Chapter XII.

Materne and his sons pursued their way for a long distance in silence. The weather was fine; the winter sun shone on the dazzling snow without thawing it, so that the path was firm and solid. Afar off, in the valley, the tall firs, pointed rocks, and the roofs of the houses, with their hanging icicles and little glittering windows and steep gables, were sharply outlined in the clear air, and in the street of Grandfontaine they could see a troop of young girls around the wash-house, and a few old men in cotton caps smoking their pipes at their cottage doors; but of all the busy life so plainly seen, not a sound reached their ears.

The old hunter halted at the edge of the wood, saying:

"I will go down to the village, to Dubreuil's, the keeper of the Pine-Cone."

He pointed with his staff to a long white building, with doors and windows surrounded by a yellow border, and a pine branch hanging from the wall by way of sign.

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"Wait for me here," said the old man, "unless I come to the door and raise my hat, when you may follow, and take a glass of wine with me."

He descended the snow-covered mountain-side, gained the plain, and crossed the village common, and his two boys, resting upon their pieces, saw him enter the inn. A few moments after, he reappeared on the threshold and raised his hat. Fifteen minutes after, they had rejoined their father in the large hall of the Pine-Cone--a long, low room, warmed by a huge stove on the sanded floor.

Except for the presence of the innkeeper, Dubreuil, the fattest and most apoplectic man in the Vosges, with little round eyes, a flat nose, and a triple chin falling upon his breast--except, I say, for the presence of this redoubtable personage, who was sitting in a large arm-chair near the fire, Materne found himself alone when he entered the inn. He ordered the glasses filled as the old clock struck nine, and the wooden cock upon it flapped his wings with a strange rusty noise.

"Good morning, Father Dubreuil!" said both the young men.

"Good morning, my boys, good morning!" replied the inn-keeper, in an oily voice, smiling an oily smile. "Any news?"

"No, faith," answered Kasper. "Winter is upon us, the season for boar-hunting."

Then both, placing their rifles in a corner of the window, at hand in case of need, sat down at a table opposite their father, and drank, saying. "To our health!" as they had been taught to be always careful to do.

"So," said Materne, turning to the innkeeper, and apparently resuming a conversation that had been interrupted, "you think, Father Dubreuil, that we may hunt without fear in the wood of Baronies?"

"Oh! as for that I can't say," replied mine host, shrugging his shoulders; "I only know that at present the Allies have not got beyond Mutzig. But they don't injure any one; but receive all well-disposed people--who wish to fight the usurper."

"The usurper? Who is that?"

"Eh? Why, Napoleon Bonaparte, the usurper, to be sure. Look on the wall there."

He pointed to a large placard hanging near the clock.

"Look there, and you will see that the Austrians are our true friends."

Old Materne's brows knitted, but he repressed his feelings, and said,

"But I cannot read, Monsieur Dubreuil, nor my boys. Explain the matter to us."

Then the old publican, raising himself with much difficulty from his armchair, and puffing like a porpoise with the unwonted exertion, placed himself before the placard, with his arms folded across his enormous breast, and in a majestic tone read a proclamation of the allied sovereigns setting forth that they, said sovereigns, were waging war against Napoleon and not against France, and that, consequently, it behoved all good people to remain at home and to mind their own business, under pain of having their houses, goods, and chattels pillaged and burnt, and themselves shot.

The three hunters listened to all this, and then looked at each other.

When Dubreuil had finished reading, he again took his seat, saying,

"Well, you see now, do you not?"

"Where did you get that?" asked Kasper.

"It is posted everywhere."

"We are glad to hear it," said Materne, pressing the arm of Frantz, who had risen with flaming eyes. "Do you want some fire, Frantz? Here is my steel."

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Frantz sat down, and the old man proceeded good-humoredly,

"And so, our good friends, the Austrians, will take nothing from us?"

"Well-disposed people have nothing to fear, but those who rise in arms are stripped of everything; which is only right, for it is not just that the good should suffer for the bad. Thus, for instance, you would be very well received at the allied headquarters; you know the country and could serve as guides, for which you would be well paid."

There was a moment of silence; again the three hunters gazed at each other; the father placed his hands upon the table, as if beseeching his sons to remain calm, but he himself was pale with rage.

The innkeeper, perceiving nothing of this, continued,

"You have more reason to fear in the woods of Baronies those villains of Dagsberg, of the Sarre, and of Blanru, who have revolted, and wish to commence '93 over again."

"Are you sure they have?" asked Materne, struggling hard to contain himself.

"Am I sure? You have only to look out the window and you will see them on the Donon road. They have captured the Anabaptist, Pelsly, and bound him to the foot of his bed; they are pillaging, stealing, destroying the roads; but let them beware! In a few days they will have their hands full, and it is not with a thousand, or ten thousand, men they will have to deal, but with hundreds of thousands. They will all be hung."

Materne arose.

"It is time for us to be on our way," said he shortly. "By two o'clock we must be in the woods. Farewell, Father Dubreuil."

All three rushed out, anger choking them.

"Reflect well upon what I told you," cried the innkeeper, from his arm-chair.

Once without, Materne turned with quivering lips, and cried,

"If I had not restrained myself, I would have broken the bottle over his head."

"And I," said Frantz, "would have thrust my bayonet through his body."

Kasper still stood at the threshold, hesitating. His fingers clutched the hilt of his hunting-knife, and his eyes were almost savage in their glare; but the old man seized him by the arm and dragged him away, saying:

"Away! We will meet the wretch again. To advise me to betray my country! Hullin said well when he told us to be on our guard."

They passed down the street gazing fiercely around.

At the end of the village, opposite the ancient cross, and near the church, they halted. Materne then, somewhat calmed, showed his sons the path which winds around Phrâmond, through the bushes, and said:

"You will take that foot-path. I will follow the road to Schirmeck, going slowly, so that you may get there as soon as I."

They separated, and the old hunter walked thoughtfully on, his head bowed, and his eyes fixed upon the ground, wondering all the while how he managed to restrain himself from breaking the inn-keeper's head. From time to time herds of cattle passed him, and flocks of sheep and goats, all on their way to the mountain. They came from Wisch, from Urmatt, and even from Mutzig, and the poor animals seemed scarcely able to move.

"Where are you going so fast?" cried the old hunter to the sad-looking herdsmen. "Have you not heard the proclamation of the Russians and Austrians?"

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But they seemed in no humor for jesting, and replied:

"It is easy for you to laugh at us. Proclamations indeed! We know what they are worth. Those Russians and Austrians are pillaging and stealing all they can lay hands on; laying forced contributions, carrying off horses, cows, cattle, wagons."

"Hold there; it cannot be possible!" returned Materne. "They are the saviours of France; her brave, good friends. I cannot believe it. Such a beautiful proclamation!" "Go down into Alsace and see!" The poor fellows went on, dragging themselves wearily along, while the old hunter laughed bitterly.

As he approached Schirmeck, things grew worse. Wagons, cattle, horses, even flocks of geese, thronged the road, mingled with women and children, carrying whatever of their household effects they could bear off, and often beating their breasts and tearing their hair. The air was filled with wailing and lamentation, while ever and anon a cry arose,

"We are lost! The Cossacks! the Cossacks!"

These words of fear passed like lightning through the mass; women fainted, children stood up in the wagons to see further along the road, and Materne blushed for the cowardice of people who might have made a stout defence against the enemy.

Just outside Schirmeck, Frantz and Kasper rejoined their father, and all three entered the tavern of the Golden Key, kept by the widow Faltaux.

The poor woman and her two daughters were standing at the window gazing at the flight, and wringing their hands; for indeed the tumult was increasing every moment, and now cattle, men, and wagons fairly blocked the street, and shouts, screams, and even curses, arose on all sides.

Materne pushing open the door and seeing the three women standing pale, groaning, more dead than alive, struck his staff angrily upon the floor, and cried:

"Are you becoming mad, Mother Faltaux! You, who should set your daughters a good example? It is shameful!"

The old woman turned round and replied in a heart-broken voice:

"Ah Materne! If you only knew--"

"Knew what? The enemy are coming, but they won't eat you."

"No, but they will devour all I have! Old Ursula, of Schlestadt, arrived here last night, and says they are never satisfied. Ah! those Russians and Austrians--"

"But where are they?" cried the old hunter. "I have not yet seen one."

"They are in Alsace, near Urmatt, on their way hither."

"Well," observed Kasper, "before they arrive you may give us a cup of wine; here is a crown for you; you can hide it more easily than your casks."

One of the daughters went to the cellar to bring the refreshment, and at the same time several strangers entered. One was a seller of almanacs, from Strasbourg; the others were a wagoner from Sarrebrück, and two or three people from Mutzig, Wisch, and Shirmeck, who were flying with their cattle: all seemed completely jaded.

They sat down at the same table, opposite the windows, so that they might look out upon the road, and, the wine served, each began to tell all he knew. One said that the Cossacks had fired a village in Alsace, because candles were refused them for dessert after dinner; another that the Calmucks ate soap for cheese, and that many of them drank brandy by the pint, after putting handfuls of pepper in it; that their filthiness was beyond description; and that everything had to be hidden from them, for that there was nothing they would not devour. The stories these good people told, of what they had seen with their own eyes, seemed almost incredible.

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Toward noon, the old hunter and his sons rose to depart, when suddenly a cry, louder than any they had yet heard, arose without,

"The Cossacks! The Cossacks!"

The entire party rushed to the door, except the three hunters, who contented themselves with opening a window and looking out. Every one was now fleeing across the fields; men, flocks, and wagons were scattering, like autumn leaves before the wind. In less than five minutes the road was clear, except in the village street, where the crowd was jammed and blocked by its mass. Materne gazed for a while and then shut the window.

"I see nothing," he said.

"Nor I," replied Kasper.

"I see how it is," cried the old hunter; "fear adds to the enemy's strength; and fear," he added, shrugging his shoulders disdainfully, "is a miserable thing. We have only one poor life to lose. Let us go."

They left the inn, the old man taking the road to the top of Hirschberg, his sons following. They soon reached the edge of the woods, and Materne sought the highest point, whence he might obtain a view of the plain; for he utterly despised the wild tales of the fugitives he had met.

When they reached the summit of the mountain--which forms a sort of promontory extending into the plain--they could see distinctly the enemy's position, three leagues away, between Urmatt and Lutzelhouse, like long black lines upon the snow; further on, the artillery and baggage appeared in dark masses. Other lines and masses were winding among the villages, and, notwithstanding the distance, the flashing of bayonets told that a column was on the march to Wisch.

After long gazing at the picture before him, the old hunter said thoughtfully:

"There are at least thirty thousand men yonder. They are advancing toward us, and we shall be assailed to-morrow, or the day after at the latest. It will be no holiday work to check them, my boys; but if they have numbers, we have a good position, and in such masses as those there will be no balls lost."

Having made these reflections, he measured the height of the sun, and added:

"It is now two o'clock, and we know all we want to know. Let us return to the bivouac."

The young men slung their rifles upon their backs, and, leaving the valley of the Broque to the left, they pushed up the steep ascent of Hengsbach and descended on the further side, without following any path through the snow, but guiding themselves solely by the peaks, to cut short their journey.

They had thus proceeded for about two hours; the winter sun was drooping to the horizon, and night was fast approaching, but calm and light. They had only to cross the solitary gorge of Riel, which forms a wide circular basin in the midst of the forest, enclosing a blue lake, often the resort of the roebuck.

Suddenly, as they left the cover of the trees, the old man stopped short behind a clump of bushes.

"Hist!"

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He pointed to the little lake, which was covered with a thin and transparent coating of ice. A strange spectacle greeted their eyes. Twenty Cossacks, with matted yellow beards, heads covered with old funnel-shaped caps of the skin of some animal, and long ragged cloaks hanging from their shoulders, were before them, seated on their little horses. Their stirrups were simply looped ropes, and the steeds, with long manes, thin tails, and flanks matted with yellow, black, and white, looked not unlike goats. Some of the riders were armed only with long lances, others with sabres, others with merely a hatchet hanging by a cord from their saddle, and a large horse-pistol in their belt. Some gazed with ecstasy upon the lines of green firs, and one tall, lean fellow was breaking the ice with the butt of his spear, while his horse drank. Others dismounted, and began to remove the snow preparatory to encamping.

They formed a singular picture--those men from afar, with their bronzed features, flat foreheads and noses, and grey fluttering rags, as they stood by the side of the lake under the tall tree-covered crags. It seemed a glimpse of another world than the one we live in, and as the three hunters gazed and caught the sounds of their uncouth speech, curiosity for a while mastered all other feelings. But Kasper and Frantz soon fixed their long bayonets on their rifles and retired once more into the cover of the woods. They reached a rock some twenty feet high, which Materne climbed; then, after a few words exchanged in a low voice, Kasper examined his priming, slowly brought his piece to his shoulder, and aimed, while his brother stood by ready to follow his example.

The Cossack whose horse was drinking was about two hundred paces from our little party. The report of the rifle rang through the forest and awoke the deep echoes of the gorge, and the horseman bent forward and disappeared beneath the ice of the lake.

It would be impossible to describe the stupefaction which seemed to seize the band. The echoes rolled like a volley of musketry; the dismounted barbarians bounded on their steeds, gazing wildly around, while a thick wreath of smoke rolled above the clump of trees behind which the hunters stood.

Kasper had in a moment reloaded, but at the same instant the Cossacks dashed toward the slope of Hartz, following in single file and shouting savagely, "Hurrah! Hurrah!"

They disappeared like a flash, and as Kasper aimed again the last horse disappeared in the woods.

The steed of the dead Cossack stood alone by the lake. His fallen master's foot yet remained in the stirrup, although the body was submerged in the water.

Materne listened on his rock, and then said joyfully:

"They are gone! Let us press on. Frantz, remain here for a while. If any should return--"

But despite this direction all three ran to where the horse yet stood, and Materne, seizing the animal's bridle, cried:

"Now, old fellow, we will teach thee to speak French. These Cossacks have famous horses, my boys," he continued, "and when I am too old to go afoot, I will keep this one to hunt with."

"Let us go," cried Kasper.

Toward six o'clock they heard the first challenge of their sentinels:

"Who goes there?"

"France!" answered Materne, advancing.

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He was soon recognized, and all rushed forth to meet the three hunters. Hullin himself, as curious as the rest, came out with Doctor Lorquin. The partisans stood around the horse, gazing with looks of wonder and admiration.

"It is a Cossack's," said Hullin, squeezing his old friend's hand.

"Yes, Jean-Claude; we captured it at the pond of Riel. Kasper shot its master."

Kasper, leaning upon his rifle, seemed well pleased with his prize, and old Materne, rubbing his hands, added:

"We were determined to bring something back with us, for my boys and I never return empty-handed."

Hullin took him aside, and they entered the farm-house together, while the young hunters gratified the curiosity of their comrades.