On the early morning of the 2nd of August, Charlie Pierrepont was subaltern of the out-picket posted on the road that leads direct from the open town of Saarbrück towards Metz, where then the Emperor Napoleon III. commanded in person. He had returned from visiting his line of advanced sentinels, all of whom stood motionless, with musket ordered and bayonet fixed, with their faces turned in the direction of Metz, each longing, no doubt, for the relief and a pipe. Stiff, and chilled with the rain and dew of the summer night, Charlie shook himself, as a dog might do, and proceeded to light a cigar and look around him, as the dawn brightened, little foreseeing that this would be one of the most important days in the new current of events.
He could see the Saar winding in and out at the foot of a chain of hills, covered to their summits by beautiful oaks and beeches. Here and there the red precipices started up from the bed of the stream; for the rocks and the soil were red, and even the river was red, too, for rain had fallen overnight.
The scene looked lovely and peaceful. Red stones, spotted with orange-coloured lichens, lay plentifully in the bed of the Saar, where a solitary kingfisher wound about among the water-weeds. Here and there at the narrower parts of the stream, an occasional peasant was fishing with a tub and sink-net, and beyond lay the plain, where Saarlouis' ramparts rose above the swampy fields, where herds of cattle plashed disconsolately about.
'Guten morgen, Carl!' cried a familiar voice, and on looking up, he saw Heinrich hurrying towards him. 'I have news for you.'
'Are the enemy in motion?
'As your post is an advanced one, you should be the first to know of that. My news is from the rear.'
'From the rear!'
'How dull you are, Carl—from Frankenburg! Here, take a pull at my bottle; your own is, no doubt, empty by this time.'
'Thanks!'
Charlie took a few mouthfuls from the metal flask of brandy-and-water that Heinrich wore slung over his shoulder in a belt, and said—