CHAPTER XVII.

The Germans, driven back in multitudes upon Grandfontaine, fled in bands in the direction of Framont, on foot and on horseback, hurrying along, dragging with them their baggage, throwing their knapsacks across the road, and then looking behind them as if they feared to see the mountaineers at their heels.

In Grandfontaine they destroyed everything they could lay their hands on, out of a spirit of revenge; they smashed the windows and doors, insulted the inhabitants, demanded to be supplied with food and drink on the spot, and outraged the women. Their shouts, their imprecations, the authoritative commands of their leaders, the complaints of the citizens, the heavy, incessant tread of footsteps on the bridge of Framont, the shrill neighings of the wounded horses, all reached the barricades in one confused, mingled sound.

On the mountain-side nothing was to be seen but arms, shakos, and dead bodies; in short, all the signs of a great defeat. Opposite appeared the cannons taken by Marc Dives, pointed over the valley, and ready to fire in case of a fresh attack.

All was then over--quite over. And yet not a single cry of triumph rose from the entrenchments. The losses the mountaineers had sustained in this last assault had been too severe and cruel. There was something solemn in this deep silence succeeding to the tumult; and all those men who had escaped the carnage looked at one another with grave faces as if they were surprised at seeing each other. Some called to a friend, others to a brother, who did not answer. They would then begin to search in the trench, along the barricades, or on the ascent, crying as they did it, "Ho! Jacob, Philip!--is it you?"

And then night came, and its grey shadows spread over entrenchments and abyss, adding the horror of mystery to scenes already terrible enough.

Materne, after having wiped his bayonet, called his sons to him in hoarse accents:

"Ho! Kasper! Frantz!"

And seeing forms approaching in the darkness, he began to ask:

"Is it you?"

"Yes, it is us."

"Nothing wrong with you?"

"No."

The old huntsman's voice, usually so rough, trembled like a woman's.

"Here we are all three, then, together again!" said he, in a low tone.

And he, whom no one had ever accused of being softhearted, bestowed a hearty embrace upon his sons, who were greatly surprised by his emotion. They heard a sound in his breast as of inward sobbing; they were much moved by it, and said to themselves: "How he loves us! We should never have believed this!"

They themselves felt touched to the very quick.

But in a short time, the old man, recovering himself, exclaimed:

"All the same, this has been a tough day's work, boys. Let us go and have a cup of wine, for I'm thirsty."

Then casting a last look on the gloomy scene, and seeing the sentinels which Hullin, as he went by, had just posted at every thirty paces, they proceeded together towards the old farm.

They were crossing the trench, where the dead lay in heaps, lifting their feet whenever they felt them come in contact with anything soft, when they heard a stifled voice say:

"Is that you, Materne?"

"Ah, my poor old Rochart!--pardon, pardon!" replied the old huntsman, stooping down. "I touched you. What! are you there still?"

"Yes, I cannot move, for I have lost my legs."

They were all three silent for a moment, and then the old wood-cutter resumed:

"Tell my wife that she will find behind the wardrobe my little savings, put away in a stocking. I hoarded it up in case we should either of us fall ill. For me, I have no more need of it."

"That we shall see, we shall see;--you may recover yet--poor old fellow! We will carry you away."

"No; it's not worth the trouble; I've only an hour longer to live; it would only put me to pain."

Materne, without answering, made a sign to Kasper to form a litter with his carbine and his own, and Frantz to place the old wood-cutter upon it, in spite of his remonstrances. Which was immediately done. And in this manner they all arrived at the farm together.

All the wounded who, during the combat, had had strength to drag themselves to the hospital, had repaired thither. Doctor Lorquin and his assistant, Despois, who had arrived during the day, were up to their ears in work, and still all was not nearly finished, so much was there to do.

As Materne, with his sons and old Rochart, were crossing the dark alley by the light of the lantern, they heard on their left a groan which froze the very marrow in their hones, and the old wood-cutter, half-dead as he was, exclaimed:

"Oh! why do you bring me here? I will not--no, I won't! I would rather die at once!"

"Open the door, Frantz," said Materne, while a cold sweat stood upon his face--"open, make haste!"

And Frantz having pushed the door, they saw on a long kitchen table in the centre of the low apartment, with heavy brown rafters, young Colard, stretched at full length, three candles on each side of him, a man at each arm, and a bucket just under him. Doctor Lorquin, his shirt-sleeves turned up to his elbows, a short saw about three fingers broad in his hand, was just preparing to cut off the poor devil's leg, while Despois was holding a large sponge. The blood was splashing down into the bucket. Colard was as pale as death. Catherine Lefevre, standing beside him with a roll of lint over her arm, was striving to be firm, but two deep wrinkles that furrowed her cheeks by the side of her hooked nose showed how she was clenching her teeth. She was looking down on the ground without seeing anything.

"It's all over!" said the doctor, turning round.

And casting a glance at the new comers, he said:

"Ah! is that you, old Rochart?"

"Yes, that's me; but I don't want any one to meddle with me; I'd rather stay as I am."

The doctor, taking up a candle, looked at him, and made a wry face.

"It's time you were seen to, my poor old fellow; you've lost a deal of blood already, and if we wait much longer it will be too late."

"So much the better; I've suffered enough in my time."

"Just as you will: let's go to the next." He looked down a long row of mattrasses at the bottom of the room; the two last were empty, though soaked in blood. Materne and Kasper laid the old wood-cutter on one, whilst Despois approached another of the wounded, saying:

"Nicolas, it's your turn now."

They then saw the tall form of Nicolas Cerf raise itself up, with a face deadly pale, and eyes glistening with fear.

"Give him a glass of brandy," said the doctor.

"No, I would like my pipe better."

"Where is your pipe?"

"In my waistcoat."

"All right; here it is. And the tobacco?"

"In my trousers' pocket."

"I've got it. Fill his pipe, Despois. He has courage, has this one: that's right! It does one good to see a man with a stout heart. We will have your arm off in double-quick time."

"Is there no way of saving it, Doctor Lorquin, for the sake of my poor children? It's their only living."

"No, the bone is crushed; it will never be any good to you again. Light the pipe, Despois. Now then, Nicolas, smoke away."

The poor fellow began to smoke, without having a great desire for it.

"Are you all right?" asked the doctor.

"Yes," replied Nicolas, in a stifled voice.

"Good. Now then, Despois, attention!--the sponge!"

Then, with a large knife, he described a rapid circle through the flesh, while Nicolas ground his teeth with the agony.

The blood spurted out. Despois put a bandage tight round. The grinding of the saw was heard for a few seconds, and the arm fell heavily to the ground.

"That's what I call an operation well got through with," said Lorquin.

Nicolas was not smoking now: his pipe had fallen from his lips. David Schlosser de Walsch, who had held him, let him go. They bandaged the stump, and then Nicolas went without any assistance and laid himself down again on the mattrass.

"There's one more despatched. Sponge the table, Despois, and let's get on to another," said the doctor, washing his hands in a large bowl.

Every time he said "Let's go to another," all the wounded were struck with fear on account of the groans they heard, and the sharp knives they caught sight of now and then; but what was to be done? Every room in the farm, the barn, the attics, all were filled with the wounded. There was nothing but the large room on the ground-floor left at liberty for the people belonging to the place; so the doctor was obliged to operate under the very eyes of those whose turn must come sooner or later.

All this had passed in a few moments. Materne and his sons had stood looking on, as people do look on at anything horrible to know what it is. Then they had seen in a corner on the left, just under the old Dutch clock, a heap of arms and legs jumbled together. Nicolas's arm had already been thrown on to the top, and the doctor was preparing to extract a ball from the shoulder of a mountaineer of the Harberg with red whiskers; large gashes in form of a cross had to be made in his back, and from his hairy, shuddering flesh the blood was streaming down to his boots.

It was strange to see the dog, Pluto, behind the doctor, surveying the operations with an attentive look, as if he understood it all; and from time to time he stretched his legs and bent his back with a yawn that reached from ear to ear.

Materne could not bear to see any more. "Let us be going," said he.

They had hardly entered the dark walk when they heard the doctor exclaim, "I've got the ball!" which must have caused great pleasure to the man from Harberg.

Once outside, and breathing the fresh clear air, Materne ejaculated: "And to think that the same might have happened to us!"

"Yes," replied Kasper; "to get a bullet through your head is no great matter; but it's another thing to be chopped about like that, and have to beg your bread for the rest of your days."

"Oh! I should do like old Rochart, for my part," said Frantz; "I should just die quietly, without any bother. When you've done your duty, what have you to fear? The good God is always the same!"

At this moment, the hum of voices was heard on their right.

"It is Marc Dives and Hullin," said Kasper, listening.

"Oh, yes! they have been, no doubt, making barricades behind the fir forest to protect the cannon," added Frantz.

They listened again; the footsteps drew nearer.

"You are greatly embarrassed with those three prisoners," Hullin was saying, in an abrupt tone. "Since you return to Falkenstein to-night to procure ammunition, what prevents your taking them with you?"

"But where shall I put them?"

"Where? Why, in the public prison of Abreschwiller; we cannot keep them here."

"All right; I understand, Jean-Claude; and if they attempt to escape by the way, I shall plant my toasting-iron between their shoulders."

"Of course, of course."

They had by this time reached the door, and Hullin, perceiving Materne, could not restrain a cry of delight.

"Ah! is it you, old fellow? I've been looking for you for the last hour. Where the deuce have you been to?"

"We've been carrying poor Rochart to the hospital, Jean-Claude."

"Ah! that's a bad job, isn't it?"

"Yes, very bad."

There was a moment's silence, and then, the worthy man's satisfaction regaining the upper hand, "Yes; it's not pleasant," he went on; "but what can you do? It's the chance of war. You're not hit, you fellows?"

"No; we are all three safe and sound."

"So much the better, so much the better. Those who are left may boast of having been lucky."

"Yes," exclaimed Marc Dives, laughing; "there was a moment when I thought Materne was going to sound a parley; but for those cannon-shots at the end, by my faith! things were taking a bad turn."

Materne coloured, and casting a side-look at the smuggler, "Possibly," he drily observed; "but had it not been for the cannon-shots at the beginning, we should have had no need of those at the end; old Rochart, and fifty more of our brave fellows, would have had their arms and legs still, which wouldn't have made our victory any the less pleasant."

"Bah!" interrupted Hullin, who foresaw the beginning of a dispute between two men whose dispositions were far from conciliatory. "Let's put an end to this; every one has done his duty, and that's the great thing." Then addressing Materne, "I have just despatched a messenger to Framont," said he, "to desire the Germans to fetch away their wounded. In an hour they will be here, no doubt; we must warn our look-outs to let them approach, but without arms, and with torches; if they come otherwise, let them be shot."

"I will see to it at once," replied the old huntsman.

"Hey! Materne, you will come to supper afterwards at the farm with your boys?"

"All right, Jean-Claude."

He departed.

Hullin then told Frantz and Kasper to have large camp fires lighted for the night; Marc, to give his horses a feed of corn, so that they might be ready to go, without loss of time, to fetch ammunition; and, as they withdrew to execute his orders, he entered the farm.