CHAPTER XIII.

Materne and his two sons walked on for a long time in silence; the weather had set in fine; the pale wintry sun shone on the dazzlingly white snow without melting it. The ground still remained firm and hard. At a distance, in the valley, were outlined, with surprising clearness, the branches of the fir trees, the reddish peaks of the rocks, the roofs of the cottages, with the icicles hanging from the eaves, their little glittering window-panes, and their pointed gables.

People were walking in the street of Grandfontaine; a group of young girls were standing round the fountain, and some old men in cotton night-caps were smoking their pipes at the doors of their cottages. All this miniature world beneath the blue vault of heaven went and came and lived without a breath or a sigh reaching the ears of the foresters.

The old huntsman halted at the outskirts of the wood, and said to his sons:--"I shall go down into the village, and see Dubreuil, who keeps the 'Fir Apple.'"

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

"You will await me here; if there is no danger I will come out on the door-step, and raise my hat; you can then come and take a glass of wine with me."

He immediately descended the snow-covered mountain side, which took him full ten minutes, then made his way between two furrows, reached the meadow, crossed the village square; and his two sons, gun in hand, saw him enter the inn. A few moments after, he re-appeared at the door, and raised his hat, to their great delight.

In another quarter of an hour, they had rejoined their father in the large keeping-room of the "Fir Apple," a low apartment, heated by a large copper furnace, with a sanded floor, and long deal tables running down the centre of it.

When Materne entered, there was no one there but the innkeeper, Dubreuil, the fattest and most apoplectic of the publicans of the Vosges, with a big belly, round, goggle eyes, flat nose, a wart on his right cheek, and his triple chin falling in folds over his turned-down collar. With the exception of this curious personage, sitting in a large leathern arm-chair near the furnace, Materne was alone. He had just filled the glasses, the old clock was striking nine, and its wooden cock was flapping its wing with a curious, creaking sound.

"Your health, Father Dubreuil," said the two lads in a rough voice.

"Good day, brave boys, good day!" replied the innkeeper, forcing a smile. Then, in an oily voice, he demanded, "Is there nothing new?"

"Truly, no," replied Jasper; "this is winter, the time for hunting the wild boar."

Then, both of them depositing their carbines in the angle of the window, within reach in case of a surprise, passed a leg across the bench, and seated themselves opposite their father, who was at the upper end of the table. At the same time they drank, saying, "To our health!" which they were always careful to do.

"So, then," said Materne, turning towards the fat man, as if to resume the course of an interrupted conversation, "you think, Father Dubreuil, that we shall have nothing to fear in the Baronies, and that we may quietly continue to hunt the wild boar?"

"Ah! as to that, I can't say anything," exclaimed the innkeeper; "only at present the Allies have not yet passed Mutzig. And, besides, they are doing no harm to any one; they receive every one kindly, and with good will, who will take up arms against the Usurper."

"The Usurper! and who is he?"

"Who? Why, Napoleon Bonaparte is the Usurper, to be sure. Just cast your eyes on that wall opposite."

He pointed to a large paper placard, posted on the wall, close to the clock.

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

Old Materne frowned till his eyebrows met; but immediately repressing any outward sign of emotion, he merely said, "Ah, bah!"

"Yes, just read that."

"But I do not know how to read, M. Dubreuil, nor my boys either. Just explain the thing to us yourself."

Then the old innkeeper, leaning his two great red hands on the arms of his chair, rose, panting and puffing like an ox, and placed himself before the placard, with his arms akimbo, while, with a pompous tone, he read a proclamation from the Allied Sovereigns, declaring that they were making war against Napoleon personally, and not against France; in consequence of which every one was to remain quiet, and not to interfere in the matter, under pain of being burnt, pillaged, and shot.

The three hunters heard all this, and regarded each other with a strange look.

When Dubreuil had finished, he went back to his seat, and said, "You see now!"

"And where did you get that from?" asked Kasper.

"Why, my lad, it's posted up everywhere."

"Well, we are glad of it," said Materne, laying his hand on the arm of Frantz, who was rising, with flashing eyes. "You want a light, Frantz? Here is my match-box."

Frantz sat down again, and the old man placidly resumed--"So our good friends, the Germans, will not harm anyone?"

"All peaceable persons have nothing to fear; but those miscreants who rise in rebellion will have everything taken from them, which is but just, for it is not right that the good should suffer for the wicked. You yourselves, for instance, instead of harm being done to you, you would be received with welcome in the service of the allied armies. You know the country; you would be useful as guides, and you would be liberally paid."

There was a moment's silence; the three huntsmen looked at each other again; the father had spread his hands upon the table, quite wide open, as if to urge his sons to be calm. Yet he himself had turned very pale.

The innkeeper, who saw nothing of all this, continued--"You would, indeed, have much more to fear in the woods of the Baronies from those robbers of Dagsburg, La Sarre, and the Blanru, who have risen in revolt, and would like to renew the struggle of '93."

"Are you quite sure of that?" asked Materne, making a violent effort over himself.

"Am I sure of it? You need only look out of the window to answer that question; you will see them on the road from the Donon. They have surprised the Anabaptist, Pelsly; they have bound him to the foot of his bed; they are pillaging, stealing, pulling up the roads; but let them beware. A few days hence they will see some strange things. It is not with thousands of men that they will be attacked, but with tens of thousands, with _millions_ of thousands. They will be all hanged!"

Materne rose. "It is time to be thinking of returning," said he, in a short, dry tone. "By two o'clock we must be back in the woods, where we can chatter away like magpies. Good day to you, Father Dubreuil."

They went out hastily, no longer able to restrain themselves for rage.

"Reflect well on what I have said to you," the innkeeper called out after them from his great arm-chair.

Once outside, Materne said, while his lips trembled with fury--"If I had not left that man, I should have broken the bottle about his head."

"And I," said Frantz, "could hardly help running my bayonet into his fat paunch."

Kasper, with one foot on the step, seemed longing to return. As he clutched the handle of his hunting-knife, his countenance wore a terrible expression. But the old man took him by the arm, and drew him away, saying:

"Come away; we shall find another time to repay him for all this. Advise me--me--Materne--to betray my country! Hullin did well to tell us to be on our guard: he was right."

They then descended the street, casting such angry looks to the right and left as they passed, that people said inquiringly to each other--"Why, what can be the matter with them?"

As they reached the end of the village, opposite the Old Cross, quite close to the Church, they stopped, and Materne, in a calmer tone, showing them the path that winds round by Phramond, through the woods, said to his sons:

"You take that road. For my part, I shall follow this as far as Schirmeck. I shall not go too quickly, to allow you time to come up with me."

They separated, and the old huntsman in a pensive mood, and with head bowed down, walked on for a long time, asking himself by what inward power he had been able to prevent himself from breaking the head of the fat innkeeper. He answered that it was, no doubt, from the fear of compromising his sons. All the while musing on these things, Materne met, from time to time, flocks of oxen, sheep, and goats that were being driven into the mountains. There were some coming from Wisch, from Urmatt, and even from Mutzig. The poor beasts seemed ready to drop with fatigue.

"Where the deuce are you going in such a hurry?" cried the old huntsman to the dismal-looking shepherds; "have you no confidence, then, in the proclamation of the Russians and Austrians, you fellows?"

To which these gloomily replied, "Ah! it's all very well for you to laugh. Proclamations, indeed! We know what they are worth now. We are pillaged of all, robbed of everything; forced contributions are got out of us, and our horses, cows, oxen, and even our vehicles carried off."

"Stop! stop! stop! it can't be. What you tell me," said Materne, "quite bewilders me! What, people so brave, so friendly, the saviours of France! I can't believe it. Such a handsome proclamation."

"Well, then, come down to Alsace, and you will see. Seeing's believing, they say."

The poor fellows went on their way, shaking their heads with an air of profound indignation, while he laughed in his sleeve.

The farther Materne continued his route, the greater grew the number of the flocks of cattle; not only were there troops of these, lowing and bleating, but flocks of geese were to be seen as far as the eye could reach, screaming and cackling, dragging themselves along the ground, with flapping wings, and feet half-frozen with the cold. It was a pitiable sight!

As he drew near to Schirmeck, it was much worse still; people were flying in crowds, with their large vehicles loaded with barrels, smoked meats, furniture, women, and children, lashing the horses enough to kill them on the spot, as they kept repeating, in doleful tones: "We are lost! the Cossacks are coming!"

This cry, "The Cossacks! the Cossacks!" flew from one end of the road to the other like a whirlwind; women turned round, gaping-mouthed, with fear and wonder, and children stood upright in the carts and vehicles to see as far off as they could. Never was anything seen like it; and Materne felt indignant, and blushed for the terror of these people, who might have defended themselves, but for their selfishness and desire to save their property, which drove them to an unworthy flight.

At a branch of the road just by Schirmeck, Kasper and Frantz rejoined their father; and they all three entered the "Golden Keg" tavern, kept by the widow Faltaux, to the right of the road.

The poor woman and her two daughters were watching from a window the great migration, with tearful eyes and clasped hands.

In truth, the tumult increased from second to second. The cattle, the carriages, and the people, seemed to want to pass out over each other's backs; they seemed to have gone out of their minds, and were shouting, and even striking at each other in their mad desire to escape.

Materne pushed open the door, and, seeing the women more dead than alive, pale and dishevelled, he exclaimed, striking his stick on the ground--"What! Mother Faltaux! are you, too, out of your senses? What! you, who ought to set a good example to your daughters, have you lost all presence of mind; it's too bad!"

Then the old woman, turning round, replied, in a doleful voice--"Ah, my poor Materne! if you did but know--if you did but know!"

"Well, what? the enemy is here; he will not eat you."

"No, but they are swallowing up everything without mercy. Old Ursule, of Schlestadt, who arrived here yesterday evening, says that the Austrians will have nothing but _knoepfe_ and _noudels_, the Russians _schnaps_, and the Bavarians _sour-krout_. And when they've stuffed themselves with all that up to their very throats, they keep still calling out, with their mouths full: '_schokolate! schokolate!_' My God! my God! how shall we feed all these people?"

"I well know that it is very difficult," replied the old huntsman. "You can never give a jackdaw enough cheese; but, in the first place, where are these Cossacks, these Bavarians, and these Austrians? All the way from Grandfontaine we have not met a single one."

"They are in Alsace, round about Urmatt, and they are coming here."

"Well, in the meanwhile," said Kasper, "be so obliging as to serve us with a jug of wine; here is a crown piece; you can hide it easier than your barrels."

One of the girls went down into the cellar, and just at that moment several other people came in--an almanack-seller from the Strasbourg side, a waggoner in his smock-frock from Sarrebrueck, and two or three of the inhabitants of Mutzig, of Hirsch, and of Schirmeck, who were escaping with their flocks and herds, and had hardly strength left to speak.

They all seated themselves at the same table, facing the window which commanded a view of the road; wine was brought them, and each one began to relate all that he knew. One said that the Allies were so numerous that they were obliged at night time to lie down to rest side by side in the valley of Hirschenthal, and so full of vermin, that after their departure the dead leaves walked about all alone in the woods. Another, that the Cossacks had set fire to a village in Alsace, because they had been refused candles for dessert after their dinner; that certain of them, especially the Calmucks, ate soap like cheese, and bacon-rind like cake; that a great number drank brandy by the pint, after having taken care to put handfuls of pepper in it; that you must hide everything from them, for they found everything that came in their way good to eat and drink. On this, the waggoner related how that, three days since, a division of the Russian army having passed in the night under the cannon of Bitsch, it had been obliged to station itself for more than an hour on the ice in the little village of Rorbach; and that this whole division had drunk out of a warming-pan which had been left out by mistake on the window-sill of an old woman of eighty; that this race of savages broke the ice to bathe, and then went into brick ovens to dry themselves; in short, that they were afraid of nothing but corporal _schlague_!

These good people related such singular things to each other--things which they declared they had seen with their own eyes, or heard from the best authority--that it was scarcely possible to believe them.

Out of doors, the uproar, the rumbling of carts, the bellowing of the cattle, the shouts of the drovers, and clamour of the fugitives in general, continued as loud as ever, and produced the effect of an immense and universal boom. Towards noon, Materne and his sons were just going to set off, when a shout, greater and more prolonged than the others, was heard: "The Cossacks! the Cossacks!"

Then every one rushed out except our mountaineers, who contented themselves with opening a window and looking out. Everybody fled across the fields; men, 'ocks, vehicles, all dispersed like leaves before the winds of autumn.

In less than two minutes the road was clear, except in Schirmeck, where such uproar and confusion reigned that you could not take four steps for the crowd.

Materne, looking far down the road, exclaimed, "It's no good my looking, for I can see nothing."

"Nor I, either," replied Kasper.

"Ah! I see, I see!" pursued the old huntsman, "that the terror of all these people gives the enemy greater power than they really possess. It is not thus that we will receive the Cossacks in the mountain, as they shall find to their cost!"

Then shrugging his shoulders with an expression of contempt: "Fear is a villanous thing," said he; "for, after all, we have but a poor life to lose. Come, let us be going."

On quitting the tavern, the old man having taken the road that lay through the valley to ascend the summit of the Hirschberg, his sons followed him. They soon reached the outskirts of the wood. Materne then said that they must climb to the greatest possible height, in order to discover the plain, and bring back positive news to the camp, for that all the reports of those fugitives were not worth the testimony of a single eye-witness.

Kasper and Frantz agreed with him, and they all three began to scale the side of the mountain, which in this part formed a sort of promontory overlooking the plain.

When they had reached the summit, they saw distinctly the position of the enemy, about three leagues off, between Urmatt and Lutzelhouse; they looked like great black lines upon the snow; farther off were to be seen some dark masses, no doubt the artillery and the baggage. Other masses were to be discerned round about the villages, and, in spite of the distance, the glitter of bayonets announced that a column had just set out on the march for Visch.

Having contemplated this picture for a long time with a thoughtful eye, the old man said: "We have down there a good thirty thousand men under our very eyes. They are advancing on our side; we shall be attacked to-morrow, or the day after, at the very latest. This will be no trifling affair, my lads; but if they've the advantage of numbers, we have in position; and then it's always best to fire on a mass; there's sure to be no balls lost."

Having made these judicious reflections, he looked up to observe at what height the sun was, and added: "It is now two o'clock; we know all we want to know. Let us return to the camp."

The two lads swung their carbines over their shoulders, and leaving on their left the valley of the Brocque, Schirmeck, and Framont, they ascended the steep acclivity of the Hengsbach, overlooked at two leagues' distance by the Little Donon. They re-descended on the other side without following any footpath through the snow, only tracing their course over the mountain tops as the shortest way to reach their journey's end.

They had proceeded thus for about two hours; the winter sun was sinking in the horizon; night was approaching; night, but bright and calm. They had now only to descend, and remount, on the other side, the solitary gorge of the Reil, forming a large circular basin in the midst of the woods, and enclosing a little dark pool, where the wild roe sometimes came to slake their thirst.

All at once, as they were striding along, thinking of nothing in particular, the old man, suddenly stopping behind a curtain of shrubs, said, "Hush!"

And raising his hand, he pointed to the little lake, then covered with a thin and transparent coating of ice. His two boys had only to glance in that direction to witness the strangest sight. About twenty Cossacks, with rough yellow beards, their heads covered with old seal-skin caps, shaped like the funnel of a stove, their lean forms clad in long tatters, their feet in stirrups made of old cords, were sitting on their little horses with long floating manes, thin tails, the crupper spotted with yellow, white, and black, like goats. Some had for sole weapon a long lance, others a sabre, others a hatchet suspended by a cord to the saddle, and a large holster pistol attached to their belt. Several, with upturned faces, were looking delightedly and admiringly at the dark green tops of the fir trees, reaching one above the other till finally lost in the clouds. One tall, bony fellow was breaking the ice with the thick end of his lance, while his little horse drank, with outstretched neck and long mane falling beardwise down each cheek. Some among them, having alighted, were clearing away the snow, and pointing to the wood, no doubt to indicate that it was a good place for encamping. Their comrades, still on horseback, were talking together, and showing on their right the bottom of the valley, lying low like a gap as far as the Grinderwald.

In short, it was a halt, and it would be impossible to describe the strange and picturesque appearance which these beings from far-off lands, with their bronzed countenances, long beards, black eyes, low foreheads, flat noses, tattered grey coats, presented on the borders of that still lake, and under those steep rocks, with their tall fir-crowned summits reaching to the skies.

It seemed like a glimpse of another and a different world to them, a species of unknown, curious, and strange game, that the three red huntsmen began to gaze upon at first with a singular curiosity. But that over, at the end of five minutes, Kasper and Frantz fixed their long bayonets at the end of their carbines, then stepped stealthily about twenty paces backwards into the covert. They reached a rock of fifteen to twenty feet high, which Materne ascended, being unarmed; then, after a few words, exchanged in a low voice, Kasper examined his priming, and slowly took aim, while his brother stood close at hand.

One of the Cossacks, the same who was letting his horse drink, was about a hundred paces off. As Kasper's shot awoke the deep echoes of the gorge, the Cossack, rolling over the head of his steed, disappeared beneath the ice of the lake. It is impossible to describe the stupefied surprise of his comrades when they heard the shot and witnessed its effect. They stared about them in every direction as the echo gradually died away, while a thick puff of smoke appeared above the cluster of trees where the huntsmen were.

Kasper, in less than a quarter of a minute, had re-loaded his gun; but, in the same space of time, the Cossacks, who had alighted, leapt upon their horses, and set off at full speed in the direction of the Hartz, following one behind the other like roebucks, and shouting wildly, "Hurrah! hurrah!"

This flight seemed like a vision, for just as Kasper was taking aim for the second time, the tail of the last horse disappeared among the bushes.

The horse of the dead Cossack was left alone standing by the water, held there by a strange circumstance--his master, plunged headlong in the mud to the waist, had still his foot in the stirrup.

Materne, perched upon his rock, listened and then joyfully exclaimed: "They are gone! Well, let us go and see. Frantz, remain here; if some of them should return."

But in spite of this wise counsel, they all three came down to the horse; Materne immediately seized the bridle, saying, "Well, old fellow, we'll teach you to speak French."

"Come along, then," exclaimed Kasper.

"No; we must see what we have brought down. Look you, this will encourage the others; dogs are never well broke in till they have scented the game."

They then fished the dead Cossack out of the pond, and having thrown him across the horse, they began to climb the side of the Donon by a footpath so steep that Materne kept repeating, a hundred times over, "The horse will never be able to pass this way."

But the horse, lean and agile as a mountain goat, passed more easily than they, which led the old huntsman to say at length: "These Cossacks have famous horses. When I grow quite old, I shall keep this one to go hunting with. We've got a famous horse, boys; he looks like a cow, but he's got the strength of a dray-horse."

Occasionally, too, he made reflections on the Cossack: "What a droll face, eh? a round nose, and a forehead like a cheese-box. There are, for certain, some strange fellows in the world! You took good aim at him, Kasper; hit him just in the middle of the chest; and see, the ball has come out at the back. Famous powder; Dives always keeps capital stuff."

About six o'clock they heard the first challenge of their sentinels: "Who goes there?"

"France!" replied Materne, advancing.

Everybody ran to meet them, exclaiming, "Here is Materne!"

Hullin himself, as curious as the rest, could not help running up with Doctor Lorquin. The men were already crowding round the horse, staring at him in open-mouthed wonder, by the side of a large fire where their supper was cooking.

"It is a Cossack," said Hullin, pressing the hand of Materne.

"Yes, Jean-Claude; we caught him just by the lake of the Riel: it was Kasper who shot him."

They placed the corpse near the fire, the bright flickering rays of which reflected fantastic shadows on his countenance, of a dingy yellow.

Doctor Lorquin, having looked at him, said, "It is a fine specimen of the Tartar race; if I had time, I would scald him in a bath of quicklime to procure a skeleton of the tribe." Then, kneeling beside him, and opening his long grey riding-coat, "The ball has traversed the pericardium," said he; "which produces very nearly the effect of aneurism of the heart."

The others were silent.

Kasper stood leaning on his gun, and seemingly quite satisfied with his game; while old Materne, rubbing his hands, said, "I was sure I should bring you back something; my boys and I never come back empty-handed. And there it is!"

Hullin then drawing him apart, they entered the farm together, whilst, after the first moment of surprise, every one began to make his own personal reflections on the Cossack.