When Aunt Gredel released me, I looked a moment at Catharine, who stood
motionless. I rushed to her and threw myself on her neck. She still
kept her seat. Then I turned quickly to go, when she cried, in
heart-breaking tones:
"O Joseph! Joseph!"
I looked back. We threw ourselves into each other's arms, and for some
minutes remained so, sobbing. Her strength seemed to leave her, and I
placed her in the arm-chair, and rushed out of the house.
I was already on the square, in the midst of the Italians and of a
crowd of people crying for their sons or brothers. I saw nothing; I
heard nothing.
When the roll of the drums began again, I looked around, and saw that I
was between Klipfel and Furst, all three with our knapsacks on our
backs. Their parents stood before us, weeping as if at their funeral.
To the right, near the town-hall, Captain Vidal, on his little gray
horse, was conversing with two infantry officers. The sergeants called
the roll, and we answered. They called Zebede, Furst, Klipfel, Bertha;
we answered like the others. Then the captain gave the word, "March!"
and we went, two abreast, toward the French gate.
At the corner of Spitz's bakery, an old woman cried, in a choking
voice, from a window:
"Kasper! Kasper!"
It was Zebede's grandmother. His lips trembled. He waved his hand
without replying, and passed on with downcast face.
I shuddered at the thought of passing my home. As we neared it, my
knees trembled, and I heard some one call at the window; but I turned
my head toward the "Red Ox," and the rattle of the drums drowned the
voices.
The children ran after us, shouting:
"There goes Joseph! there goes Klipfel!"
Under the French gate, the men on guard, drawn up in line on each side,
gazed on us as we passed at shoulder arms. We passed the outposts, and
the drum ceased playing as we turned to the right. Nothing was heard
but the plash of footsteps in the mud, for the snow was melting.
We had passed the farm-house of Gerberhoff, and were going to the great
bridge, when I heard some one call me. It was the captain, who cried
from his horse:
"Very well done, young man; I am satisfied with you."
Hearing this, I could not help again bursting into tears, and the big
Furst, too, wept, as we marched along; the others, pale as marble, said
nothing. At the bridge, Zebede took out his pipe to smoke. In front
of us, the Italians talked and laughed among themselves; their three
weeks of service had accustomed them to this life.
Once on the way to Metting, more than a league from the city, as we
began to descend, Klipfel touched me on the shoulder, and whispered:
"Look yonder."
I looked, and saw Phalsbourg far beneath us; the barracks, the
magazines, the steeple whence I had seen Catharine's home six weeks
before, with old Brainstein--all were in the gray distance, with the
woods all around. I would have stopped a few moments, but the squad
marched on, and I had to keep pace with them. We entered Metting.