After the check in the Vosges, General Cambriels found it
impossible to restore sufficient order, among the Mobiles, to
enable him to show face again to the enemy. He was, besides, in
want of many articles of urgent necessity. Half his force were
shoeless; and the thin blouses which were--as has been said--all
the covering that many of the Mobiles had, were ill calculated to
resist the bitter cold which was already setting in. Ammunition,
too, as well as food, was short.
The general determined, therefore, upon falling back upon Besancon,
and reorganizing his forces there. A wound in his head, too, which
was insufficiently healed when he took the command, had now broken
out again; and his surgeon ordered absolute repose, for a while.
Upon the day of the fight, Ralph had ridden slowly to the rear,
when he saw that the fight was going against the French. Hardened
as he was by his work, and with an excellent constitution, his
wound never for a moment assumed a troublesome aspect; but at the
end of a week he was able--keeping it, of course, in a sling--to
mount his horse, and report himself ready for duty. The
headquarters were now at Besancon; and Ralph could, had he applied
for it, have obtained leave to go to Dijon; but he had not done so,
as he had been so lately at home, and he thought that the sight of
his arm in a sling would be likely to make his mother more nervous,
and anxious on their account, than before.
The Germans were still at some distance from Besancon, being
watched by Colonel Tempe and his franc tireurs, and by the
irregular forces. A considerable army was now fast gathering at
Besancon, and the regimental and superior staff officers were hard
at work at the organization As aides-de-camp, the boys had little
to do; and therefore requested leave, for two or three days, to go
up to their old friends, the franc tireurs of Dijon. The general at
once granted the required permission; adding, with a smile:
"Don't forget you are officers now, lads, and get into any
hare-brained adventures, you know; and be sure you are back on
Thursday, as I expect General Michel--my successor--to arrive on
Friday; and I shall have to give you, as part of my belongings."
"We are sure to be back, general."
And so they set off; taking, as usual, Tim Doyle with them, as
orderly and servant.
"Faith, and I am glad enough to be out in the open again, Mister
Ralph," Tim said, as they left Besancon behind. "After living out
in the woods, for six weeks; there does not seem room to breathe,
in a crowded town."
"It's jolly to be out again, Tim; but I don't know that I mind a
town again, for a few days."
"Ah, it's all very well for the likes of yees, Mister Ralph--with
your officer's uniform, and your arm in a sling, and the girls all
looking at you as a hero--but for me it's different, entirely. Out
in the open I feel that--except when there's anything to do for
your honors--I am my own master, and can plase myself. Here in the
town I am a common hussar; and my arm is just weary with saluting
to all the fellows, with a sword by their side, that I meet in the
street.
"Then there's no chance of any fighting, as long as we're shut up
in the walls of a town; and what's the use of being decked up in
uniform, except to fight? Is there any chance of just the least
scrimmage in the world, while we are back again with the boys?" he
asked, persuasively.
The boys laughed.
"Not much, Tim; but we shall be pretty close to the enemy, and
something may turn up, at any moment. But surely you've had enough,
in the last six weeks?"
"Pretty well, Mister Percy--pretty well; but you see, the last
affair didn't count."
"Oh, didn't it count!" Ralph said, looking at his arm. "I think it
counted for two or three fights and, if you were not hit, I am sure
you were fired at often enough to satisfy the most desperate lover
of fighting, Tim."
"I was fired at often enough, I daresay, Mister Ralph; and I can't
say that I liked it, entirely. It isn't so mighty pleasant--sitting
like a stiff statue behind the general, with the shells falling
about you like peas, and not allowed the divarshin of a single shot
back, in return.
"'Shoot away,' says I, 'as hard as you like; but let's shoot back,
in return.'"
The boys laughed, and the day passed pleasantly as they rode, and
talked. The dusk had already fallen when they reached a party of
franc tireurs. It was not their own corps, nor could the officer in
command tell exactly where they could find them.
"We are scattered over a considerable extent of country," he said;
"and the colonel, alone, could tell you how we are all placed. I
expect that he will be here, tonight; and your best plan will be to
stay here, till he comes. We have not much to offer you, but such
as it is, it is at your service."
After a moment's consultation, the boys agreed to accept the offer;
as they had palpably more chance of meeting Colonel Tempe, there,
than in a journey through the woods, at night; and in another ten
minutes their horses were tied to trees, and they were sitting by a
blazing fire, with the officers of franc tireurs. The village
consisted of only three or four houses and, as there were fifty men
in the party upon which they had come, they bivouacked under the
trees, hard by.
"How far off are the Germans?" Ralph asked, when dinner was over;
and they lay by the fire, smoking cigars.
"Ten miles or so," the officer answered, carelessly.
"No chance of their coming this way, I hope," Ralph laughed. "We
were very nearly caught near Saverne, once."
"So I heard," the officer said, "but I am rather skeptical as to
these night surprises. In nine cases out of ten--mind, I don't mean
for a moment that it was so in your case--but in nine cases out of
ten, these rumors of night attacks are all moonshine."
"Perhaps so," Ralph said, a little gravely--for he had already
noticed that the discipline was very different, among these men,
than that to which he had been accustomed among the franc tireurs
of Dijon; "perhaps so, but we can hardly be too careful.
"How do you all like Colonel Tempe?"
"The colonel would be an excellent fellow, were he not our
colonel," the officer laughed. "He is a most unconscionable man.
For ever marching, and drilling, and disciplining. If he had his
way, he would make us like a regiment of line; as if there could be
any good in carrying out all that sort of thing, with franc
tireurs. He had about half of us together, for three or four days;
and I give you my word it was as bad as slavery. Drill, drill,
drill, from morning till night. I was heartily glad, I can tell
you, when I got away with this detachment."
Ralph saw that his new acquaintance was one of that innumerable
class who conceived that drill and discipline were absurdities, and
that it was only necessary for a Frenchman to shoulder a gun for
him to be a soldier; so he easily avoided argument, by turning the
subject. For a couple of hours they chatted; and then, as the fire
was burning low, and the men had already laid down to sleep, Ralph
suggested that they should do the same.
"I will walk round the sentries first, with you, if you like," he
said.
"Sentries!" the other said, with a laugh; "there is my sentry," and
he pointed to a man standing, ten paces off, leaning against a
tree. "The men have marched all day--they only came in an hour
before you did--and I am not going to waste their strength by
putting half of them out to watch the forest.
"No, no, I am no advocate for harassing my men."
"Good night, then," Ralph said, briefly, and he wrapped himself in
his cloak, and lay down.
"We are not accustomed to this sort of thing, Percy," he whispered
to his brother, in English, "and I don't like it. No wonder our
franc tireurs do so badly, if this is a sample of their
discipline."
"I don't like it either, Ralph. The Prussians are advancing; and if
that fellow last heard of them as ten miles off, they are as likely
as not to be only two. I shan't be sorry when morning comes."
"Nor I either, Percy. However, here we are, and we have no
authority over this fellow; so we must make the best of it, and
hope that--for once--folly will not have its just reward."
So saying, the boys remained silent for the night. But although
silent, neither of them slept much--Ralph especially, whose arm was
still very sore, and at times painful, hardly closed his eyes. He
told himself it was absurd, but he could not help listening, with
painful attention.
Had the night been a quiet one, he need not have strained his ears;
for as he knew, from the many hours he had passed at night upon
guard, the hush is so intense--in these great forests--that one can
hear the fall of a mountain stream, miles away; and the snapping of
a twig, or almost the falling of a leaf, will catch the ear. The
night, however, was windy; and the rustle of the pine forest would
have deadened all sound, except anything sharp, and near.
The sentry did not appear similarly impressed with the necessity
for any extraordinary attention. He was principally occupied in
struggling against cold, and drowsiness. He walked up and down, he
stamped his foot, hummed snatches of songs, yawned with great
vigor, and so managed to keep awake for two hours; when he roused
the next for duty, and lay down with a grunt of relief.
At last, after keeping awake for hours, Ralph dozed off. How long
he slept, he knew not; but he was roused into full wakefulness by a
touch on the shoulder, and by hearing Tim Doyle whisper:
"Hist, Mister Ralph, I've my doubts that there is something wrong.
I couldn't sleep, in this camp without watch or outposts; and for
the last quarter of an hour, I fancy I've been hearing noises. I
don't know which way they are coming, but it seems to me they are
all round us. I may be wrong, sir, but as sure as the piper--"
"Hush, Tim!" Ralph said to the Irishman, who had crawled
noiselessly along, and had lain down by his side.
"Percy, are you awake?"
"Yes, I woke at Tim's whisper. Listen."
They did listen; and distinctly, above the sighing of the wind,
they could hear a rustling, cracking noise. Day was just breaking,
but the light was not sufficiently strong to show objects with any
distinctness, among the trees.
"By Jove, we are surrounded!" Percy said; and was just going to
alarm the camp when the sentry, startled into wakefulness,
challenged and fired.
The franc tireurs woke, and leaped to their feet. Percy and Tim
were about to do the same, when Ralph held them down.
"Lie still," he said, "for your lives."
His words were not out of his lips, when a tremendous volley rang
out all round them; and half the franc tireurs fell.
"Now!" Ralph said, leaping up, "make a rush for a house.
"To the houses, all of you," he shouted, loudly. "It is our only
chance. We shall be shot down, here, like sheep."
The officer of the franc tireurs had already atoned for his
carelessness, by his life; and the men obeyed Ralph's call and,
amidst a heavy fire, rushed across the fifty yards of open space to
the houses. The door was burst in, with the rush.
Ralph had not stopped at the first house but, followed by his
brother and Tim Doyle, had run farther on; and entered the last
house in the village.
"Why did you not go in with the others, Ralph? We have no chance of
defending ourselves, here. We have only our revolvers."
"We have no chance of defending ourselves anywhere, Percy," Ralph
said. "There must be a couple of hundred of them, at least; and not
above fifteen or twenty, at most, of the franc tireurs gained the
houses. Resistance is utterly useless; and yet, had I been with
those poor fellows, I could not have told them to surrender, when
they would probably be shot, five minutes afterwards. We should be
simply throwing away our lives, without doing the least good."
There was a heavy firing now heard and, a moment after, half a
dozen shots were fired through the window. Then there was a rush of
soldiers towards the door, which Ralph had purposely left open.
"We surrender," Ralph shouted, in German, coming forward to meet
them. "We are French officers."
"Don't fire," a voice said, and then a young officer came forward.
"You are not franc tireurs?" he asked, for the light was still
insufficient to enable him to distinguish uniforms.
"We are officers of the army, upon General Cambriels' staff. This
man is an orderly.
"Here are our swords. We surrender, as prisoners of war."
The German officer bowed.
"Keep your swords, for the present, gentlemen. I am not in
command."
At this moment, another officer came up.
"Who have we here, Von Hersen? Why do you make prisoners?"
"They are two staff officers, major."
"Hem," said the major, doubtfully.
"Well, if you are an officer," he continued, "order your men to
cease their resistance."
The franc tireurs, most of whom had taken refuge in the same
cottage, were still defending themselves desperately; and were
keeping up a heavy fire, from the windows.
"I will order them to surrender, at once," Ralph said, quietly; "if
you give me your word that they shall be treated as prisoners of
war."
"I will do nothing of the sort, sir," the German answered.
"Then I shall certainly not advise them to surrender," Ralph said,
firmly. "I have no authority, whatever, over them; but if I give
advice, it would be that they should sell their lives as dearly as
possible."
The officer swore a deep German oath, and strode off. For five more
minutes the fight continued round the cottage, many of the Germans
falling; then a rush was made, there was a fierce contest inside
the house--shouts, shrieks, cries for mercy--and then all was
still.
The young Barclays and Tim were now told to sit down near a tree,
at a short distance off; with two sentries, with loaded rifles,
standing over them. The German soldiers took from the houses what
few articles they fancied, and then set fire to them; sitting down
and eating their breakfast as the flames shot up. At a short
distance from where the Barclays were sitting was a group of some
eight or ten franc tireurs, and six or seven peasants, guarded by
some soldiers.
Near them the German major and two lieutenants were talking. One of
the young men appeared to take little interest in the conversation;
but the other was evidently urging some point, with great
earnestness; and the major was equally plainly refusing his
request, for he stamped his foot angrily, and shook his head.
"What a type that major is, of the brutal species of German," Ralph
said. "One used to meet them, sometimes. Their officers are either
particularly nice fellows, mere machines, or great brutes;
apparently we have a specimen of each of them, here."
The officers passed near enough for the Barclays to catch what they
were saying.
The young lieutenant was very pale.
"For the last time, major, I implore you."
"For the last time, Lieutenant von Hersen," the major said,
brutally, "I order you to do your duty and, by Heavens, if you
speak another word, I will put you in arrest!"
The young lieutenant turned silently away, called up twenty men,
and ordered them to place the franc tireurs and the peasants
against a wall.
"This is horrible, Ralph," Percy said. "That scoundrel is going to
shoot them, in cold blood."
"I protest against this execution," Ralph said, in a loud tone,
advancing towards the major, "as a cold-blooded murder, and a
violation of all the rights of war."
"Hold your tongue, sir," the German major said, turning to him
furiously, "or, by Heavens, I will put you up there, too!"
"You dare not," Ralph said, firmly. "Outrage, as you do, every law
of civilization and humanity; you dare not shoot an officer of the
army, in cold blood."
The major turned black with passion.
"By Heavens!" he exclaimed.
But the officer who had not--hitherto--interposed, threw himself
before him.
"Pardon me, major," he said, respectfully, "but the Frenchman is
right. It would bring discredit upon the whole army to touch these
prisoners of war.
"In the other matter, I have nothing to say. The order has been
published that franc tireurs, and peasants sheltering them, shall
be shot; and it is not for me to discuss orders, but to obey
them--but this is a matter affecting all our honors."
The major stood, for a moment, irresolute; but he knew well that
the German military authorities would punish, probably with death,
the atrocity which he meditated; and he said hoarsely, to some of
the men near:
"Tie their arms behind their backs, and take them farther into the
wood."
Ralph, his brother, and Tim Doyle were hurried into the wood by
their guards but--strict as is the discipline of the German
army--they could see that they disapproved, in the highest degree,
of the conduct of their commanding officer.
They were still near enough to see what was passing in the village.
Not a man of the franc tireurs begged his life, but stood upright
against the wall. Two of the peasants imitated their example, as
did a boy of not over thirteen years of age. Two other lads of the
same age, and a peasant, fell on their knees and prayed piteously
for life.
The young officer turned round towards the major in one, now mute,
appeal. It was in vain.
"Put your rifles within a foot of their heads," the lieutenant
said. "Fire!"
When the smoke cleared away, the soldiers were standing alone; and
the peasants and franc tireurs lay, in a confused mass, on the
ground.
The lieutenant walked up to the major with a steady step, but with
a face as pale as ashes.
"I have done my duty, Major Kolbach; your orders are obeyed."
Then, without another word, he drew out his revolver, put it rapidly
to his temple, and blew out his brains [an historical fact].
Brutal as Major Kolbach was, he started back in horror as the young
lieutenant fell dead at his feet; while a cry of surprise and
consternation broke from the men. The major did not say a word, but
turned away and paced up and down, with disturbed steps; while the
other lieutenant bent over the body of his comrade and, seeing that
he was dead, in a hushed voice ordered the men who had run up to
dig a grave, under the trees, and bring him there.
When this was done he ordered the men to fall in--placing the
Barclays, and Tim in their midst--and then went up to the major and
saluted, saying coldly that the men were ready to march. The major
nodded, signed to the orderly who was holding his horse to
approach, vaulted into the saddle, and rode along the road back
toward the main body of the army. The lieutenant gave the word, and
the column marched off; leaving behind it the still smoking houses,
and the still warm bodies of some sixty men.
There was a general gloom over the faces of the men; and no one
could suppose, from their air, that they were returning from a
successful expedition, in which they had annihilated a body of
enemy fifty strong, with the loss of only five or six of their own
men. Discipline was, however, too strict for a word of blame, or
even of comment to be spoken; and not a sound was heard but the
heavy, measured tramp as the troops marched back through the
forests. The major rode on, moodily, some forty or fifty yards
ahead of the main body.
They had not gone half a mile before there was a shot fired in the
wood, close to the road. The major gave a start, and nearly fell
from his horse; then recovered himself, and turned to ride back to
the column, when there was another shot, and he fell off his horse,
heavily, to the ground.
The column had instinctively halted, and the lieutenant gave the
word, "Load."
A shout of triumph was heard in the wood, "Thirty-one!" and then
all was still.
"That's the old fellow who saved my life, ten days ago, Percy,"
Ralph said; "and by Jove! much obliged to him as I was, then, I do
think that I am more grateful now."
Finding that the shots were not repeated, some twenty or thirty
skirmishers were sent into the woods; but returned, in ten minutes,
without finding any trace of the man who had shot the major.
The lieutenant now took the command. There was a continuation of
the halt, for ten minutes, while the major was hastily buried by
the roadside; a rough cross being put up to mark the spot, and a
deep cross cut made in the two nearest trees so that, even if the
cross were overthrown, the place of the burial might be found
afterwards, if necessary. Then the corps marched on again.
The first use which the lieutenant made of his authority--even
before giving directions for the burial--was to order the cords of
the prisoners to be cut. Then the corps continued its march and, by
the brightened faces of the men, it could be seen easily enough how
unpopular their late commander had been; and that they cherished
but slight animosity against the slayer. In a short time they
struck up one of their marching songs and--prisoners as they
were--the Barclays could not but admire the steady, martial bearing
of the men, as they strode along, making the woods echo with the
deep chorus.
In three hours' march they reached the village which the troops had
left, the evening before, to surprise the franc tireurs; having, as
Ralph had learned from the lieutenant in command, received
information from a spy of their arrival at the village, late at
night; and having started at once, under his guidance.
Here a considerable German force was assembled. The prisoners were
not unkindly treated; but Tim Doyle was, of course, separated from
them. Some astonishment was expressed at their youth; but it was
assumed that they had been pupils at Saint Cyr or the Polytechnic,
many of whom received commissions owing to the impossibility of
finding officers for the immense new levies. Several of the
officers came in to chat with them and, as these had been also
engaged in the fights, ten days before, there were many questions
to ask, upon either side.
The boys learned that they would be sent on, next day; would be
marched to Luneville, and sent thence by train.
"They are a fine set of fellows," Ralph said, when their last
visitor had left them. "Good officers, unquestionably; and when
they are nice, capital fellows. I can't make out why they should be
so brutal, as soldiers; for they are undoubtedly a kindly race."
"No doubt," Percy said, but he was thinking of other matters, and
not paying much attention to his brother.
"Do you think we have any chance of making our escape, Ralph?"
"Oh, we shall escape, fast enough," Ralph answered, confidently.
"With our knowledge of German, and looking so young, there can be
no great difficulty about it, when we once get to the end of our
journey; but it's no use our thinking about it, at present. We
shall be a good deal too closely looked after. I only hope they
will send us to Mayence, or Coblentz; and not to one of the
fortresses at the other end of Germany.
"Mind, we must not give our parole."
The next day, when they were summoned to start, they found that
there were fifty or sixty other prisoners who had been brought in,
from other directions. Some belonged to line regiments; but the
greater portion, by far, were Mobiles who, in the retreat of
General Cambriels, had been cut off or left behind and, after
hiding in the woods for some days, were being gradually found and
brought in. The Barclays were the only officers. They therefore
took their places at the head of the prisoners; who formed, four
deep--with an escort of Uhlans--and set off on their march.
It was four days' march. The weather was cold and clear, and the
Barclays were but little fatigued when they marched into Luneville.
The greater part of the prisoners were, however, in a pitiable
condition. Some were so footsore that they could hardly put one
foot before the other. Others tottered with fatigue, and the men of
the escort frequently used the flats of their swords, to compel
them to keep together. As they marched through the streets of
Luneville, the people in the streets uncovered; and the women waved
their hands to them, and pressed forward and offered them fruit and
bread, in spite of the orders of the escort.
They were taken straight to the railway station, where they were
put into a shed. Ralph and Percy had gained the goodwill of the
sergeant in command of the escort, by the manner in which they had
aided him by interpreting to the rest of the prisoners, and by
doing their best to cheer them up, and take things smooth; and they
now asked him to request the officer in command, at the railway
station, to allow them to walk about until the train started, on
parole. The request was--upon the favorable report of the
sergeant--granted at once; and they were told that no train would
go off until next morning, and that they might sleep in the town,
if they chose.
Thanking the officer for the permission, they went out of the
station; when a tall, big-bearded German sergeant stopped before
them.
"Donner wetter!" he exclaimed, "so here you are, again!"
The boys gave a little start; for they recognized, at once, the
sergeant who had so closely questioned them in the cabaret, upon
the night when they had carried off and hung the schoolmaster.
Ralph saw, at once, the importance of conciliating the man; as a
report from him of the circumstances might render their position a
most unpleasant one and--even in the event of nothing worse coming
of it--would almost ensure their captivity in some prison upon the
farther side of Prussia, instead of at one of the frontier
fortresses.
"Ah, sergeant, how are you?" he said, gaily. "It is our fate, you
see, to be made prisoners. You were very nearly taking us, and now
here we are."
"A nice trick you played me," the sergeant said, surlily, "with
your woodcutters, and your lame brother, and your sick sister, and
your cask of beer. I got a nice reprimand over that affair."
"Come, sergeant," Ralph said, laughing, "let bygones be bygones.
All is fair in war, you know, and we did not touch a single hair of
any of your men's heads. All we wanted was the schoolmaster. It
would not do you any good to talk about it, now, and it might do us
harm. It's quite bad enough for us, as it is."
"You're nice boys, you are," the sergeant said, with his face
relaxing into a smile. "To think of my being taken in, by two lads
like you. Well, you did it well--monstrously well, I will say--for
you never flinched an eyelash.
"So you are officers, after all. I never suspected anything about
it, till three hours afterwards, when we went to relieve the
sentry; and found him lying there, tied up like a bundle. We
couldn't think, even then, what it meant, for you had made no
attack; and it wasn't till morning that we found that the old
schoolmaster had been fetched out of bed, and carried off on the
heads of twenty men.
"Well, it was well done, and I bear you no malice."
"That's right, sergeant. Now come and have a jug of beer with us;
you know, we had one with you, before. Don't you remember, we drank
to the health of King William? If you like, you shall return the
pledge, by drinking to Napoleon."
The sergeant laughed.
"I'll do that," he said. "You said, if you remember, when I
proposed the king, that you did not wish to hear of his death; and
I can say the same for your Napoleon. Especially," he added with a
chuckle, "as he's our prisoner."
The boys went into a cabaret near, and drank a glass of beer with
the sergeant; and then--saying "Goodbye," very heartily--left him,
and went into the town; well pleased to have got so well out of a
scrape which might have been a very unpleasant one.
They slept at a hotel, and were down at the station at the
appointed time. It was a long journey--thirty-six hours--to
Mayence. But the boys were too pleased--when they saw the line that
the train was following--to have cared, had it been twice as far.
The difficulties of escape from the western fortresses would have
been immense; whereas, at Mayence, they were comparatively close to
the frontier. At Mayence, too, the position of the prisoners was
comfortable. They were allowed to live anywhere in the town, and to
take their meals when they chose. They were obliged, twice a day,
to answer at the muster roll; and were not, of course, allowed to
go outside the fortifications.
The one drawback, to the position of the French officers, was the
utterly insufficient sum which the Prussian Government allowed them
for board and lodging--only forty-five francs a month; that is to
say, fifteen pence a day. It is needless to say that the officers
who had nothing else to depend upon literally starved, upon this
pittance; which was the more inexcusable that the French Government
allowed more than twice this sum to the German officers who were
taken prisoners.
Upon this head, however, the boys had no discomfort. They had
plenty of money in their pockets, for present uses; and they knew
that they could obtain further supplies by writing home, via
Switzerland. They were, therefore, unaffectedly glad when the train
came to a stop at the station of Mayence, and the order was given
for all to alight.