[CHAPTER III]
THE SLAVE-DRIVERS—A BID FOR FREEDOM
That morning, for the last time, had Jean and Maurice heard the gay calls of the French bugles, and now they were marching along the road to Germany among the drove of prisoners, which was preceded and followed by platoons of Prussian soldiers, others of whom, with fixed bayonets, kept a watch upon the captives on either hand. And now they only heard the shrill, dismal notes of the German trumpets at each guard-post that they passed.
Maurice was delighted to find that the column turned to the left, so that it would evidently pass through Sedan. Perhaps he would be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of his sister there. However, the three-mile march from the peninsula of Iges to the town, sufficed to damp the joy he felt at having emerged from that cesspool where he had been agonising for nine long days. This pitiable convoy of prisoners, of disarmed soldiers with hanging arms, led away like so many sheep, at a hasty, timorous scamper, was but a fresh form of torture. Clad in rags, soiled with the filth in which they had been abandoned, emaciated by more than a week's privation, they now looked like so many vagabonds, suspicious tramps picked up along the roads by some scouring party of gendarmes. By the time they had reached the suburb of Torcy, where men paused on the side-walks and women came to their doors to gaze at them with an expression of gloomy compassion, Maurice already felt stifling, and bowed his head, his mouth twitching with the bitterness of his sensations.
Jean, however, endowed with a practical mind and a tougher skin, thought only of their foolishness in neglecting to bring a couple of loaves of bread away with them. In the wild haste of their departure they had come away, indeed, with their stomachs empty, and hunger was once again weakening their legs. Other captives must have been similarly situated, for many of them held out money, begging the people of Torcy to sell them something. One very tall fellow, who looked extremely ill, waved a bit of gold, with his long arm raised over the heads of the soldiers of the escort, and was in despair that he could find nothing to buy. Just then Jean, who was watching, espied a dozen loaves in a pile, outside a baker's shop, some little distance ahead. Before any of the others he threw down a five-franc piece, intending to take a couple of the loaves. Then, as one of the Prussian soldiers brutally pushed him back, he obstinately made an effort to regain his money. But the captain in charge of the column, a bald-headed little man with a brutal face, was already rushing up. Raising his revolver with the butt downward over Jean's head, he declared with an oath that he would split the skull of the first man who dared to stir. And thereupon they all bent their backs and lowered their eyes, continuing their march with a subdued tramp, the quailing submissiveness of a flock of sheep.
'Oh! how I should like to slap him,' muttered Maurice savagely, 'box his ears, and smash his teeth with a back-hander.'
From that moment he could not bear to look at that captain, whose scornful face he so desired to smack. They were now entering Sedan, crossing the bridge over the Meuse, and not a moment passed without some fresh scene of brutality. A woman, a mother doubtless, was desirous of embracing a young sergeant, but was pushed back so violently with the butt of a gun, that she fell to the ground. On the Place Turenne some well-to-do townsfolk were belaboured because they compassionately threw provisions to the prisoners. In the High Street one of the captives, having slipped down in trying to take a bottle of wine offered to him by a lady, was kicked to his feet again. And although, during the last eight days, Sedan had frequently seen the miserable herds of the defeat driven through its streets in this same brutal fashion, it could not accustom itself to the spectacle, but at each fresh défilé was stirred by a fever of compassion and resentment.
Jean, who by this time had grown calm again, was, like Maurice, thinking of Henriette; and, all at once, too, the idea that they might see Delaherche occurred to him. He nudged his comrade and remarked: 'Keep your eyes open by-and-by if we pass down the street.'
And, indeed, as soon as they entered the Rue Maqua, they caught sight of several heads peering forth from one of the monumental windows of the factory, and as they drew nearer, they recognised Delaherche and his wife Gilberte, with their elbows resting on the window bar, whilst behind them stood Madame Delaherche senior, erect, with a stern expression on her face. They all three had some loaves with them, and these Delaherche flung to the famished captives who were holding up trembling, imploring hands.
Maurice immediately noticed that his sister was not one of the party; whilst Jean, on seeing so many loaves rain down, became all anxiety, fearing that none would remain for them. He waved his arm frantically and called: 'For us! For us!'