suddenly from my sleep, while by the light
of a lantern he held in his hand I recognized the figui'e
of an orderly sergeant in full equijDment.

"Yes — what then ? " said I, in some amazement at the
summons.

" This is the order of march, sir, for the invalid detach-
ment, under your command "

" How so — I have no orders ? "

" They are here, sir."

So saying, he presented me with a letter from the
assistant-adjutant of the corps, with instructions for the
conduct of forty men, invalided from difi'erent regiments,
and now on their way to Lintz. The paper was perfectly
regular, setting forth the names of the soldiers and their



8 TOM BURKE OF ** OURS."

several corps, together with the daily inarches, the halts,
and distances. My only surprise was how this service so
suddenly devolved on me, whose recovery could only have
been reported a few hours before.

" When shall I muster the detachment, sir ? " said the
sergeant, interrupting me in the midst of my specula-
tions.

" l^ow — at once. It is past five o'clock. I see Lan-
genau is mentioned as the first halting-place ; we can
reach it by eight."

The moment the sergeant withdrew, I arose and dressed
for the road, anxious to inform mademoiselle as early as
possible of this sudden order of march. When I entered
the salon, I found to my surprise that the breakfast-table
was all laid and everything ready. " What can this
mean," said I; "has she heard it already?" At the
same instant I caught sight of the door of her chamber
lying wide open. I approached, and looked in ; the room
was empty ; the various trunks and boxes, the little relics
of military glory I remembered to have seen with her,
were all gone, Minette had departed. When or whither,
I knew not ! I hurried through the building, tiom room
to room, without meeting any one. The door was open,
and I passed out into the dark street, where all was still
and silent as the grave. I hastened to the stable ; my
horse, ready equipped and saddled, was feeding, but the
stall beside him was empty — the pony of the vivandiere
was gone. While many a thought flashed on my brain
as to her fate, I tortured my mind to remember each cir-
cumstance of our last meeting— every word and every
look ; and as I called to my memory the pettish anger of
my manner towards her, I grew sick at heart, and hated
myself for my own cold ingratitude. All her little acts
of kindness, her tender care, her unwearying good-nature,
were before me. I thought of her as I had seen her often
in the silence of tlie night, when, waking from some sleep
of j^ain, she safe beside my bed, her hand pressed on my
heated forehead ; her low, clear voice was in my ear ; her
soft, mild look, beaming with hope and tender pity. Poor
Minette, had I then offended you — was such the return I
made for all your kindness ?



THE SICK LEAVE. 9

*' The men are ready, sir," said the sergeant, enteziug
at the moment.

" She is goue," said I, following ont my own sad train
of thought, and pointing to the vacant stall where her
pony used to stand.

" M*adenioiselle Minette "

" Yes, what of her — where is she ? "

" Marched with the cuirassier brigade that passed here
last night at twelve o'clock. She seemed very ill, sir, and
the officer made her sit on one of the waggons."

" Which road did they take ? "

" They crossed the river, and moved away towards the
forest. I think I heard the troop- sergeant say something
about Salzburg and the Tyrol."

I made no answer, but stood mute and stupefied ; when
I was again recalled to thought by his asking if my bag-
gage was ready for the waggons.

With a sullen apathy I pointed out my trunks in silence,
and throwing one last look on the room, the scene of my
former suffering, and of much pleasure too, I mounted
my horse, and gave the word to move forward.

As we passed from the gate, I stopped to question the
sous-qfficier as to the route of the cuirassier division ; but
he could only repeat what the sergeant had already told me ;
adding, there wei'e several men slightly wounded in the
squadrons, for they had been engaged twice within the
week. The gates closed, and we were on the high road.



10 TOM BUKKE OF



" OURS."



CHAPTER II.



LINTZ.



As day was breaking, we came up with a strong detach,
ment of the cavalry of the Guard, proceeding to join
Bessieres's division at Lintz; from them we learned that
the main body of the army was already far in advance
several entire corps having marched from Lintz with the
supposed intention of occupying Vienna. Ney's division,
it was said, was also bearing down from the Tyrol ;
Davoust and Mortier were advancing by the left bank of
the Danube, whilst Lannes and Murat, with an over-
whelming force of light troops, had pushed forward two
days' march in advance on their way to the capital. The
fate of Ulm was already predicted for the Austrian city,
and each day's intelligence seemed to make it only the
more inevitable. Meanwhile the Emperor Francis had
abandoned the capital, and retreated on Brunn, a fortified
town in Moravia, there to await the arrival of his ally,
Alexander, hourly expected from Berlin.
^ As day after day we pressed forward, oar numbers con-
tinued to increase ; a motley force, indeed, did we present
—cavalry of every sort, from the steel-clad cuirassier to
the gay hussar, dragoons, chasseurs, guides, and light
cavalry, all mixed up together, and all eagerly recounting
the several experiences of the campaign, as it fell under
their eyes in different quarters. From none, however,
could 1 learn any tidings of Minette ; for though known
to many there, the detachment she had joined had taken
a southerly direction, and was not crossed by any of the
others on their march. The General d'Auvergne, I heard,
was with the head-quarters of the Emperor, then estab-
lished at the monastery of Molk, on the Danube.

On the evening of the 13th of November we arrived at
Lintz, the capital of Upper Austria, but at the time I
speak of one vast barrack : thirty-eight thousand troops



LINTZ. - 11

of all arms were witliiu its walls — not subject to the rigid
discipline and regular command of a garrison town, but
bivouacking in the open streets and squares ; tables were
spread in the thoroughfares, at which the divisions, as
they Q,rrived, took their places, and, after refreshing them-
selves, moved on to make way for others. The great
chui'ches were strewn with forage, and filled with the
horses of the cavalry ; there, might be seen the lumbering
steeds of the cuii^assier, eating their corn from the richly-
carved box of a confessional ; here, lay the travel-stained
figure of a dragoon, stretched asleep across the steps of
the altar ; the little chapelries, where the foot of the
penitent awoke no echo as it passed, now rung with the
coarse jest and reckless ribaldry of the soldiers; parties
caroused in the little sacristies ; and the rude chorus of a
drinking-song now vibrated through the groined roof,
where only the sacred notes of the organ had been heard
to peal. The Hotel de Ville was the guurtier-geneml,



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