As if the exhaustion of hunger had not sufficed to fill up the measure
of the misery they were enduring, the unhappy mountaineers, keeping
their dreary vigils on the Falkenstein, only opened their mouths to
threaten and accuse each other.
"Don't touch me!" screamed Hexe-Baizel, in a voice like a polecat's, to
those who looked at her, "don't touch me, or I will bite you!"
Louise grew delirious; her large blue eyes, in place of real objects,
saw only shadows flitting over the plateau, skimming over the tops of
the trees, and plant themselves on the old tower.
"Here are provisions!" she would exclaim.
Then the others would be furious against the poor child, crying out
angrily that she wanted to make game of them, and that she had best
beware.
Jerôme alone still remained perfectly calm; but the great quantity
of snow which he had drunk to appease the inward anguish that was
consuming him, bathed all his body and his face with a cold sweat.
Doctor Lorquin had tied a handkerchief round his loins, and tightened
it more and more, declaring that he thus satisfied his stomach. He was
seated against the tower, with his eyes shut; from hour to hour he
opened them, saying:
"We are at the first--at the second--at the third period. One day more,
and all will be over!"
He would then begin a dissertation upon the Druids, on Odin, Brahma,
Pythagoras, making Latin and Greek quotations, announcing the
approaching transformation of the people of Harberg into wolves, into
foxes, into animals of all sorts.
"For my part," he would exclaim, "I shall be a lion! I will eat fifteen
pounds of beef a-day!"
Then, recovering himself:
"No, I will be a man; I will preach peace, fraternity, justice! Ah!
my friends," he would say, "we suffer by our own fault. What have we
done, on the other side of the Rhine, for the last ten years? By what
right did we want to impose masters on those peoples? Why did we not
exchange our ideas, our sentiments, the products of our arts and of
our industry, with them? Why did we not go to seek them as brothers,
instead of wishing to subjugate them? We should have been well
received. What must they have suffered--the unfortunates--during those
ten years of violence and rapine? Now they avenge themselves; and it is
justice! May the curse of Heaven alight on the wretches who divide the
peoples to oppress them!"
After these moments of excitement, he would sink fainting against the
wall of the tower, murmuring:
"Bread. Oh, for nothing but a morsel of bread!"
The sons of Materne, crouching among the bushes, gun on shoulder,
seemed to be awaiting the passage of game which never arrived; the idea
of perpetual ambush sustained their expiring strength.
Some, bent double, were shivering, and felt consumed by fever; they
accused Jean-Claude of having led them to the Falkenstein.
Hullin, with superhuman strength of character, still went and came,
observing what was passing in the surrounding valleys, without saying
anything.
At times he advanced to the very edge of the rock, and with his large
compressed jaws, and flashing eye, watched Yégof sitting before a large
fire, on the plateau of the Bois-des-Chênes, in the midst of a troop
of Cossacks. Since the arrival of the Germans in the valley of the
Charmes, the fool had not quitted this post; he seemed, from there, to
gloat over the agony of his victims.
Such was the aspect of these unfortunates under the vast canopy of
heaven.
The punishment of hunger at the bottom of a dungeon is frightful,
no doubt, but beneath a sky bathed in light, in the eyes of a whole
country, in face of the resources of nature, it passes all expression.
Now at the close of this nineteenth day, between four and five o'clock
in the evening, the weather had lowered: large grey clouds rose behind
the snowy summit of the Grosmann; the sun, red as a bullet just out
of the furnace, was casting his last rays athwart the murky sky. The
silence on the rock was profound. Louise gave no more sign of life.
Kasper and Frantz continued motionless among the shrubs like stones.
Catherine Lefévre, crouching on the ground, her sharp knees between her
skinny arms, her rigid and hard features, her hair hanging over her
livid cheeks, with haggard eye, and chin as sharp as a vice, resembled
some old sibyl sitting in the midst of the bushes. She spoke no more.
That evening, Hullin, Jerôme, old Materne, and Doctor Lorquin had
assembled round the old farm-mistress to die together. They were all
silent, and the last faint rays of twilight illumined the dismal group.
To the right, behind a jutting point of the rock, some fires of the
Germans glimmered in the abyss. And as they sat there, all at once
the old woman, coming out of her long reverie, murmured at first some
unintelligible words.
"Divès is here!" said she at length, in a low voice. "I see him; he is
leaving the postern, to the right of the arsenal. Gaspard follows him,
and----"
Then she counted slowly:
"Two hundred and fifty men," said she; "national guards and soldiers.
They cross the bridge; they mount behind the half-moon. Gaspard is
speaking with Marc. What is he saying?"
She appeared to listen:
"'Let us make haste;' yes, make haste; time presses; there they are
upon the glacis!"
There was a moment's silence. Then all at once the old woman, drawing
herself up to her full height, her arms tossed wildly aloft, hair
erect, and mouth quite wide open, shouted, in a terrible voice:
"Courage! kill! kill! ah! ah!"
And she fell heavily back.
This fearful cry awakened everybody; it would have awakened the dead.
All the besieged seemed to be born again. Something was in the air.
Was it hope, life, soul? I know not; but all came hurrying along like
a troop of deer, holding their breath to hear. Louise herself moved
softly and raised her head. Frantz and Kasper dragged themselves along
upon their knees; and, strange to say, Hullin, casting his eyes through
the darkness in the direction of Phalsbourg, thought he saw the fire
and smoke of a volley of musketry announcing a sortie.
Catherine had resumed her former attitude; but her cheeks, just now as
lifeless as a plaster mask, shook violently; her eye was again covered
with a dreamy film. All the others listened; it might have been said
that their existence hung upon her lips. Nearly a quarter of an hour
had passed, when the old woman slowly continued:
"They have crossed the enemy's lines. They are hastening to
Lutzelbourg. I see them. Gaspard and Divès are in front, with
Desmarets, Ulrich, Weber, and our friends from the city. They come!
They come!"
She was silent anew; a long while yet she listened; but the vision was
gone. Seconds succeeded to seconds, slow as centuries, when suddenly
Hexe-Baizel began to say, in a sharp voice:
"She is mad! she has seen nothing. Marc, I know him. He is laughing
finely at us. What is it to him if we perish? Provided he has his
bottle of wine and chitterlings, and can smoke his pipe quietly in the
chimney-corner, it's all the same to him. Ah! the wretch!"
Then all relapsed into silence, and the unfortunates, a moment revived
by the hope of a near deliverance, fell back again into despair.
"It is a dream," thought they; "Hexe-Baizel is right; we are condemned
to die of hunger."
In the meantime, night was come. When the moon rose behind the tall
fir-trees, casting her pale rays on the sorrowful groups of the
besieged, Hullin only was still watching, though burnt up with fever.
He heard far, very far off in the gorges the voices of the German
sentinels calling out "_Wer dà! Wer dà!_" the camp patrols going their
rounds through the woods, the shrill neighing of the horses at picket,
their stamping, and the shouts of their keepers. Towards midnight
the brave man ended, however, by going to sleep like the rest. When
he awoke, the village clock of Charmes was striking four. Hullin, at
the sound of its distant vibrations, aroused himself from his stupor;
he opened his eyelids, and as he was looking round, in a sort of
bewildered manner, striving to recover his faculties, the dim light
of a torch passed before his eyes; a fear came over him, and he said
to himself:--"Am I going mad? The night is quite dark, and yet I see
torches."
And yet the flame re-appeared; he regarded it more closely, then rose
abruptly, pressing for a few seconds his hand against his contracted
face. Then, hazarding another look, he saw distinctly a fire on the
Giromani, on the other side of the Blanru; a fire which swept the
heavens with its purple wing, and flickered among the shadows of the
fir-trees on the snow. And, recollecting that this signal had been
agreed on between himself and Piorette to announce an attack, he began
to tremble from head to foot; cold drops of sweat stood on his face,
and walking on tiptoe through the darkness, like a blind man, with
outstretched hands, he stammered:
"Catherine! Louise! Jerôme!"
But no one replied to him, and after having groped about in this way,
thinking he was walking, while in reality he was not taking a single
step, the unhappy man fell back, exclaiming:
"My children! Catherine! They come! We are saved!"
Immediately there was heard a vague murmur; it seemed as if the
dead were re-awakening. There was a burst of dry laughter; it was
Hexe-Baizel, gone mad from suffering. Then Catherine exclaimed:
"Hullin! Hullin! Who spoke?"
Jean-Claude, recovered from his emotion, exclaimed, in a firmer tone:
"Jerôme, Catherine, Materne, and you all, are you dead? Do you not see
that fire down there, on the side of the Blanru? It is Piorette, who is
coming to our assistance."
And, at the very same moment, a loud explosion rolled through the
gorges of the Jægerthâl with the sound of a tempest. The trumpet of the
last judgment would not have produced more effect on the besieged; they
suddenly awoke.
"It is Piorette! It is Marc!" was screeched by voices, broken,
dry--voices of mere skeletons; "they come to save us!"
And all these poor wretches strove to rise; some sobbed; but they had
no more tears. A second explosion brought them to their feet.
"Surely that is platoon firing," exclaimed Hullin; "our people fire
also in platoons; we have soldiers of the line; hurrah for France!"
"Yes," replied Jerôme, "Dame Catherine was right; the Phalsbourgians
are coming to our relief; they are descending the hills of the Sarre,
and there is Piorette, now heading the attack on the Blanru."
In effect, the firing began to resound from both sides at once, towards
the plateau of the Bois-des-Chênes and the towering heights of the
Kilbéri.
Then the two leaders embraced each other; and as they walked on tiptoe
through the thick darkness, trying to gain the edge of the rock, all of
a sudden Materne's voice was heard, loudly exclaiming:
"Take care, my lads, the precipice is there!"
They stopped, looking down at their feet; but there was nothing to be
seen; a gust of cold air coming up from the abyss alone warned you
of the danger. All the mountain tops and the surrounding gorges were
plunged in thick darkness. On the sides of the mountain opposite, the
lights from the firing flashed like lightnings, illuminating now an old
oak, the dark outline of a rock, now a cluster of furze bushes, and
groups of men going and coming as in the midst of a fire. Two thousand
feet below, in the depth of the gorges, were heard heavy sounds, the
gallop of horses, confused clamours mingling with the word of command.
At times the cry of the mountaineer hailing, that prolonged cry,
echoing from one mountain top to the other, "He! oh! he!" rose to the
topmost height of the Falkenstein like a sigh.
"It is Marc," said Hullin; "it is the voice of Marc."
"Yes, it is Marc who is bidding us keep up our courage," replied Jerôme.
All the others, crouching round them, with outstretched neck, and
hands grasping the edge of the rock, strained their eyes to see. The
firing continued with a vivacity which betrayed the fierceness of the
battle, but it was impossible to see anything. Oh, what would they have
given to take part in this supreme conflict, the unfortunates! With
what ardour would they have thrown themselves into the fray! The dread
of being again abandoned, of seeing at daylight their defenders in
retreat, rendered them dumb with fear.
Meanwhile, day was beginning to dawn; the first pale glimmer of light
was breaking over the dark tops of the mountains; some rays descended
into the shadowy valleys; half-an-hour after they silvered the misty
vapours of the abyss. Hullin, casting a look through these breaks in
the clouds, was able at length to recognise the position. The Germans
had lost the heights of the Valtin and the plateau of Bois-des-Chênes.
They were now massed in the valley of Charmes, at the foot of the
Falkenstein, a third part of the way up the side, to be out of the
reach of their adversaries' fire. Opposite the rock, Piorette, master
of Bois-des-Chênes, was ordering barricades to be thrown up on the
side of Charmes. He was going hither and thither, the end of his pipe
between his lips, his felt hat cocked on his ear, his carbine slung
over his shoulder. The blue axes of the woodcutters glittered in the
morning sun. To the left of the village, on the side of the Valtin,
in the middle of the brushwood, Marc Divès, on a little black horse,
with a long flowing tail, his long sword in his hand, was pointing to
the ruins and the _schlitte_ road. An officer of infantry, and some
national guards in blue coats, were listening to him. Gaspard Lefévre,
alone, in advance of this group, leaning on his gun, seemed thoughtful.
It might be seen from his attitude that he was forming desperate
resolutions for the moment of attack. In fine, quite on the summit of
the hill, against the wood, two or three hundred men, ranged in line,
with grounded arms, stood watching also.
The sight of this small number of defenders wrung the hearts of the
besieged; so much the more that the Germans, seven or eight times
superior in numbers, were beginning to form two columns of attack to
regain the positions they had lost. Their general was sending horsemen
in all directions carrying orders. Rows of bayonets were beginning to
defile.
"It's all over!" said Hullin to Jerôme. "What can five or six hundred
men do against four thousand in line of battle? The Phalsbourgians will
return home, and say, 'We have done our duty!' And Piorette will be
crushed."
All the others thought the same; but that which raised their despair
to its height was to see all at once a long file of Cossacks debouch
in the valley of Charmes at full gallop, and the fool Yégof at their
head, galloping like the wind; his beard, the tail of his horse, his
sheepskin, and his red hair all streaming in the wind. He looked at
the rock, and brandished his lance above his head. At the bottom of
the valley, he spurred straight up to where the major-general of the
enemy's army stood. Arrived near him, he made some gestures indicating
the other side of the plateau of Bois-des-Chênes.
"Ah! the wretch!" exclaimed Hullin. "See! he is telling him that
Piorette has no barricades on that side of the mountain, and that it
must be taken in the rear."
In effect a column immediately set itself on march in that direction,
whilst another directed its movement towards the barricades to mask
that of the first.
"Materne!" exclaimed Jean-Claude, "are there no means of sending a
bullet after the fool?"
The old hunter shook his head. "No," said he, "it is impossible; he is
out of reach."
At this moment, Catherine gave vent to a savage cry--a hawk's cry.
"Let us crush them!--let us crush them as we did at the Blutfeld!"
And this old woman, a moment before so weak, rose and flung herself
upon a mass of rock, which she lifted with her two hands; then,
with her long scanty gray locks, her hooked nose drawn down to her
compressed lips, lank cheeks, and bent back, she advanced with a firm
step to the very edge of the abyss, and the rock cleft the air, tracing
an immense curve.
A horrible noise was heard below. Splinters of fir-trees flew about
in all directions, then an enormous stone was seen to rebound at a
hundred paces with fresh impetus, roll down the steep descent, and,
with a final bound, fall upon Yégof, and crush him at the very feet of
the general of the enemy's forces. All this was accomplished in a few
seconds.
Catherine, standing on the edge of the rock, laughed a laugh that
sounded more like a rattle, and that seemed as if it would never come
to an end.
And all the others, all those phantoms, as if inspired with a new
life, threw themselves upon the crumbling ruins of the old _burg_,
exclaiming--"Death! death! Let us crush them as at the Blutfeld!"
Never was a more horrible scene beheld. Those beings, at the very gates
of the tomb, lean and squalid as skeletons, found fresh strength for
carnage. They stumbled no more; they tottered no more. They lifted each
one his stone, and ran to hurl it down the precipice; then returned to
take another, without even looking at what was passing below.
Now figure to yourselves the stupor of the _kaiserlicks_ at this deluge
of ruins and rocks. They had all turned round at the first sound of the
stones crashing down one after another over the shrubs and the clumps
of trees, and at first they remained as if petrified; but raising their
eyes still higher, and seeing other stones descending and descending
still, and, above all that, spectres running hither and thither,
lifting up their arms, emptying them, and beginning again; seeing their
comrades crushed--rows of fifteen and twenty men overthrown at a single
blow--an immense cry resounded from the valley of the Charmes, as far
as the Falkenstein, and in spite of the voice of the leaders, in spite
of the firing, which recommenced right and left, all the Germans fled
in disorder to escape this horrible death.
When the rout was at its height, the general of the enemy's army had,
however, succeeded in rallying a battalion, and effecting a quiet
retreat towards the village. There was something in this man, calm in
the midst of disaster, grand and dignified. From time to time he turned
round to cast a gloomy look at the falling masses of rock which were
making bloody gaps in his column.
Jean-Claude observed him; and in spite of the intoxication of triumph,
in spite of the certainty of having escaped famine, the old soldier
could not restrain a feeling of admiration.
"Look," said he to Jerôme, "he does as we did on returning from the
Donon and the Grosmann: he remains to the last, and only yields step by
step. Truly there are men of courage in every country."
Marc Divès and Piorette, witnesses of this stroke of fortune, came
down through the fir-trees to endeavour to cut off the retreat of
the enemy's general, but they could not succeed in their attempt.
The battalion, reduced to half, formed a square behind the village
of Charmes, and slowly re-ascended the valley of the Sarre, at times
stopping, like a wounded wild boar who turns upon the pack, when the
men of Piorette and those of Phalsbourg tried to press it too closely.
Thus ended the great battle of Falkenstein, known in the mountain under
the name of the _Battle of the Rocks_.
[Illustration]