"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.