The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard - How the Brigadier Held the King Part 1

**Arthur Conan Doyle** (0:00)
Chapter III of The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. How the Brigadier Held the King Here upon the lapel of my coat you may see the ribbon of my decoration, but the medal itself I keep in a leathern pouch at home, and I never venture to take it out, unless one of the modern peace generals, or some foreigner of distinction, who finds himself in our little town, takes advantage of the opportunity to pay his respects to the well-known Brigadier Gerard. Then I place it upon my breast, and I give my moustache the old Marengo twist, which brings a gray point into either eye. Yet with it all I fear that neither they, nor you either, my friends, will ever realize the man that I was. You know me only as a civilian, with an air and a manner it is true, but still merely as a civilian. Had you seen me as I stood in the doorway of the Initalamo on the 1st of July in the year 1810, you would then have known what the hussar may attain to.
For a month I had lingered in that accursed village, and all on account of a lance thrust in my ankle, which made it impossible for me to put my foot to the ground. There were three besides myself at first. Old Bouvier of the hussars of Bouchernais, Jacques Reignier of the Carrassiers, and a funny little Vauldegere captain, whose name I forget. But they all got well and hurried on to the front. While I sat gnawing my fingers and tearing my hair, and even, I must confess, weeping from time to time, as I thought of my hussars of Conflan, and the deplorable condition in which they must find themselves when deprived of their colonel. I was not a Chief of Brigade yet, you understand, although I already carried myself like one, but I was the youngest colonel in the whole service, and my regiment was wife and children to me. It went to my heart that they should be so bereaved. It is true that Villarey, the senior major, was an excellent soldier. But still, even among the best, there are degrees of merit. Ah, that happy July day of which I speak, when first I limped to the door and stood in the golden Spanish sunshine. It was but the evening before that I had heard from the regiment. They were at Pastores, on the other side of the mountains, face to face with the English, not forty miles from me by road. But how was I to get to them? The same thrust which had pierced my ankle had slain my charger. I took advice both from Gomez, the Landlord, and from an old priest who had slept that night in the inn. But neither of them could do more than assure me that there was not so much as a cult left upon the whole country side. The Landlord would not hear of my crossing the mountains without an escort, for he assured me that El Cochillo, the Spanish guerilla chief, was out that way with his band, and that it meant a death by torture to fall into his hands. The old priest observed, however, that he did not think a French hussar would be deterred by that, and if I had had any doubts they would of course have been decided by his remark. But a horse, how, was I to get one? I was standing in the doorway, plotting and planning, when I heard the clink of shoes, and looking up I saw a great bearded man with a blue cloak frogged across in military fashion coming towards me. He was riding a big black horse, with one white stocking on his near foreleg. Hello, ah, comrade, said I, as he came up to me. Hello, ah, said he. I am Colonel Gerard of the Hussars, said I. I have lain here wounded for a month, and I am now ready to join my regiment of Pastores. I am Monsieur Vidal of the Commissariat, he answered, and I am myself upon my way to Pastores. I should be glad to have your company, Colonel, for I hear that the mountains are far from safe. Alas, said I, I have no horse. But if you will sell me yours, I will promise that an escort of his horse shall be sent back for you. He would not hear of it, and it was in vain that the Landlord told him dreadful stories of the doings of El Cuchillo, and that I pointed out the duty which he owed to the army and to the country. He would not even argue, but called loudly for a cup of wine. I craftily asked him to dismount and to drink with me, but he must have seen something in my face, where he shook his head. And then, as I approached him, with some thought of seizing him by the leg, he jerked his heels into his horse's flanks, and was off in a cloud of dust.