That same night, which happened to fall on a Saturday, the little farm
of the Anabaptist never ceased for a moment to be full of people coming
and going.
Hullin had established his head-quarters in the large room on the
ground floor, to the right of the barn, facing Framont; on the other
side was the temporary hospital for the sick and wounded; the part
overhead was inhabited by the people belonging to the farm.
Although the night was very calm, and innumerable stars twinkled in
the clear sky, the cold was so intense that the ice was nearly an inch
thick on the window panes.
Out of doors was heard the challenge of the sentinels going their
rounds, and on the neighbouring mountain-tops the howlings of the
wolves, who had followed our armies by hundreds since 1812. These
carnivorous animals, crouching in the snow, their sharp muzzles between
their paws, and hunger gnawing their vitals, called to each other from
the Grosmann to the Donon with plaintive moans resembling those of the
keen north wind.
Then more than one mountaineer felt himself turn pale.
"It is death that sings," thought they; "it scents the battle, and
calls to us!"
The oxen lowed in the stable, and the horses stamped and plunged
furiously. About thirty fires were burning around; the Anabaptist's
wood-house was ravaged; log was heaped upon log, they roasted their
faces, while they shivered at the back; they warmed their backs, and
icicles hung from their moustaches.
Hullin alone, sitting at the large deal table, thought of everything.
After the latest reports of the evening, announcing the arrival of
the Cossacks at Framont, he was convinced that the first attack would
take place on the morrow. He had distributed the cartridges, he had
doubled the sentinels, ordered the patrols, and allotted all the posts
the whole length of the defences. Every one knew beforehand the place
he was to occupy. Hullin had also sent word to Piorette, to Jerôme of
Saint-Quirin, and to Labarbe to despatch to him their best marksmen.
The little dark passage, lit only by a solitary lantern, was full of
snow, and every moment by its dull light were seen passing the leaders
of the ambuscade, their hats pulled down to their ears, the large
sleeves of their riding coats drawn down to their wrists, with gloomy
looks, and their beards stiff with the frost.
Pluto no longer growled at the heavy footsteps of these men. Hullin,
plunged in thought, sat with his head between his hands, his elbows on
the table, listening to all the reports:
"Master Jean-Claude, there is something moving to be seen in the
direction of Grandfontaine; there is a sound like the trampling of
horses."
"Master Jean-Claude, the brandy is frozen."
"Master Jean-Claude, there are numbers asking for powder."
"We want this--and that."
"Let them keep a good look out upon Grandfontaine, and change the
sentinels on that side every half-hour. Bring the brandy to the fire.
Wait till Divès comes; he will bring a fresh supply of ammunition.
Distribute the rest of the cartridges, and let those who have more than
twenty give some to their comrades."
And this was how it went on all night long.
About five in the morning, Kasper, Materne's son, came to tell Hullin
that Marc Divès, with a cartload of cartridges, Catherine Lefévre
in another vehicle, and a detachment from Labarbe, had just arrived
together, and that they were there awaiting him.
This news pleased him greatly, especially on account of the cartridges,
for he had feared the want of them might cause delay.
He rose immediately and went out with Kasper. It was a strange and
singular spectacle that met his eye.
At daybreak, masses of thick fog were beginning to rise from the
valley, the fires were crackling and sparkling in the mist, and people
were lying sleeping about in every direction; here lay one, his hands
clasped under his head, his face purple with cold, his legs bent
under him; there another, with his cheek on his arm, and his back to
the blazing fire; the greater part were sitting, their heads hanging
down, and guns slung over their shoulders--a still and silent picture,
revealed either in a flood of crimson light, or half hidden in the grey
tinge of morning, according as the fire burnt high or low. Farther off,
in the distance, the profiles of the sentinels were sharply outlined
against the pale sky, as they stood resting on their guns, looking
down on the cloud-covered abyss below. To the right, at about fifty
paces from the last fire, was heard the neighing of horses, and people
stamping with their feet to warm themselves, and talking loud.
"Here is Master Jean-Claude," said Kasper, advancing.
One of the men having thrown some splinters of dry wood on to the
fire, there was a blaze, and by its light were seen Marc Divès's men
on horseback, a dozen strapping fellows wrapped in their long grey
cloaks, their broad-brimmed hats pushed back on to their shoulders,
their thick moustaches either turned up, or falling down to their very
necks, grouped motionless around the baggage waggon; a little farther
on was Catherine Lefévre, crouching among the packages in her cart, her
feet buried in the straw, her back against a large barrel; behind her
was a cauldron, a gridiron, a pig fresh killed, scalded, white and red,
some ropes of onions, and heads of cabbages to make soup; all this was
revealed for an instant in the shadow, and then fell back again into
darkness.
Divès was a little apart from the convoy, and now rode forward on his
great horse. "Is that you, Jean-Claude?"
"Yes, Marc."
"I've some thousand cartridges here. Hexe-Baizel works day and night."
"Good! Good!"
"Yes, old boy. And Catherine Lefévre is bringing provisions, too; she
killed yesterday. Where shall we put the powder?"
"Down below there; under the cart-shed, behind the farm. Ah! is that
you, Catherine?"
"Yes, Jean-Claude. It is pretty cold this morning."
"You are always the same, then; you are afraid of nothing!"
"Why, should I be a woman if I were not curious? I must poke my nose
into everything."
"Yes, you have always excuses to make for whatever you do that is good
and right."
"Hullin, you are a babbler; have done with your compliments! Must not
those people there have something to eat? Can they live on air through
the winter? The open air is not very nourishing in such cold weather as
this, when it's just like needles and razors! So I took my measures.
Yesterday we slaughtered an ox--you know poor Schwartz--he weighed a
good nine hundred weight. I've brought his hind-quarters with me to
make soup this morning."
"Catherine, I shall never come to know you," cried Jean-Claude, quite
touched; "you always surprise me. Nothing is too much for you; neither
money, nor pains, nor trouble."
"Ah!" replied the old woman, rising and jumping out of her cart, "do
stop; you bother me, Hullin. I will warm myself."
She threw her horse's reins to Dubourg; then turning, said:--"Anyhow,
Jean-Claude, those fires are delightful to look at. But Louise, where
is she?"
"Louise has passed the night in cutting out and sewing bandages, with
Pelsly's two daughters. She is at the hospital, down below there, where
my light is shining."
"Poor child!" said Catherine, "I will run and help her, that will warm
me."
At this moment, Divès and his men were taking the powder to the
cart-house, and as Jean-Claude approached the nearest fire, what was
not his surprise to see among those surrounding it, the fool Yégof,
with his crown on his head, gravely seated on a stone, his feet on
the embers, and with his rags draped around him like a royal mantle.
Nothing more singular can be imagined than the appearance of this
strange figure in the firelight. Yégof was the only one of the number
who was awake, and he might really have been taken for some barbarous
king, musing in the midst of his sleeping horde of savages.
Hullin, for his part, saw only a fool, and gently touching his
shoulder: "How are you, Yégof?" said he, in an ironical tone; "you
have come, then, to lend the succour of your invincible arm, and your
innumerable armies!"
The fool, without betraying the least surprise, replied: "That depends
upon you, Hullin; your own fate, with every one else's, is in your
hands. Here are we, just as we were sixteen hundred years ago, on the
eve of a great battle. Then I, the leader of so many peoples, I came to
your khan to demand the passage."
"Sixteen hundred years ago!" said Hullin; "what the deuce, Yégof, that
makes us terribly old! But, after all, what does it matter? Every one
has his own notion of things."
"Yes," replied the fool, "but, with your usual obstinacy, you would not
listen to anything. The dead lay in heaps on the Blutfeld, and those
dead cry aloud for vengeance!"
"Ah! the Blutfeld," said Jean-Claude; "yes, yes, it's an old story; I
think I've heard tell of it."
Yégof's brow grew crimson; his eyes flashed fire. "You boast of your
victory!" he exclaimed, "but take care, take care: blood calls for
blood." Then, in a gentler tone: "Listen," added he, "I wish you no
ill: you are brave; the children of your race may mingle with those of
mine."
"Ah! now he is coming back again to Louise," thought Jean-Claude; and,
anticipating a formal demand: "Yégof," said he, "I am sorry, but I must
leave you; I have so many things to see to----"
The fool did not wait the end of this leave-taking, and rising with his
face convulsed with rage: "You refuse me your daughter!" he exclaimed,
pointing upwards with a solemn air. "And it is for the third time!
Beware! Beware!"
Hullin, despairing of making him listen to reason, hastily withdrew;
but the fool, in furious accents, addressed to him as he went these
strange words:
"Huldrix, woe to thee! Thy last hour is near. Wolves will feast again
upon thy flesh. All is over. I let loose upon thee the tempests of my
rage. For thee and thine let there be neither grace, nor pity, nor
mercy. Thou hast willed it so." And, throwing a portion of his ragged
robe over his left shoulder, he strode rapidly away towards the summit
of the Donon.
Several of the mountaineers, half awakened by his cries, watched him
with a dull eye as his retreating form disappeared in the darkness;
they heard a sound like the flapping of wings; then, as in the vision
of a dream, they turned round, and went to sleep again.
About an hour after, Lagarmitte's horn sounded the _reveille_. In a few
seconds, every one was up and stirring.
The leaders of the ambuscade assembled their men. Some proceeded
towards the cart-house, and distributed the cartridges; while others
filled their flasks with brandy from the barrel. All this was done
with the utmost order; then each division repaired, with its leader at
its head, in the early twilight, towards the barricades on the mountain
side.
When the sun appeared, all round the farm was silent and deserted, and
with the exception of five or six fires, which were still smoking,
there was nothing to announce that the volunteers occupied every point
of the mountain, and that they had passed the night in that spot.
Hullin then took a snack, and drank a glass of wine with his friends,
Doctor Lorquin and the Anabaptist, Pelsly. Lagarmitte was with them,
for he was to remain with Jean-Claude all the day, and transmit his
orders in case of need.
[Illustration]