FOOTNOTES:
[9] Drum-major.
CHAPTER XVI.
The mountaineers were almost beside themselves with joy at their victory; they wrung each other's hands, lauded each other to the skies, and looked upon themselves as the most renowned of heroes.
Catherine, Louise, Doctor Lorquin, every one had gone out of the farm, shouting, congratulating themselves, looking at the traces of the balls, the mounds blackened by the powder; then at Joseph Larnette, with his fractured skull, lying extended in his trench; Baumgarten, with his arm hanging helpless by his side, on his way to the hospital, looking as pale as death; and Daniel Spitz, who, in spite of his sword-cut, wanted to stay and go on fighting; but the doctor would not listen to this, and forced him to return to the farm.
Louise came with the little cart and distributed brandy to the combatants; and Catherine Lefévre, on the edge of the ascent, stood looking upon the dead and wounded lying thickly scattered along the road, which was tracked with their blood. There they lay, poor fellows, young and old, all heaped indiscriminately together, with faces as white as wax, eyes staring wide open, and outstretched arms. Some few tried to rise, and instantly fell heavily back; others were looking upwards, as if they were still afraid of being shot at; while some again were dragging themselves slowly along to get under shelter from the balls.
Several seemed resigned to their fate, and only seeking a quiet place to die in, or else straining their eyes after their regiment returning to Framont; that regiment, with which they had quitted their native village, with which they had first made a long campaign, and which was now abandoning them to die!
"Our comrades will see old Germany again," thought they; "and when the captain or the sergeant is asked, 'Did you know such a one: Hans, Kasper, Nickel of the 1st or 2nd company?' they will answer, 'Stay—it's very likely—had he not a scar on the ear, or on the cheek? Fair or brown hair, five or six feet in height? Yes, I know him. He is left in France, by the side of a little village whose name I don't remember. The mountaineers massacred him on the same day as the big major Yéri Peter; he was a brave lad. And so good night.'"
Perhaps, among the number, there might have been one who thought of his mother; of a pretty girl in his own country, Gretchen or Lotchen, who had given him a riband while crying her eyes out as he was setting off—"I shall wait for your coming back, Kasper; I shall never marry any one but you!" Ah, my poor lass, you will have to wait a long while!
It was not a pleasant sight to look upon, and as Dame Lefévre beheld it, she thought of her own Gaspard.
Hullin, who had just arrived with Lagarmitte, called out, in a jovial tone:
"Well, my lads, you have smelt powder; a thousand thunders! This will do. The Germans have nothing to boast of in this day's work."
Then he embraced Louise, and ran to Dame Lefévre.
"Are you contented, Catherine? Things are going well with us. But what's the matter? I see no smile on your face."
"Yes, Jean-Claude, everything is going as well as can be. I am contented; but just look down on the road there! What frightful slaughter!"
"It is war," was Hullin's grave reply.
"Is there no way of bringing up here that boy who is looking at us with his large blue eyes? It wrings my heart to see him; or that tall, dark one, who is binding up his leg with his handkerchief?"
"Impossible, Catherine; it grieves me, too; but we should have to cut steps in the ice to descend to them, and then the Germans, who will be sure to be back in an hour or two, would follow us by them. Come away. We must announce the victory to all the villages round; to Labarbe, to Jerôme, to Piorette. Here, Simon, Niklo, Marchal, come here; you must set off at once to carry the great news to our comrades. Materne, you keep a sharp look-out, and at the slightest movement, let me know."
As they drew near the farm, Jean-Claude saw the reserve body, with Marc Divès on horseback in the midst of his men. The smuggler was complaining bitterly of having been left, as he called it, to fold his arms and do nothing. He looked upon himself as dishonoured, for having borne no part in the late fray.
"Bah!" said Hullin, "so much the better; and besides, you are protecting us on our right. Just look down below there. If we are attacked in that direction, you shall march to the defence."
Divès said nothing; his face wore an expression at once sad and indignant; and his tall followers, wrapped in their cloaks, with their long rapiers suspended outside, did not seem to be in a bit better humour: they looked as if they were plotting vengeance.
Hullin, not being able to console them, entered the farm. Doctor Lorquin was just beginning the operation of extracting the ball from the wound of Baumgarten, who was groaning fearfully.
Pelsly, standing on the threshold of his house, was trembling from head to foot. Jean-Claude begged him to supply him with paper and ink, in order that he might despatch his orders throughout the mountain-side; but it was with difficulty that the poor Anabaptist could comply with his request, so great was his agitation.
He managed it, however, at last, and messengers set off in all directions, quite proud of being deputed to announce the first battle and the victory.
A few mountaineers, who had come into the large room, were warming themselves by the stove, and talking in an excited manner. Daniel Spitz had already undergone the amputation of his two fingers, and was sitting behind the stove, with his hand bound up in linen.
Those who had been posted behind the barricades before daybreak, not having breakfasted, were then getting a crust and a mug of wine, shouting, gesticulating, and bragging with their mouths full. Some were going out to cast a look upon the trenches, others coming back to warm themselves, and everybody, in speaking of Riffi, and his dismal lamentations on horseback, and his plaintive cries and entreaties, laughed till their sides ached.
It was eleven o'clock. These comings and goings lasted till noon, the moment when Marc Divès suddenly entered, exclaiming, "Hullin! where is Hullin?"
"Here I am."
There was something strange in the tone of the smuggler's voice; just before furious at not having taken his part in the struggle, he seemed triumphant. Jean-Claude followed him, greatly alarmed, and the large room was cleared in an instant, for every one was convinced, by Marc's excited manner, that something serious had happened.
To the right of the Donon extends the ravine of the Minières, where rages a torrent when the snow begins to melt: it descends from the top of the mountain to the bottom of the valley.
Just opposite the plateau defended by the mountaineers, and on the other side of the ravine, at a distance of five or six hundred yards, is a sort of uncovered terrace, with a very steep descent, which Hullin had not judged necessary to occupy provisionally, not wishing to divide his forces; and seeing, besides, that it would be easy for him to strengthen this position by means of fir trees, and defend it in the event of the enemy showing signs of attacking it.
Judge, then, of the consternation of the brave man, when, on reaching the threshold of the farm, he saw two companies of Germans climbing up by this side, in the middle of the Gardens of Grandfontaine, with two field-pieces drawn on heavy carriages, and seemingly suspended over the precipice. All were pushing hard at the wheels, and in a few moments more the cannons would reach the platform. It was like a thunderbolt to Jean-Claude; he turned pale, and then went in a fearful rage with Divès. "Could you not have warned me sooner?" he roared. "Did I not bid you, above all things, to keep a good look-out on the ravine? We are surprised; they will take us in flank; cut off the road. Everything is gone to the devil!"
The spectators, and old Materne himself, who had just run to the spot in the utmost haste, trembled at the glance he threw upon the smuggler.
The latter, in spite of his wonted boldness, stood speechless and chapfallen, not knowing what answer to make. "Come, come, Jean-Claude," said he, at length; "be calm; it is not as bad as you think. We've not had our turn yet, we fellows. And then, we're in want of cannon; it's just the very thing for us."
"Yes, just the very thing indeed, you great fool! It was your vanity that made you wait till the last moment, wasn't it? You wanted to fight, to be able to swagger and boast; and, to gain your ends, you risk the lives of us all. See! look! there are others already preparing to set out from Framont."
True enough, another column, much stronger than the first, was then leaving Framont, and advancing, at the double, towards the defences. Divès said not a word. Hullin, governing his anger, grew suddenly calm in the presence of such imminent danger.
"Go back to your posts," said he to the spectators, in a sharp voice; "let every one be ready for the attack which is preparing. Materne, attention!"
The old huntsman bowed.
Meanwhile, Marc Divès had recovered his self-possession. "Instead of brawling like a woman," said he, "you would do better to give me the order to begin the attack down below there by defending the ravine by the fir-trees."
"It must be so—a thousand thunders!" replied Jean-Claude. And then, in a calmer tone; "Listen, Marc; I'm in a furious rage with you. We were conquerors, and through your fault we've lost all our ground. If you miss your blow, we'll cut our throats together."
"Agreed. The affair is settled; I'll answer for the consequences."
Then, leaping on to his horse, and throwing the skirt of his cloak over his shoulder, he drew his long rapier with a haughty and defiant air. His men followed his example closely. Then Divès, turning towards the reserve, composed of fifty stalwart mountaineers, pointed to the platform with the point of his sword, and said: "You see that, my lads; we want that position. The men of Dagsburg must never be able to say that they showed more pluck than those of the Sarre. Forward!"
And the troops, full of martial ardour, set out on their march along the edge of the ravine. Hullin, pale with excitement, shouted, "Fix bayonets!"
The tall smuggler, on his immense brown horse, with muscular and shining croup, turned round, while a smile curled his lip under his thick moustaches; he poised his rapier with a look full of meaning, and the whole troop plunged into the thick fir forest. At the same moment, the Germans, with their eight-pounders, attained the height and began to place their battery, whilst the column from Framont was scaling the side. All was, therefore, in the same position as before the battle; with this difference, that the enemy's cannon-balls were going to be concerned in the affray, and take the mountaineers from behind.
The two field-pieces were distinctly visible, with their cramp-irons, levers, drags, artillerymen, and commanding officer, a tall, bony, broad-shouldered man, with long, light, waving moustaches. The azure vault of the valley brought far-off things so near, that you might have thought him within arm's length; but Hullin and Materne knew better; there were a good six hundred yards between them; no gun could reach as far as that.
Nevertheless, the old huntsman, before returning to the barricades, wished to have a clear conscience. So he advanced as near as possible to the ravine, followed by his son Kasper and a few mountaineers, and leaning against a tree, he slowly took aim at the tall officer with light moustaches.
All those who saw him held their breath, for fear of disturbing him, and marring his aim.
The shot winged its way through the air, and when Materne leaned the butt-end of his gun upon the ground to see what had happened, no change had taken place. "It is astonishing how age dims the sight," said he.
"You! your sight dimmed!" exclaimed Kasper; "there is not one, from the Vosges to Switzerland, who can boast of sending a ball, at two hundred yards, as well as you!"
The old forester knew it well, but he did not want to discourage the others. "Perhaps so," he replied; "we have no time to discuss that now. Here comes the enemy; let each man do his duty."
In spite of these words, Materne, to all appearance simple and calm, inwardly felt great anxiety. As he entered the trench, confused sounds reached his ear; the clashing of arms, the regular tramp of footsteps: he looked down over the side of the ascent, and beheld the Germans, this time coming with long ladders, furnished with grappling-irons.
This was a disagreeable sight for the old huntsman. He signed to his son to approach him, and whispered to him: "Kasper, this is bad, this is very bad; the beggars have brought scaling-ladders with them. Give me your hand. I would wish to have you near me, and Frantz also; but we will defend our lives as best we may. If we come off with whole skins, so much the better."
At this moment a terrible shock shook all the barricades to their foundations; a hoarse voice was heard to exclaim, "Oh! my God!"
Then a heavy sound not a hundred paces off. A fir-tree bent slowly forward, and fell right down into the abyss below.
It was the first cannon-shot: it had carried away with it both the legs of old Rochart. This shot was followed almost at the same moment by another, which came crashing along, covering in its headlong course all the mountaineers with splinters of ice; Old Materne himself bent beneath the force of this terrific explosion, but immediately recovering himself, he shouted: "Let us avenge ourselves, lads! They are here! Let us conquer or die!"
Fortunately, the panic of the mountaineers lasted but a second; they all felt that a moment's hesitation, and they were lost. Two scaling-ladders were already having their grappling-irons fixed to the side of the mountain in spite of the heavy fire poured on the assailants. This sight brought every one to the trench, and the combat was renewed more fiercely—more desperately than at the first attack.
Hullin had remarked the ladders before Materne, and his indignation against Divès was increased by the sight; but as, in such a case, indignation is of no earthly use whatever, he had despatched Lagarmitte to desire Frantz Materne, who was posted on the other side of the Donon, to come to him with all haste with half of his men. I leave you to imagine whether the brave lad, forewarned of the danger his father was running, lost a second in obeying the order. Already the broad felt hats were seen ascending the mountain's side through the snow, the men with their carbines slung over their shoulders. They were running as fast as they could, and yet Jean-Claude, hastening to meet them, with the large drops of sweat standing on his forehead, and his eye wild and haggard, shouted to them, in a ringing voice: "Come on, there, quicker! you will never get here at that rate."
He was actually trembling with rage, attributing the whole misfortune to the smuggler.
In the meanwhile, Mark Divès, at the end of about half an hour, had made the round of the ravine, and from the back of his tall horse was just beginning to discover the two companies of Germans with grounded arms, a hundred paces behind the guns, which were firing on the entrenchments. Then, approaching the mountaineers, he said to them, in a stifled voice, while the explosions of the cannon were awakening every echo in the gorge, and in the distance the clamours of the assault resounded: "Comrades, you will charge the infantry with fixed bayonets; I and my men will undertake the rest. Is that understood?"
"Yes, that's understood."
"Well, then, forward!"
The whole body advanced in good order towards the outskirts of the wood, with the tall Piercy of Soldatenthal at their head. Nearly at the same instant there was the "verda" (challenge) of a sentinel; then two shots; then a great shout, "Hurrah for France!" and the heavy dull sound of rushing footsteps; the brave mountaineers were falling upon the enemy like a troop of wolves!
Divès, standing upright in his stirrups, with his long nose and bristling moustaches, was laughingly looking on:
"It's all right," he kept saying to himself.
It was a fearful conflict; the ground trembled under it. The Germans were not, any more than the confederates, opening fire; all was passing in silence; the clashing of bayonets, the heavy thud of the musket-stocks, intermingled from time to time by a shot, cries of rage, groans, tumult; nothing else was heard.
The smugglers, with outstretched necks, sword in hand, sniffed the carnage, impatiently awaiting the signal from their leader.
"Now it is our turn," said Marc. "The cannon be our prize!"
And forth from the woody fastnesses, with their long cloaks floating behind them like wings, leaning eagerly forward on their saddles, and their swords poised, onward they came, rushing like the wind.
"Don't cut—stab, stab," said Marc.
And this was every word he uttered.
In a second the twelve vultures had swooped down upon the guns. There were among the number four old Spanish dragoons, and two ex-cuirassiers of the Guard, whom the taste for danger attached to Marc. Blows from every imaginable weapon that the artillerymen had at hand, rained round them as thick as hail. They were all parried beforehand, and every stroke brought a man down.
Marc Divès met the fire of two pistols full in his face; one of the shots blackened his left cheek, and the other carried away his hat. He, bending over his saddle, with his long arm outstretched, pinned at the same moment the tall officer with light moustaches to one of the guns.
To conceive the effect of this terrible scene, we must picture to ourselves the deadly conflict on the heights of the Minières; the groans of the dying, the neighing of the horses, the cries of rage, the flight of some, casting away their weapons to run more quickly, the savage ardour of others.
Marc Divès was not of a contemplative turn: he did not waste time in making poetical reflections on the tumult and senseless fury of the wars men wage with each other. He saw the situation at a glance, and leaping from his horse, flung himself upon the first cannon, still loaded, seized the levers of the gun-carriage to change its direction, levelled it at the foot of the ladders, and, snatching a match which was smoking on the ground, fired.
Then at a distance arose strange clamours, and the smuggler, through the smoke, saw a bloody gap in the enemy's ranks.
"Now on, boys," said he to his men, "we must not sleep upon it. A cartridge here; a ball, some turf: we'll sweep the road. Look out!"
The smugglers took up their position; and the fire was kept up upon the white uniforms with untiring zeal. Volleys of bullets whizzed through their ranks. At the tenth discharge there was a general rout.
About six hundred men perished on that day. There were mountaineers, and there were Kaiserlicks in far greater numbers; but had it not been for the cannonade of Divès all would have been lost.
CHAPTER XVII.
The Germans, driven back in multitudes upon Grandfontaine, fled in bands in the direction of Framont, on foot and on horseback, hurrying along, dragging with them their baggage, throwing their knapsacks across the road, and then looking behind them as if they feared to see the mountaineers at their heels.
In Grandfontaine they destroyed everything they could lay their hands on, out of a spirit of revenge; they smashed the windows and doors, insulted the inhabitants, demanded to be supplied with food and drink on the spot, and outraged the women. Their shouts, their imprecations, the authoritative commands of their leaders, the complaints of the citizens, the heavy, incessant tread of footsteps on the bridge of Framont, the shrill neighings of the wounded horses, all reached the barricades in one confused, mingled sound.
On the mountain-side nothing was to be seen but arms, shakos, and dead bodies; in short, all the signs of a great defeat. Opposite appeared the cannons taken by Marc Divès, pointed over the valley, and ready to fire in case of a fresh attack.
All was then over—quite over. And yet not a single cry of triumph rose from the entrenchments. The losses the mountaineers had sustained in this last assault had been too severe and cruel. There was something solemn in this deep silence succeeding to the tumult; and all those men who had escaped the carnage looked at one another with grave faces as if they were surprised at seeing each other. Some called to a friend, others to a brother, who did not answer. They would then begin to search in the trench, along the barricades, or on the ascent, crying as they did it, "Ho! Jacob, Philip!—is it you?"
And then night came, and its grey shadows spread over entrenchments and abyss, adding the horror of mystery to scenes already terrible enough.
Materne, after having wiped his bayonet, called his sons to him in hoarse accents:
"Ho! Kasper! Frantz!"
And seeing forms approaching in the darkness, he began to ask:
"Is it you?"
"Yes, it is us."
"Nothing wrong with you?"
"No."
The old huntsman's voice, usually so rough, trembled like a woman's.
"Here we are all three, then, together again!" said he, in a low tone.
And he, whom no one had ever accused of being softhearted, bestowed a hearty embrace upon his sons, who were greatly surprised by his emotion. They heard a sound in his breast as of inward sobbing; they were much moved by it, and said to themselves: "How he loves us! We should never have believed this!"
They themselves felt touched to the very quick.
But in a short time, the old man, recovering himself, exclaimed:
"All the same, this has been a tough day's work, boys. Let us go and have a cup of wine, for I'm thirsty."
Then casting a last look on the gloomy scene, and seeing the sentinels which Hullin, as he went by, had just posted at every thirty paces, they proceeded together towards the old farm.
They were crossing the trench, where the dead lay in heaps, lifting their feet whenever they felt them come in contact with anything soft, when they heard a stifled voice say:
"Is that you, Materne?"
"Ah, my poor old Rochart!—pardon, pardon!" replied the old huntsman, stooping down. "I touched you. What! are you there still?"
"Yes, I cannot move, for I have lost my legs."
They were all three silent for a moment, and then the old wood-cutter resumed:
"Tell my wife that she will find behind the wardrobe my little savings, put away in a stocking. I hoarded it up in case we should either of us fall ill. For me, I have no more need of it."
"That we shall see, we shall see;—you may recover yet—poor old fellow! We will carry you away."
"No; it's not worth the trouble; I've only an hour longer to live; it would only put me to pain."
Materne, without answering, made a sign to Kasper to form a litter with his carbine and his own, and Frantz to place the old wood-cutter upon it, in spite of his remonstrances. Which was immediately done. And in this manner they all arrived at the farm together.
All the wounded who, during the combat, had had strength to drag themselves to the hospital, had repaired thither. Doctor Lorquin and his assistant, Despois, who had arrived during the day, were up to their ears in work, and still all was not nearly finished, so much was there to do.
As Materne, with his sons and old Rochart, were crossing the dark alley by the light of the lantern, they heard on their left a groan which froze the very marrow in their hones, and the old wood-cutter, half-dead as he was, exclaimed:
"Oh! why do you bring me here? I will not—no, I won't! I would rather die at once!"
"Open the door, Frantz," said Materne, while a cold sweat stood upon his face—"open, make haste!"
And Frantz having pushed the door, they saw on a long kitchen table in the centre of the low apartment, with heavy brown rafters, young Colard, stretched at full length, three candles on each side of him, a man at each arm, and a bucket just under him. Doctor Lorquin, his shirt-sleeves turned up to his elbows, a short saw about three fingers broad in his hand, was just preparing to cut off the poor devil's leg, while Despois was holding a large sponge. The blood was splashing down into the bucket. Colard was as pale as death. Catherine Lefévre, standing beside him with a roll of lint over her arm, was striving to be firm, but two deep wrinkles that furrowed her cheeks by the side of her hooked nose showed how she was clenching her teeth. She was looking down on the ground without seeing anything.
"It's all over!" said the doctor, turning round.
And casting a glance at the new comers, he said:
"Ah! is that you, old Rochart?"
"Yes, that's me; but I don't want any one to meddle with me; I'd rather stay as I am."
The doctor, taking up a candle, looked at him, and made a wry face.
"It's time you were seen to, my poor old fellow; you've lost a deal of blood already, and if we wait much longer it will be too late."
"So much the better; I've suffered enough in my time."
"Just as you will: let's go to the next." He looked down a long row of mattrasses at the bottom of the room; the two last were empty, though soaked in blood. Materne and Kasper laid the old wood-cutter on one, whilst Despois approached another of the wounded, saying:
"Nicolas, it's your turn now."
They then saw the tall form of Nicolas Cerf raise itself up, with a face deadly pale, and eyes glistening with fear.
"Give him a glass of brandy," said the doctor.
"No, I would like my pipe better."
"Where is your pipe?"
"In my waistcoat."
"All right; here it is. And the tobacco?"
"In my trousers' pocket."
"I've got it. Fill his pipe, Despois. He has courage, has this one: that's right! It does one good to see a man with a stout heart. We will have your arm off in double-quick time."
"Is there no way of saving it, Doctor Lorquin, for the sake of my poor children? It's their only living."
"No, the bone is crushed; it will never be any good to you again. Light the pipe, Despois. Now then, Nicolas, smoke away."
The poor fellow began to smoke, without having a great desire for it.
"Are you all right?" asked the doctor.
"Yes," replied Nicolas, in a stifled voice.
"Good. Now then, Despois, attention!—the sponge!"
Then, with a large knife, he described a rapid circle through the flesh, while Nicolas ground his teeth with the agony.
The blood spurted out. Despois put a bandage tight round. The grinding of the saw was heard for a few seconds, and the arm fell heavily to the ground.
"That's what I call an operation well got through with," said Lorquin.
Nicolas was not smoking now: his pipe had fallen from his lips. David Schlosser de Walsch, who had held him, let him go. They bandaged the stump, and then Nicolas went without any assistance and laid himself down again on the mattrass.
"There's one more despatched. Sponge the table, Despois, and let's get on to another," said the doctor, washing his hands in a large bowl.
Every time he said "Let's go to another," all the wounded were struck with fear on account of the groans they heard, and the sharp knives they caught sight of now and then; but what was to be done? Every room in the farm, the barn, the attics, all were filled with the wounded. There was nothing but the large room on the ground-floor left at liberty for the people belonging to the place; so the doctor was obliged to operate under the very eyes of those whose turn must come sooner or later.
All this had passed in a few moments. Materne and his sons had stood looking on, as people do look on at anything horrible to know what it is. Then they had seen in a corner on the left, just under the old Dutch clock, a heap of arms and legs jumbled together. Nicolas's arm had already been thrown on to the top, and the doctor was preparing to extract a ball from the shoulder of a mountaineer of the Harberg with red whiskers; large gashes in form of a cross had to be made in his back, and from his hairy, shuddering flesh the blood was streaming down to his boots.
It was strange to see the dog, Pluto, behind the doctor, surveying the operations with an attentive look, as if he understood it all; and from time to time he stretched his legs and bent his back with a yawn that reached from ear to ear.
Materne could not bear to see any more. "Let us be going," said he.
They had hardly entered the dark walk when they heard the doctor exclaim, "I've got the ball!" which must have caused great pleasure to the man from Harberg.
Once outside, and breathing the fresh clear air, Materne ejaculated: "And to think that the same might have happened to us!"
"Yes," replied Kasper; "to get a bullet through your head is no great matter; but it's another thing to be chopped about like that, and have to beg your bread for the rest of your days."
"Oh! I should do like old Rochart, for my part," said Frantz; "I should just die quietly, without any bother. When you've done your duty, what have you to fear? The good God is always the same!"
At this moment, the hum of voices was heard on their right.
"It is Marc Divès and Hullin," said Kasper, listening.
"Oh, yes! they have been, no doubt, making barricades behind the fir forest to protect the cannon," added Frantz.
They listened again; the footsteps drew nearer.
"You are greatly embarrassed with those three prisoners," Hullin was saying, in an abrupt tone. "Since you return to Falkenstein to-night to procure ammunition, what prevents your taking them with you?"
"But where shall I put them?"
"Where? Why, in the public prison of Abreschwiller; we cannot keep them here."
"All right; I understand, Jean-Claude; and if they attempt to escape by the way, I shall plant my toasting-iron between their shoulders."
"Of course, of course."
They had by this time reached the door, and Hullin, perceiving Materne, could not restrain a cry of delight.
"Ah! is it you, old fellow? I've been looking for you for the last hour. Where the deuce have you been to?"
"We've been carrying poor Rochart to the hospital, Jean-Claude."
"Ah! that's a bad job, isn't it?"
"Yes, very bad."
There was a moment's silence, and then, the worthy man's satisfaction regaining the upper hand, "Yes; it's not pleasant," he went on; "but what can you do? It's the chance of war. You're not hit, you fellows?"
"No; we are all three safe and sound."
"So much the better, so much the better. Those who are left may boast of having been lucky."
"Yes," exclaimed Marc Divès, laughing; "there was a moment when I thought Materne was going to sound a parley; but for those cannon-shots at the end, by my faith! things were taking a bad turn."
Materne coloured, and casting a side-look at the smuggler, "Possibly," he drily observed; "but had it not been for the cannon-shots at the beginning, we should have had no need of those at the end; old Rochart, and fifty more of our brave fellows, would have had their arms and legs still, which wouldn't have made our victory any the less pleasant."
"Bah!" interrupted Hullin, who foresaw the beginning of a dispute between two men whose dispositions were far from conciliatory. "Let's put an end to this; every one has done his duty, and that's the great thing." Then addressing Materne, "I have just despatched a messenger to Framont," said he, "to desire the Germans to fetch away their wounded. In an hour they will be here, no doubt; we must warn our look-outs to let them approach, but without arms, and with torches; if they come otherwise, let them be shot."
"I will see to it at once," replied the old huntsman.
"Hey! Materne, you will come to supper afterwards at the farm with your boys?"
"All right, Jean-Claude."
He departed.
Hullin then told Frantz and Kasper to have large camp fires lighted for the night; Marc, to give his horses a feed of corn, so that they might be ready to go, without loss of time, to fetch ammunition; and, as they withdrew to execute his orders, he entered the farm.
CHAPTER XVIII.
At the end of the dark walk was the court-yard of the farm, down to which you descended by five or six worn steps. On the left were the barn and the wine-press; on the right, the stables and pigeon-house, the gable roof of which stood out in strong and black relief against the dark and cloudy sky, while exactly opposite the door was the wash-house.
No sound from without reached this spot. Hullin, after so many scenes of tumult, was struck by this perfect and profound silence. He surveyed the trusses of straw suspended among the beams of the barn up to the very roof, the wheelbarrows, the carts—these latter standing in the shadow of the outhouses—with a feeling of calm and indefinable complacency. A cock was strutting about on the ground in the midst of his hens, who were sleeping all along the wall. A large cat flew by like lightning, and disappeared through a hole in the cellar. Hullin felt as if awakening from a dream. After a few moments of this silent contemplation, he was proceeding slowly towards the wash-house, the three windows of which were shining like stars in the midst of the darkness.
The farm-kitchen not sufficing to prepare the food of three or four hundred men, they had set up a temporary one in this part of the premises.
Master Jean-Claude heard the fresh voice of Louise issuing orders in a little resolute tone that quite took him by surprise.
"Come, Come, Katel! let's be quick; it's near supper-time. We mustn't let our people be hungry. Since six o'clock this morning to have eaten nothing, and fighting hard all the while! We mustn't keep them waiting. Now then, Lesselé, come along, stir yourself—salt, pepper!"
Jean-Claude's heart leapt within him at the sound of this voice. He could not resist the pleasure of looking through the window for a moment before he went in. The kitchen was large, but rather low, and the walls were whitewashed. A large fire of beech-wood was blazing on the hearth, and encircling with its spiral columns of flame the black sides of an immense marmite (cauldron). The chimney-piece, very high and rather narrow, hardly sufficed to carry off the thick clouds of smoke that rose from the fire-place. The bright light served to clearly reveal the charming figure of Louise as she moved briskly about, coquettishly attired in a short petticoat, which afforded greater freedom to her limbs; her pretty face crimsoned in the ruddy glow; her bosom confined in a little bodice of red cloth, which displayed to perfection her sloping shoulders and graceful neck. There she was, in the very heat of action, going and coming, and tasting the dishes with her little bustling, housewifely air, trying the soup, approving and criticising. "A little more salt, a little of this, a little of that. Lesselé, won't you soon have finished plucking our great scraggy cock? At this rate, we shall never be ready."
It was really a charming sight to see her take the command thus. Hullin felt the tears come into his eyes. The two daughters of the Anabaptist; one, long, dry, and pale, with her large flat feet thrust into round shoes, her red hair tucked up under a little coif of black taffeta, her blue cotton gown descending in long folds to her heels; the other, fat and plump, who waddled like a goose, lifting her feet slowly one after the other, and balancing herself with her arms akimbo; these two honest girls formed the strangest contrast to Louise. The fat Katel went to and fro quite out of breath, without saying a word, while Lesselé, in an absent, dreamy way, did all by rule and compass.
The worthy Anabaptist himself, seated at the other end of the wash-house on a wooden chair, with his legs across, his head turned up, his cotton cap on the back of his head, and his hands in the pockets of his gaberdine, was watching everything with a look of astonishment, and saying from time to time, in a sententious voice: "Lesselé, Katel, do just as she bids you, my children; it will be a good lesson for you; you've not yet seen the world; you must get on quicker."
"Yes, yes; we must bustle about," Louise would rejoin; "what would become of us if we were to take months and weeks to consider about putting a little garlic in the sauce? You, Lesselé, you are the tallest; just reach me down that rope of onions from the ceiling."
And the tall girl instantly did as she was bid.
It was the proudest moment in Hullin's life. "How she orders the others about!" said he to himself; "he! he! he! she is a regular little hussar, a white-sergeant! I never suspected her of it."
And it was only at last, after five minutes' watching, that he made up his mind to go in.
"Holloa! all right, children!"
Louise was at that moment peeping into a saucepan, spoon in hand; she left everything, and ran to throw herself into his arms, exclaiming: "Papa Jean-Claude! Papa Jean-Claude! is it you? You are not wounded? you are not hurt?"
Hullin, at the sound of that loving voice, turned pale, and was unable to reply.
It was only after a long silence, and still holding his dear child pressed close to his heart, that he was able at length to say, in a faltering voice, "No, Louise, no; I am very well, and I feel very happy."
"Sit down, Jean-Claude," said the Anabaptist, who saw him trembling with emotion; "see, here is my chair."
Hullin sat down, and Louise, seating herself on his knee, with her arm on his shoulder, began to cry.
"What is the matter, dear child?" said the brave man, in a low voice, and embracing her affectionately. "Come, be calm; a moment ago I saw you so courageous."
"Ah, yes! I was pretending to be so; but, do you know, I was in a great fright all the while? I kept saying to myself, 'Why does he not come?'"
She threw her arms round his neck; then, in a natural outburst of joy, she took the good man by the hand, exclaiming: "Come, Papa Jean-Claude, let's have a dance!" and she waltzed him two or three times round the room.
Hullin smiled in spite of himself, and turning to the Anabaptist, who still preserved his serious air, "We are a little mad, Pelsly," said he; "you mustn't let that surprise you."
"No, Master Hullin; it's very natural. King David himself, after his great victory over the Philistines, danced before the ark."
Jean-Claude, astonished at resembling King David, made no reply. "And you, Louise," he replied, after a pause, "were you not afraid during the last battle?"
"Well, I was at first; all that noise, and those cannon shots; but afterwards, I thought of nothing but you and Mother Lefévre."
Master Jean-Claude became silent. "I knew," he was thinking, "that that child had a brave heart. She thinks of everything, and fears nothing."
Louise then, taking him by the hand, led him in front of a regiment of saucepans all round the fire, and proudly pointed out to him all her cookery. "Here is the beef, here is the roast meat, here is the supper for General Jean-Claude, and here is the soup for our wounded. Ah! we've had to make haste! Lesselé and Katel can tell you. And here is our great batch of bread!" She went on pointing to a long row of loaves ranged on the table. "Mother Lefévre and I baked it."
Hullin listened, quite wonderstruck.
"But that's not all," she added; "come this way."
She took off the iron lid of the oven, at the other end of the wash-house, and the kitchen was immediately filled with an odour of delicious cake that rejoiced the heart. Master Jean-Claude was quite overcome.
At this moment Dame Lefévre entered the room. "Come," said she; "we must lay the table; everybody is ready and waiting. Come, Katel, go and lay the cloth."
The fat girl ran quickly out, and then, all together crossing the dark court-yard, one behind the other, proceeded towards the keeping-room of the farm. There they found Doctor Lorquin, Despois, Marc Divès, Materne, and his two sons, all sharp-set, and provided with good stout appetites, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the soup.
"And our wounded, Doctor?" exclaimed Hullin, entering.
"All is finished, Master Jean-Claude; you've given us some tough jobs to do; but the weather is favourable; there is no fear of putrid fevers, and all is going as well as can be."
Katel, Lesselé, and Louise shortly after entered, carrying an enormous smoking soup-tureen, and two magnificent joints of roast beef, which they placed upon the table. They took their places without any ceremony, old Materne to the right of Jean-Claude, Catherine Lefévre on his left, and from that time the clattering of knives and forks, and the opening of bottles, took the place of conversation until half-past eight in the evening. Out of doors, the reflection of bright fires on the window-panes announced that the other volunteers were also enjoying themselves, and doing justice to Louise's cookery, which still further contributed to the satisfaction of the guests within.
At nine o'clock, Marc Divès was on his way to Falkenstein with the prisoners. By ten o'clock every one was asleep at the farm, and on the mountain around the camp fires.
Nothing broke the silence, save, from time to time, the distant challenge of the sentinels on duty, going their rounds.
Thus ended this day, on which the mountaineers proved that they had not degenerated from the ancient race.
Other events, not less grave, were soon to succeed those which had just taken place; for in this world, one obstacle is no sooner overcome, than others present themselves. Human life resembles a troubled sea; one wave follows another from the old world to the new, and nothing can stop this eternal movement.
CHAPTER XIX.
Throughout the whole of the battle and until night-fall, the folks of Grandfontaine had seen the fool Yégof standing on the summit of the Little Donon, his crown on his head, his sceptre uplifted, transmitting, like a Merovingian king, orders to his imaginary armies.
What passed through the mind of this unhappy being when he saw the utter rout of the Germans, no one knows. At the last cannon-shot he had disappeared. Whither had he fled?
This is what is related on this subject by the inhabitants of Tiefenbach.
At that time, there lived in the Bocksberg two singular creatures, two sisters, one called Little Kateline and the other Big Berbel. These two tattered beings had fixed their abode in the Cavern of Luitprandt, so called, say the old chronicles, because the King of the Germans, before descending into Alsace, caused to be interred under that immense vault of red freestone the barbarian chiefs who fell in the battle of Blutfeld. The warm spring that rises always in the middle of the cavern protected the two sisters against the rigorous colds of winter, and the wood-cutter, Daniel Horn, of Tiefenbach, had had the charity to close up the principal entrance of the rock with heaps of broom and brushwood. By the side of the warm spring was another, cold as ice, and clear as crystal. Little Kateline, who drank at this spring, was not four feet high; she was stout and squat, and her vacant look, round eyes, and an enormous wen, gave to her the singular expression of a fat turkey in a meditative mood. Every Sunday she was in the habit of lugging to the village of Tiefenbach a wicker basket, which the good people filled with cold potatoes, crusts of bread, and sometimes—on festivals—with cakes and other leavings of their merry-makings. Then the poor creature, quite out of breath, returned to her rocky home, chuckling, laughing, gibbering, and crying all at once. Big Berbel was very careful not to drink at the cold spring; she was lean, one-eyed, and as skinny as a bat; she had a flat nose, large ears, a sparkling eye, and lived on what her sister managed to pick up; but in July, when the very hot weather had set in, she used to shake from the mountain-side a dry thistle over the harvest-fields of those who had not regularly filled Kateline's basket, which brought down upon them fearful storms, hail, rats, and field-mice in abundance.
For which reason they dreaded the spells of Berbel like the plague; she was known everywhere by the name of Wetterhexe,[10] whilst little Kateline passed everywhere for being the good genius of Tiefenbach and its neighbourhood. In this way Berbel lived at her ease, by folding her arms, and the other by clucking and pecking for it wherever it was to be found.
Unfortunately for the two sisters, Yégof had established, for a number of years past, his winter residence in Luitprandt's Cave. It was from thence that he took his departure in the spring, to visit his innumerable castles, and pass in review his fiefs as far as Geierstein, in the Hundsrück. Every year, therefore, towards the end of November, after the first snows, he came with his raven, which always produced a succession of eagle-like croaks from Wetterhexe.
"What is the matter with you," he would say, quietly installing himself in the best place; "are you not living on my domains? I think it is very good of me to keep two useless valkiries in the Valhalla of my fathers."
Then Berbel would become furious, and overwhelm him with taunts and abuse, while Kateline would sit clucking with an angry look; but he, without taking any notice of them, lit his pipe—made of old boxwood—and began to relate his distant peregrinations to the souls of the German warriors interred in the cavern sixteen centuries ago, calling them by their names, and speaking to them like living beings. I leave you to imagine whether Berbel and Kateline saw the fool arrive with pleasure; to them it was a positive calamity. Now, this year, Yégof not having come, the two sisters thought he was dead, and were rejoicing in the idea of never seeing him any more. During the last few days, however, Wetterhexe had remarked the agitation that prevailed in the neighbouring gorges; people departing in large bodies, gun on shoulder, from the regions of the Falkenstein and the Donon. Evidently something out of the common was taking place. The witch, remembering that the year before Yégof had related to the souls of the warriors that his innumerable followers were shortly going to invade the country, felt a sort of vague uneasiness. She would have given anything to know the reason of this unusual disturbance, but no one came up to the rock where they dwelt, and Kateline having gone her usual journey the Sunday before, would not have stirred for an empire.
In this state of things, Wetterhexe wandered over the mountain-side, getting more and more anxious and distraught.
During the whole of this particular Saturday, things went even further. From nine o'clock in the morning, loud and heavy explosions rolled like the sound of a tempest amid the thousand echoes of the mountain; and in the distance, towards the Donon, swift lightnings flashed across the sky between the tall tops of the mountains; then, towards night, noises still more deep and formidable resounded through the silent gorges. At each explosion, the summits of the Hengst, the Gantzlée, the Giromani, the Grosmann, were heard to echo back their answer through the very depths of the abyss.
"What is that?" asked Berbel, of herself. "Is it the end of the world?"
Then, re-entering the cavern, and seeing Kateline squatting in her corner, nibbling a potato, she shook her roughly, exclaiming, in a hissing voice: "Idiot! do you, then, hear nothing? You are not afraid of anything—not you! You eat, you drink, you cluck! Oh! you monster!"
She snatched her potato furiously away, and sat down, quite trembling with passion, by the warm spring which was sending up its grey clouds to the vaulted roof of the cavern.
Half an hour after, it having grown dark, and the cold excessive, she lit a fire of brushwood, which threw a pale and flickering light over the blocks of red stone, to the very end of the cavern where Kateline was now sleeping, with her feet in the straw, and her knees up to her chin. Outside every sound had ceased. Wetterhexe pushed aside the bushes at the entrance, to cast a look upon the mountain-side; then she returned and squatted again beside the fire, her large mouth closely compressed, her flabby eyelids shut, forming large circular wrinkles round her cheeks, she drew over her knees an old woollen coverlet, and seemed to be taking a doze. Not a sound was to be heard, save at long intervals, the faint murmur of the condensed vapour falling back from the vault to the spring.
This death-like silence lasted for about two hours; midnight was approaching, when, all at once, a distant sound of footsteps, mingled with discordant clamours, was heard on the mountain-side. Berbel listened; she recognised the sound of the human voice. Then rising, all of a tremble, and armed with her large thistle, she glided to the entrance of the rock, pushed the bushes aside, and saw, at the distance of fifty paces, the fool Yégof, advancing in the bright moonlight. Flourishing his sceptre in the air, he was calling upon his followers, and fighting and struggling as if he were in the thick of a battle. This fearful conflict with invisible beings struck Berbel with superstitious terror; she felt her hair stand on end, and would have fled and hid herself, but, at the same instant, a confused murmur caused her to turn suddenly round, and judge of her alarm when she saw the hot spring boiling more than usual, and clouds of steam rise from it, then detach themselves and move in floating masses towards the door.
And whilst, like phantoms, these thick clouds were slowly advancing, Yégof appeared, exclaiming, in a sharp voice: "At last you are here. You have heard me!"
Then, with a rapid gesture, he put aside every impediment: a rush of frosty air penetrated the cavern, and the vapours dispersed themselves over the spacious canopy of heaven, wreathing and twisting themselves over the rock as if the dead of that day, and those of centuries past, had renewed, in other spheres, the eternal combat.
Yégof, his features livid and contracted beneath the moon's pale rays, his sceptre outstretched, his long beard descending to his breast, and his eyes flashing, saluted each imaginary phantom with a gesture, and called it by its name, saying: "Hail, Bled! hail, Roug! and all of you, my brave companions, hail! The hour you have waited for for centuries is near; the eagles are sharpening their beaks, the earth thirsts for blood; remember the Blutfeld!"
Then Yégof abruptly entered the cavern, and crouched down near the spring, with his huge head between his hands, and his elbows on his knees, watching the bubbling of the water, with a wild and haggard eye.
Kateline had just awoke, and her clucking sounded like sobs; Wetterhexe, more dead than alive, was watching the fool from the darkest corner of the cavern.
"They have all risen from the earth!" suddenly exclaimed Yégof—"all, all! there are none left; they are gone to revive the courage of my young men, and inspire them with contempt for death!" and, raising his pale face, impressed with the expression of bitter grief, "They fought valiantly—yes, yes, they did their duty well—but the hour was not yet come. And now the ravens are fighting over their flesh!" Then, in an accent of terrible rage, tearing off his crown, and handfuls of his hair with both hands: "Oh! race accursed!" he shouted, "must you for ever cross our path? But for you, we should already have conquered Europe; the red men would be masters of the universe! And I have humbled myself before the leader of that race of dogs. I have asked of him his daughter, in lieu of taking her and carrying her off, as the wolf does with the sheep. Ah! Huldrix! Huldrix!" Then, interrupting himself: "Listen, listen, valkirie," said he, in a low voice; and he raised his finger solemnly. Wetterhexe listened. A very high night-wind had just risen, shaking the old forest trees, with their frost-covered branches. How many times had the sorceress heard the north wind howl through the long winter nights without even taking heed of it? But now, how terror-stricken she was! And as she stood there, trembling from head to foot, a harsh cry was heard without, and almost immediately the raven, Hans, dashed wildly into the cavern, and began to describe wide circles overhead, flapping his wings in a frightened manner, and uttering dismal croakings.
Yégof turned as pale as a corpse.
"Vòd, Vòd!" he exclaimed, in heartrending tones, "what has thy son Luitprandt done to thee?"
And for a few seconds he remained as if terror-stricken; but suddenly seized with a wild enthusiasm, and brandishing his sceptre, he rushed out of the cavern.
He went straight forward, with outstretched neck and striding step, like a wild beast marching to his prey. Hans preceded him, fluttering from place to place.