The Young Franc Tireurs, and Their Adventures in the Franco-Prussian War

by G. A. Henty

The gendarmes now intimated that, as the prisoner was restored, he must go in at once before the Maire. The young Barclays accompanied him, and acted as interpreters at the examination. The story was a simple one, and the passport and other papers upon the Irishman proved its truth conclusively.

Tim was an Irishman, who had come out as groom with an English gentleman. His master had fallen ill at Lyons, had parted with his horses and carriage, and returned to England. Tim had accepted the offer of the horse dealer who had purchased the horses to remain in his service, and had been with him six months when the war broke out. He had picked up a little French, but had been several times arrested in Lyons, as a spy; and his master had at last told him that it was not safe for him to remain, and that he had better return to England.

He had reached Dijon on that morning; but the train, instead of going on, had been stopped, as large numbers of Mobiles were leaving for Paris, and the ordinary traffic was suspended. Tim had therefore passed the day strolling about Dijon. The hour had approached at which he had been told that a train might leave, and Tim had asked a passer by the way to the station.

His broken French at once aroused suspicion. A crowd collected in a few minutes; and Tim was, in the first place, saved from being attacked by the arrival of two gendarmes upon the scene. He had at once told them that he was English, and had produced his passport; and they had decided upon taking him to the Maire, for the examination of his papers--but on the way the crowd, increased by fresh arrivals, had determined to take the law into their own hands; and only the arrival of the young Barclays, and their cousins, had saved his life.

The Maire saw at once, upon examination of the papers, that the story was correct; and pronounced that Tim was at liberty to go where he pleased. The poor fellow, however--though he made light of his wounds and bruises--was much shaken; and it would, moreover, have been dangerous for him to venture again into the streets of Dijon. Ralph therefore at once offered to take him out, and to give him a night's shelter; an offer which the Irishman accepted, with many thanks.

It was now getting dark and, accompanied by their cousins, the Barclays were let out with Tim Doyle from a back entrance to the Maine; and made their way unnoticed through the town; and arrived, half an hour later, at home. Captain and Mrs. Barclay, upon hearing the story, cordially approved of what the boys had done; and Captain Barclay having--in spite of Tim's earnest remonstrance that it was of no consequence in the world--put some wet rags upon the most serious of the wounds, bandaged up his head, and sent him at once to bed.

In the morning, when the lads started for drill, the Irishman was still in bed; but when they returned to dinner, they found him working in the garden, as vigorously as if the events of the previous day had been a mere dream. When he saw them coming, he stuck his spade into the ground and went forward to meet them.

"God bless your honors, but I'm glad to see you again; and to thank you for saving my life, which them bastes had made up their minds they were going to have. I ain't good at talking, your honors; but if it's the last drop of my blood that would be of any use to you, you'd be heartily welcome to it."

"I am very glad we arrived in time, Tim," Ralph said. "And it's lucky for you that you shouted 'Hurrah for old Ireland!' as you went down; for of course we had no idea you were a countryman and, although we were disgusted at the brutality of that cowardly mob, we could hardly have interfered between them and a German spy.

"What are you thinking of doing now? It will hardly be safe for you to travel through France while this madness about spies lasts for, with your broken French, you would be getting taken up continually."