Daylight was just breaking, when Major Tempe marched with his men
into Marmontier; at which place the other three companies had
arrived, the night previously. It was a large village--the chief
place of its canton--and the corps were most hospitably received by
the inhabitants. Had they arrived the evening before, it would have
been impossible to provide them all with beds; and they would have
been obliged, like the majority of their comrades, to sleep on
straw in the schoolroom. The inhabitants, however, were up and
about, very shortly after the arrival of Major Tempe's command; and
his men were soon provided for, in the beds which they had left.
Beds were now a luxury, indeed, as the corps had not slept in them
since they had been quartered at Baccarat, two nights before their
first encounter with the Prussians, near Blamont. It was with great
unwillingness, then, that they turned out when the bugle sounded,
at two o'clock in the afternoon. They partook of a hearty
meal--provided by the people upon whom they were quartered--and an
hour later the whole corps marched out towards Wasselonne, a small
town situated on the Breuche; a little river which, winding round
by Molsheim, falls into the Rhine at Strasburg. A branch line of
railroad terminates at this place.
When they arrived within three miles of it, they turned off to the
right--for Wasselonne had frequently been visited by the
Prussians--and slept at the little village of Casswiller, at the
edge of the forest of OEdenwald. Another day's short, but weary,
marching over the mountains brought them to the village of Still;
lying high upon the western slope of the Vosges, above Mutzig.
From this point they had a splendid view over the valley of the
Rhine. From their feet, at Mutzig, the railway ran through Molsheim
straight across the country to Strasburg; the beautiful spire of
whose cathedral rose above the flats, at a distance of about
fifteen miles. The day happened to be a quiet one, and the deep
booming of the guns of the besiegers could be distinctly heard. The
inhabitants reported that the German troops patrolled the whole
valley, pushing sometimes down to the walls of Schlestadt, levying
contributions and carrying off cattle.
The village was very poor, and was able to furnish little
accommodation in the way of quarters, still less in that of food.
Six of the villagers were, therefore, sent through the forest of
OEdenwald to Raon; with an order to fetch over two oxen, and thirty
sheep, of those left there in charge of the head man of the
village. They returned in three days, Raon being only about fifteen
miles east of Still.
The corps was now broken up into its four companies; who were
stationed in the villages on the Vosges, and at the edge of the
forest of Trieswald and Bar--the first company remaining at Still.
From these villages they commanded a view over the whole plain; and
could, with the aid of glasses, distinctly see any bodies of men
going south from Strasburg. Each company was to act independently
of the other, uniting their forces only when ordered to do so by
Major Tempe; who took up his headquarters with the second company,
that having the most central position. Each company was to keep a
sharp watch over the country, to attack any body of the enemy not
superior to themselves in force, and to cut off, if possible, any
small parties pillaging in the villages of the valley, near the
foot of the mountains.
The first company--under their lieutenant, De Maupas--turned their
special attention to Mutzig; which was not, they learned, actually
occupied by the Germans, but which was frequently visited by
parties from Molsheim, where a portion of the army of the besiegers
was stationed. The young Barclays, their cousins, and Tim Doyle
were quartered together, in one of the largest houses in the
village; and from thence a fine view over the plain was attainable.
They were not destined to remain long in inactivity. Upon the
fourth day after their arrival, they saw a party of some twenty
horsemen approaching Mutzig. In five minutes every man had
assembled and, at once, rapidly marched down the hill; taking
advantage of its irregularities, so as to follow a track in which
they would be invisible from the road. Making a long detour, they
gained the road about half a mile beyond Mutzig and, posting
themselves among some trees by its side, awaited the return of the
Uhlans.
It was upwards of two hours before they returned. They were
laughing, and singing; and the boys felt a sensation of repugnance,
as they raised their rifles to their shoulders, and awaited the
order to fire into their unsuspecting foes. They had not, as yet,
become hardened to the horrors of war. As the word was given, the
rifles flashed out; and six of the horsemen fell. The rest, putting
spurs to their horses, galloped furiously away. Molsheim was so
close--and the enemy might come back again, largely reinforced, in
so short a time--that the order was given to retreat, at once.
Reaching the hill and looking back, an hour later, they saw a dark
mass coming from Molsheim; and the glasses soon made them out to be
about a hundred cavalry, and as many infantry. It was dark as they
entered Mutzig and--although it was not probable that they would
ascend the hill, at night--sentries were thrown out, far down its
sides, to give the alarm; and the men were ordered to hold
themselves in readiness for an immediate retreat to the forest. It
happened that none of the boys were on duty and, just as they were
sitting down to dinner, Tim--who had been out to fetch some
wood--came running in.
"Heavenly Mother! The brutes are setting fire to Mutzig, your
honor."
The boys ran out. Below, a mass of red flame was rising; and it was
evident that several houses were in flames. The sight was a grand one,
for the light showed the outline of the slopes of the hills and,
reflected on the roofs of the houses of the little town, made them
look as if red hot. Out upon the plain, round Molsheim, were the
scattered lights of innumerable camp fires while, in the distance,
flickering flashes--like the play of summer lightning--told of the
ceaseless rain of fire kept up upon the unhappy town of Strasburg.
"What a shame!" Percy said, indignantly; "as if the inhabitants of
Mutzig could help our attacking the Uhlans.
"Look, Ralph, there are six distinct fires."
"I suppose that is one for each man we killed or wounded, Percy.
You may be sure they will make them pay, too. Thirty thousand
francs, I should think, at least.
"War used to be looked upon as a chivalrous proceeding. There is no
romance in German warfare. They call us a nation of shopkeepers;
they make war, themselves, in the spirit of a nation of petty
hucksterers."
"What do you think of that, lads?" Lieutenant de Maupas said,
coming up to where they were standing.
"It is shameful, sir, shameful," Ralph said.
"Yes," the officer said, gloomily. "This is to make war as the
Vandals made it, not as it is made in the nineteenth century. In
the Crimea, in Italy--ay, even in China--we did not make war in
this way. In China we burnt the Emperor's summer palace, because
his soldiers had murdered our prisoners in cold blood, but we did
not burn a single village."
"No," Ralph said; "and I have read that, in Abyssinia, we never as
much as took a fowl or a bundle of grass from the natives, without
paying for it; and we only burned the fortress of Magdala after
offering it, in succession, to the various kings of the country;
and destroyed it, at last, to prevent it becoming a stronghold of
the Gallas--the enemies of Abyssinia.
"Don't you think," he asked, after a pause, "we shall have fighting
tomorrow, sir?"
"I think it very likely, indeed," the lieutenant said. "I have just
sent off a messenger to the commandant, with a full report; and
asked him to send over a reply whether he will come to our
assistance, or if we are to fall back."
"Faith, and I hope that it's not falling back we'll be, till after
we've had the satisfaction of spaking to them a bit," Tim Doyle put
in. "Barring the little affair of today--which isn't worth
mentioning--I haven't had a chance of a scrimmage since I joined
the corps. It's been jist marching and counter-marching, over the
most onraisonable country; nothing but up hill and down hill and
through trees, with big stones breaking our poor feet into pieces,
and the rain running down us fit to give us the ague.
"Sure, lieutenant, ye won't be for marching us away, till we've had
a little divarshin?"
The boys all laughed at Tim's complaint, which had been delivered
in English; for although he could now understand French, he never
attempted to speak it, except to ask some necessary question. Percy
translated it to the lieutenant.
"You will have fighting enough, before you have done, Tim. Whether
you will have it tomorrow, I don't know. There are a hundred
infantry--they can't use their cavalry--and we are only twenty-six
men, all told. Fortunately, we have a strong line of retreat; or I
should not even wait for the chance of being attacked."
"At any rate, you think that we are safe until morning, sir?"
"Yes, I think so," the lieutenant said.
"Then we will go in to our dinner," Ralph said. "Who knows where we
may dine, tomorrow?"
Day was just beginning to break, when Percy Barclay started up in
his bed. He listened for an instant, and heard the crack of a
rifle.
"Up, Ralph; up all of you!" he shouted. "We are attacked."
The others were on their feet in an instant. None of them had
thought of undressing and, as they seized their arms and
equipments, the whistle of Lieutenant de Maupas sounded loud and
shrill. As they issued out there was, already, a scene of bustle
and confusion in the village. The franc tireurs were rushing from
the doors. The villagers were also pouring out, women screaming and
men swearing.
"You had better drive off your animals up into the forest, and
carry off whatever you can of value, and send the women and
children off, at once," De Maupas shouted, to the head man of the
village. "We will give you as much time as we can but, if they are
in full strength, it will not be long.
"Now, lads, forward! Don't throw away a shot. Take advantage of
every possible cover, and fall back as slowly and steadily as you
can. The commandant will be here, with the second company, in half
an hour. I had a message from him, late last night."
The men advanced at once, at the double, and in an instant had a
view of what was going on. The six men out, as sentries, were
falling back rapidly towards the village; and two dark bodies of
infantry were approaching, abreast of each other, but at a distance
of two or three hundred yards apart. They were some five hundred
yards beyond the retreating sentries; who were, themselves, a few
hundred yards below the village. The enemy had, at present, made no
reply whatever to the fire of the sentries.
"Advance slowly, in skirmishing order," De Maupas said. "One flank
of the company oppose each column. Open fire at once, sight for
seven hundred yards, take advantage of cover, and fire steadily."
A steady fire was at once opened and, although its effects could
not be perceived, they were evidently sensible; for the columns
immediately threw out half their strength, as skirmishers, and
opened fire. In a hundred paces De Maupas halted his men, and told
them to lie down behind shelter.
The enemy were now five hundred yards off, and the franc tireurs
had been joined by the sentries. The numbers were four to one and,
although the position was of considerable advantage to the smaller
force--as well as the fact that they were lying quiet, in shelter,
while their adversaries had to fire as they advanced--the odds were
far too great to hope for success. Every moment, however, it was
getting lighter; and the franc tireurs could see that their fire
was doing considerable execution, whereas only two of their men had
received slight wounds. The enemy, however, pushed on steadily; and
were now little more than three hundred yards distant.
"Fall back," the lieutenant shouted; "six men, alternately, of each
half company. Back fifty paces, at the double!"
At the word, twelve men retreated, at full speed, for fifty yards;
the others redoubling the fire from their breechloaders, to cover
the retreat. The instant that the first men had gone fifty yards,
they turned, threw themselves upon the ground, and opened fire;
while those in front ran back at full speed, passed them, and
halted, in turn, fifty paces in the rear. The maneuver was repeated
three times, and they then gained the end house of the village.
Under shelter of a low wall, another stand was made; but the
superior force of the enemy enabled them to threaten to outflank
them. Many of the Germans had fallen; but the rest advanced, with
as much coolness and precision as if on parade.
"How beautifully these fellows do fight!" Ralph exclaimed, in
admiration.
"Now, lads, we must retreat," the lieutenant said. "We have done
very well. Now, across the village, and then make for the forest as
hard as you can. It's not over five hundred yards. When you are
once there, make a stand again."
The men turned and, in another moment, would have carried out the
order when--from a house in a line with them, but about fifty yards
off--a heavy fire of musketry suddenly broke out.
"Hurrah, lads, there's the commandant! Stand to your wall; we'll
thrash them, yet."
Staggered by this sudden and heavy fire, the Germans paused; and
then fell back, to a spot where a dip in the ground sheltered them
from the fire from above. For a short time, there was a cessation
of the fight. At this moment, the commandant joined the first
company.
"Well done, indeed!" he exclaimed. "Gallantly done, lads! We heard
the firing, and feared you would be crushed before we could get up.
It is fortunate I started half an hour before daybreak. We have
done the last two miles at a run.
"Have you suffered much?"
There was a general look round. Four men had fallen, in the
retreat. Another lay dead, shot through the head as he fired over
the wall. Four others were wounded; three seriously, while Ralph
Barclay had a ball through the fleshy part of his arm.
"Fortunately," Major Tempe said, "half a dozen men from the other
village volunteered to come over to help the wounded. I will send
them over here, at once. They can take some doors off their hinges,
and carry these three men right back into the forest, at once. We
have not done yet.
"Get your men into skirmishing line, De Maupas. I will form mine to
join you. Occupy the line of gardens, and walls."
Scarcely was the movement effected, when the Germans again appeared
on the hillside. They had still a very great superiority in
numbers; for the two companies of franc tireurs only numbered, now,
forty-five men, while the Germans--who had lost upwards of twenty
men--were still nearly eighty strong.
Ralph Barclay still kept his place in the ranks. Tim Doyle had
bandaged up his arm; for Percy, who had at first attempted it, had
nearly fainted at the sight of the blood. The Irishman was in the
highest glee; and occasionally indulged in whoops of defiance, and
in taunting remarks--which would not have flattered the enemy,
could they have heard and understood them.
The Germans, as they emerged from their shelter, were about four
hundred yards distant; and the fire at once recommenced. The franc
tireurs were all lying down, and this gave them a great advantage
over the Germans and, the disparity of numbers being less, the
fight raged with greater obstinacy than before. Very gradually, the
enemy won their way--taking advantage of every rock and inequality
of ground--until they were within two hundred yards of the village.
Nearer than this they could not come, for the ground was open and,
in the face of the force in shelter, armed with breech loaders, it
would have been madness to have attempted a rush.
For some time, the combatants remained in the same position; merely
exchanging an occasional shot, when a head or a hat was exposed. At
last, Major Tempe became uneasy at the prolonged inaction upon the
part of the enemy.
"De Maupas," he said, "run up to the upper story of that house, and
try and see what they are doing. Look all round. I don't like this
long hesitation. They are greatly superior in force, and know it. I
think that they must be going to try some flanking movement."
The lieutenant obeyed and, going up to the upper story of the house
pointed out by his commander, peered cautiously out. As far as he
could see, nothing was stirring. The Germans appeared to be lying
in the little hollow in which they were sheltered. He was about to
descend, when he remembered his orders to look around in all
directions. He therefore went to a window at the end of the house,
and looked carefully out.
As he did so he gave a start; and his heart seemed, for a moment,
to stand still. Then, with a bound, he reached the door, sprang
downstairs, and rushed out to where Major Tempe was standing,
behind a wall.
"The cavalry are upon us," he said. "They are not five hundred
yards off. They have made a great detour and are--"
Major Tempe stopped to hear no more.
"Fall back, men," he shouted. "Keep well together. The cavalry are
upon us. Now, at a double to the forest, for your lives.
"Steady, steady!"
The men sprang from the position behind which they had been firing,
fell in hurriedly in the street; and then went off, at a fast
double, towards the forest. There were a few trees near, but no
shelter sufficient to be of any use nearer than five hundred yards.
Fortunately they were unimpeded by wounded, every man having been
carried back into the forest, immediately he was struck. Still, it
was evident that they could not gain the forest in time. They had
seen the leading horsemen turn into the end of the village, not
more than three hundred yards distant, as they started; and the
carbine balls were already whizzing over their heads.
With the rapidity and steadiness which mark the movements of the
Prussian cavalry, they formed in line as they issued from the
village and, before the fugitives were halfway to the forest, a
line of horsemen, fifty abreast, were in full gallop behind. Then
followed another, of equal strength, fifty yards behind. The franc
tireurs, with their rifles and accouterments, were already
slackening their speed.
"We must form square, major. They are not a hundred and fifty yards
behind," De Maupas exclaimed. "We can beat them off, easily
enough."
Major Tempe shook his head, and shouted cheerily:
"Keep on to the last moment, men, well together. I will tell you
when the moment is come. Hold your rifles in readiness."
In ten more seconds, he gave the word. The men were in readiness,
and the square was formed as if by magic. The Uhlans were not more
than eighty yards off.
"File firing," the major shouted. "Steady! Don't throw away a
shot."
Now was the time for breech-loading weapons, and so deadly was the
fire that the center of the Prussian line melted away before it;
and the men who remained reined aside their horses, as they reached
the hedge of bayonets. The flanks kept on, and united again behind
the square; drawing up near the edge of the wood, a hundred and
fifty yards distant.
The charge of the second line was attended with precisely similar
results. The instant that they had passed, however, Major Tempe
shouted to his men:
"On again for the woods. Steady! Keep square. Reserve your fire
till I tell you. We must break through the cavalry. They only want
to keep us. Their infantry will be here in three minutes. They are
through the village, already."
The position of the franc tireurs was now critical in the extreme.
The enemy's cavalry--between them and safety, only a hundred yards
distant--had unslung their carbines, and opened fire. The infantry
were nearly two hundred yards behind but, fortunately, dared not
fire for fear of hitting their own cavalry.
At a rapid pace--for they were running for life--the little knot of
franc tireurs dashed forward. One or two fell from the fire of the
cavalry and, as they were fifty yards distant from the wood, there
was a cry and Philippe Duburg fell to the ground. In an instant Tim
Doyle--who was his next man--stopped, caught him up as if he had
been a feather and, with a desperate effort, again joined the
others, just as they were within twenty yards of the cavalry.
"Fire!" Major Tempe cried; and from the front, and from each side
of the little square--which was but six deep, either way--the
rifles flashed out.
"Level bayonets; charge!"
There was a short struggle. The second ranks poured their fire into
the cavalry line. There was a clashing of bayonets against swords,
and then the band ran through the broken line of cavalry. There was
a rush into the brushwood; and then, from behind the shelter of the
trees, the fire opened again; and the cavalry fell sullenly back,
having lost upwards of thirty men in that short five minutes since
they had left the village.
The German infantry halted, at a distance of two hundred yards; but
they would have lost too many men, in crossing the open, to make it
worth while to attack the sheltered foe--who could pick them off,
to the last moment, only to withdraw deeper into the forest when
they approached its edge. Accordingly they too fell back,
exchanging fire with the franc tireurs until they gained the
shelter of the village.
The conflict over. The men sank, exhausted, upon the ground where
they stood. Major Tempe went round to each; saying a word of
praise, and giving a little of the brandy--with which he had filled
his canteen, before starting--with some water from their own kegs.
Then he gave a sharp whistle, and the men again gathered round him.
"Once more, lads, I must thank you for your conduct," he said. "You
have defended yourselves against forces, altogether, four times
your own. You fairly kept at bay an infantry force of twice your
own number. You have withstood a charge of cavalry, also double
your own strength; and have performed the unusual feat of
successfully charging cavalry. You have inflicted a very heavy loss
upon the enemy. Not less than forty of the infantry must have been
placed hors de combat; and fifteen or twenty of the cavalry, at the
lowest estimate. Altogether, although forced to fall back, the
affair is more creditable than many a brilliant victory.
"Our own loss has been heavy--as heavy, in proportion to our
numbers, as that of the enemy--though, owing to an advantage of
position, while engaged with the infantry, it is actually far less
than theirs. Still, lads, it is very, very heavy," and the major
looked round, with a saddened face, on the diminished band.
"Our only consolation is that our friends have died doing their
duty, and setting a noble example. If all Frenchmen were but
animated with a spirit like that which, I am proud to say, animates
the franc tireurs of Dijon, there are few of the invaders who would
ever recross the Rhine.
"Lieutenant Ribouville, go through the muster roll of the two
companies. Our brave friend De Maupas has, alas! fallen. He was at
my side when a rifle ball struck him, in the temple."
The list was now called over, and the result was a sad one. The two
companies, including officers, had gone into the fight fifty-five
strong. Only thirty-one answered to their names. Besides these,
eight had been removed farther into the forest, severely wounded;
and Philippe Duburg lay a short distance off--the surgeon being
employed bandaging his leg, which a rifle ball had entered, above
the knee. Fifteen, therefore, were dead or missing--which, as the
Germans bayoneted all wounded franc tireurs, was the same thing. Of
the thirty-one who answered to their names, nine had wounds more or
less severe; and the surgeon, with his assistants, had work on his
hands which would take him far into the night.
The instant that they were dismissed from parade, the boys hurried
to their cousin. He was very pale from loss of blood, but was
perfectly sensible. His brother sat on a bench beside him, holding
his head on his knee.
Philippe smiled faintly as the boys came up.
"I am so glad you have escaped," he said, in a low voice.
They clasped his hand.
"Does it hurt you much, Philippe?"
"Not very much; not so much as I should have thought."
"Did the doctor say anything about it, Philippe?"
"Yes, he said that it had just missed the great arteries; and that
he thinks it struck the bone, and has glanced up somewhere; but he
can't say till he probes it, when--"
"Then your leg is not broken?"
"No, he says it is certainly not broken, but it may be splintered."
"Thank God for that, anyhow," the boys said.
"We owe his life to Tim Doyle," Louis said. "I was not next to him;
and did not see him fall, or know he was hit till I saw Tim come
up, with him on his shoulders--and even if I had, I could not have
lifted him, and carried him off. Tim saved his life. There is no
doubt about that."
As it was evident that Philippe was too weak to talk, and would be
better for being quiet awhile, the boys now left him with his
brother.
Looking through the trees towards the village, a dense smoke could
now be seen rising in several places and, in a few minutes, the
whole village was in a blaze. Moved by the sight, the unfortunate
inhabitants came out from their hiding places in the forest;
wringing their hands, crying, and cursing the invaders. In spite of
the advice of Major Tempe, several of the women went off towards
the scene of conflagration, to endeavor to save some little
household treasure from the flames. In a short time one of them
returned to fetch her husband, saying that the enemy had all left
before they reached the village, and were already far down the
hillside. Major Tempe at once sent forward the unwounded men; to
assist the villagers to put out the fire, and to save property.
Their efforts were, however, altogether unavailing; the Germans had
scattered large quantities of petroleum, before leaving, upon the
beds and such other furniture as they could not carry away, or
destroy.
It was a pitiable sight to see the poor homeless people sitting
about, looking at the ruins of their houses. Some cried piteously;
others gazed with listless faces, but with a cold despair even more
painful to see. Fortunately, they had saved all their animals but,
at present, they were too much absorbed in the thoughts of what
they had lost, to bestow even a thought of satisfaction on what
they had saved.
Major Tempe, grieved and touched at the painful scene of which he
and his men had been the cause, called the franc tireurs together;
and made a proposition to them, which was at once heartily agreed
to. He then called together the cure and schoolmaster and--after a
few well-chosen words of regret, at the ills which he and his had
involuntarily brought upon the village--he handed over to them, in
the name of the whole corps, the hundred pounds in thaler notes
which had been found upon the schoolmaster whom they had executed
for treachery; to be distributed among the inhabitants, according
to their necessities.
The offer was gratefully received, and the priest and schoolmaster
at once went round and told the poor people, whose gratitude and
delight were unbounded. To so poor a population, the sum seemed
immense; and although it would not replace what was destroyed, it
would go far towards making their abodes habitable. The village
only contained about twenty houses. The walls were still standing.
Timber for the roofs and floors was to be had for cutting, in the
forest. Bushes for thatching could be found in abundance. The
principal portion of the houses, therefore, would cost only labor,
and this money would suffice to keep them alive, while engaged upon
it; and enough would remain to get at least a few blankets to lay
upon the straw--which would, for the time, serve for beds--together
with a few other simple necessaries. The sale of a portion of the
animals would do the rest and, in their gratitude to the franc
tireurs, for having thus relieved their first and most pressing
difficulties, the inhabitants altogether forgot the ill-feeling
which they had before felt against them, as the authors of their
disaster.
After burying their dead, the men set to work to assist the
villagers in building temporary huts--or rather bowers--to the edge
of the forest; in which, before nightfall, they had the
satisfaction of seeing them installed. The few articles of bedding,
blankets, etc. saved at the approach of the Prussians were spread
on heaps of freshly-cut grass; and one of the oxen of the franc
tireurs, which had arrived the day before, was killed and divided.
Great fires were lighted and--had it not been for the bandages on
the heads, and the arms in slings of several of the franc
tireurs--no one coming upon the scene would have guessed how
desperate a skirmish had raged here.
The next day the carts which had been sent for arrived; and the
wounded were placed in them, upon heaps of straw, and sent off with
one of the surgeons; with instructions to travel among the hills,
until they reached a point where it would be quite safe to descend
into the valley, and take the train to Dijon, at the first station
at which it was open. Among them was Philippe Duburg, who was
accompanied by his brother. Louis had obtained a week's leave of
absence, for the purpose; and was the bearer of letters, and
innumerable messages, from the boys to their parents and sisters. A
few hours later, the remnants of the first and second companies
marched to join their comrades.