H.J. Gaudreau - Betrayal in the Louvre (4 page)

The Queen of course knew the purpose of Luckner’s visit.  She knew, she understood, but she did not believe it necessary.  Events would eventually prove her wrong. “Where do you intend to take my child?” she asked.  Already tears were forming in her eyes.

“I do not believe it wise to tell you Madame, just know that he will be safe.”  The General saw her distress.  He tried to soften his voice even more, “I am to bring a governess of your choosing.”

The Queen held the boy tightly.  She sobbed silently.  This was too fast, too abrupt.  Finally, she whispered, “No, no, mon General.”  Marie, knowing her pleading would do no good, finally gathered herself.  “Take Yolande”.

Luckner turned to the Sergeant, “Gather up the Duchesse, no luggage.” 

“You,” he said pointing at the Private, “Assist the young girl outside, pack one small trunk for the Dauphin.  You must be able to carry it yourself.”

He took the boy from the Queen’s arms.  The child began to cry, just small convulsions. Luckner could feel the shudders as he held the child.  She simply stared at him, locking his eyes with an emotion he could not identify, hate, gratitude, confusion, he didn’t know.  He felt a bit of pity for the woman, but only a small amount.  He was a soldier; he had his orders.

He lifted the boy to his shoulder, turned and walked out of the room.  Marie Antoinette sat and sobbed.  She was a mother who would never see her son again.

Chapter 6

Colonel DeAubry had had some difficulty finding a simple four poster carriage for the General’s use.  Eventually, one of the men discovered a sadly used, shabby example in a small shed near the quarters of one of the many bureaucrats which staffed the palace.  It was perfect, exactly like the many that clogged the streets of Paris day and night.  They harnessed four horses from the King’s stables and were ready for the General shortly thereafter.

They did not have long to wait.  The General came hurrying into the stables holding a young boy, closely followed by the Private carrying a trunk.  The child looked about the stables, did not find his mother, or for that matter anyone he knew, and began to cry again.  At this the General looked exceedingly uncomfortable.  His discomfort did not last long as soon thereafter the Sergeant appeared with the handsome duchesse de Polignac.  She immediately went to the child and calmed him. 

The General then examined the turn out.  He did not like the horses.  They were much too fine for the carriage and would draw unwanted attention.  A sharp word to the Colonel and soon they found a less well muscled set of horses, unmatched in any way and quickly had them reharnessed to the carriage.  This detail attended to the General then directed the Sergeant and the Private to remove their uniform coats and replace them with plain cloaks from the stable tack room.  He did the same.  Satisfied, he returned to the courtyard.  Watching the men as they completed last minute details he frowned.  Their uniforms would stand out, but there was nothing for that now.

Taking Colonel DeAubry by the arm he spoke in a low tone.  “We must pass unnoticed.  We shall proceed in three groups.  Our advance guard must be at least a mile in front of the carriage.  The distance will disassociate the carriage from the troops.  They will appear as a company simply moving through the countryside on some urgent business.  Our rear guard must be at least a half-mile behind.  Is that understood?”

DeAubry did not like this arrangement and shook his head.  “Oui, Mon General, but our defense will be slow to react should anything threaten the carriage.” 

Luckner thought about this then said, “I know, but we cannot risk being noticed.  We shall make for the castle at Sedan.  It is heavily fortified and the troops are loyal to the King there.  We will travel through this night and tomorrow.  I believe we can make Reims before we need rest.  We’ll find someplace outside of the town and spend tomorrow night there.”  The Colonel nodded his agreement and soon they had settled on the route of march.  In moments the advance guard was sent on their way.

Luckner now turned his attention back to the coach.  The duchesse and Dauphin were inside.  The boy was peeking out of the window at the General and Colonel.  Luckner went to the coach, opened the door and closed all the window curtains. 

Stepping to the previously selected Sergeant and Private he asked if either had experience driving a four-in-hand.  The Private brightened and said he had driven the hearse in his village from the time he was twelve.  Luckner examined the man…..no, boy.  How could there be so many children in the Army?  The boy couldn’t be older than fifteen.  “Alright, you drive.”  “You,” he said, indicating the Sergeant, “ride as the rear coachman”.  He then examined two coachmen’s blunderbusses his Adjutant had removed from another four-poster and placed on the seats of the driver and coachman.  They were already loaded, but Luckner reprimed them himself and handed one to the Sergeant.  The other he tucked under his arm. 

Luckner then surveyed his small band, it would have to do.  With a wave he sent the advance guard ahead.  Then, he inspected the coach and tack one last time, a small shove sent the Private to the driver’s box.  He waited a few moments to ensure the advance guard had achieved their separation and, with a quick glance at the Colonel, a shouted “
Bonne chance
” he took his position atop the carriage.  One more glance around his small party, a nudge of the Private’s shoulder, and they were rolling out of the stables.  Ten minutes later the rear guard also left the palace grounds.

They did not stop that night.  They did switch teams in the morning, and by the next evening they were nearing Riems.  Colonel DeAubry sent word to his advance guard and soon they had discovered a small roadhouse hidden from view by trees and shrubs and considerably off the main road.  The men set up camp behind the roadhouse barn.  The General and duchesse took rooms above the small tavern.  Colonel DeAubry had the few patrons removed and kept in a small shed behind the tavern for the night.  He then posted several men inside the tavern itself.  He ensured his men stayed alert by paying the keeper to place all alcohol under lock and key.  He stressed the importance of this arrangement by thrusting the barrel of his pistol into the right nostril of the man as he set out his terms.  Should any traveler find his way to this roadhouse during the upcoming evening he would be told there was no room. 

Colonel DeAubry had begun this march with forty-eight men on horseback and two riding the carriage.  But they had moved quickly, only stopping to change the carriage horses that morning.  Even the best cavalry unit could not sustain that kind of pace for that distance without men being lost or horses throwing shoes, especially when a substantial portion of that march is at night.  This was not the best of times. They had lost twelve men to poor horses, a desertion or two, and other issues.  He now had thirty-six men on horseback.  He hoped several would regain the column by morning but, knowing the terrible lack of food throughout the countryside, he knew their chances of finding fit horses were very slim.

At first light the advance group, now down to twenty men, decamped and rode away from the roadhouse to the woods nearly a hundred yards behind.  Once hidden in the woods they turned north-northeast and paralleled the road.  After thirty minutes they found a small stream, really no more than a ditch, with brush on both sides leading back to the road.  Thus they were able to reenter the road and proceed on their way.  At the same time two men from the rear guard departed the roadhouse via the long drive. They were sent ahead for a half-mile, then turned and rode back to the roadhouse, giving the all clear.  The General’s coach left the roadhouse immediately thereafter with the rear guard taking up their normal half-mile position en train.

The day passed routinely until they reached the center of the small village of Rethal.  There, in a gentle sweeping curve of the road to the right, for no apparent reason, Colonel DeAubry’s horse slipped on the wet cobblestone.  DeAubry, having spent a lifetime on horseback, had his left leg over the neck of the horse and had begun to jump to the ground even before the horse landed on its side.  DeAubry landed on his feet, but squarely in the middle of a small pool of liquid, impolitely put there by chamber pot of the occupant of the overhanging second floor.  Not able to retain his footing he went to the ground and ended up sitting squarely in the foul liquid.  To say he was not amused was an understatement. 

Finding his horse now lame, he looked for a replacement.  His adjutant offered his, but the two had been together for over a year and DeAubry respected that bond.  His problem was resolved shortly thereafter as the men found the local Priest maintained a fine saddle horse.  DeAubry, having had a poor experience with a Priest in his youth didn’t mind taking the horse at all.  He promised to pay a fair price for the horse the next time he passed through the town; all the while knowing the odds of seeing this place again were slim and none.  

The delay infuriated the Colonel but did provide some sound intelligence.  In the center of the village stood a small kiosk.  On it, a poster, crudely printed, described a rally to take place this day in the town of Poix-Terron.  The rally was to protest against the ancient regime.  It appeared to be led by one Claude Moen the local representative to the commune in Paris.  Monsieur Moen had become fired with his democratic zeal during his adventures in the Americas with Rochambeau during the late war with England.  Those democratic feelings, combined with a self-serving and violent personality, made Moen an unusually dangerous man.  DeAubry didn’t know any of this, but he did recognize a threat to their anonymity.  Word must be sent to the advance guard and to the General to avoid Poix-Terron at all costs.  To this end, he directed one of his men to commandeer a woodsman’s cloak and hat, then ride ahead to track down his comrades. 

Colonel DeAubry’s luck held.  His messenger was successful and at Neuvizy both the advance guard and the General altered course for Sauville.  This portion of the journey was difficult, the roads oft times degenerating into nothing more than two wagon tracks through the fields.  Nevertheless, they pressed on.  In a field east of Vendresse they stopped.  The Dauphin now thought this to be a great adventure; he had proven to be a good traveler.  The duchesse on the other hand, was none to happy with the trip, especially her sleeping arrangements and toilet opportunities for the coming evening.  The General made both the Dauphin and the Duchesse sleep inside the coach.  He, being perfectly comfortable outside, elected to sleep under the carriage.  The rest of the men pitched small tents or slept under their blankets on the ground.

Morning found DeAubry again adjusting his troops, owing to muddy ground, more poorly shod horses and bad roads.  He again sent twenty men in the advance guard but was forced to cut the rear guard to ten, including himself.  He did not like this situation and suggested to the General that they were close enough to Sedan to simply rejoin the entire troop and march into the castle as a unit.  This certainly seemed a more defensible way to move.  The General considered this, but owing to Monsieur Moen’s activities decided that stealth was a more effective means of protecting their charges and he dismissed the Colonel’s suggestion.

The road to Sedan exits Cheehery and turns sharply left, crosses several fields and not much further along enters Cheveuges.  From Cheveuges, Sedan is only approximately four miles distant.  The road into Cheveuges runs parallel to a long, wooded low ridge.  At the end of the ridge and bisecting it flows a small brook, its sides choked with long grasses.  The road ran along the ridge to what was once a small woodlot, the wood having found its way to fireplaces throughout Cheveuges many years ago.  The road turned sharply right around the now vacant woodlot, and ran hard up along the brook.  On the near side of the brook stood a
ferme maconnaise
.  The two-story barn had an overhanging roof, with tall pillars, its roof tiles were round and it looked freshly built.  Just in front of the barn the road turned back to the left and crossed the brook on a small wooden bridge.  From there it ran straight into the southeastern end of the village. 

Midday found the advance guard having crossed over this small bridge and passing through Cheveuges.  The Lieutenant in charge was tired, and not knowing the town was the home of one Monsieur Claude Moen, was not especially alert as his band rode through the very middle of the hamlet.  But then, there was nothing peculiar to alert him.  In fact, there was nothing to catch his attention at all.  The streets were completely empty, devoid of people, dogs, pigs, or chickens.  The Lieutenant exited the village, saw the walls of Sedan in the distance and, just slightly, quickened his pace. 

Some fifteen minutes behind the lead group came the coach.  General Luckner rode in the coachman’s position as did the other guard.  The young driver, armed, sat in the box.  The Duchesse de Polignac and Dauphin rode inside.  The coach slowed considerably to make the hard right hand turn at the phantom woodlot, did not accelerate and then began to turn back to the left to cross the small bridge.  At that point, gunfire erupted from the far side of the brook.  The horse in the near wheeler position was shot through the head and instantly collapsed in harness.  Its lifeless body immediately stopped the coach.  General Luckner, who had caught sight of a musket barrel stretching above the long grass as its owner took aim, had begun to stand when a ball struck him in the thigh, its force knocking him off the coach. 

Screams erupted from inside the four-poster.  In the momentary lull that always occurs after a volley of musket fire, occasioned by the time necessary to reload, rod, prime and aim the weapon, General Luckner picked himself up from the ground, opened the door of the coach and pulled the Dauphin to the ground.  He then began a quick, limping trot to the new barn standing beside the road.  Immediately behind him came his two men and the Duchesse de Polignac.  A second volley erupted before they had taken more than a few steps but the coach and remaining horses blocked their assailant’s aim and the rounds passed near them without effect. 

Colonel DeAubry, hearing the gunshots urged his horse to a gallop.  He and his men were at the scene within minutes.  The slight breeze, and the time necessary for the horses to cover the half-mile to the scene had completely dissipated the musket smoke and Colonel DeAubry’s troops were thus at the considerable disadvantage of not knowing from where the gunfire had come.  Additionally, they had not seen the General and his party take refuge in the barn.  Therefore, the normal and natural thing to do was proceed immediately to the now riddled coach.  As they surrounded the turn-out another volley of gunfire blasted from the far bank of the brook.  Three of DeAubry’s men fell to the ground, one dead before impact.  The Colonel dropped from his horse, examined the inside of the coach and, finding no one inside turned his attention to his antagonists.  “Kill those pigs” he shouted sending his remaining five men across the bridge. 

Fortunately for DeAubry’s men, only fifteen peasants had set the ambush.  Of those, only half had firearms and none of those were, as of yet, reloaded.  Their owners did not possess the skill and speed of a trained military man in that particular art.  The soldiers were on them in seconds.  The work was quickly and efficiently done.  Muskets were fired, then pistols, then swords finished the gruesome task.