IN THE FOREST OF THE MINIÈRES
Night was falling, but Jean was still on German soil. He was
sleeping, worn out with fatigue; he lay stretched upon a bed of moss
and fir cones, while M. Ulrich watched, on the look out for fresh
danger, still trembling from the danger he had just escaped. The two
men had crept into a space between two stacks of branches left by
the wood-cutters, who had been thinning the fir-tree plantation. The
branches, still green, stretched from one stack to the other, making
their hiding-place more secure. A storm of wind blew across the
mountain, but otherwise no sound could be heard upon the heights.
Two hours must have passed since Jean and his uncle had taken refuge
in their hiding-place.
When the train reached Russ-Hersbach, M. Ulrich had at once seen and
said that the moment for Jean to change his uniform had passed. Even
such a little thing as that would have excited too much attention in
that frontier province, peopled by visible and invisible watchers,
where the stones listen and the fir-trees are spies. He threw the
valise to the coachman of the landau engaged three days previously
at Schirmeck.
"Here's some useless luggage," he cried, "fortunately it's not
heavy. Drive quickly, coachman."
The carriage crossed the poverty-stricken village, reached the town
of Schirmeck, and quitting there the principal valley turned to the
right into the narrow winding valley leading to Grande Fontaine. No
suspicious glances followed the travellers, but witnesses of their
passing increased. And this was serious. Although Jean was sitting
with his back to the driver, partially hidden by the blinds and
partially by the cloak which M. Ulrich had thrown over him, yet
there was no doubt the uniform of the 9th Hussars had been seen by
two gendarmes in the streets of Schirmeck, by workmen on the road,
and by the douanier who was smoking and had continued to smoke his
pipe so tranquilly, sitting under the trees on the left of the first
bridge by which one entered Grande Fontaine.
Every moment M. Ulrich thought, "Now the alarm will be given!
Perhaps it has been already, and one of the state's innumerable
agents will come up, question us, and insist upon our following them
whatever we may say."
He did not tell Jean of his anxiety, and the young man, excited by
the spirit of adventure, was quite different to the Jean of
yesterday.
In spite of the steepness and stoniness of the path by the mountain
stream, the horses made good headway, and soon the houses of Grande
Fontaine came into sight. The beech-wood of Donon, all velvety and
golden and crowned with firs, rose in front of them. At 2.15 the
carriage stopped in the middle of the village, in a kind of sloping
square, where a spring of water flows into a huge stone trough. The
travellers got out, for here the carriage road ended.
"Wait for us at the inn of Rémy Naeger," said M. Ulrich; "we will go
for a walk, and return in an hour. Drink a bottle of Molsheim wine
at my expense, and give the horse a double portion of oats."
M. Ulrich and Jean, leaving on the right the path which mounts to
Donon, immediately took the path to the left, a narrow road with
houses, gardens, and hedges on either side, which connects Grande
Fontaine with the last village of the upper valley, that of the
Minières.
They had scarcely gone two hundred yards when they caught sight of
the keeper of Mathiskop coming out of his house, in his green
uniform and Tyrolese hat, descending towards them. Seeing that the
man would be obliged to pass them on the road M. Ulrich was afraid.
"There is a uniform, Jean, which I don't care to meet at present.
Let us go by the forest."
The forest was on the left. They were the fir woods of Mathiskop,
and farther on those of the Corbeille, thickly wooded slopes rising
higher and higher, where a hiding-place would be easy to discover.
Jean and his uncle jumped the hedge, crossed some yards of meadow,
and entered the shadow of the fir wood. It was none too soon; the
military authorities had given the alarm; warning had been
telephoned to all the different posts to keep a look out for the
deserter Oberlé. The keeper they had seen had not yet received the
warning, and passed out of sight, but M. Ulrich, by means of his old
field-glass of Jena days, could see that there was excitement in the
usually quiet valley, where a number of douaniers and gendarmes
could be seen hurrying about. They also hurried to the Mathiskop
forest, and the chase commenced.
M. Ulrich and Jean were not captured, but they had been sighted;
they were tracked from wood to wood for more than an hour, and were
prevented from reaching the frontier, to do which they would have
been compelled to cross the open valley. M. Ulrich had the happy
idea of climbing to the top of a stack of wood and letting himself
down into the opening between two stacks, Jean followed his
example. This had been their salvation, the gendarmes beat about the
wood for some time, and then made off in the direction of Glacimont.
Night was falling, and Jean slept. Banks of clouds rose before the
wind, and hastened the darkness. A flight of crows crossed their
hiding-place, brushing the tree tops. The flapping of their wings
woke M. Ulrich from the reverie into which he had fallen while
contemplating his nephew dressed in the uniform of a German soldier,
lying stretched on Alsatian soil. He rose and gingerly climbed to
the top of the stack.
"Well, uncle," asked Jean, waking up, "what do you see?"
"Nothing, no gendarme's helmet, no douanier's cap," whispered M.
Ulrich. "I think they have lost the scent; but with such persons one
cannot be sure."
"And the valley of the Minières?"
"Appears to be deserted, my friend. No one on the roads, no one in
the fields. The keeper himself must have gone home to supper--there
is smoke coming from his chimney. How do you feel, boy--valiant?"
"If we are pursued, you'll soon see."
"I don't think we shall be. But the hour has come, my boy."
He added after a short interval, whilst he pretended to listen:
"Come up whilst we lay some plan of campaign."
"You see below the village of the Minières?" asked M. Ulrich, as
Jean's head appeared above the branches and turned towards the west.
"Yes."
"In spite of the mist and the darkness, can you make out that on the
other side the mountain is covered partly with fir- and partly with
beech-trees?"
"I guess it."
"We are going to make a half circle to avoid the gardens and fields
of the Minières, and when we are just opposite that spot, you will
only have to descend two hundred yards and you will be in France."
Jean made no answer.
"That's the spot I marked out for you. See that you recognise it.
Over there round Raon-sur-Plaine, the Germans have kept all the
forests for themselves; the barren lands they have left to France.
On the opposite side, facing us, there is an extensive strip of
meadow land which is French territory. I even saw a deserted
farmhouse, abandoned before the war, I suppose. I'll go first."
"Excuse me, I'll go first."
"No; I assure you, my boy, that the danger is equally great behind.
I must be guide. I go first; we'll avoid the pathways, and I will
lead you carefully to a point where you have only one thing to do:
go straight ahead and cross a road, then a few yards of underwood,
and beyond is French soil."
M. Ulrich embraced Jean silently and quickly; he did not wish to
lose control of himself, when all depended on calmness.
"Come," he said.
They commenced the descent under cover of the tall fir-trees which
commenced just there. The slope was strewn with obstacles, against
which Jean or his uncle frequently stumbled, moss-covered stones,
fallen and rotten trunks, broken branches, like claws stretched out
in the darkness to bar the way. Every moment M. Ulrich stopped to
listen and would frequently look round, to make sure that Jean's
tall form was close behind him--it was too dark to see his face.
"They'll be checkmated, uncle," whispered Jean.
"Not too fast, my Jean; we are not yet safe."
Still under cover, the fugitives reached the meadows of the
Minières, and began to ascend the mountain opposite, but without
quitting cover.
When M. Ulrich reached the summit he stopped and sniffed the wind,
which blew more freely through the young trees.
"Do you smell the air of France?" he murmured, in spite of the
danger of talking.
A plain stretched in front of them, but was invisible; they could
distinguish the trees, which seemed like stationary smoke below, and
above were the scurrying clouds. M. Ulrich cautiously began the
descent, listening eagerly. An owl flew by. They had to make their
way a short distance through a prickly undergrowth which clung to
their clothes.
Suddenly a voice in the forest called:
"Halt!"
M. Ulrich stooped, his hand on Jean's shoulder.
"Don't move," he whispered quickly. "I'll call them off, by turning
towards the Minières. As soon as they follow me, get up, run off,
cross the road and then the little coppice--it's a straight line in
front of you. Adieu."
He rose up, took a few steps cautiously, and then made off quickly
through the woods.
"_Halt! Halt!_"
A report rang out, and as the noise died away under the branches M.
Ulrich's voice, already some distance off, called:
"Missed."
At the same moment Jean Oberlé made a rush for the frontier. Head
lowered, seeing nothing, his elbows squared, his chest lashed by the
branches, he ran with all his might. He passed within a few inches
of a man lying in ambush. The branches were pushed aside, a whistle
was blown, Jean redoubled his efforts. He reached the road unawares;
another report rang out on the edge of the wood. Jean rolled over on
the edge of the copse. Cries arose:
"Here he is! Here he is! Come."
Jean jumped up instantly and dived into the wood. He thought he had
stumbled over a rut. He leapt into the copse. But his legs shook
under him. He felt with anguish a growing faintness overcoming him.
The cries of his pursuers rang in his ears, everything swam before
his eyes. He came upon an open space, felt the fresh wind on his
face and lost consciousness.
* * * * *
Late at night he came to his senses. A storm was raging over the
forest; he saw that he was lying on a bed of green boughs, in an
empty room of the disused farm, lit by a small lantern. A man was
bending over him. Jean realised that it was a French keeper. His
first sensation of fear was dissipated by the man's welcome smile.
"Were other shots fired?" he inquired.
"No, no others."
"So much the better; then Uncle Ulrich is safe--he accompanied me to
the frontier. I was in the army, but I have come to be a soldier in
our own land."
Jean saw that his tunic had been taken off and that there was blood
on his shirt. It hurt him to breathe.
"What's wrong with me?" he asked.
"You were hit in the shoulder," said the man, who would have wept if
he had not been too ashamed to do so. "It'll heal; fortunately, my
comrade and I were making our rounds when you stumbled into the
field. The doctor will be here at break of day--don't be alarmed, my
comrade has gone to fetch him. Who are you?"
Half conscious, Jean Oberlé replied: "Alsace----" but he could
scarcely speak.
Rain was falling heavily; it hammered upon roof and doors, upon the
trees and rocks surrounding the house. The tops of the trees shook
and twisted in the storm like seaweed tossed upon the bosom of the
ocean. The murmur of a million voices rose in harmony over the
mountains, and thundered upon the night.
The wounded man listened--in his weakened state what did he hear? He
smiled:
"It is France," he murmured; "she sings to me," and he fell back
with closed eyes awaiting the dawn.
_Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury,
England._
List of corrections:
Page 137: Bateliers instead of Bateliels (Quay des Bateliers).
Page 145: Temperament instead of Temparament (all that his
temperament allowed him)
Page 198; Alberschweiler instead of Albertchweiles (But at
Alberschweiler they have forbidden)