Catherine, standing on the edge of the rock, laughed a laugh that sounded more like a rattle, and that seemed as if it would never come to an end.
And all the others, all those phantoms, as if inspired with a new life, threw themselves upon the crumbling ruins of the old burg, exclaiming—"Death! death! Let us crush them as at the Blutfeld!"
Never was a more horrible scene beheld. Those beings, at the very gates of the tomb, lean and squalid as skeletons, found fresh strength for carnage. They stumbled no more; they tottered no more. They lifted each one his stone, and ran to hurl it down the precipice; then returned to take another, without even looking at what was passing below.
Now figure to yourselves the stupor of the kaiserlicks at this deluge of ruins and rocks. They had all turned round at the first sound of the stones crashing down one after another over the shrubs and the clumps of trees, and at first they remained as if petrified; but raising their eyes still higher, and seeing other stones descending and descending still, and, above all that, spectres running hither and thither, lifting up their arms, emptying them, and beginning again; seeing their comrades crushed—rows of fifteen and twenty men overthrown at a single blow—an immense cry resounded from the valley of the Charmes, as far as the Falkenstein, and in spite of the voice of the leaders, in spite of the firing, which recommenced right and left, all the Germans fled in disorder to escape this horrible death.
When the rout was at its height, the general of the enemy's army had, however, succeeded in rallying a battalion, and effecting a quiet retreat towards the village. There was something in this man, calm in the midst of disaster, grand and dignified. From time to time he turned round to cast a gloomy look at the falling masses of rock which were making bloody gaps in his column.
Jean-Claude observed him; and in spite of the intoxication of triumph, in spite of the certainty of having escaped famine, the old soldier could not restrain a feeling of admiration.
"Look," said he to Jerôme, "he does as we did on returning from the Donon and the Grosmann: he remains to the last, and only yields step by step. Truly there are men of courage in every country."
Marc Divès and Piorette, witnesses of this stroke of fortune, came down through the fir-trees to endeavour to cut off the retreat of the enemy's general, but they could not succeed in their attempt. The battalion, reduced to half, formed a square behind the village of Charmes, and slowly re-ascended the valley of the Sarre, at times stopping, like a wounded wild boar who turns upon the pack, when the men of Piorette and those of Phalsbourg tried to press it too closely.
Thus ended the great battle of Falkenstein, known in the mountain under the name of the Battle of the Rocks.
