LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1684, 14 July 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE FORGOTTEN SENTINEL. Firmin’ Bonard's Five Years’ Vigil on the Island of Bug bn. I. The island of Rugen, in the Baltic, opposite Stralsund, is a strong natural position strongly fortified. During the campaign of 1807 Davoust had occupied it with a regiment of infantry and some companies of sappers and pioneers, and one of the infantrymen was Firmin Bonard, a young soldier posted one night as sentry on a little eminence near the harbor. It was midnight when tho guard left him, and he expected to be relieved at two o’clock, which would leave him three hours’s sleep before morning. The minutes slowly wore away and the two hours, according to the sentry’s calculation, had about expired, when he heard a sound as of footsteps approaching. ‘ Good ! Here comes the relief!’ said Firmin Bonard to himself, then aloud, ‘ Who goes there?’ There was no reply, ‘ And yet I heard something,’ muttered the soldier, ‘and I can take my oath my two hours are up.’ Almost immediately thereafter there was another rustle in the bushes, then a bark, and the poodio ‘ Capuoin,’ the dog of the regiment, and a warm personal friend of the young sentry, bounded up to him. 11.

On hearing the dog bark the sentinel at first fancied that something was wrong, and cocking his musket he cast a searching glance into the obscurity, holding his breath to listen. But there was neither sound nor sight of a foe, and ‘ Capuchin,. clamb:ring up the rocks, came bounding to Bonard’s feet. ‘ Oh, that’s you, old fellow, is it ?’ said the soldier. ‘ You found it dull, did you ? Well, ‘ Capucin,’ it is not particularly lively here. It is a pity you did’t think to invite the corporal to accompany you, for the night is decidedly cool, and I have a disposition of sleep come upon me. The corporal’s watch is always slow, and will be till he takes it to the blacksmith for repairs.’ In response to these words, to which he had patiently listened, ‘ Capuchin’ began to bark and gambol furiously round his friend. ‘ Oh, you think that if I am chilled and sleepy I had better warm my blood and wake myself up with a dance, eh ? But, ‘ Capucin,’ you have no musket to carry, or you wouldn’t friek so.’

Still ‘ Capuoin ’ continued to bark and to run, now to the right, now to the left, as if possessed, till finally losing all patience he came up to the soldier, seized him by the overcoat, and tugged so heartily at it that he tore away a fragment of the cloth. Bonard was not in the best of humor originally, now his anger was increased and transferred from the absent corporal to the present ‘ Capuoin,’ aod he saluted the animal with a lusty kick. The dog was visibly grieved to be so maltreated and misunderstood, and retired to some little distance, then slowly returned, looked reproachfully at tho soldier, and licked his hands.

‘Go! Be off with you!’ said Bonard, steeling his heart and threatening him with the butt end of his piece. ‘ Capuoin ’ seeing that he could not prevail with him at last retired, often looking back and barking invitingly. But tho sentry stood resolutely at his post and ‘Capucin ’ just reached the beach in time to embark with the corporal in the last boat, for Napoleon had formed a new strategic combination and was retiring inland and had sent Davoust orders to join him instantly, evacuating Rugen on an hour’s notice. In the bustle the corporal—every one but ‘ Capucin ’ —had forgotten about Bonard. 111.

Firmin Bonard, pacing his beat with his musket under his arm, heard three o clock strike in the distant belfrey of the old church of Rugen, then four, then five. The swallows began to twitter and the sun came up. Losing all patience, and in desperate defiance of military law, which enjoined him to remain on post till he was duly relieved, he descended from the heights and sought the guard house. ‘lf anybody is going to be shot,’ he growled, ‘it ought to be the corporal, for the idea of leaving a man on guard for six hours is absurd.’ So saying he entered the guard house and found it deserted. ‘ The devil!’ he exclaimed, and was sorely puzzled, but after a few momenta’ reflection came to the conclusion that the regiment had moved during the night to some other part of the island. Throwing his gun over his shoulders, he set off across the island and presently came to a peasant who was ploughing in a field. ‘ My good man,’ said the soldier, ‘ can you tell mo which way tho French troops have gone ?’ ‘By water,’ answered the peasant, surprised at seeing the solitary soldier : ‘ I don’t know where they have gone, but at two this morning they sailed with the greatest haste and in the completest silence.’ ‘Gone!’ said the sentry, ‘and they have abandoned me! I shall be set down as a deserter. Damn that corporal—ho not only left me on watch six hours but he has ruined my reputation—dishonored me. Now I understand poor ‘ Capucin’s’ visit; he came to warn me that they were going, and I, dull fool that I was, could not understand him. Good dog, and I kicked him—the first time one of our men ever struck him. Oh, ‘ Capuoin, Capucin,’ why didn’t you think of tearing the corporal’s coat, too ?’ And the sentinel burst into tears of regret and despair. IV.

' dome, come, my bod,' said the peasant, iindly ; ‘don’t give way so. Crying won’t mend matters. Stay here ; yon can’t do anything else. If the French return and take ’i I will explain -- thine’.’ ' - ""

you I w’U explain everj

‘ But you do not understand what martini law is—if they return there will bo no pity shown me.’

‘ Tut, tut! that is absurd. You cannot bo punished for a crime you never committed. If anybody is to be blamed it is your superiors, who forgot everything about you.’ Birmin Bonard made no answer, but swept with a despairingly' hopeful eye the distant horizon. Alas, there was not the white fleck of a single sail to be seen, and again he gave way to his grief. ‘ Take my advice,’ said the old man, * and bear up with a good heart. You, too, are from rural parts, unless I am greatly mistaken, and can find in me a friend if you are only willing to let me befriend you.’ ‘ But you know nothing about me—whether I am fit’— ‘ I am an old man and long accustomed to read the faces of my fellows,’ said the peasant, smiling. ‘ Before you took up tho musket you have held the plough. I need a laborer, vigorous and intelligent, like yonrself. Come with me and I will feed, lodge and clothe you, and see that you have something in your pocket every Saturday night for a Sunday frolic.’ ‘ I accept your offer thankfully,’ said Firmin Bonard, ‘ and you shall see that a French soldier is not lees faithful to the plough by which he gains a livelihood than ho was to the fljg of his distant country.’ V. As the farm of Peter Baxen, the peasant with whom Firmin Bonard had fallen in, was one of the largest in the island, the soldier returned to his old calling, did not lack for opportunities to show his skill and industry, and speedily convince! the rich peasant of his value. ‘ My friend,’ he said to Firmin one day, ‘ I love you as I would my own son.’ * If it were not,’ replied Firmin, * that my old father in Franco waits and hopes anxiously for my return, I should never care to leave Rugen.’ 1 You will see him once more,’ said tho farmer ; and when you go to France to tee him why should you not bring him back to Rugen with you ? That, however, we can talk of at some future time. To-day I wish to speak to you concerning my daughter.’ A flush covered the young Frenchman’s face, as the peasant’s keen eye saw. ‘lf I, am not wrong,’ he continued, ‘ she and you are very friendly ? ’ Firmin stammered something unintelligible. 1 In fact,’ the old man went on, * tho neighbours say you are in love with her.’ * What ? Who says so ? I swear to you, sir, that I have never addressed to your daughter one word which would make her aware’ — ‘ Precisely, and that is why she has desired mo to ask you to. "Sou shall marry her. I have already promised her that it would be so, and she hugged me so for a quarter of an hour by tho clock that I really thought she would strangle me.’ Firmin hugged him, too, and a fortnight later became the husband of the old man’s only child, the rich, pretty, and amiable Amelia.

Four years passed away—four years of toil and love. Firmin Bonard thought often of France, but came to forget his technical desertion. The prattling of his two children, the embraces of his wife, were a present that answered for the future ; small wonder that he forgot the past. So matters went on till one morning the signal was made that several vessels were in sight; then as they drew nearer the word went round the island :

‘lt is the French ! They are going to land !’

VI. *lt is the French 1 They are going to land 1’

The words came to Firmin’s ears like alarm guns, he felt that ho was a lost man. A sudden thought came to him, however, and reassured him somewhat; dashing to his dwelling he put on his old uniform and shako and ran to the spot where some five years before he had been so strangely abandoned.

Soon barges filled with soldiers were seen to put off from tho ships that had rounded to and dropped anchor. In the bow of one was a big white poodle that barked joyously on seeing the solid ground once more. Firmin Bonard saw the dog and fancied that he recognized in him old ‘ Capucin,’ and his eyes filled with tears. Still the barges approached ; * Capucin’— it was ‘Capucin,’ indeed—evidently recognized the island, looked round eagerly, espied the sentry, then standing on his hindlegs gave one rapturous howl, and plunging into the sea swam with all his might shoreward.

An instant later and the boats were within hailing distance. ‘ Who goes there ?’ shouted Firmin Bonard in a voice of thunder.

‘ Who goes there yourself ?’ answered one of Davoust’s staff from the leading boat; ‘ who are you, anyhow ?’ ‘ Firmin Bonaid, private of- the Sixtyeighth of tho line, on guard.’ ‘On guard ? How long have you been on guard ?’ ‘ Since twelve o’clock on the night of May 13th, 1807.’ At this reply every one burst out laughing. The first boat’s prow had not quite touched the strand when ‘ Capucin’ had scrambled up the steep reck, and with a tremendous bound cast himself, barking furiously, into the arms of his old friend. Barks, gambolling somersaults, licking of hands, face, feet—all imaginable demonstrations of canine joy. ‘Go on, old fellow,’ sobbed the soldier, with tears running'down his cheeks ; ‘ tear my coat and muddy it as much as you like to-day, and I wont say anything. I remember when I struck you for showing me all your affection and intelligence.’ VII.

When he had somewhat recovered from his emotion, Firmin Bonard, followed by his faithful dog, went down to the beach to greet his comrades and tell his story. Luckily the corporal, now an officer on Davoust’s staff, was there, and would corroborate it. The regiment feasted him royally, and he in return invited everyone to tho farm, where ho and his wife did the honors cordially. It was not long ere the news reached Marshal Davoust’s ears. He laughed heartily at Firmin’s Bouard’s stratagem, and having satisfied himself that the soldier’s antecedents were irreproachable, ordered his discharge to be made out in due form.

‘ Far bo it from me,’ said the Marshal, ‘ after he has been on watch for five years without being relieved to send this gallant fellow before a court-martial.’ Firmin Bonard remained on the farm. Ho visited France that year and brought lii father back to the Island of Rugen. His children and grandchildren to-day hold the most important positions there, and their family is known as ‘ the family of the French sentry.’ When tho French again withdrew from the Island ‘Capucin’ resigned his commission in the Sixty-eighth of tho line. He had had enough of glory, and tho quiet life of abundance and happiness that his friend led at the farm was more to his taste. He came to understand—wise dog ! —that life on the farm might be quite as pleasant as life in camp, and that there were infinitely fewer dangers in it. So ‘ Capucin ’ remained at the farm.