Produced by Martin Robb

The Young Franc Tireurs

And Their Adventures in the Franco-Prussian War

By G. A. Henty.

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.

"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.

"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 to securely gag and
bind the prisoner--whose looks, when he saw into whose hands he had
fallen, betokened the wildest terror.

"Search his pockets," Major Tempe said. "We may find something
of importance."

In the breast pocket of his coat was a pocket book; and in it
among the papers was a letter, from the colonel commanding at
Saverne--which had evidently been brought to him by the officer of
the detachment, that morning--telling him to come down to Saverne,
on the following evening, to guide the troops to the village in
which the franc tireurs were stationed. The letter also enclosed
ten hundred-thaler notes [a thaler is about equal to two
shillings].

"They are part of our blood money," the major said, grimly.
"Bring them away, they are the fair spoil of war.

"Tell Barre to come in."

The man on the ladder now joined them; and together they quietly
lifted the schoolmaster, and carried him to the window. They then
fastened a rope round the prisoner's body, lifted him out on to the
ladder, and lowered him gradually down to the men below.

They now blew out the light, and descended the ladder. The two
men who had waited at its foot raised the prisoner on their
shoulders, and carried him off to their comrades; while the
commandant and the other two men hastily put on their boots, seized
their arms and accouterments and, in two minutes, the whole party
were marching quietly down the village. No incident, whatever,
marked their retreat. The sentry had been undisturbed, during their
absence; and in a few minutes the whole party were out of the
village, without the slightest alarm having been raised.

They followed the road by which they had come, for about a mile;
and then turned off a side path in the forest, to the left. They
followed this for a short distance, only, into the forest; and
then, when they arrived at a small, open space, a halt was ordered.
The prisoner was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, by the two
franc tireurs who carried him on their shoulders, and a fire was
speedily lighted.

Major Tempe then ordered the prisoner to be unbound and ungagged
and, with a guard upon either side of him, to be placed in front of
the company--drawn up in a semi-circle by the fire. The prisoner
was a man of about fifty-five, with a sallow, cunning face. He
could scarcely stand and, indeed, would have sunk on his knees, in
his abject terror, had not the guards by his side held him by the
arms.

"Men," Major Tempe said, "undoubted as the guilt of the prisoner
appeared to be, we had got no absolute proof; and a mistake might
have been possible, as to the name of the village whose
schoolmaster had betrayed us. This letter found in his coat pocket,
and this German money--the price of our blood--leave no further
doubt possible."

And here the major read the Prussian colonel's letter.

"Are you still of opinion that he merits death?"

"Yes, yes," the men exclaimed, unanimously.

"Prisoner," Major Tempe said, "you have heard your sentence. You
are a convicted traitor--convicted of having betrayed your country,
convicted of having sold the blood of your countrymen. I give you
five minutes to ask that pardon, of God, which you cannot obtain
from man."

The miserable wretch gave a cry of terror, and fell on his
knees; and would have crawled towards his judge, to beg for mercy,
had not his guard restrained him. For the next five minutes, the
forest rang with alternate cries, entreaties, threats, and
curses--so horrible that the four boys, and several of the younger
men, put their hands to their ears and walked away, so as not to
see or hear the terrible punishment. At the end of that time there
was a brief struggle, and then a deep silence; and the body of the
traitor swung from a branch of one of the trees, with a paper
pinned on his breast:

"So perish all traitors."

"Louis Duburg," Major Tempe said, "take this paper, with 'Those
who seek a traitor will find him here,' and fasten it to a tree; so
that it may be seen at the point where this path turned from the
road."

Louis took it, and ran off. In a quarter of an hour, when he
returned, he found the company drawn up in readiness to march. He
fell in at once, and the troop moved off; leaving behind them the
smoldering fire, and the white figure swinging near it.

Chapter 9: A Desperate Fight.

Daylight was just breaking, when Major Tempe marched with his
men into Marmontier; at which place the other three companies had
arrived, the night previously. It was a large village--the chief
place of its canton--and the corps were most hospitably received by
the inhabitants. Had they arrived the evening before, it would have
been impossible to provide them all with beds; and they would have
been obliged, like the majority of their comrades, to sleep on
straw in the schoolroom. The inhabitants, however, were up and
about, very shortly after the arrival of Major Tempe's command; and
his men were soon provided for, in the beds which they had
left.

Beds were now a luxury, indeed, as the corps had not slept in
them since they had been quartered at Baccarat, two nights before
their first encounter with the Prussians, near Blamont. It was with
great unwillingness, then, that they turned out when the bugle
sounded, at two o'clock in the afternoon. They partook of a hearty
meal--provided by the people upon whom they were quartered--and an
hour later the whole corps marched out towards Wasselonne, a small
town situated on the Breuche; a little river which, winding round
by Molsheim, falls into the Rhine at Strasburg. A branch line of
railroad terminates at this place.

When they arrived within three miles of it, they turned off to
the right--for Wasselonne had frequently been visited by the
Prussians--and slept at the little village of Casswiller, at the
edge of the forest of OEdenwald. Another day's short, but weary,
marching over the mountains brought them to the village of Still;
lying high upon the western slope of the Vosges, above Mutzig.

From this point they had a splendid view over the valley of the
Rhine. From their feet, at Mutzig, the railway ran through Molsheim
straight across the country to Strasburg; the beautiful spire of
whose cathedral rose above the flats, at a distance of about
fifteen miles. The day happened to be a quiet one, and the deep
booming of the guns of the besiegers could be distinctly heard. The
inhabitants reported that the German troops patrolled the whole
valley, pushing sometimes down to the walls of Schlestadt, levying
contributions and carrying off cattle.

The village was very poor, and was able to furnish little
accommodation in the way of quarters, still less in that of food.
Six of the villagers were, therefore, sent through the forest of
OEdenwald to Raon; with an order to fetch over two oxen, and thirty
sheep, of those left there in charge of the head man of the
village. They returned in three days, Raon being only about fifteen
miles east of Still.

The corps was now broken up into its four companies; who were
stationed in the villages on the Vosges, and at the edge of the
forest of Trieswald and Bar--the first company remaining at Still.
From these villages they commanded a view over the whole plain; and
could, with the aid of glasses, distinctly see any bodies of men
going south from Strasburg. Each company was to act independently
of the other, uniting their forces only when ordered to do so by
Major Tempe; who took up his headquarters with the second company,
that having the most central position. Each company was to keep a
sharp watch over the country, to attack any body of the enemy not
superior to themselves in force, and to cut off, if possible, any
small parties pillaging in the villages of the valley, near the
foot of the mountains.

The first company--under their lieutenant, De Maupas--turned
their special attention to Mutzig; which was not, they learned,
actually occupied by the Germans, but which was frequently visited
by parties from Molsheim, where a portion of the army of the
besiegers was stationed. The young Barclays, their cousins, and Tim
Doyle were quartered together, in one of the largest houses in the
village; and from thence a fine view over the plain was
attainable.

They were not destined to remain long in inactivity. Upon the
fourth day after their arrival, they saw a party of some twenty
horsemen approaching Mutzig. In five minutes every man had
assembled and, at once, rapidly marched down the hill; taking
advantage of its irregularities, so as to follow a track in which
they would be invisible from the road. Making a long detour, they
gained the road about half a mile beyond Mutzig and, posting
themselves among some trees by its side, awaited the return of the
Uhlans.

It was upwards of two hours before they returned. They were
laughing, and singing; and the boys felt a sensation of repugnance,
as they raised their rifles to their shoulders, and awaited the
order to fire into their unsuspecting foes. They had not, as yet,
become hardened to the horrors of war. As the word was given, the
rifles flashed out; and six of the horsemen fell. The rest, putting
spurs to their horses, galloped furiously away. Molsheim was so
close--and the enemy might come back again, largely reinforced, in
so short a time--that the order was given to retreat, at once.

Reaching the hill and looking back, an hour later, they saw a
dark mass coming from Molsheim; and the glasses soon made them out
to be about a hundred cavalry, and as many infantry. It was dark as
they entered Mutzig and--although it was not probable that they
would ascend the hill, at night--sentries were thrown out, far down
its sides, to give the alarm; and the men were ordered to hold
themselves in readiness for an immediate retreat to the forest. It
happened that none of the boys were on duty and, just as they were
sitting down to dinner, Tim--who had been out to fetch some
wood--came running in.

"Heavenly Mother! The brutes are setting fire to Mutzig, your
honor."

The boys ran out. Below, a mass of red flame was rising; and it
was evident that several houses were in flames. The sight was a
grand one, for the light showed the outline of the slopes of the
hills and, reflected on the roofs of the houses of the little town,
made them look as if red hot. Out upon the plain, round Molsheim,
were the scattered lights of innumerable camp fires while, in the
distance, flickering flashes--like the play of summer
lightning--told of the ceaseless rain of fire kept up upon the
unhappy town of Strasburg.

"What a shame!" Percy said, indignantly; "as if the inhabitants
of Mutzig could help our attacking the Uhlans.

"Look, Ralph, there are six distinct fires."

"I suppose that is one for each man we killed or wounded, Percy.
You may be sure they will make them pay, too. Thirty thousand
francs, I should think, at least.

"War used to be looked upon as a chivalrous proceeding. There is
no romance in German warfare. They call us a nation of shopkeepers;
they make war, themselves, in the spirit of a nation of petty
hucksterers."

"What do you think of that, lads?" Lieutenant de Maupas said,
coming up to where they were standing.

"It is shameful, sir, shameful," Ralph said.

"Yes," the officer said, gloomily. "This is to make war as the
Vandals made it, not as it is made in the nineteenth century. In
the Crimea, in Italy--ay, even in China--we did not make war in
this way. In China we burnt the Emperor's summer palace, because
his soldiers had murdered our prisoners in cold blood, but we did
not burn a single village."

"No," Ralph said; "and I have read that, in Abyssinia, we never
as much as took a fowl or a bundle of grass from the natives,
without paying for it; and we only burned the fortress of Magdala
after offering it, in succession, to the various kings of the
country; and destroyed it, at last, to prevent it becoming a
stronghold of the Gallas--the enemies of Abyssinia.

"Don't you think," he asked, after a pause, "we shall have
fighting tomorrow, sir?"

"I think it very likely, indeed," the lieutenant said. "I have
just sent off a messenger to the commandant, with a full report;
and asked him to send over a reply whether he will come to our
assistance, or if we are to fall back."

"Faith, and I hope that it's not falling back we'll be, till
after we've had the satisfaction of spaking to them a bit," Tim
Doyle put in. "Barring the little affair of today--which isn't
worth mentioning--I haven't had a chance of a scrimmage since I
joined the corps. It's been jist marching and counter-marching,
over the most onraisonable country; nothing but up hill and down
hill and through trees, with big stones breaking our poor feet into
pieces, and the rain running down us fit to give us the ague.

"Sure, lieutenant, ye won't be for marching us away, till we've
had a little divarshin?"

The boys all laughed at Tim's complaint, which had been
delivered in English; for although he could now understand French,
he never attempted to speak it, except to ask some necessary
question. Percy translated it to the lieutenant.

"You will have fighting enough, before you have done, Tim.
Whether you will have it tomorrow, I don't know. There are a
hundred infantry--they can't use their cavalry--and we are only
twenty-six men, all told. Fortunately, we have a strong line of
retreat; or I should not even wait for the chance of being
attacked."

"At any rate, you think that we are safe until morning,
sir?"

"Yes, I think so," the lieutenant said.

"Then we will go in to our dinner," Ralph said. "Who knows where
we may dine, tomorrow?"

Day was just beginning to break, when Percy Barclay started up
in his bed. He listened for an instant, and heard the crack of a
rifle.

"Up, Ralph; up all of you!" he shouted. "We are attacked."

The others were on their feet in an instant. None of them had
thought of undressing and, as they seized their arms and
equipments, the whistle of Lieutenant de Maupas sounded loud and
shrill. As they issued out there was, already, a scene of bustle
and confusion in the village. The franc tireurs were rushing from
the doors. The villagers were also pouring out, women screaming and
men swearing.

"You had better drive off your animals up into the forest, and
carry off whatever you can of value, and send the women and
children off, at once," De Maupas shouted, to the head man of the
village. "We will give you as much time as we can but, if they are
in full strength, it will not be long.

"Now, lads, forward! Don't throw away a shot. Take advantage of
every possible cover, and fall back as slowly and steadily as you
can. The commandant will be here, with the second company, in half
an hour. I had a message from him, late last night."

The men advanced at once, at the double, and in an instant had a
view of what was going on. The six men out, as sentries, were
falling back rapidly towards the village; and two dark bodies of
infantry were approaching, abreast of each other, but at a distance
of two or three hundred yards apart. They were some five hundred
yards beyond the retreating sentries; who were, themselves, a few
hundred yards below the village. The enemy had, at present, made no
reply whatever to the fire of the sentries.

"Advance slowly, in skirmishing order," De Maupas said. "One
flank of the company oppose each column. Open fire at once, sight
for seven hundred yards, take advantage of cover, and fire
steadily."

A steady fire was at once opened and, although its effects could
not be perceived, they were evidently sensible; for the columns
immediately threw out half their strength, as skirmishers, and
opened fire. In a hundred paces De Maupas halted his men, and told
them to lie down behind shelter.

The enemy were now five hundred yards off, and the franc tireurs
had been joined by the sentries. The numbers were four to one and,
although the position was of considerable advantage to the smaller
force--as well as the fact that they were lying quiet, in shelter,
while their adversaries had to fire as they advanced--the odds were
far too great to hope for success. Every moment, however, it was
getting lighter; and the franc tireurs could see that their fire
was doing considerable execution, whereas only two of their men had
received slight wounds. The enemy, however, pushed on steadily; and
were now little more than three hundred yards distant.

"Fall back," the lieutenant shouted; "six men, alternately, of
each half company. Back fifty paces, at the double!"

At the word, twelve men retreated, at full speed, for fifty
yards; the others redoubling the fire from their breechloaders, to
cover the retreat. The instant that the first men had gone fifty
yards, they turned, threw themselves upon the ground, and opened
fire; while those in front ran back at full speed, passed them, and
halted, in turn, fifty paces in the rear. The maneuver was repeated
three times, and they then gained the end house of the village.

Under shelter of a low wall, another stand was made; but the
superior force of the enemy enabled them to threaten to outflank
them. Many of the Germans had fallen; but the rest advanced, with
as much coolness and precision as if on parade.

"How beautifully these fellows do fight!" Ralph exclaimed, in
admiration.

"Now, lads, we must retreat," the lieutenant said. "We have done
very well. Now, across the village, and then make for the forest as
hard as you can. It's not over five hundred yards. When you are
once there, make a stand again."

The men turned and, in another moment, would have carried out
the order when--from a house in a line with them, but about fifty
yards off--a heavy fire of musketry suddenly broke out.

"Hurrah, lads, there's the commandant! Stand to your wall; we'll
thrash them, yet."

Staggered by this sudden and heavy fire, the Germans paused; and
then fell back, to a spot where a dip in the ground sheltered them
from the fire from above. For a short time, there was a cessation
of the fight. At this moment, the commandant joined the first
company.

"Well done, indeed!" he exclaimed. "Gallantly done, lads! We
heard the firing, and feared you would be crushed before we could
get up. It is fortunate I started half an hour before daybreak. We
have done the last two miles at a run.

"Have you suffered much?"

There was a general look round. Four men had fallen, in the
retreat. Another lay dead, shot through the head as he fired over
the wall. Four others were wounded; three seriously, while Ralph
Barclay had a ball through the fleshy part of his arm.

"Fortunately," Major Tempe said, "half a dozen men from the
other village volunteered to come over to help the wounded. I will
send them over here, at once. They can take some doors off their
hinges, and carry these three men right back into the forest, at
once. We have not done yet.

"Get your men into skirmishing line, De Maupas. I will form mine
to join you. Occupy the line of gardens, and walls."

Scarcely was the movement effected, when the Germans again
appeared on the hillside. They had still a very great superiority
in numbers; for the two companies of franc tireurs only numbered,
now, forty-five men, while the Germans--who had lost upwards of
twenty men--were still nearly eighty strong.

Ralph Barclay still kept his place in the ranks. Tim Doyle had
bandaged up his arm; for Percy, who had at first attempted it, had
nearly fainted at the sight of the blood. The Irishman was in the
highest glee; and occasionally indulged in whoops of defiance, and
in taunting remarks--which would not have flattered the enemy,
could they have heard and understood them.

The Germans, as they emerged from their shelter, were about four
hundred yards distant; and the fire at once recommenced. The franc
tireurs were all lying down, and this gave them a great advantage
over the Germans and, the disparity of numbers being less, the
fight raged with greater obstinacy than before. Very gradually, the
enemy won their way--taking advantage of every rock and inequality
of ground--until they were within two hundred yards of the village.
Nearer than this they could not come, for the ground was open and,
in the face of the force in shelter, armed with breech loaders, it
would have been madness to have attempted a rush.

For some time, the combatants remained in the same position;
merely exchanging an occasional shot, when a head or a hat was
exposed. At last, Major Tempe became uneasy at the prolonged
inaction upon the part of the enemy.

"De Maupas," he said, "run up to the upper story of that house,
and try and see what they are doing. Look all round. I don't like
this long hesitation. They are greatly superior in force, and know
it. I think that they must be going to try some flanking
movement."

The lieutenant obeyed and, going up to the upper story of the
house pointed out by his commander, peered cautiously out. As far
as he could see, nothing was stirring. The Germans appeared to be
lying in the little hollow in which they were sheltered. He was
about to descend, when he remembered his orders to look around in
all directions. He therefore went to a window at the end of the
house, and looked carefully out.

As he did so he gave a start; and his heart seemed, for a
moment, to stand still. Then, with a bound, he reached the door,
sprang downstairs, and rushed out to where Major Tempe was
standing, behind a wall.

"The cavalry are upon us," he said. "They are not five hundred
yards off. They have made a great detour and are--"

Major Tempe stopped to hear no more.

"Fall back, men," he shouted. "Keep well together. The cavalry
are upon us. Now, at a double to the forest, for your lives.

"Steady, steady!"

The men sprang from the position behind which they had been
firing, fell in hurriedly in the street; and then went off, at a
fast double, towards the forest. There were a few trees near, but
no shelter sufficient to be of any use nearer than five hundred
yards. Fortunately they were unimpeded by wounded, every man having
been carried back into the forest, immediately he was struck.
Still, it was evident that they could not gain the forest in time.
They had seen the leading horsemen turn into the end of the
village, not more than three hundred yards distant, as they
started; and the carbine balls were already whizzing over their
heads.

With the rapidity and steadiness which mark the movements of the
Prussian cavalry, they formed in line as they issued from the
village and, before the fugitives were halfway to the forest, a
line of horsemen, fifty abreast, were in full gallop behind. Then
followed another, of equal strength, fifty yards behind. The franc
tireurs, with their rifles and accouterments, were already
slackening their speed.

"We must form square, major. They are not a hundred and fifty
yards behind," De Maupas exclaimed. "We can beat them off, easily
enough."

Major Tempe shook his head, and shouted cheerily:

"Keep on to the last moment, men, well together. I will tell you
when the moment is come. Hold your rifles in readiness."

In ten more seconds, he gave the word. The men were in
readiness, and the square was formed as if by magic. The Uhlans
were not more than eighty yards off.

"File firing," the major shouted. "Steady! Don't throw away a
shot."

Now was the time for breech-loading weapons, and so deadly was
the fire that the center of the Prussian line melted away before
it; and the men who remained reined aside their horses, as they
reached the hedge of bayonets. The flanks kept on, and united again
behind the square; drawing up near the edge of the wood, a hundred
and fifty yards distant.

The charge of the second line was attended with precisely
similar results. The instant that they had passed, however, Major
Tempe shouted to his men:

"On again for the woods. Steady! Keep square. Reserve your fire
till I tell you. We must break through the cavalry. They only want
to keep us. Their infantry will be here in three minutes. They are
through the village, already."

The position of the franc tireurs was now critical in the
extreme. The enemy's cavalry--between them and safety, only a
hundred yards distant--had unslung their carbines, and opened fire.
The infantry were nearly two hundred yards behind but, fortunately,
dared not fire for fear of hitting their own cavalry.

At a rapid pace--for they were running for life--the little knot
of franc tireurs dashed forward. One or two fell from the fire of
the cavalry and, as they were fifty yards distant from the wood,
there was a cry and Philippe Duburg fell to the ground. In an
instant Tim Doyle--who was his next man--stopped, caught him up as
if he had been a feather and, with a desperate effort, again joined
the others, just as they were within twenty yards of the
cavalry.

"Fire!" Major Tempe cried; and from the front, and from each
side of the little square--which was but six deep, either way--the
rifles flashed out.

"Level bayonets; charge!"

There was a short struggle. The second ranks poured their fire
into the cavalry line. There was a clashing of bayonets against
swords, and then the band ran through the broken line of cavalry.
There was a rush into the brushwood; and then, from behind the
shelter of the trees, the fire opened again; and the cavalry fell
sullenly back, having lost upwards of thirty men in that short five
minutes since they had left the village.

The German infantry halted, at a distance of two hundred yards;
but they would have lost too many men, in crossing the open, to
make it worth while to attack the sheltered foe--who could pick
them off, to the last moment, only to withdraw deeper into the
forest when they approached its edge. Accordingly they too fell
back, exchanging fire with the franc tireurs until they gained the
shelter of the village.

The conflict over. The men sank, exhausted, upon the ground
where they stood. Major Tempe went round to each; saying a word of
praise, and giving a little of the brandy--with which he had filled
his canteen, before starting--with some water from their own kegs.
Then he gave a sharp whistle, and the men again gathered round
him.

"Once more, lads, I must thank you for your conduct," he said.
"You have defended yourselves against forces, altogether, four
times your own. You fairly kept at bay an infantry force of twice
your own number. You have withstood a charge of cavalry, also
double your own strength; and have performed the unusual feat of
successfully charging cavalry. You have inflicted a very heavy loss
upon the enemy. Not less than forty of the infantry must have been
placed hors de combat; and fifteen or twenty of the cavalry, at the
lowest estimate. Altogether, although forced to fall back, the
affair is more creditable than many a brilliant victory.

"Our own loss has been heavy--as heavy, in proportion to our
numbers, as that of the enemy--though, owing to an advantage of
position, while engaged with the infantry, it is actually far less
than theirs. Still, lads, it is very, very heavy," and the major
looked round, with a saddened face, on the diminished band.

"Our only consolation is that our friends have died doing their
duty, and setting a noble example. If all Frenchmen were but
animated with a spirit like that which, I am proud to say, animates
the franc tireurs of Dijon, there are few of the invaders who would
ever recross the Rhine.

"Lieutenant Ribouville, go through the muster roll of the two
companies. Our brave friend De Maupas has, alas! fallen. He was at
my side when a rifle ball struck him, in the temple."

The list was now called over, and the result was a sad one. The
two companies, including officers, had gone into the fight
fifty-five strong. Only thirty-one answered to their names. Besides
these, eight had been removed farther into the forest, severely
wounded; and Philippe Duburg lay a short distance off--the surgeon
being employed bandaging his leg, which a rifle ball had entered,
above the knee. Fifteen, therefore, were dead or missing--which, as
the Germans bayoneted all wounded franc tireurs, was the same
thing. Of the thirty-one who answered to their names, nine had
wounds more or less severe; and the surgeon, with his assistants,
had work on his hands which would take him far into the night.

The instant that they were dismissed from parade, the boys
hurried to their cousin. He was very pale from loss of blood, but
was perfectly sensible. His brother sat on a bench beside him,
holding his head on his knee.

Philippe smiled faintly as the boys came up.

"I am so glad you have escaped," he said, in a low voice.

They clasped his hand.

"Does it hurt you much, Philippe?"

"Not very much; not so much as I should have thought."

"Did the doctor say anything about it, Philippe?"

"Yes, he said that it had just missed the great arteries; and
that he thinks it struck the bone, and has glanced up somewhere;
but he can't say till he probes it, when--"

"Then your leg is not broken?"

"No, he says it is certainly not broken, but it may be
splintered."

"Thank God for that, anyhow," the boys said.

"We owe his life to Tim Doyle," Louis said. "I was not next to
him; and did not see him fall, or know he was hit till I saw Tim
come up, with him on his shoulders--and even if I had, I could not
have lifted him, and carried him off. Tim saved his life. There is
no doubt about that."

As it was evident that Philippe was too weak to talk, and would
be better for being quiet awhile, the boys now left him with his
brother.

Looking through the trees towards the village, a dense smoke
could now be seen rising in several places and, in a few minutes,
the whole village was in a blaze. Moved by the sight, the
unfortunate inhabitants came out from their hiding places in the
forest; wringing their hands, crying, and cursing the invaders. In
spite of the advice of Major Tempe, several of the women went off
towards the scene of conflagration, to endeavor to save some little
household treasure from the flames. In a short time one of them
returned to fetch her husband, saying that the enemy had all left
before they reached the village, and were already far down the
hillside. Major Tempe at once sent forward the unwounded men; to
assist the villagers to put out the fire, and to save property.
Their efforts were, however, altogether unavailing; the Germans had
scattered large quantities of petroleum, before leaving, upon the
beds and such other furniture as they could not carry away, or
destroy.

It was a pitiable sight to see the poor homeless people sitting
about, looking at the ruins of their houses. Some cried piteously;
others gazed with listless faces, but with a cold despair even more
painful to see. Fortunately, they had saved all their animals but,
at present, they were too much absorbed in the thoughts of what
they had lost, to bestow even a thought of satisfaction on what
they had saved.

Major Tempe, grieved and touched at the painful scene of which
he and his men had been the cause, called the franc tireurs
together; and made a proposition to them, which was at once
heartily agreed to. He then called together the cure and
schoolmaster and--after a few well-chosen words of regret, at the
ills which he and his had involuntarily brought upon the
village--he handed over to them, in the name of the whole corps,
the hundred pounds in thaler notes which had been found upon the
schoolmaster whom they had executed for treachery; to be
distributed among the inhabitants, according to their
necessities.

The offer was gratefully received, and the priest and
schoolmaster at once went round and told the poor people, whose
gratitude and delight were unbounded. To so poor a population, the
sum seemed immense; and although it would not replace what was
destroyed, it would go far towards making their abodes habitable.
The village only contained about twenty houses. The walls were
still standing. Timber for the roofs and floors was to be had for
cutting, in the forest. Bushes for thatching could be found in
abundance. The principal portion of the houses, therefore, would
cost only labor, and this money would suffice to keep them alive,
while engaged upon it; and enough would remain to get at least a
few blankets to lay upon the straw--which would, for the time,
serve for beds--together with a few other simple necessaries. The
sale of a portion of the animals would do the rest and, in their
gratitude to the franc tireurs, for having thus relieved their
first and most pressing difficulties, the inhabitants altogether
forgot the ill-feeling which they had before felt against them, as
the authors of their disaster.

After burying their dead, the men set to work to assist the
villagers in building temporary huts--or rather bowers--to the edge
of the forest; in which, before nightfall, they had the
satisfaction of seeing them installed. The few articles of bedding,
blankets, etc. saved at the approach of the Prussians were spread
on heaps of freshly-cut grass; and one of the oxen of the franc
tireurs, which had arrived the day before, was killed and divided.
Great fires were lighted and--had it not been for the bandages on
the heads, and the arms in slings of several of the franc
tireurs--no one coming upon the scene would have guessed how
desperate a skirmish had raged here.

The next day the carts which had been sent for arrived; and the
wounded were placed in them, upon heaps of straw, and sent off with
one of the surgeons; with instructions to travel among the hills,
until they reached a point where it would be quite safe to descend
into the valley, and take the train to Dijon, at the first station
at which it was open. Among them was Philippe Duburg, who was
accompanied by his brother. Louis had obtained a week's leave of
absence, for the purpose; and was the bearer of letters, and
innumerable messages, from the boys to their parents and sisters. A
few hours later, the remnants of the first and second companies
marched to join their comrades.

Chapter 10: The Bridge Of The Vesouze.

The very day after the fight, news arrived which induced a
sudden change of position. Upon the Sixteenth of September the
Baden troops occupied Mulhouse, having entered Colmar on the
preceding day. It was evident that the railway was so strongly
guarded, between Strasburg and Nancy, that it was hopeless to
expect to be able to interrupt it, seriously, with so small a force
as that at Major Tempe's command; still less possible was it to
render any assistance, whatever, to the doomed city of Strasburg.
After taking counsel, therefore, with his officers, Major Tempe
decided to march more to the south; so as to assist to oppose the
passage of the enemy west from Colmar, or Mulhouse, through the
passes of the Vosges.

The alarm was, however, but temporary for, having made
requisitions as usual, the Prussians retired; and the corps
returned to their old quarters. There another ten days passed;
spent not in ease, but in constant marchings and counter-marchings.
Whenever news arrived that any parties of Uhlans were approaching
the mountains, with the object of making requisitions, the corps
were instantly set in motion. Sometimes severe skirmishes were the
result. Sometimes the news turned out to be untrue and, after a
long day's march, and a night spent watching, the men had nothing
to do but to march back again.

Upon the 28th came the news of the surrender of Strasburg, upon
the preceding day, after one of the most heroic defenses in
history. There was now no doubt that the Germans would, ere long,
advance seriously. By this time, the total of the French forces
among the Vosges mountains was considerable. Scarce a day passed
without the arrival of a corps of franc tireurs and--had all these
corps been animated with a spirit such as that evinced by the franc
tireurs of Dijon; and had they acted in unity, with discipline and
intelligence--they might have rendered immense services to
France.

Unfortunately, this was very far from being the case. Very many
of the men had entered the ranks only to avoid being called upon to
go out with the Mobiles--or mobilized national guard. Others had
only entered from the impulse of the moment. Very many were
altogether unwilling to submit to any steady discipline while, in a
great number of cases, the corps were completely paralyzed from the
utter incapacity of their officers. Owing to these various causes,
the corps of franc tireurs distinguished themselves, in a great
number of cases, only by the extreme ingenuity and foresight which
they displayed in keeping at a prudent distance from the enemy.
Some, too, earned a bad name not only for themselves, but for the
whole body of franc tireurs, by their conduct towards the
villagers; helping themselves freely to what they required, and
making themselves almost as much dreaded by the peasantry as even
the Germans, themselves.

At the same time the villagers had, in very many cases, only
themselves to blame for the rough measures adopted by the franc
tireurs; for often, instead of doing all in their power for the men
who had taken up arms in the cause of France, the villagers looked
upon them only as strangers, out of whom the richest possible
harvest was to be obtained; and charged the most exorbitant prices
for all articles of necessity supplied to them. In fact, they
sometimes did not hesitate to say that they would not provide them,
at any price, with the provisions required; as these would be
wanted to satisfy the requisition of the Germans, upon their
arrival.

Perhaps in the whole world there is no class of people so
completely engrossed by the thought of gain as are the French
bourgeois, and rustic population. Every change of Government, every
political alteration, every law passed, is regarded by them simply,
and solely, from the view of how it will affect their own pockets.
Thus, instead of driving away their flocks and herds, at the
approach of the invaders; the people remained quietly in their
houses, and shamelessly trafficked with the invaders. This apathy,
faint heartedness, and want of patriotism, upon the part of the
inhabitants of the small towns and villages, caused innumerable
difficulties to the franc tireurs; and Major Tempe was sometimes
obliged to take the law into his own hands, when the villagers
absolutely refused to sell provisions, or to give quarters to his
men.

In these cases he summoned the priest, the schoolmaster, and two
other head men of the place, and formed a committee with them and
his own officers. These fixed a fair price upon the articles
required, and Major Tempe then sent round a notice to the effect
that, if these articles were furnished in two hours, they would be
paid for at the agreed rates; but that if not furnished, he should
quarter his men upon the inhabitants, in accordance with the size
of their houses, and should remain there at least a week--a threat
that never failed in producing the required effect.

It was but seldom, however, that the major encountered any
difficulties of this sort. The corps was, for the most part,
composed of men with some money. They had now, too, sold the sheep
and cattle which they had captured at Blamont; finding the
inconvenience of sending for them, whenever meat was required. The
proceeds of these, and of the horses captured at the same time, had
given them a good sum in their regimental chest; and they were,
therefore, able and willing to pay a fair price for such articles
as they required. Besides this, the report of the actions of
Blamont and Still had now widely circulated and--as a general
thing--the people were glad to do all in their power, for a corps
composed of men who really meant work, and had given good proofs of
their courage and energy.

By this time, the boys had received several letters from home;
and it may be readily imagined the pleasure these letters afforded
them. Major Tempe's official report of the doings of his corps had
been published in the Dijon papers and, from these, had been copied
far and wide through France; and the people of Dijon were not a
little proud of their corps. The names of the two Barclays had
appeared, in the report, as specially distinguishing themselves;
and their father had written, saying how pleased and gratified he
was at their conduct. Mrs. Barclay and Milly had also written; but
their expressions of pleasure were mingled with many hopes that the
boys would not expose themselves, unnecessarily.

The band had dwindled much, in the month since they left Dijon.
Upwards of thirty had been killed, or disabled, in the fights of
Blamont and Still. Half as many more had been killed or wounded in
smaller skirmishes; and ten or twelve had gone home, or into
hospital, completely knocked up with the hard work and exposure.
Only about sixty men, therefore, remained.

Schlestadt and Neu Brisach were now invested by the Germans and,
after waiting for a few days, to ascertain the course that they
were likely to take, Major Tempe determined (as General Cambriels
was forming an army, down by Besancon) to defend the upper passes
of the Vosges and--as it was rumored that a second German army was
likely to advance south, from Nancy--that he would recross the
Vosges, and aid in the defense against this second army of
invaders.

Three days' fatiguing marches brought them to Epinal; where the
boys, in accordance with their promise, went straight to the house
of the gentleman who had so hospitably served them, at their last
visit. Their friends were delighted to see them, and expressed
great regret that one of the party was missing. The boys were,
however, able to say that their last letter from Dijon had given
good accounts of Philippe Duburg, who was now considered out of
danger. There was, however, no hope of his being able to rejoin
them; as the surgeon considered it probable that his leg would be a
very long time, before it would be sufficiently healed to allow him
to use it.

Their host had read the account in the papers of the doings of
the franc tireurs; and his wife laughingly made a further apology
to the Barclays, and their cousin, for her remark at their first
visit about boys.

"My girls have talked about nothing else but your doings, ever
since we had the news of your attack upon the Uhlans, near
Blamont," she said. "One would think, from the interest they take
in the corps, that the whole future of France depended upon the
franc tireurs of Dijon."

The young Barclays laughed, and Percy muttered something under
his breath; while Louis Duburg replied, seriously, that he hoped
the franc tireurs of Dijon would always do their best to deserve
the kind thoughts of mademoiselles--at which piece of politeness
Percy muttered, "Bosh!"

Epinal had, as yet, escaped; but it was feared that, ere long,
the enemy would advance. The town looked deserted, for all the
young men had left with the Mobiles--or mobilized national
guard--and all men under forty were drilling, in readiness to march
at a moment's notice. No serious movement of the enemy, south of
Luneville, was as yet signalized.

After two days' rest, the corps again marched north; their
destination being kept a profound secret, even from the men. So
anxious, apparently, was Major Tempe that, this time, their object
should not be foiled by treachery; that after the first day's march
he left the main road and, having secured the services of a
peasant, as a guide, he made two long days' marches through
forests, and over mountains--avoiding even small villages. Four led
horses accompanied the march; one laden with the gun cotton, and
the other three carrying provisions, so that they might be
independent of the local supply. Each night they bivouacked in the
forests but, as the weather was now fine--although the nights were
cold--this was no hardship, whatever.

Upon the morning of the fourth day from their leaving Epinal,
Major Tempe told his men that he had learned, at Epinal, that the
line was no longer so closely guarded as before--the Germans being
confident, now, of the impotence of the French to harm them--and
that they were now in the forest of Moudan, within three miles of
the railway between Luneville and Rechicourt, on the line to
Strasburg. His intention was to reconnoiter that day and--if
success should be found possible--to attempt, at daybreak next
morning, to blow up the railway bridge over the Vesouze.

The news was received with great satisfaction, as the corps were
burning to distinguish themselves; and in no way could they do such
service as to cut the line of communication--although, as the
Germans were no longer dependent upon a single line, the advantage
would not be of so signal a nature as it would have been, could
they have cut it at the time when they first made the attempt. The
Barclays were naturally selected to reconnoiter and, as their
change of clothes had been always--by Major Tempe's orders--carried
on the baggage horse, they had no difficulty upon that score.

Their expedition was uneventful. At the village nearest to the
bridge, they went in and bought some cheese and other articles
and--after gaining all the information they were able, without
exciting attention--they made their way, through broken ground, to
a point near enough to the bridge to enable them to reconnoiter it,
undiscovered.

A sentry was posted at each end. At a cottage hard by were ten
others, while there were twenty in the village they had just left.
There were also sentries down the line; but these were far enough
apart to render it certain that they could not muster in time to
interfere, seriously, with the enterprise. With this information,
they returned to the forest.

A council of war was held; and it was decided that the news was
satisfactory, and that the attack should take place at daybreak.
Each man was instructed in the work he would have to perform.
Lieutenant Houdin, with thirty men, was to surprise the German
party in the village. The rest--having made a detour to avoid the
village--were to be in readiness to attack the posts near the
bridge, immediately a gun was fired in the village. The attack was
to be made at daybreak. From the bridge, to the nearest point where
the forest was thick enough to afford a safe shelter, was a
distance of about two miles.

As soon as it became dark, the camp fires were allowed to bum
low; and shortly afterwards the whole corps, with the exception of
the sentries, were sound asleep. At four o'clock they were roused,
and marched silently off in the appointed direction. By five
o'clock each party was at its post and, for half an hour, they lay
in expectancy. The Barclays were with Major Tempe's party, near the
bridge. Louis Duburg, and Tim, were with the party at the
village.

The attack upon the village was to take place at half-past five;
and never did moments appear so slow, to the boys, as those which
passed as they awaited the signal. At last the silence was broken
by the sharp crack of a rifle, followed by three or four
others.

"There goes the Prussian sentry, and there is our reply," Major
Tempe said. "Now, lads, forward!"

As he spoke, the sentry on the bridge fired his rifle;
immediately, this was repeated by the next sentry on the line, and
the signal was taken up by each sentry, until the sound died in the
distance. As it had done so, the franc tireurs had made a rush
forwards. They were met by a straggling discharge from the Germans
as, half asleep, they hurried out from the guard room. This was
answered by the fire of the franc tireurs, who surrounded them.
Five fell; and the others, surprised and panic stricken, threw down
their arms. They were instantly secured, and the bridge was at once
seized.

The firing still continued in the village; but in another five
minutes it ceased and, shortly afterwards, Louis Duburg ran up with
the tidings that the village was taken. The Germans, surprised in
their beds, had offered but a slight resistance. Four were killed,
and sixteen taken prisoners; one franc tireur, only, was slightly
wounded.

"Take two men with you," Major Tempe said, "and escort those
five prisoners to the village. Give them over to Lieutenant Houdin;
and tell him to send them, with the prisoners he has taken, under
charge of six men to the forest. Let their hands be tied behind
their backs, for we cannot spare a larger escort. Tell him to be
sure that the escort are loaded, and have fixed bayonets. Directly
he has sent off the prisoners let him join me here, with the rest
of his force."

Lieutenant Ribouville now set to work to inspect the bridge; and
ordered the men--who were provided with the necessary
implements--to set to, and dig a hole down to the crown of the
principal arch. It was harder work than they had expected. The
roadway was solid, the ballast pressed down very tightly, and the
crown of the arch covered, to a considerable depth, with concrete.
Only a few men could work at once and, after a half-hour's
desperate labor, the hole was nothing like far enough advanced to
ensure the total destruction of the bridge, upon the charge being
fired. In the meantime the Prussian sentries were arriving from up
and down the line and, although not in sufficient force to attack,
had opened fire from a distance.

"Don't you think that will do, Ribouville?" Major Tempe
asked.

"No, sir," the other replied. "It might blow a hole through the
top of the arch, but I hardly think that it would do so. Its force
would be spent upwards."

At this moment Ralph--who had done his spell of work, and had
been down to the stream, to get a drink of water--came running
up.

"If you please, Lieutenant Ribouville, there is a hole right
through the pier, just above the water's edge. It seems to have
been left to let any water that gets into the pier, from above,
make its escape. I should think that would do to hold the
charge."

"The very thing," Lieutenant Ribouville said, delightedly. "What
a fool I was, not to have looked to see if such a hole existed!

"Stop work, men, and carry the barrels down to the edge of the
water."

The stream was not above waist deep; and the engineer officer
immediately waded into it, and examined the hole. He at once
pronounced it to be admirably suited to the purpose. It did not--as
Ralph had supposed--go straight through; but there were two holes,
one upon each side of the pier, nearly at the same level, and each
extending into the center of the pier. The holes were about four
inches square.

The barrels of gun cotton were now hastily opened on the bank,
and men waded out with the contents. Lieutenant Ribouville upon one
side, and Ralph upon the other, took the cotton and thrust it, with
long sticks, into the ends of the hole. In five minutes the
contents of the two barrels were safely lodged, the fuse inserted,
and the operation of tamping--or ramming--in dry sand, earth, and
stones commenced.

"Make haste!" Major Tempe shouted. "Their numbers are increasing
fast. There are some fifteen or twenty, on either side."

A brisk fire of rifles was now going on. The day had fairly
broken; and the franc tireurs, sheltered behind the parapet of the
bridge, on the bank of the river, were exchanging a lively fire
with the enemy. Three-quarters of an hour had passed since the
first shot was fired.

Suddenly a distant boom was heard, followed in a few seconds by
a slight whizzing noise, which grew rapidly into a loud scream and,
in another moment, there was an explosion close to the bridge. The
men all left off their work, for an instant.

"And what may that be, Mister Percy? A more unpleasant sound I
niver heard, since I was a baby."

"I quite agree with you, Tim, as to its unpleasantness. It is a
shell. The artillery are coming up from Luneville. The fire of the
sentries would take the alarm, in a couple of minutes; give them
another fifteen to get ready, and half an hour to get within
range.

"Here comes another."

"Are you ready, Ribouville?" the commandant shouted. "They have
cavalry, as well as artillery. We must be off, or we shall get
caught in a trap."

"I am ready," was the answer.

"Barclay, strike a match, and put it to the end of your fuse,
till it begins to fizz.

"Have you lit it?"

"Yes, sir," Ralph said, a moment later.

"So have I," the lieutenant said. "They will burn about three
minutes.

"Now for a run!"

In a couple of minutes the franc tireurs were retreating, at the
double; and they had not gone a hundred yards when they heard the
sound of two tremendous explosions, following closely one upon
another. Looking back, they saw the pier had fallen in fragments;
and that the bridge lay, a heap of ruins, in the stream.

"Hurrah, lads!" shouted the commandant. "You have done your work
well. Those who get out of this with a whole skin may well be proud
of their day's work.

"Don't mind the shells," he continued, as two more of the
missiles burst, in quick succession, within a short distance of
them. "They make an ugly noise; but they won't hurt us, at this
distance."

The German artillerymen had apparently arrived at the same
conclusion, for they now ceased to fire; and the retreating corps
were only exposed to an occasional shot from the infantry, who had
followed them from the bridge.

"The artillery and cavalry will be up, before we reach the
wood," Percy said to his brother, as they trotted along, side by
side.

"They may come up," Ralph said, "but they can do us no harm, on
the broken ground; and will catch a Tartar, if they don't
mind."

The ground was indeed unfavorable for cavalry, and artillery. It
was broken up with the spurs of the hill. Here and there great
masses of rock cropped out of the ground, while patches of forest
extended over a considerable portion of the ground. In one of
these, standing upon rising and broken ground, Major Tempe halted
his men; and opened so heavy a fire upon the enemy's cavalry, when
the column appeared, that they were at once halted; and although,
when the artillery arrived, a few shells were fired into the wood,
the franc tireurs had already retired, and gained the forest
without further molestation. Upon calling the roll, it was
discovered that six men, only, were missing. These had
fallen--either killed or wounded--from the fire of the enemy's
infantry, during the time that the operation at the bridge were
being carried out.

There was great rejoicing at the success of their enterprise,
the effect of which would certainly be to block the traffic along
that line, for at least a week. Their satisfaction was, however,
somewhat damped by the sight of several dense columns of smoke in
the plain; showing that the Germans had, as usual, wreaked their
vengeance upon the innocent villagers. The feeling of disgust was
changed to fury when some of the peasants--who had fled into the
woods, upon the destruction of their abodes--reported that the
Germans, having found that three of the franc tireurs were only
wounded, had dragged them along to the entrance to the village; and
had hung them there upon some trees, by the roadside. Had it not
been for Major Tempe's assurance, that their comrades should be
avenged, the franc tireurs would at once have killed their
prisoners.

In the evening the men were formed up, the prisoners ranged in
line, and twelve were taken by lot; and these, with the officer
taken with them--when night fell--were bound and marched off, under
a guard of thirty men. Neither of the boys formed part of the
escort, which was an immense relief to them for, although they were
as indignant as the rest, at the murder of their wounded comrades
by the Germans; and quite agreed in the justice of reprisal, still,
they were greatly relieved when they found that they would not have
to be present at the execution.

Two hours later Major Tempe returned, with the escort. The
officer, and eleven of his men, had been hung on trees by the
roadside, at a distance of half a mile, only, from the village; the
twelfth man had been released, as bearer of a note from Major Tempe
to the German commanding officer saying that, as a reprisal for the
murder of the three wounded franc tireurs, he had hung twelve
Germans; and that, in future, he would always hang four prisoners
for every one of his men who might be murdered, contrary to the
rules of war.

This act of retributive justice performed, the corps retreated
to join the army of the Vosges, under General Cambriels. The news
of the destruction of the bridge across the Vesouze had preceded
them; and when, after three days' heavy marching, they reached the
village which formed the headquarters of the general, they were
received with loud cheers by the crowds of Mobiles who thronged its
little streets. It was out of the question to find quarters; and
the major therefore ordered the men to bivouac in the open, while
he reported himself to General Cambriels.

The commandant of the franc tireurs was personally known to
General Cambriels, having at one time served for some years under
his command; and he was most warmly received by the veteran, one of
the bravest and most popular of the French generals. As general of
the district, he had received all Major Tempe's reports; and was
therefore acquainted with the actions of the corps.

"Ah, major!" he said, after the first greetings, "if I had only
a few thousand men, animated with the spirit and courage of your
fellows, the Germans would never get through the Vosges. As it is I
shall, of course, do my best; but what can one do with an army of
plow boys, led by officers who know nothing of their duty, against
troops like the Germans?

"As for my franc tireurs, they are in many cases worse than
useless. They have no discipline, whatever. They embroil me with
the peasantry. They are always complaining. The whole of them,
together, have not done as much real service as your small band.
They shoot down Uhlans, when they catch them in very small parties;
but have no notion, whatever, of real fighting.

"However, I cannot thank you too warmly. Your name will appear
in the Gazette, tomorrow, as colonel; and I must ask you to extend
the sphere of your duties. We want officers, terribly; and I will
brigade four or five of these corps of franc tireurs under your
orders, so as to make up a force of a thousand men. You will have
full authority over them, to enforce any discipline you may choose.
I want you to make a body to act as an advanced guard of
skirmishers to my army of Mobiles. I have a few line troops, but I
want them as a nucleus for the force.

"What do you say?"

"Personally, general, I should greatly prefer remaining with my
own little corps, upon every man of whom I can rely. At the same
time, I should not wish for a moment to oppose my own likings, or
dislikings, to the general good of the service. Many of these corps
of franc tireurs are composed of excellent materials and, if well
led and disciplined, would do anything. I can only say I will do my
best."

"Thank you, Tempe. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I should like to see a step given to the three officers serving
under me," the major said. "They have all served in the regular
army, and all have equally well done their duty."

"It shall be done; and two of them shall be posted to other
corps, while one takes the command of your own," the general said.
"Do you wish commissions for any of the men?"

Major Tempe named three of the men, and then added:

"The two members of the corps who have most distinguished
themselves I have not mentioned, general, because they are too
young to place over the heads of the others; at the same time,
their services certainly deserve recognition. I mentioned them, in
the dispatches I sent to you, as having done immense service by
going down, in disguise, into the midst of the Germans. In fact, at
Saverne they saved the corps from destruction. They are two young
English lads, named Barclay."

"I remember distinctly," General Cambriels said. "They speak
French fluently, I suppose, as well as German?"

"Both languages like natives," the major answered.

"And can they ride?"

"Yes, admirably," Major Tempe said. "I knew them before the war,
and they are excellent horsemen."

"Then they are the very fellows for me," General Cambriels said.
"I will give them commissions in the provisional army, at once; and
put them upon my own staff. They would be of great value to me.

"You will spare them, I hope?"

"I shall be extremely sorry to do so, general; but for their own
sakes, and for the good of the service, I will of course do
so."

"Thanks, colonel. I shall put the franc tireurs of Dijon in
general orders, tomorrow, as having performed good service to the
country; and please to thank them, in my name, for their
services."

"Thank you very much, general. It will give me more pleasure
than even the step that you have been kind enough to give to
myself."

"Good evening, colonel. We must have a long chat together, one
of these days.

"The chief of my staff will give you the names of the corps to
be placed under your orders. The matter was settled this morning,
and I have picked out the best of those here. Orders have been sent
for them to assemble at Raoul--a village, a mile from here--in the
morning; with a notification that they are placed under your
command.

"Goodbye."

Chapter 11: A Fight In The Vosges.

Upon Colonel Tempe's rejoining the men--who were already busy
preparing their suppers--he ordered the assembly to be sounded and,
when they were formed up, he formally thanked them, in the name of
the general, for the service that they had rendered; adding that
they would appear in general orders, upon the following day.

The men replied with a cheer of "Vive la France!"

Their commander then informed them that he, himself, had
received a step in rank and would, in future, command them with
several other corps; that Lieutenant Ribouville would, in future,
be their special commander, with the rank of captain; that the
other two lieutenants would be promoted; and that three of their
number would receive commissions and, while one of them remained
under Captain Ribouville, the others would--with the newly-made
captains--be attached to other corps. The two Barclays would
receive commissions as officers, on the staff of General Cambriels,
himself.

When Colonel Tempe finished speaking, the boys could hardly
believe their ears; and looked at each other, to inquire if they
heard aright. There could be no mistake about it; for Colonel Tempe
called them forward and, shaking hands with them, congratulated
them on the promotion which, he said, they had well earned. The men
gave a hearty cheer; for the young English lads were general
favorites, for their good temper and willingness to oblige.

Directly the men were dismissed, the colonel again called the
lads to him.

"I am sorry to lose you," he said, "but of course it is for your
good. Come with me, at once, to General Cambriels. I will introduce
you, and you had better ask for four days' leave. You can get the
railway in four hours' ride from here. You will have no difficulty
in finding a place in some of the commissariat cities going to
fetch stores. If you start tonight, you can catch a train before
morning, and be in Dijon quite early. A couple of days will be
sufficient to get your uniforms made, and to buy horses.

"Your cousin will go with you. I gave him leave, last night, to
start upon our arrival here. He is not so strong as you are; and
the surgeon says that he must have rest, and quiet. He is quite
worn out.

"Now, pile your rifles--you will not want them any more--and
come with me. I have said good night to the general, but he will
excuse me."

Still bewildered, the boys did as they were ordered. As they
were piling their rifles, they heard a loud blubbering. Looking
round, they saw Tim Doyle, weeping most copiously.

"What is the matter, Tim?"

"Matter! Your honor, ain't yer going to lave us? What am I going
to do, at all?"

The boys hurried away, without reply--for Colonel Tempe was
waiting for them--and, on the way to headquarters, mentioned Tim's
grief at parting with them.

The general received the lads most kindly and, at once, granted
them four days' leave to go to Dijon, to procure uniform.

Colonel Tempe then said:

"You do not want orderlies, do you, general?"

"I do, indeed," the general answered. "I have about a dozen
cavalry men, of different regiments, who form my escort and act as
orderlies; but they are my entire force of cavalry."

"I have an Irishman in my corps, general, who only joined to be
near these young fellows. He was brought up among horses; and you
have only to put him in a hussar uniform, and he would make a
capital orderly, and would act as servant to your new staff
officers."

"By all means," the general said; "send him over, in the
morning. We will make a hussar of him, in half an hour; we have got
a few uniforms in store."

What a meeting that was, near Dijon! The boys, upon reaching the
station, had found a train on the point of starting; and it was
seven in the morning when they reached the town. The shops open
early, in French country towns; and although their tailor had not
as yet taken his shutters down, he was up and about, and willingly
measured them for their new uniforms--promising that they should
have them, without fail, the next afternoon. They then walked up to
the cottage; and dropped in just as the party, there, were sitting
down to breakfast.

There was a loud exclamation from Captain Barclay, and a scream
of delight from their mother, and Milly; and it was a good ten
minutes before they were sitting round the table, talking
coherently. It was but six weeks since they had left, but it seemed
like years; and there was as much to tell, and to talk about, as if
they had just returned, after an absence of half a lifetime, in
India.

"How long have you got leave for?" was one of the first
questions.

"Only four days," Percy said. "The corps has now joined the army
of the Vosges, and will act regularly with it. A move forward will
take place, in a few days, so that we could not ask for
longer."

"Only four days!" Mrs. Barclay and Milly repeated, aghast.

"It is not much, mamma," Ralph put in, "but it is better than
nothing. You see, you did not expect us at all."

"Quite so," Captain Barclay said, cheerfully. "It is a clear
gain, and we waste the time in regretting that it is not longer. It
is a great delight to have you back again, even for a few hours.
You both look wonderfully well, and fully a year older than when
you left. Roughing it, and exposure, evidently suits you.

"Has Louis come back with you?"

"Yes, papa, he has come back to stay, for some time. He is
completely done up, and the surgeon has ordered rest and quiet, for
a while.

"How is Philippe?"

"He is getting on well; and will walk, the doctor hopes, in
another fortnight, or three weeks; but I have not seen him
for--although your uncle comes in, as usual, for a chat with
me--Madame Duburg has never forgiven me for having, as she says,
influenced him in allowing the boys to go; and of course, since
this wound of Philippe's, she has been more angry than ever."

The boys laughed. They understood their aunt's ways.

"Tim has not been hurt, I hope?" Milly asked.

"Oh no; Tim is as well as ever, and the life and soul of the
corps."

As breakfast went on, the boys gradually related the changes
that were taking place: Major Tempe's promotion to be colonel, and
the fact that he was placed in command of several corps of franc
tireurs, who were hereafter to act together. They said no word,
however, about their own promotion; having agreed to keep that
matter secret, until the uniforms were completed. They had also
asked their cousin to say nothing about it, at home; as otherwise
their uncle would have been sure to have come in to congratulate
them, and the secret would have been at an end, at once.

An hour later, Monsieur Duburg came in to see them. After the
first talk, he said to Captain Barclay:

"The way in which your boys have stood the fatigue is a proof,
in itself, how much the prosperity of a nation depends upon the
training of its boys. England is strong because her boys are all
accustomed, from their childhood, to active exercise and outdoor,
violent games. In case of a war, like this which we are going
through, almost every man could turn soldier, and go through the
fatigues of a campaign; and what is more, could make light of--not
to say enjoy--them.

"Here, upon the contrary, our young fellows do nothing and, in
an emergency like the present, want both spirit and strength to
make soldiers. Almost all the boys who went from here in Tempe's
corps have returned, completely worn out. Even Louis is a wreck;
although, thanks to the companionship of your boys, he has
supported it better, and longer, than the majority of them. Had he
began, as a child, to take pleasure in strong exercise; no doubt he
could have stood it as well as Ralph and Percy, who look absolutely
benefited by it. Unfortunately, I allowed my wife's silly objection
to prevail; until the last three years, when I insisted that they
should do as they liked.

"As I have said before, Barclay, I say again: I congratulate you
on your boys. You have a right to be proud of them. I wish the race
of young Frenchmen were only like them."

Great indeed was the astonishment--upon the afternoon of the
following day--when Ralph and Percy walked into the sitting room,
dressed as staff officers; feeling a little awkward with their
swords, but flushed with an honorable pleasure and pride--for their
epaulets had been gained by no family interests, no private
influence. They were worn as the reward of good service. Captain
Barclay wrung the boys' hands, silently. Their mother cried with
delight, and Milly danced round the boys like a small possessed
one.

"It is not for the absolute rank itself, boys, that I am
pleased," their father said, when they had related the whole
circumstances; "for you have no idea of remaining in the French
service and, consequently, the rank will be of no use to you, after
the end of the war. Still, it is a thing all your lives to be proud
of--that you won your commission in the French army, by good
service."

"What I am thinking of most," Mrs. Barclay said, "is that, now
they are officers in the regular army, they will run no risk of
being shot, if they are taken prisoners."

"We don't mean to be taken prisoners, mamma. Still, as you say,
it is certainly an advantage in favor of the regular uniform."

"And what is to become of Tim?" Milly asked.

"Oh, Tim is going to become a hussar, and act as one of the
general's orderlies; and be our servant, when he has nothing else
to do. You see, now we are officers, we have a right to
servants."

"I am very glad Tim is going with you," Mrs. Barclay said. "My
brother tells us that he saved Philippe's life, and it seems a
comfort to know that he is with you."

The next morning Captain Barclay went down with them to the
town, and purchased a couple of capital horses which, by great good
fortune, were on sale.

Upon the morning of the fourth day of their visit, the boys took
leave of their father and mother, and left to join the headquarters
of General Cambriels. The parting was far less trying than it had
been, the first time they went away. The boys were not, now, going
out to an unknown danger. Although the risk that a staff officer
runs is, absolutely, somewhat greater than that incurred by a
regimental officer; still, it is slight in comparison with the risk
run by a franc tireur, employed in harassing an enemy, and in
cutting his communications--especially when capture means death.
Those who remained behind were encouraged partly by this thought,
but still more by the really irrational one that, as the boys had
gone away and come back safe, once, they would probably do so
again.

The evening of the same day, the Barclays reported themselves
for duty to the general and, next morning, began work. Their duty
was hard, though simple. By day they were constantly on duty--that
is to say, either riding over the country, or waiting near the
general's quarters in readiness for a start or--more
seldom--writing, and drawing up reports in the office. By night
they took it in turns with the other staff officers to be on
duty--that is to say, to lie down to sleep in uniform, with the
horse saddled at the door, in readiness to start at an instant's
notice.

Tim's duties as an orderly were not heavy, and were generally
over by five o'clock; after which he acted as servant to the boys.
It was impossible, under the circumstances, for the staff to mess
together, as usual. There was neither a room available nor, indeed,
any of the appliances. Among Tim's other duties, therefore, was
that of cooking. They had also another orderly allotted to them,
and he devoted himself to the care of the horses; Tim undertaking
all other work.

The boys liked their new duties much. The work was hard, but
pleasant. Their fellow officers were pleasant companions, and their
general most kind, and genial.

A week after they had joined, General Cambriels advanced into
the Vosges to oppose the Prussians, who were marching south. The
progress of the army was slow, for they had to carry what supplies
they required with them. Colonel Tempe kept, with his command, a
few hours' march ahead; and one or other of the boys was frequently
dispatched with orders, etc. to obtain reports from him.

After three days' marching, they neared the enemy. All was now
watchfulness, and excitement. The franc tireurs were already
engaged in skirmishing and, early one morning, Ralph received
orders to ride forward and reconnoiter the enemy's position.
Passing through the posts of franc tireurs, he rode cautiously
along the road; with his hand on the butt of his revolver, and his
horse well in hand--ready to turn and ride for his life, on an
instant's notice.

Presently, as the road wound through a narrow gorge, lined with
trees, he heard a voice say, close in his ear, "Stop!"

He reined in his horse, and drew his pistol. The leaves parted;
and a man of some sixty years of age, armed with an old
double-barreled fowling piece, stepped out.

"The Germans are just beyond," he said. "I expect them every
moment."

"And what are you doing here?" Ralph asked.

"What am I doing?" repeated the peasant. "I am waiting to shoot
some of them."

"But they will hang you, to a certainty, if they catch you."

"Let them," the old man said, quietly; "they will do me no more
harm than they have done me. I had a nice farm, near Metz. I lived
there with my wife and daughter, and my three boys. Someone fired
at the Prussians from a wood near. No one was hit, but that made no
difference. The black-hearted scoundrels came to my farm; shot my
three boys, before their mother's eyes; ill treated her, so that
she died next day and, when I returned--for I was away, at the
time--I found a heap of ashes, where my house had stood; the dead
bodies of my three boys; my wife dying, and my daughter sitting by,
screaming with laughter--mad--quite mad!

"I took her away to a friend's house; and stayed with her till
she died, too, a fortnight after. Then I bought this gun, and some
powder and lead, with my last money; and went out to kill
Prussians. I have killed thirteen already and, please God," and the
peasant lifted his hat, devoutly, "I will kill two more,
today."

"How is it that you have escaped so long?" Ralph asked, in
surprise.

"I never fire at infantry," the peasant said. "It was Uhlans
that did it, and it's only Uhlans I fire at. I put myself on a
rock, or a hillside, where they can't come--or in a thick wood--and
I content myself with my two shots, and then go. I don't want to be
killed, yet. I have set my mind on having fifty--just ten for each
of mine--and when I've shot the last of the fifty, the sooner they
finish me, the better.

"You'd better not go any farther, sir. The valley widens out,
round the corner; and there are Prussians in the nearest
village."

"Thank you," Ralph said, "but my orders are to reconnoiter them,
myself, and I must do so. I am well mounted, and I don't think that
they will catch me, if I get a couple of hundred yards' start.
There are franc tireurs in the village, a mile back."

Ralph now rode carefully forward, while the peasant went back
into his hiding place by the wood. As he had said, the gorge
widened into a broad valley, a few hundred yards farther on. Upon
emerging from the gorge, Ralph at once saw a village--almost hidden
among trees--at a distance of less than a quarter of a mile. After
what he had heard, he dared not ride on farther. He therefore drew
his horse aside from the road, among some trees; dismounted, and
made his way carefully up the rocky side of the hill, to a point
from which he could command a view down the whole valley.

When he gained this spot, he looked cautiously round. Below,
beyond the village, he could see large numbers of men; could make
out lines of cavalry horses, and rows of artillery. A considerable
movement was going on, and Ralph had no doubt that they were about
to advance. In his interest in what he saw, he probably exposed his
figure somewhat; and caught the eye of some sharp-sighted sentry,
in the village.

The first intimation of his danger was given him by seeing some
twenty Uhlans dart suddenly out of the trees, in which the village
lay, at the top of their speed while, almost at the same moment,
eight or ten rifles flashed, and the balls whizzed round him in
most unpleasant propinquity. Ralph turned in an instant; and
bounded down the rock with a speed and recklessness of which, at
any other moment, he would have been incapable. Fierce as was the
pace at which the Uhlans were galloping, they were still a hundred
yards distant when Ralph leaped upon his horse, and galloped out in
front of them.

There was a rapid discharge of their carbines, but men at full
gallop make but poor shooting. Ralph felt he was untouched but, by
the convulsive spring which his horse gave, he knew the animal was
wounded. For a couple of hundred yards, there was but little
difference in his speed; and then Ralph--to his dismay--felt him
flag, and knew that the wound had been a severe one. Another
hundred yards, and the animal staggered; and would have fallen, had
not Ralph held him up well, with knee and bridle.

The Uhlans saw it; for they gave a shout, and a pistol bullet
whizzed close to his head. Ralph looked round. An officer, twenty
yards ahead of his men, was only about forty yards in his rear. In
his hand he held a revolver, which he had just discharged.

"Surrender!" he shouted, "or you are a dead man!"

Ralph saw that his pursuers were too close to enable him to
carry out his intention of dismounting, and taking to the
wood--which, here, began to approach thickly close to the road--and
was on the point of throwing up his arm, in token of surrender;
when his horse fell heavily, with him, at the moment when the
Prussian again fired. Almost simultaneously with the crack of the
pistol came the report of a gun; and the German officer fell off
his horse, shot through the heart.

Ralph leaped to his feet, and dashed up the bank in among the
trees; just as another shot was fired, with a like fatal result,
into the advancing Uhlans. The rest--believing that they had fallen
into an ambush--instantly turned their horses' heads, and galloped
back the road they had come.

Ralph's first impulse was to rush down into the road, and catch
the officer's horse; which had galloped on a short distance when
its master fell, and was now returning, to follow its companions.
As he did so, the old peasant appeared, from the wood.

"Thank you," Ralph said warmly. "You have saved my life or, at
any rate, have saved me from a German prison."

The peasant paid no attention to him; but stooped down to
examine, carefully, whether the Germans were both dead.

"Two more," he said, with a grim smile. "That makes fifteen.
Three apiece."

Then he picked up the officer's revolver, took the cartridge
belonging to it from the pouch and, with a wave of the hand to
Ralph, strode back into the wood.

Ralph removed the holsters from the saddle of his own
horse--which had fallen dead--placed them on the horse of the
German officer and then, mounting it, rode off at full speed, to
inform General Cambriels of the results of his investigation.

"Hallo, Barclay!" one of his fellow officers said, as he rode up
to the headquarters, "what have you been up to? Doing a little
barter, with a German hussar? You seem to have got the best of him,
too; for your own horse was a good one, but this is a good deal
better, unless I am mistaken.

"How has it come about?"

Quite a crowd of idlers had collected round, while the officer
was speaking; struck, like him, with the singularity of the sight
of a French staff officer upon a horse with German trappings. Ralph
did not wish to enter into explanations, there; so merely replied,
in the same jesting strain, that it had been a fair exchange--the
small difference in the value of the horses being paid for, with a
small piece of lead. Then, throwing his reins to his orderly--who
came running up--he went in to report, to the general, the evident
forward movements of the Germans.

"Are they as strong as we have heard?" the general asked.

"Fully, I should say, sir. I had no means of judging the
infantry, but they seemed in large force. They were certainly
strong in cavalry, and I saw some eight or ten batteries of
artillery."

"Let the next for duty ride, with all speed, to Tempe; and tell
him to hold the upper end of this valley. Send Herve's battery
forward to assist him. Have the general assembly sounded."

Ralph left to obey these orders, while the general gave the
colonel of his staff the instructions for the disposition of his
forces.

The army of the Vosges--pompous as was its name--consisted, at
this time, of only some ten thousand men; all Mobiles or franc
tireurs, with the exception of a battalion of line, and a battalion
of Zouaves. The Mobiles were almost undisciplined, having only been
out a month; and were, for the most part, armed only with the old
muzzle loader. Many were clothed only in the gray trousers, with a
red stripe, which forms part of the mobile's uniform; and in a blue
blouse. Great numbers of them were almost shoeless; having been
taken straight from the plow, or workshop, and having received no
shoes since they joined. Half disciplined, half armed, half
clothed, they were too evidently no match for the Germans.

The fact was patent to their general, and his officers. Still,
his instructions were to make a stand, at all hazards, in the
Vosges; and he now prepared to obey the orders--not hoping for
victory, but trusting in the natural courage of his men to enable
him to draw them off without serious disaster. His greatest
weakness was his artillery, of which he had only two batteries;
against eight or ten of the Germans--whose forces were, even
numerically, superior to his own.

In half an hour, the dispositions were made. The valley was
wide, at this point; and there were some five or six villages
nestled in it. It was pretty thickly wooded and, two miles behind,
narrowed again considerably. Just as the troops had gained their
appointed places, a faint sound of heavy musketry fire was heard,
in the gorge ahead; mingled, in a few minutes, with the deep boom
of cannon.

The general, surrounded by his staff, moved forward towards the
spot. From the road at the entrance to the narrow part of the
valley, nothing could be seen; but the cracking of rifles among the
trees and rocks on either side, the bursting of shells and the
whistling of bullets were incessant. The general and his staff
accordingly dismounted, handed their horses to the men of the
escort, and mounted the side of the hill.

After a sharp climb, they reached a point from whence they could
see right down the long narrow valley. On beyond, the trees--except
near the road--were thin; the steep sides of the hills being
covered with great blocks of stone, and thick brushwood. Among
these--all down one side, and up the other--at a distance of some
five hundred yards from the post taken up by the general, a
succession of quick puffs of smoke told where Colonel Tempe's franc
tireurs were placed; while among the trees below there came up
great wreaths of smoke from the battery, which was supporting them
by firing at the Germans.

These formed a long line, up and down the sides of the valley,
at three or four hundred yards distance from the French lines. Two
German batteries were down in the road, a few hundred yards to the
rear of their skirmishers; and these were sending shells thickly up
among the rocks, where the franc tireurs were lying hid; while two
other batteries--which the Germans had managed to put a short way
up on the mountain sides, still farther in the rear--were raining
shell, with deadly precision, upon the French batteries in the
road.

A prettier piece of warfare it would have been difficult to
imagine--the lofty mountain sides; the long lines of little puffs
of smoke, among the brushwood and rocks; the white smoke arising
from the trees, in the bottom; the quick, dull bursts of the
shells--as a spectacle, it was most striking. The noise was
prodigious. The steep sides of the mountain echoed each report of
the guns into a prolonged roar, like the rumble of thunder. The
rattle of the musketry never ceased for an instant, and loud and
distinct above the din rose the menacing scream of the shells.

"This is grand, indeed, Ralph!" Percy said, after a moment's
silence.

"Splendid!" Ralph said, "but it is evident we cannot hold the
gorge. Their skirmishers are three to our one, and their shells
must be doing terrible damage."

"Barclay," General Cambriels said, "go down to the battery, and
bring me back word how they are getting on."

The scene quite lost its beauty to Percy, now, as he saw Ralph
scramble rapidly down the hillside in the direction of the trees;
among which the French battery was placed, and over and among which
the shells were bursting, every second. It seemed like entering a
fiery furnace.

It was a terribly long ten minutes before Ralph was seen,
climbing up the hillside again; and Percy's heart gave a jump of
delight, when he first caught sight of his figure. As Ralph came
near, his brother saw that he was very pale, and had a handkerchief
bound round one arm. This was already soaked with blood. He kept on
steadily, however, until he reached the general; who had, upon
seeing he was wounded, advanced to meet him.

"One gun is dismounted, sir, and half the men are killed or
wounded."

"Go down, Harcourt, and tell Herve to fall back at once; and to
take position in the clump of trees, a quarter of a mile down the
valley, so as to sweep the entrance.

"Laon, go to the right, and you, Dubois, to the left. Order the
franc tireurs to retreat along the hillside and, when they get to
the end of the gorge, to form in the plain, and fall back to the
first village.

"You are wounded, Barclay. Not seriously, I hope?" he said,
kindly, as the officers hurried away on their respective
missions.

"A splinter of a shell, sir," Ralph said, faintly. "I don't
think it has touched the bone, but it has cut the flesh badly."

Ralph was just able to say this, when his head swam; and he
would have fallen, had not Percy caught him in his arms, with a
little cry.

"He has only fainted from loss of blood," the general said. "Two
or three handkerchiefs, gentlemen.

"Now, major, bind them round his arm.

"Now take off his sash, and bind it as tightly as you can, over
them. That's right.

"Now carry him down the rocks, to the horses. We have no time to
lose."

Two of the officers at once put their arms under Ralph's
shoulders, while Percy took his feet; and they hastened down to the
horses. As they did so, Ralph opened his eyes.

"I am all right, now," he said, faintly.

"Lie quiet," the major said, kindly. "It is only loss of blood.
There is no real harm done.

"There, here are the horses."

Ralph was placed, sitting, on the ground; a little brandy and
water was given to him and, as the blood was oozing but slowly
through the bandage, he felt sufficiently restored to sit on his
horse.

"Doyle, you go with Lieutenant Barclay," the colonel of the
staff said. "Ride slowly, and keep close beside him; so as to catch
him, if you see him totter. You will find the surgeons ready at the
general's quarters.

"Halt, stand aside for a moment. Here comes the artillery."

"Well done, lads, well done!" the general said, as the
diminished battery rattled past, at full gallop.

Then he himself, with his staff, put spurs to his horse and went
off at full speed; while Tim followed at a walk, riding by the side
of Ralph. The flow of blood had now stopped, and Ralph was able to
sit his horse until he reached the house which had served as the
general's headquarters, in the morning. Here one of the staff
surgeons had fitted up a temporary ambulance; and Ralph's bandages
were soon taken off, and his coat removed. Tim turned sick at the
sight of the ugly gash in his young master's arm, and was obliged
to go out into the air.

The artillery were already at work, and their fire told that the
franc tireurs had retired from the gorge, and that the Germans were
entering the wider valley.

"You have had a narrow escape," the surgeon said, after
examining Ralph's arm, "a quarter of an inch lower, and it would
have cut the main artery; and you would have bled to death in five
minutes. As it is, there is no great harm done. It is a deepish
flesh wound but, with your youth and constitution, it will heal up
in a very short time. I will draw the edges together, with a needle
and thread: put a few straps of plaster on, and a bandage; and then
you had better get into an ambulance wagon and go to the rear, at
once."

"Can't I go into the field again, now?" Ralph asked; "I feel as
if I could ride again, now."

"No, you can do nothing of the sort," the surgeon said. "You
have lost a lot of blood; and if you were to ride now, it might set
off the wound bleeding again, and you might be a dead man before
you could be brought back here. Keep quiet, and do as you are
ordered, and in a week you may be in the saddle again."

"It seems very hard," Ralph began.

"Not at all hard," the surgeon said. "You will see plenty more
fighting, before this war is over.

"This is a hard case, if you like; you have every reason to be
thankful."

As he spoke, he pointed to a young mobile who was brought in,
his chest literally torn open with a shell.

"I can do nothing for him," the surgeon said, after a brief
inspection of his wound; "he has not half an hour to live, and will
probably not recover consciousness. If he does, give him some weak
brandy, and water."

Wounded men were now being brought in fast, and Ralph went out
and sat down by the door.

"Fasten my horse up here, Tim. The ambulance will be full of
poor fellows who will want them more than I shall. If I see that we
are being driven back, I shall mount and ride quietly back.

"No, there is nothing more you can do for me. Go and join
Percy."

The fight was now raging furiously. The Germans, covered by the
fire of their artillery, had debouched from the pass and were
steadily pressing forward. They had already carried the village
nearest to them. This the French had set fire to, before
retreating, to prevent its serving as a shelter for the enemy. The
Mobiles stood their ground, for the most part well, under the heavy
fire of shot and shell; but their muzzle loaders were no match for
the Germans' needle guns, and the enemy were pressing steadily
forward. Just as Tim Doyle rode up to the staff, the Germans had
taken another village.

"That village must be retaken," the general said. "Barclay, ride
and order the Zouaves to carry it, with the bayonet."

Percy galloped off to where the Zouaves, lying behind a ridge in
the ground, were keeping up a heavy fire in answer to the storm of
shot and shell which fell around them. He rode up to the officer in
command.

"The Zouaves are to retake the village, with the bayonet," he
said.

The colonel gave the order, but the fire was so heavy that the
men would not face it. Again and again the officer reiterated the
order; standing exposed on the bank, in front of his men, to give
them confidence. It was in vain, and the colonel looked towards
Percy with an air of despair. Percy turned his horse, and galloped
back to the general.

"The colonel has done all he can, sir, but the men won't
advance."

"The fire is very heavy," the general said, "but we must have
the village back again."

And he rode off, himself, to the battalion of Zouaves. The shot
and shell were flying around him, but he sat on his horse as
immovable as if at a review.

"My lads," he said, in a loud, clear tone, "generally the
difficulty has been to prevent the Zouaves rushing to an attack.
Don't let it be said that a French general had to repeat, to French
Zouaves, an order to charge before they obeyed him."

In an instant the Zouaves were on their feet and, with a cheer,
went at the village. The Germans in possession fired rapidly, as
the French approached, and then hastily evacuated it; the Zouaves
taking possession, and holding it, under a tremendous fire.

All the afternoon the battle raged, villages being taken and
retaken, several times. The Germans, however, were gradually
gaining ground. Some of the regiments of Mobiles had quite lost all
order and discipline, and their officers in vain tried to persuade
them to hold the position in which they were placed. Two of the
staff officers were killed, three others wounded.

Percy had escaped, almost by a miracle. Over and over again, he
had carried the general's orders across ground swept by the enemy's
shot and shell. A horse had been killed under him, but he had not
received even a scratch; and now, mounted upon the horse of one of
the officers, who was killed, he was returning from carrying an
order across a very open piece of ground, at full gallop. Suddenly
he came upon a sight which--hurried as he was, and exposed as was
the position--caused him instantly to draw his rein, and come to a
full stop.

There, in the open field, were two children: the one a boy, of
six or seven years old; the other a little flaxen-haired, blue-eyed
girl, of five. They were quietly picking flowers.

"What are you doing here?" Percy asked, in astonishment.

He spoke in French and, receiving no answer, repeated the
question in German.

"What are you doing here?"

"If you please, sir," the boy answered, "I have been out in the
wood, with Lizzie, to pick flowers; and when I came back there was
a great fire in the house, and a great noise all round, and I
couldn't find father and mother; and so we came out, to look for
them."

Percy did not know what to do. It was too pitiful to leave the
poor little creatures where they were; and yet, he could not carry
them away. He had no doubt that their parents were hid in the
woods.

"Look here," he said; "if I take Lizzie upon my horse, will you
run along after me?"

"No, no," the little girl said, vehemently.

There was no time for parley.

"Look here, do you see those soldiers lying down in a ditch?"
Percy asked, pointing to a line of Mobiles, not fifty yards in
front.

The children nodded.

"Now look here, the best thing you can possibly do is to play at
being soldiers. It is capital fun. You lie down quite flat in that
ditch, and throw little stones over the bank. Don't you go away.
Don't get up, whatever you do; and if you are good children, and
play nicely, I will send father and mother to you, if I can find
them. If they don't come, you go on playing at soldiers till all
this noise stops; and then, when it is quite quiet, you go home,
and wait there till father and mother come back."

The children were delighted with the idea, and threw themselves
flat in the bottom of the ditch; and Percy went on again, at full
gallop. The French were now being driven back, towards the point
where the valley narrowed again; and many of the Mobiles were in
full flight. General Cambriels, therefore, withdrew his artillery
to a point where they could cover the movements; and then ordered a
rapid retreat--ten regiments of line, and the Zouaves, acting as
rear guard.

It was already getting dark, and the movements were carried out
with but slight loss. The Germans, contented with their success,
attempted no movement in pursuit.

Chapter 12: The Surprise.

After the check in the Vosges, General Cambriels found it
impossible to restore sufficient order, among the Mobiles, to
enable him to show face again to the enemy. He was, besides, in
want of many articles of urgent necessity. Half his force were
shoeless; and the thin blouses which were--as has been said--all
the covering that many of the Mobiles had, were ill calculated to
resist the bitter cold which was already setting in. Ammunition,
too, as well as food, was short.

The general determined, therefore, upon falling back upon
Besancon, and reorganizing his forces there. A wound in his head,
too, which was insufficiently healed when he took the command, had
now broken out again; and his surgeon ordered absolute repose, for
a while.

Upon the day of the fight, Ralph had ridden slowly to the rear,
when he saw that the fight was going against the French. Hardened
as he was by his work, and with an excellent constitution, his
wound never for a moment assumed a troublesome aspect; but at the
end of a week he was able--keeping it, of course, in a sling--to
mount his horse, and report himself ready for duty. The
headquarters were now at Besancon; and Ralph could, had he applied
for it, have obtained leave to go to Dijon; but he had not done so,
as he had been so lately at home, and he thought that the sight of
his arm in a sling would be likely to make his mother more nervous,
and anxious on their account, than before.

The Germans were still at some distance from Besancon, being
watched by Colonel Tempe and his franc tireurs, and by the
irregular forces. A considerable army was now fast gathering at
Besancon, and the regimental and superior staff officers were hard
at work at the organization As aides-de-camp, the boys had little
to do; and therefore requested leave, for two or three days, to go
up to their old friends, the franc tireurs of Dijon. The general at
once granted the required permission; adding, with a smile:

"Don't forget you are officers now, lads, and get into any
hare-brained adventures, you know; and be sure you are back on
Thursday, as I expect General Michel--my successor--to arrive on
Friday; and I shall have to give you, as part of my
belongings."

"We are sure to be back, general."

And so they set off; taking, as usual, Tim Doyle with them, as
orderly and servant.

"Faith, and I am glad enough to be out in the open again, Mister
Ralph," Tim said, as they left Besancon behind. "After living out
in the woods, for six weeks; there does not seem room to breathe,
in a crowded town."

"It's jolly to be out again, Tim; but I don't know that I mind a
town again, for a few days."

"Ah, it's all very well for the likes of yees, Mister
Ralph--with your officer's uniform, and your arm in a sling, and
the girls all looking at you as a hero--but for me it's different,
entirely. Out in the open I feel that--except when there's anything
to do for your honors--I am my own master, and can plase myself.
Here in the town I am a common hussar; and my arm is just weary
with saluting to all the fellows, with a sword by their side, that
I meet in the street.

"Then there's no chance of any fighting, as long as we're shut
up in the walls of a town; and what's the use of being decked up in
uniform, except to fight? Is there any chance of just the least
scrimmage in the world, while we are back again with the boys?" he
asked, persuasively.

The boys laughed.

"Not much, Tim; but we shall be pretty close to the enemy, and
something may turn up, at any moment. But surely you've had enough,
in the last six weeks?"

"Pretty well, Mister Percy--pretty well; but you see, the last
affair didn't count."

"Oh, didn't it count!" Ralph said, looking at his arm. "I think
it counted for two or three fights and, if you were not hit, I am
sure you were fired at often enough to satisfy the most desperate
lover of fighting, Tim."

"I was fired at often enough, I daresay, Mister Ralph; and I
can't say that I liked it, entirely. It isn't so mighty
pleasant--sitting like a stiff statue behind the general, with the
shells falling about you like peas, and not allowed the divarshin
of a single shot back, in return.

"'Shoot away,' says I, 'as hard as you like; but let's shoot
back, in return.'"

The boys laughed, and the day passed pleasantly as they rode,
and talked. The dusk had already fallen when they reached a party
of franc tireurs. It was not their own corps, nor could the officer
in command tell exactly where they could find them.

"We are scattered over a considerable extent of country," he
said; "and the colonel, alone, could tell you how we are all
placed. I expect that he will be here, tonight; and your best plan
will be to stay here, till he comes. We have not much to offer you,
but such as it is, it is at your service."

After a moment's consultation, the boys agreed to accept the
offer; as they had palpably more chance of meeting Colonel Tempe,
there, than in a journey through the woods, at night; and in
another ten minutes their horses were tied to trees, and they were
sitting by a blazing fire, with the officers of franc tireurs. The
village consisted of only three or four houses and, as there were
fifty men in the party upon which they had come, they bivouacked
under the trees, hard by.

"How far off are the Germans?" Ralph asked, when dinner was
over; and they lay by the fire, smoking cigars.

"Ten miles or so," the officer answered, carelessly.

"No chance of their coming this way, I hope," Ralph laughed. "We
were very nearly caught near Saverne, once."

"So I heard," the officer said, "but I am rather skeptical as to
these night surprises. In nine cases out of ten--mind, I don't mean
for a moment that it was so in your case--but in nine cases out of
ten, these rumors of night attacks are all moonshine."

"Perhaps so," Ralph said, a little gravely--for he had already
noticed that the discipline was very different, among these men,
than that to which he had been accustomed among the franc tireurs
of Dijon; "perhaps so, but we can hardly be too careful.

"How do you all like Colonel Tempe?"

"The colonel would be an excellent fellow, were he not our
colonel," the officer laughed. "He is a most unconscionable man.
For ever marching, and drilling, and disciplining. If he had his
way, he would make us like a regiment of line; as if there could be
any good in carrying out all that sort of thing, with franc
tireurs. He had about half of us together, for three or four days;
and I give you my word it was as bad as slavery. Drill, drill,
drill, from morning till night. I was heartily glad, I can tell
you, when I got away with this detachment."

Ralph saw that his new acquaintance was one of that innumerable
class who conceived that drill and discipline were absurdities, and
that it was only necessary for a Frenchman to shoulder a gun for
him to be a soldier; so he easily avoided argument, by turning the
subject. For a couple of hours they chatted; and then, as the fire
was burning low, and the men had already laid down to sleep, Ralph
suggested that they should do the same.

"I will walk round the sentries first, with you, if you like,"
he said.

"Sentries!" the other said, with a laugh; "there is my sentry,"
and he pointed to a man standing, ten paces off, leaning against a
tree. "The men have marched all day--they only came in an hour
before you did--and I am not going to waste their strength by
putting half of them out to watch the forest.

"No, no, I am no advocate for harassing my men."

"Good night, then," Ralph said, briefly, and he wrapped himself
in his cloak, and lay down.

"We are not accustomed to this sort of thing, Percy," he
whispered to his brother, in English, "and I don't like it. No
wonder our franc tireurs do so badly, if this is a sample of their
discipline."

"I don't like it either, Ralph. The Prussians are advancing; and
if that fellow last heard of them as ten miles off, they are as
likely as not to be only two. I shan't be sorry when morning
comes."

"Nor I either, Percy. However, here we are, and we have no
authority over this fellow; so we must make the best of it, and
hope that--for once--folly will not have its just reward."

So saying, the boys remained silent for the night. But although
silent, neither of them slept much--Ralph especially, whose arm was
still very sore, and at times painful, hardly closed his eyes. He
told himself it was absurd, but he could not help listening, with
painful attention.

Had the night been a quiet one, he need not have strained his
ears; for as he knew, from the many hours he had passed at night
upon guard, the hush is so intense--in these great forests--that
one can hear the fall of a mountain stream, miles away; and the
snapping of a twig, or almost the falling of a leaf, will catch the
ear. The night, however, was windy; and the rustle of the pine
forest would have deadened all sound, except anything sharp, and
near.

The sentry did not appear similarly impressed with the necessity
for any extraordinary attention. He was principally occupied in
struggling against cold, and drowsiness. He walked up and down, he
stamped his foot, hummed snatches of songs, yawned with great
vigor, and so managed to keep awake for two hours; when he roused
the next for duty, and lay down with a grunt of relief.

At last, after keeping awake for hours, Ralph dozed off. How
long he slept, he knew not; but he was roused into full wakefulness
by a touch on the shoulder, and by hearing Tim Doyle whisper:

"Hist, Mister Ralph, I've my doubts that there is something
wrong. I couldn't sleep, in this camp without watch or outposts;
and for the last quarter of an hour, I fancy I've been hearing
noises. I don't know which way they are coming, but it seems to me
they are all round us. I may be wrong, sir, but as sure as the
piper--"

"Hush, Tim!" Ralph said to the Irishman, who had crawled
noiselessly along, and had lain down by his side.

"Percy, are you awake?"

"Yes, I woke at Tim's whisper. Listen."

They did listen; and distinctly, above the sighing of the wind,
they could hear a rustling, cracking noise. Day was just breaking,
but the light was not sufficiently strong to show objects with any
distinctness, among the trees.

"By Jove, we are surrounded!" Percy said; and was just going to
alarm the camp when the sentry, startled into wakefulness,
challenged and fired.

The franc tireurs woke, and leaped to their feet. Percy and Tim
were about to do the same, when Ralph held them down.

"Lie still," he said, "for your lives."

His words were not out of his lips, when a tremendous volley
rang out all round them; and half the franc tireurs fell.

"Now!" Ralph said, leaping up, "make a rush for a house.

"To the houses, all of you," he shouted, loudly. "It is our only
chance. We shall be shot down, here, like sheep."

The officer of the franc tireurs had already atoned for his
carelessness, by his life; and the men obeyed Ralph's call and,
amidst a heavy fire, rushed across the fifty yards of open space to
the houses. The door was burst in, with the rush.

Ralph had not stopped at the first house but, followed by his
brother and Tim Doyle, had run farther on; and entered the last
house in the village.

"Why did you not go in with the others, Ralph? We have no chance
of defending ourselves, here. We have only our revolvers."

"We have no chance of defending ourselves anywhere, Percy,"
Ralph said. "There must be a couple of hundred of them, at least;
and not above fifteen or twenty, at most, of the franc tireurs
gained the houses. Resistance is utterly useless; and yet, had I
been with those poor fellows, I could not have told them to
surrender, when they would probably be shot, five minutes
afterwards. We should be simply throwing away our lives, without
doing the least good."

There was a heavy firing now heard and, a moment after, half a
dozen shots were fired through the window. Then there was a rush of
soldiers towards the door, which Ralph had purposely left open.

"We surrender," Ralph shouted, in German, coming forward to meet
them. "We are French officers."

"Don't fire," a voice said, and then a young officer came
forward.

"You are not franc tireurs?" he asked, for the light was still
insufficient to enable him to distinguish uniforms.

"We are officers of the army, upon General Cambriels' staff.
This man is an orderly.

"Here are our swords. We surrender, as prisoners of war."

The German officer bowed.

"Keep your swords, for the present, gentlemen. I am not in
command."

At this moment, another officer came up.

"Who have we here, Von Hersen? Why do you make prisoners?"

"They are two staff officers, major."

"Hem," said the major, doubtfully.

"Well, if you are an officer," he continued, "order your men to
cease their resistance."

The franc tireurs, most of whom had taken refuge in the same
cottage, were still defending themselves desperately; and were
keeping up a heavy fire, from the windows.

"I will order them to surrender, at once," Ralph said, quietly;
"if you give me your word that they shall be treated as prisoners
of war."

"I will do nothing of the sort, sir," the German answered.

"Then I shall certainly not advise them to surrender," Ralph
said, firmly. "I have no authority, whatever, over them; but if I
give advice, it would be that they should sell their lives as
dearly as possible."

The officer swore a deep German oath, and strode off. For five
more minutes the fight continued round the cottage, many of the
Germans falling; then a rush was made, there was a fierce contest
inside the house--shouts, shrieks, cries for mercy--and then all
was still.

The young Barclays and Tim were now told to sit down near a
tree, at a short distance off; with two sentries, with loaded
rifles, standing over them. The German soldiers took from the
houses what few articles they fancied, and then set fire to them;
sitting down and eating their breakfast as the flames shot up. At a
short distance from where the Barclays were sitting was a group of
some eight or ten franc tireurs, and six or seven peasants, guarded
by some soldiers.

Near them the German major and two lieutenants were talking. One
of the young men appeared to take little interest in the
conversation; but the other was evidently urging some point, with
great earnestness; and the major was equally plainly refusing his
request, for he stamped his foot angrily, and shook his head.

"What a type that major is, of the brutal species of German,"
Ralph said. "One used to meet them, sometimes. Their officers are
either particularly nice fellows, mere machines, or great brutes;
apparently we have a specimen of each of them, here."

The officers passed near enough for the Barclays to catch what
they were saying.

The young lieutenant was very pale.

"For the last time, major, I implore you."

"For the last time, Lieutenant von Hersen," the major said,
brutally, "I order you to do your duty and, by Heavens, if you
speak another word, I will put you in arrest!"

The young lieutenant turned silently away, called up twenty men,
and ordered them to place the franc tireurs and the peasants
against a wall.

"This is horrible, Ralph," Percy said. "That scoundrel is going
to shoot them, in cold blood."

"I protest against this execution," Ralph said, in a loud tone,
advancing towards the major, "as a cold-blooded murder, and a
violation of all the rights of war."

"Hold your tongue, sir," the German major said, turning to him
furiously, "or, by Heavens, I will put you up there, too!"

"You dare not," Ralph said, firmly. "Outrage, as you do, every
law of civilization and humanity; you dare not shoot an officer of
the army, in cold blood."

The major turned black with passion.

"By Heavens!" he exclaimed.

But the officer who had not--hitherto--interposed, threw himself
before him.

"Pardon me, major," he said, respectfully, "but the Frenchman is
right. It would bring discredit upon the whole army to touch these
prisoners of war.

"In the other matter, I have nothing to say. The order has been
published that franc tireurs, and peasants sheltering them, shall
be shot; and it is not for me to discuss orders, but to obey
them--but this is a matter affecting all our honors."

The major stood, for a moment, irresolute; but he knew well that
the German military authorities would punish, probably with death,
the atrocity which he meditated; and he said hoarsely, to some of
the men near:

"Tie their arms behind their backs, and take them farther into
the wood."

Ralph, his brother, and Tim Doyle were hurried into the wood by
their guards but--strict as is the discipline of the German
army--they could see that they disapproved, in the highest degree,
of the conduct of their commanding officer.

They were still near enough to see what was passing in the
village. Not a man of the franc tireurs begged his life, but stood
upright against the wall. Two of the peasants imitated their
example, as did a boy of not over thirteen years of age. Two other
lads of the same age, and a peasant, fell on their knees and prayed
piteously for life.

The young officer turned round towards the major in one, now
mute, appeal. It was in vain.

"Put your rifles within a foot of their heads," the lieutenant
said. "Fire!"

When the smoke cleared away, the soldiers were standing alone;
and the peasants and franc tireurs lay, in a confused mass, on the
ground.

The lieutenant walked up to the major with a steady step, but
with a face as pale as ashes.

"I have done my duty, Major Kolbach; your orders are
obeyed."

Then, without another word, he drew out his revolver, put it
rapidly to his temple, and blew out his brains [an historical
fact].

Brutal as Major Kolbach was, he started back in horror as the
young lieutenant fell dead at his feet; while a cry of surprise and
consternation broke from the men. The major did not say a word, but
turned away and paced up and down, with disturbed steps; while the
other lieutenant bent over the body of his comrade and, seeing that
he was dead, in a hushed voice ordered the men who had run up to
dig a grave, under the trees, and bring him there.

When this was done he ordered the men to fall in--placing the
Barclays, and Tim in their midst--and then went up to the major and
saluted, saying coldly that the men were ready to march. The major
nodded, signed to the orderly who was holding his horse to
approach, vaulted into the saddle, and rode along the road back
toward the main body of the army. The lieutenant gave the word, and
the column marched off; leaving behind it the still smoking houses,
and the still warm bodies of some sixty men.

There was a general gloom over the faces of the men; and no one
could suppose, from their air, that they were returning from a
successful expedition, in which they had annihilated a body of
enemy fifty strong, with the loss of only five or six of their own
men. Discipline was, however, too strict for a word of blame, or
even of comment to be spoken; and not a sound was heard but the
heavy, measured tramp as the troops marched back through the
forests. The major rode on, moodily, some forty or fifty yards
ahead of the main body.

They had not gone half a mile before there was a shot fired in
the wood, close to the road. The major gave a start, and nearly
fell from his horse; then recovered himself, and turned to ride
back to the column, when there was another shot, and he fell off
his horse, heavily, to the ground.

The column had instinctively halted, and the lieutenant gave the
word, "Load."

A shout of triumph was heard in the wood, "Thirty-one!" and then
all was still.

"That's the old fellow who saved my life, ten days ago, Percy,"
Ralph said; "and by Jove! much obliged to him as I was, then, I do
think that I am more grateful now."

Finding that the shots were not repeated, some twenty or thirty
skirmishers were sent into the woods; but returned, in ten minutes,
without finding any trace of the man who had shot the major.

The lieutenant now took the command. There was a continuation of
the halt, for ten minutes, while the major was hastily buried by
the roadside; a rough cross being put up to mark the spot, and a
deep cross cut made in the two nearest trees so that, even if the
cross were overthrown, the place of the burial might be found
afterwards, if necessary. Then the corps marched on again.

The first use which the lieutenant made of his authority--even
before giving directions for the burial--was to order the cords of
the prisoners to be cut. Then the corps continued its march and, by
the brightened faces of the men, it could be seen easily enough how
unpopular their late commander had been; and that they cherished
but slight animosity against the slayer. In a short time they
struck up one of their marching songs and--prisoners as they
were--the Barclays could not but admire the steady, martial bearing
of the men, as they strode along, making the woods echo with the
deep chorus.

In three hours' march they reached the village which the troops
had left, the evening before, to surprise the franc tireurs;
having, as Ralph had learned from the lieutenant in command,
received information from a spy of their arrival at the village,
late at night; and having started at once, under his guidance.

Here a considerable German force was assembled. The prisoners
were not unkindly treated; but Tim Doyle was, of course, separated
from them. Some astonishment was expressed at their youth; but it
was assumed that they had been pupils at Saint Cyr or the
Polytechnic, many of whom received commissions owing to the
impossibility of finding officers for the immense new levies.
Several of the officers came in to chat with them and, as these had
been also engaged in the fights, ten days before, there were many
questions to ask, upon either side.

The boys learned that they would be sent on, next day; would be
marched to Luneville, and sent thence by train.

"They are a fine set of fellows," Ralph said, when their last
visitor had left them. "Good officers, unquestionably; and when
they are nice, capital fellows. I can't make out why they should be
so brutal, as soldiers; for they are undoubtedly a kindly
race."

"No doubt," Percy said, but he was thinking of other matters,
and not paying much attention to his brother.

"Do you think we have any chance of making our escape,
Ralph?"

"Oh, we shall escape, fast enough," Ralph answered, confidently.
"With our knowledge of German, and looking so young, there can be
no great difficulty about it, when we once get to the end of our
journey; but it's no use our thinking about it, at present. We
shall be a good deal too closely looked after. I only hope they
will send us to Mayence, or Coblentz; and not to one of the
fortresses at the other end of Germany.

"Mind, we must not give our parole."

The next day, when they were summoned to start, they found that
there were fifty or sixty other prisoners who had been brought in,
from other directions. Some belonged to line regiments; but the
greater portion, by far, were Mobiles who, in the retreat of
General Cambriels, had been cut off or left behind and, after
hiding in the woods for some days, were being gradually found and
brought in. The Barclays were the only officers. They therefore
took their places at the head of the prisoners; who formed, four
deep--with an escort of Uhlans--and set off on their march.

It was four days' march. The weather was cold and clear, and the
Barclays were but little fatigued when they marched into Luneville.
The greater part of the prisoners were, however, in a pitiable
condition. Some were so footsore that they could hardly put one
foot before the other. Others tottered with fatigue, and the men of
the escort frequently used the flats of their swords, to compel
them to keep together. As they marched through the streets of
Luneville, the people in the streets uncovered; and the women waved
their hands to them, and pressed forward and offered them fruit and
bread, in spite of the orders of the escort.

They were taken straight to the railway station, where they were
put into a shed. Ralph and Percy had gained the goodwill of the
sergeant in command of the escort, by the manner in which they had
aided him by interpreting to the rest of the prisoners, and by
doing their best to cheer them up, and take things smooth; and they
now asked him to request the officer in command, at the railway
station, to allow them to walk about until the train started, on
parole. The request was--upon the favorable report of the
sergeant--granted at once; and they were told that no train would
go off until next morning, and that they might sleep in the town,
if they chose.

Thanking the officer for the permission, they went out of the
station; when a tall, big-bearded German sergeant stopped before
them.

"Donner wetter!" he exclaimed, "so here you are, again!"

The boys gave a little start; for they recognized, at once, the
sergeant who had so closely questioned them in the cabaret, upon
the night when they had carried off and hung the schoolmaster.
Ralph saw, at once, the importance of conciliating the man; as a
report from him of the circumstances might render their position a
most unpleasant one and--even in the event of nothing worse coming
of it--would almost ensure their captivity in some prison upon the
farther side of Prussia, instead of at one of the frontier
fortresses.

"Ah, sergeant, how are you?" he said, gaily. "It is our fate,
you see, to be made prisoners. You were very nearly taking us, and
now here we are."

"A nice trick you played me," the sergeant said, surlily, "with
your woodcutters, and your lame brother, and your sick sister, and
your cask of beer. I got a nice reprimand over that affair."

"Come, sergeant," Ralph said, laughing, "let bygones be bygones.
All is fair in war, you know, and we did not touch a single hair of
any of your men's heads. All we wanted was the schoolmaster. It
would not do you any good to talk about it, now, and it might do us
harm. It's quite bad enough for us, as it is."

"You're nice boys, you are," the sergeant said, with his face
relaxing into a smile. "To think of my being taken in, by two lads
like you. Well, you did it well--monstrously well, I will say--for
you never flinched an eyelash.

"So you are officers, after all. I never suspected anything
about it, till three hours afterwards, when we went to relieve the
sentry; and found him lying there, tied up like a bundle. We
couldn't think, even then, what it meant, for you had made no
attack; and it wasn't till morning that we found that the old
schoolmaster had been fetched out of bed, and carried off on the
heads of twenty men.

"Well, it was well done, and I bear you no malice."

"That's right, sergeant. Now come and have a jug of beer with
us; you know, we had one with you, before. Don't you remember, we
drank to the health of King William? If you like, you shall return
the pledge, by drinking to Napoleon."

The sergeant laughed.

"I'll do that," he said. "You said, if you remember, when I
proposed the king, that you did not wish to hear of his death; and
I can say the same for your Napoleon. Especially," he added with a
chuckle, "as he's our prisoner."

The boys went into a cabaret near, and drank a glass of beer
with the sergeant; and then--saying "Goodbye," very heartily--left
him, and went into the town; well pleased to have got so well out
of a scrape which might have been a very unpleasant one.

They slept at a hotel, and were down at the station at the
appointed time. It was a long journey--thirty-six hours--to
Mayence. But the boys were too pleased--when they saw the line that
the train was following--to have cared, had it been twice as far.
The difficulties of escape from the western fortresses would have
been immense; whereas, at Mayence, they were comparatively close to
the frontier. At Mayence, too, the position of the prisoners was
comfortable. They were allowed to live anywhere in the town, and to
take their meals when they chose. They were obliged, twice a day,
to answer at the muster roll; and were not, of course, allowed to
go outside the fortifications.

The one drawback, to the position of the French officers, was
the utterly insufficient sum which the Prussian Government allowed
them for board and lodging--only forty-five francs a month; that is
to say, fifteen pence a day. It is needless to say that the
officers who had nothing else to depend upon literally starved,
upon this pittance; which was the more inexcusable that the French
Government allowed more than twice this sum to the German officers
who were taken prisoners.

Upon this head, however, the boys had no discomfort. They had
plenty of money in their pockets, for present uses; and they knew
that they could obtain further supplies by writing home, via
Switzerland. They were, therefore, unaffectedly glad when the train
came to a stop at the station of Mayence, and the order was given
for all to alight.

Chapter 13: The Escape.

The first thing that the Barclays did, after reporting
themselves, was to settle themselves in a lodging--no very easy
thing to find, for the town was crowded with troops, and prisoners.
However, as they were able to pay a higher sum than the great
majority of French officers, in their position, they had no very
great difficulty in finding a place to suit them. The rooms were
purposely taken in a large house, with a staircase common to a
number of families living on different floors; so that anyone going
in or out would be less likely to be noticed than in a smaller
house. They were also careful in choosing rooms so placed that they
could go in and out of the door on to the staircase, without being
noticed by the people with whom they lodged.

Ralph's arm was now extremely painful, the long march having
inflamed the wound. He had, therefore, on reporting himself, begged
that a surgeon might attend him; and had also asked, as a great
favor, that his servant--the hussar Doyle--might be allowed to
remain with him; stating that, in that case, he would pay for his
lodgings and provide him with food. As the prison in which the
private soldiers were confined was, at the time, crowded; the
request was complied with.

For the next week Ralph suffered greatly with his arm, and had
to keep his room. After that the inflammation subsided; and in
another fortnight he was able to dispense, for the first time since
he received his wound, with a sling. In the meantime he had made
the acquaintance of the people with whom he lodged; who were very
kind to their wounded lodger, and whose hearts he completely won by
being able to chat to them in their native tongue, like one of
themselves. The family consisted of a father, who was away all day
at the railway station, where he was a clerk; the mother, a
garrulous old woman; and a daughter, a pretty blue-eyed girl of
about Ralph's age, who assisted her mother to wait upon them. She
had a lover, away as a soldier in the army besieging Paris; and the
thought that he might be wounded, or taken prisoner, made her very
pitiful to the young officers.

Ralph Barclay had--for some days--been intending to sound her as
to her willingness to aid them when she, herself, began it one day.
She had cleared away their dinner, and was standing--as she often
did--talking with them, when she lowered her voice, so as not to be
overheard by her mother in the next room:

"I wonder you don't try to get away. Lots of French officers
have done so."

"That is just what we are thinking of, Christine. We have only
been waiting till my arm was out of a sling, and we want you to
help us."

"How can I help you?" the girl asked.

"In the first place, you can buy us clothes. It would excite
suspicion if we were to buy them, ourselves. Percy and I were
thinking of going as girls--not pretty girls, of course, like you,
Christine--but great, rough peasant girls."

Christine laughed, and colored

"You would be too tall," she said.

"We should be rather tall," Ralph said, ruefully. "We have grown
so horribly, in the last few months. Still, some women are as tall
as we are."

"Yes, some women are," Christine said, "but men look after them
and say, 'What big, gawky women!' and you don't want to be looked
after. If people did so, they would see that you didn't walk one
bit like a woman, and that your shoulders were very wide, and your
arms very strong, and--

"Oh no! It wouldn't do at all. I must think it over.

"I suppose you want that great blue-coated bear to go?" and she
nodded at Tim Doyle who--not being able to speak a word of her
language--was always indulging in the most absurd pantomime of love
and devotion; causing screams of laughter to the merry German
girl.

"Yes, Tim must go too, Christine."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the girl. "Fancy him as a woman."

"What is she saying about me, Mister Percy?"

"She says you would make a very pretty woman, Tim."

"Tare and ages, Mister Percy," Tim said, taking it quite
seriously, "how could I do it, at all? I'd have to shave off all my
beautiful beard and mustaches and, even then, I doubt if you would
mistake me for a woman."

The boys screamed with laughter, and translated the Irishman's
speech to Christine; who laughed so that her mother came into the
room.

"Look here, children," she said, smiling, "I don't want to know
what you are talking about. If anything of any sort happens, I may
be asked questions; and I don't want to have to tell stories. I
can't help hearing, if you leave the door open, and laugh
so--indeed, all the neighborhood might hear it; so please shut the
door, in future."

So saying, she again went back to her work in the next room.

"Goodbye, I'm going, too," Christine said. "I will think it
over, by tomorrow morning, and tell you what you are to do."

The next morning, the boys were very anxious to hear Christine's
proposals; for although they had quite made up their minds to try
their own plan, if hers was not feasible, still they felt that,
with her knowledge of the country, she was likely, at any rate, to
give them good advice.

Until she had cleared away breakfast, Christine said nothing.
Then she took out her knitting, and sat against the window.

"Now," she began, "I will tell you what I have thought of. It
would be easy enough, if it was not for him. He's so big, and so
red, and he doesn't speak German.

"Oh dear, he's very tiresome!" and she shook her head at Tim;
who smiled, laid his hand on his breast, and endeavored to look
affecting.

Christine laughed.

"The only thing I can think of, for him, is that he shall go out
as a Jew peddler; with one of their broad hats, and a tray of
little trinkets. He might pass, if none of the soldiers took it
into their heads to buy."

The proposition was translated to Tim Doyle.

"Is it me, your honor--me, Tim Doyle, a good Catholic, and come
of honest people--that's to turn myself into a haythin Jew?" the
Irishman burst out, with great indignation. "It was bad enough that
I should be made into a woman, but a haythin Jew! I put it to your
honors, it's nayther sinsible nor dacent."

The boys went off in screams of laughter. Christine laughed for
a moment, too, when they translated Tim's speech to her; and then
looked indignant that the proposition, which had cost her so much
thought, should be so scornfully rejected.

Tim saw the look, and at once went on, persuasively:

"Sure now, darlint Miss Christine, don't be angry wid me, out of
your bright blue eyes! But is it raisonable--is it natural to ask a
Christian man to make a haythin Jew of himself? Would you like it,
yourself?"

When the boys could stop laughing, they translated Tim's
appeal.

"Did you ever see such an absurd man?" she said, laughing. "As
if it could make any difference to his religion. Tell him I am a
good Catholic, too, but I should not mind dressing up as a
Jewess."

"Sure, thin, darlint," Tim exclaimed, when her speech was
translated, "I will go as a Jew, directly, if you'll go with me and
be my Jewess."

Christine laughed, blushed, shook her head and said, "Nonsense!"
upon hearing Tim's proposition.

"But seriously, Christine," Ralph said, "the objection which you
mention to the Jew pedlar's disguise is important. Full as the
streets are of soldiers looking about, he could hardly hope to go
from here through the streets, and out at the gate, without someone
asking him about the contents of his box."

Christine allowed--a little pettishly, at the failure of her
plan--that it certainly was likely.

"The real difficulty is to get outside the gate," Ralph said,
thoughtfully. "After that, I should have no fear."

"What are you thinking of doing, then?" Christine asked.

"I was thinking of dressing Percy, and myself, in the clothes of
young peasants; and putting Tim into something of the same sort,
with a great bandage round his face. Then I should say that we were
two lads, from some place near the frontier, who had come here to
meet our uncle; who had had his jaw shattered, in battle. That
would explain Tim's not being able to talk at all; and as to looks,
he is red enough for a German, anywhere."

"Yes," Christine said, "that would do, very well; but of course,
you would be liable to be asked for papers."

"Of course," Ralph said, "but we must risk something."

"I have an idea," Christine said, suddenly, clapping her hands.
"I have some cousins living at Wiesbaden. These are three boys, and
I am sure they would do anything for me. I will go out to
Wiesbaden, tomorrow, and ask them to lend me their papers, just for
one day. Wiesbaden is not your way, at all; but for that very
reason you would get out more easily there, and be less likely to
be suspected, or followed. You could cross the Rhine somewhere near
Saint Goar.

"I shall have to tell some sad stories to my cousins, and coax
them a great deal. Still, I daresay I shall succeed; and then you
can go boldly across the bridge, and into the railway station, and
take a ticket for Wiesbaden. You can have an envelope, ready
directed, and put the papers into the post there."

"The very thing, Christine. You are a darling!" Ralph exclaimed,
catching her by the waist and kissing her, before she had time to
think of resistance.

"I shan't do anything at all for you," Christine said, laughing
and blushing, "if you misbehave in that way."

"I couldn't help it, Christine--not even if your mother had been
looking on.

"And now, about our clothes."

"I couldn't buy them," Christine said. "I never could go into a
shop and buy men's clothes."

The thing was so evident that, for a moment, the boys' looks
fell. Then Christine said, coloring very much:

"There is a box, in my room, of Karl's things. He is my cousin,
you know; and he was working as a gardener, here, till he had to go
out in the Landwehr--so, of course, he left his things here, for us
to take care of. He is about your size. I will take out one
suit--it won't hurt it--and you can put it on, and go out into the
town, and buy the things for all three of you."

"Capital!" the boys exclaimed. "It couldn't be better."

Ten minutes afterwards, Ralph went down the stairs and out into
the street, dressed as a German laborer in his best suit. He was a
little uneasy, at first; but no one noticed him, and he was soon in
a shop, haggling over the price of a peasant's coat--as if the
matter of a thaler, one way or other, was a thing of vital
importance to him. He bought the three suits at three different
shops--as he thought that it would look suspicious, if he were to
get them all at the same--and in an hour was back again. An hour
afterwards, Christine started for Wiesbaden.

The Barclays had reason to congratulate themselves that they had
not longer deferred their preparations for escape; for when
presenting themselves, as usual, that afternoon at the roll call,
they were told that they must hold themselves in readiness to leave
for one of the eastern fortresses, upon the following evening; as
another large batch of prisoners, from Metz, was expected to arrive
upon the following day.

In the evening, Christine returned from Wiesbaden; which is
distant only a quarter of an hour, by rail, from Mayence.

"I have got them," she said, "but if you only knew the trouble I
have had! What a bother boys are, to be sure!"

"Especially cousins--eh, Christine?"

"Especially cousins," Christine said, demurely.

After thanking her very warmly for her kindness, the Barclays
started out, and bought a variety of things which they thought
might be useful. They also bought a pretty gold watch and chain, to
give to Christine as a parting present.

The next morning they answered, as usual, to their early roll
call; and then, returning at once to their lodgings, changed their
clothes for those which Ralph had purchased. It was agreed that
they should not say goodbye to Christine's mother; in order that,
whatever she might suspect, she might be able to say that she knew
nothing of any idea, on the part of her lodgers, to make their
escape. Then Christine herself came in, to say goodbye; and went
half wild with delight, at the present. Then she said goodbye,
kissed the boys--without any affectation of objecting to it--and
then went to a window, to watch if they went safely down the
street.

The boys had no uneasiness, whatever, upon their own
account--for they had before passed so easily, among the Prussian
troops, that they felt quite confident in their disguise--but they
were uncomfortable as to Tim, whose inability to answer questions
would have at once betrayed them, had anyone addressed him. They
had not ventured to bandage up his face, as if wounded; as he would
have naturally, in that case, had a military pass. As the best
thing they could think of, they had shoved a large lump of cotton
into one of his cheeks--which gave him the appearance of having a
swelled face--and had instructed him to frequently put his hand up
to it, as if in great pain. Tim had plenty of shrewdness, and acted
his part admirably.

They passed across the bridge of boats, without question; and
into the railway station, which is just opposite its end. Here
soldiers and other officials swarmed; but the three walked along
carelessly, the two boys chatting together in German, Tim walking
with his hand up to his face, and giving an occasional stamp of
pain. He sat down with Percy on a seat in the station, while Ralph
went to the little window where tickets were being delivered. There
were a good many people waiting and, when it came to Ralph's turn,
and he put the papers in at the window, and asked for three
third-class tickets to Wiesbaden, the clerk scarcely glanced at
them; but handed the tickets over, without a question.

They then went into the third-class waiting room, and sat down.
There were a good many peasants, and others there; and when the
doors opened for them to go on to the platform, and enter the
carriages, they saw it was hopeless to try and get a carriage to
themselves. They did, therefore, the best they could; putting Tim
next to the window, while Percy sat next to, and Ralph opposite to
him. The rest of the compartment was filled with country
people.

"He seems in great pain," a good-natured peasant woman said, to
Ralph; as Tim rocked himself backwards and forwards, in his
anguish.

"Yes, he is very bad," Ralph said.

"Toothache?" asked the woman.

"Worse than that," Ralph said, gravely, "an abscess in the jaw.
He has just been to the hospital."

"Poor fellow!" the woman said. "Why does he not poultice it?

"I should advise you to poultice," she said, addressing Tim.

Tim gave a grunt--which might have meant anything--and Ralph
said, in a whisper:

"Don't talk to him. Poor uncle, he is so bad tempered, now, it
puts him in a rage if anyone speaks to him; because it hurts him
so, to answer. At ordinary times, he is very good tempered; but
now, oh!" and Ralph made a little pantomime, to express the extreme
badness of Tim's temper.

"You are not of Wiesbaden, are you?" the woman asked. "I do not
know you by sight."

"No," Ralph said; "we are from Holzhausen, a village some eight
miles upon the other side of Wiesbaden."

"Ah!" the woman said, "I have a sister living there; surely you
must know her. She is the wife of Klopstock, the carpenter."

"Surely," Ralph said, "she is my neighbor; everyone knows her.
She is very like you."

"Well now, you are the first person who has ever said that," the
woman said, surprised. "I am so short, and she is so tall."

"Yes, she is tall--very tall," Ralph said, very gravely; "but
there is something about the expression of your eyes which reminds
me of Mrs. Klopstock.

"Yes, the more I look at you, the more I see it," and Ralph
looked so earnestly, at the woman, that Percy had the greatest
difficulty in preventing himself going off into a shout of
laughter.

"I wonder I have never seen you, at Holzhausen," Ralph
continued.

"Well," the woman said, "it is years since I have been there.
You see, it is a long way, and my sister often comes into
Wiesbaden, and I see her; but in truth, her husband and I don't get
on very well together. You know his temper is--" and she lifted up
her hands.

"Yes, indeed," Ralph said. "His temper is, as you say, terrible.
Between ourselves, it is so well known that we have a saying, 'As
bad tempered as Klopstock the carpenter.' One can't say more than
that--

"But we are at Wiesbaden. Good morning."

"Good morning. I hope your uncle's tooth will be better, ere
long."

"I hope so, indeed, for all our sakes," Ralph said. "He is as
bad as Klopstock, at present."

So saying, they got out of the train and walked into the town.
When they had separated from the crowd, Percy could restrain
himself no longer, and went off into a scream of laughter.

"What is it, Mister Percy?" Tim asked, opening his lips for the
first time since they had left the house.

"Oh, Tim, if you had but heard!" Percy said, when he recovered
his voice. "Do you know you are as bad tempered as Klopstock, the
carpenter?"

"Sure, I never heard tell of him, Mister Percy; and if I have
been bad tempered, I haven't said much about it; and if the
carpenter had a wad of cotton as big as a cricket ball in one
cheek, as I have, it's small blame to him if he was out of
temper."

Both the boys laughed, this time; and then Ralph explained the
whole matter to Tim, who laughed more heartily than either of
them.

"Which way shall we go, Ralph?"

"I looked at the map, the last thing before starting, Percy; and
I noticed that the road went out past the gambling place. I dare
not take out the map again, to look at the plan of the town--it
would look too suspicious--so let us wander about, till we find the
place. It has large grounds, so we cannot miss it."

They were not long in finding the place they were looking for.
There was no mistaking it; with its long arcades leading up to the
handsome conversation rooms, its piece of water, and its
beautifully laid-out grounds.

"I should like to go in, and have a look at it," Percy said. "I
can hear the band playing, now."

"So should I," Ralph said, "but time is too precious. They will
find out at the muster, this afternoon, that we are missing and, as
we answered this morning, they will know that we cannot have got
far. We had better put as many miles between us as we can.

"First of all, though, let us put those papers Christine got us
into the envelope, and drop them into that post box. We should not
do badly, either, to buy three dark-colored blankets before we
start. It is terribly cold; and we shall want them, at night."

They therefore turned up into the town again; and then Ralph
separated from the others, and went in and bought the blankets. Ten
minutes later they were walking along, at a steady pace, from the
town. Each carried a stick. The boys carried theirs upon their
shoulder; with a bundle, containing a change of clothes and other
articles, slung upon it. Tim carried his bundle in one hand, and
walked using his stick in the other. When a short distance out of
the town, they stopped in a retired place; and put some strips of
plaster upon Tim's cheeks, and wrapped up his face with a white
bandage. It was, as he said, "mighty uncomfortable," but as he was
now able to dispense with the ball of cotton in his mouth, he did
not so much mind it.

The day was bitterly cold, for it was now the beginning of the
second week of November; but the party strode on, full of the
consciousness of freedom. They met but few people, upon their way;
and merely exchanged a brief good day with those they did meet.
They had brought some bread and cold meat with them, from Mayence;
and therefore had no need to go into any shops, at the villages
they passed.

They did not dare to sleep in a house, as it was certain that
some official would inquire for their papers; and therefore, when
it became dark, they turned off from the road and made for a wood,
at a short distance from it. Here they ate their supper, laid a
blanket on the ground, put the bundles down for pillows, and lay
down close together, putting the other two blankets over them.

"It's mighty cold," Tim said, "but we might be worse."

"It's better than a prison in Pomerania, by a long way," Ralph
answered. "By the look of the sky, and the dropping of the wind, I
think we shall have snow before morning."

At daybreak, next morning, they were up; but it was some little
time before they could start, so stiffened were their limbs with
the cold. Ralph's prognostication as to the weather had turned out
right, and a white coating of snow lay over the country. They now
set off and walked, for an hour, when they arrived at a large
village. Here it was agreed they should go in, and buy something to
eat. They entered the ale house, and called for bread, cheese, and
beer.

The landlord brought it and, as they expected, entered into
conversation with them. After the first remarks--on the sharpness
of the weather--Ralph produced a tin of portable soup, and asked
the landlord if he would have it heated, for their uncle.

"He cannot, as you see, eat solid food," Ralph said; "He had his
jaw broken by a shell, at Woerth."

"Poor fellow!" the landlord said, hastening away with the
soup.

"Are you going far?" he asked, on his return.

"To Saint Goar," Ralph said.

"But why does he walk?" the landlord asked. "He could have been
sent home, by train."

"Of course he could," Ralph said. "We walked over to see him,
and intended to have walked back again; but when the time came for
us to start, he said he would come, too. The surgeon said he was
not fit to go. Uncle had made up his mind to be off and, as the
surgeon would not give him an order, he started to walk. He says it
does not hurt him so much as the jolting of the train, and we shall
be home to breakfast."

An hour later they arrived at Saint Goarshaus. They were now
quite out of the track which prisoners escaping from Mayence would
be likely to take, and had not the slightest difficulty in getting
a boat to cross the Rhine.

"How beautiful the river is, here," Percy said.

"Yes it is, indeed," Ralph answered. "I believe that this is
considered one of the most lovely spots on the whole river. I can't
say that I think that that railway, opposite, improves it."

They landed at Saint Goar, and tramped gaily on to Castellan,
and slept in a barn near that village.

The next morning they were off before daybreak and, eight miles
farther, crossed the Moselle at Zell. They left the road before
they arrived at Alf; for they were now approaching the great road
between Coblentz and the south, and might come upon bodies of
troops upon the march, or halting; and might be asked troublesome
questions. They therefore struck upon a country lane and, keeping
among the hills, crossed the main road between Bertrich and
Wittlech; and slept in a copse, near Dudeldf. They had walked
five-and-thirty miles, and were so dead beat that even the cold did
not keep them awake.

Next morning they got a fresh supply of bread and cheese, at a
tiny village between Dudeldf and Bittburg and, leaving the latter
place to the left, made straight for the frontier, across the
hills. The road to the frontier ran through Bittburg; but they were
afraid of keeping to it, as there were sure to be troops at the
frontier. Several times they lost their way; but the pocket compass
and map, which they had brought with them, stood them in good stead
and, late in the evening, they arrived at the stream which forms
the frontier. It was, fortunately, very low; for the cold had
frozen up its sources. They had, therefore, little difficulty in
crossing and, tired as they were, gave a cheer upon finding
themselves in Luxembourg.

They tramped along merrily, until they came to a cottage; where
they boldly entered, and were received with the greatest kindness,
and hospitality. The Luxembourg people at once feared and hated
Prussia, and were delighted to do anything in their power for the
escaped prisoners. The peasant made a blazing fire, and some hot
coffee; and the tired travelers felt what a blessing it was to sit
down without listening, every moment, for the step of an enemy.

The peasants told them, however, that they were not yet
altogether safe for that, owing to the complaints of Prussia, both
the Dutch and Belgian Governments were arresting, and detaining,
escaped prisoners passing through their territories. After some
discussion the boys agreed that, next morning, they should dress
themselves in the change of clothes they had brought--which were
ordinary shooting suits--and should leave their other clothes
behind; and then walk as far as Spa, twenty miles to the north.
They would excite no suspicion in the minds of anyone who saw them
arrive; as they would merely be taken for three Englishmen, staying
at one of the numerous hotels there, returning from a walk. Their
feet however were so much swollen, the next morning, that they were
glad to remain another day quiet in the cottage; and the following
day they started, and walked gaily into Spa.

After strolling about the place, some time, they went to the
railway station at the time the evening train started for Brussels;
asked for tickets--in very English French--and, at eleven o'clock
at night, entered Brussels. Here their troubles were over. A good
night's rest, in a good hotel, completely set them up again and,
the next morning, they left by train for Dunkirk.

There they reported themselves to the French officer in command;
and received permission to go on board a Government steamer which
was to leave, the next morning, for Cherbourg.

Chapter 14: A Perilous Expedition.

Upon the eleventh of November the boys arrived at Tours. They
had started for that place, as the national headquarters, the
moment they arrived at Cherbourg. At Tours men's hopes were high
for, a week before, Aurelles de Paladine had driven back Von der
Tann, and reoccupied Orleans. Every hour fresh troops were
arriving, and passing forwards. The town was literally thronged
with soldiers, of all sorts: batteries of artillery, regiments of
cavalry, squadrons of Arab Spahis--looking strangely out of place
in their white robes, and unmoved countenance, in this scene of
European warfare--franc tireurs, in every possible variety of
absurd and unsuitable uniform.

In all this din and confusion, the young Barclays felt quite
bewildered. The first thing was, evidently, to get new uniforms;
then to report themselves. There was no difficulty about the former
matter, for every tailor in Tours had, for the time being, turned
military outfitter and, by dint of offering to pay extra, their
uniforms were promised for the next morning. That matter settled,
they determined to go at once to the Prefecture, and report
themselves.

As they turned out of the crowded Rue Royal, they received two
hearty slaps on the shoulder, which almost knocked them down; while
a hearty voice exclaimed:

"My dear boys, I am glad to see you!"

They looked round and--to their astonishment and delight--saw
Colonel Tempe. For a minute or two, the hand shakings and greetings
were so hearty that no questions could be asked.

"I thought a German prison would not hold you long, boys," the
colonel said. "I saw your father, as I came through Dijon; and I
said to him that I should be surprised if you did not turn up soon,
especially when I heard from him that you were at Mayence, only two
days' tramp from the frontier."

"But what are you doing here, colonel?"

"Just at present, I am working at headquarters. Between
ourselves, the army of the east is coming round to join Aurelles.
Our poor fellows were pretty nearly used up, and I found that I
could do little real good with the other corps. So I gave up the
command; and was sent here to confer with Gambetta, and he has kept
me.

"Now, what are you going to do?"

"We were going to report ourselves, colonel."

"No use going today--too late. Come and dine with me, at the
Bordeaux. Have you got rooms?"

"Not yet, colonel."

"Then I can tell you you won't get them, at all. The place is
crowded--not a bed to be had, for love or money. I've got rooms, by
the greatest good luck. One of you can have the sofa; the other an
armchair, or the hearth rug, whichever suits you best."

"Thank you, very much; we shall do capitally," the boys
said.

"And now, have you any news from Paris?"

"We have no late news from Paris but, worse still, the news gets
very slowly and irregularly into Paris. The pigeons seem to get
bewildered with the snow, or else the Prussians shoot them."

"But surely, with such an immense circle to guard, there could
be no great difficulty in a messenger finding his way in?"

"There is a difficulty, and a very great one," Colonel Tempe
said; "for of all who have tried, only one or two have succeeded.
Now come along, or we shall be late for dinner."

It was a curious medley at the table d'hote, at the Hotel de
Bordeaux. Generals, with their breasts covered with orders, and
simple franc tireurs; officers, of every arm of the service;
ministers and members of the late Corps Legislatif; an American
gentleman, with his family; English newspaper correspondents; army
contractors; and families, refugees from Paris. After dinner they
went to a cafe--literally crowded with officers--and thence to
Colonel Tempe's rooms, where they sat down quietly, to chat over
what had taken place since the last visit.

"But where is your Irishman? Your father told me he was with
you. I suppose you could not get him out."

"Oh yes, Tim's here," Ralph said, laughing, "but he ran across a
couple of Irishmen belonging to the foreign legion and--as he would
have been in our way, and we did not know where we were going to
sleep--we gave him leave till to-morrow morning, when he is to meet
us in front of the railway station."

"By the way, boys, I suppose you know you have each got a
step?"

"No," the boys cried. "Really?"

"Yes, really," the colonel said. "That good fellow, Cambriels,
sent in a strong report in your favor upon resigning his command;
rehearsing what you did with us, and requesting that the step might
be at once given to you. As a matter of course it was, in the next
Gazette."

"Of course, we feel pleased, colonel; but it seems absurd, so
young as we are. Why, if we go on like this, in another six months
we may be majors."

"In ordinary times it would be absurd, lads; and it would not be
possible for you to hold the grade you do now--still less higher
ones--unless you understood thoroughly your duty. At the present
moment, everything is exceptional. A man who, perhaps, only served
a few months in the army, years ago, is made a general, and sent to
organize a camp of new levies. Of course, he could not command
these troops in the field, could not even drill them on the parade
ground. But that is of no matter. He has a talent for organization,
and therefore is selected to organize the camp and, to enable him
to do so efficiently, he receives the nominal rank of general.

"In ordinary times a man could not get promoted--three or even
four times, in as many weeks--over the heads of hundreds of others,
without causing an immense amount of jealousy; without, in fact,
upsetting the whole traditions of the army.

"Now, it is altogether different. The officers of the regular
army are almost all prisoners. Everyone is new, everyone is
unaccustomed to his work; and men who show themselves to be good
men can be rewarded and promoted with exceptional rapidity, without
exciting any feeling of jealousy, whatever. Besides which, the
whole thing is provisional. When the war is over, everyone will
either go back into private life or, if they continue to serve,
will be gazetted into the regular army, according to some scale or
other to be hereafter determined upon. Some inconveniences no doubt
will arise, but they will hardly be serious.

"I was offered a general's rank, a month ago; but I declined it,
as it would have entailed either my undertaking duties for which I
am unfit; or setting to, to organize young levies, and giving up
active service.

"No, if you go on as you have hitherto done, boys, you may be
colonels in another six months; for when a name is recommended for
promotion for good service, by a general, you may well suppose
there is no question asked as to his age. Of course, no general
would recommend you as captains to command companies in a regiment,
because you are altogether ignorant of a captain's duty; but you
are quite capable of filling the duties of captain, on the staff,
as those duties require only clear headedness, pluck, attention,
and common sense.

"What I should like to win, even more than a company--were I in
your place--would be a commander's cross in the legion of honor. I
had the cross, years ago; but I only had the commander's cross a
fortnight ago, for the Bridge of Vesouze."

"Ah, yes," Ralph said, "that would be worth winning, but that is
hopeless."

Colonel Tempe was silent. Ralph and Percy looked at him.

"You mean," Ralph said, after a pause, "that there is a chance
of our winning it."

"Well, boys," Colonel Tempe said, "I don't know that I am right
in leading you into danger, but I do think that you might win it. I
was mentioning your names, only yesterday, to Gambetta. A dispatch
had just come in from Paris, grumbling at receiving no news from
the country; and Gambetta was lamenting over the impossibility of
arranging for simultaneous movements, owing to the breakdown of the
pigeons, and the failure of the messengers; when I said:

"'There were two young English fellows with us, in the
Vosges--they were on Cambriels' staff last, and are now
prisoners--who if they were here would, I believe, get in if anyone
could. They went down, over and over again, among the Germans; and
I could lay any money that they would succeed.'

"'How did they get taken prisoners?' Gambetta asked, as sharp as
a knife.

"'By no fault of their own,' I answered. 'They went out on
leave, to see me; and slept with a party of franc tireurs--where
they of course had no authority, as to sentries--and the party was
surprised, at night, and completely cut up. They were taken
prisoners, but I do not expect that they will remain so for
long.'

"Gambetta did not say anything, then; but when I left him, an
hour afterwards, he remarked:

"'If you hear of those young fellows you were speaking of having
returned, send them to me, Tempe.'"

Ralph looked at Percy, and checked the offer to go which he saw
was on his brother's lips.

"I think it might be done, colonel," he said, quietly; "but it
is a serious matter, and we will think it over, before we give an
opinion."

Ralph then changed the subject, and they talked over the events
which had happened in the Vosges, the strategy and maneuvers of
General Michel, the arrival of Garibaldi, the doings of the franc
tireurs, etc.

"By the way," the colonel said, "there was a telegram in, this
evening--just as I left the office--that the Germans occupied
Dijon, yesterday."

"You don't say so!" the boys said, jumping from their seats.
"Was there any fighting?"

"Yes, some Mobiles and franc tireurs made a very plucky defense,
outside the town. Owing to some gross mismanagement, the great bulk
of the troops had been withdrawn, only the day before. After two or
three hours' fighting, our men fell back; the Prussians, as usual,
shelled the town; and the authorities surrendered."

"The fighting could not have been our side of the town," Ralph
said, thoughtfully.

"No, just the other side," Colonel Tempe said. "As my wife is
still at home, and our place is not many hundred yards from yours,
that was the first thing I thought of."

"I wonder if papa was in the fight?" Percy said, anxiously.

"I should think it probable, boys, that my old friend would have
gone out; but I do not think that you need be uneasy about it for,
from what the telegram said, our loss was small. The troops fell
back into the town, and retreated unmolested through it. So your
father would, no doubt, have changed his things in the town, and
have walked quietly back again.

"He had volunteered into the national guard, when I came last
through Dijon; and was hard at work, drilling them. Of course, he
had his old rank of captain."

At ten o'clock the boys said that they would go for a stroll,
before lying down for the night. They were out upwards of an hour;
and returned, at the end of that time, with serious but resolved
faces. The colonel was out, when they returned; and found them
stretched on the sofa and hearth rug, when he came in. They gave
him a sleepy good night, and no other word was exchanged.

In the morning, they were up at eight o'clock. Colonel Tempe was
already dressed, and they went out together to get their coffee and
milk. As they were taking it, Ralph told him that they had made up
their minds to make the attempt to enter Paris, with dispatches;
but that they saw but one way to do so; and that, unless they could
be furnished with the necessary papers, they should abandon all
idea of the enterprise.

Ten minutes later, they entered the Prefecture. Colonel Tempe
went in at once to see Gambetta, while the boys remained in the
anteroom. In ten minutes their friend came out again, and beckoned
to them to come into the next room.

"These are the Lieutenants Barclay," he said.

The boys bowed; and examined, with attentive curiosity, the man
who was, at that time, the absolute ruler of France. A dark man;
with a short black beard, keen eyes, and a look of self reliance
and energy. A man who committed endless mistakes, but who was the
life and soul of the French resistance. A man to whom--had he lived
in olden times--the Romans would have erected a statue because, in
her deepest misfortunes, he never despaired of the Republic.

He looked keenly at the young men.

"Colonel Tempe tells me that you have rendered very great
service, by going among the enemy in disguise; and that you are
willing to make an attempt to carry dispatches into Paris."

"We are ready to try," Ralph said, respectfully; "but after
talking it over in every way, we can see but one disguise which
would enable us to penetrate the enemy's lines, near enough to the
ground between the two armies to render an attempt possible; and
even that disguise will be useless, unless we can procure certain
papers."

"What is your plan?" Monsieur Gambetta asked.

"We intend to go as German Jews," Ralph said. "The Prussians
strip all the clocks, pictures, and furniture of any value from the
villas they occupy, and send them back to Germany. There are a
number of Jews who follow the army; and either buy these stolen
goods from them, or undertake to convey them back to Germany at a
certain price. Several of these Jews--with their wagons full of
clocks, and other articles--have been captured by our franc tireurs
or troops and, no doubt, papers of some kind have been found upon
them. These papers would naturally be sent here. If we could be
provided with them we could, I have little doubt, penetrate their
lines."

"An excellent idea," the minister said. "I have no doubt that we
have such papers."

And he struck a small hand bell on the table. An attendant
entered.

"Tell Captain Verre I wish to speak to him."

"Captain Verre," he said, when that officer entered, "there were
some papers came last week, from General Faidherbe, relative to
those wagons--laden with clocks, ladies' dresses, and so on--that
were captured near Mezieres. Just look through them, and see if
there were any German permits for the bearers to pass freely, for
the purpose of trading. If so, let me have them at once."

The officer at once left the room.

"Supposing--as I have no doubt--that we can give you the papers,
what is your course?"

"Speed is, naturally, an essential," Ralph said. "We shall
disguise ourselves at once and, upon receipt of the dispatches,
start from here to Orleans by train; with two good horses--which
can, of course, be furnished us. We shall ride through the forest
of Orleans, and so to Montargis; cross the Loing there, and make
straight for Melun--keeping always through by-lanes. As far as we
know, there are no large bodies of the enemy along that line.

"When we get near the town, we shall leave our horses with some
village Maire, or give them to a farmer, and walk into the place
boldly. You will furnish us with a note to the Maire of Melun, as
well as a circular to all French authorities, to give us any help;
and we shall get him to assist us at once to buy a wagon, and two
strong horses. With these we shall drive round, direct, to
Versailles. Our pass will admit us into the town, without
difficulty; and then we shall naturally be guided by circumstances.
We must be furnished with a considerable sum of money, to make
purchases of plunder."