the bullet merchant

since bonaparte had returned from mount tabor, nearly a month before, not a day had passed that the batteries had ceased to thunder, or when there had been a truce between besieged and besiegers. this was the first resistance that fortune had cast in bonaparte's path. the siege of saint-jean-d'acre lasted sixty days. there were seven assaults and twelve sorties. caffarelli died from having his arm amputated, and croisier was still confined to his couch of suffering. a thousand men had been killed or had died of the plague. and while there was still plenty of powder there were no bullets.

the report spread through the army; such things cannot be concealed from the soldiers. one morning a sergeant-major approached roland, who was in the trench with bonaparte, and said to him: "is it true, my commandant, that the commander-in-chief is in need of bullets?"

"yes," replied roland. "why?"

"oh," replied the sergeant-major, with a movement of the neck which was peculiar to him, and apparently dated back to the days when he wore a cravat for the first time, and did not like the feeling, "if he wants some i can get them for him."

"you?"

"yes, i. and not so dear either. five sous."

"five sous! and they cost the government forty!"

"you see, it would be a good bargain."

"you are not joking?"

"do you think i would joke with my superiors?"

roland went up to bonaparte and told him what the sergeant-major had just said.

[pg 632]

"these rogues often have good ideas," he said. "call him."

roland beckoned to the sergeant to come forward. he advanced with a military step, and stopped a couple of yards away from bonaparte with his hand at the vizor of his shako.

"are you the bullet merchant?" asked bonaparte.

"i sell them, but i do not make them."

"and you can furnish them for five sous?"

"yes, general."

"how do you do that?"

"ah! that is my secret! if i were to tell it, everybody would be selling them."

"how many can you furnish me?"

"as many as you wish," replied the sergeant-major.

"what must i give you for that?"

"permission to go in bathing with my company."

bonaparte burst out laughing, for he understood at once.

"very well," he said. "go!"

the sergeant-major saluted and started off at a run. shortly afterward the commander-in-chief and his aide saw the company to whom the former had given the permission to bathe pass with the sergeant-major at their head.

"come and see something curious," said bonaparte.

and taking roland's arm, he ascended a little hill, from which the whole gulf was visible.

they saw the sergeant-major set the example by rushing into the water, as he certainly would have done had he been rushing into fire, after having first removed his clothing, and wade into the sea with a part of his men, while the others scattered along the shore. roland had not understood until then.

but scarcely had the sergeant-major executed this man?uvre than the english frigates and the ramparts of saint-jean-d'acre opened fire, and a storm of bullets fell around them. as the soldiers, both those who were in the water[pg 633] and those who had remained on shore, took good care to stay at a safe distance from each other, the bullets fell into the spaces between them, and were immediately picked up without a single one being lost, not even those which fell into the water. the beach sloped gradually, and the soldiers had only to stoop and pick them up.

this strange game lasted two hours. at the end of that time the inventor of the system had collected from a thousand to twelve hundred bullets, which netted three hundred francs to the company, a hundred francs for each man lost. the company thought it a very good bargain. as the batteries of the frigates and the city were of the same calibre (16 and 12) as those used by the french army; not a bullet was lost.

the next day the company went in bathing again, and when the commander-in-chief heard the cannonading he could not resist the temptation of witnessing the strange spectacle once more, and this time some of the principal officers of the army accompanied him. roland could not contain himself. he was one of those men who go mad over the sound of cannon and who are intoxicated by the smell of powder. he dashed down to the shore in two bounds, and tossing all of his clothes except his drawers upon the shore, he sprang into the sea. twice bonaparte called him back, but he did not seem to hear.

"what ails the foolish fellow," he murmured, "that he will never let slip an opportunity to be killed?"

roland was no longer there to reply, and he would probably not have replied had he been there. bonaparte followed him with his eyes. he soon passed the cordon of bathers, and swam out until he was almost within musket range of the "tiger." they opened fire upon him, and the balls sent the water seething around him.

this did not disturb him, and his conduct so closely resembled bravado that an officer on the "tiger" ordered a boat lowered. roland longed to be killed, but he did not wish to be taken prisoner. he swam vigorously for the[pg 634] reefs which lie along the base of saint-jean-d'acre. it was impossible for the boat to pursue him among those reefs.

roland disappeared for a moment, and bonaparte was beginning to fear that some accident had befallen him, when he reappeared at the foot of the city, within the range of fire of the musketry. the turks, seeing a christian within rifle-shot, did not hesitate to fire upon him; but roland seemed to be in league with the bullets. he walked slowly back along the edge of the water. the sand on one side and the water on the other were thrown up almost at his very feet. he reached the spot where he had removed his clothes, dressed himself, and returned to bonaparte's side.

a vivandière who was with the party at the time, distributing the contents of her cask to the bullet gatherers, offered him a glass.

"ah! is it you, goddess of reason?" said roland. "you know very well that i never drink brandy."

"no," said she; "but once does not make a habit, and what you have just done deserves a drop, citizen-commandant." and she held out a little silver cup full of liquor.

"to the health of the commander-in-chief and of saint-jean-d'acre," said she.

roland raised his glass toward bonaparte and drank. then he offered her a piece of money.

"pooh!" said she, "i sell my liquor to those who need to buy courage, but not to you. besides, my husband will make a good thing out of this."

"what is your husband doing?"

"he is the bullet merchant."

"well, to judge by the cannonading, he is liable to make a fortune in a short time. where is this husband of yours?"

"there he is," she said, pointing out to roland the sergeant-major who had suggested that he be allowed to sell bullets to bonaparte. as the goddess of reason was pointing, a shell buried itself in the sand not four feet from the speculator.

the sergeant-major, who seemed to be familiar with all[pg 635] sorts of projectiles, threw himself face downward in the sand and waited. the shell burst in about three minutes, scattering a cloud of sand.

"upon my word, goddess of reason," said roland, "i am afraid that shell has made you a widow."

but the sergeant-major rose unhurt from the midst of the dust and sand. he seemed to be rising from the crater of a volcano. "long live the republic!" he shouted as he shook himself.

and on the instant, from the shore and the water, that sacred phrase, which made the dead immortal, was taken up by spectators and actors.