The Hero of the People: A Historical Romance of Love, Liberty and Loyalty

On the way he fretted over a paragraph in the letter from Billet, written as it was by Dr. Gilbert, which read:

“Why has Pitou forgot to send news about Sebastian and why does not the boy himself write news?”

Meanwhile, Father Fortier was little aware of the storm he had aroused; and nobody was more astounded when a thunderclap came to his door. When it was opened he saw on the sill the mayor, his vice, and his secretary. Behind them appeared the cocked hats of two gendarmes, and half-a-dozen curious people behind them.

“Father Fortier,” said the mayor, “are you aware of the new decree of the Minister of War?”

“No, mayor,” said he.

“Read it, then.”

The secretary read the warrant to take extra arms from the domiciles. The schoolmaster turned pale.

“The Haramont National Guard have come for the guns.”

Fortier jumped as if he meant to fly at the guardsmen.

Judging that this was the nick for his appearance, Pitou approached, backed by his lieutenant and sergeant.

“These rogues,” cried the abbe, passing from white to red, “these scums!”

The mayor was a neutral who wanted things to go on quietly; he had no wish to quarrel with the altar or the guard-house; the invectives only called forth his hearty laugh.

“You hear how the reverend gentleman treats the Haramont National Guards,” he said to Pitou and his officers.

“Because he knew us when boys and does not think we have grown up,” said Ange, with melancholy mildness.

“But we have become men,” roughly said Maniquet, holding out towards the priest his hand, maimed by a gun going off prematurely while he was poaching on a nobleman’s warren. Needless to say he was determined the nobility should pay for this accident.

“Serpents,” said the schoolmaster in irritation.

“Who will sting if trodden on,” retorted Sergeant Claude, joining in.

In these threats the mayor saw the extent of the Revolution and the priest martyrdom.

“We want some of the arms here,” said the former, to conciliate everybody.

“They are not mine but belong to the Duke of Orleans,” was the reply.

“Granted,” said Pitou, “but that does not prevent us asking for them all the same.”

“I will write to the prince,” said the pedagogue loftily.

“You forget that the delay will avail nothing,” interposed the mayor; “the duke is for the people and would reply that they ought to be given not only the muskets but the old cannon.”

This probability painfully struck the priest who groaned in Latin: “I am surrounded by foes.”

“Quite true, but these are merely political enemies,” observed Pitou; “we hate in you only the bad patriot.”

“Absurd and dangerous fool,” returned the priest, in excitement which gave him eloquence of a kind, “which is of us the better lover of his country, I who wish to keep cruel weapons in the shade, or you demanding them for civil strife and discord? which is the true son, I who seek palms to decorate our common mother, or you who hunt for the steel to rend her bosom?”

The mayor turned aside his head to hide his emotion, making a slight nod as much as to say: “That is very neatly put.” The deputy mayor, like another Tarquin, was cropping the flowers with his cane. Ange was set back, which caused his two companions to frown.

Sebastian, a Spartan child, was impassible. Going up to Pitou he asked him what was the to-do.

“An order signed by General Lafayette, and written by my father?” he repeated when briefly informed. “Why is there any hesitation in obeying it?”

He revealed the indomitable spirit of the two races creating him in his dilated pupils, and the rigidity of his brow.

The priest shuddered to hear the words and lowered his crest.

“This is rebellion,” continued Sebastian; “beware, sir!”

“Thou, also?” cried the schoolmaster, draping himself in his gown after the manner of Caesar.

“And I,” said Pitou, comprehending that his post was at stake. “Do you style me a traitor, because I came to you with the olive branch in my hand to ask the arms, and am forced this day to wrench them from you under support of the authorities? Well, I would rather appear as a traitor to my duties than give a favoring hand to the Anti-Revolution. The Country forever and above all! hand over the arms, or we will use ours!”

The mayor nodded on the sly to Pitou as he had to the priest to signify: “You have said that finely.”

The speech had thunderstricken the priest and electrified the hearers. The mayor slipped away, and the deputy would have liked to follow his example, but the absence of the two principal functionaries would look bad. He therefore followed the secretary, who led the gendarmes along to the museum, guided by Pitou who, instructed in the place was also instructed on the place of deposit.

Like a lion cub, Sebastian bounded with the patriots. The schoolmaster fell half dead on a chair.

The invaders wanted to pillage everything, but Pitou only selected thirty-three muskets, with an extra one, a rifle, for himself, together with a straight sword, which he girded on.

The others, made up into two bundles, were carried by the joyous pair of officers in spite of the weight, past the disconsolate priest.

They were distributed to the Haramontese that evening, and in presenting a gun to each, Pitou said, like the Spartan mother giving out the buckler: “Come home with it, or go to sleep on it!”

Thus was the little place set in a ferment by Pitou’s act. The delight was great to own a gun where firearms had been forbidden lest the lords’ game should be injured and where the long oppression of the gamekeepers had infused a mania for hunting.

But Pitou did not participate in the glee. The soldiers had weapons but not only was their captain ignorant how to drill them but to handle them in file or squad.

During the night his taxed brain suggested the remedy.

He remembered an old friend, also an old soldier, who had lost a leg at the Battle of Fontenoy; the Duke of Orleans gave him the privilege to live in the woods, and kill either a hare or a rabbit a-day. He was a dead shot and on the proceeds of his shooting under this license he fared very well.

His manual of arms might be musty but then Pitou could procure from Paris the new Drill-book of the National Guards, and correct what was obsolete by the newest tactics.

He called on old Clovis at a lucky moment as the old hunter was saddened by his gun having burst. He welcomed the present of the rifle which Ange brought him and eagerly embraced the opportunity of paying him in kindness by teaching him the drill.

Each day Pitou repeated to his soldiery what he had learnt overnight from the hunter, and he became more popular, the admired of men, children and the aged. Even women were quieted when his lusty voice thundered: “Heads up – eyes right! bear yourselves nobly! look at me!” for Pitou looked noble.

As soon as the manoeuvres became complicated, Pitou went over to a large town where he studied the troops on the parade grounds, and picked up more in a day from practice than from the books in three months.

Thus two months passed by, in fatigue, toil and feverish excitement.

Pitou was still unhappy in love, but he was satiated with glory. He had run about so much, so moved his limbs, and whetted his mind, that you may be astonished that he should long to appease or comfort his heart. But he was thinking of that.