“You have a splendid force, Colonel Brienz,” he said addressing the Colonel, but speaking loud enough to be heard by the troops. “To your skill and to their courage the Republic entrusts its safety, and entrusts it with confidence.” He then turned to the troops: “Soldiers, some of you will remember the day I asked you to make a great effort for your country and your honour; Sorato is the name that history has given to the victory which was your answer to my appeal. Since then we have rested in peace and security, protected by the laurels that have crowned your bayonets. Now, as the years have passed, those trophies are challenged, challenged by the rabble whose backs you have seen so often. Take off the old laurels, soldiers of the Guard, and with the bare steel win new ones. Once again I ask you to do great things, and when I look along your ranks, I cannot doubt that you will do them. Farewell, my heart goes with you; would to God I were your leader!”
He shook hands with Brienz and with the senior officers amid loud cheers from the troops, some of whom broke from the ranks to press around him, while others raised their helmets on their bayonets in warlike enthusiasm. But as the shouting ceased, a long, discordant howl of derision, till then drowned by the noise, was heard from the watching crowds—a sinister comment!
Meanwhile at the other end of the town the mobilisation of the Reserve Brigade revealed the extreme contrast between the loyalty and discipline of the Guard and the disaffection of the regiments of the Line.
An ominous silence reigned throughout the barracks. The soldiers walked about moodily and sullenly, making little attempt to pack their kits for the impending march. Some loitered in groups about the parade-ground and under the colonnade which ran round their quarters; others sat sulking on their cots. The habit of discipline is hard to break, but here were men steeling themselves to break it.
These signs did not pass unnoticed by the officers who awaited in anxious suspense the hour of parade.
“Don’t push them,” Sorrento had said to the colonels, “take them very gently;” and the colonels had severally replied that they would answer with their lives for the loyalty of their men. It was nevertheless thought advisable to try the effect of the order upon a single battalion, and the 11th Regiment was the first to receive the command to turn out.
The bugles blew briskly and cheerily, and the officers, hitching up their swords and pulling on their gloves, hurried to their respective companies. Would the men obey the summons? It was touch and go. Anxiously they waited. Then by twos and threes the soldiers shuffled out and began to form up in their ranks. At length the companies were complete, sufficiently complete, that is to say, for there were many absentees. The officers inspected their units. It was a dirty parade; the accoutrements were uncleaned, the uniforms carelessly put on, and the general appearance of the men was slovenly to a degree. But of these things no notice was taken, and as they walked along the ranks the subalterns found something to say in friendly chaff to many of their soldiers. They were greeted however with a forbidding silence, a silence not produced by discipline or by respect. Presently “Markers” sounded, the companies moved to the general parade-ground, and soon the whole battalion was drawn up in the middle of the barrack-square.
The Colonel was on his horse, faultlessly attired, and attended by his Adjutant. He looked calmly at the solid ranks before him, and nothing in his bearing revealed the terrible suspense which filled his mind and gripped his nerve. The Adjutant cantered along the column collecting the reports. “All present, Sir,” said the company commanders, but there were several whose voices quavered. Then he returned to the Colonel, and fell into his place. The Colonel looked at his regiment, and the regiment at their Colonel.
“Battalion—attention!” he cried, and the soldiers sprang up with a clatter and a click. “Form—fours.”
The word of command was loud and clear. About a dozen soldiers moved at the call of instinct—moved a little—looked about them, and shuffled back to their places again. The rest budged not an inch. A long and horrid silence followed. The Colonel’s face turned grey.
“Soldiers,” he said, “I have given you an order; remember the honour of the regiment. Form—fours.” This time not a man moved. “As you were,” he shouted desperately, though it was an unnecessary command. “The battalion will advance in quarter-column. Quick march!”
The battalion remained motionless.
“Captain Lecomte,” said the Colonel, “what is the name of the right-hand man of your company?”
“Sergeant Balfe, Sir,” replied the officer.
“Sergeant Balfe, I order you to advance. Quick—march!”
The sergeant quivered with excitement; but he held his ground.
The Colonel opened his pouch and produced his revolver with much deliberation. He looked carefully at it, as if to see that it was well cleaned; then he raised the hammer and rode up close to the mutineer. At ten yards he stopped and took aim. “Quick—march!” he said in a low menacing voice.
It was evident that a climax had been reached, but at this instant Sorrento, who, concealed in the archway of the barrack-gate, had watched the proceedings, rode into the square and trotted towards the soldiers. The Colonel lowered his pistol.
“Good morning,” said the War-Minister.
The officer replaced his weapon and saluted.
“Is the regiment ready to move off?” and then before a reply could be given he added: “A very smart parade, but after all it will not be necessary to march today. The President is anxious that the men should have a good night’s rest before starting, and,” raising his voice, “that they should drink a bumper to the Republic and confusion to
