CHAPTER VI.
"It thunders, booms, tumbles, and crashes; the mountains are falling, the world is coming to an end!"--thus did Carl's mother cry out in the village street. She refused to be comforted, and when she saw Martha in mourning, she began to shriek out: "Black! black! We shall all be charred to death!"
We succeeded at last in calming her, and then led her home, while round about us a noise like thunder seemed to come from the hills; although not a cloud was visible in the sky.
We knew that Strasburg was being bombarded. The fact was, that the sound of the cannonade struck against the rock behind the spinner's cottage, and rolled thence along the little valleys between the hills.
This lone woman, who could scarcely hear a man's voice, could distinctly perceive the roar of the artillery which shook her cottage.
"My boy is there, my good, my brave son," she cried, when she was told that Strasburg was being bombarded. Then she broke out into a sort of chant: "In Strasburg is the minster; I was in service for five years in the Blauwolken Street; in Strasburg, in Strasburg, in Strasburg,"--it sounded like a doleful song. We wanted to induce her to come to us; even Marie wanted to take charge of her; but she caught hold of her table, crying, "No, no! I shall not go from here until I am carried out."
That evening Joseph came for me, saying, that from the top of the stone-wall, the shells could be seen flying through the air. We accompanied him to the spot, and could see the shells rising, then falling and disappearing in little clouds of smoke. The stone-cutter, who had seen service as a soldier, pointed out to us the shells that exploded harmlessly in the air, and those which spread destruction as they burst.
How is it with the people over there on whom this rain of fire is falling? What are they doing at home? What do they say, and think, and what consolation and support do they bring each other? I imagined myself among them, living with them. And my niece was there, too. She had thought to find protection there, and now she was in the greatest danger. And how must my sister, yonder in the forest of Hagenau, be wringing her hands at these sounds and sights! And we are sending death and destruction among those to whom we want to cry, "Come to us, stay with us." The language the cannon speak is a dreadful one.
We had to return home at last. I was so confused and shocked, that Joseph had to lead me. I could hear the guns as I lay in bed; but after a while sleep comes to you in spite of noise and sorrow.
Marie told me the next morning that the spinner had counted the shots by the hour during the night. When she had reached one hundred, beyond which she could not count, she buried her head in the pillow, crying, "I can count no further; I cannot; it is enough!" and had then fallen asleep. Marie asked our aid, for the spinner had said that, when daylight came, she would stand it no longer; she would go to her son.
However, when the next day came she had forgotten her intention. She sat in her room, spinning, and whenever she heard the sound of a gun, would merely open her mouth, but say nothing. Not a word passed her lips for days.
Joseph wanted to visit the besiegers, but I asked him to remain with us, as I wanted to have one of my men about the house.
Every evening the young folks from the village would climb to the top of the hill behind the little stone wall, and, with the light-heartedness of youth, would enjoy themselves in spite of the destruction that was going on before their very eyes.
My sister and her daughter surprised us. The former had visited the camp; had luckily found Julius, and through him had obtained permission for her daughter to leave the fortress. She had left all her property at the mercy of the shells and of the plundering soldiers; for the opinion of the citizens was, that the German soldiers would sack the city. As Germans, they had been regarded with aversion by their neighbors and acquaintances. She left us soon again, so as to be with her husband; but her daughter, who was greatly overcome, remained with us.
Martha and Conny nursed the young wife carefully; and Martha spoke French to her, so as to please her.
A large detachment of captured and wounded French and Algerians came through our valley. The people from all the villages flocked to the high-road to see them pass. I feared that the people would show their irritation, and jeer these unfortunates: but, as if by a tacit agreement, every one kept aloof, and only words of sympathy were heard. It was only when the fantastic, and sometimes terrible-looking Africans appeared, that the dismay of the people showed itself, as they called out, "There they are, the men that were going to burn our towns and forests, the cannibals!"
Rothfuss, with my team of bays, was also in the procession. He halted a moment at the saw-mill near the bridge, and gave a merry account of the kind of load he was carrying. It consisted of wounded Turcos, and he laid great stress on the fact that the French would have nothing in common with these wicked apes. He had to keep on his way.
Great excitement was caused in the village when it was reported that Carl had returned. We all accompanied his mother and Marie down the valley, where he had halted with a squad of prisoners. Marie embraced him before us all, and the prisoners smiled, and imitated the sound of their smacking lips.
Carl had much to tell me, and could not find words to say all he wanted to, particularly in praise of the Pomeranian lancers. He said they were the right sort of fellows--as quiet and strong as the pine-trees; and it was strange to see, when they first saw the Rhine, about which so much had been sung and said, how, in their enthusiasm, they wanted to ride directly into the stream.
His mother and sweetheart accompanied him for some distance on the road, and when they turned to come back the old woman said, "Now I am satisfied; now no one shall hear me complain; I am sure that nothing will happen to him in this war."
We harvested our crops; we placed the green bough on the top of the new mill down in the valley; we began to cut wood in the forest; yet still the thunder of the bombardment of Strasburg continued.
The old meadow farmer lay at home very ill, and often said, "I shall be buried like a soldier; they will fire over my grave."
We buried the old fellow on the morning of September 2d. He had given orders that his St. Helena medal should be buried with him; but his son did not see fit to let this be done. He looked upon this so-called mark of distinction as a means of preservation, in case the French should come after all.
While we were standing at the open grave, Joseph came riding up the hill, his horse very much blown, and cried, "Napoleon is a prisoner!" We all hurried to the road where Joseph, still on horseback, read the extra aloud. It was the account of the capture of Napoleon at Sedan.
What strange coincidences occur in life! We had just buried the last man in our village who wore on his breast the badge of the infamy of our alliance with Napoleon; and now we had his successor and heir a prisoner in our hands.
As if by a preconcerted signal, the young people of the village struck up, "Die Wacht am Rhein."
Without awaiting the parson's permission--very likely he wouldn't have given it--the church-bells were rung, and the German flag was thrown to the breeze from the top of the church spire. We returned home as if in a dream.
When my niece, the Alsacienne, heard the news, she shook her head, and refused to be convinced of its truth.
She had been always accustomed to hear the lying despatches of her countrymen.
After the Sedan campaign, we all thought that the war was ended; but the French people, in their overweening confidence, still insisted on retaining the first place among nations, and resented the idea of their giving up the German provinces, of which in former days they had robbed us.
The war went on without ceasing.