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

by G. A. Henty · English · Gutenberg #22060 · 593,038 chars · public domain (US)

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

Author: G. A. Henty

Illustrator: F. T. Young


        
Release date: July 13, 2007 [eBook #22060]
                Most recently updated: January 2, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22060

Credits: Produced by Martin Robb


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG FRANC TIREURS, AND THEIR ADVENTURES IN THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR ***




Produced by Martin Robb








The Young Franc Tireurs
And Their Adventures in the Franco-Prussian War
By G. A. Henty.



Contents

Preface.
Chapter 1:   The Outbreak Of War.
Chapter 2:   Terrible News.
Chapter 3:   Death To The Spy!
Chapter 4:   Starting For The Vosges.
Chapter 5:   The First Engagement.
Chapter 6:   The Tunnel Of Saverne.
Chapter 7:   A Baffled Project.
Chapter 8:   The Traitor.
Chapter 9:  A Desperate Fight.
Chapter 10: The Bridge Of The Vesouze.
Chapter 11: A Fight In The Vosges.
Chapter 12: The Surprise.
Chapter 13: The Escape.
Chapter 14: A Perilous Expedition.
Chapter 15: The Expedition.
Chapter 16: A Desperate Attempt.
Chapter 17: A Balloon Voyage.
Chapter 18: A Day Of Victory.
Chapter 19: Down At Last.
Chapter 20: Crossing The Lines.
Chapter 21: Home.

Illustrations

Rescue of a Supposed Spy.
Among the German Soldiers.
The Children on the Battlefield.
The Sea! The Sea!



Preface.


My Dear Lads,

The present story was written and published a few months, only,
after the termination of the Franco-German war. At that time the
plan--which I have since carried out in The Young Buglers, Cornet
of Horse, and In Times of Peril, and which I hope to continue, in
further volumes--of giving, under the guise of historical tales,
full and accurate accounts of all the leading events of great wars,
had not occurred to me. My object was only to represent one phase
of the struggle--the action of the bodies of volunteer troops known
as franc tireurs.

The story is laid in France and is, therefore, written from the
French point of view. The names, places, and dates have been
changed; but circumstances and incidents are true. There were a
good many English among the franc tireurs, and boys of from fifteen
to sixteen were by no means uncommon in their ranks. Having been
abroad during the whole of the war, I saw a good deal of these
irregulars, and had several intimate friends amongst them. Upon the
whole, these corps did much less service to the cause of France
than might have been reasonably expected. They were too often badly
led, and were sometimes absolutely worse than useless.

But there were brilliant exceptions, and very many of those daring
actions were performed which--while requiring heroism and courage
of the highest kind--are unknown to the world in general, and find
no place in history. Many of the occurrences in this tale are
related, almost in the words in which they were described to me, by
those who took part in them; and nearly every fact and circumstance
actually occurred, according to my own knowledge. Without aspiring
to the rank of a history, however slight, the story will give you a
fair idea of what the life of the franc tireurs was, and of what
some of them actually went through, suffered, and performed.

Yours sincerely,

The Author.



Chapter 1: The Outbreak Of War.


The usually quiet old town of Dijon was in a state of excitement.
There were groups of people in the streets; especially round the
corners, where the official placards were posted up. Both at the
Prefecture and the Maine there were streams of callers, all day.
Every functionary wore an air of importance, and mystery; and
mounted orderlies galloped here and there, at headlong speed. The
gendarmes had twisted their mustaches to even finer points than
usual, and walked about with the air of men who knew all about the
matter, and had gone through more serious affairs than this was
likely to be.

In the marketplace, the excitement and buzz of conversation were at
their highest. It was the market day, and the whole area of the
square was full. Never, in the memory of the oldest inhabitant, had
such a market been seen in Dijon. For the ten days preceding,
France had been on the tiptoe of expectation; and every peasant's
wife and daughter, for miles round the town, had come with their
baskets of eggs, fowls, or fruits, to attend the market and to hear
the news. So crowded was it, that it was really difficult to move
about. People were not, however, unmindful of bargains--for the
French peasant woman is a thrifty body, and has a shrewd eye to
sous--so the chaffering and haggling, which almost invariably
precede each purchase, went on as briskly as usual but, between
times, all thoughts and all tongues ran upon the great event of the
day.

It was certain--quite certain, now--that there was to be war with
Prussia. The newspapers had said so, for some days; but then, bah!
who believes a newspaper? Monsieur le Prefect had published the
news, today; and everyone knows that Monsieur le Prefect is not a
man to say a thing, unless it were true. Most likely the Emperor,
himself, had written to him. Oh! There could be no doubt about it,
now.

It was singular to hear, amidst all the talk, that the speculation
and argument turned but little upon the chances of the war, itself;
it being tacitly assumed to be a matter of course that the Germans
would be defeated, with ease, by the French. The great subject of
speculation was upon the points which directly affected the
speakers. Would the Mobiles be called out, and forced to march;
would soldiers who had served their time be recalled to the
service, even if they were married; and would next year's
conscripts be called out, at once? These were the questions which
everyone asked, but no one could answer. In another day or two, it
was probable that the orders respecting these matters would arrive
and, in the meantime, the merry Burgundian girls endeavored to hide
their own uneasiness by laughingly predicting an early summons to
arms to the young men of their acquaintance.

At the Lycee--or great school--the boys are just coming out. They
are too excited to attend to lessons, and have been released hours
before their usual time. They troop out from the great doors,
talking and gesticulating. Their excitement, however, takes a
different form to that which that of English boys would do, under
the same circumstances. There was no shouting, no pushing, no
practical jokes. The French boy does not play; at least, he does
not play roughly. When young he does, indeed, sometimes play at
buchon--a game something similar to the game of buttons, as played
by English street boys. He may occasionally play at marbles but,
after twelve years of age, he puts aside games as beneath him.
Prisoners' base, football, and cricket are alike unknown to him;
and he considers any exertion which would disarrange his hair, or
his shirt collar, as barbarous and absurd. His amusements are
walking in the public promenade, talking politics with the gravity
of a man of sixty, and discussing the local news and gossip.

This is the general type of French school boy. Of course, there are
many exceptions and, in the Lycee of Dijon, these were more
numerous than usual. This was due, to a great extent, to the
influence of the two boys who are coming out of the school, at the
present moment. Ralph and Percy Barclay are--as one can see at
first sight--English; that is to say, their father is English, and
they have taken after him, and not after their French mother. They
are French born, for they first saw the light at the pretty cottage
where they still live, about two miles out of the town; but their
father, Captain Barclay, has brought them up as English boys, and
they have been for two years at a school in England.

Their example has had some effect. Their cousins, Louis and
Philippe Duburg, are almost as fond of cricket, and other games,
and of taking long rambles for miles round, as they are themselves.
Other boys have also taken to these amusements and, consequently,
you would see more square figures, more healthy faces at the Lycee
at Dijon than at most other French schools. The boys who joined in
these games formed a set in themselves, apart from the rest. They
were called either the English set or, contemptuously, the
"savages;" but this latter name was not often applied to them
before their faces, for the young Barclays had learned to box, in
England; and their cousins, as well as a few of the others, had
practised with the gloves with them. Consequently, although the
"savages" might be wondered at, and sneered at behind their backs,
the offensive name was never applied in their hearing.

At the present moment, Ralph Barclay was the center of a knot of
lads of his own age.

"And so, you don't think that we shall get to Berlin, Ralph
Barclay? You think that these Prussian louts are going to beat the
French army? Look now, it is a little strong to say that, in a
French town."

"But I don't say that, at all," Ralph Barclay said. "You are
talking as if it was a certainty that we were going to march over
the Prussians. I simply say, don't be too positive. There can be no
doubt about the courage of the French army; but pluck, alone, won't
do. The question is, are our generals and our organization as good
as those of the Prussians? And can we put as many, or anything like
as many, men into the field? I am at least half French, and hope
with all my heart that we shall thrash these Germans; but we know
that they are good soldiers, and it is safer not to begin to brag,
till the work is over."

There was silence, for a minute or two, after Ralph ceased
speaking. The fact was, the thought that perhaps France might be
defeated had never once, before, presented itself to them as
possible. They were half disposed to be angry with the English boy
for stating it; but it was in the first place, evident now that
they thought of it, that it was just possible and, in the second
place, a quarrel with Ralph Barclay was a thing which all his
schoolfellows avoided.

Ralph Barclay was nearly sixteen, his brother a year younger. Their
father, Captain Barclay, had lost a leg in one of the innumerable
wars in India, two or three years before the outbreak of the
Crimean war. He returned to England, and was recommended by his
doctors to spend the winter in the south of France. This he did
and, shortly after his arrival at Pau, he had fallen in love with
Melanie Duburg; daughter of a landed proprietor near Dijon, and who
was stopping there with a relative. A month later he called upon
her father at Dijon and, in the spring, they were married. Captain
Barclay's half pay, a small private income, and the little fortune
which his wife brought him were ample to enable him to live
comfortably, in France; and there, accordingly, he had settled
down.

His family consisted of Ralph, Percy, and a daughter--called, after
her mother, Melanie, and who was two years younger than Percy. It
had always been Captain Barclay's intention to return to England,
when the time came for the boys to enter into some business or
profession; and he had kept up his English connection by several
visits there, of some months' duration, with his whole family. The
boys, too, had been for two years at school in England--as well as
for two years in Germany--and they spoke the three languages with
equal fluency.

A prettier abode than that of Captain Barclay would be difficult to
find. It was in no particular style of architecture, and would have
horrified a lover of the classic. It was half Swiss, half Gothic,
and altogether French. It had numerous little gables, containing
the funniest-shaped little rooms. It had a high roof, with
projecting eaves; and round three sides ran a wide veranda, with a
trellis work--over which vines were closely trained--subduing the
glare of the summer sun, casting a cool green shade over the
sitting rooms, and affording a pretty and delightfully cool
retreat; where Mrs. Barclay generally sat with her work and taught
Melanie, moving round the house with the sun, so as to be always in
the shade.

The drawing and dining rooms both opened into this veranda The road
came up to the back of the house; and upon the other three sides
was a garden, which was a compromise between the English and French
styles. It had a smooth, well-mown lawn, with a few patches of
bright flowers which were quite English; and mixed up among them,
and beyond them, were clumps of the graceful foliaged plants and
shrubs in which the French delight. Beyond was a vineyard, with its
low rows of vines while, over these, the view stretched away to the
towers of Dijon.

In the veranda the boys, upon their return, found Captain Barclay
reading the papers, and smoking. He looked up as they entered.

"You are back early, boys."

"Yes, papa, there was so much talking going on, that the professor
gave it up as hopeless. You have heard the news, of course?"

"Yes, boys, and am very sorry to hear it."

Captain Barclay spoke so gravely that Ralph asked, anxiously:

"Don't you think we shall thrash them, papa?"

"I consider it very doubtful, Ralph," his father said. "Prussia has
already gained an immense moral victory. She has chosen her own
time for war; and has, at the same time, obliged France to take the
initiative, and so to appear to be the aggressor--and therefore to
lose the moral support of Europe. She has forced this quarrel upon
France, and yet nine-tenths of Europe look upon France as the
inciter of the war. History will show the truth, but it will then
be too late. As it is, France enters upon the war with the weight
of public opinion dead against her and, what is worse, she enters
upon it altogether unprepared; whereas Prussia has been getting
ready, for years."

"But the French always have shown themselves to be better soldiers
than the Prussians, papa."

"So they have, Percy, and--equally well led, disciplined, and
organized--I believe that, in anything like equal forces, they
would do so again. The question is, have we generals to equal those
who led the Prussians to victory against Austria? Is our discipline
equal--or anything like equal--to that of the Prussians? Is our
organization as good as theirs? And lastly, have we anything like
their numbers?

"I don't like the look of it, boys, at all. We ought, according to
published accounts, to be able to put a larger army than theirs in
the field, just at first and, if we were but prepared, should
certainly be able to carry all before us, for a while. I question
very much if we are so prepared. Supposing it to be so, however,
the success would, I fear, be but temporary; for the German
reserves are greatly superior to ours. Discipline, too, has gone
off sadly, since I first knew the French army.

"Radical opinions may be very wise, and very excellent for a
nation, for aught I know; but it is certain that they are fatal to
the discipline of an army. My own opinion, as you know, is that
they are equally fatal for a country, but that is a matter of
opinion, only; but of the fact that a good Radical makes an
extremely bad soldier, I am quite clear, and the spread of Radical
opinion among the French army has been very great. Then, too, the
officers have been much to blame. They think of pleasure far more
than duty. They spend four times as much time in the cafes and
billiard rooms as they do in the drill ground. Altogether, in my
opinion, the French army has greatly gone off in all points--except
in courage which, being a matter of nationality, is probably as
high as ever. It is a bad lookout, boys--a very bad lookout.

"There, don't talk about it any more. I do not want to make your
mother unhappy. Remember not to express--either as my or your own
opinion--anything I have said, in the town. It would only render
you obnoxious, and might even cause serious mischief. If things go
wrong, French mobs are liable to wreak their bad temper on the
first comer."

"Percy," Mrs. Barclay said, coming into the room, "please to run
down to the end of the garden, and cut some lettuces for salad.
Marie is so upset that she can do nothing."

"What is the matter with her, mamma?" both the boys asked, at once.

"Victor Harve--you know him, the son of the blacksmith Harve, who
had served his time in the army, and came back two months ago to
join his father in his forge, and to marry our Marie--has left to
join his regiment. He was here, an hour since, to say goodbye. By
this time he will have started. It is not wonderful that she weeps.
She may never see him again. I have told her that she must be
brave. A Frenchwoman should not grudge those she loves most to
fight for France."

"Ah! Melanie," Captain Barclay said, smiling, "these little
patriotic outbursts are delightful, when one does not have to
practice them at one's own expense. 'It is sweet and right to die
for one's country,' said the old Roman, and everyone agrees with
him but, at the same time, every individual man has a strong
objection to put himself in the way of this sweet and proper death.

"Although, as you say, no Frenchwoman should grudge her love to her
country; I fancy, if a levee en masse took place, tomorrow, and the
boys as well as the cripples had to go--so that Ralph, Percy, and I
were all obliged to march--you would feel that you did grudge us to
the country, most amazingly."

Mrs. Barclay turned a little pale at the suggestion.

"Ah! I can't suppose that, Richard. You are English, and they
cannot touch you, or the boys; even if you could march, and if they
were old enough."

Captain Barclay smiled.

"That is no answer, Melanie. You are shirking the question. I said,
if they were to make us go."

"Ah, yes! I am afraid I should grudge you, Richard, and the boys,
except the enemy were to invade France; and then everyone, even we
women, would fight. But of that there is no chance. It is we who
will invade."

Captain Barclay made no reply.

"The plums want gathering, papa," Percy said, returning from
cutting the lettuces. "It was arranged that our cousins should come
over, when they were ripe, and have a regular picking. They have no
plums, and Madame Duburg wants them for preserving. May we go over
after dinner, and ask them to come in at three o'clock, and spend
the evening?"

"Certainly," Captain Barclay said; "and you can give your mamma's
compliments, and ask if your uncle and Madame Duburg will come in,
after they have dined. The young ones will make their dinner at our
six o'clock tea."

In France early dinner is a thing scarcely known, even among the
peasantry; that is to say, their meals are taken at somewhat the
same time as ours are, but are called by different names. The
Frenchman never eats what we call breakfast; that is, he never
makes a really heavy meal, the first thing in the morning. He
takes, however, coffee and milk and bread and butter, when he gets
up. He does not call this breakfast. He speaks of it as his morning
coffee; and takes his breakfast at eleven, or half-past eleven, or
even at twelve. This is a regular meal, with soup, meat, and wine.
In England it would be called an early lunch. At six o'clock the
Frenchman dines, and even the working man calls this meal--which an
English laborer would call supper--his dinner. The Barclays' meals,
therefore, differed more in name than in reality from those of
their neighbors.

Louis and Philippe Duburg came in at five o'clock, but brought a
message that their sisters would come in with their father and
mother, later. Melanie was neither surprised nor disappointed at
the non-arrival of her cousins. She greatly preferred being with
the boys, and always felt uncomfortable with Julie and Justine;
who, although little older than herself, were already as prim,
decorous, and properly behaved as if they had been women of thirty
years old. After tea was over, the four boys returned to their work
of gathering plums; while Melanie--or Milly, as her father called
her, to distinguish her from her mother--picked up the plums that
fell, handed up fresh baskets and received the full ones, and
laughed and chattered with her brothers and cousins.

While so engaged, Monsieur and Madame Duburg arrived, with their
daughters, Julie and Justine. Monsieur Duburg--Mrs. Barclay's
brother--was proprietor of a considerable estate, planted almost
entirely with vines. His income was a large one, for the soil was
favorable, and he carried on the culture with such care and
attention that the wines fetched a higher price than any in the
district. He was a clear-headed, sensible man, with a keen eye to a
bargain. He was fond of his sister and her English husband, and had
offered no opposition to his boys entering into the games and
amusements of their cousins--although his wife was constantly
urging him to do so. It was, to Madame Duburg, a terrible thing
that her boys--instead of being always tidy and orderly, and ready,
when at home, to accompany her for a walk--should come home
flushed, hot, and untidy, with perhaps a swelled cheek or a black
eye, from the effects of a blow from a cricket ball or boxing
glove.

Upon their arrival at Captain Barclay's, the two gentlemen strolled
out to smoke a cigar together, and to discuss the prospects of the
war and its effect upon prices.

Mrs. Barclay had asked Julie and Justine if they would like to go
down to the orchard; but Madame Duburg had so hurriedly answered in
their name, in a negative--saying that they would stroll round the
garden until Melanie returned--that Mrs. Barclay had no resource
but to ask them, when they passed near the orchard, to call
Milly--in her name--to join them in the garden.

"My dear Melanie," Madame Duburg began, when her daughters had
walked away in a quiet, prim manner, hand in hand, "I was really
quite shocked, as we came along. There was Melanie, laughing and
calling out as loudly as the boys themselves, handing up baskets
and lifting others down, with her hair all in confusion, and
looking--excuse my saying so--more like a peasant girl than a young
lady."

Mrs. Barclay smiled quietly.

"Milly is enjoying herself, no doubt, sister-in-law; and I do not
see that her laughing, or calling out, or handing baskets will do
her any serious harm. As for her hair, five minutes' brushing will
set that right."

"But, my dear sister-in-law," Madame Duburg said, earnestly, "do
you recall to yourself that Milly is nearly fourteen years old;
that she will soon be becoming a woman, that in another three years
you will be searching for a husband for her? My faith, it is
terrible--and she has yet no figure, no manner;" and Madame Duburg
looked, with an air of gratified pride, at the stiff figures of her
own two girls.

"Her figure is not a bad one, sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said,
composedly; "she is taller than Julie--who is six months her
senior--she is as straight as an arrow. Her health is admirable;
she has never had a day's illness."

"But she cannot walk; she absolutely cannot walk!" Madame Duburg
said, lifting up her hands in horror.

"She walked upwards of twelve miles with her father, yesterday,"
Mrs. Barclay said, pretending to misunderstand her sister-in-law's
meaning.

"I did not mean that," Madame Duburg said, impatiently, "but she
walks like a peasant girl. My faith, it is shocking to say, but she
walks like a boy. I should be desolated to see my daughter step out
in that way.

"Then, look at her manners. My word, she has no manners at all. The
other day when I was here, and Monsieur de Riviere with his sons
called, she was awkward and shy; yes, indeed, she was positively
awkward and shy. It is dreadful for me to have to say so,
sister-in-law, but it is true. No manners, no ease! Julie, and even
Justine, can receive visitors even as I could do, myself."

"Her manners are not formed yet, sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said,
quietly, "nor do I care that they should be. She is a young girl at
present, and I do not wish to see her a woman before her time. In
three years it will be time enough for her to mend her manners."

"But in three years, sister-in-law, you will be looking for a
husband for her."

"I shall be doing nothing of the sort," Mrs. Barclay said,
steadily. "In that, as in many other matters, I greatly prefer the
English ways. As you know, we give up our house in two years, and
go to England to reside. We have economized greatly, during the
seventeen years since our marriage. We can afford to live in
England, now.

"At sixteen, therefore, Milly will have good masters; and for two
years her education will be carried on, and her walk and manner
will, no doubt, improve. In England, fathers and mothers do not
arrange the marriage of their children; and Milly will have to do
as other girls do--that is--wait until someone falls in love with
her, and she falls in love with him. Then, if he is a proper
person, and has enough to keep her, they will be married."

Madame Duburg was too much shocked at the expression of these
sentiments to answer at once. She only sighed, shook her head, and
looked upwards.

"It is strange," she said at last, "to hear you, sister-in-law--a
Frenchwoman--speak so lightly of marriage. As if a young girl could
know, as well as her parents, who is a fit and proper person for
her to marry. Besides, the idea of a young girl falling in love,
before she marries, is shocking, quite shocking!"

"My dear sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said, "we have talked this
matter over before, and I have always stated my opinion, frankly. I
have been a good deal in England; and have seen, therefore, and
know the result of English marriages. I know also what French
marriages are; and no one, who does know the state of things in the
two countries, can hesitate for a moment in declaring that married
life in England is infinitely happier, in every respect, than it is
in France. The idea of telling your daughter that she is to marry a
man whom she has never seen--as we do in France--is, to my mind,
simply monstrous. Fortunately, I myself married for love; and I
have been happy, ever since. I intend Milly, when the time comes,
to do the same thing."

Before Madame Duburg had time to answer, the gentlemen joined them,
and the conversation turned upon the war. In a short time the three
girls came up.

"What a rosy little thing you are, Milly," her uncle said; "where
do you get your plump cheeks, and your bright color? I wish you
could give the receipt to Julie and Justine. Why, if you were to
blow very hard, I do think you would blow them both down."

"I am really surprised at you, Monsieur Duburg," his wife said,
angrily. "I am sure I do not wish Julie and Justine to have as much
color as their cousin. I consider it quite a misfortune for poor
Milly. It is so very commonplace. Poor child, she looks as if she
had been working at the vintage."

"That is right, madame; stand up for your own," and her husband,
who was accustomed to his wife's speeches, laughed. "But for all
that, commonplace or not commonplace, I should like to see some of
Milly's bright, healthy color in my girls' cheeks; and I should
like to see them walk as if they had forgotten, for a moment, their
tight boots and high heels."

His wife was about to make an angry reply, when the arrival of the
four boys--bearing in triumph the last basket of plums--changed the
conversation; and shortly afterwards, Madame Duburg remarking that
the evening was damp, and that she did not like Julie and Justine
to be out in it any later, the Du burgs took their leave.



Chapter 2: Terrible News.


The ten days succeeding the declaration of war were days of
excitement, and anticipation. The troops quartered at Dijon moved
forward at once; and scarcely an hour passed but long trains,
filled with soldiers from Lyons and the South, were on their way up
towards Metz. The people of Dijon spent half their time in and
around the station. The platform was kept clear; but bands of
ladies relieved each other every few hours, and handed soup, bread,
fruit, and wine to the soldiers as they passed through. Each
crowded train was greeted, as it approached the station, with
cheers and waving of handkerchiefs; to which the troops as heartily
responded. Most of the trains were decorated with boughs, and
presented a gay appearance as, filled with the little line men, the
sunburned Zouaves, swarthy Turcos, gay hussars, or sober
artillerymen, they wound slowly into the town.

Some of the trains were less gay, but were not less significant of
war. Long lines of wagons, filled with cannon; open trucks with the
deadly shell--arranged side by side, point upwards, and looking
more like eggs in a basket than deadly missiles--came and went.
There, too, were long trains of pontoons for forming bridges while,
every half hour, long lines of wagons filled with biscuits, barrels
of wine, sacks of coffee, and cases of stores of all sorts and
kinds passed through.

The enthusiasm of Dijon, at the sight of this moving panorama of
war, rose to fever heat. The sound of the Marseillaise resounded
from morning to night. Victory was looked upon as certain, and the
only subject of debate was as to the terms which victorious France
would impose upon conquered Prussia. The only impatience felt was
for the news of the first victory.

Captain Barclay sent down several casks of wine, for the use of the
passing troops; and his wife went down, each day, to assist at the
distribution. In the evening she and Milly scraped old rags, to
make lint for the wounded. The Lycee was still closed--as it was
found impossible to get the boys to attend to their studies--and
Ralph and Percy spent their time in watching the trains go past,
and in shouting themselves hoarse.

Captain Barclay did not share in the general enthusiasm and, each
morning at breakfast, he looked more and more grave as, upon
opening the papers, he found there was still no news of the
commencement of hostilities.

"What difference does it make, papa?" Ralph asked, one day; "we are
sending fresh troops up, every hour, and I do not see how a few
days' delay can be any disadvantage to us."

"It makes all the difference, Ralph, all the difference in the
world. We had a considerably larger standing army than the
Prussians, and had the advantage that the main body of our troops
were very much nearer to the frontier than those of the Prussians.
If things had been ready, we ought to have marched two hundred
thousand men into Germany, three or four days--at latest--after the
declaration of war. The Germans could have had no force capable of
resisting them. We should have had the prestige of a first
success--no slight thing with a French army--and we should also
have had the great and solid advantage of fighting in an enemy's
country, instead of upon our own.

"The German reserves are far greater than our own. We know how
perfect their organization is, and every hour of delay is an
immense advantage to them. It is quite likely now that, instead of
the French invading Germany, it will be the Prussians who will
invade France."

The boys were but little affected by their father's forebodings. It
was scarcely possible to suppose that everyone could be wrong;
still more impossible to believe that those great hosts which they
saw passing, so full of high hope and eager courage, could be
beaten. They were, however, very glad to sit round the table of an
evening, while Captain Barclay opened a great map on the table,
explained the strength of the various positions, and the
probability of this or that line of attack being selected by one or
the other army.

Day after day went by until, on the 2nd of August, the news came at
last. The first blow had been struck, the first blood shed--the
French had taken Saarbruck.

"It is too late," Captain Barclay said, as Ralph and Percy rushed
in, to say that the news was posted up at the Prefecture. "It is
too late, boys. The English papers, of this morning, have brought
us the news that the Germans are massing at least seven or eight
hundred thousand men, along the line from Saar Louis to Spiers. It
is evident that they fell back from Saarbruck without any serious
resistance. In another two or three days they will be in readiness
and, as they must far outnumber our men, you will see that the
advantage at Saarbruck will not be followed up, and that the
Prussians will assume the offensive."

"Then what do you really think will be the result, papa?"

"I think, Ralph, that we shall be forced to do what--not having, at
once, taken the offensive--we ought to have done from the first. We
shall have to fall back, to abandon the line of frontier--which is
altogether indefensible--and to hold the line of the Moselle, and
the spurs of the Vosges; an immensely strong position, and which we
ought to be able to hold against all the efforts of Prussia."

The exultation of Dijon was but short lived for, on the 5th, the
boys came up in the afternoon, from the town, with very serious
faces.

"What is the matter, Ralph?"

"There is a rumor in the town, papa, that the Swiss papers have
published an account of the capture of Weissenburg, by the
Prussians. A great many French are said to be prisoners. Do you
think it can be true?"

"It is probable, at any rate, Ralph. The Swiss papers would, of
course, get the news an hour or so after it is known in Germany. We
must not begin by believing all that the telegram says, because
both sides are certain to claim victories; still, the absolute
capture of a town is a matter upon which there can be no dispute,
and is therefore likely enough to be true. We know the Prussians
were massed all along that line and, as I expected, they have taken
the offensive. Their chances of success in so doing were evident;
as neither party know where the others are preparing to strike a
blow, and each can therefore concentrate, and strike with an
overwhelming force at any given point.

"Now that the Germans have made the first move, and shown their
intention, both parties will concentrate in that direction. You
see, from Weissenburg the Germans can either march south upon
Strasburg, or southwest upon Metz or Nancy; but to reach this
latter place they will have to cross the spurs of the Vosges. The
French will, of course, try to bar their further advance. We may
expect a great battle, in a day or two."

The news came but too soon for--two days later--Dijon, as well as
all France, stood aghast at the news of the utter rout of
MacMahon's division, after the desperately contested battle of
Woerth; and the not less decided, though less disastrous, defeats
of the French left, at Forbach, by the troops of Steinmetz. Some
little consolation was, however, gleaned by the fact that the
French had been beaten in detail; and had shown the utmost
gallantry, against greatly superior numbers. They would now, no
doubt, fall back behind the Moselle; and hold that line, and the
position of the Vosges, until fresh troops could come up, and a
great battle be fought upon more even terms.

Fresh levies were everywhere ordered, and a deep and general
feeling of rage prevailed. No one thought of blaming the troops--it
was evident that they had done their best; the fault lay with the
generals, and with the organization.

Captain Barclay pointed out, to the boys, that the officers and men
were somewhat to blame, also; for the utter confusion which
prevailed among MacMahon's troops, in their retreat, showed that
the whole regimental system was faulty; and that there could have
been no real discipline, whatever, or the shattered regiments would
have rallied, a few miles from the field of battle.

In Dijon, the change during the last fortnight was marvelous The
war spirit was higher than ever. Cost what it might, this disgrace
must be wiped out. The Mobiles were hard at work, drilling. The
soldiers who had long left the army were starting, by every train,
to the depots. The sound of the Marseillaise rang through the
streets, night and day. The chorus, "To arms," gained a fresh
meaning and power and, in spite of these first defeats, none
dreamed of final defeat.

Every day, however, the news became worse. Strasburg was cut off;
and the Prussians marched unopposed across the spurs of the Vosges,
where a mere handful of men might have checked them.

"Boys, there are terrible days in store, for France," Captain
Barclay said, when the news came that the enemy had entered Nancy.
"The line of the Moselle is turned. Bazaine will be cut off, unless
he hurries his retreat; and then nothing can stop the Prussians
from marching to Paris."

The boys sat speechless at this terrible assurance.

"Surely it cannot be as bad as that," Mrs. Barclay said. "Frenchmen
cannot have lost all their old qualities; and all France will rise,
like one man, to march to the defense of Paris."

"Raw levies will be of no use, whatever, against the Prussian
troops, flushed with victory," Captain Barclay said; "even if they
were armed--and where are the arms, for a levy en masse, to come
from? If Bazaine be beaten, the only hope of France is for all the
troops who remain to fall back under the guns of the forts of
Paris; and for France to enter upon an immense guerrilla war. For
hosts of skirmishers to hang upon their flanks and rear; cutting
every road, destroying every bridge, checking the movements of
every detached body, and so actually starving them out, on the
ground which they occupy.

"This, however, will demand an immense amount of pluck, of
endurance, of perseverance, of sacrifice, and of patriotism. The
question is, does France possess these qualities?"

"Surely, Richard, you cannot doubt the patriotism of the French,"
Mrs. Barclay said, a little reproachfully.

"My dear Melanie," her husband said, "I am sorry to say that I very
greatly doubt the patriotism of the French. They are--more than any
people, more even than the English, whom they laugh at as a nation
of shopkeepers--a money-making race. The bourgeoise class, the
shopkeepers, the small proprietors, are selfish in the extreme.
They think only of their money, their business, and their comforts.
The lower class are perhaps better, but their first thoughts will
be how the war will affect themselves and, unless there is some
chance of the enemy approaching their homes, driving off their
cattle, and plundering their cottages, they will look on with a
very calm eye at the general ruin.

"I believe, remember, that those who will be called out will go
and, if affairs go as I fear that they will do, every man under
fifty years old in France will have to go out; but it is not enough
to go out. For a war like this, it will require desperate courage
and endurance, and an absolute disregard of life; to counterbalance
the disadvantages of want of discipline, want of arms, want of
artillery, and want of organization I may be wrong--I hope that I
am so--but time will show."

"And do you think that there is any chance of their coming down
here, as well as of going to Paris, papa?" Percy asked.

"That would depend upon the length of the resistance, Percy. If
France holds out, and refuses to grant any terms which the
Prussians might try to impose upon them, they may overrun half the
country and, as this town is directly upon their way for Lyons--the
second town of France--they are exceedingly likely to come this
way."

"Well, if they do, papa," Ralph said, with heightened color, "I
feel sure that every man who can carry a gun will go out, and that
every home will be defended."

"We shall see, Ralph," Captain Barclay said, "we shall see."

Another pause, and then came the news of that terrible three days'
fighting--on the 14th, 16th, and 18th--near Metz; when Bazaine, his
retreat towards Paris cut off, vainly tried to force his way
through the Prussian army and, failing, fell back into Metz. Even
now, when the position was well-nigh desperate--with the only great
army remaining shut up and surrounded; and with nothing save the
fragment of MacMahon's division, with a few other regiments,
collected in haste, and the new levies, encamped at Chalons,
between the victorious enemy and the capital--the people of France
were scarcely awake to the urgency of the position. The Government
concealed at least a portion of the truth, and the people were only
too ready to be deceived.

In Dijon, however, the facts were better known, and more
understood. The Swiss newspapers, containing the Prussian official
telegrams and accounts, arrived daily; and those who received them
speedily spread the news through the town. The consternation was
great, and general, but there was no sign of despair. Those of the
Mobiles who were armed and equipped were sent off, at once, to
Chalons. At every corner of the street were placards, calling out
the Mobiles and soldiers who had served their time; and, although
not yet called to arms, the national guard drilled in the Place
d'Armes, morning and evening.

"You will allow, Richard, that you were mistaken as to the
patriotism of the people," Mrs. Barclay said, one evening, to her
husband. "Everyone is rushing to arms."

"They are coming out better than I had expected, Melanie; but at
the same time, you will observe that they have no choice in the
matter. The Mobiles are called out, and have to go. All who can
raise the most frivolous pretext for exemption do so. There is a
perfect rush of young men to the Prefecture, to obtain places in
the clothing, medical, arming, and equipping departments; in any
sort of service, in fact, which will exempt its holder from taking
up arms.

"At the same time, there is a great deal of true, earnest
patriotism. Many married men, with families, have volunteered; and
those belonging to the categories called out do go, as you say,
cheerfully, if not willingly and, once enrolled, appear determined
to do their duty.

"France will need all the patriotism, and all the devotion of her
people to get through the present crisis. There is no saying how it
will end. I have no hope, whatever, that MacMahon's new army can
arrest the march of the enemy; and his true course is to fall back
upon Paris. Our chance, here, of remaining free from a visit of the
enemy depends entirely upon the length of time which Strasburg and
Metz hold out. Bazaine may be able to cut his way out but, at any
rate, he is likely to remain where he is, for some little time,
under the walls of Metz; for he occupies the attention of a
considerably larger force than that which he commands.

"The vital point, at present, is to cut the roads behind the
Germans. If it were not for this cork leg of mine, Melanie, I would
try and raise a small guerrilla corps, and set out on my own
account. I have lived here for seventeen years, now, and the French
fought by our side, in the Crimea. Could I do so, I should
certainly fight for France, now. It is clearly the duty of anyone
who can carry a musket to go out."

Just at this moment the door opened, and Ralph and Percy entered
hastily. They both looked excited, but serious.

"What is it, boys?"

"Papa," Ralph said, "there is a notice up, signed by your friend
Captain Tempe. He calls for a hundred volunteers, to join a corps
of franc tireurs--a sort of guerrillas, I believe--to go out to
harass the Germans, and cut their communication. Those who can are
to provide their own arms and equipments. A meeting is to be held,
tonight, for subscribing the money for those who cannot afford to
do so.

"We have come to ask you to let us join, papa. Louis and Philippe
have just gone to ask uncle's leave."

Captain Barclay listened in silence, with a very grave face. Their
mother sat down in a chair, with a white face.

"Oh, my boys, you are too young," she gasped out.

"We are stronger, mamma, than a great many of the men who have been
called out; and taller and stouter, in every way. We can walk
better than the greater portion of them. We are accustomed to
exercise and fatigue. We are far more fit to be soldiers than many
young men who have gone from here. You said yourself, mamma, that
everyone who could carry a gun ought to go out."

"But you are not French, boys," Mrs. Barclay said, piteously.

"We are half French, mamma. Not legally, but it has been home to
us, since we were born and, even if you had not been French, we
ought to fight for her."

Mrs. Barclay looked at her husband for assistance, but Captain
Barclay had leaned his face in his hands, and said nothing.

"Ah, Ralph; but Percy at least, he is only fifteen."

"I am nearly as big, nearly as strong as Ralph, mamma. Besides,
would it not be better to have two of us? If one is ill or--or
wounded--the other could look after him, you know.

"Mamma, dearest, we have talked it over, and we think we ought to
go. We are very strong for our ages; and it is strength, not years,
which matters. Mamma, you said a Frenchwoman should not grudge
those she loves to France; and that if France was invaded all, even
the women, should go out."

Mrs. Barclay was silent. She could not speak. She was so deadly
pale, and her face had such an expression of misery, that the boys
felt their resolution wavering.

Captain Barclay looked up.

"Boys," he said, very gravely, "I have one question to ask; which
you will answer me truly, upon your faith and honor Do you wish to
go merely--or principally--from a desire to see the excitement and
the adventure of a guerrilla war; or do you go out because you
desire earnestly to do your best, to defend the country in which
you were born, and lived? Are you prepared to suffer any hardship
and, if it is the will of God, to die for her?"

"We are, papa," both boys said.

And Ralph went on:

"When we first talked over the possibility of everyone being called
out--and of our going, too--we did look upon it as a case of fun
and excitement; but when the chance really came, we saw how serious
it was. We knew how much it would cost you, and dear mamma; and we
would not have asked you, had we not felt that we ought to go, even
if we knew we should be killed."

"In that case, boys," Captain Barclay said, solemnly, rising and
laying one hand on the shoulder of each of his sons, "in that case,
I say no more. You are a soldier's sons, and your example may do
good. It is your duty, and that of everyone, to fight for his
country. I give you my full consent to go. I should not have
advised it. At your age, there was no absolute duty. Still, if you
feel it so, I will not stand in your way.

"Go then, my boys, and may God watch over you, and keep you, and
send you safe home again."

So saying, he kissed them both on the forehead, and walked from the
room without saying another word.

Then the boys turned to their mother, who was crying silently and,
falling upon her neck, they kissed her and cried with her. It was
understood that her consent was given, with their father's.

Milly, coming in and hearing what was the matter, sat down in
sudden grief and astonishment on the nearest chair, and cried
bitterly. It was a sad half hour, and the boys were almost inclined
to regret that they had asked for leave to go. However, there was
no drawing back now and, when they left their mother, they went on
to tell their cousins that they were going.

They found Louis and Philippe in a state of great disappointment,
because their father had altogether refused to listen to their
entreaties. Upon hearing, however, that Ralph and Percy were going,
they gained fresh hope; for they said, if English boys could go and
fight for France, it was shameful that French boys should stay at
home, in idleness.

Captain Barclay, after giving permission to his sons to go as franc
tireurs, first went for a walk by himself, to think over the
consequences of his decision. He then went down into Dijon, and
called upon Captain Tempe. The commander of the proposed corps had
served for many years in the Zouaves, and was known to be an able
and energetic officer. He had left the service, five or six years
previously, upon his marriage. He lived a short distance, only,
from Captain Barclay; and a warm friendship had sprung up between
them.

Upon Captain Barclay telling him why he had come to see him,
Captain Tempe expressed his satisfaction at the decision of the
young Barclays.

"I have already the names of one or two lads little, if any, older
than your eldest boy," he said; "and although the other is
certainly very young yet, as he is very stout and strong for his
age, I have no doubt he will bear the fatigue as well as many of
the men."

"I wish I could go with you," Captain Barclay said.

"I wish you could, indeed," Captain Tempe replied, warmly; "but
with your leg you never could keep up, on foot; and a horse would
be out of the question, among the forests of the Vosges mountains.

"You might, however--if you will--be of great use in assisting me
to drill and discipline my recruits, before starting."

"That I will do, with pleasure," Captain Barclay said. "I had been
thinking of offering my services, in that way, to the municipality;
as very few of the officers of the Mobiles, still less of the
national guard, know their duty. As it is, I will devote myself to
your corps, till they march.

"In the first place, how strong do you mean them to be?"

"One strong company, say one hundred and twenty men," Captain Tempe
answered. "More than that would be too unwieldy for guerrilla work.
I would rather have twenty less, than more; indeed, I should be
quite satisfied with a hundred. If I find that volunteers come in,
in greater numbers than I can accept, I shall advise them to get up
other, similar corps. There ought to be scores of small parties,
hanging upon the rear and flank of the enemy, and interrupting his
communication."

"How do you think of arming them?"

"Either with chassepots, or with your English rifles. It is of no
use applying to Government. They will not be able to arm the
Mobiles, for months; to say nothing of the national guard. We must
buy the rifles in England, or Belgium. It will be difficult to get
chassepots; so I think the best plan will be to decide, at once,
upon your Sniders."

"I know a gentleman who is connected with these matters, in
England; and will, if you like, send out an order at once for, say,
eleven dozen Sniders; to be forwarded via Rouen, and thence by
rail."

"I should be very glad if you would do so," Captain Tempe said. "I
have no doubt about getting that number of recruits, easily enough.
I have had a good many calls already, this morning; and several
thousand francs of subscription have been promised. In another
three or four days, the money will be ready; so if you write to
your friends, to make an agreement with a manufacturer, I can give
you the money by the time his answer arrives. When the guns arrive,
those who can pay for them will do so, and the rest will be paid
for by the subscriptions.

"Of course, we shall want them complete with bayonets. If, at the
same time, you can order ammunition--say, two hundred rounds for
each rifle--it would be, perhaps, a saving of time; as the
Government may not be able to supply any, at first. However, after
the meeting, this evening, I shall see how the subscriptions come
in; and we can settle on these points, tomorrow. The municipality
will help, I have no doubt."

"What is your idea as to equipment, Tempe?"

"As light as possible. Nothing destroys the go of men more than to
be obliged to carry heavy weights on their shoulders. We shall be
essentially guerrillas Our attacks, to be successful, must be
surprises. Speed, therefore, and the power to march long distances,
are the first of essentials.

"I do not propose to carry knapsacks--mere haversacks, bags capable
of containing a spare shirt, a couple of pairs of socks, and three
days' biscuits. Each man must also carry a spare pair of boots,
strapped to his belt, behind. A thick blanket--with a hole cut for
the head, so as to make a cloak by day, a cover by night--will be
carried, rolled up over one shoulder like a scarf; and each man
should carry a light, waterproof coat.

"I do not propose to take even tents d'abri. They add considerably
to the weight and, unless when we are actually engaged in
expeditions, we shall make our headquarters at some village; when
the men can be dispersed among the cottages, or sleep in stables,
or barns. When on expeditions, they must sleep in the open air."

"I quite approve of your plan," Captain Barclay said. "Exclusive of
his rifle and ammunition, the weight need not be above fifteen
pounds a man and, with this, they ought to be able to march, and
fight, with comfort. The way your soldiers march out, laden like
beasts of burden, is absurd. It is impossible for men either to
march, or fight, with a heavy load upon their backs.

"Have you thought about uniform?"

"No, I have not settled at all. I thought of letting the men fix
upon one of their own choice."

"Do nothing of the sort," Captain Barclay said. "The men will only
think of what is most becoming, or picturesque. You cannot do
better than fix upon some good, serviceable uniform of a
dark-grayish color; something similar to that of some of our
English Volunteer Corps. I will give you a drawing of it.

"Let the tunics be made of a thick and good cloth. Let the men have
short trousers--or, as we call them, knickerbockers--with leather
gaiters and lace boots. The shoes of your soldier are altogether a
mistake. I will bring you a sketch, tomorrow; and you will see that
it is neat, as well as serviceable."

"Thank you.

"By the way, I suppose that you have no objection to my mentioning,
at the meeting this evening, that your sons have joined? If there
should be any inclination to hang back--which I hope there will not
be--the fact that your boys have joined may decide many who would
otherwise hesitate."

"Certainly.

"I will not detain you longer, at present. I shall see you in a day
or two, and any assistance which I can give is at your service."

"Thanks very much. I only wish that you could go with us.

"Goodbye. Tell the boys that their names are down, and that we
shall begin drill in a day or two."



Chapter 3: Death To The Spy!


The next morning Madame Duburg arrived, at ten o'clock; an hour at
which she had never, as far as Mrs. Barclay knew, turned out of her
house since her marriage. She was actually walking fast, too. It
was evident that something serious was the matter.

Mrs. Barclay was in the garden, and her visitor came straight out
from the house to her.

"Is anything the matter?" was Mrs. Barclay's first question.

"Yes, a great deal is the matter," Madame Duburg began, vehemently.
"You and your English husband are mad. Your wretched boys are mad.
They have made my sons mad, also; and--my faith--I believe that my
husband will catch it. It is enough to make me, also, mad."

Notwithstanding the trouble in which Mrs. Barclay was, at the
resolution of her sons, she could scarcely help smiling at the
excitement of Madame Duburg; the cause of which she at once
guessed. However, she asked, with an air of astonishment:

"My dear sister-in-law, what can you be talking about?"

"I know what I say," Madame Duburg continued. "I always said that
you were mad, you and your husband, to let your boys go about and
play, and tear and bruise themselves like wild Indians. I always
knew that harm would come of it, when I saw my boys come in
hot--oh, so unpleasantly hot, to look at--but I did not think of
such harm as this. My faith, it is incredible. When I heard that
you were to marry yourself to an Englishman, I said at once:

"'It is bad, harm will come of it. These English are islanders.
They are eccentric. They are mad. They sell their wives in the
market, with a cord round their neck.'"

"My dear sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay interrupted, "I have so often
assured you that that absurd statement was entirely false; and due
only to the absolute ignorance, of our nation, of everything
outside itself."

"I have heard it often," Madame Duburg went on, positively. "They
are a nation of singularities. I doubt not that it is true, he has
hidden the truth from you. True or false, I care not. They are mad.
For this I care not. My faith, I have not married an Englishman.
Why, then, should I care for the madness of this nation of
islanders?

"This I said, when I heard that you were to marry an Englishman.
Could I imagine that I, also, was to become a victim? Could I
suppose that my husband--a man sensible in most things--would also
become mad; that my boys would grow up like young savages, and
would offer themselves to go out to sleep without beds, to catch
colds, to have red noses and coughs, perhaps even--my faith--to be
killed by the balls of German pigs? My word of honor, I ask myself:

"'Am I living in France? Am I asleep? Am I dreaming? Am I, too,
mad?'

"I said to myself:

"'I shall go to my sister-in-law, and I will demand of her, is it
possible that these things are true?'"

"If you mean by all this, sister-in-law, is it true that I have
consented to my boys going out to fight for France, it is quite
true," Mrs. Barclay said, quietly.

Madame Duburg sat down upon a garden seat, raised her hands, and
nodded her head slowly and solemnly.

"She says it is true, she actually says that it is true."

"Why should they not go?" Mrs. Barclay continued, quietly. "They
are strong enough to carry arms, and why should they not go out to
defend their country? In a short time, it is likely that everyone
who can carry arms will have to go. I shall miss them sorely, it is
a terrible trial; but other women have to see their sons go out,
why should not I?"

"Because there is no occasion for it, at all," Madame Duburg said,
angrily; "because they are boys and not men, because their father
is English; and stupid men like my husband will say, if these young
English boys go, it will be a shame upon us for our own to remain
behind.

"What, I ask you, is the use of being well off? What is the use of
paying taxes for an army, if our boys must fight? It is absurd, it
is against reason, it is atrocious."

Madame Duburg's anger and remonstrance were, alike, lost upon Mrs.
Barclay; and she cut her visitor short.

"My dear sister-in-law, it is of no use arguing or talking. I
consider, rightly or wrongly, that the claims of our country stand
before our private convenience, or inconvenience. If I were a man,
I should certainly go out to fight; why should not my boys do so,
if they choose? At any rate, I have given my consent, and it is too
late to draw back, even if I wished to do so--which I say, frankly,
that I do not."

Madame Duburg took her departure, much offended and, late in the
evening, her husband came in and had a long talk with Captain
Barclay. The following morning Louis and Philippe came in--in a
high state of delight--to say that their father had, that morning,
given his consent to their going.

In three days after the opening of the list, a hundred and twenty
men had inscribed their names; and Captain Tempe refused to admit
more. Numbers were, he argued, a source of weakness rather than of
strength, when the men were almost entirely ignorant of drill. For
sudden attacks, for night marches, for attacks upon convoys, number
is less needed than dash and speed. Among large bodies discipline
cannot be kept up, except by immense severity upon the part of the
officers; or by the existence of that feeling of discipline and
obedience, among the men, which is gained only by long custom to
military habits. Besides which, the difficulty of obtaining
provisions for a large body of men would be enormous.

Indeed, Captain Tempe determined to organize even this small corps
into four companies, each of thirty men; to act under one head, and
to join together upon all occasions of important expeditions; but
at other times to be divided among villages, at such distance as
would enable them to watch a large extent of country, each company
sending out scouts and outposts in its own neighborhood.

By far the larger proportion of those who joined were either
proprietors, or the sons of proprietors, in and around Dijon. At
that time Government had made no arrangement, whatever, concerning
franc tireurs; and no pay was, therefore, available. The invitation
was, therefore, especially to those willing and able to go out upon
their own account, and at their own expense. Other recruits had
been invited but, as these could join the regular forces and
receive pay, and other advantages, the number who sent in their
names was small. The men who did so were, for the most part, picked
men; foresters, wood cutters, and others who preferred the
certainty of active and stirring service, among the franc tireurs,
to the pay and comparative monotony of the regular service. There
were some forty of these men among the corps, the rest being all
able to provide at least their outfit. Subscriptions had come in
rapidly and, in a week, an ample sum was collected to arm and equip
all those not able to do so for themselves; and to form a military
chest sufficient to pay for the food of the whole corps, in the
field, for some time.

When the list of volunteers was complete, a meeting was held at
which, for the first time, the future comrades met. Besides Ralph
and Percy, and their cousins, there were six or eight others of
their school friends, all lads of about sixteen. It was an
important moment in their lives, when they then felt themselves--if
not actually men--at least, as going to do the work of men. Upon
the table in the room in which the meeting was held was a document,
which each in turn was to sign and, behind this, Captain Tempe took
his seat.

As many of those present knew each other, there was a considerable
buzz and talk in the room, until Captain Tempe tapped the table for
silence, and then rose to speak.

"My friends," he began, "--for I cannot call you comrades, until
you have formally entered your names--before you irrevocably commit
yourselves to this affair, I wish you each to know exactly what it
is that we are going to do. This will be no holiday expedition. I
can promise all who go with me plenty of excitement, and a great
deal of fighting; but I can also promise them, with equal
certainty, an immense deal of suffering--an amount of hardship and
privation of which, at present, few here have any idea, whatever.
The winter is fast coming on, and winter in the Vosges mountains is
no trifle. Let no one, then, put down his name here who is not
prepared to suffer every hardship which it is well possible to
suffer.

"As to the danger, I say nothing. You are Frenchmen; and have come
forward to die, if needs be, for your country."

Here the speaker was interrupted by loud cheering, and cries of
"Vive la France!"

"Next, as to discipline. This is an extremely important point. In
our absence from military stations, it is essential that we,
ourselves, should keep and enforce the strictest discipline. I have
this morning received from General Palikao--under whom I served,
for many years--an answer to an application I wrote to him, a week
since. He highly approves of my plan of cutting the roads behind
the Prussians, and only wishes that he had a hundred small corps
out upon the same errand. He has already received other proposals
of the same nature. He enclosed, with his letter, my formal
appointment as Commandant of the Corps of Franc Tireurs of Dijon;
with full military authority, and power."

Great cheering again broke out.

"This power, in case of need, I warn you that I shall use
unhesitatingly. Discipline, in a corps like ours, is everything.
There must be no murmuring, under hardships; no hesitation in
obeying any order, however unpleasant. Prompt, willing, cheerful
obedience when at work; a warm friendship, and perfect good
fellowship at other times: this is my programme."

The speaker was again interrupted with hearty cheering.

"I intend to divide the corps into four companies, each of thirty
men. Each company will have an officer; and will, at times, act
independently of each other. I have deliberated whether it is best
to allow each company to choose its own officer, or whether to
nominate them myself. I have determined to adopt the latter course.
You can hardly be such good judges, as to the qualities required by
officers during an expedition like the present, as I am; and as I
know every man here, and as I shall have the opportunity of seeing
more of each man, during the three weeks which we shall spend here
upon drill, I shall then choose an officer for each company; but I
will leave it to each company to decide whether to accept my
choice, or not. There may be points in a man's character which may
make him unpopular.

"Now, as to drill. We have three weeks before us. Not long enough
to make men good soldiers; but amply sufficient--with hard work--to
make them good skirmishers. I have already arranged with four men
who have served as non-commissioned officers in the army, one of
whom will take each company.

"Captain Barclay--who is well known to most of you--has kindly
offered to give musketry instruction, for four hours each morning.
Ten men of each company will go, each morning for a week, to drill
at the range; so that, in three weeks, each man will have had a
week's instruction. The hours will be from seven to eleven. The
others will drill during the same hours.

"All will drill together, in the afternoon, from three to six. The
officer commanding the troops, here, has promised us the loan of a
hundred and twenty old guns, which are in store; and also of twenty
chassepots for rifle practice.

"That is all I have to say. All who are ready and willing to enter,
upon these terms, can now sign their names. Those who are not
perfectly sure of their own willingness can draw back, before it is
too late."

When the cheering ceased, each man came forward and signed his
name.

"The first parade will take place, at seven tomorrow morning, in
the Place d'Armes. A suit of uniform, complete, will be exhibited
here at twelve o'clock. A man has offered to supply them, at
contract prices; but any who prefer it can have it made by their
own tailor.

"Now, good night, boys."

"Vive les franc tireurs du Dijon!"

"Vive la France!" and, with a cheer, the men separated.

The next morning the corps met, and were divided into companies.
The division was alphabetical, and the young Barclays and Duburgs
were all in the first company. This was a matter of great pleasure
to them, as they had been afraid that they might have been
separated.

The following day, drill began in earnest and, accustomed as the
boys were to exercise, they found seven hours a day hard work of
it. Still, they felt it very much less than many of the young men
who, for years, had done little but lounge in cafes, or stroll at
the promenade. All, however, stuck to their work and, as their
hearts were in it, it was surprising how quickly they picked up the
rudiments of drill. Fortunately, they were not required to learn
anything beyond the management of their firearms, the simplest
movements, and the duty of skirmishers; as all complicated
maneuvers would have been useless, in a small corps whose duties
would be confined entirely to skirmishing.

With this branch of their work, Captain Tempe was determined that
they should be thoroughly acquainted, and they were taught how to
use cover of all kinds with advantage; how to defend a building,
crenelate a wall, fell trees to form an obstacle across roads, or a
breastwork in front of them; and how to throw themselves into
square, rapidly, to repel cavalry.

Captain Barclay was indefatigable as a musketry instructor and,
with the aid of a few friends, got up a subscription which was
spent in a number of small prizes, so as to give the men as much
interest as possible in their work. Captain Tempe impressed most
strenuously, upon the men, the extreme importance of proficiency in
shooting; as it was upon the accuracy and deadliness of their fire
that they would have to rely, to enable them to contend with
superior forces in the combats they would have to go through; and
each man would probably have frequently to depend, for his life,
upon the accuracy of his fire.

The original plan--of instructing a third of the men, each week, in
musketry--was abandoned; and the parties were changed each day, in
order to enable all to advance at an equal rate. Besides, their
ammunition was supplied; so that those who chose to do so could
practice shooting, for their own amusement, between their morning
and afternoon drill.

The Barclays were constant in their attendance at the shooting
ground; and the steady hand and eye which cricket, fencing, and
other exercises had given them now stood them in good stead for, by
the end of the time, they became as good marksmen as any in the
corps. They still lived at home, as did all those members of the
corps whose residences were in and around Dijon. For those who
lived too far away to come in and out every day to drill, a large
empty barn was taken, and fitted up as a temporary barracks.

The time did not pass away without great excitement for, as the end
of August drew on, everyone was watching, in deep anxiety, for the
news of a battle near Chalons--where MacMahon had been organizing a
fresh army. Then came the news that the camp at Chalons was broken
up, and that MacMahon was marching to the relief of Bazaine. Two or
three days of anxious expectation followed; and then--on the 3rd of
September--came the news, through Switzerland, of the utter defeat
and surrender of the French army, at Sedan.

At first, the news seemed too terrible to be true. People seemed
stunned at the thought of a hundred thousand Frenchmen laying down
their arms. Two days later came the news of the revolution in
Paris. This excited various emotions among the people; but the
prevailing idea seemed to be that--now there was a republic--past
disasters would be retrieved.

"What do you think of the news, papa?" the boys asked as, drill
over, they hurried up to talk the matter over with their father.

"With any other people, I should consider it to be the most
unfortunate event which could have possibly occurred," Captain
Barclay said. "A change of Government--involving a change of
officials throughout all the departments, and a perfect upset of
the whole machinery of organization--appears little short of
insanity. At the same time, it is possible that it may arouse such
a burst of national enthusiasm that the resistance which, as far as
the civil population is concerned, has as yet been contemptible--in
fact, has not been attempted at all--may become of so obstinate and
desperate a character that the Prussians may be fairly wearied out.

"There is scarcely any hope of future victories in the field. Raw
levies, however plucky, can be no match for such troops as the
Prussians, in the open. The only hope is in masses of franc tireurs
upon the rear and flanks of the enemy. Every bridge, every wood,
every village should be defended to the death. In this way the
Prussians would only hold the ground they stand on; and it would be
absolutely impossible for them to feed their immense armies, or to
bring up their siege materiel against Paris.

"The spirit to do this may possibly be excited by the revolution;
otherwise, France is lost. Success alone can excuse it; for a more
senseless, more unjustifiable, more shameful revolution was, in my
mind, never made. It has been effected purely by the Radicals and
roughs of Paris--the men who have, for years, been advocating a war
with Prussia; and who, a month ago, were screaming 'To Berlin.' For
these men to turn round upon the Emperor in his misfortune and,
without consulting the rest of France, to effect a revolution, is
in my mind simply infamous.

"Even regarded as a matter of policy, it is bad in the extreme.
Austria, Italy, and Russia--to say nothing of England--would,
sooner or later, have interfered in favor of an established empire;
but their sympathies will be chilled by this revolution. The
democratic party in all these countries may exult, but the extreme
democratic party do not hold the reins of power anywhere; and their
monarchs will certainly not feel called upon to assist to establish
a republic.

"Prussia herself--intensely aristocratic in her institutions--will
probably refuse to treat, altogether, with the schemers who have
seized the power; for the King of Prussia is perhaps the greatest
hater of democracy in Europe.

"Still, boys, these changes make no difference in your duty. You
are fighting for France, not for an empire or a republic and, as
long as France resists, it is your duty to continue. In fact, it is
now more than ever the duty of you, and of every Frenchman, to
fight. Her army is entirely gone; and it is simply upon the pluck
and energy of her population that she has to trust."

"Do you think Paris will hold out, papa?"

"She is sure to do so, boys. She has made the revolution, and she
is bound to defend it. I know Paris well. The fortifications are
far too strong to be taken by a sudden attack, and it will be a
long time before the Prussians can bring up a siege train. Paris
will only be starved out and, if her people are only half as brave
as they are turbulent, they ought to render it impossible for the
Prussians to blockade such an immense circle. At any rate, France
has two months; perhaps much longer, but two months ought to be
quite enough, if her people have but spirit to surround the enemy,
to cut off his supplies, and to force him to retreat."

The next morning, when the corps assembled for drill, Captain Tempe
addressed them on the subject of the events in Paris. He told them
that, whether they approved or disapproved of what had taken place
there, their duty as Frenchmen was plain. For the present they were
not politicians, but patriots; and he hoped that not a word of
politics would be spoken in the corps, but that everyone would give
his whole thought, his whole strength and, if must be, his life in
the cause of France.

His address was greatly applauded, and gave immense satisfaction to
the men; for already differences of opinion were becoming manifest
among them. Some had exulted loudly at the downfall of Napoleon;
others had said little, but their gloomy looks had testified
sufficiently what were their opinions; while many among the
gentlemen in the corps, especially those belonging to old families,
were well known to be attached either to a Legitimist or Orleanist
Prince. The proposal, therefore, that no politics should be
discussed during the war, but that all should remember only that
they were fighting for France, gave great satisfaction; and
promised a continuance of the good fellowship which had hitherto
reigned in the corps.

It was a great day when, a fortnight from its first organization,
the corps turned out for the first time in their uniforms. The band
of the national guard headed them, as they marched down the high
street of Dijon to the parade ground; and--as the spectators
cheered, the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and the whole corps
joined in cheers, to the stirring notes of the Marseillaise--the
young Barclays felt their cheeks flush, their hands tighten upon
their rifles, and their hearts beat with a fierce longing to be
face to face with the hated Prussians.

A day or two after this, the Snider rifles ordered from England by
Captain Barclay arrived; and although the men at first preferred
the chassepots, with which they were familiar, they were soon
accustomed to the new weapons; and readily acknowledged the
advantage which--as their commander pointed out to them--the
dark-brown barrels possessed, for skirmishers, over the bright
barrels of the chassepots which, with the sun shining upon them,
would betray them to an enemy miles away.

A day or two afterwards, as Ralph and Percy were returning in the
evening from drill, they heard a great tumult in the streets. They
hurried forward to see what was the matter, and found an excited
crowd shouting and gesticulating.

"Death to the spy!"

"Death to the spy!"

"Hang him!"

"Kill the dog!" were the shouts, and two gendarmes in the center of
the crowd were vainly trying to protect a man who was walking
between them. He was a tall, powerful-looking man; but it was
impossible to see what he was like, for the blood was streaming
down his forehead, from a blow he had just received.

Just as the boys came up, another blow from a stick fell on his
head; and this served to rouse him to desperation, for he turned
round, with one blow knocked down the fellow who had struck him,
and then commenced a furious attack upon his persecutors. For a
moment they drew back, and then closed upon him again. Blows from
sticks and hands rained upon him, but he struggled desperately. At
last, overwhelmed by numbers, he fell; and as he did so he raised a
wild shout, "Hurroo for ould Ireland."

"He is an Englishman, Percy," Ralph exclaimed; "he is not a
Prussian, at all. Come on!

"Here, Louis, Philippe, help; they are killing an Englishman."

Followed by their cousins--who had just arrived at the spot--the
boys made a rush through the crowd; and arrived in another moment
by the prostrate man, whom his assailants were kicking savagely.
The rush of the four boys--aided by the butt-end of their rifles,
which they used freely on the ribs of those who stood in their
way--cleared off the assailants for an instant; and the two
gendarmes--who had been hustled away--drawing their swords, again
took their place by the side of their insensible prisoner.

The mob had only recoiled for a moment; and now, furious at being
baulked of their expected prey, prepared to rush upon his
defenders; shouting, as they did so:

"Death to the spy!"

The moment's delay had, however, given time to the boys to fix
bayonets.

Illustration: Rescue of a Supposed Spy.

"Keep off," Ralph shouted, "or we run you through! The man is not a
spy, I tell you. He is an Englishman."

The noise was too great for the words to be heard and, with cries
of "Death to the spy!" the men in front prepared for a rush. The
leveled bayonets and drawn swords, however, for a moment checked
their ardor; but those behind kept up the cry, and a serious
conflict would have ensued, had not a party of five or six of the
franc tireurs come along at the moment.

These--seeing their comrades standing with leveled bayonets,
keeping the mob at bay--without asking any questions, at once burst
their way through to their side; distributing blows right and left,
heartily, with the butt-end of their rifles. This reinforcement put
an end to the threatened conflict; and the gendarmes, aided by two
of the franc tireurs, lifted the insensible man and carried him to
the Maine; the rest of the franc tireurs marching on either side as
a guard, and the yelling crowd following them.

Once inside the Maine the gates were shut and--the supposed spy
being laid down on the bench--cold water was dashed in his face;
and in a few minutes he opened his eyes.

"The murdering villains!" he muttered to himself. "They've kilt me
entirely, bad luck to them! A hundred to one, the cowardly
blackguards!

"Where am I?" and he made an effort to rise.

"You're all right," Ralph said. "You're with friends. Don't be
afraid, you're safe now."

"Jabers!" exclaimed the Irishman in astonishment, sitting up and
looking round him, "here's a little French soldier, speaking as
illegant English as I do, meself."

"I'm English," laughed Ralph, "and lucky it was for you that we
came along. We heard you call out, just as you fell; and got in in
time, with the help of our friends, to save your life. Another
minute or two, and we should have been too late."

"God bless your honor!" the man--who had now thoroughly recovered
himself--said earnestly. "And it was a tight shave, entirely.
You've saved Tim Doyle's life; and your honor shall see that he's
not ungrateful. Whenever you want a lad with a strong arm and a
thick stick, Tim's the boy."

"Thank you, Tim," Ralph said, heartily. "Now you had better let the
surgeon look at your head. You have got some nasty cuts."

"Sure, and my head's all right, your honor It isn't a tap from a
Frenchman that would break the skull of Tim Doyle."

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."

"I'm not thinking of it at all, your honor," the Irishman said.
"The master has been telling me that your honors are starting for
the war, and so I've made up my mind that I shall go along wid ye."

The boys laughed.

"You are not in earnest, Tim?"

"As sure as the Gospels, your honor I've served five years in the
Cork Militia, and wore the badge as a marksman; and so I mean to
'list, and go as your honors' sarvint."

"But you can't do that, Tim, even if we would let you," Ralph
laughed. "There won't be any servants at all."

"Sure, your honor is mistaken, entirely," Tim said, gravely. "In
the sarvice, a soldier is always told off as a sarvint for each
officer."

"But we are not going as officers, Tim," Percy said. "We are going
as simple soldiers."

"What! Going as privates?" Tim Doyle said, in astonishment. "Does
your honor mane to say that you are going to shoulder a firelock,
and just go as privates?"

"That's it, Tim. You see, this is not a regular regiment; it is a
corps of irregulars, and more than half the privates are
gentlemen."

"Holy Mother!" ejaculated Tim, in astonishment, "did one ever hear
of the like?"

Then, after a pause:

"Then your honor will want a sarvint more than iver. Who is to
clean your boots, and to pipeclay your belts; to wash your linen,
to clean your firelock, and cook your dinners, and pitch your tent,
if you don't have a sarvint? The thing's against nature, entirely."

"We shall do it all ourselves, Tim--that is to say, as far as
cleaning the rifles, washing our linen, and cooking the dinner. As
for the other things, I don't suppose we shall ever have our boots
cleaned; we have no white belts to pipeclay, for they are made of
buff leather; and we shall not have to pitch tents, for we don't
take them with us, but shall, when necessary, sleep in the open
air."

Tim was too surprised to speak, for a time. At last, he said
doggedly:

"Sarvint or no sarvint, your honor, it is evident that it's rough
times you're going to have; and Tim Doyle will be there with you,
as sure as the piper."

"We should like you with us very much, Tim, if you make up your
mind to go," Ralph said; "but the corps is quite full. We have
refused dozens of recruits."

Tim looked downcast. At last he said:

"Well, your honor, it may be that they won't have me as a soldier;
but I'll go sure enough, if I die for it. There's no law to punish
a man for walking after a regiment of soldiers and, wherever your
regiment goes, sure enough I'll tramp after ye. There's many an odd
way I might make myself useful, and they'll soon get used to see me
about, and let me come and go into the camp."

No persuasion could alter Tim's determination and, as they felt
that having so attached a fellow near them might be of real
utility, and comfort, when the boys went down in the afternoon they
spoke to Captain Tempe about it. At first he said that it was
impossible, as he had already refused so many offers of service;
but upon hearing all the story, and thinking the matter over, he
said suddenly:

"By the bye, there is a way by which he might go with us. You know
I have ordered a light two-wheel cart, built very strong for the
mountains, to carry our spare ammunition, powder for blowing up
bridges, cooking pots, and stores. I have not engaged a driver as
yet. If your Irishman--who you say understands horses--likes to go
as a driver, to begin with, I will promise him the first vacant
rifle. I fear that he will not have long to wait, after we once get
near the enemy; and as he has already served, you say, he will be
better than a new recruit, and we can get a countryman to take his
place with the cart."

Upon their return in the evening with the news, Tim Doyle's joy
knew no bound; and he whooped and shouted, till Milly laughed so
that she had to beg of him to stop.

The next day, Tim went down with Captain Barclay and signed the
engagement. He remained with the captain during the time that the
latter was giving his instructions in musketry--entering upon his
duties in connection with the corps by going down to the butts, and
acting as marker--and then returned with him to the cottage; as it
was agreed that he had better remain there, quietly, until the
corps was ready to march--as, if he were to venture alone in the
town, he might at any time be subject to a repetition of the attack
upon the day of his arrival.

At the cottage he soon became a general favorite His desire to make
himself useful in any way, his fund of fun and good temper, pleased
everyone. Even Marie and Jeannette--the two servants, who could not
understand a word of what he said--were in a constant broad grin,
at the pantomime by which he endeavored to eke out his few words of
French. Milly became quite attached to him; and Captain and Mrs.
Barclay both felt cheered, and comforted, at the thought that this
devoted fellow would be at hand to look after and assist the boys,
in time of danger, suffering, or sickness.



Chapter 4: Starting For The Vosges.


The day for the departure of the corps was near at hand. The party
at the Barclays were all filled with sadness, at the thoughts of
separation; but all strove to hide their feelings, for the sake of
the others. Captain and Mrs. Barclay were anxious that the boys
should leave in good spirits, and high hope; while the boys wished
to keep up an appearance of merely going upon an ordinary
excursion, in order to cheer their parents.

The day before starting, the whole corps marched to the cathedral;
where mass was celebrated, a sermon preached, and a blessing
solemnly prayed for for them. The boys had asked their father if he
had any objections to their taking part in this ceremonial, in a
Roman Catholic Church; but Captain Barclay had at once said that,
upon the contrary, he should wish them to do so. Protestants might
not approve of many things in the Catholic Church; but that could
be no reason, whatever, against a Protestant taking part in a
solemn prayer to God, wherever that prayer might be offered up.

The young Duburgs were unaffectedly glad that the time for their
departure had come, for the month that had passed had been a most
unpleasant one to them. Their mother had in vain tried to persuade
them to stay; first by entreaty, and then by anger and, finding
these means fail, she had passed her time either in sullen silence,
or in remaining in bed; declaring that her nerves were utterly
shattered, and that she should never survive it. She had refused to
see Mrs. Barclay when the latter called, a day or two after their
visit to the cottage, and she had not been near her since. Julie
and Justine were forbidden to go in to see Milly and, altogether,
there was quite an estrangement between the two families.

The boys however were, of course, constantly together; and Monsieur
Duburg came in as usual, every day or two, for a chat with Captain
Barclay.

September the fifteenth--the day of separation--arrived. They were
to march at eight in the morning; and left home, therefore, at
seven. This was so far fortunate that it left less time for the
painful adieus. Captain Barclay had a long talk with the boys the
night before, repeating all the hints and instructions which he had
before given them.

It is not necessary to describe the parting. Every one of my
readers can imagine for themselves how sad was the scene. How Milly
sobbed aloud, in spite of her efforts; how Mrs. Barclay kissed her
boys, and then ran up to her own room to cry alone; how their
father wrung their hands and, after giving them his blessing,
turned hastily away, that they might not see the tears which he
could not keep back; and how the boys, in spite of their uniform
and their dignity as soldiers, cried, too. Tim Doyle had gone on an
hour before, taking their blankets; so they had nothing to do but
to snatch up their guns and hasten away, half blinded with tears,
towards the town. They reached it just as the bugle sounded the
assembly. By this time they had steadied themselves and, in the
work of preparing for the start, soon lost all feeling of
despondency.

It would be difficult to find a more workmanlike little corps than
the franc tireurs of Dijon as, with the band of the national guard
at their head, playing the Marseillaise, they marched through the
old city. Their uniform was a brownish gray Their blankets--rolled
up tight and carried, like a scarf, over one shoulder and under the
other arm--were brown, also. Their belts and gaiters were of buff
leather. Their caps had flat peaks, to shade their eyes; but round
the cap was rolled a flap lined with fur, which let down over the
ears and back of the neck, tying under the chin. On the outer side
of the fur was thin India-rubber, to throw the rain off down over
the light waterproof cloaks; which each man carried in a small
case, slung to his belt. The waterproof on the caps, when rolled
up, did not show; the caps then looking like fur caps, with a peak.

Slung over the shoulder, on the opposite side to the blanket, was a
haversack--or stout canvas bag--brown like the rest of the
equipments. Each bag was divided into two compartments; the larger
one holding a spare shirt, a few pairs of socks and handkerchiefs,
a comb, and other small necessaries. In the other, bread, biscuits
or other provisions could be carried. Each man had also a water
bottle, slung over his shoulder.

On either side of the ammunition pouch, behind, was strapped a new
boot; so placed that it in no way interfered with the bearer
getting at the pouch. Next was fastened the tin box; the lid of
which forms a plate, the bottom a saucepan or frying pan. On one
side hung the bayonet; upon the other a hatchet, a pick, or a
short-handled shovel--each company having ten of each implement.

It will be judged that this was a heavy load, but the articles were
all necessaries; and the weight over and above the rifle and
ammunition was not--even including the pick or shovel--more than
half that ordinarily carried by a French soldier.

At the head of the corps marched its commandant. The French term
commandant answers to an English major, and he will therefore in
future be termed Major Tempe. Each of the four companies was also
headed by its officer. Major Tempe had chosen for these posts four
men who, like himself, had served--three in the army, and one in
the navy. He had written to them as soon as the corps was
organized, and they had arrived ten days before the start. One or
two only of the franc tireurs--who had entertained a hope of being
made officers--were at first a little discontented but, as it was
evidently vastly to the advantage of the corps to have experienced
officers, the appointments gave great satisfaction to the rest of
the men. Fortunately, there were in the ranks several men who had
served as privates or non-commissioned officers; and from these
Major Tempe selected a sergeant, and a corporal, for each company.

Behind the corps followed the cart; loaded with the stores of the
corps, a considerable amount of ammunition, two or three cases of
gun cotton for blowing up bridges, several small barrels of powder,
a large quantity of fine iron wire, three or four crowbars, bags of
coffee and rice, and a keg of brandy, four kettles and as many
large saucepans, together with all sorts of odds and ends. By the
side of the horse walked Tim Doyle; dressed in the uniform of the
corps, but without the equipments, and with a long blouse worn over
his tunic. He was, in fact, already enrolled as an active member of
the corps. This was done, in the first place, at his own earnest
request; and upon the plea that thus only could he escape the
chance of being seized as a spy, whenever he might for a moment be
separated from the corps; and also that, unless he had a uniform
like the rest, how could he take any vacancy in the ranks, even
when it should occur?

Major Tempe, in exceeding the hundred and twenty determined upon,
was influenced partly by these arguments; but more by the fact that
difficulties would arise about food, cooking, and various other
points, if the driver were not upon the same footing as the rest of
the corps.

The march was not a long one--only to the railway station. A few
carriages, with a truck for the cart, and a horse box, were drawn
up alongside the platform in readiness; and in ten minutes more all
were in their places, the carriages attached to the ordinary train
and--amidst great cheering and waving of handkerchiefs and hats,
from hundreds of people collected in the station to see them
off--they started for the Vosges.

Railway traveling, at no time rapid, was extremely slow at this
period; and it was evening before they arrived at Epinal, where
they were to pass the night. The journey, shortened by innumerable
songs and choruses, had scarcely seemed long. The railway ran
throughout its whole distance through pretty, undulating country;
indeed, towards the end of their journey, when they were fairly
among the Vosges, the scenery became wild and savage. At Vesoul,
which was about halfway, the train had stopped for two hours; and
here wine, bread and cheese, cold sausages, and fruits were
distributed to the men by the inhabitants--who were assembled in
large numbers at the station, and gave the corps an enthusiastic
reception. They were the first band of franc tireurs who had passed
through, and the inhabitants regarded them as protectors against
the wandering Uhlans; whose fame, although as yet far off, had
caused them to be regarded with an almost superstitious fear.

At Epinal, a similar and even warmer greeting awaited them; Epinal
being so much nearer to the enemy that the fear of Uhlans was more
acute. The station was decorated with green boughs; and the Maire,
with many of the leading inhabitants, was at the station to receive
them. The corps formed upon the platform; and then marched through
the little town to the Hotel de Ville, loudly cheered by the people
as they passed along. Here they were dismissed, with the order to
parade again at half-past four in the morning.

There was no trouble as to billets for the night, as the Maire had
already made out a list of the inhabitants who had offered
accommodation--the number being greatly in excess of the strength
of the corps. These persons now came forward, and each took off the
number of franc tireurs who had been allotted to them.

The sergeant of the first company, knowing the relationship and
friendship of the young Barclays and Duburgs, had promised them
that--when practicable--he would always quarter them together. Upon
the present occasion, the four were handed over to a gentleman
whose house was a short distance outside the town. Upon the way, he
chatted to them on the proposed course of the corps, upon its
organization and discipline; and they asked for the first time the
question which was so often, in future, to be upon their lips:

"Had he any news of the enemy?"

The answer was that none, as yet, had come south of Luneville; and
that indeed, at present they were too much occupied at Metz, and
Strasburg, to be able to detach any formidable parties. Small
bodies of Uhlans occasionally had made raids, and driven in sheep
and cattle; but they had not ventured to trust themselves very far
into the mountains.

Upon arriving at the residence of their host, they were most kindly
received by his wife and daughter; who, however, could not refrain
from expressing their surprise at the youthfulness of their guests.

"But these are mere boys!" the lady said to her husband, in German;
"are all the franc tireurs like these?"

"Oh no," her husband said, in the same language, "the greater part
are sturdy fellows but, as they marched by, I observed some twelve
or fourteen who were scarcely out of their boyhood.

"It is cruelty to send such youngsters out as these. What can they
do against these Prussians, who have beaten our best soldiers?"

"Fortunately," Ralph said in German--which he spoke fluently, as
has already been stated--and with a merry laugh--which showed that
he was not offended at the remark--"fortunately, fighting now is
not an affair of spears and battle axes Age has nothing to do with
shooting; and as for fatigue, we shall not be the first in the
corps to give up."

"I must really apologize very much, but I had no idea that you
understood German, or I should not have made any remarks," the lady
said, smiling; "but so few French boys, out of Alsace, do
understand it that it never struck me that you spoke the language.
You will find it an immense advantage for, outside the towns, you
will scarcely meet a person understanding French. But I am sure you
must be all very hungry, and supper is quite ready."

They were soon seated at a well-spread table--waited upon by the
daughter of the family--while their host and hostess sat and
chatted with them, as to their corps, while the meal went on.

"Excuse another remark upon your personal appearance," the lady
said, smiling, "but two of you look more like Alsatians than
French. You have the fair complexion and brown, wavy hair. You do
not look like Frenchmen."

"Nor are we," Ralph laughed. "My brother and myself, although
French born, are actually English. Our father is an English
officer, but our mother is French and, as you see, we take after
him rather than her."

"But I wonder that, as your father is English, he lets you go out
upon this expedition--which is very perilous."

"We wished to go--that is, we thought it was our duty," Ralph said;
"and although they were very sad at our leaving, they both agreed
with us."

"I wish all Frenchmen were animated by the same feeling," their
host said warmly. "Your gallant example should shame hundreds of
thousands of loiterers and skulkers.

"You speak French perfectly. I should have had no idea that you
were anything but French--or rather, from the way you speak German,
that you were Alsatian."

"We have lived in France all our lives, except for two years which
we passed in Germany; and two years at one time, together with one
or two shorter visits, in England."

"And do you speak English as well as French?"

"Oh yes, we always speak English at home. Our father made a rule
that we should always do so; as he said it would be an immense
disadvantage to us, when we returned to England, if we had the
slightest French accent. Our mother now speaks English as purely
and correctly as our father."

"Are your friends any relations of yours?"

"They are our cousins," Ralph said; "their father is our mother's
brother."

For some time longer they chatted, and then their host said:

"It is half-past nine; and we are early people, here. You will have
to be up by five, so I think that it is time you were off to bed. We
shall scarcely be up when you start; but you will find a spirit lamp
on the table, with coffee--which only requires heating--together with
some bread and butter. You will have some miles to march before you
breakfast.

"And now, you must all promise me that, if you come to this place
again, you will come straight up here, and look upon it as your
home. If you get ill or wounded--which I hope will not happen--you
will, of course, go home; but something may occur not sufficiently
important for you to leave the corps, but which could be set
straight by a few days' nursing, and rest. In that case, you will
come to us, will you not?"

The boys all gratefully promised to avail themselves of the
invitation, in case of need; and then said good night and goodbye
to their host, and went off to the room prepared for them. In the
morning they were up in good time, dressed as quietly as they
could--so as not to disturb their host--and went downstairs; lit
the spirit lamp under a glass bowl full of coffee and milk and, in
ten minutes, were on their way towards the town.

"We shall be lucky if we are often as comfortable as that," Percy
said, looking back; and there was a general assent.

"There goes the bugle," Louis Duburg said; "we have a quarter of an
hour, yet.

"What pretty girls those were!"

Louis was nearly seventeen and, at seventeen, a French lad
considers himself a competent judge as to the appearance and
manners of young ladies.

"Were they?" Percy said carelessly, with the indifference of an
English boy of his age as to girls. "I did not notice it. I don't
care for girls; they are always thinking about their dress, and one
is afraid of touching them, in case you should spoil something.
There is nothing jolly about them."

The others laughed.

"I am sure Milly is jolly enough," Philippe Duburg said.

"Yes, Milly is jolly," Percy answered. "You see, she has been with
us boys, and she can play, and doesn't screech if you touch her, or
mind a bit if she tears her frock. So are our cousins in
England--some of them. Yes, there are some jolly girls, of course;
still, after all, what's the good of them, taking them altogether?
They are very nice in their way--quiet and well behaved, and so
on--but they are better indoors than out."

The clock was just striking half-past five, as the boys reached the
place of assembly. Most of the men were already upon the spot, and
the bugler was blowing lustily. In another five minutes all were
assembled; including Tim Doyle, with his horse and cart.

"Good-morning, Tim," the boys said, as they came up to him. "I hope
you had as comfortable quarters as we had, last night."

"Splendid, your honor--downright splendid; a supper fit for a lord,
and a bed big enough for a duchess."

The boys laughed at the idea of a duchess wanting a bed bigger than
anyone else, and Tim went on:

"Ah, your honor, if campaigning was all like this, sure I'd
campaign all my life, and thank you; but it's many a time I shall
look back upon my big supper, and big bed. Not that I should like
it altogether entirely; I should get so fat, and so lazy, that I
shouldn't know my own shadow."

And now the bugle sounded again, and the men fell in. As they
started, they struck up a lively marching song; and several windows
opened, and adieus were waved to them as they passed down the
street into the open country. Everyone was in high spirits. The
weather, which had for some time been unfavorable, had cleared up;
the sun was rising brightly, and they felt that they had fairly
started for work. The road was rough, the country wild and
mountainous, thick forests extended in every direction, as far as
the eye could carry.

"There is one comfort, Percy," Ralph said, "if we are beaten and
driven back, we might get into this forest, and laugh at the
Prussians."

Percy cast rather a doubtful eye at the dark woods.

"The Prussians might not be able to discover us, Ralph; but I would
as leave be killed by Prussian balls as die of hunger, and our
chances of getting food there, for a hundred men, would be very
slight."

"They don't look hospitable, certainly, Percy. I agree with you. We
had better keep in the open country, as long as possible."

The first village at which they arrived was Deyvilliers. Here a
halt was called for ten minutes, five miles having already been
marched. Many of the men--less fortunate than the Barclays and
Duburgs--had had nothing to eat upon starting and, when the arms
were piled, there was a general dispersal through the village, in
search of provisions. Bread had been bought over night, at Epinal,
and brought on in the cart; which was fortunate, for the village
was a very small one, and there would have been a difficulty in
obtaining more than a loaf or two. Cheese and fruit were in
abundance; and the boys bought some apples, and sat down by the
little feeder of the Moselle which passes through the village, and
watched it tumbling past on its way to join the main stream, a few
miles below Epinal.

In a quarter of an hour, they were again on the march. In another
five miles they reached Fontaine, lying a little off the road to
their right. They had now marched ten miles, and Major Tempe
ordered a halt for three hours. A piece of level ground was chosen,
arms were piled, blankets and haversacks taken off, and then
preparations began for their first meal. Men were sent off with
kettles, for water. Others went up to the village with cans for
wine--or beer for, in Alsace, beer is more common than wine. Tim
took the horse out of the shafts, and gave him some oats. Some of
the men were sent from each company to fetch wood, and the old
soldiers prepared for the important operation of cooking.

Several little fireplaces were made, with stones and turf, open on
the side facing the wind. In these sticks were placed and, when
they were fairly alight, the saucepans--each holding the allowance
of ten men--were placed on them. In these the meat--cut up in
pieces of about half a pound--was placed; with pepper, salt,
onions, rice, and potatoes peeled and cut up, and the whole filled
up with water.

When the preparations were finished, the men threw themselves down
under the shade of some trees; and smoked and chatted until, in
about an hour, the cooking was complete. Each man then brought up
his tin canteen, and received his portion of soup in the deep side,
and his meat and vegetables in the shallow can. The bread had
already been cut up. The tin drinking pots which, with knives,
forks, and spoons, were carried in the canteens, were filled with
beer and, with much laughing and fun, each man sat down on the
grass, or scattered rocks, to eat his breakfast.

Many of the villagers had come down; and these brought, for the
most part, little presents: a few apples, a little fresh cheese, or
a bunch of grapes. It was a merry meal, and the boys agreed that it
was the jolliest picnic that they had ever been at.

At two o'clock the bugle sounded. The cooking things were packed up
and placed in the cart again; the blankets and haversacks slung on,
and the rifles shouldered and, with many a good wish from the
peasants, they marched forward again.

Eight miles further marching brought them to the end of their day's
journey, the village of Destord. It was a tiny place, with scarcely
over a half-dozen houses. Major Tempe in consequence determined, as
the weather was fine, upon bivouacking in the open air. For a time,
all were busy collecting wood. A sheltered place was chosen, for
the village lay very high, close to the source of a little stream
running into the river Mortagne.

The cooking places were again prepared for supper. At seven o'clock
the meal was served, differing but little from that of the morning;
except that after the men had eaten the soup, and the meat from it
(in France called bouilli), they fried some thin slices of meat in
the lids of their canteens, and concluded the meal with a cup of
coffee.

Then four large fires were lit--one for each company--and a smaller
one for the officers. Blankets were spread out on the ground round
these fires, and the men lit their pipes and chatted gaily. All
were more or less tired for, although their month's hard drill had
accustomed them to work, eighteen miles with arms, ammunition, and
accouterments had tired them more than they had anticipated.

As this was their first night out, Major Tempe told them that he
should not place a regular cordon of sentries; but that in future
he should do so, whether they were near the enemy or not. By nine
o'clock the fires began to burn low, the talking gradually ceased,
and the men--rolling themselves up in their blankets, and putting
their haversacks under their heads, for pillows--soon dropped off
to sleep; a solitary sentry keeping guard against pilferers.

A short march of ten miles took them, next day, to Rambervillers,
where they were billeted among the inhabitants; and fourteen miles
on the day after to Baccarat, on the river Meurthe, where they also
obtained quarters. They were now approaching the neighborhood of
the enemy, and Major Tempe advised a halt for the next day; in
order that he might make inquiries, and investigate thoroughly the
best route to be pursued.



Chapter 5: The First Engagement.


The news which the commandant of the franc tireurs heard, at
Baccarat, determined him to change his intentions; and to push on
without delay to Halloville--a tiny hamlet on the lower spurs of
the Vosges, some four miles from Blamont; and overlooking the
valley of the Vexouse, in which the latter town was situated.

It was a long march, and the weather had again changed, the rain
descending all day in a steady pour. The men--in their light,
waterproof cloaks, and the flaps of their forage caps down--plodded
steadily on; their spirit sustained by the thought that, ere
another twenty-four hours, they might be in action. The news which
hurried them forwards had been to the effect that a body of two
hundred Uhlans had left Sarrebourg, and were advancing towards
Blamont. They were going quietly, stopping to levy contributions at
the villages on the way. It was probable that they would enter
Blamont on the same evening that the franc tireurs reached
Halloville. It was supposed that they would proceed, with the sheep
and cattle that they had swept up, by the valley of the Vexouse to
Luneville.

To within four miles of Halloville, the road had been a fair one;
but it was here necessary to turn off, by a track that was little
better than a goat path. In vain, a dozen of the men were told off
to help with the cart; in vain they pushed behind, and shoved at
the spokes of the wheels. The road was altogether impracticable. At
last the horse and cart were taken aside into a thick wood and left
there; with Tim Doyle, a corporal, and six of the men who were the
most footsore, and incapable of pushing on. Tim was dreadfully
disgusted at being thus cut off from the chance of seeing, and
joining in, any fighting; and only consoled himself with the hope
that a vacancy would be likely to occur the next day, and that he
would then be able to exchange his whip for a rifle.

The rest of the corps plodded on until, long after dusk, they
arrived at the half-dozen houses which form the village of
Halloville. Their appearance, as they marched up to it, was greeted
by a scream from a woman, followed by a perfect chorus of screams
and cries. Men, women, and children were seen rushing out of the
houses, and taking to flight; and it was with the greatest
difficulty that they were made to understand the truth, that the
formidable body, which had so suddenly dropped upon them, was not
composed of the dreaded invaders.

When the truth was known, they did their best to receive them
hospitably. Their means, however, were small; their houses equally
so. However, in a short time blazing fires were lighted on the
hearths; blankets having been put up before the windows, to prevent
any light being visible from the valley. A fire was allotted for
the cooking of each company, and preparations for supper were soon
commenced. Then an examination was made of the facilities in the
way of sleeping; and two barns were found, well provided with
straw. This was shaken out and, after eating their suppers, the men
packed close together upon the straw, and soon forgot both damp and
fatigue; numerous sentries being thrown out, in various directions,
to prevent the possibility of surprise--for the peasants had
informed them that the information which they had received was
correct; and that the Uhlans, about two hundred strong, had entered
Blamont that afternoon, and had laid a requisition of twenty
thousand francs upon the inhabitants, besides a considerable amount
of stores of all sorts.

At three o'clock they were roused and found, to their great
pleasure, that the rain had ceased. Guided by one of the villagers,
they made their way down to a point where the wood approached quite
close to the road, at a narrow point of the valley. Here Major
Tempe posted his men along in the wood. Several coils of wire had
been brought with them; and these were now stretched tightly from
tree to tree, at a distance of about eighteen inches from the
ground. Some forty yards farther back, young trees were felled and
branches cut; and these were laid with the bushy parts towards the
road, wires being twisted here and there among them, so as to form
abattis perfectly impenetrable for horsemen, and difficult in the
extreme for infantry. All worked hard and, by eight o'clock in the
morning, everything was in readiness.

A small party had been left upon the high ground near Halloville,
and one of them had brought down news every half hour. Soon after
daybreak, a party of Uhlans had been seen to leave Blamont, and to
visit Barbas and Harboise--two villages in the flat of Blamont--and
then to retire, driving some cattle and sheep before them. At ten
o'clock the rest of the men from Halloville came down, with the
news that the Uhlans--about two hundred strong--had just left
Blamont, and were coming down the valley.

Each man now took the station allotted to him: thirty men behind
the trees, next to the road; the main body being stationed behind
the abattis, each man having previously settled upon a spot where
he could fire through the leaves, which entirely concealed them
from view from the road. Number one company was placed to the right
and, consequently, near to Blamont. Ralph and Percy were both in
the front line, behind the trees.

Not a shot was to be fired, on any consideration, until Major Tempe
gave the word. The men behind the trees were all ordered to lie
down among the low undergrowth and brushwood. The line extended
nearly a hundred yards. The waterproofs, blankets, and all other
impediments had been left behind at Halloville, so that the men had
the free use of their arms. The rifles were loaded, the pouches
shifted round so as to be ready at hand and--orders having been
given that not a word should be spoken, even in a whisper--a
perfect silence reigned over the spot.

Ralph and Percy were near to each other. They had exchanged a
hearty grip of the hand, before lying down; and now lay, with
beating hearts and hands firmly grasping their rifles, in readiness
for the signal.

The time was not very long--only a few minutes--but it seemed to
them an age before they heard the tramp of horses. Nearer and
nearer they came, and now they could hear the jingling of
accouterments First, through their leafy screen, they could see two
Uhlans pass at a walk; scanning keenly the woods, and looking for
possible danger. The bushes were thick, and they noticed nothing,
and kept on at the same pace. It is probable, indeed, that they
really anticipated no possibility of an attack, as the Dijon franc
tireurs were the first who appeared upon the scene of action; and
the Prussians were, consequently, in entire ignorance of the
vicinity of any armed body of the enemy and, at worst, apprehended
a stray shot from a straggler from one of the French armies, hidden
in the woods.

In another minute or two four more Uhlans passed; and after the
same interval came the main body, escorting a number of cattle and
sheep. The greater portion had passed the spot where the boys were
lying, and were opposite the whole line of franc tireurs, when the
silence of the wood was broken by Major Tempe's shout:

"Now!"

Before the Uhlans had time to rein in their horses, or to ask each
other what was the meaning of the cry, the flash of thirty rifles
broke from the trees, and several men fell from their horses. There
was a momentary panic, followed by a hurried discharge of carbines
at the invisible foe.

The captain of the Uhlans--a handsome young officer, with light
mustache and beard--shouted to his men:

"Steady, they are only a handful. Form line, charge!"

Quickly as the maneuver was executed, the franc tireurs had time to
fire again; and then--in accordance with their orders--retreated,
and joined their comrades by passages left in the abattis, on
purpose. In another instant the Uhlans charged but, as quickly, the
direst confusion reigned, where before had been a regular line. The
wire had served its purpose. Horses and men went down on the top of
each other, and thirty rifles again fumed their deadly hail into
the confused mass.

The second line of Uhlans--who had not charged--returned the fire
of their invisible enemies and, although they could not see them,
several of the balls took effect. Nothing could be cooler than the
officers of the Uhlans, and their voice and example steadied their
men. Under cover of the fire of their comrades the men, in part,
extricated themselves and their horses, and drew back behind the
wood. Orders were then given for all to dismount and, leaving their
horses to be held by parties of their comrades--four horses to one
man--the rest advanced on foot against their apparently greatly
inferior foe, keeping up a heavy fire with their carbines. This was
what the commandant of the franc tireurs had hoped for, and
expected.

The wire had been broken down by the weight of the horses; and the
Prussians advanced, opposed only by a feeble return to their heavy
fire, until within five paces of the leafy wall. Then the fire from
a hundred rifles flashed out upon them.

The effect was terrible, and a cry of surprise and rage burst from
those who had escaped its effect. It was evident that they had fallen
into an ambush. The captain--wild with rage and mortification, at
the fault he had committed--rushed forward; and his men gallantly
seconded his efforts. In vain, however, did they try to separate the
interlaced boughs while, as they struggled, the shots from the enemy
flashed out thick and fast. In another moment the young captain
threw up his arms and fell, shot through the heart. The officer next
in command ordered a retreat, the horses were regained and, amidst a
continuous fire from the franc tireurs, the diminished troop
galloped back towards Blamont.

The franc tireurs now quitted their leafy fortress. A small party
was at once sent forward up the valley, to give notice if the
Uhlans showed any signs of returning. A strong body set to work to
drive in the scattered animals--which were galloping wildly about
the valley--while the rest collected the dead and wounded.

Of the franc tireurs eight were killed, fourteen wounded. Of the
Uhlans forty-seven were killed, and nineteen wounded remained on
the ground. Their large number of killed, in proportion to the
wounded, was accounted for by the fact that the firing was so close
that, in many cases, the coats of the dead men were actually singed
by the explosion; while the slightly wounded men had been able to
regain their horses, and escape.

The first impulse of the young Barclays, when the fire ceased, was
to turn round and to embrace each other with delight--on finding
that they had each escaped without a scratch--and then to shake
hands heartily with their cousins, whose fortune had been equally
good. There was no time for words, however; for Major Tempe's order
came, sharp and decisive:

"You the Barclays, you also the Duburgs, sling your arms, and go
assist to drive in the cattle. Quick, lose no time.

"You have done well. I am content with you, my boys."

With a flush of pleasure, the boys started off to carry out the
orders; which had been given, by their commander, with the kind
thought of sparing the lads the terrible sight of the battle
ground.

The short but desperate conflict through which they had passed
seemed, to the young Barclays, almost like a dream. In the
excitement of loading and firing, in the tumult and the rattle,
they had scarcely had time even to give a thought to the danger.

Fear is seldom felt by the soldier when engaged in close conflict.
The time when his nerves are most tried is while waiting inactive,
at a distance, exposed to a heavy shell fire; or while advancing to
an attack, under a storm of musketry and artillery. In a
hand-to-hand conflict, he has no time to think. His nerves are
strung up to so high a pitch that he no longer thinks of danger, or
death. His whole thoughts are given to loading and firing.

Any thought that the boys had given to danger was not for
themselves, but for each other; and Ralph--though his own position
was unsheltered--had once or twice spoken, to Percy, to keep his
body better sheltered by the trees behind which he was standing.

It was a long chase before the frightened animals were collected
together, and driven up towards the spot where the fight had taken
place. By the time that it was accomplished, the wounded had been
collected, and the surgeons had bandaged many of their wounds. A
qualified surgeon had accompanied the corps, as its regular doctor,
and two other young surgeons had enlisted in its ranks; and these,
their arms laid by, were now assisting to stanch the wounds and to
apply bandages. Of the franc tireurs, there were only four so
seriously wounded that they were unable to walk.

By that time two carts arrived from the village of Douteppe, which
stood in the valley, half a mile only from the scene of action; and
to which place Major Tempe had sent off a messenger directly the
affair had terminated. In one of these the wounded were placed,
while in the other were piled the arms and accouterments of the
fallen Uhlans. One of the young surgeons was to accompany the
wounded as far as Baccarat, where they were to remain for
treatment.

Twenty-three horses of the Uhlans had also been captured, by the
party who had driven in the cattle--among whom they were galloping.
Four men were told off to take them back to Epinal, and there
dispose of them, with their accouterments, for the benefit of the
military chest of the corps.

The question then arose as to what was to be done with the Prussian
wounded. Major Tempe decided this by saying that, as it was quite
impossible for the corps to be burdened with wounded men, the best
plan was to allow one of the slightly wounded among the prisoners
to walk back to Blamont; with a message that the Uhlans could come
back to fetch their wounded without molestation, as the franc
tireurs were upon the point of taking their departure.

The corps then assembled round a grave which had already been dug,
and into it the bodies of their comrades who had fallen were
placed. Major Tempe then said a few brief words of adieu, hoping
that all who fell might die equally bravely, and victoriously. Then
the sods were shoveled in; and the men, saddened by the
scene--though still flushed with the triumph of their first, and
signal, success--prepared to leave the spot.

Major Tempe had already held a consultation with his officers, and
their plan of operation had been decided upon. The difficulty which
they had encountered the evening before, with the horse and cart,
had already proved that it would be impossible to drag it about
with them. They had also taken thirty fine cattle, and upwards of a
hundred sheep from the enemy; and it was therefore resolved to
establish a sort of headquarters in the mountains, where they could
retire after their expeditions, and defy the efforts of the
Prussians to disturb them. The spot fixed upon was the forest of
Bousson, high up among the Vosges, and distant two hard days'
marching.

A portion of the troop, therefore, went round to Halloville, to
fetch the accouterments, blankets, etc. which had been left there;
while the rest marched, by the road, to the place where the cart
had been left the night before. Two peasants were engaged as guides
and, in the afternoon, the corps started for their destination.

It was a terrible march. The roads were mere tracks, and the
weather was terrible. Over and over again, the men had to unload
the carts, shoulder the contents, and carry them for a considerable
distance, until ground was reached where the cart could again be
loaded.

It was not until late on the evening of the third day's march that,
thoroughly done up by fatigue and hardship, the corps reached the
little village of Raon, in the heart of the forest of Bousson.
There was no possible fear of attack, here; and the commandant
decided that, for the night, there was no occasion for any of the
men to be out as sentries. The villagers at once took charge of the
animals, and turned them into a rough enclosure. The men were too
much done up even to care about keeping awake until supper could be
cooked and--being divided among the houses of the village--they
threw themselves down, and were fast asleep in a few minutes.

The next morning, the sun shone out brightly; and the men, turning
out after a long sleep, felt quite different creatures to the tired
band who had wearily crawled into the village. The bright sky, the
fresh morning air, the pleasant odor of the great pine forest
around them, and the bracing atmosphere--at the height of fifteen
hundred feet above the sea--at once refreshed and cheered them.

There was a brief morning parade--at which Tim Doyle, for the first
time, took his place with a rifle on his shoulder--and then the
major dismissed them, saying that there would be no further parade
that day, and that the men could amuse themselves as they liked. In
a short time, every man was following the bent of his own
inclination. First, however, there was a general cleaning of the
rifles and accouterments; then most of the men went down to the
stream, and there was a great washing of clothes, accompanied with
much laughing and joking. Then needles and thread were obtained,
from the women of the village, and there was much mending and
darning--for the past three days' work, among rocks and woods, had
done no little damage to their uniforms.

Next came the grand operation of breakfast, for which two of the
sheep had been killed. This, being the first regular meal that they
had had, for three days, was greatly enjoyed. After it was eaten
most of the men lit their pipes, and prepared to pass a day of
delightful idleness. Two or three of the village boys had been
engaged, as cowherds and shepherds; and the animals were all driven
out into the woods where, in the open glades, they would find an
abundance of food.

The cart was unanimously condemned as worse than useless. An empty
shed was turned into a storehouse; and it was determined that such
stores of powder, etc. as might be required, upon each expedition,
should be packed upon the horse's back and, if the horse could not
take all required, that other horses should be hired.

The Barclays, with their cousins, started for a ramble in the wood;
taking with them the Irishman, whose good humor and unflagging
spirits, during the last three days, had made him a general
favorite.

"Sure, and are there any wild bastes in the wood, your honor
Because, if there be, it would be well to take our rifles with us.
It would be mighty unpleasant to come across a lion, or a tiger,
and not to be able to pass him the time of day."

"No, Tim, we shall meet neither lions nor tigers, so you need not
trouble yourself with a rifle. A hundred years ago, we might have
met with a bear, or a wild boar; but they have disappeared, long
since. It is possible that there are a few wolves scattered about;
but they are never formidable to any but a solitary person, even in
winter; and at all other times fly from man's approach."

The party had a charming ramble, for the scenery here was very
fine. At times, the forest was so thick that they could see no
glimpse of the sky, and the trunks of the trees seemed to make a
wall, all round them; then again, it would open, and they would
obtain a glimpse over the country far away, rise beyond rise, to
the plain of Champagne or--if the view were behind, instead of in
front of them--they could see the tops of the highest range of the
Vosges, rising hill above hill, and often wooded to the very
summit--the Donon, one of the highest points of the range, being
immediately behind them.

The villages are, here, few and far between, and the people
extremely poor; for the soil is poor, and although in summer the
cattle--which form their only wealth--are able to pick up an
abundance of food, in the forests, they have a hard struggle to
keep them alive during the winter. Their language is German, and
their appearance and dress rather German than French but,
notwithstanding this, they were thoroughly French in spirit, and
regarded the invaders with an intense hatred.

Another day, passed in rest, completely restored the most exhausted
of the band. Orders were therefore issued for an early start, the
next morning; the object, this time, being to endeavor to cut the
railway. The band were to march in a body for the slopes of the
Vosges, behind Sarrebourg and Saverne; and were then to divide into
companies, and scatter themselves among the villages between
Lorquin and Marmontier, so as to act together or separately, as it
might seem expedient.



Chapter 6: The Tunnel Of Saverne.


It is needless to follow the corps, step by step, through their
marches; for the names of the little villages through which they
passed would not be found in any maps published in England, and
would therefore possess little interest for English readers. After
two days' long marches, the main body of the corps reached a
village situated in a wood, at about four miles from the great rock
tunnel of Saverne. The fourth company had been left at a village,
five miles to the left; while the third company were, next day, to
march forward to a place at about the same distance to the right.
Their orders were to keep a sharp lookout, to collect news of the
movements and strength of the enemy; but not to undertake any
expedition, or to do anything, whatever, to lead the enemy to guess
at their presence in the neighborhood--as it was of vital
importance that they should not be put upon their guard, until the
great blow was struck.

As soon as they had marched into the village, the principal
inhabitants came forward, and a consultation was held as to
providing lodgings. After some conversation, it was agreed that the
officers should have quarters in the village; and that the
schoolrooms--two in number--should be placed at the disposal of the
men. They were good-sized rooms, and would hold thirty men each,
without difficulty. The company who were to march forward in the
morning were provided with quarters in the village.

Ralph and Percy Barclay, as usual, acted as interpreters between
Major Tempe and the inhabitants; for neither the major, nor any of
his officers, spoke German. That language, indeed, was spoken only
by a few men in the whole corps; and these the commandant had
divided among the other companies, in order that each company might
be able to shift for itself, when separated from the main body.

"Have you seen this proclamation?" one of the villagers asked. "You
see that we are running no little risk, in taking you in."

Ralph read it, and as he did so his face flushed with indignation,
and he exclaimed:

"This is infamous! Infamous!"

"What is it?" Major Tempe asked.

"It is a proclamation from the Prussian General commanding the
district, major, giving notice that he will shoot every franc
tireur he may catch; and also giving notice to the inhabitants that
if any Prussian soldier be killed, or even shot at, by a franc
tireur--if a rail be pulled up, or a road cut--that he will hold
the village near the spot accountable; will burn the houses, and
treat the male inhabitants according to martial law, and that the
same penalties will be exacted for sheltering or hiding franc
tireurs."

"Impossible!" Major Tempe said, astounded. "No officer of a
civilized army could issue such an edict. Besides, during an
invasion of Germany, the people were summoned by the King of
Prussia to take up arms, to cut roads, destroy bridges, and shoot
down the enemy--just as we are going to do, now. It is too
atrocious to be true."

"There it is, in black and white," Ralph said. "There can be no
mistake as to the wording."

Major Tempe looked grieved, as well as indignant.

"This will be a terrible business," he said, "if the war is to be
carried on in this way. Of course, if they give us no quarter, we
shall give them none. That is, we must make as many prisoners as we
can in order that, if any of our men are taken prisoners, we may
carry out reprisals if they shoot them.

"It will, besides this, do us great harm. Naturally, the villagers,
instead of looking upon us as defenders, will regard us as the most
dangerous of guests. They will argue:

"'If we make no resistance, the Prussians may plunder us, but at
least our houses and our lives are safe; whereas if these franc
tireurs are found to have been with us, or if they make any attack
in our neighborhood, we are not only plundered, but burnt out, and
shot!'

"Of course, we are always liable to treachery. There are scoundrels
always to be found who would sell their own mothers, but now even
the most patriotic cannot but feel that they are running an immense
risk in sheltering us.

"Never before, I believe, in the annals of civilized nations, did a
man in authority dare to proclaim that persons should suffer for a
crime with which they had nothing, whatever, to do. If we arrive at
a little village, how are the people to say to us, 'We will not
allow you to pull up a rail!'? And yet, if they do not prevent us,
they are to be punished with fire and sword. And these people call
themselves a civilized nation!

"One of the evil consequences of this proclamation is that we shall
never dare trust to the inhabitants to make inquiries for us. They
will be so alarmed, in case we should attempt anything in their
neighborhood, that they would be sure to do and say everything they
could to dissuade us from it and, if inclined to treachery, might
even try to buy their own safety by betraying us."

Major Tempe was speaking to the other officers, who thoroughly
agreed with his opinion. Ralph and Percy had remained in the room,
in case any further questions might be asked in reference to the
proclamation. They now asked if anything else were required and,
upon a negative answer being given, saluted and took their leave.
It was dusk when they went out and, as they walked towards the
schoolroom, they heard a great tumult of voices raised in anger,
among which they recognized that of Tim Doyle.

"Howld yer jaw, you jabbering apes!" he exclaimed, in great wrath.
"Give me a lantern, or a candle, and let me begone. The boys are
all waiting for me to begin."

Hurrying up, they found Tim surrounded by a few of the principal
inhabitants of the village, and soon learned the cause of the
dispute. Supper was served, but it was too dark to see to eat it;
and Tim--always ready to make himself useful--had volunteered to go
in search of a light. He had in vain used his few words of French
with the villagers he met, and these had at last called the
schoolmaster, the only person in the village who understood French.
This man had addressed Tim first in French and then in German and,
upon receiving no coherent answer in either language, had arrived
at the conclusion that Tim was making fun of them. Hence the
dispute had arisen.

The boys explained matters, and the villagers--whose knowledge of
England was of the very vaguest description; and most of whom,
indeed, had previously believed that all the world spoke either
French or German--were profuse in apologies, and immediately
procured some candles, with which Tim and the boys hastened to the
schoolroom. Two candles were given to each company and--one being
lighted at each end of the room, and stuck upon nails in the
wall--the boys were enabled to see what the place was like.

Clean straw had been littered, a foot deep, down each side of the
room; and fifteen blankets were folded, side by side, along by each
wall. Upon pegs above--meant for the scholars' caps--hung the
haversacks, water bottles, and other accouterments; while the
rifles were piled along the center of the room, leaving space
enough to walk down upon either side, between them and the beds. At
the farther end of the room was a large fireplace, in which a log
fire was blazing; and a small shed, outside, had been converted
into a kitchen.

"We might be worse off than this, a long way, Ralph," said Louis
Duburg, as Ralph took his place on the straw next to him.

"That we might, Louis. The fire looks cheerful, too, and the nights
are getting very cold."

"That they are, Ralph.

"Ah! Here is supper. I am quite ready for that, too."

The men who officiated as cooks--and who, by agreement, had been
released from all night duty in consideration of their regularly
undertaking that occupation--now brought in a large saucepan full
of soup; and each man went up with his canteen, and received his
portion, returning to his bed upon the straw to eat it.

"Anything new, Barclay?" one of the men asked, from the other side
of the room.

"Yes, indeed," Ralph said. "New, and disagreeable. Mind none of you
get taken prisoners, for the Prussian General has issued a
proclamation that he shall shoot all franc tireurs he catches."

"Impossible!" came in a general chorus, from all present.

"Well, it sounds like it, but it is true enough," and Ralph
repeated, word for word, the proclamation which he had translated
to Major Tempe.

As might have been expected, it raised a perfect storm of
indignation; and this lasted until, at nine o'clock, the sergeant
gave the word:

"Lights out."

In the morning, after parade, Ralph and Percy strolled away
together and had a long talk and, at the end of an hour, they
walked to the house where Major Tempe had established his
headquarters.

"Good morning, my friends," he said, as they entered. "Is there
anything I can do for you? Sit down."

"We have been thinking, sir--Percy and I--that we could very easily
dress up as peasants, and go down to Saverne, or anywhere you might
think fit, and find out all particulars as to the strength and
position of the enemy. No one would suspect two boys of being franc
tireurs. It would be unlikely in the extreme that anyone would ask
us any questions and, if we were asked, we should say we belonged
to some village in the mountains, and had come down to buy coffee,
and other necessaries. The risk of detection would be next to
nothing, for we speak German quite well enough to pass for lads
from the mountains."

Major Tempe was silent a minute.

"You know you would be shot, at once, if you were detected."

"No doubt, sir, but there is no reason in the world why we should
be detected. The Prussians can't know everyone by sight, even
within the town itself; and will not notice us, at all. If they do,
our answer is sufficient."

"I tell you frankly, boys, I was thinking only last night of the
matter; but--however much you may make light of it--there is, of
course, a certain amount of danger in acting as spies; and your
father--my friend Captain Barclay--might say to me, if evil came of
it:

"'I gave you my boys to fight for France, and you have sent them to
their death, as spies.'

"So I resolved to say nothing about it."

"But now we have offered, sir, the case is different," Ralph said.
"From our knowledge of the language, and from our age, we are
better fitted than anyone in the corps to perform this service; and
therefore it would be clearly our duty to perform it, were it
greatly more dangerous than it is. Our father said to us, at
starting:

"'Do your duty, boys, whatever the danger.'

"We will see about our clothes--there can be no difficulty about
that, there are several lads in the village whose things would fit
us. Shall we come in this afternoon, for instructions?"

"Thank you, lads," Major Tempe said, warmly. "I trust, with you,
that no harm will come of it. But your offer is of too great
advantage to the corps for me to persist in my refusal."

Upon leaving the quarters of the commandant, the boys went at once
to the house of a farmer a short distance from the village where,
the day before, they had noticed two boys of about their own size.
They explained to the farmer that they wanted to buy of him a suit
of the working clothes of each of his sons. Greatly surprised at
this request, the farmer had inquired what they could possibly want
them for; and Ralph--who thought it better not to trust him with
the secret--replied that, as the Prussian General had given notice
that he should shoot all franc tireurs he might take prisoners,
they wanted a suit of clothes, each, which they might slip on in
case of defeat or danger of capture. The pretense was a plausible
one; and the farmer sold them the required clothes, charging only
about twice their cost, when new.

The boys took the parcel and, instead of returning to the village
direct, they hid it carefully in a wood, at a short distance away.
They then returned and, in the afternoon, received detailed
instructions from Major Tempe.

It was arranged that the matter should be kept entirely secret,
lest any incautious word might be overheard and reported. They were
to start at daybreak, upon the following morning. Their cousins and
Tim Doyle being--alone--taken into their confidence, their friends
regretted much that they could not accompany them, and share their
danger. The boys pointed out however that--even could they have
spoken German fluently--they could not have gone with them as,
although two strangers would excite no attention, whatever, five
would be certain to do so.

The next morning they started together, as if for a walk. Upon
reaching the spot in the wood where the peasants' clothes were
hidden, the boys took off their uniforms--which were wrapped up,
and concealed in the same place--and put on the clothes. They
fitted fairly; and more than that was not necessary, as peasants'
clothes are seldom cut accurately to the figure. Rounding their
shoulders, and walking with a clumping sort of stride, no one would
have imagined that they were other than they pretended to be--two
awkward-looking young Alsatian lads.

They cut two heavy sticks, exchanged a hearty goodbye with their
friends, and started for Saverne. Two hours later they were walking
in its streets; staring into the shop windows, and at everything
that was going on, with the open-mouthed curiosity of two young
country lads. Then they made a few purchases--some coffee, sugar,
and pepper--tied them in a colored pocket handkerchief, and then
went into a small cabaret--where they saw some German soldiers
drinking--sat down at a table, and called for some bread and cheese
and beer.

While they were taking them, they listened to the conversation of
the soldiers. The only information that they gleaned from it was
that the men seemed to have no expectation, whatever, of any early
movement; and that they were heartily sick of the monotony of the
place, and the hard work of patrolling the line of railway, night
and day. Presently the soldiers paid for their beer, and left; and
some of the townspeople came in, and took the places they had left.
Their conversation, of course, turned on the Prussian occupation,
and deep were the curses heaped upon the invaders. The only thing
mentioned in their favor was the smallness of their number. There
were not over two hundred men; and this amount weighed but lightly
upon Saverne, compared with the fifty, sixty, or a hundred
quartered at every little village along the line of railway.

The boys had now learned what they most wanted to know and, paying
for their refreshment, went out again into the street. Then they
walked to the railway station--where they saw several soldiers, on
guard--and then set off to a point where they could see the
entrance to the tunnel. There two soldiers were on guard; while
others were stationed, at short distances, all along the line.

The boys now went up to a wood whence, unseen themselves, they
could watch the trains passing. They came along nearly every half
hour; immensely long trains, filled with stores of all kinds. As it
became dusk, they saw a body of Prussian soldiers marching down the
line; relieving the sentries, and placing fresh ones at distances
of little more than fifty yards apart. These marched backwards and
forwards, until they met each other; then returning, until they
faced their comrade at the other end of their beat.

"We can be off now, Percy," Ralph said, rising. "Our news is bad,
for it will be by no means so easy to cut the line as we had
expected. These weasels won't be very easily caught asleep."

"No, indeed," Percy said. "The idea of cutting the line sounded so
easy, when we were at a distance; but it is quite a different
matter, now we are here."

Upon their return they found--with some difficulty--the place where
they had hidden their uniforms; again changed clothes, and
then--carrying those they had just taken off, made up into
bundles--they re-entered the village, and went straight to
headquarters.

Major Tempe was at dinner with the other officers, and received
them with great pleasure; for he had been anxious, all day, lest
any misfortune might befall them. Finding that they had had nothing
to eat, since early in the morning, he at once invited them to sit
down to dinner; for military discipline is far less strict in these
matters, in France, than it is in England; and among the corps of
franc tireurs especially--as among the English volunteers, where
the private is in many cases equal to, or superior to, his officer
in social standing--the difference of rank is very much put aside,
except on duty.

"And you say that they have a sentinel at every fifty or sixty
yards, along the line?" Major Tempe said, when Ralph had given an
account of their day's investigation. "That appears, to me, to be
fatal to our plans."

"Why so?" Lieutenant de Maupas--who commanded the first
company--asked. "It seems to me that nothing could be easier.
Suppose we fell upon any given point, the sentries near it would be
at once killed, or made prisoners; and even allowing--as young
Barclay says--that there are troops in all the villages, it would
be a good half hour before a force, sufficient to disturb us, could
arrive."

"That is true enough," Major Tempe answered. "But what could we do,
in half an hour? We might pull up two hundred yards of rail. What
real advantage would be gained by that? The line of sentries along
the rail would, by firing their rifles, pass the news ten miles, in
half as many minutes; and the trains would be stopped long before
they arrived at the break. Each train carries, I know, workmen and
materials for repairing the line; and as it would be impossible for
us to carry away the rails, after pulling them up, they would be
replaced in as short a time as it took us to tear them up; and the
consequence would be that the traffic would only be suspended for
an hour or two, at most. For a break to be of any real utility,
whatever, it must last for days, if not for weeks.

"The great coup, of course, would be the destruction of the rock
tunnel of Saverne, which was the special object of our presence
here. Failing that, we must try a bridge. The tunnel, however, is
the great affair. Once destroyed, there would be no repairing it,
for many weeks. My proposition is, therefore, that we turn our
attention at once to that point."

There was a general murmur of assent.

"The best course would be for Hardin's company to march direct to
the other end of the tunnel, seize it, and prevent interference
from that end; while the others then seize the Saverne end, and
hold it while preparations are made for blowing it up. Then, when
the match is lighted, fall back--if possible--before the arrival of
heavy bodies of the enemy."

"Nothing could be better," Lieutenant de Maupas exclaimed, and the
other officers agreed with him.

"What day do you propose for the movement?"

"The day after tomorrow, at daybreak," Major Tempe said. "That will
give us plenty of time to send orders to the other two companies;
and the sooner it is done, the better."

The conference was about to break up, when the surgeon--who had
listened in silence--said:

"The general plan is simple enough but, tell me, how do you propose
to set about blowing the tunnel up? You may be able to hold it for
half an hour, at most. How do you think of proceeding?"

Major Tempe and his officers looked at each other. They had not, as
yet, thought the matter over; but the instant it was put plainly
before them, they saw the difficulty.

"Oh," Lieutenant de Maupas said, confidently, "we shall, of course,
put the nitroglycerine somewhere in the middle of the tunnel, and
blow the whole affair up."

Lieutenant de Maupas had been a sailor; and his quickness of
decision and go-ahead, straight-forward way of doing everything
made him, at once, a favorite and an amusement to the men; who had
nicknamed him "Grande Vitesse," or, as we should say in English,
the "Express."

"I am afraid the matter is rather more difficult than you imagine,
De Maupas," Major Tempe said, with a smile. "This is in
Ribouville's way; as he was in the Engineers, he will know all
about it."

The officer named, however, did not reply for some little time; but
sat with his head on his hand, in deep thought.

"I feel ashamed to own it," he said, at last; "but I really do not
know how one could set about the matter so as to have a chance of
really destroying the tunnel, after so short a time for
preparation. Were the tunnel an ordinary, brick-lined tunnel, the
proposition of De Maupas--slightly modified--would no doubt have
the effect of bringing down the brick lining, and the earth behind
would fall in, of itself; but with a tunnel cut in the solid rock,
it would be difficult. The natural strength of the tunnel would be
so great that the force of the explosion would simply be lost,
through the ends. It might or might not bring down a few masses of
rock, but one could not rely upon it doing even that.

"If I had time, the matter would be easy enough. I should make a
deep chamber in the solid rock, at the side of the tunnel; insert
my charge, and then tamp or fasten it in, with masonry. This would
ensure its destruction, at the point of explosion; but I have no
hope of any great damage being done, by merely putting two barrels
of nitroglycerine down upon the line, and then firing them. I can
assure you the point mooted by the doctor is more serious and, as
far as I see at present, I could do nothing in half an hour which
would, in any way, ensure the destruction of the tunnel. To make
such a chamber as I speak of to hold two barrels of nitroglycerine
would be the work of four or five days, working night and day--even
with the aid of powder--and of course, it would be out of the
question to hope for as many hours."

There was a pause of consternation, as Lieutenant Ribouville spoke.
Here was the end of the grand scheme, from which they had expected
so much. At this time, the Germans had no other line of rail at
their command; and the destruction of the tunnel would have been a
disaster, equal to that of the loss of a pitched battle.

"There would be no chance, would there, of our hiding in the woods
under which the tunnel runs; so as to bore down to it, and blow it
in from above?" Major Tempe asked.

"None whatever. The depth to be bored would be considerable. The
stone is hard, and it could not be pierced without the use of
powder, which would betray our presence; and even could we use it,
and were the men all good miners, it would be a work of months, at
the very least."

There was a silence for some minutes, and then the commandant said:

"We cannot give it up, without a trial. Think it over, Ribouville,
for the next three or four days. You may be able to pitch upon some
plan. If you cannot do so, we must at least try the experiment of
exploding our nitroglycerine in the middle of the tunnel--or, at
any rate, as far in as we can carry it--and make our retreat in the
half hour, which is all the time we can calculate upon holding the
entrance."



Chapter 7: A Baffled Project.


Before leaving the headquarters of the commandant, the young
Barclays asked if he wished that they should continue to keep
silence upon the subject of their expedition. The commandant
replied that he did not see that it could do any harm, provided
that they impressed upon their comrades the necessity of
maintaining an absolute silence upon the subject, when any of the
people of the neighborhood were present. Although the villagers
might appear to understand no language but German, they might yet
know enough French to glean what was said and, if traitorously
inclined, to warn the Germans, and thus enormously increase the
danger when the Barclays should again go down to the town.

Their cousins had already heard of their return; for the boys, upon
sitting down to dinner at the commandant's, had requested leave to
send a line to their cousins, who would be anxiously expecting
them.

"Hallo! You Barclay, where have you been to, all day?" was the
general exclamation, as they entered.

"On duty," Ralph said.

"On duty--yes, but what duty? The Duburgs have been mysterious, and
would say nothing. The sergeant here knew nothing about it, except
that our lieutenant told him that you had leave; and Irish Tim has
been hanging about all day, as restless as a cow that has lost its
calf."

"We have been down to Saverne," Ralph said.

There was a general exclamation of astonishment. Those of the men
who had already lain down upon their straw for the night sat up
again, and all crowded round to hear Ralph's story, which he at
once told at length; and which, when finished, gave rise here--as
it had done at the officers' table--to an animated discussion.
Several of the men shook hands warmly with the Barclays,
congratulating them on their offer to undertake this dangerous
service, and upon the valuable--though unfavorable--information
which they had obtained.

From this time forward, the men ceased to attempt to pass jokes at
the expense of any of the boys. When the corps was first raised,
many of the young men had been inclined to protest against boys
being accepted, when the list could have been readily filled with
men but, by this time, the boys had proved that they were quite as
capable of supporting fatigue as were the men. They had behaved
equally well in action; and now the enterprise of the Barclays
testified to the fact that, in a dangerous expedition requiring
coolness, presence of mind, and nerve, they were equally to be
relied upon. Henceforward there was no distinction, or difference,
between the various members of the corps.

Another four days passed and--as the ex-officer of Engineers could
suggest no certain plan, for the destruction of the tunnel, which
could be carried out in the time which a surprise of the sentries
at its mouth would give them--Major Tempe resolved upon delaying no
longer; but on sending four men into the tunnel, under Lieutenant
Ribouville, with instructions to go as far as they could in a
quarter of an hour, to set down the barrels against the rock, to
light a fuse cut to burn a quarter of an hour, and then to return
at full speed to the mouth of the tunnel.

One company was to seize the other end, to tear up seven, eight, or
ten rails, and to retire at once into the woods; as the delay in
getting the rails into their places again would prevent any train
entering, from that end, in time for its occupants to see and
extinguish the burning fuse.

The other company--which was absent--was to join the headquarters,
the evening before the attempt; and it was hoped that the three
companies would be able to keep the enemy at bay for half an hour,
so as to give time to the party with the nitroglycerine to take it
to the required position, and rejoin their comrades. Immediately
upon their doing so the retreat was to commence; as the enemy could
not possibly penetrate the tunnel, and extinguish the fuse, before
the explosion took place.

The attempt was not to be made till the following evening; in order
that the Barclays might go down, and see that all was as before at
Saverne, and along the line. The next day, accordingly, the boys
again put on their disguises and started; as before, taking the
precaution to change in the wood, so as not to be seen by any of
the villagers. Upon reaching the spot from which a view of the
tunnel was obtainable, they stopped, with a simultaneous
exclamation of dismay. Not only were two sentries stationed near
the entrance; but some fifteen or twenty German soldiers were
sitting or standing by a small building, at a short distance, which
had evidently been turned into a guard house.

"This looks very much against us, Ralph. One would think that they
had got information of our being near."

"It looks bad, indeed, Percy. Let us go on into the town. We shall,
perhaps, learn something about it, there."

A sharp walk soon brought them to Saverne. A sentry was on duty at
the entrance to the town, and several of his comrades stood near.
The sentry looked as if about to stop them; but seeing, when they
came up, that they were only boys, he let them pass without
question.

"Worse and worse, Percy. Something is up, sure enough."

This became more evident at every step they took, for the little
town was absolutely crowded with German soldiers.

"Unless they are merely halting here, upon their march through, it
is all up with our plan, Percy. There must be over two thousand men
here, at the very least."

Upon questioning a lad of the town, of about their own age, they
found that the fresh troops had arrived upon the preceding day; the
infantry--two thousand strong--coming in by train, late in the
evening before; and three hundred cavalry marched in, only half an
hour before the boys' arrival. They were all quartered upon the
inhabitants, and there appeared to be no sign of their early
departure.

For some time the boys walked about, without obtaining any
information; although they entered a dozen cabarets, and drank
considerable quantities of beer. At last, before one of the
principal cafes, they saw ten or twelve German officers sitting,
talking. None of the inhabitants were sitting at the cafe; and the
boys dared not go in to ask for anything, there, as it would not
have been in accordance with their appearance.

"How are we to get within hearing, Percy?"

"Look here, Ralph; I will limp along, as if I had something in my
shoe which hurts me. Then I will sit down on a doorstep, close to
them, and take off my boot. You can sit down, too, and take some of
the bread and cheese which we put in our pockets, because we could
not eat it at the last place we went in. I will keep my boot off,
to ease my foot; and we can eat our bread and cheese, as slowly as
we like."

"That will do capitally, Percy."

In another couple of minutes the two lads were sitting, as agreed,
upon the step of a door close to the cafe. They could not hear all
that was said; but could catch the sense, as the German
officers--as is their custom--spoke in a very loud voice. They
belonged to the infantry; and were, it appeared, in ignorance of
the reason of their sudden move to Saverne.

Presently a captain of the cavalry came along the street.

"Ah, Von Rausen," a major in the infantry exclaimed, "are you here?
I have not seen you since the day you marched from Coblentz."

"No, indeed, major," the other said, saluting--as a Prussian
officer always does, to his superior in rank--the other infantry
officers all rising, and saluting in turn. "We have just come in
from Hagenau."

"Are you in a hurry?" asked the major. "If not, sit down and let us
talk."

The cavalry officer accepted the invitation and, for a few minutes,
their talk ran upon mutual friends. Then the major said:

"By the way, do you know what we are here for? We were bustled off
at a moment's notice; no one knows why, except of course the
colonel, and he has not thought necessary to tell us and,
naturally, we have not asked him."

"Do you not know?" Captain Von Rausen said. "It is no secret--at
least, no secret from us, but a secret from the people here. I will
speak in French; no doubt there are plenty of spies about."

"There is no one in hearing," the major said, "except those two
stupid-looking lads, munching bread and cheese."

"The more likely to be spies," Von Rausen said. "Fellows who look
like fools are just the people chosen."

"Well, speak in English then, Von Rausen," the major said; "we both
understand it, and we should be safe, then, if all Saverne were
listening."

"Yes, that will be safe.

"Well, then, the general received information, yesterday, that that
corps of franc tireurs who cut up our cavalry near Blamont, the
other day, are hid up in some village in the woods, four or five
miles from here; no doubt with the intention of making an attempt
to blow up the tunnel. The idea is a daring one and, if the plan
had succeeded, it would have done us incalculable harm. As it is,
we are safe; and tomorrow night we shall, I believe, make an
expedition, and sweep the woods clear of these troublesome gentry.

"These franc tireurs will be mischievous if we do not give them a
sharp lesson. The general's proclamation gave notice that every one
of them taken would be shot, and our colonel is just the man to
carry out the order."

"This is indeed important," the major said. "But how did we get the
information? Is it certain?"

"Quite certain. A scoundrel of a schoolmaster at Grunsdorf--a
village somewhere up in the woods--turned traitor; and sent a
letter to the general, bargaining that he should be taken on as a
spy, at some fabulous salary, and offering to begin by leading the
troops to the village where these franc tireurs are hidden."

"An infamous scoundrel!" the major said warmly. "Of course, one
cannot refuse to deal with traitors, when the information is of
importance; but one longs to put a pistol bullet into them. Badly
as the French have come out in many particulars, since the war
began, there is not one which gives me such a mean idea of them as
the number of offers which have been sent in to supply information,
and betray their countrymen."

"Put on your boots, Percy," Ralph said, in a low voice. "It is time
for us to be off. Don't hurry; and above all, if they should take
it into their heads to address us suddenly in French, or English,
don't start or seem to notice."

The major was, however, so absorbed in the information he had
received--and so confident that the English, in which it had been
told, would be unintelligible to anyone who might overhear it--that
he paid no attention to the boys who--one of them limping
badly--went slowly down the street; stopping, occasionally, to look
in at the shop windows. It was not until they were fairly outside
the town, and out of sight of the German sentries, that they either
spoke or quickened their pace.

"The franc tireurs of Dijon may thank their lucky stars that they
sent down spies to Saverne today, Percy; and especially that we, of
all the members of the corps, were selected. If we had not been
where we were, just at that moment, and if we had not understood
English, it would have been all up with the corps, and no mistake."

"What an infamous scoundrel, as the major said, that schoolmaster
must be, Ralph! What do you think the commandant will do?"

"He has nothing to do but to retreat, as quickly as we can go,
Percy; but if it costs him half the corps, I hope he will hang that
schoolmaster, before he goes."

"I hope so, too," Percy said; and scarcely another word was spoken,
until they reached the village.

It was still early, scarcely two o'clock, and Major Tempe was
drilling the whole corps--the two detached companies having arrived
that morning--when the boys, having again put on uniform,
approached him.

Major Tempe nodded to them, as they came up.

"You are back early," he said. "You are excused from drill. I will
see you at my quarters, when it is over."

"If you please, major," Ralph said, respectfully, "you had better
dismiss the men, at once. We have news of the highest importance to
tell you."

The major looked surprised but, seeing by the boys' faces that the
news was very serious, he at once dismissed the men; telling them
to keep near, as they might be wanted. Then, calling his officers,
he proceeded at once with the Barclays towards his quarters.

"Excuse me, major," Ralph said, "but instead of going to your
quarters, would you move to some open space, where we can speak
without a possibility of being overheard by anyone?"

Still more surprised, Major Tempe led the way to some felled trees
at the edge of the forest, a short distance from the village. Here
he sat down, and motioned to the others to do the same. Ralph then
told his story, interrupted many times by exclamations of rage,
upon the part of his auditors; and giving full credit to Percy for
his idea of the plan by which, unnoticed, they had managed to get
within hearing of the German officers. The fury of the French
officers knew no bounds. They gesticulated, they stamped up and
down, they swore terribly, they were ready to cry from sheer rage.

Major Tempe, alone, uttered no remark during the whole narration.
When it was concluded, he sat silent for a minute or two; with his
lips pressed together, and a look of deep indignation on his face.
Then he rose, and said in a solemn tone:

"As sure as the sun shines, and as sure as my name is Edward Tempe,
so sure shall that schoolmaster, of Grunsdorf, be hung before
tomorrow morning!

"Lieutenant Ribouville, order the assembly to be sounded, and form
the men here in hollow square.

"Messieurs Barclay, you will fall in with your company."

A little surprised--and hurt that the commandant had said no word
of commendation to them, for the service they had performed--the
boys hurried off to their quarters, to get their rifles.

"Sure, Master Ralph, and what is the matter, at all?" Tim Doyle
said, as they entered. "Sure the major, honest man, must have gone
off his head, entirely! Scarcely had we finished our male, and
began to smoke the first pipe in aise and comfort, when the bugle
blows for parade.

"'Confound the bugle!' says I, and I shoved me pipe aside, and put
on my belt and fell in.

"Hardly had we begun the maneuvers when your honors arrived and
said a word, private, to the major. The words weren't out of your
mouth before he dismisses us from drill.

"'Botheration!' says I, 'is there no pace for the wicked?'

"Back I comes again, and takes off me belt and piles me firelock;
and before I had got three draws at me pipe, and was just beginning
to enjoy the creetur when, crack! and there goes the assimbly
again. Sure and the major, honest man, has lost his head entirely;
and it's a pity, for he is an illegant man, and a good officer,
says I."

"Come along, Tim," Ralph said, laughing, "else you'll be late for
parade. You will hear all about it in time, I have no doubt."

In five minutes the men were all assembled in a hollow square, two
deep, facing the officers in the center The men saw at once, by the
faces of Major Tempe and the officers, that something very serious
had happened; and they had no sooner taken their places than there
was a deep hush of expectancy, for it was evident that the
commandant was about to address them.

"My men," he said, after a pause of a minute or two, "a great
calamity has happened; and a still greater one would have happened,
had we not providentially received warning in time. It had been
resolved--as you would have heard this evening, had all gone
well--that tonight we should attack the German sentries, and blow
up the rock tunnel of Saverne. The affair would have been hot, but
it would have been a vital service to France; and the franc tireurs
of Dijon would have merited, and obtained, the thanks of all
France. It was for the purpose of the attack that the two companies
detached from us were recalled.

"All promised well for success. Two of your number had been down
into Saverne, in disguise, and had brought us full information
respecting the force and disposition of the enemy. All was
prepared, the chance of success favorable, and the force the enemy
could have brought against us was no larger than our own. We should
have saved France, and immortalized ourselves.

"At the present moment there are two thousand five hundred men in
Saverne. Tomorrow night this village is to be attacked, and every
franc tireur found here put to the sword."

A cry of surprise and rage broke from the men.

"And how, think you, has the change been wrought? By treachery!"

Those cries of rage were renewed.

"By treachery! A Frenchman has been found, base and vile enough to
sell us to Prussia. All hope of success is over, and we have only
to retreat."

"Who is he? Who is he?" burst from the infuriated men. "Death to
the traitor! Death to the traitor!"

"Yes, men, death to the traitor!" the major said, solemnly. "It is
the schoolmaster of Grunsdorf who has sold you to the Prussians;
who wrote that letter to their general, telling him of your
intentions, which has caused these great reinforcements to be sent;
and who has offered to guide a force to surround us, tomorrow
night."

Another low cry of horror and indignation broke from the men.

"Is it your opinion that this man has deserved death?"

"Yes," was the unanimous answer.

"Then he dies," Major Tempe said, solemnly. "You were to have been
his victims; you are his judges.

"Grunsdorf is three miles from here, in the woods, not far from
Saverne. A party will be told off, presently, who will be charged
with the execution of this sentence.

"I have now another duty. The corps has been saved from
destruction. You--all of us--have been preserved from death by the
intelligence and courage of two of your number.

"Ralph and Percy Barclay, stand forward!"

The two boys stepped two paces forward into the hollow square.

"Selected by me," continued Major Tempe, "for the duty, from their
perfect acquaintance with German; they, upon their first visit to
Saverne, obtained all the information required. Upon their second
visit, this morning--finding the enemy had been immensely
reinforced--they perceived the extreme importance of discovering
the reason for the arrival of the reinforcements, and their
intention. With a coolness and tact which does them the greatest
credit, they contrived to arrive, and to remain within hearing of,
a number of officers; and then learned the whole particulars of the
treachery of this man, and of the intention of our enemies. So
important was the secret judged that the Germans were afraid of
telling it in German, or in French, lest they might be overheard.
To prevent the possibility of this, they conversed in English; and
the consequence is that we are saved, almost by a miracle.

"Ralph and Percy Barclay, your names will be inserted in the order
of the day, being the first of the corps to whom that honor has
been given; and I hereby offer you, in the name of myself, my
officers, and the whole corps, my hearty thanks for your courage,
coolness, and devotion.

"The parade is dismissed. The men will assemble at five o'clock, in
full marching order, with all necessaries and accouterments."

As Major Tempe ceased speaking, the men broke up from the order in
which they had been standing, and crowded round the young Barclays;
shaking them by the hand, patting them on the shoulder, and
congratulating them heartily upon the service that they had
rendered, and upon the terms in which their commandant had thus
publicly acknowledged it.

At five o'clock the corps assembled again in heavy marching order
and, after inspection, the second, third, and fourth companies
marched off; with their officers, who alone knew their destination,
at their head. Major Tempe remained on the ground, with the first
company. After waiting for a few minutes, they were marched off in
the direction which the others had taken but--after getting out of
sight of the village, and fairly entering the forest--they turned
sharp off, and took the direction of Saverne.



Chapter 8: The Traitor.


After the company had marched for half an hour, a halt was called,
and their commandant said:

"I daresay you have all guessed the object which we have in view.
We are going to carry out the sentence pronounced by the whole
corps. We are going to have that schoolmaster--that traitor--who
has sold our lives to the Prussians; and who--which is of
infinitely greater importance--has done immense injury to France,
by betraying our intention of blowing up the tunnel. That traitor I
intend to have, tonight; and if I have him, I will hang him, as
sure as fate.

"This lane which we are following leads to Grunsdorf; which,
according to the information I collected before leaving, cannot be
above a mile distant. Now, we must be cautious. It is quite
possible that a detachment of the enemy may have been sent up to
the village, and in that case we might catch a Tartar. Even if
there are no Germans there, we must be cautious, or the bird will
escape. We neither know him, nor the house he lives in and--as he
would naturally guess that his treachery had been discovered, and
that we had come for him--he would slip out into the forest, the
instant he saw the first bayonet approaching. It is essential,
therefore, that we should obtain accurate information of the state
of affairs, and of the position of this traitor's house.

"In another half hour it will be dusk. The Barclays have again
volunteered to go in, and find out what we require. They will go on
at once; and in an hour we will follow, and remain concealed, just
outside the village, until they return.

"Sergeant, you will go forward with them, and agree upon the place
where we shall remain hid, until they join us.

"Now, my lads, you have already received your instructions. Change
your things, and go forward at once."

The distance was farther than they had expected, and it was nearly
dark before the boys entered Grunsdorf. There was no one moving in
the quiet village, for a fine rain was falling as the boys walked
slowly along.

"There is no one to ask, Percy. We must go into the public house,
as arranged, and ask where the priest's house is. It would not do
for two strangers to ask for the schoolmaster. The priest will tell
us where he lives."

So saying, they entered the little cabaret, walked down a long
passage leading from the door, and paused for a moment at the
threshold--for in the room were some eight or ten Prussian
soldiers.

"It is too late to retreat, Percy. Come in boldly."

Lifting their caps, they walked up to an unoccupied table; and
called for some bread, cheese, and beer. The landlord brought the
refreshments, and the boys had scarcely begun to eat when a
Prussian sergeant--who had exchanged a word with the landlord,
evidently in reference to them--strode up to them and, laying his
hand upon Ralph's shoulder, said:

"Who are you, young fellows? The landlord says you do not belong to
the village."

"We belong to a party of woodcutters, from Colmar," Ralph said,
quietly.

Illustration: Among the German Soldiers.

"Oh, indeed!" the sergeant said, in an incredulous voice, "and
where are your party?"

"Out in the forest, at the place where we have begun to fell
trees," Ralph said.

"But people do not come to cut wood without horses, or carts to
take it away," the sergeant persisted.

"They are up in the forest with our father," Ralph said.

"Have you heard anything about this party?" the sergeant asked the
landlord.

The man hesitated a moment. He evidently suspected, also, that the
boys might belong to the franc tireurs; and was anxious to say
nothing which could harm them.

"No," he said, after a pause, "I can't say that I have heard of
them; but I know some of the forest was sold, not long ago, and
they might have come from Colmar without coming this way."

"We only arrived this morning," Percy said, quietly, "so that you
could hardly have heard of us, unless some of the people of your
place happened to pass, when we were at work; and we have not seen
anyone, all day."

"At any rate," the sergeant said, "I shall see if your story be
true, and you will at once take us to the place.

"Corporal, get ten men in readiness."

"Certainly," Ralph said, "if you will allow us to finish our
supper, we will show you the way, at once."

The sergeant nodded, and resumed his seat.

"Look here, Percy," Ralph said, quietly, "we are in a nasty fix,
this time. There is only one thing to be done, that I can see. If
we both go they will shoot us, to a certainty; for although one
might make a bolt in the wood, it is certain we could not both get
away.

"Only one thing is to be done. I will say your foot is bad, and ask
for you to stay here. Directly we have gone, you slip out and
go--as hard as you can--to the place where our men are hid. I will
bring them in that direction. We shall have passed the place before
you can reach it--at least, unless you can get out, at once--and
pass on in the darkness. Take off your shoes, so as to run lightly.
As we pass, fire a volley right into us; and I will make a dart
into the wood, in the confusion."

"But you might be shot by our men, Ralph. They could not possibly
distinguish you, in the dark. No, I will go with the men, and you
make your way to Tempe."

"No, no, Percy, I won't have that."

"Very well," Percy said, doggedly, "then we will go together."

There was a silence for a minute or two, and then Ralph said:

"Look here, Percy, this is madness; however, as you won't do as I
tell you, we will draw lots. I will put a piece of crumb in one of
my hands. You shall guess which it is in. If you guess right, I
will go with the Germans. If you guess wrong, you shall go."

"Very well," Percy said; "I agree to that."

Ralph then broke off a small piece of bread, and put it in one of
his hands--having already, before he made the proposition, broken
off a similar piece, unobserved by Percy. He then put both hands
under the table, and then lifted them again; all the time trying to
appear not to be engaged upon anything out of the way, as he knew
that some of the Germans were watching them.

"Left," Percy said.

Ralph replied by opening the left hand, and dropping the piece of
bread on the table; at the same time putting his right hand back
into his pocket, as if to get out his handkerchief--and dropping,
as he did so, the piece of bread it contained into the place.

"There, Percy, fortune has decided it.

"Goodbye; God bless you. I daresay I shall get out of it but, if
not, give my love to them all, at home."

Then he finished his beer and rose, without giving Percy time to
reply, even could he have done so; but the lad was so much choked,
with the effort to keep from crying, that he could not have spoken.
Ralph turned to the sergeant and--stretching his arms, with the
natural air of a tired boy, objecting to be disturbed--said:

"Now, sir, I am ready to start. I suppose there is no occasion for
us both to go, for my brother has hurt his foot. We shouldn't have
come in, tonight; but it is his first time out with the woodmen,
and he is not accustomed to sleeping out, in the wet."

"Yes, one is enough. He can stay," the sergeant said.

"You had better ask the landlord to show you a corner, where you
can sleep on the straw, Karl," Ralph said. "It is no use waiting
for me. I shall be back in an hour."

With a nod to Percy, Ralph now walked steadily to the door. The
sergeant, with the men told off for the duty, accompanied him. When
they reached the street, it was raining heavily.

"I wonder," Ralph said, "whether the landlord would lend me a sack,
to put on my shoulders."

"Is this place far off, youngster?" the sergeant asked, peering out
into the darkness.

Ralph's heart gave a jump; for he detected, in the tone, a certain
hesitation as to taking the men out in such a night, upon such
slight suspicion. He was, however, too shrewd to show any desire to
dissuade the sergeant from it, so he replied:

"No, it is no distance to speak of; not a mile, at most. We should
be there and back in half an hour, if it was light; but there is
only a path among the woods and it is dark.

"I think we had better have some lanterns, for I do not think I
could find my way without them, tonight; at any rate, it would take
us much longer."

"There, boy, that will do," the sergeant said, laying his hand on
his shoulder. "I am satisfied, now, with the truth of your story. I
thought, for a bit, you had something to do with the franc tireurs
who are about here, but I see I was mistaken.

"Turn in again, lads. It is no use taking you out on a useless
search, such a night as this, among these forests."

Ralph laughed aloud, as they turned to go down the passage again to
the corner.

"Won't father laugh," he said, "when he hears that you thought I
was a franc tireur. We haven't seen any, about Colmar. I don't
think you need be afraid of them, if they ain't bigger or older
than I am."

By this time they had entered the room again, and Ralph saw that
Percy was already talking to the landlord--with whom, indeed, he
was on the point of leaving the room. He turned round, upon hearing
the party come in again, and gave a slight start of pleasure.

"I am soon back, Karl, and am glad that it is so for, frankly, I
too am tired; and it is not a night for a dog to be out. I will go
in with you."

"Stay, landlord," the sergeant said. "Give the boys another glass,
each, before they go off."

"Thank you," Ralph said. "A glass of good beer never comes amiss."

The boys stopped, while the landlord filled their glasses.

"Now," said the sergeant, raising his arm. "Here's a health, to
King William."

"Here's a health, to King William," Ralph repeated. "I am sure I
wish him no harm.

"And now, with your permission, I will be off."

The landlord led them to an outhouse, in which were some trusses of
straw. Just as he was about to leave them, Ralph said, suddenly:

"Ah! I had nearly forgotten about the priest. You have a priest
here, have you not?"

"Of course," the landlord said. "Do you take us for heathens?"

"Not at all," Ralph said, apologetically; "but father told me to
call, and pay him for some masses. My eldest sister was very ill,
when we came away, and father worries about her.

"Where does the priest live?"

"The last house on the left, as you go out from the farther end of
the village. But anyone will show you it, in the morning.

"You don't want the light any longer?"

For the boys had, while speaking, been taking off their boots, and
making a show of preparing to lie down on the straw.

"No, thank you. Good night.

"Oh, I forgot--what do you charge, a cask, for your best beer?
Father wanted to know and, if the price suits, will send down a
cart to fetch it."

The landlord named the price, and then said good night, and left
them.

When he returned to the room where he had left the German soldiers,
the sergeant asked him a question or two concerning the boys; and
the landlord repeated the substance of the conversation which he
had just had. This allayed the last suspicions which had remained
in the sergeant's mind; and he congratulated himself, greatly, that
he had not taken his men out, in such a night, upon a mere
groundless suspicion.

"If the landlord repeats that yarn to the Germans, it will allay
all suspicion," Ralph said, when they were left alone. "Otherwise
the sergeant might have taken it into his head to come to have a
look at us and, although it would not very much matter that he
should discover that the birds had flown, still it would have put
him on his guard, and he might have doubled the sentries, and made
it much more difficult for us.

"We have had a very narrow squeak for it this time, Percy, old
boy."

"Very, Ralph! I would rather go through twenty battles, again, than
feel as I felt when I saw you start, and thought that I should
never see you again, alive."

"Well, we have no time to lose now, Percy. Have you got your boots
on again? If so, let us start at once. The major and men must be
very anxious, long before this. It must be full an hour since we
came."

"It has been the longest hour I ever passed, Ralph. There now, I am
ready, if you are."

"We must go out very quietly, Percy. I have no doubt that they have
got sentries posted all about. They know that we are in the
neighborhood I wish I knew how many there are of them."

"I found out, from the landlord, that all the fifteen men we saw
here were billeted upon him," Percy said. "He told me at first,
when I asked him, that he could do nothing for me in the way of a
bed, because there were three or four in every room. I said that a
stable and a little straw would do for us, very well, and then he
thought of this outhouse.

"At the same rate, there must be at least a hundred men in the
village."

They now opened the door of the outhouse, went quietly out, and
made their way through a garden at the back of the house towards
the wood.

"Stand still a few minutes, Percy," Ralph said, in a whisper, "and
let us see if we can find out where the sentries are placed. I
expect that they form a cordon round the village.

"Lie down by this wall. We can see them, there, and they cannot see
us."

It was well that they did so for, in another minute, they heard a
tread quite close to them; and a Prussian soldier passed, within a
yard of where they were lying. They could dimly see that his hood
was over his head, and hear that he was humming to himself a scrap
of some German air. They lay there until he had again passed the
spot; and then--having found out the direction of his beat--they
crawled noiselessly away and, in five minutes, had reached the edge
of the forest.

They did not enter it, as it would have been impossible--in the
dense darkness--to have made their way without running against
trees, and snapping off boughs, which would have given the alarm.
They therefore skirted the edge--knowing that, with the trees
behind them, they would be invisible at the distance of a yard or
two--and in ten minutes reached the place where their company was
awaiting them. As they approached the spot, they gave a short, low
whistle; which was the agreed sign, among the band, for knowing
each other on night expeditions. It was answered at once and, in
another minute, they were among their friends.

"What has happened?" Major Tempe asked. "We were getting very
anxious about you. I sent Favarts to reconnoiter, ten minutes ago;
and he has just returned, saying that he can hear someone pacing
backwards and forwards on the road, and that he believes it to be a
sentry."

"He was quite right," Ralph said; "the village is full of Germans.
There must--as far as we can see--be seventy or eighty of them, at
the very lowest; and there are probably a hundred. We have been
prisoners, or something very like it, and have had a monstrously
close shave of it.

"But I will tell you all that, when we have time. Do you still
think of carrying out your plans?"

"Certainly," Major Tempe said, "that schoolmaster I am determined
to have, even if we fight our way in, and shoot him in bed. Have
you found out where he lives?"

"No, sir, but we have found out where the priest lives. It is this
end house: the end of the village, on the left-hand side as you
come out."

"Are the sentries very close together?"

"They are pretty close, but not too close to prevent our crawling
between them, unobserved, on such a night as this."

Major Tempe hesitated for a while.

"It would be too hazardous," he said. "We know nothing of the
ground over which we should have to crawl, and it would be hardly
possible for thirty men--with our accouterments, and firearms--to
crawl along without snapping sticks, or striking rifles against a
stone and giving the alarm.

"No, the sentry at the entrance of the village must be silenced."

So saying, the commandant turned to the men who were standing
round, and explained briefly the purport of the whispered
conversation which he had had with Ralph. He then chose two active
young men, and told them to take off their cloaks, belts, and
accouterments of all kinds; and to leave them, with their rifles,
with the men who were to remain at the spot at which they then
were--to cover their retreat, if necessary. They were to take
nothing with them but their sword bayonets--which were not to be
used, except in case of necessity--and a coil of light rope.
Definite instructions were given them as to the manner in which
their attack was to be made.

They then took off their boots, and set off noiselessly upon their
enterprise. They went on rapidly, until they were within plain
hearing of the footsteps of the sentinel; and then very cautiously
and, crouching almost to the ground, so as not to bring their
bodies on a level with his eye, they crept up foot by foot to the
end of his beat. Here they waited a short time, while he passed and
repassed them, unthinking of the deadly foe who, had they stretched
out their hands, could have touched his cloak as he went past them.

At last, the second time he passed them on his way towards the
village, they rose together behind him. In an instant one had
garroted him--with a choking grip, that almost strangled him, and
prevented him uttering the slightest sound--while the other grasped
his rifle by the lock, so as to prevent the possibility of its
being fired. In another instant, the rifle was torn from the grasp
of the almost stupefied man; cords were passed tightly round his
arms and legs; a handkerchief was thrust into his mouth, and
fastened there by a cord going across the mouth and tied behind the
head and, before the bewildered man fairly knew what had happened,
he was lying bound and gagged by the roadside.

One of the franc tireurs now ran back, to tell the commandant that
the men could advance; while the other--selected specially because
he understood a little German--put on the spiked helmet of the
captured sentry, and began to walk up and down, in readiness to
repeat the cry of "All well," should it be passed round.

The whole company were now moved up. Ten men were left at the point
where the sentry was posted, to cover a retreat; or to assist the
sentry, in case of any party coming out to relieve guard, and so
discovering the change which had taken place. The others, led by
the commandant, proceeded forward until opposite the priest's
house, in which lights were still burning; for it was not, as yet,
ten o'clock.

Major Tempe, accompanied only by two men--and by Ralph Barclay, to
interpret, if necessary--now went cautiously up to the house. The
light was in a room on the ground floor. To this Major Tempe
advanced and, looking in, saw the priest sitting reading, alone. He
tapped very gently at the window; and the priest, looking up, gave
a start upon seeing an armed man looking in at the window.

Major Tempe put his finger to his lips, to enforce the necessity
for silence, and made signs to him to open the window. After a
moment's hesitation the priest rose from his seat, came to the
window, and unfastened it; taking great precautions against noise.

"Are you French?" he asked, in a whisper.

"Yes; a commandant of franc tireurs."

"Hush, then, for your life," the priest said, earnestly. "The
village is full of Prussians. The officer, with a soldier as his
servant, is upstairs. He arrived in a state of fever; and is,
tonight, quite ill. The soldier is up with him. I believe the
sergeant, who is at the inn, is in command for to-night. A soldier
was dispatched, this evening, to ask for another officer to be sent
out.

"What can I do for you?"

"I only want you to tell me in which house the schoolmaster lives.
He is a traitor, and has betrayed us to the Prussians. It is owing
to him that they are here."

"He has a bad name, in the village," the priest said; "and we had
applied to have him removed. He lives in the third house from here,
on the same side of the road."

"Has he any Germans quartered upon him?"

"Twenty or thirty men," the priest said. "The schoolroom is full of
them."

"Do you know which is his room?" Major Tempe asked. "It would be a
great thing, if we could get at him without alarming the enemy. I
have thirty men here, but I do not want to have a fight in the
village, if I can help it."

"I know his house," the priest said. "The schoolroom is at the side
of the house, and his sitting room and kitchen on the ground floor
of the house itself. There are three bedrooms over. His room is in
front of the house, to the right as you face it."

"Thank you," Major Tempe said. "Have you a ladder?"

"There is one lying on the ground by the wall, to the left. I hope
you do not intend to shed blood?"

"No," Major Tempe said, grimly. "I think that I can promise that
there will be no blood shed--that is to say, unless we are attacked
by the Prussians.

"Good night, and thank you. I need not say that--for your own
sake--you will not mention, in the morning, having seen us."

The commandant now rejoined his party, and they advanced to the
house indicated. He then chose ten men to accompany him; ordering
the rest to remain at a distance of twenty yards, with their rifles
cocked, and in readiness for instant action. The ladder was then
brought forward by the men selected, and placed against the window.

Major Tempe had, before starting, provided himself--from the
carpenter of the village--with an auger, a small and fine saw, a
bottle of oil, and a thin strip of straight iron. He now mounted
the ladder and, after carefully examining the window--which was of
the make which we call, in England, latticed--he inserted the strip
of iron, and tried to force back the fastening. This he failed in
doing, being afraid to use much force lest the fastening should
give suddenly, with a crash. He had, however, ascertained the exact
position of the fastening.

Having, before mounting, carefully oiled the auger and saw, he now
applied the former; and made a hole through the framework at the
junction of the two sides of the window, just above the fastening.
Introducing the saw into this hole, he noiselessly cut entirely
round the fastening, with a semi-circular sweep, to the junction of
the window below it; and as he did so, the window swung partially
open, by its own weight. He now descended the ladder again, took
off his boots; and ordered two of the men to do the same, and to
put aside all arms, and accouterments, that could strike against
anything and make a noise.

Then, taking a coil of strong rope in his hand, and followed by the
two men, he again mounted the ladder. The instructions to the men
were that one was to enter at once, with him; the other to remain
where he was, until he received the signal. The major entered the
room noiselessly, and dropped at once on to his hands and knees;
and was, a minute after, joined by his follower. He now crawled
forward--groping his way with the greatest caution, so as to make
no noise--until he found the bed. Then, rising to his feet, he
threw himself upon the sleeping man and, in a moment, had him
tightly by the throat with one hand, while the other was placed
firmly on his mouth.

Paralyzed by the suddenness of the attack, and with his arms
tightly kept down by the bedclothes, and the weight of his
assailant, the schoolmaster was unable to struggle.

"Now, light the light," Major Tempe said, quietly.

His follower at once struck one of the noiseless German
matches--which are used almost exclusively, in these parts of
France--and lighted a lamp which was standing upon the table. He
then came up to the bed, and assisted the major

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