The Condemned Sentinel

A cold stormy night in the month of March, 1807. Marshal Lefebvre, wlth twenty-seven thonsand French troops, had iñvested Dantzic. The city was garrisoned by seventeeu thousand Bussian and Trussian soldiers, and these, together wtth thirty thousand well armed citizens, presented nearly double the íorce which could be brought to the assault. So there was need of the utmost vigilance on the part of the sentinels, for a desperate sortie from the garrison, made unawares, might prove calamitous. At midnight, Jerome Dubois was placed upon one of the most important posts in the advance line of pickets, it being upon a narrow strip of land raised above the marshy flat,called the península of Nehrung. For more than an hour he paced his lonesome beat without hearing anything more than the moaning of the wind and the driving of the rain. At length another sound broke upon his ears. He stop]ed and listened, and presently he called : "Who's there?" "The only answer was a moaning sound. He called again, and this time he heard something like the cry of a child, and pretty soon an object came before him out from the darkness. With a quick, emphatic ïnovement he brought his musket to the charge, and ordered the Intnider to halt. "Mercy!" exclaimed the childish voice ; "Dón't shoot me. I am ïTatalie. Don't you know meV" 'Heavens!" cried Jerome, elerating the muzzle of his piece. "Is it you, dear child?" " ires ; and you are good Jerome. On, you will come and help mamma ! Come, sheisdymg! It was certainly Natahe, a Httle giii only eiglit years old, daughter of Lisette Valliant, wife of a sergeant in Jerome's own regiment, who was with the army in the capacity of nurse. . "Why, how is this, my cluld t saul Jeroine, taking the little one by the arm. -'What is it about your mother 'i ' "Oh, good Jerome, you can hear her now. Hark!" The sentinel bent his ear, but could hear only the wind and the rain "Mamma is in the dreadful mud," said the child "and is dying. She is uot far away. Oh, I can hear her crying," Éy degrees Jerome gathered from Natalie that her father had taken her out with him in the morning, and that in the evening when tlie storm came on, her mother came af ter her. The sergeant had offered to send a man back to the camp witli his wif e, lut she pief erred to return alone, feeling sure that she would meet with no trouble. The way, however, had become duik and uncertain, and she had lost the path and wandered off the edge of the morass.where she had sunk into tlie soft mud. "Oh, good Jerome," cried the little one, seizing the inan's hand, "Can't you hear her? She will die if you do not come and help hert" At that moment thesentinel fancied he heard the wail of the unf ortunate woman. "VVhat should he do '{ Lisette. the good, the beautif ui, the tenderlipart.pfl Tiise.tte. was in mortal danger, and it was not in his heart to withstand the pleadings of the child, He could go and reseue the nurse, and return to his post without detection. At all events, he could not refuse the pleading of the child. "Give me your hand, Natalie. 111 go with you." With a cry of joy the child sprang to the soldier's side ; and when she had secured his hand, she hurried him along toward the place where she had lef t her mother. It seeraed a long distance to Jerome, and once he stopped as though he would turn back. He did not f ear death ; but f eared dishonor. "Hark!" uttered the child, The soldier listened and plainly heard the voice of the suffering woman calling f or help. He hesitated no longer. On he hastened through the storm, and found Lisette sunktoher armpití in the soft morass. Fortunately a tuft of long grass had been within her reaeh, by which she had held her head above the fatal mud. It was ao easy matter to ex trícate her f i om the miry pit, as the workman had to be very careful that he himself did notlose his footing. At length she was drawn forth, and Jerome led her toward his post. "Who comes there 1" cried a voice trom the gloom. "Ileavens!" gasped Jerome, stopping and trembling from head to foot. "Who comes there!" repeated the voice. "Jerome heard the click of a musket-lock. and knew that another sentinel had been stationed at the post he had lef t. The relief had come white he was absent! "Friends with the countersign 1" he answered to the last cali of the new sentinel. He was ordered to advance, and when he had given the countersign he found himself in the presence of the, ollicer of the guard. Ia a few hurried words he told his story, and had the ofticer been alone he might have allowed the matter to rest where it was ; but there was others present, and when ordered to give up liis niusket, he obeyed without a murmur, and silently accompanied the oflicer to the camp, where he was put in irons. On the foliowing morning Jerome Dubois was brought before a courtmartial under charge of having deserted his post. He confessed that he was not guilty, and then permission was granted liim to teil liis own story. This he did in a few words; but the court could do nothingllmt pass sentence of death ; but the members thereof all signed a petition praying that Jerome Dubois might be pardoned; and tlus petition was sentto the General of the brigade, and through lüm to tlie Oeneral of the división, by wliom it was indorsed and sent np to the marshal. Lefebvro wa? kind and generousto his soldiers, almost to a fault, but lie eould not overlook so grave an errror as that which had been committed by Duboia. The orders given to the aentinel were very simple, and f oremost of evry necessity was the order forbidding Mm to leavehis post until properly relieved. To a certain extent the safety of the whole army rested upon the shoulders of each individual sentinel, aud especially upon those who at night were posted nearest the line of the enemy. "I am sorry," said the gray-haired old warrior, as he f olded np the petition, and handed it back to the olïicei who presented it. "I am sure ttaaJ man meant no wrong, and yet a great wrong was done. He knew what he was doing- he ran the risk- he was detected- he has been tried and condemned. He must suffer." They asked Lefebvre if he would see the condemned. "No, no!" the marshal cried quickly. "Should I see him and listen to onehalf his story, I might pardon him; and thal must not be done. Le him díe that thousands may be saved." The time flxed for tlie execution of Dubois was the morning succeeding he day of his trial. The result of the nterview with Marshal Lef eb v re was made known to him, and he was not at all disappointed. He blamed no one, and was only sorry he had not died upon the battle field. "I have tried to be a good soldier," he said to his captain. "1 f eel that I have done no crime that should leave a stain upon my name. The captain took his hand and assuredhim that his name should be held in respect. ïowards evening Pierre Valliant. with his wif e and child, were admitted to see the prisoner. This is a visit which Jerome would gladly have dispensed with, as his feeling was already wrought up to a piten that already unmanned him ; but he braced himself up for the interview, and would have stood it like a hero liad not littleííatalie, in the eagerness of her love and gratitude, thrown herself upon his bosom and offered to die in his stead. This tipped the briimning cup, and thetears flowed freely. Pierre and Lesette knew not what to do. They wepl and they prayed, and they would have willingly died for the noble f ellow who had been tlius coniemned, Later in the evening carne a companion who, if he lived, would at some time return to Jerome's home. First the condemned thought ef lus widowed mother. Then he Uiought of a brother and sister, and he sent them a letter of love and devotion. And ünally, he thonglit of one- a bright.eyed maid - whose vine-clad cot stood upon the banks of the Seine - one whom had loved with a love such as only great hearts can feel. "Oh, my dear friends," he cried bowmg his head upon his clasped hands, "you need not tell them a falsdhood, butifthe thing is possiblé, let them believe that I feil in battle." His compamon promised that he would do all he could, and if the trutli could not be kept back, it should be so f aithf ully told that the name of Jerome Dubois should not bear disgrace in the minds of those who had loved Mm in other days. Morning came, dull and gloomy, with driving sleet and snow ; and it an early hour Jerome Dubois was led forth to meet his fate. The place of execution had been íixed upon a low, barren spot toward the sea ; and thither his división was being marched to witness the f earf ui pnnishinent. They liad gained not more than half the distance when the sound of some strange commotion broke upon the wintry air, and very shortly an aide-decamp came dashing to the side of the General of the brigade, with the cry : "A sortie! A sortie! The enemy are out in f orce. Let this thing be stopped. The marshal directs that you lace about and advance upon the península." In an instant all was changed in that división, and the brigadier-general, who had temporary command, thundered forth his orders for the countermarch. The gloom was dissipated, and with glad hearts the soldiers turned from the thouehts of the execution of a brave comrade to thoughts of meeting the enemy. "What shall we do with the prisoner?" asked the sergeant who had charge of the guard. "Lead him back to camp," replied the captain. The direction was very simple, but the execution thereof was not to be so easy, for hardly had the words escaped the captain's lips when a squadron of Prussian cavalry carne dashing directly towards them. The división was quickly formed into four hollow squares, while the guard that held charge of the prisoner found that they were oblieed to nee. "In heiiven's name," cried Jerome, "cut my bonds and let me die like a soldier." The sergeant quickly cut the cord that bound hls elbows behind liiui, and dashec' toward thepointwlierehisown company were stationed. The rattle of muskets had commenced, and the Prussians were vainly endeavoring to break the squares of French troops. Jerome Dubois looked about him for some weapon with which to arm himself, and presently he saw a Prussian ofticer not far off reeling in his saddle as though he had been wounded. With a (juick bound he reached the spot pulled the dying offleer from lus seat and leaped into the saddle. Dubois was f ully resolved to sell his lif e on that day - sell it in behalf of France - and sell it as dear as possible. But he was not needed where he was. He knew that the Prussians could not break those hollow squares; sohe rode away thinking lo join the French cavalry. Supposing that the heaviest ftghting must be on the Nebrung, he rode his horse in that direction, and when he reached it he found that lie had not been in the least mistaken. Üpon a s'light eminence toward Hagelt burg the enemy liad planted a battery of heavy guns, supported by two regiment of infantry; and, already, with shot and shell, immense damage had been done. Marshal Lefebvre rode up shortly after the battery had opened, and very quickly made up his m'md that it must be taken at all hazards. "Take that battery," he said to a oolonel of cavalry, "and the battle is ours." Dubois heard the order, and saw the neeessity. Iïere was danger enough, gurelT; and determined to be the tirst il the fatal battery, lie kept as near i thelfladeras he dared. Half the rtif ( tunco had been fiaiue.1. when fronJ ÜW liill carne a storm of iron that plowed into the ranks of tlft Frene. Tlie colonel feil, hls body literally torn mto pieces by a shell that exploded agamst his bosom. The point upon the península now reached by the head of the assaultmg column was not more than a hundred yards; and it was literally a path oí death, as the flre f rom twelve heavy guns weve tiirned upon it. The colonel liad fallen, and very soon three other ofticers went down, leav ing the advance without a commissioned leader. The way was becoming blocked up with dead men and dead horses, and the head of the column stopped and wavered. Marshal Lefebre, from his elevated place, saw this, and his heart throbbed painf ully. If that column were routed, and the Kussian inf antry charged over the península, the result might be calamitous. But- see I A man in tne uniiorm 01 a French private, mounted upon a powerful horse, caparisoned in the trappings of a Prussian officer, witb bare head, and a bright sabré swinging in his hand, rushes to the front and urges the column forward. His words are fierce and his look is dauntless. 'Tor France and for Lefebvre!" the strange horseman cries, waving his sword aloft and pointing toward the battery. "The marshal will weep ïf we lose this day !" The brave troopers, thus led by one who fearednot todash forward, where the shot feil thickets, gave an answering shout and passed on, caring little f or the rain of death so long as tney had a lively leader to follow. Hoping that he might take the battery, and yet courting death, Jerome spurred on ; j and ünally the troops came upon the battery with irresistible forcé. It was not in the power of the canoneers to withstand the shock, and the Kussian infantry that came to their support were swept away like chaffi The battery was quickly captured ; and when the guns had been turned upon tbose who had shortly before i been their mastefs the fortune oí the day was decided. The Russians and the Prussians- horse, foot and dragoons , - such as were not taken prisoners, made the best of their way into JJantzic, having lost rnuch more than they had gained. Jerome Dubois retumed to the guard-house and gave himself up to the offlcer in charge. First a surgeon was ealled to dress several slight wounds which he had received. Next his colonel was ealled to see what should be done with him. The colonel applied to the general of brigade, and the general of brigade applied to the general of división, and the general of división applied to Marshal Lefebvre. "What shall we do with Jerome Dabois ?" "God bless him," cried the veteran general, who had heard the whole story ; 'Til pardon hini to-day, and tomorrovv 111 promote him!" And Jerome Dubois, in time, went himself to see the loved ones in Fiance ; and when he went he wore the uniform of a captain.