The Invasion; Or, Yegof The Fool.
Chapter IV.
All this while, everything was pursuing its usual course at the farm of Bois-de-Chênes. Yegof's strange behavior was almost forgotten, and war was for the time unthought of. Old Duchene, while Hullin plodded back, was driving his cattle home, the herdsman Robin spreading the straw on which they were to rest, and Annette and Jeanne were skimming the daily tribute of their dairy. Catherine Lefevre alone, silent and gloomy, mused over what had passed, as she superintended the work of her people. She was too old, too grave, to so soon forget events which had agitated her so strongly. At nightfall, after the evening repast, she entered the large kitchen where the farm-servants awaited her, and there took down her register and placed it upon the table, ready, as was her wont, to regulate the accounts of the day.
It might have been half-past seven, when footsteps were heard at the gate. The watch-dog sprang forward growling, listened for a moment, sniffed the air, and then quietly returned to his bone.
"It is some one belonging to the farm," said Annette; "Michel knows him."
At the same moment old Duchene exclaimed:
"Good-evening, Master Jean-Claude! You are back."
"Yes—from Phalsbourg, and I will remain here a few moments to rest before going to the village. Is Catherine at home?"
"She is within," replied Duchene. And brave Jean-Claude entered into the bright light, his broad hat drawn over his eyes, and the roll of sheepskin upon his shoulder.
"Good-evening, my children," said he, "good-evening. Always at work, I see."
"Yes, Monsieur Hullin," answered Jeanne, laughing. "If we had nothing to do, life would be tiresome indeed."
"True, my dear, true. There is nothing like work for giving rosy cheeks and shining eyes."
Jeanne was about to reply when the door opened, and Catherine Lefevre advanced into the room. She cast an anxious glance on Hullin, as if to divine beforehand the news he was bringing.
"Well, Jean-Claude, you have returned."
"Yes, Catherine, and with good and ill tidings."
"Let us have them!" exclaimed she, presenting a seat to the sabot-maker, as he deposited his roll upon the table.
"Well, the news from Gaspard is good; the boy is well, although he has had a hard time of it; so much the better—hardship strengthens youth. But the war goes badly, badly!"
He shook his head as he spoke, and the old woman, seating herself in her arm-chair directly in front of him, fixed her eyes upon his.
"Then the allies are in France; the war is to be brought home to us?"
"Yes, Catherine; we may any day expect to see the enemy in our mountains."
"I feared it—I was sure of it—but go on, Jean-Claude."
Hullin, in a low voice, proceeded to relate all he had seen and heard; he told of the works around the city, the proclamation of the state of siege, the wagons loaded with wounded on the Place d'Armes, and his meeting with the old sergeant. From time to time he paused, and the old lady half-closed her eyes, as if graving his words upon her memory, and when Hullin spoke of the wounded she gasped:
"But Gaspard has escaped?"
At the end of the sabot-maker's sorrowful story there was a long pause. How many bitter thoughts were burning in the minds of both! At last Catherine broke the silence:
"You see, Jean-Claude," said she, "Yegof was right."
"He was right," replied Jean-Claude, "but what does that prove? It would, indeed, be astonishing if a fool—wandering, as he does, everywhere, from village to village—in Alsace, in Lorraine—saw nothing, heard nothing; and if he should not occasionally utter a truth in the midst of his nonsense. Everything is mingled in his head, and you imagine you understand what he does not understand himself. But enough of the fool, Catherine. The Austrians are coming, and the question is whether we shall let them pass quietly through our mountains, or defend ourselves like mountaineers."
"Defend ourselves!" cried the old woman, her pale cheeks flushing. "Think you we have lost the courage of our fathers? Did not the blood of their men, women, and children flow like water, and no one think of yielding?"
"Then you are for defence, Catherine?"
"Ay! while a drop of blood remains in my body. Let them come. The old woman will be in their path."
Her long, gray hair in her excitement seemed to quiver upon her head; her cheeks trembled and glowed, and her eyes flashed fire. She seemed even full of a fierce beauty—of a beauty like that of Margareth of whom Yegof spoke. Hullin stretched his hand to her in silence.
"I knew you, Catherine," said he with enthusiasm; "I knew your true heart. But we must look calmly at what is before us. We shall fight, but how? Where are our munitions?"
"Everywhere! axes, scythes, pitchforks—"
"Yes, yes; but muskets and bullets are the best. Muskets we have; every mountaineer's cottage has one hanging over the door; but where is our powder? where are our bullets?"
The old woman became suddenly calm; she pushed back her hair beneath her cap, and looked around thoughtfully.
"Yes," she replied; "we lack powder and ball, it is true, but we shall have them. Marc-Dives the smuggler has plenty. You will see him for me to-morrow, and tell him that Catherine Lefevre will buy all that he has, and pay for it too; yes, though it cost her house, lands, and cattle—all she possesses. Do you understand, Hullin?"
"I do. This is splendid, Catherine!"
"Splendid! Bah! To drive from our doors those Austrians, those Prussians, the red-bearded race who once already all but exterminated ours! They are our mortal foes! You will buy the powder, and the wretches will see whether their old castles are to be rebuilt by us!"
Hullin saw that Yegof's story yet preyed upon her mind, but he said simply:
"Then it is understood. I go to Marc-Dives's to-morrow?"
"Yes," replied Catherine; "and you will buy all his powder and lead. You must also go to all the villages in the mountains, to warn our people of the danger and agree upon a signal to be used in case of attack."
"Rest easy as to that," said Jean-Claude; "it shall be my care."
Both had risen and turned toward the door. For half an hour past the noise in the kitchen had ceased; the people of the farm had retired. The old woman placed her lamp on the chimney-shelf and drew the bolts. The cold without was sharp, but the air clear and still. The peaks around, and the fires on the Jaeger that stood out against the dark-blue sky in masses of silver or jet, and no sound broke the quiet save the short bark of a far-off fox.
"Good-night, Hullin," said the old woman.
"Good-night, Catherine."
Jean-Claude walked rapidly down the heath-covered slope, and his late hostess, after following him for a few moments with her eyes, closed the door.
I must leave you to imagine the joy of Louise when she learned that her Gaspard was safe. Hullin was careful not to mar her joy by a view of the dark cloud rising upon its horizon. All night he heard her talking to herself in her little chamber, murmuring the name of Gaspard, and opening drawers and boxes to find tokens he had left.
Thus does the linnet, unmindful of the coming storm, sing in the fast-receding sunshine.
Chapter V.
When Jean-Claude, the next morning, pushed open his window-shutters, he saw the neighboring mountains—Jaegerthal, Grosmann, Donon—covered with snow. This first sight of winter—when it overtakes us in our sleep—has a strange attraction about it. The old firs, the moss-covered rocks, were yesterday still clothed in their verdure, but now they glitter with frost, and fill our soul with an indescribable sense of sadness. "Another year has passed away," we murmur to ourselves; "another rude season must pass away before the flowers return!" And we hurry to don our great-coat or to light a roaring fire. Our little retreat is full of white light, and without we hear the sparrows—the poor sparrows crouching beneath the eaves and bushes—who with ruffled feathers seem to cry, "No breakfast this morning—no breakfast!"
Hullin put on his heavy double-soled shoes and his thickest jacket. He heard Louise walking over his head in the little garret.
"Louise," he cried, "I am going."
"What! to-day again?"
"Yes, my child; I must. My business is not yet finished."
Then pulling his broad felt hat over his head, he went half-way up the stairs, and said in a low tone:
"You must not expect me back very soon, child, for I must go a long way off. Do not be uneasy. If they ask you where I am gone, say to Cousin Mathias, at Saverne."
"Will you not have some breakfast before starting?"
"No; I have put a loaf of bread and the little flask of brandy in my pocket. Farewell, my child. Be happy, and think of Gaspard."
And, without waiting for more questions, he seized his staff and left the cottage, directing his steps toward the hill to the left of the village. At the end of a quarter of an hour he had passed it and reached the path of the Three Fountains, which winds around Falkenstein by an old wall. The first snow never lasts long in the damp shadows of the valleys, and it had already begun to melt and form a stream in the pathway. Hullin mounted the wall to escape the water, and throwing a glance toward the village saw a few old women sweeping the snow from before their doors, and a few old men exchanging their morning greetings and smoking their morning pipes at their thresholds. He pursued his way along dreamily, murmuring: "How tranquil all is there! None suspect that danger is nigh, and yet in a few days what tumults, what shrieks, what crashing of cannon and clattering of muskets will fill the air!"
Powder was the first necessity, and we have seen how Catherine Lefevre turned her thoughts to Marc-Dives the smuggler; but she did not speak of his amiable helpmate, Hexe-Baizel.
The couple lived at the other side of Falkenstein, beneath the cliff on which the ruined castle stood. They had hollowed out for themselves a very comfortable den, although it possessed but one entrance and two little windows, but rumor hinted that it communicated with ancient subterranean passages. These last, however, the custom-house officials were never able to discover, notwithstanding several visits they made the worthy pair with this object in view. Jean-Claude and Marc-Dives knew one another from infancy; they had many a time together driven the owl and the hawk from their nests, and still saw one another at least once a week at the saw-mill. Hullin placed full reliance upon the smuggler, but he somewhat mistrusted Madame Hexe-Baizel. "However," said he, as he neared their domicile, "we shall see."
He had lighted his pipe, and from time to time turned to contemplate the immense stretch of country spread out before him.
Nothing can be more magnificent than the view of snow-covered wooded mountains, rising peak after peak far into the pale-blue sky until sight is lost in distance, and separated by dark valleys, each with its torrent flowing over mossy stones, green and polished like bronze.
And then the silence—the silence of winter—broken only by the foot-fall on the soft, white ground, or the dash of snow falling from the higher branches of the firs to the lower, which bend beneath the weight; or mayhap the shrill screams of a pair of eagles, whirling far above the treetops, startle the ear. But all this must be seen and felt; it cannot be described.
About an hour after his departure from the village, Hullin, climbing over rock after rock, reached the foot of the cliff of Arbousiers. A sort of terrace, full of stones, and only three or four feet in width, entirely surrounds this mass of granite. The narrow way, itself surrounded only by the tops of trees shooting from the precipice below, seems dangerous, but is scarcely so in reality, for dizziness is all that is to be feared in passing along it. Above the ruin-covered rock overhangs the path.
Jean-Claude approached the smuggler's retreat. He halted a few moments upon the terrace, put his pipe back into his pocket, and then advanced along the passage, which described a half-circle and terminated in a notch in the rock. At its end he perceived the two windows of the cave and the half-open door.
At the same moment Hexe-Baizel appeared, sweeping the threshold with a huge broom of green twigs. She was short and withered; her head covered with a mass of dishevelled red hair, her cheeks hollow, her nose pointed, her little eyes glittering like burning coals, her mouth small and garnished with very white teeth. Her costume consisted of a short and very dirty woollen gown, and her small, muscular arms were bare to the elbow, notwithstanding the intense cold of winter at such a height; a pair of worn-out slippers half-covered her feet.
"Ha! good-morning, Hexe-Baizel," cried Jean-Claude, in a tone of good-natured raillery. "Stout, fat, happy, and contented as usual, I see."
Hexe-Baizel turned like a startled weasel. She shook her hair, and her eyes flashed fire. But she calmed herself at once, and said, in a short, dry voice, as if speaking to herself:
"Hullin the sabot-maker! What does he want here?"
"I want to see my friend Marc, beautiful Hexe-Baizel," replied Jean-Claude. "We have business together."
"What business?"
"Ah! that is our affair. Come, let me pass; I must speak to-him."
"Marc is asleep."
"Well, we must wake him. Time presses."
So saying, Hullin bent beneath the door-way, and entered the cave, which was irregular in shape and seamed with numerous fissures in its walls. Near the entrance the rock, rising suddenly, formed a sort of natural hearth, on which burned a few coals and some branches of the juniper. The cooking utensils of Hexe-Baizel consisted of an iron pot, an earthen jar, two cracked plates, and three or four pewter forks; her furniture, of a wooden stool, a hatchet to split wood, a salt-box fastened to the rocky wall, and her great broom of green twigs. At the right, her kitchen opened upon another cavern by an irregularly shaped aperture wider at the top than below, and closed by two planks and a cross-bar.
"Well, where is Marc?" asked Hullin, seating himself at the corner of the hearth.
"I have already told you that he is asleep. He came home very late last night, and he must not be disturbed; do you understand?"
"I understand very well, Hexe-Baizel, but I have no time to wait."
"Then leave as soon as you please."
"That is very fine, but I don't intend to leave just yet. I did not make this journey to return empty handed."
"Is that you, Hullin?" interrupted a rough voice in the inner cavern.
"Ay, Marc."
"Wait a moment, I am coming."
A noise of rustling straw was heard, then the planks were removed, and a tall man, three feet at least from shoulder to shoulder, bony, bent, with ears and neck of a dull brick color and disordered brown hair, bent in the aperture, and then Marc-Dives stood erect before Hullin, gaping and stretching his long arms.
At first sight the countenance of Marc-Dives seemed mild enough; his broad, low forehead, temples only thinly covered with hair, pointed nose, long chin, and calm, brown eyes would seem to betoken the quiet, easy-going man, but one who should so class him would sooner or later discover his mistake. Rumor said that Marc-Dives had little scruple in using his axe or carbine when the custom-house officials invaded his premises, but proofs were wanting. The smuggler, thanks to his complete knowledge of all the defiles of the mountain, and of all the roads from Dagsbourg to Sarrebrück, from Raon l'Etape to Bâle in Switzerland, always seemed twenty miles from the place where such conflicts occurred. Then he had such a harmless air—in short, the rumors against him inevitably recoiled upon those who started them.
"I was thinking of you last night, Hullin," cried Marc, coming out of his den, "and if you hadn't come I should have gone all the way to the saw-mill to meet you. Sit down. Hexe-Baizel, give Hullin a chair."
He himself sat upon the wide hearth, with his back to the fire, opposite the open door, around which blew the winds of Alsace and of Switzerland.
The view through the narrow opening was magnificent—a rock-framed picture, but how grand a one! There lay the whole valley of the Rhine, and beyond the mountains melting into mist. The air, too, was so fresh and pure, and when the blue expanse without tired the eyes, the little fire within, with its red, dancing flames, was there to relieve them.
"Marc," said Hullin, after a moment's silence, "can I speak before your wife?"
"It is the same as speaking to me alone."
"Well. I have come to buy powder and lead of you."
"To shoot hares, I suppose," returned the smuggler, half-closing his eye and gazing keenly at Jean-Claude.
"No; to fight the Germans and the Russians."
There was another silence.
"And you want a good deal, I suppose."
"As much as you can furnish."
"I can furnish three thousand francs' worth to-day," said the smuggler.
"I will take it."
"And as much more in a week," continued Marc calmly, still gazing steadily at his friend.
"I will take it."
"You will take it!" cried Hexe-Baizel—"you will take it! I believe you, but who will pay for it?"
"Silence!" said Marc roughly.
"Hullin will take it; his word is enough."
Then, stretching out his broad hand to the sabot-maker, he exclaimed:
"Jean-Claude, here is my hand! The powder and lead are yours; but I wish to stand my share of the expense. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Marc, but I intend to pay at once."
"He will pay himself," cried Hexe-Baizel. "Do you hear?"
"Am I deaf? Baizel, go fetch us a bottle of Brimbelle-wasser to warm us. What Hullin tells me fills me with joy. Those beggarly Kaiserliks won't have things go as easily as they imagine. Our people will defend themselves, and well!"
"They will! they will!"
"And there are those among them who will pay for what is needed."
"Catherine Lefevre will pay, and it is she who sends me here," said Hullin.
Then Marc arose, and, extending his hand toward the precipice, exclaimed:
"She is a woman among a thousand. Her soul is as great as yonder rock, Oxenstein. Never saw I a grander. I drink to her health. Drink too, Jean-Claude."
Hullin drank, and Hexe-Baizel followed the example.
"The bargain is made," cried Dives; "but, Hullin, it will not be easy to beat back the foe! All the hunters, the workmen, and the wood-cutters in the mountain will not be too many. I have just come from beyond the Rhine. The earth is black with Russians, Austrians, Bavarians, Prussians, Cossacks, hussars. The villages cannot contain them, and they are encamped upon the plains, in the valleys, on the heights, in the cities, everywhere, everywhere!"
A sharp cry pierced the air.
"It is a buzzard chasing its prey," said Marc.
At the same instant a shadow passed over the rock. A cloud of chaffinches and small birds swept over the cave, and hundreds of buzzards and hawks dashed on above them, with loud screams. So dense and broad was the feathered mass, that it seemed almost immovable while the fluttering of so many thousand wings sounded like dead leaves driving before the wind.
"It is the birds leaving Ardennes," said Hullin.
"Yes, the last of them. Their corn and seeds are buried in the snow. But there are more men in the enemy's armies than birds yonder. No matter, Jean-Claude; France will live though the world assail her. Hexe-Baizel, light the lantern; I wish to show Jean-Claude our stock of ammunition."
Hexe-Baizel could not willingly obey this command.
"No one," said she, "has been in the cave for twenty years. He can as well take your word for it. We take his for payment. I will not light the lantern—not I!"
Marc, without saying a word, stretched forth his hand and grasped a stout stick. The old woman, trembling in every limb, disappeared like a ferret through a small aperture, and in a moment returned with a large horn lantern, which Dives tranquilly lighted at the hearth.
"Baizel," said he, replacing the stick, "you know that Jean-Claude is my friend, and has been since we were boys, and that I would trust him much sooner than I would you, old snarler; for you know well that if you did not fear being hung the same day, I would long since have danced at the end of a rope. Come, Hullin, follow me."
They went out together, and the smuggler, turning to the left, kept on toward the notch, which projected over the Valtin two hundred feet in the air. He pushed aside the foliage of a stunted oak, and then disappeared as if hurled into the abyss. Jean-Claude trembled, but he saw at the same moment Dives's head advancing along the wall of rock. The smuggler called out:
"Hullin, place your hand on the left side; there is a hole there; stretch out your foot boldly; you will feel a step, and then turn upon your heel."
Master Jean-Claude obeyed, not without fear and trembling; he felt the hole in the rock, found the step, and, turning half-way around, presently stood face to face with his friend in a niche which must formerly have belonged to some postern. At the end of the niche a low vault opened.
"How in the world was this discovered?" cried the wondering Hullin.
"I came on it while hunting for nests, thirty-five years ago. I had often seen a magnificent eagle with his mate upon this rock; they were splendid birds, full six feet across the wings. I heard the cries of their young beyond the notch, and, after many a trial, found myself here. What a battle we had! They tried to tear my eyes out, and when I killed them I cleared their nest of the bones that lay there after I had twisted the necks of the young; then I kept on, and you shall see what I found. Come."
They glided together beneath the low and narrow vault, formed of enormous red stones, over which the lantern threw a sickly glare.
At the end of about thirty steps a vast circular cave, formed from the living rock, appeared, on the floor of which were perhaps fifty piles of little kegs, and on the sides a great number of bars of lead and bags of tobacco. The air of the cavern was strongly impregnated with the strong odor of the last.
Marc placed his lantern at the entrance and gazed around with a well-satisfied smile.
"Here is what I found," said he, "only the cave was empty, save that in the middle of the floor yonder lay the skeleton of an animal—of a fox, which had probably died there of old age. The rogue had discovered the way before I did, and he could sleep in safety here. At that time, Jean-Claude, I was twelve years of age. I thought then that the place might some day be useful to me, I knew not how; but afterward, when I made my first essays at my trade with Jacob Zimmer, and when for two winters the revenue officers were on our track, the remembrance of my cave returned. I had made the acquaintance of Hexe-Baizel, who was a servant at the farm of Bois-de-Chênes, then owned by Catherine's father. She brought me twenty-five louis by way of dowry, and we set up our establishment in this cavern of the Arbousiers."
Dives was silent, and Hullin asked:
"You like this den, then?"
"Like it! I would not change it for the finest house in Strasbourg. For twenty-three years have I kept my goods here—sugar, coffee, powder, tobacco, brandy—and no one the wiser. I have eight horses always on the road."
"But you enjoy nothing of your wealth."
"Enjoy nothing! Think you there is no pleasure in mocking and outwitting the police—in defying the shrewd officials of the custom-house? And, besides, the people all love you; you sell at half-price; you are the benefactor of the poor."
"But the danger!"
"Bah! What revenue officer would dare come here?"
"I believe you," muttered Hullin, as he thought that he must again brave the precipice.
"But I am used to it," continued the smuggler, "although, when I first made my way hither with a cask on my shoulder, my heart fluttered as it had not for many a day before."
He took up the lantern and held it so that the light might fall upon the heaps of kegs.
"It is fine English powder," said he; "it rolls like grains of silver in your hand, and is strong as fate. A little goes a long way; a thimbleful is enough for a charge. And there is lead that Europe cannot beat. This evening, Hexe-Baizel shall run some into balls. She knows how, as you shall see."
They turned to leave the cavern, when suddenly a confused noise of voices was borne upon the air. Marc instantly blew out the lantern, and the two men were in a moment plunged in darkness.
"There is some one above," whispered the smuggler. "Who in the fiend's name could have climbed Falkenstein in the snow?"
They listened breathlessly, their eyes fixed upon a ray of pale-blue light which descended through a narrow fissure in the top of the cave. Around this opening hung glittering spars of frost; above it could be seen the crest of a ruined wall. While they gazed thus in profound silence, a head shaggy with disordered hair, a glittering circlet binding the brow, the face long and ending in a pointed red beard—all sharply outlined against the white wintry sky—became visible.
"It is the King of Diamonds!" cried Marc, laughing.
"Poor wretch," murmured Hullin; "he is making a progress to his castles, his bare feet upon the frozen ground, and his tin crown protecting his head from the cold. Look, Dives, he is giving orders to the knights of his court; he stretches his sceptre north and south—all is his. Poor wretch, he makes me shiver to see him with nothing but his dog-skin robe around him."
"He makes me think," laughed the smuggler, "of some round-paunched burgomaster, or village mayor, rolling back in his chair as he dilates upon his wealth: 'H'm, I am Hans Aden; I have ten acres of fine meadow-land; I have two houses, a vine, my orchard, my garden—h'm, I have this, that, and the other.' The next day a colic seizes him, and then, good-night! We are fools, all of us. Come, Hullin, after all, the sight of that miserable creature talking to the winds and of his famine-stricken crow makes my teeth chatter too."
They passed on to the entrance of the vault, and the glare of day breaking suddenly upon them dazzled Hullin. The tall form of his companion guided him, however, and he pressed on after him.
"Step firmly," said Marc, "and do as you see me; your right hand in the hole, right foot on the step, half a turn, and here we are!"
They returned to the kitchen, where Hexe-Baizel told them that Yegof was among the ruins.
At the same moment the raven sailed past the door over the abyss, and uttered its hoarse cry; they heard the frozen heather bend beneath steps, and the fool appeared on the narrow terrace; he was wan and haggard, and cried, looking toward the fire:
"Marc-Dives, try to leave this soon; I warn you. The fortifications of my domains must be free from such vermin. Take your measures accordingly."
Then perceiving Jean-Claude, he knit his brows.
"Thou here, Hullin?" said he. "Art thou yet far-sighted enough to accept the proposals I deigned to make thee? Knowest thou that the alliance I offered is the only means of saving thyself from the destruction that broods upon thy race?"
Hullin could not avoid laughing.
"No, Yegof," he replied; "my sight is not yet clear enough; it is dazed by the honor you offer me. But Louise is not yet old enough to marry."
The fool seemed at once to grow more gloomy and thoughtful. He stood at the edge of the terrace, his back to the abyss, as if in his own hall, and the whirling of the raven around his head disturbed him not in the least.
At length he raised his sceptre, and said, frowning:
"I have twice demanded her, Hullin; twice thou hast dared to refuse me. Once more shall the demand be renewed—but once—dost hear?—and then the decrees of fate shall be accomplished."
And turning upon his heel, with a firm step and haughty carriage, notwithstanding the steepness of the descent, he passed down the rocky path.
Hullin, Marc-Dives, and even the acrid Hexe-Baizel, burst into peals of laughter.
"He is a fool!" said Hexe-Baizel.
"I think you are not altogether wrong," sneered the smuggler. "Poor Yegof is losing his head entirely. But listen, Baizel; you will begin at once to cast bullets of all calibres; I am off for Switzerland. In a week, at latest, the remainder of our munitions will be here. Give me my boots."
Drawing on the last, and wrapping a thick red woollen scarf about his neck, the smuggler took from a hook on the wall a herdsman's dark-green coat which he threw over his shoulders; then, covering his head with a broad felt hat and seizing a cudgel, he cried:
"Do not forget what I say, old woman, or if you do, beware! Forward, Jean-Claude!"
Hullin followed his host without even bidding Hexe-Baizel farewell, and she, for her part, deigned not to see her departing guest to the door. When they had reached the foot of the cliff, Dives stopped, saying:
"You are going to the mountain villages, are you not, Hullin?"
"Yes; I must give the alarm."
"Do not forget Materne of Hengst and his two sons, and Labarbe of Dagsbourg, and Jerome of Saint-Quirin. Tell them there will be powder and ball in plenty; that Catherine Lefevre and I, Marc-Dives, will see to it."
"Fear not, Marc; I know my men."
They shook hands warmly and parted, the smuggler wending his way to the right toward Donon, Hullin taking the path to the left toward the Sarre.
The distance was rapidly widening between them, when Hullin called out:
"Halloo, Marc! Tell Catherine, as you pass, that all goes well, and that I have gone among the villages."
The other replied by a nod, and the two pursued their different ways.
Chapter VI.
An unusual agitation reigned along the entire line of the Vosges; rumors of the coming invasion spread from village to village. Pedlars, wagoners, tinkers, all that wandering population which is constantly floating from mountain to plain, from plain to mountain, brought each day budgets of strange news from Alsace and the banks of the Rhine. They said that every town was being put in a state of defence; that the roads to Metz, to Nancy, Huningue, and Strasbourg, were black with army and provision wagons. On every side were to be seen caissons of powder, shells, and shot, and cavalry, infantry, and artillery hurrying to their posts. Marshal Victor, with twelve thousand men, yet held the Saverne road, but the draw-bridges of all the fortified towns were raised from seven in the evening until eight in the morning.
Things looked gloomy enough, but the greater number thought only of defending their homes, and Jean-Claude was everywhere well received.
The same day, at about five in the evening, he reached the top of Hengst, and stopped at the dwelling of the hunter-patriarch, old Materne. There he passed the night; for in winter the days are short and the roads difficult. Materne promised to keep watch over the defile of Zorn, with his two sons, Kasper and Frantz, and to respond to the first signal that should be made from Falkenstein.
Early the next day, Jean-Claude arrived at Dagsbourg to see his friend Labarbe the wood-cutter. They went together to the hamlets around, to light in all hearts the love of country. Labarbe accompanied Hullin to the cottage of the Anabaptist Nickel, a grave and respectable man, but they could not draw him into their glorious enterprise. He had but one reply to all their arguments. "It is well," he said; "it is doubtless right; but the Scriptures say that he who takes up the sword shall perish by the sword." He promised, however, to pray for the good cause, and that was all they could obtain of him.
They went thence to Walsch, where they found Daniel Hirsch, an ancient gunner in the navy, who promised to bring with him all the men of his commune.
Here Labarbe left Jean-Claude to pursue his route alone.
For a week more our brave friend wandered over the mountains, from Soldatenthal to Leonsberg, from Meienthal to Voyer, Cirey, Petit-Mont, Saint-Sauveur, and the ninth day he found himself at the shoemaker Jerome's, at Saint-Quirin. They visited together the defile of Blanru, after which Hullin, entirely satisfied with the results of his journey, turned once more toward his village.
Since two o'clock in the afternoon he had been pressing on at a brisk pace, thinking of the life of the camp, the bivouac, the crash of battle, marches and countermarches—all those details of a soldier's life which he regretted so often and which he now looked forward to with ardor. The twilight shadows had begun to fall when he discovered the village of Charmes, afar off, with its little cottages, from which curled wreaths of light-blue smoke, scarcely perceptible against the snow-covered mountain-side, its little gardens with their fences, its slate-covered roofs, and to the left the great farm-house of Bois-de-Chênes, and below, in the already dark ravine, the saw-mill of Valtin.
And then, without his knowing why, a sadness filled his heart.
He slackened his steps; thoughts of the calm, peaceful life he was losing, perhaps for ever, floated through his mind; he saw his little room, so warm in winter and so gay in spring, when he opened his window to the breezes from the woods; he heard the never-changing tick of the village clock; and he thought of Louise—his good little Louise—spinning in silence, her eyes cast down, or, mayhap, singing in her pure, clear voice at evening. Everything in his home arose before his eyes: the tools of his trade, his long, glittering chisels, the hatchet with the crooked handle, the porringers of glazed earthenware, the antique figure of Saint Michael nailed to the wall, the old curtained bed in the alcove, the lamp with the copper beak—all were before him, and the tears forced their way to his eyes.
But it was to Louise—his dear child, his Louise—that his thoughts turned oftenest. How she would weep and implore him not to expose himself to the dangers of war! How she would hang upon his neck and beg him not to leave her! He saw her large, affrighted eyes; he felt her arms around him. He would fain deceive her, but deceit was no part of Jean-Claude's character; his words only deepened her grief.
He tried to shake off his gloom, and, passing by the farm of Bois-de-Chênes, he entered to tell Catherine that all went well, and that the mountaineers only awaited the signal.
Fifteen minutes later, Master Jean-Claude stood before his own door.
Before opening it, he glanced through the window to see what Louise might be doing. She was standing in the alcove, and seemed busily arranging and rearranging some garments that lay upon the bed. Her face beamed with happiness, her eyes sparkled, and she was talking to herself aloud. Hullin listened, but the rattling of a passing wagon prevented his hearing her words.
He pushed open the door and entered, saying:
"Louise, here I am back!"
She bounded like a fawn to him and threw her arms around his neck, exclaiming:
"It is you, Father Jean-Claude! How I have been waiting for you! How long you were gone! But you are home again, at last."
"My child—many things"—said the good man, putting away his staff behind the door—"many things kept—"
But his heart was too full; he could say no more.
"Yes, yes, I know," cried Louise, laughing. "Mother Lefevre told me all."
"How is that! You know all and only laugh? Well, it proves your good sense. I expected to see you weep."
"Weep? And why, Father Jean-Claude? Oh! never fear for me; I am brave. You do not know me."
Her air was so prettily resolute that Hullin could not help smiling; but his smile quickly disappeared when she added:
"We are going to have war; we are going to fight, to defend the mountains!"
"We are going! We are going!" exclaimed the good man, astounded.
"Certainly. Are we not?" she asked, her smile disappearing at once.
"I must leave you for some time, my child."
"Leave me? Oh! no, no. I will go with you; it is agreed. See, my little bundle is all ready, and I am making up yours. Do not be uneasy; let me fix everything, and you will be satisfied."
Hullin stood stupefied.
"But, Louise," he cried, "you are dreaming. Think, my child! We must pass long winter nights without a roof to cover us; we must bear hardship, fatigue, cold, snow, hunger, and countless dangers! A musket-ball would mar my pretty bird's beauty."
"You are only trying your little Louise," cried she, now in tears, and flinging herself upon his neck. "You will not leave me here alone."
"But you will be better here; you will have a good fire and food. Besides, you will receive news of us every day."
"No, no! I will go with you; I care not for cold. And I have been shut up here too long; I want the fresh air. The birds are out; the redbreasts are out all winter; and did I not know what hunger was when a child? Mother Lefevre says I may go; and will you whom I love so much be more cruel than she?"
Brave Jean-Claude sat down, his heart full of bitter sorrow. He turned away his head that she might not see the struggle going on within, while Louise eagerly continued:
"I will be safe; I will follow you. The cold! What is the cold to me? And if you should be wounded—if you should wish to see your little Louise for the last time, and she not be near to take care of you—to love you to the last! Oh! you must think me hard-hearted!"
She sobbed; Hullin could hold out no longer.
"Is it indeed true that Mother Lefevre consents?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, oh! yes, she told me so; she said, 'Try to get Father Jean-Claude to let you; I am satisfied.'"
"Well," said the sabot-maker, smiling sadly, "I can do little against two. You shall come! It is agreed."
The cottage echoed with her cry of joy, and with one sweep of her hand her tears were dried, and her face, like an April sky, beamed in smiles.
"You are a little gypsy still," cried Hullin, shaking his head. "Go trap a swallow."
Then, drawing her to him, he continued:
"Look you, Louise: it is now twelve years since I found you in the snow. You were blue with the cold, poor child; and when I brought you to the fire and warmed you, the first thing you did was to smile at me, and since that day your smile has ruled old Jean-Claude. But let us look at our bundles," said the good man with a sigh. "Are they well fastened?"
He approached the bed, and saw in wonder his warmest coats, his flannel jackets, all well brushed, well folded, and well packed. Then in Louise's bundle were her best dresses and her thick shoes. He could not restrain a laugh, as he cried:
"O gypsy, gypsy! It takes you to pack up."
Louise smiled.
"Then you are satisfied with them?" she asked.
"I must be; but in the midst of all this fine work, you did not think, I'll wager, of getting ready my supper."
"That is soon done," said she, "although I did not know you would return to-night, Papa Jean-Claude."
"That is true; but get something ready quickly; no matter what, for my appetite is sharp. In the meantime I will smoke a pipe."
"Yes, smoke a pipe."
He sat at the corner of his work-bench and drummed dreamily upon it. Louise flew to right and left like a veritable fairy, kindling up the fire, breaking eggs, and in the twinkle of an eye she had an omelette ready. Never had she looked so graceful, so joyous, so pretty. Hullin leaned his cheek upon his hand and gazed at her gravely, thinking how much firmness, will, resolution, there was in that little form, light as an antelope, but decided as a cuirassier. In a moment she had laid the omelette before him on a large plate, ornamented with blue flowers, a loaf of bread, his glass, and his bottle of wine.
"There, Father Jean-Claude, eat your supper."
The fire leaped and crackled in the stove, throwing ruddy stains on the low rafters, the stairs half in shadow and the large bed in the alcove, and lighting up the poor dwelling so often made joyous by the merry humor of the sabot-maker and the songs of his daughter. And Louise would leave all this without regret to brave the wintry woods, the snow-covered paths, and the steep mountain-side, and all for love of him. Neither storm, nor biting wind, nor torrents staid her. She had but one thought, and that was to be near him.
The repast ended, Hullin arose, saying:
"I am weary, my child; kiss me for good-night."
"But do not forget to awake me, Father Jean-Claude, if you start before daybreak."
"Rest easy; you will come with us," he answered, as he climbed the narrow stairs.
All was silence without, save that the deep tones of the village clock told the hour of eleven. Jean-Claude sat down and unfastened his shoes. Just then his eyes fell upon his musket hung over the door. He took it down, slowly wiped it, and tried the lock. His whole soul was in the work in which he was engaged.
"It is strange—strange! The last time I fired it was at Marengo—fourteen years ago, and it seems but yesterday."
Suddenly the frozen snow crunched beneath a foot-fall. He listened. Two taps sounded upon the window-panes. He ran and opened the door, and the form of Marc-Dives, his broad hat stiff with ice, emerged from the darkness.
"Marc! What news?"
"Have you warned Materne, Jerome, Labarbe?"
"Yes, all."
"It is none too soon; the enemy are advancing."
"Advancing?"
"Yes; along their whole line. I have come fifteen leagues since morning to give you warning."
"Good. We must make the signal: a fire upon Falkenstein."
Hullin's face was pale, but his eyes flashed. He again put on his shoes, and two minutes after, with his cloak upon his shoulders and his staff firmly clinched in his hand, he opened the door softly, and with long steps followed Marc-Dives along the path to Falkenstein.
Chapter VII.
From midnight until six o'clock in the morning a flame shone through the darkness from the summit of Falkenstein.
All Hullin's friends, and those of Marc-Dives and Mother Lefevre, with high gaiters bound around their legs, and old muskets upon their shoulders, trooped in the silence of the woods to the gorges of the Valtin. The thought of the enemy pouring over the plains of Alsace to surprise their glens and defiles nerved every heart and arm. The tocsin at Dagsbourg, at Walsch, and at Saint-Quirin ceased not to call the country's defenders to arms.
Imagine the Jaegerthal, at the foot of the old burg, in the early morning hour, when the giant arms of the trees begin to break through the shadows, and when the approach of day softens somewhat the intense cold of the night. The snow lies deep upon the ground. Imagine the old saw-pit with its flat roof, its heavy wheel glittering with icicles; a fire of sawdust shining from within, but paling before the morning twilight, and around the fire fur caps and slouched hats and dark faces crowded together; further on, in the woods, and along the winding valley, were other fires lighting up groups of men and women seated on the snow.
As the sky grew brighter friends began to recognize each other.
"Hold! There is Cousin Daniel of Soldatenthal. You here too?"
"As you see, Heinrich, and my wife too."
"What! Cousin Nanette! But where is she?"
"Yonder, by the large oak, at Uncle Hans's fire."
They clasp each other's hand. Some slept, some piled branches and broken planks upon the fires. Flasks passed around, and those who had warmed themselves made way for their shivering neighbors. But impatience was gaining upon the crowd.
"Ah!" cried one, "we have not come here only to stretch our legs. It is time to look around, to agree upon our movements."
"Yes! yes! let us organize and elect our leaders!" cried many.
"No; all are not yet here. They are yet coming from Dagsbourg and Saint-Quirin," replied others.
Indeed, as day advanced, the pathways of the mountain seemed full of people. There were already some hundreds in the valley—wood-cutters, charcoal-burners, and others—without counting the women and children.
Nothing could be more picturesque than that halt in the snow, at the bottom of a defile covered to the clouds with high firs; to the right, valley following valley as far as the eye could reach; to the left, the ruins of Falkenstein, reaching, as it seemed, to the sky; and before you groups of thickly bearded men with gloomy brows, broad square shoulders, and hands callous from labor. Some of them, taller than their fellows, were red-haired and white-skinned, and seemed strong as the oaks of the forest. Of this number were old Materne of Hengst and his two sons, Frantz and Kasper. These three, armed with short Innspruck rifles, their high gaiters of blue canvas with leather buttons reaching above the knee, their bodies covered with hare-skin jackets, and their slouched hats pushed far back upon their heads, did not deign to approach the fire. Since one o'clock they had sat upon the felled trunk of a fir by the border of the brook, their eyes constantly on the watch, and their feet buried in the snow. From time to time the old man would say to his sons:
"What are they shivering for yonder? I never saw a milder night at this season; it is a fine hunting night; the brooks are not yet frozen."
Every hunter as he passed pressed their hands, and then joined his fellows, who formed a separate band, among whom but few words passed, for silence is one of the great virtues of the chase.
Marc-Dives, standing in the middle of another group, over whom he towered by a head, talked and gesticulated, now pointing to one part of the mountain, now to another. Opposite him was the old herdsman Lagarmitte, in his gray smock-frock, his dog at his side. He was listening open-mouthed to the smuggler, and from time to time gravely nodded his head. The remainder of the group was composed of wood-cutters and workmen with whom Marc had daily dealings.
Between the saw-pit and the first fire sat the shoemaker Jerome of Saint-Quirin, a man between fifty and sixty years of age; his eyes were sunken, his face long and brown, and his yellow beard descended to his waist; his head was covered with an otter-skin cap; and as he leaned forward upon a heavy knotted staff, in his long woollen great-coat, he might easily have been mistaken for some hermit of the wilds. Whenever any one approached with news, Father Jerome slowly turned his head and listened with bent brows.
Jean Labarbe sat motionless, his elbow resting upon his axe-helve. He was a pale man, with an aquiline nose and thin lips, and exercised a great influence over the men of Dagsbourg by the resolution and force of his character. When those around him cried out for action, he simply said, "Wait; Hullin has not arrived yet, nor Catherine Lefevre. There is no hurry," and all around became quiet.
Piorette, a little, dry, thin, energetic man, with eyebrows meeting over his nose, and a short pipe between his teeth, sat at the threshold of the saw-mill, and gazed with a quick but thoughtful eye at the scene.
Nevertheless, the impatience increased every minute. A few village mayors in cocked hats called upon their people to deliberate. Happily the wagon of Catherine Lefevre at last appeared, and a thousand enthusiastic shouts arose on all sides.
"Here they are! They have come!"
Old Materne stood up upon the trunk of a tree and then descended, gravely saying:
"It is they."
Much excitement now prevailed; the scattered groups collected. Scarcely could the old woman be seen distinctly, seated upon a truss of straw with Louise by her side, when the echoes rang with the cry:
"Long live France! Long live Mother Catherine!"
Hullin, behind, his musket strapped upon his back, was crossing the field of Eichmath, grasping hands and saluting his friends:
"Is it you, Daniel? Good-morning, Colon!"
"Ha! Things look stormy, Hullin."
"Yes, yes; we shall soon have lively times. You here, old Jerome! What think you of the state of affairs?"
"All will yet go well, Jean-Claude, with God's help."
Catherine, when she arrived in front of the saw-mill, ordered Labarbe to open the little cask of brandy she had brought from the farm-house. Hullin, approaching the fire, met Materne and his two sons.
"You come late," said the old hunter.
"True, but there was much to be done, and too much yet remains to be done to lose more time. Lagarmitte, wind your horn."
Lagarmitte blew until his cheeks seemed bursting, and the groups scattered along the path, and at the skirts of the wood hastened to assemble, and soon all were collected before the saw-mill. Hullin mounted a pile of logs, and spoke amid the deepest silence:
"The enemy," said he, "crossed the Rhine the night before last. He is pressing on to our mountains to enter Lorraine. Strasbourg and Huningue are blockaded. In three or four days at most the Germans and the Russians will be upon us."
A shout of "Long live France!" arose.
"Ay, long live France!" cried Jean-Claude; "for, if the allies reach Paris, all our liberties are gone! Forced labor, tithes, privileges, and gibbets will flourish once more. If you wish that they should, let the allies pass."
A dark scowl seemed to settle on every man's face.
"I have said what I have to say!" cried Hullin, pale with emotion. "As you are here, you are here to fight!"
"Ay, to fight!"
"It is well; but one word more. I would not deceive you; I see among you fathers of families. We will be one against ten—against fifty. We must expect to perish! Therefore, let those whose hearts may grow faint ere the end comes, go. All are free!"
Each in the crowd looked round to see his neighbors' faces, but no one left his place. Jean-Claude spoke in a firmer tone:
"No one moves! All are ready for battle! A chief—a leader—must be named, for in times of danger everything depends on order and discipline. He whom you shall appoint must be obeyed in all things. Reflect well, for on him depends the fate of every one of us."
So saying, Jean-Claude descended from his tribune, and earnest voices began at once to whisper in the crowd. Every village deliberated separately; each mayor proposed his man; time passed; Catherine Lefevre burned with anxiety and impatience. At length she could contain herself no longer, and rising upon her seat she made a sign that she wished to speak.
"My friends," said she, "time flies; the enemy is advancing. What do we need? A man whom we can trust; a soldier acquainted with war, and knowing how to profit by the strength of mere positions. Well, why not choose Hullin? Can any among you name a better? I propose Hullin!"
"Hullin! Hullin!" cried Labarbe, Dives, Jerome, and many others. "Let us have a vote!"
Marc-Dives, climbing the pile of logs, shouted in a voice of thunder:
"Let those who are opposed to having Jean-Claude Hullin for our leader, raise their hands!"
Not a hand rose.
"Let those who wish Jean-Claude Hullin to be our chief, raise their hands!"
Every hand rose.
"Jean-Claude," said the smuggler, "you are the man. Come hither. Look!"
Jean-Claude mounted the logs, and seeing that he was elected, said calmly:
"You name me your chief. I accept. Let old Materne, Labarbe of Dagsbourg, Jerome of Saint-Quirin, Marc-Dives, Piorette the sawyer, and Catherine Lefevre enter the saw-mill. We will hold a council, and in twenty minutes I will give my orders. In the meantime let every village detail two men to go to Falkenstein with Marc-Dives for powder and ball."
Chapter VIII.
Those whom Hullin named met in the hut attached to the saw-mill around the immense chimney. A sober sort of merriment seemed to play about the face of more than one.
"For twenty years I have heard people talking of these Russians and Austrians and Cossacks," said old Materne, smiling, "and I shall not be sorry to see one at the muzzle of my rifle."
"Yes," answered Labarbe; "we shall see enough of them at last, and the little children of to-day will have many a tale to tell of their fathers and their grandsires. And how the old women of fifty years hence will chatter of it at evening around the winter fire!"
"Comrades," cried Hullin, "you know the country—you know our mountains from Thann to Wissembourg. You know that two grand roads—the imperial roads—traverse Alsace and the Vosges. Both starting from Bâle, one runs along the Rhine to Strasbourg, and enters Lorraine by Saverne. Huningue, Neuf-Brisach, Strasbourg, and Phalsbourg defend it. The other turns to the left to Schlestadt. Leaving Schlestadt, it enters the mountains, and passes on to Saint-Dié, Raon-l'Etape, Baccarat, and Lunéville. The enemy would like to force the passage of these two roads, as they are the best for cavalry, artillery, and wagons; but, as they are well defended, we need not trouble our about them. If the allies lay siege to the cities upon them, the campaign will be dragged out to a great length, and we shall have nothing to fear; but this is not probable. After having summoned Huningue to surrender, and Belfort, Schlestadt, Strasbourg, and Phalsbourg, on this side of the Vosges, and Bitche, Lutzelstein, and Sarrebrück, on the other, they will fall upon us. Now, listen. Between Phalsbourg and Saint-Dié there are several defiles practicable for infantry, but only one for cannon, that is, the road from Strasbourg to Raon-les-Leaux, by Urmatt, Mutzig, Lutzelhouse, Phramond, and Grandfontaine. Once masters of this road, the allies can debouch in Lorraine. This road passes us at Donon, two leagues hence, to our right. The first thing to be done is, to establish ourselves upon it at the place most favorable for defence—that is, upon the plateau on the mountain; to break down the bridges, and throw heavy abatis across it. A few hundred large trees, with their branches, will do the work, and under their cover we can watch the approach of the foe. All this, comrades, must be done by to-morrow night, or by the day after, at the latest. But it is not enough to occupy a position and put it in a good state of defence. We must see that the enemy cannot turn it."
"That is just what I was thinking," said old Materne. "Once in the valley of the Bruche, and the Germans can bring their infantry to the hills of Haslach, and turn our left; and there is nothing to hinder their trying the same movement upon our right, if they gain Raon-l'Etape."
"Yes; but to prevent their doing either, we have only to occupy the defiles of the Zorn and of the Sarre on our left, and that of Blanru on our right. We must defend a defile by holding the heights, and, for that purpose, Piorette will place himself, with a hundred men, on the side of Raon-les-Leaux; Jerome, on Grosmann, with the same number, to close the valley of the Sarre; and Labarbe, at the head of the remain on the mountain, will overlook the hills of Haslach. You will choose your men from those belonging to the villages nearest your stations. The women must not have far to come to bring provisions, and the wounded will be nearer home. The chiefs of each position will send me a report each day, by a messenger, on foot, to Donon, where will be our headquarters. We will organize a reserve also; but it will be time enough to see to that when our positions are taken, and no surprise from the enemy is to be feared."
"And I," cried Marc-Dives, "am I to have nothing to do? Am I to sit with folded arms while all the rest are fighting?"
"You will superintend the transporting of our munitions. No one among us understands keeping powder as you do—preserving it from fire and damp—or casting bullets and making cartridges."
"That is a woman's work," cried the smuggler. "Hexe-Baizel can do it as well as I. Am I not to fire a shot?"
"Rest easy, Marc," replied Hullin, laughing; "you will find plenty of chances. In the first place, Falkenstein is the centre of our line—our arsenal and point of retreat, in case of misfortune. The enemy will know by his scouts that our wagons start from there, and will probably try to intercept them. Shots and bayonet-thrusts will not be wanting. Besides, we cannot confide the secret of your cave to the first comer. However, if you insist—"
"No," said the smuggler, whom Hullin's' reflections upon the cave touched at once. "No; all things well considered, I believe you are right, Jean-Claude. I will defend Falkenstein."
"Well, then, comrades," cried brave Jean-Claude, "we will warm our hearts with a few glasses of wine. It is now ten o'clock. Let each one return to his village, and see to the provisions. To-morrow morning, at the latest, the defiles must be occupied."
They left the hut together, and Hullin, in the presence of all assembled, named Labarbe, Jerome, and Piorette chiefs of the defiles; then he ordered those who came from the Sarre to meet, as soon as possible, near the farm of Bois-de-Chênes, with axes, picks, and muskets.
"We will start at two," said he, "and encamp on Donon, across the road. To-morrow, at daybreak, we will begin our abatis."
He kept old Materne, and his two sons, Frantz and Kasper, by him, telling them that the battle would surely begin on Donon, and sharp-shooters would be needed there. Mother Lefevre never seemed so happy. She mounted her wagon, and whispered, as she embraced Louise:
"All goes well. Jean-Claude is a man. He astonishes me, who have known him forty years. Jean-Claude," she cried, "breakfast is waiting, and a few old bottles which the Austrians will not drink."
"Good Catherine, I am coming."
But as he struck the horses with the whip, and as the mountaineers had just begun to scatter on their way to their villages, they saw, on the road to Trois-Fontaines, a tall, thin man, mounted upon a red mare; his hare-skin cap, with a wide peak, pulled well down upon his head. A great shepherd-dog, with long black hair, bounded beside him; and the skirts of his huge overcoat floated like wings behind him.
"It is Dr. Lorquin, from the plain," exclaimed Catherine; "he who at the poor for nothing; and that is his dog Pluto with him."
It was indeed he, who rushed among the crowd, shouting:
"Halt! stop! Halt, I say!"
His ruddy face, large, quick eyes, beard of a reddish-brown, broad, square shoulders, tall horse, and dog, in a moment appeared at the foot of the mountain. Gasping for breath, he shouted, in his excitement:
"Ah the villains! They wanted to begin the campaign without me! They shall pay for it!"
And, striking a little box he carried at his crupper, he continued:
"Wait awhile, my fine fellows, wait awhile! I have some things here you'll want by and by; little knives and great ones—round and pointed ones—to cut out the bullets and canister your friends yonder will treat you to."
So saying, he burst into a gruff peal of laughter, while the flesh of his hearers crept. After this agreeable pleasantry, Dr. Lorquin said gravely:
"Hullin, your ears should be cut off! When the country was to be defended, was I to be forgotten? It seems to me that a surgeon might be useful here, although may God send you no need of one!"
"Pardon me, doctor; it was my fault," replied Hullin, pressing his hand. "For the last week I have had so many things to think of that some escaped me, in spite of myself. But a man like you need not be called upon by me to do his duty."
The doctor softened.
"It is all well and good," he cried; "but by your fault I am here late. But where is your general? I will complain to him."
"I am general."
"Indeed!"
"And I appoint you surgeon-in-chief."
"Surgeon-in-chief of the partisans of the Vosges. Very good, Jean-Claude." And, approaching the wagon in which Catherine was seated, the doctor told her that he relied upon her to organize the hospital department.
"Very well," she answered; "forward. You dine with us, doctor."
The wagon started, and all the way the brave doctor laughingly told Catherine how the news of the rising reached him; how his old house-keeper Marie was wild with grief, and tried to keep him from going to be massacred by the Kaiserliks; the different episodes of his journey from Quibolo to the village of Charmes. Hullin and Materne and his sons marched a few paces in the rear, their rifles on their shoulders; and thus they reached the farm of Bois-de-Chênes.