We went in.
Colonel Moulin, a fat man in a dressing-gown and little silk cap, was
smoking his pipe in front of a good fire. He was very red, and had a
caraffe of rum and a glass at its side on the marble mantel-piece,
where were also a clock and vases of flowers.
"What is it?" he asked, turning round.
"Colonel, this is what is the matter," replied the sergeant: "twelve
pipes of spirits of wine have been stopped on the Mittelbronn hill, and
are surrounded by Cossacks."
"Cossacks!" exclaimed the governor. "Have they broken through our
lines already?"
"Yes," said the sergeant, "a sudden attack of Cossacks! They have
possession of the twelve pipes of three-six which this patriot brought
from Pezenas to sustain the garrison."
"Some bandits," said the governor--"thieves!"
"Here is the letter," said the sergeant, taking it from my hand.
The colonel cast his eyes over it, and said hastily:
"Sergeant, go and take twenty-five men of your company. Go on the run,
free the wagons, and put in requisition horses from the village to
bring them into the city."
And, as we were going: "Wait!" said he; and he went to his bureau and
wrote four words; "here is the order."
When we were once on the stairway, the sergeant said: "Father Moses,
run to the cooper's; we may perhaps need him and his boys. I know the
Cossacks; their first thought will be to unload the casks so as to be
more sure of keeping them. Have them bring ropes and ladders; and I
will go to the Barracks and get my men together."
Then I ran home like a hart, for I was enraged at the Cossacks. I went
in to get my musket and cartridge-box. I could have fought an army: I
could not see straight.
"What is it? Where are you going?" asked Sorle and Zeffen.
"You will know by and by," I replied.
I went to Schweyer's. He had two large saddle-pistols, which he put
quickly into his apron-belt with the axe; his two boys, Nickel and
Frantz, took the ladder and ropes, and we ran to the French gate.
The sergeant was not yet there; but two minutes after he came running
down the street by the rampart with thirty veterans in file, their
muskets on their shoulders.
The officer guarding the postern had only to see the order to let us go
out, and a few minutes after we were in the trenches behind the
hospital, where the sergeant ranged his men.
"It is cognac!" he told them; "twenty-four pipes of cognac! So,
comrades, attention! The garrison is without brandy; those who do not
like brandy have only to fall to the rear."
But they all wanted to be in front, and laughed in anticipation.
We went up the stairway, and were ranged in order in the covered ways.
It might have been five o'clock. Looking from the top of the glacis we
could see the broad meadow of Eichmatt, and above it the hills of
Mittelbronn covered with snow. The sky was full of clouds, and night
was coming on. It was very cold.
"Forward!" said the sergeant.
And we gained the highway. The veterans ran, in two files, at the
right and left, their backs rounded, and their muskets in their
shoulder-belts; the snow was up to their knees.
Schweyer, his two boys, and I walked behind.
At the end of a quarter of an hour, the veterans, who ran all the way,
had left us far behind; we heard for some time their cartridge-boxes
rattling, but soon this sound was lost in the distance, and then we
heard the dog of the Trois-Maisons barking in his chain.
The deep silence of the night gave me a chance to think. If it had not
been for the thought of my spirits of wine, I would have gone straight
back to Phalsburg, but fortunately that thought prevailed, and I said:
"Make haste, Schweyer, make haste!"
"Make haste!" he exclaimed angrily, "you can make haste to get back
your spirits of wine, but what do we care for it? Is the highway the
place for us? Are we bandits that we should risk our lives?"