CHAPTER XV
WITHIN THE TENT
Three days after the scene we have just described, on the 4th of January, in the evening, the French, despite Lord Wentworth's confident predictions, had made a great advance.
They had passed not only the bridge of Nieullay, but also the fort of the same name, of which they had been in possession since the morning, as well as of all the arms and stores which it contained.
From that strong position they could effectually bar the way against any Spanish or English reinforcements coming by land.
Such important results were surely well worth the three days of furious and mortal combat which they had cost.
"Is this a dream?" cried the haughty governor of Calais, when he saw his troops fleeing in disorder toward the city, despite his brave struggle to induce them to return to their posts.
To put the finishing touch to his humiliation, he had to follow them; for his duty required him to be the last to withdraw.
"Fortunately," remarked Lord Derby to him when they were safely within the walls,—"fortunately, Calais and the Old Château will be able to hold out two or three days longer, even with the few troops still at our disposal. The Risbank fort and the harbor are still open, and England is not far a way."
Lord Wentworth's council were unanimously of the opinion that their safety lay in that direction, and it was no longer time to heed the voice of pride. An express must be despatched at once to Dover. On the following day, at the latest, strong reinforcements would arrive, and Calais would be saved.
Lord Wentworth realized the situation, and decided to adopt this course. A vessel set sail at once, carrying an urgent message to the governor of Dover.
Then the council took measures to concentrate all their energies upon the defence of the Old Château, which was the vulnerable side of Calais, inasmuch as the sea, the sand-dunes, and a handful of the civic guard would be more than sufficient to protect the Risbank fort.
While the besieged were thus preparing to make a brave resistance at the probable points of attack, let us glance for a moment at the camp of the besieging army outside the city, and see particularly how Vicomte d'Exmès, Martin-Guerre, and their gallant recruits were employing themselves on this evening of January 4.
Being soldiers, not sappers and miners, and having no duties in connection with the digging of trenches or siege works, but serving only when there was fighting to be done or an assault to be made, they were now taking their well-earned rest. We need only draw aside the door of a tent pitched a little apart on the right of the camp to find Gabriel and his troop of volunteers. The tableau thus presented to view was picturesque and varied.
Gabriel, with bowed head, was sitting in a corner upon the only stool which the establishment could boast, apparently plunged in profound abstraction.
At his feet Martin-Guerre was fitting the buckle of a sword-belt. He looked anxiously at his master from time to time, but did not presume to interrupt the silent meditation in which he was absorbed.
Not far from them, on a sort of couch made of cloaks, a wounded man lay moaning. Alas! the sufferer was no other than the ill-fated Malemort.
At the other end of the tent the pious Lactance was telling his beads with great animation and fervency. Lactance had been unfortunate enough at the storming of Fort Nieullay that morning to knock on the head three of his brothers in Jesus Christ; for that he owed his conscience three hundred Paters and as many Aves. That was the ordinary penance which his confessor had laid upon him for those he killed; wounded men counted only for half.
Near him, Yvonnet, after having carefully cleaned and brushed his clothes, which were stained with mud and powder, was looking about to find some corner where the ground was not too damp, so that he might stretch himself and take a little rest, for the prolonged watching and toil were not well suited to his delicate constitution.
Two paces from Yvonnet, the two Scharfensteins, uncle and nephew, were making complicated calculations on their enormous fingers. They were figuring out the probable value of their morning's booty. The nephew had been fortunate enough to lay his hand upon a valuable suit of armor; and the worthy Teutons, with beaming countenances, were dividing in advance the money which they expected to receive for their rich prize.
The veterans, in a group in the centre of the tent, were playing at dice; and the players and bystanders alike were following with much interest the varying chances of the game.
A huge smoking torch fixed in the earth lighted up the pleased or disappointed faces, and cast an uncertain, flickering light upon the features of the others, with their contrasted expressions, which we have tried to describe and sketch in the half-darkness.
Gabriel raised his head, as poor Malemort uttered a more dolorous groan than usual, and said to his squire,—
"Martin-Guerre, what time is it now?"
"Monseigneur, I can't tell very accurately," Martin replied, for this stormy night has put out all the stars; "but I imagine that it is not far from six o'clock, for it has been dark more than an hour."
"The surgeon promised to come at six o'clock, did he not?"
"At six precisely, Monseigneur. See, some one raises the curtain; yes, there he is."
Vicomte d'Exmès cast his eyes upon the new arrival, and recognized him at the first glance. He had seen him but once before; but the surgeon's face was one of those which when once seen are never forgotten.
"Master Ambroise Paré!" cried Gabriel, rising.
"Monsieur le Vicomte d'Exmès!" said Paré, with a low bow.
"Ah, Master, I had no idea you were in camp, and so near us!" said Gabriel.
"I try always to be where I can be of the most service," the surgeon responded.
"Oh, I recognize your noble heart in that! and I am doubly glad that you are here to-day, for I need to avail myself of your knowledge and skill."
"Not for yourself, I trust," said Ambroise Paré. "Of whom do you speak?"
"It is one of my people," said Gabriel. "This morning, while charging in a sort of frenzy upon the retreating English, he received a lance-thrust in the shoulder from one of them."
"In the shoulder? It may not be a very serious matter, then," said the surgeon.
"I am afraid it is, however," said Gabriel, in a lower tone; "for one of the wounded man's comrades, Scharfenstein there, tried in such a rough and awkward fashion to pull out the lance-head that he broke it off, and the iron remained in the wound."
Ambroise Paré's face for a moment assumed an expression which augured ill for the sufferer.
"Let me see him," he said, with his accustomed calmness.
He was conducted to the patient's bed. All the veterans had risen and surrounded the surgeon, each one abandoning his game or his reckoning or whatever he was engaged in. Lactance alone continued to mumble his beads in his corner; for when doing penance for his doughty deeds he never allowed himself to be interrupted except to perform others.
Ambroise Paré removed the bandages in which Malemort's shoulder was enveloped, and examined the wound very carefully. He shook his head doubtfully, as if in dissatisfaction, but said aloud,—
"This is nothing."
"Ho, ho!" grumbled Malemort. "If it is nothing, can I go and fight again to-morrow?"
"I don't think so," said Ambroise Paré, probing the wound.
"Ah! you hurt me a bit, did you know it?" said Malemort.
"Yes, I suppose I do," was the surgeon's reply; "but courage, my friend!"
"Oh, I am brave enough," said Malemort. "After all, this has been tolerable so far. Will it be much worse when you have to extract that infernal piece of iron?"
"No, for here it is," said Ambroise Paré, triumphant, holding up, so that Malemort could see, the lance-head he had succeeded in removing.
"I am very much obliged, Monsieur le Chirurgien," said Malemort, courteously.
A murmur of admiring wonder welcomed the masterly skill of Ambroise Paré.
"What! is it all over?" said Gabriel. "Why, it's perfectly marvellous."
"We must agree too," rejoined Ambroise, smiling, "that the wounded man was not afraid of pain."
"Nor the operator unskilful, by the Mass!" cried a new-comer behind the soldiers, whose entrance nobody had noticed amid the general anxiety.
But at the well-known voice all stood aside respectfully.
"Monsieur le Duc de Guise!" said Paré, recognizing the features of the commander-in-chief.
"Yes, Master," rejoined the new-comer, "Monsieur de Guise; and I am amazed and delighted with your superb skill. By my patron, Saint François, I have just been watching at the hospital some downright blockheads of doctors, who have done more harm to our soldiers with their instruments, I swear, than the English with their weapons. But you extracted this iron stake, upon my word, as easily and gently as if it had been a gray hair. And I do not know you! What is your name, Master?"
"Ambroise Paré, Monseigneur," said the surgeon.
"Well, Master Ambroise Paré," said the duke, "I promise you that your fortune is made,—on one condition, however."
"And may I know what the condition is, Monseigneur?"
"That if I get wounded or bruised, which is very possible, especially in these days, you will take charge of me and treat me with as little ceremony as you showed this poor devil."
"Monseigneur, I will do it," said Ambroise, bowing. "All men are equal in suffering."
"Hum!" rejoined François de Lorraine, "you will try, in the case I have mentioned to you, that they may be equal also in the matter of being cured."
"Will Monseigneur permit me now," said the surgeon, "to close and bandage this man's wound? There are many other wounded men who are in need of my services to-day."
"Do so, Master Ambroise Paré," the duke replied. "Go on without paying any more heed to me. I am in haste to see you on your way to deliver as many patients as possible from the hands of our cursed bunglers. Besides, I must speak with Monsieur d'Exmès."
Ambroise Paré at once set about dressing Malemort's wound.
"Monsieur le Chirurgien, I thank you again," said the patient; "but if you will excuse me, I have still another favor to ask of you."
"What is that, my fine fellow?" asked Ambroise.
"Well, it's like this, Monsieur le Chirurgien," said Malemort. "Now that I can no longer feel that horrible stump in my flesh, it seems to me as if I were almost well."
"Yes, almost," said Ambroise, pressing the ligatures together.
"Well, then," said Malemort, in a modest but unembarrassed tone, "will you be kind enough to say to my master, Monsieur d'Exmès, that if there is any fighting to-morrow, I am in perfectly fit condition to take part in it!"
"You fight to-morrow!" cried Ambroise Paré. "Ah! you must not think of it!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon, but I can't help thinking of it," rejoined Malemort, sadly.
"My poor fellow," said the surgeon, "just remember that I order a week of perfect rest,—at least a week in bed, and a week of light diet!"
"Light diet, so far as food is concerned, if you please," said Malemort, "but not abstinence from battle, I beg you."
"You are insane!" resumed Ambroise Paré; "if you but raise your head, the fever will seize you, and you will be a dead man. I said a week, and I will not take off an hour."
"Oh!" roared Malemort, "in a week the siege will be at an end. I shall never get my fill of fighting."
"What a blood-thirsty fellow he is!" said the Duc de Guise, who had been listening to this singular dialogue.
"That is Malemort all over," said Gabriel, smiling; "and I beg you, Monseigneur, to give orders to have him taken to the hospital, and carefully watched there; for if he hears the noise of a mêlée, he is quite capable of trying to get out of bed, in spite of everything."
"Oh, well, that's a very simple matter," said the Duc de Guise. "Give orders yourself to his comrades to carry him there."
"But, Monseigneur," Gabriel rejoined with some embarrassment, "it is quite possible that I shall have work for my brave fellows to do to-night."
"Oho!" said the duke, looking in surprise at Vicomte d'Exmès.
"If Monsieur d'Exmès wishes," said Ambroise Paré, who had drawn near them after he had dressed the wound, "I will send two of my assistants with a litter to take this wounded fire-eater away."
"I am very much obliged to you, and gladly accept your offer; I commend him to your most watchful care," said Gabriel.
Malemort gave vent to another despairing roar.
Ambroise Paré withdrew, having taken leave of the Duc de Guise. At a sign from Martin-Guerre, all but Monsieur d'Exmès retired to the farther end of the tent, and Gabriel was left tête-a-tête with the general directing the siege.