THE BATTLE RENEWED
The mountaineers were almost beside themselves with enthusiasm: they
lifted their hands and bepraised one another, as if they were the cream
of mankind.
Catherine, Louise, Doctor Lorquin and all the others came out of the
farm, cheering and congratulating each other, gazing at the marks of
the bullets and at the bank blackened with powder; then at Joseph
Larnette stretched in his hole, having his head smashed; at Baumgarten,
who, with his arm hanging down, walked in great pallor toward the
ambulance; and then at Daniel Spitz, who, in spite of his sabre-cut,
wanted to stay and fight; but the doctor would not hear of it, and
forced him to enter the farm.
Louise came up with the little cart, and poured out brandy for the
combatants; while Catherine Lefevre, standing at the edge of the
sloping bank, watched the dead and wounded scattered over the road, and
led up to by long lines of blood. There were both young and old among
them, with faces white as wax, wide-opened eyes, and outstretched arms.
Some few tried to raise themselves, but no sooner had they done so than
they fell back again; others looked up as though they were afraid of
receiving some more bullets, and dragged themselves along the bank in
order to get under shelter.
Many of them seemed resigned to their fate, and were looking for a
place to die, or else watching their retreating regiment on its way to
Framont--that regiment with which they had quitted their homes, with
which they had made a long campaign, and which was now abandoning them!
"It will see old Germany again!" they thought. "And when some one asks
the captain or the sergeant, 'Did you know such a one--Hans, Kasper,
Nickel, of the 1st or of the 2d company?' they will reply, 'Ah! I
think so. Had he not a scar on the ear, or on the cheek? fair or dark
hair? five feet six in height? Yes, I know him. He was buried in
France, near a little village whose name I do not remember. Some
mountaineers killed him the same day big Major Yeri-Peter was killed.
He was a fine fellow!' And then it is, 'Good-day to you.'"
Perhaps, too, there were some of them who dreamed of their mother, or
of a pretty girl left behind them, Gretchen or Lotchen, who had given,
them a ribbon, and shed hot tears when they left: "I will await thy
return, Kasper. I will only marry thee! Yes, yes, thou wilt have to
wait long!"
It was not pleasant to think of.
Madame Lefevre, seeing this, thought of Gaspard. Hullin, who came up
with Lagarmitte, cried out in a joyous tone, "Well, my boys, you have
been under fire. Bravo! everything goes well. The Germans will have
no occasion to boast of this day."
Then he embraced Louise, and hurried up to Catherine.
"Are you satisfied, Catherine? There! our success is certain. But
what is the matter? You do not smile."
"Yes, Jean-Claude, all goes well. I am satisfied. But look down at
the road. What a butchery!"
"It is only what happens in war," replied Hullin, gravely.
"Could we not go and help that little fellow down there, who watches us
with his large blue eyes? He makes me feel so sad. Or that tall, dark
man, who is binding his leg with his handkerchief?"
"Impossible, Catherine. I am very sorry. We should have to cut steps
in the ice to get down, and the Germans, who will be back in an hour or
two, would take advantage of them. Let us go. The victory must be
announced in all the villages--to Labarbe, Jerome, and Piorette. Ho!
Simon, Niklo, Marchal, come here. You will have to set out
immediately, and carry the great tidings to our comrades. Materne,
keep thy eyes open, and warn me at the slightest movement."
They approached the farm, and, as he passed, Jean-Claude took a look at
the reserve, Marc Dives being on horseback surrounded by his men. The
smuggler complained bitterly of being left with nothing to do, as if
his honor were tarnished thereby.
"Bah!" said Hullin, "so much the better! Besides, thou keepest guard
over our right. Look at that flat ground down there. If we are
attacked from that point, thou wilt have to march!"
Dives made no answer; he looked both sad and indignant, nor did his
stalwart smugglers, wrapped in their cloaks, their long swords hanging
by their sides, seem at all in a better humor; one might have said that
they were meditating some revenge.
Hullin, not succeeding in consoling them, entered the farm-house.
Doctor Lorquin was extracting the ball from Baumgarten's wound, who was
making terrible cries.
Pelsly, on the doorstep, was trembling all over. Jean-Claude asked him
for paper and ink, in order to transmit his orders through the
mountain; but the poor anabaptist could hardly give them to him, so
great was his trouble. However, he succeeded at last, and the
messengers departed, proud of being charged to announce the first
battle and victory.
A few mountaineers were in the large room, warming themselves at the
oven and talking animatedly. Daniel Spitz had already undergone
amputation of his two fingers, and sat behind the stove with his hand
bound up.
Those who had been posted behind the abatis before daybreak, not having
breakfasted, were now eating a crust of bread and drinking a glass of
wine, shouting, gesticulating, and making great bravado meanwhile.
Then they went out, looked at the intrenchments, came back to warm
themselves again, and laughed fit to split their sides when they spoke
of Riffi, and his wails and cries on horseback.
It was eleven o'clock. These incomings and outgoings lasted till
twelve, when Marc Dives suddenly came into the room, calling
out:--"Hullin! Where is Hullin?"
"Here I am."
"Well, then, come!"
The smuggler's tone had something remarkable about it: from being a
moment before furious at having taken no part in the fight, he had now
become triumphant. Jean-Claude followed him, feeling very uneasy: and
the large room was immediately deserted, everybody being convinced,
from Marc's manner, that there was something serious the matter.
To the right of the Donon extends the ravine of Minieres, through which
runs a foaming torrent when the snows melt--descending from the summit
of the mountain to the valley.
Exactly in front of the plateau defended by the partisans, and on the
other side of this ravine, at a distance of five or six hundred metres,
projects a sort of open terrace with rugged sides, which Hullin had
considered unnecessary to occupy for the time, wishing not to divide
his forces, and seeing, besides, that it would be easy for him to turn
this position by the pine-clumps, and to establish himself there, if
the enemy showed any intention to take it.
Now imagine the consternation of the worthy man when, on reaching the
door of the farm-house, he saw two companies of Germans climbing this
ascent, among the gardens of Grandfontaine, having two field-pieces
yoked to powerful horses, which appeared to hang over the precipice. A
troop was pushing at the wheels, and in a few seconds the guns would
have reached the plateau.
It was like a thunder-bolt for Jean-Claude; he turned pale, and then
into a great passion with Dives.
"Couldst thou not have warned me sooner?" he cried. "Did I not command
thee to watch over the ravine? Our position is turned. They will hem
us in, and cut us off from the road farther on. Everything is going to
the deuce."
The people present, and old Materne himself, who had come up in great
haste, were startled by the glance he darted at the smuggler; who,
notwithstanding his usual audacity, was quite confused, not knowing
what to reply.
"Come, come, Jean-Claude," said he at last, "be calm. It is not so
serious as thou sayest. We have not fought yet--we others; and
besides, we have no cannons--so it will be the very thing for us."
"Yes, the very thing for us, imbecile! Thy self-love made thee wait
till the last minute, did it not? Thou wert too eager to fight, and
have an opportunity for boasting and making bravado; and for that thou
didst not hesitate to risk all our lives. Look! there are other troops
being got ready at Framont."
In fact, another column, much stronger than the first, was just then
marching out of Framont at the charge, and advancing against the
breastworks. Dives did not say a word. Hullin controlled his anger,
and became suddenly calm in the presence of danger.
"Go back to your posts," he said briefly to those around him. "Let all
be ready for the coming attack. Materne, listen!"
The old hunter inclined his head. Meanwhile, Marc Dives had recovered
his self-possession.
"Instead of screaming like a woman," said he, "thou wouldst do better
to give me orders to attack down there, by turning the ravine at the
pine-clumps."
"Then do it!" replied Jean-Claude; and in a calmer tone: "Listen, Marc!
I am very angry with thee. We were conquerors; and by thy fault the
battle has to be fought over again. If thou failest in thy attack, all
is lost for us."
"Good! good! The affair is altogether mine: I will answer for it."
Then, springing on his horse, and throwing the end of his mantle over
his shoulder, he drew his long blade with a defiant air. His men did
the same.
He then turned to the reserve, composed of five hundred mountaineers,
and showing the plateau to them with the point of his sword, said,
"Look there, my men! we must carry that position. The men of Dagsburg
must not say that they are braver than the men of the Sarre. Forward!"
And, full of ardor, they advanced, skirting the ravine. Hullin shouted
to them--"At the point of your bayonets!"
The big smuggler, on his great sleek roan, turned round, laughing out
of the corners of his mustache, and waved his sword in a significant
way; then the whole body dashed into the pine-wood.
At the same time the Germans, with their eight-pounders, had gained the
plateau, and were putting them in position, while the column from
Framont was ascending the hill-side. Thus everything was in the same
condition as before the battle,--with this difference, that the
enemies' bullets would now come into play and take the mountaineers in
the rear.
One could see distinctly the two field-pieces with their cramp-irons,
levers, sponges, artillerymen, and the officer commanding, a great
lanky fellow, with broad shoulders and fair mustaches floating in the
wind. The blue shades of the valley seeming to diminish the distance,
they looked as though you might have touched them; but Hullin and
Materne were not to be deceived; it was a good six hundred metres
across. No carbine could reach so far. Nevertheless, the old hunter,
before returning to the abatis, wished to have his mind set quite at
rest. He advanced as close as possible to the ravine, followed by
his-son Kasper and a few mountaineers; and, leaning against a tree, he
raised his gun deliberately and took aim at the tall officer with the
fair mustaches. All those about him held their breath for fear of
balking the attempt.
Materne fired, but when he laid down his weapon to see what had
occurred, no change had taken place.
"It is astonishing how age weakens the sight," he said.
"Your weakened sight!" cried Kasper. "There is not a man from the
Vosges to Switzerland who can boast of hitting his mark at two hundred
metres like you!"
The old hunter knew well it was the case, but he did not wish to
discourage the others.
"Well," he replied, "we have no time for disputing. Here is the enemy
again; let each do his duty." Although these words seemed simple and
calm enough, Materne was very much troubled in reality. On entering
the trench confused sounds met his ear--the clattering of arms and the
regular tramp of many feet. He looked down over the steep bank, and
now saw the Germans, who this time carried long ladders with hooks at
the end.
It was not a pleasant sight for the brave fellow: he made a sign to his
son to approach, and said to him, in a low voice, "Kasper, that looks
bad--very bad; the rascals are coming with ladders. Give me thy hand!
I should like to have thee near me, and Frantz as well; but we must
defend ourselves with steadiness."
At this moment a great explosion shook the abatis, and a hoarse voice
was heard crying out, "Ah, my God!" Then a hundred paces distant there
was a heavy sound, and a fine tree bent down slowly and fell into the
abyss. It was the first cannon-ball: it had cut off old Rochart's
legs. It was followed by another immediately after, which covered all
the mountaineers with broken ice, and made a great rumbling. Old
Materne himself had bent down under the force of the explosion, but
raising himself quickly, he shouted, "Let us revenge ourselves, my
children. They are before you. To conquer or die!"
Fortunately the panic of the mountaineers only lasted a second: they
all understood that the slightest hesitation and they were lost. Two
ladders had already been raised, notwithstanding the fusillade, and
were being attached to the bank by their iron hooks. This sight made
the partisans furious, and the fight became more terrible and desperate
than before.
Hullin had noticed the ladders before Materne had, and his wrath
against Dives increased; but as in such a case indignation is of no
avail, he had sent Lagarmitte to tell Frantz Materne, who had been
posted on the other side of the Donon, to come to him quickly with half
his men. We may well believe the brave fellow, warned of the danger
his father was in, lost not a moment. Already their large black hats
could be seen climbing the hill-side amid the snows, their carbines
slung across their shoulders. They came with all despatch,
nevertheless Jean-Claude met them, with a haggard expression in his
eyes, and shouted in a vibrating voice, "Come quicker! at that rate you
will never reach us."
He was in a towering passion, and attributed all the misfortune to the
smuggler.
Meanwhile Marc Dives, in about half an hour, had gone round the ravine,
and, from the back of his tall horse, began to perceive the two
companies of Germans, with grounded arms, about a hundred feet behind
the guns, which were being fired upon the trench. Then, approaching
the mountaineers, he said to them, in a stifled voice, while the
reports of the cannon were re-echoed in the gorge and in the distance
the noise of battle was heard: "Comrades, you must attack the infantry
with your bayonets: I and my men will be answerable for the rest. Is
it understood?"
"Yes, it is understood."
"Then, forward!"
The whole troop advanced in good order toward the outskirts of the
wood, big Piercy of Soldatenthal at their head. Nearly at the same
instant the _Wer da?_ ("Who there?") of a sentinel was heard; then two
shots; a loud cry of "Vive la France!" and the trampling of many feet
in a charge. The brave mountaineers threw themselves like wolves on
the enemy.
Dives stood up in his stirrups and watched them with great glee. "That
is well," said he.
The _melee_ was a terrible one; the ground trembled with it. The
Germans were firing no more than the partisans: the affair was passing
in silence; the clashing of bayonets and the sound of sabre-strokes,
with here and there a rifle-shot, shouts of anger and a great tumult:
except these, one could hear nothing else. The smugglers, with
outstretched necks and sword in hand, sniffed the carnage and awaited
the signal from their chief with impatience.
"Now, it is our turn," said Dives, at length. "The guns must be ours."
And out of the underwood they sprang, and their large cloaks flying
behind them like wings, they dashed forward, bending in their saddles
and pointing their swords.
"Never mind cutting! Run them through!" cried Dives once more.
That was all he said.
In a second, the twelve vultures were down upon the guns. Among their
number were four old Spanish dragoons and two cuirassiers of the guard,
whom a life of danger had attached to Marc: so I leave you to imagine
how they fought. Blows from lever, rammer, and sabre, the only arms
the gunners had to hand, rained upon them like hail; they parried them
all, and every cut they made brought down a man.
Marc Dives received two pistol-shots, of which one singed his left
cheek and the other carried away his hat. But, at the same time,
bending over his saddle, his long arms stretched out, he transfixed the
big officer with the fair mustaches to his gun; then raising himself
deliberately, and gazing round him with a frown, said, in a sententious
manner: "We have cleared out the rubbish! the guns are ours."
To get a good idea of this terrible scene, you must imagine the crowd
on the plateau of Minieres. The cries, the neighings of horses, the
flight of some, who threw down their arms in order to run the faster,
the desperation of others;--beyond the ravine, the ladders covered with
white uniforms and bristling with bayonets; the mountaineers above the
escarpment defending themselves with obstinacy; the hill-sides, the
road, and, above all, the space outside the breastworks, encumbered
with dead and wounded;--the great numbers of the enemy, their muskets
over their shoulders and their officers in the midst of them, pressing
forward into action; and, finally, Materne standing on the crest of the
hill, his bayonet in the air, his mouth opened wide, shouting wildly to
his son Frantz, who was advancing with his troop, Master Jean-Claude at
their head, to aid the mountaineers. You should have heard the
fusillade, the platoon and file firing, and, above all, the distant
confused shouts, intermixed with sharp wails dying away among the
mountain echoes. To gain a good idea of the scene, you should imagine
all these as concentrated into one moment and surveyed with a rapid
glance.
But Dives was not of a contemplative turn: he lost no time in making
poetical reflections on the uproar and savagery of the battle. With
one look he had taken in the whole situation; so, springing from his
horse, he went up to the first gun, which was still loaded, aimed it at
the ladders, and fired.
Then there arose wild clamors, and the smuggler, peering through the
smoke, saw that fearful havoc had been made in the enemy's ranks. He
waved his hands in sign of triumph, and the mountaineers on the
breastworks answered with a general hurrah.
"Now then, dismount," said he to his men, "and don't go to sleep. A
cartridge, a ball, and some turf. We will sweep the road. Look out!"
The smugglers put themselves in position, and continued to fire with
enthusiasm upon the white coats. The bullets rained into their ranks.
At the tenth discharge there was a general _sauve-qui-peut_.
"Fire! fire!" shouted Marc.
And the partisans, now supported by Frantz's troop, regained, under
Hullin's directions, the positions which they had for the moment lost.
The whole of the hill-side was soon covered with dead and wounded. It
was then four in the evening; night was approaching. The last ball
fell into the street of Grandfontaine, and rebounding on the angle of
the pavement, knocked down the chimney of the "Red Ox."
About six hundred men perished that day: there were, of course, many
mountaineers among them, but the greater number were "kaiserlichs."
Had it not been for the fire of Marc Dives's cannon, all would have
been lost; the partisans were not one against ten, and the enemy had
already begun to gain on the trenches.