From midnight until six o'clock in the morning, a bright flame shone
through the darkness on the summit of the Falkenstein, and the whole
mountain was astir.
All the friends of Hullin, of Marc Divès, and of Dame Lefévre,
their legs encased in long gaiters, their old guns slung over their
shoulders, were silently marching through the woods in the deep
stillness of the night towards the gorges of the Valtin. The thought
of the enemy crossing the plains of Alsace to come and surprise the
dwellers in the defiles and mountains was uppermost in the minds
of all. The tocsins of Dagsburg, of Abreschwiller, of Walsch, of
Saint-Quirin, and of all the other villages, never ceased summoning the
defenders of their country to arms.
You must now picture to yourself the Jägerthal at the foot of the old
_burg_ during the period of an extraordinary fall of snow, at that
early hour of the morning when the tall shadows of the trees begin
to be visible through the gloom, and the piercing cold of the night
is lessened at the approach of dawn. You must picture to yourself
the old saw-works, with its broad flat roof, its heavy wheel loaded
with icicles, the low interior dimly lit up by a fire of fir-logs,
whose glow is beginning to pale in the faint but clear light of early
morning; and all around this fire is a confused jumble of seal-skin
caps, felt hats, dark profiles towering one above the other, and
pressed close together like a living wall. Farther on, the whole length
of the woods, in all the windings of the valley, other beacon-fires
lighted up, in their crimson glow, groups of men and women huddling
together in the snow.
The agitation was beginning to grow calmer. As the daylight grew
stronger and stronger, people began to recognise each other.
"Holloa! cousin Daniel of Soldatenthal! you are here too, then?"
"Why, yes, as you see, Heinrich, and my wife, too."
"What, Cousin Nanette! Why, where is she, then?"
"Down below there, near the great oak, by Uncle Hans's fire."
There were hearty hand-shakings everywhere. Some were giving vent to
long and loud yawns, while others again were engaged in throwing sticks
and logs of wood on the fire. Some were handing flasks about to each
other, while others were drawing back from the circle round the fire
to make room for their neighbours, who were shivering with the cold.
But in spite of these various means of passing the time, signs of
impatience began to show themselves among the crowd.
"But, I say," exclaimed one, "we didn't come here to warm the soles of
our feet, did we? It's time to look about, to understand each other."
"Yes, yes," was the general response; "let us come to an understanding;
let us appoint our leaders."
"No! everyone is not here yet. Look; there are some from Dagsburg and
St. Quirin arriving now."
In fact, as the day grew lighter, it served to show more and more
people arriving by all the different paths of the mountain. There were
then already several hundred men in the valley: woodcutters, charcoal
burners, watermen, without reckoning the women and children.
Nothing more picturesque can be imagined than this halt in the midst of
the snow, in the deep defiles, surrounded by tall pines towering to the
skies; to the right, valleys linked with each other, stretching away
far out of sight; to the left, the cloud-capp'd ruins of Falkenstein.
At a distance, they might have been taken for large flocks of cranes
herding together for comfort, 'mid the snow and ice; but, on a nearer
view, you could then behold these rough men, with beards bristling like
the skin of the wild boar, stern eyes, broad square shoulders, and
horny hands. Some among them, taller than the rest, belonged to that
fiery red race with white skins, hairy to the very finger-ends, and
strong enough to uproot oaks. Of this number were Materne of Hengst,
and his two sons Frantz and Kasper. These stalwart fellows, all three
armed with long carbines, from Inspruck, wearing long gaiters of blue
cloth, with leather buttons, reaching high above the knee, a sort of
tunic made of goat-skin, and their hats pushed to the very back of the
head, had not even deigned to approach the fire. For the last hour they
had been sitting together on the trunk of a felled tree by the river's
edge, with watchful eye and keen scent, like hunters lying in ambush,
with their feet on the snow.
From time to time the old man would say to his sons: "What are they
shivering about, down there? I never knew a milder night for the
season. It's like a spring night; the rivers are not even touched by
the frost!"
All the forest-rangers of the country round, as they passed, gave them
a hearty shake of the hand, and then closed in around them, so that
they formed, in a manner, a band apart. These people spoke but little,
being used to keeping silence for whole days and nights together, for
fear of frightening the game.
Marc Divès, standing in the midst of another group, over which he
towered by a whole head, was talking and gesticulating, and pointing
sometimes to one point of the mountain, and sometimes to another.
Opposite him stood the old shepherd, Lagarmitte, in his long grey
smock, his wooden sheep-horn on his shoulder, listening open-mouthed,
and from time to time silently bowing his grizzled head. For the most
part, all the band seemed attentive; it was principally composed of
woodcutters and bargemen, with whom the smuggler was almost daily
brought into contact. Between the sawpit and the first fire was seated
the shoemaker, Jerôme of Saint-Quirin, a man of about fifty or sixty,
with a long face, brown complexion, hollow eyes, big nose, a seal-skin
cap pulled over his ears, and his yellow beard descending in a point to
his waist. His hands, covered with thick woollen gloves, were leaning
on an enormous knotted stick. He wore a long hooded cloak of coarse
cloth, and might well have passed for a hermit. Any time a fresh rumour
arose in some part or another, old Jerôme turned his head slowly round,
and listened intently with knitted brows.
Jean Labarbe, with his elbow on his axe, sat passively looking on. He
was a man with pale cheeks, aquiline nose, and thin lips. He had great
influence over the men of Dagsburg, owing to his firmness and strength
of mind. When everyone was shouting around him:
"We must deliberate; we can't stay doing nothing here!" he simply
confined himself to saying: "Stop, Hullin has not come yet, nor
Catherine Lefévre." Then all were silent, and contented themselves with
looking eagerly towards the path leading from the Charmes.
The _ségare_,[8] Piorette, a little dry, lean, nervous man with black
eyebrows meeting in front, the stump of a pipe between his lips,
stood in front of his shed, watching, with an eye at once keen and
thoughtful, the strange scene around him.
The general impatience was, however, increasing from minute to
minute. Some village mayors, in square-cut coats and three-cornered
hats, proceeded towards the sawpit, and called upon the men of their
districts to deliberate. Very luckily, the cart of Catherine Lefévre at
length appeared in sight coming along the pathway, and immediately a
thousand enthusiastic shouts rose on all sides.
"Here they are! here they are! they have come!"
There was a great stir and bustle among the crowd. The groups who
were at a distance drew near, everyone came running up, and a sort of
shudder of impatience seemed to run through the whole vast assembly.
No sooner was a distinct view caught of the old farm-mistress, whip in
hand, sitting on her truss of straw with Louise by her side, than cries
and shouts rent the air of "Vive la France! Hurrah for Dame Catherine!"
A little way behind came Hullin, striding along across the meadow of
the Eichmath, distributing hearty hand-grips, his broad-brimmed hat at
the back of his head, his gun slung over his shoulder.
"Good day, Daniel. Good day, Colon. Good day, good day."
"Ah! ha! it's growing warm, Hullin."
"Yes, yes; we shall hear the chestnuts burst in the fire this winter.
Good day, old Jerôme; we are engaged in a great enterprise now."
"True, Jean-Claude. We must hope to accomplish it, with the blessing of
God."
Catherine, as soon as she reached the sawpit, then told Labarbe to
deposit on the ground a little keg of brandy which she had brought from
the farm, and to borrow a jug from the sawyer in the shed.
A little while after, Hullin, coming up to the fire, met Materne and
his two sons.
"You are late," said the old huntsman to him.
"Well, yes; what would you have? First, we had to descend from the
Falkenstein, take our guns, and get the women-kind in marching order.
However, here we are at last, so don't let us lose any more time. Give
us a blast of your horn, Lagarmitte, to call all the people together.
The first thing of all is to lay our plans, to appoint our leaders."
In an instant, Lagarmitte was blowing away at his long horn, with his
cheeks inflated to his very ears, and the bands of men, who were still
dispersed along the footpaths, and on the outskirts of the woods,
hastened their steps to arrive in time. In a short time all the brave
fellows were assembled in front of the sawpit.
Hullin, now grave and stern, mounted a heap of trunks of trees, and
casting a look of serious meaning on the crowd that surrounded him,
said, in the midst of the deepest silence:--"The enemy crossed the
Rhine the evening before last; he is now marching over the mountains to
enter Lorraine; Strasbourg and Huningen are in a state of blockade. We
must expect to see the Germans and the Russians in three or four days."
There was a general ringing cry of "Vive la France!"
"Yes, Vive la France!" replied Jean-Claude; "for if the Allies enter
Paris, they will be masters of everything. They may, if they please,
re-establish tithes, taxes, convents, privileges, and gibbets. If you
wish to see all this again, you have only to let them pass by."
Words cannot describe the gloomy rage depicted in every countenance at
these words.
"That is what I had to say to you," cried Hullin, sternly, and pale as
death. "You are here, and you are here to fight."
"Yes, yes."
"That is well; but listen to me. I do not wish to take you unawares.
There are fathers of families among you. We shall be one against ten,
against fifty. We must expect to perish. Therefore, let such as have
not well reflected on the matter, as have not the heart and the courage
to do their duty to the very end, depart. We will have none of them.
Everyone is free."
Then he was silent, and looked on all around him Everyone stood still
and motionless; so, with a still firmer voice, he continued:--"No
one stirs. All, all are resolved to fight to the last. Well, it
delights me to see that there is not a single dastard among us. Now
we must appoint a leader. In great perils, the first thing is order,
discipline. The leader whom you will appoint will have all the rights
of command and of obedience. So, reflect well, for on this man will
depend the fate of all."
Having thus spoken, Jean-Claude descended from his elevation, and
all was bustle and excitement. Each village deliberated separately,
each mayor proposed his man, and in the meanwhile time was going on.
Catherine Lefévre was burning with impatience. At length, unable to
contain herself any longer, she stood up on her seat, and made a sign
that she wished to speak.
Catherine was held in the highest estimation. At first some, then a
greater number, drew near to learn what she had to say to them.
"My friends," said she, "we are losing too much time. What is it you
require? A trusty leader, is it not? A soldier, who has been used to
war, and who knows how to turn our positions to the best account? Well,
then, why do you not choose Hullin? Is there one among you who can find
a better man? If so, let him speak at once, that we may decide. For my
part, I propose Jean-Claude Hullin. Do you hear, down below there? If
this goes on much longer, the Austrians will be here before we have
chosen a leader."
"Yes! yes! Hullin!" exclaimed Labarbe, Divès, Jerôme, and several
others.
"Come, let us collect the votes for or against."
Then Marc Divès, climbing on to the trunks of timber, exclaimed, in
a voice of thunder, "Let those who do not desire to have Jean-Claude
Hullin for a leader hold up their hand."
Not a hand appeared.
"Let those who desire to have Jean-Claude Hullin for a leader hold up
their hand."
Every hand was in the air.
"Jean-Claude," said the smuggler, "come up here, and look around. It is
you whom they demand for a leader."
Master Jean-Claude, having done as desired, saw that he was appointed,
and at once spoke in a firm tone, and said:--"Good. You appoint me your
leader. I accept the post. Let the elder Materne, Labarbe of Dagsburg,
Jerôme of Saint-Quirin, Marc Divès, Piorette the sawyer, and Catherine
Lefévre, go into the sawpit. We will hold a council. In a quarter of an
hour or twenty minutes I will issue orders. Meanwhile, let each village
supply two men to Marc Divès for the transport of powder and ball to
Falkenstein."
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 8: Sawyer.]