Chapter XXV.

For three days food had been entirely wanting. Still Dives gave no sign. How often during those long days of agony did the mountaineers strain their eyes toward Phalsbourg! How often did they listen to the low murmur of the breeze, thinking it bore upon it the sound of the smuggler's footsteps!

In the midst of the torments of hunger, the nineteenth day since the arrival of the partisans on Falkenstein dragged away. They no longer spoke to each other; but seated on the earth, their fleshless faces gazing at vacancy, they passed hours as in a dream. Sometimes they would turn sparkling eyes upon each other, as if ready to satisfy their hunger at the expense of a comrade's life; then all would again sink into a gloomy calm.

Once Yegof's raven, winging its way from peak to peak, came near this scene of misery; but old Materne brought his rifle to his shoulder, and the bird of ill omen flew back at its utmost speed, uttering mournful cries, and the old hunter's piece fell harmless.

And now, as if the horrors of hunger were not enough to fill the measure of their misery, they only opened their lips to accuse or threaten each other.

Louise was delirious; her great blue eyes, instead of living objects, saw spectres fleeting over them, sweeping the tree-tops, and lighting upon the old tower.

"Food--food at last!" would she cry.

And then the others, carried away by fury, shrieked that she was mocking them, and bade her beware.

Jerome alone remained calm and collected; but the great quantity of snow he had eaten in his pangs kept his body and bony face covered with a cold sweat.

Dr. Lorquin knotted a handkerchief around his waist, and drew it tighter and tighter, pretending that he thus satisfied his cravings. He sat against the wall of the tower with closed eyes, which from hour to hour he opened, saying,

"We are at the first, second, third period. Another day, and all will be over!"

Then he would deliver dissertations on the Druids, on Odin, Brahma, Pythagoras, quoting Latin and Greek, all announcing the approaching transformation of the people of Harberg into wolves, foxes, and all sorts of animals.

"I," he cried, "I will be a lion! I will eat fifteen pounds of beef a day."

But soon recollecting himself, he continued,

"No, I would rather be a man. I will preach peace, brotherly love, justice! Ah my friends! we suffer for our own faults. What have we been doing on the other side of the Rhine for the last ten years? By what right did we place masters over those nations? Why did we not rather exchange thought, feeling, the products of our arts and industry with them? Why did we not meet them as brothers, instead of trying to enslave them? We should have been well received. How they, poor wretches, must have suffered during ten years of violence and rapine! Now they are avenging themselves. God is just. May the malediction of heaven fall on those who divide nations to oppress them!"

After a few moments of excitement like this, he would sink exhausted against the wall, murmuring:

"Bread! only a morsel of bread!"

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Materne's boys, seated among the bushes, their rifles at their shoulders, seemed awaiting the sight of game, which never appeared; but the thought of their eternal resting-place sustained their expiring strength.

A few, in the agonies of fever, accused Jean-Claude of being the author of their misery in bringing them to Falkenstein.

Hullin, with more than human energy, yet came and went, watching all that passed in the valleys, but speaking no word.

Sometimes he would advance to the very edge of the rock, with jaws pressed firmly together, and flashing eyes, to see Yegof seated before a great fire on the meadow of Bois-de-Chênes, in the middle of a troop of Cossacks. Since the enemy's arrival in the valley of Charmes, this had been the fool's constant post; and from it he seemed to gloat over the agony of his victims.

The tortures of hunger in the depths of a dungeon are no doubt terrible; but beneath the open sky, with floods of light pouring down on every side, in view of help, in view of the thousand resources of nature, then no tongue can paint their horrors.

At the end of this nineteenth day, between four and five in the evening, the weather became cloudy; huge masses of gray vapor rose behind the snowy peak of Grossmann; the setting sun, glowing redly like a ball of iron just taken from the furnace, threw a few last gleams through the thickening air. Deep silence reigned on the rock. Louise no longer gave any sign of life; Kasper and Frantz still sat motionless as stones among the bushes. Catherine Lefevre, huddled on the ground, clasping her knees within her withered arms, her features hard and rigid, her hair hanging over her ashy cheeks, her eyes haggard, and lips closed tight as a vice, seemed some ancient sibyl. She no longer spoke. That evening, Hullin, Jerome, old Materne, and Doctor Lorquin gathered around the old woman, that all might die together. They were all silent, and the last glimmer of twilight fell dimly upon the group. To the right, behind a projection of the rock, the fires of the Germans sparkled in the abyss. Suddenly the old woman, starting as from a dream, murmured a few words, unintelligible at first.

"Dives is coming!" she continued in a low tone; "I see him; he sallies from the postern--to the right of the arsenal. Gaspard follows him, and--"

She counted slowly.

"Two hundred and fifty men, National Guards and soldiers. They cross the fosse; they mount behind the demi-lune. Gaspard is talking to Marc. What is he saying?"

She seemed to listen.

"'Hasten! Ay, hasten; never was more need of speed! They are on the glacis!"

There was a long silence; then the old woman, suddenly springing to her feet, rose to her full height, and with arms outstretched, and hair flying wildly about her head, shouted:

"Courage! Strike! kill! kill! kill!"

She fell heavily to the earth.

Her terrible cry had awakened all; it might have awakened the dead. New life seemed breathed into the besieged. Something strange and unearthly seemed to fill the air. Was it hope? life? I know not; but the entire party came crawling up on all fours, like wild beasts, holding their breath that they might listen. Even Louise moved slightly, and raised her head. Frantz and Kasper dragged themselves on their knees, and strange to say, Hullin, casting his eyes toward Phalsbourg, thought he saw the flashes of musketry, as if a sortie were being made.

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Catherine resumed her first attitude; but her cheeks, lately rigid as a marble mask, now quivered, and her eye again grew dreamy. The others listened; their lives seemed hanging on her lips. Thus a quarter of an hour passed, when she again spoke slowly:

"They have passed the enemy's lines; they are hastening to Lutzelbourg; I see them. Gaspard and Dives are in the van with Desmarets, Ulrich, Weber, and our friends of the city. They are coming! they are coming!"

She was again silent. They listened long, but the vision had vanished. Minutes followed minutes that seemed centuries, when at once Hexe-Baizel's sharp voice arose:

"She is a fool! She saw nothing. I know Marc. He is mocking us. What is it to him if we perish! So long as he has his bottle of wine and his dinner, and his pipe after, what does he care? O the villain!"

Then all was silence again, and the wretches whose hearts were for a moment animated with the hope of speedy deliverance, again sank back in despair.

"It was a dream," thought they:

"Hexe-Baizel is right; we are doomed to die of hunger."

Night had fallen. When the moon rose behind the tall firs, shedding her pale light on the mournful groups, Hullin alone watched, although fever was burning his vitals. He listened to every sound from the gorges. The voices of the German sentries called their _Wer da! Wer da!_ as the rounds passed the bivouacs; the horses neighed shrilly, and their grooms shouted. At last, toward midnight, the brave old man fell asleep like the others. When he awoke, the clock of the village of Charmes was striking four. Hullin, at the sound of its far-off vibrations, started from his stupor, opened his eyes, and, while he gazed upward trying to collect his senses, a dim light like the flare of a torch passed before his eyes. Fear seized him, and he muttered:

"Am I going mad? The night is dark, and yet I see torches!"

The flame reappeared; he saw it more clearly; he arose and pressed his hand for some seconds upon his brow. At last, risking a glance, he saw distinctly a fire on Giromani, on the other side of Blanru, flinging its red glare in the sky, and throwing black shadows from the firs on the snow. Suddenly he remembered that it was the signal agreed on between Pivrette and himself to announce an attack; he trembled from head to foot; a cold sweat poured from his forehead, and groping through the darkness like a blind man with arms outstretched, he stammered:

"Catherine! Louise! Jerome!"

But no one answered; and after wandering thus, feeling his way, and often thinking he was moving on when he made not a step, he fell to the ground on his face crying,

"My children! Catherine! They are coming! We are saved!"

There was a dull murmur; it seemed as if the dead were awakening. There was a short peal of laughter. It was Hexe-Baizel, crazed through suffering; then Catherine cried:

"Hullin! Hullin! Who spoke?"

Jean-Claude, overcoming his emotion, shouted in a firmer voice:

"Jerome, Catherine, Materne, all of you! Are you dead? Do you not see yonder fire on the side of Blanru? It is Pivrette coining to our rescue!"

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At the same instant a crash rolled like a tempest through the gorges of the Jaegerthal. The trump of judgment could not have produced a greater effect upon the besieged. At once all were awake and listening.

"It is Pivrette! It is Marc!" cried broken voices, sounding hollow as those of skeletons. "They are coming to save us!"

They tried to rise. Some fell back sobbing; they could no longer weep. A second crash brought all to their feet.

"It is the volley of a platoon!" cried Hullin; "our men are firing by platoon too! We have soldiers in line! Long live France!"

"Mother Catherine was right," said Jerome; "the men of Phalsbourg are coming to help us; they are descending the hills of the Sarre, and Pivrette is attacking by way of Blanru."

The fusillade was, in fact, commencing on both sides at once, toward the meadows of Bois-de-Chênes and the heights of Kilberi.

Then the two leaders embraced, and as they groped about in the darkness, seeking the edge of the rock, the voice of Materne shouted:

"Take care! the precipice is there."

They stopped short, and looked down, but saw nothing; a current of cold air, from the depths beneath, alone told them of their danger. All the surrounding peaks and valleys were buried in darkness. On the sides of the opposite slope, the flashes of the musketry glanced like lightning, now lighting up an aged oak, or the black outline of a rock, or mayhap a patch of heather, covered with forms rushing hither and thither. From the depths, two thousand feet below, rose a confused murmur, the clattering of horse-hoofs, cries, commands. Now the call of a mountaineer--that prolonged shout which flies from peak to peak--rose like a sigh to Falkenstein.

"That is Marc!" said Hullin.

"Yes, it is Marc cheering us," replied Jerome.

The others, near by, with necks outstretched and hands on the edge of the cliff, gazed wistfully. The fire continued with a rapidity which told of the desperation of the fight; but nothing could be seen. How those poor wretches longed for a part in the struggle! With what ardor would they have hurled themselves into the combat! The fear of yet being abandoned--of seeing the retreat of their rescuers--made them speechless.

Soon day began to break; the pale dawn shone behind the dark peaks; a few rays of light fell into the shadowy valleys, and, half an hour after, silvered the mists of their depths. Hullin, glancing through a break in these clouds, at last understood the state of affairs. The Germans had lost the heights of Valtin and the field of Bois-de-Chênes. They were massed in the valley of Charmes, at the foot of Falkenstein, one third of the way up the slope, so that the fire of their adversaries might not plunge from above upon them. Opposite the rock, Pivrette, master of Bois-de-Chênes, was ordering an abatis to be raised on the descent to the valley. He rushed hither and thither, his short pipe between his teeth, his slouched hat pulled down on his ears, and his rifle slung behind him. The blue axes of the wood-cutters glanced in the rising sun. To the left of the village, on the side of Valtin, in the midst of the heather, Marc-Dives, on a little black horse with a trailing tail, his long sword hanging from his wrist, was pointing out the ruins and the old path over which the wood-cutters were wont to drag their trees. {764} An infantry officer and some National Guards in blue uniforms listened. Gaspard Lefevre alone, in advance of the group, leaned on his musket and seemed meditating. His mien told of desperate resolve. At the top of the hill, two or three hundred men, in line, resting on their arms, gazed on the scene.

The sight of the fewness of their defenders chilled the hearts of the besieged; the more so as the Germans, outnumbering them seven or eight to one, began to form two columns of attack to regain the positions they had lost. Their general sent horsemen in every direction with orders, and the lines of bayonets began to move.

"The game is up!" muttered Hullin to Jerome. "What can five or six hundred men do against four thousand in line of battle? The Phalsbourg people will return home, saying, 'We have done our duty!' and Pivrette will be crushed."

All thought the same; but what filled the measure of their despair was to see a long line of Cossacks debouch at full speed into the valley of Charmes, the fool Yegof at their head galloping like the wind, his beard, the tail of his horse, his dog-skin and his red hair streaming behind. He gazed at the rock, and brandished his lance above his head. At the bottom of the valley he spurred toward the enemy's staff. Reaching the general, he made some gestures, pointing to the other side of the plateau of Bois-de Chênes.

"The villain!" exclaimed Hullin. "See! he says Pivrette has no abatis on that side, and that the mountain must be turned."

A column indeed, began its march at once in the direction shown, while another pressed on toward the abatis to mask the movement of the first.

"Materne," cried Jean-Claude, is there no means of sending a bullet after yonder fool?"

The old hunter shook his head.

"None," he answered; "it is impossible; he is not in range."

Even as he spoke, Catherine uttered a wild cry, a scream like that of a falcon.

"Let us crush them!" she shrieked--"crush them as we did at Blutfeld!"

And the old woman, but a moment ago so feeble, seized a fragment of rock which she lifted with both hands; then, with her long gray hair floating in the wind, her hooked nose bent over her compressed and colorless lips, and her wrinkled cheeks rigid as iron, she rushed with firm steps to the edge of the cliff, and the rock cleft the air.

A horrible clamor arose from beneath, through which could be heard the crash of broken branches; then the enormous mass rebounded a hundred feet outward--dashed down the steep slope, again flew out into the open air, down, down, falling full on Yegof, and crushing him at the general's feet! All was the work of a moment.

Catherine, erect on the edge of the cliff, laughed a long, rattling laugh.

Then the others, those phantoms, spectres, as if a new life had been given them, dashed over the ruins of the ancient burg, shrieking:

"Death! Death to the Germans! Crush them as we did at Blutfeld."

Never did eye behold a scene more terrible. Wretches at the gates of the tomb--lean, fleshless as skeletons found again their strength and their courage. They blenched not; each man seized his fragment of rock, hurled it over the precipice, and rushed back to find another, without even waiting to see the effect of the one he had thrown.

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No pen can paint the terror of the Kaiserliks as this storm of rocks dashed down upon their heads. All turned as they heard the crashing bushes and trees, and at first stood gazing as if petrified. Raising their eyes, they saw others, and still others, rushing down, and, above, figures like spectres appear and disappear, hurling missiles of death into the air; they saw around them their crushed and mangled comrades--lines of fifteen or twenty men stricken down at once. A wild cry echoed from the depths of the valley to the peak of Falkenstein, and despite the commands of their leaders, despite the hail of shot that began to pour from right and left upon them, the Germans, careless whither they went, fled anywhere--anywhere to avoid the horrid death that smote them there.

In the thick of the rout, however, the Austrian general succeeded in rallying a battalion and brought it in good order to the village. Calm and collected amid disaster and death, he seemed worthy his high rank. He turned gloomily, from time to time, to gaze on the falling rocks, which still ploughed bloody furrows through his column.

Jean-Claude observed him, and in spite of the intoxication of victory, and the joy of having escaped the horrors of a death by famine, the old soldier could not restrain his admiration.

"Look," he cried to Jerome, "he does as we did on the retreat from Donon and Grossmann. He is the last to retire, and only yields his ground foot by foot. Truly there are brave men of all countries!"

Marc-Dives and Pivrette, witnessing this turn of fortune, descended among the fir-trees to cut off the enemy's retreat; but the effort was in vain. The battalion, reduced one half, formed square behind the village of Charmes, and then retreated slowly up the valley of the Sarre, halting at times, like a wounded and hunted wild-boar turning upon his tormentors, whenever the men of Pivrette or from Phalsbourg pressed them too closely.

Thus ended the great battle of Falkenstein, known among the mountains as the Battle of the Rocks.