the last bulletin
meanwhile roland and his men, and those who had gone into the town to join him, having cherished for a time the hope that they were to be supported, were at last forced to the conviction that they had been abandoned. the shouts of victory which had answered their own became fainter and fainter, and then died away. then the volleys of musketry and cannon gradually grew fainter, until they had ceased entirely in the course of an hour. amid the other sounds which encompassed him, roland even thought that he heard the sound of the drums and trumpets sounding and beating the retreat.
then, as we have said, all these sounds ceased.
then, like a tide rising upon all sides at once, from all points of the compass, the little troop was assailed by english, turks, mamelukes, arnauts, albanians—the entire garrison, in short, of some eight thousand men.
roland formed his little troop into a square, one side of which he backed against a mosque, thus converting it into a fortress, and there, after making them swear to defend themselves to the death against these enemies from whom they knew they could expect no quarter, they waited with levelled bayonets.
the turks, full of overweening confidence in their cavalry as usual, dashed upon the little troop with such vio[pg 645]lence that, although the double volley of the french laid low over sixty men and horses, those who came up behind rode over their bodies and dashed upon the bayonets of the still smoking guns.
but there they were forced to stop. the second rank had time to reload and fire at close quarters. they had no choice but to fall back, and as they could not again cross the heap of corpses, they sought to flee to the right and left. two terrible volleys accompanied their flight and cut them down in swaths. but they returned with all the greater desperation.
then a frightful struggle ensued, a regular hand-to-hand encounter, in which the turkish horsemen, defying the murderous volleys, rushed up to the very points of the french bayonets, to discharge their pistols at their adversaries.
others again, seeing that the reflection of the sun upon the gun-barrels frightened their horses, made them walk backward, and, forcing them to rear, threw them over on the bayonets. the wounded dragged themselves along the ground, and, gliding like serpents under the gun-barrels, hamstrung the french.
roland, perceiving that the number of his men was decreasing, and that, despite the triple row of corpses which formed a rampart for the little troop, he could not hope to sustain the unequal fight much longer, had the door of the mosque opened, and with the utmost composure, continuing his murderous fire all the while, he bade his men enter, being the last to pass through the door himself. then the firing began again through every opening in the mosque; but the turks brought up pieces of artillery and trained them against the door. roland himself was near a window, and one after another, the three gunners who drew near to apply the match to the touch-hole fell. then a horsemen rode swiftly toward the gun, and, before any one could divine his motive, he fired his pistol at the priming. the gun was discharged, and the door broken in.
this broken entrance emitted such a terrible fusillade, however, that the turks presented themselves before it[pg 646] three times to enter the mosque and were repulsed each time. mad with rage, they rallied, and made a fourth attempt, but this time only a few scattered shots replied to their shouts of death. the little troop had exhausted its ammunition. the grenadiers awaited the enemy with fixed bayonets.
"friends," cried roland, "remember that you have sworn to die rather than be made prisoners by djezzar the butcher, who cut off your comrades' heads."
"we swear it!" replied roland's two hundred men with one voice.
"long live the republic!" said roland.
"long live the republic!" they all repeated after him.
and each man prepared to die, but to sell his life dearly. just then a group of officers appeared at the doorway with sidney smith at their head. they all carried their swords in their scabbards. smith raised his hat and made a sign that he wished to speak. silence ensued.
"gentlemen," he said in excellent french, "you are brave men, and it shall never be said that men who had borne themselves like heroes were massacred in my presence. give yourselves up; i will guarantee that your lives shall be spared."
"it is too much or not enough," replied roland.
"pray what do you want?"
"kill us to the last man, or let us all go."
"you are exacting, gentlemen," said the commodore; "but one can refuse nothing to such men as you. but you will permit me to furnish you with an escort of englishmen as far as the gate? otherwise none of you will reach it alive. is that agreed?"
"yes, my lord," replied roland; "and we can only thank you for your courtesy."
sidney smith left two english officers to guard the door, entered the mosque himself, and held out his hand to roland. ten minutes later the english escort arrived.
the french soldiers with fixed bayonets, and the english[pg 647] officers with drawn swords, traversed the street which led to the french camp, amid the imprecations of the mussulmans, the howling of the women, and the cries of the children. the ten or twelve wounded, among them faraud, were carried on improvised litters of gun-barrels. the goddess of reason walked beside the sub-lieutenant's litter, pistol in hand. smith and his english soldiers accompanied the grenadiers until they were out of range of the turkish guns, and as they defiled before the redcoats the latter presented arms.
bonaparte, as we have said, had retired within his tent. he called for plutarch, and read the biography of augustus; then, thinking of roland and his gallant companions, who were probably being murdered, he muttered, like augustus after the battle of teutberg: "varus, give me back my legions!"
but he had no one of whom he could demand his legions, for he had been his own varus.
suddenly he heard a great uproar and the strains of the "marseillaise" reached his ears. why did these soldiers rejoice and sing when their general was weeping with rage?
he sprang to the door of his tent. the first persons he saw were roland, his aide-de-camp raimbaud, and faraud.
the wounded man was leaning on the shoulder of the goddess of reason. behind them came the two hundred men whom bonaparte had thought lost.
"ah, my good friend," he said, pressing roland's hand, "i was mourning for you. i thought you were lost. how the devil did you get out of it?"
"raimbaud will tell you," said roland, who was in a bad humor because he owed his life to an englishman; "i am too thirsty to talk, i want something to drink."
and taking a glass full of water, which was standing upon the table, he emptied it at a single draught, while bonaparte went out to meet the soldiers, all the more delighted to see them since he had never expected to do so again.
