"The Cossacks! The Cossacks!"
The entire party rushed to the door, except the three hunters, who contented themselves with opening a window and looking out. Every one was now fleeing across the fields; men, flocks, and wagons were scattering, like autumn leaves before the wind. In less than five minutes the road was clear, except in the village street, where the crowd was jammed and blocked by its mass. Materne gazed for a while and then shut the window.
"I see nothing," he said.
"Nor I," replied Kasper.
"I see how it is," cried the old hunter; "fear adds to the enemy's strength; and fear," he added, shrugging his shoulders disdainfully, "is a miserable thing. We have only one poor life to lose. Let us go."
They left the inn, the old man taking the road to the top of Hirschberg, his sons following. They soon reached the edge of the woods, and Materne sought the highest point, whence he might obtain a view of the plain; for he utterly despised the wild tales of the fugitives he had met.
When they reached the summit of the mountain—which forms a sort of promontory extending into the plain—they could see distinctly the enemy's position, three leagues away, between Urmatt and Lutzelhouse, like long black lines upon the snow; further on, the artillery and baggage appeared in dark masses. Other lines and masses were winding among the villages, and, notwithstanding the distance, the flashing of bayonets told that a column was on the march to Wisch.
After long gazing at the picture before him, the old hunter said thoughtfully:
"There are at least thirty thousand men yonder. They are advancing toward us, and we shall be assailed to-morrow, or the day after at the latest. It will be no holiday work to check them, my boys; but if they have numbers, we have a good position, and in such masses as those there will be no balls lost."
Having made these reflections, he measured the height of the sun, and added: