第 24 页

the peasants and franc tireurs lay, in a confused mass, on the

ground.

The lieutenant walked up to the major with a steady step, but with

a face as pale as ashes.

"I have done my duty, Major Kolbach; your orders are obeyed."

Then, without another word, he drew out his revolver, put it rapidly

to his temple, and blew out his brains [an historical fact].

Brutal as Major Kolbach was, he started back in horror as the young

lieutenant fell dead at his feet; while a cry of surprise and

consternation broke from the men. The major did not say a word, but

turned away and paced up and down, with disturbed steps; while the

other lieutenant bent over the body of his comrade and, seeing that

he was dead, in a hushed voice ordered the men who had run up to

dig a grave, under the trees, and bring him there.

When this was done he ordered the men to fall in--placing the

Barclays, and Tim in their midst--and then went up to the major and

saluted, saying coldly that the men were ready to march. The major

nodded, signed to the orderly who was holding his horse to

approach, vaulted into the saddle, and rode along the road back

toward the main body of the army. The lieutenant gave the word, and

the column marched off; leaving behind it the still smoking houses,

and the still warm bodies of some sixty men.

There was a general gloom over the faces of the men; and no one

could suppose, from their air, that they were returning from a

successful expedition, in which they had annihilated a body of

enemy fifty strong, with the loss of only five or six of their own

men. Discipline was, however, too strict for a word of blame, or

even of comment to be spoken; and not a sound was heard but the

heavy, measured tramp as the troops marched back through the

forests. The major rode on, moodily, some forty or fifty yards

ahead of the main body.

They had not gone half a mile before there was a shot fired in the

wood, close to the road. The major gave a start, and nearly fell

from his horse; then recovered himself, and turned to ride back to

the column, when there was another shot, and he fell off his horse,

heavily, to the ground.

The column had instinctively halted, and the lieutenant gave the

word, "Load."

A shout of triumph was heard in the wood, "Thirty-one!" and then

all was still.

"That's the old fellow who saved my life, ten days ago, Percy,"

Ralph said; "and by Jove! much obliged to him as I was, then, I do

think that I am more grateful now."

Finding that the shots were not repeated, some twenty or thirty

skirmishers were sent into the woods; but returned, in ten minutes,

without finding any trace of the man who had shot the major.

The lieutenant now took the command. There was a continuation of

the halt, for ten minutes, while the major was hastily buried by

the roadside; a rough cross being put up to mark the spot, and a

deep cross cut made in the two nearest trees so that, even if the

cross were overthrown, the place of the burial might be found

afterwards, if necessary. Then the corps marched on again.

The first use which the lieutenant made of his authority--even

before giving directions for the burial--was to order the cords of

the prisoners to be cut. Then the corps continued its march and, by

the brightened faces of the men, it could be seen easily enough how

unpopular their late commander had been; and that they cherished

but slight animosity against the slayer. In a short time they

struck up one of their marching songs and--prisoners as they

were--the Barclays could not but admire the steady, martial bearing

of the men, as they strode along, making the woods echo with the

deep chorus.

In three hours' march they reached the village which the troops had

left, the evening before, to surprise the franc tireurs; having, as

Ralph had learned from the lieutenant in command, received

information from a spy of their arrival at the village, late at

night; and having started at once, under his guidance.

Here a considerable German force was assembled. The prisoners were

not unkindly treated; but Tim Doyle was, of course, separated from

them. Some astonishment was expressed at their youth; but it was

assumed that they had been pupils at Saint Cyr or the Polytechnic,

many of whom received commissions owing to the impossibility of

finding officers for the immense new levies. Several of the

officers came in to chat with them and, as these had been also

engaged in the fights, ten days before, there were many questions

to ask, upon either side.

The boys learned that they would be sent on, next day; would be

marched to Luneville, and sent thence by train.

"They are a fine set of fellows," Ralph said, when their last

visitor had left them. "Good officers, unquestionably; and when

they are nice, capital fellows. I can't make out why they should be

so brutal, as soldiers; for they are undoubtedly a kindly race."

"No doubt," Percy said, but he was thinking of other matters, and

not paying much attention to his brother.

"Do you think we have any chance of making our escape, Ralph?"

"Oh, we shall escape, fast enough," Ralph answered, confidently.

"With our knowledge of German, and looking so young, there can be

no great difficulty about it, when we once get to the end of our

journey; but it's no use our thinking about it, at present. We

shall be a good deal too closely looked after. I only hope they

will send us to Mayence, or Coblentz; and not to one of the

fortresses at the other end of Germany.

"Mind, we must not give our parole."

The next day, when they were summoned to start, they found that

there were fifty or sixty other prisoners who had been brought in,

from other directions. Some belonged to line regiments; but the

greater portion, by far, were Mobiles who, in the retreat of

General Cambriels, had been cut off or left behind and, after

hiding in the woods for some days, were being gradually found and

brought in. The Barclays were the only officers. They therefore

took their places at the head of the prisoners; who formed, four

deep--with an escort of Uhlans--and set off on their march.

It was four days' march. The weather was cold and clear, and the

Barclays were but little fatigued when they marched into Luneville.

The greater part of the prisoners were, however, in a pitiable

condition. Some were so footsore that they could hardly put one

foot before the other. Others tottered with fatigue, and the men of

the escort frequently used the flats of their swords, to compel

them to keep together. As they marched through the streets of

Luneville, the people in the streets uncovered; and the women waved

their hands to them, and pressed forward and offered them fruit and

bread, in spite of the orders of the escort.

They were taken straight to the railway station, where they were

put into a shed. Ralph and Percy had gained the goodwill of the

sergeant in command of the escort, by the manner in which they had

aided him by interpreting to the rest of the prisoners, and by

doing their best to cheer them up, and take things smooth; and they

now asked him to request the officer in command, at the railway

station, to allow them to walk about until the train started, on

parole. The request was--upon the favorable report of the

sergeant--granted at once; and they were told that no train would

go off until next morning, and that they might sleep in the town,

if they chose.

Thanking the officer for the permission, they went out of the

station; when a tall, big-bearded German sergeant stopped before

them.

"Donner wetter!" he exclaimed, "so here you are, again!"

The boys gave a little start; for they recognized, at once, the

sergeant who had so closely questioned them in the cabaret, upon

the night when they had carried off and hung the schoolmaster.

Ralph saw, at once, the importance of conciliating the man; as a

report from him of the circumstances might render their position a

most unpleasant one and--even in the event of nothing worse coming

of it--would almost ensure their captivity in some prison upon the

farther side of Prussia, instead of at one of the frontier

fortresses.

"Ah, sergeant, how are you?" he said, gaily. "It is our fate, you

see, to be made prisoners. You were very nearly taking us, and now

here we are."

"A nice trick you played me," the sergeant said, surlily, "with

your woodcutters, and your lame brother, and your sick sister, and

your cask of beer. I got a nice reprimand over that affair."

"Come, sergeant," Ralph said, laughing, "let bygones be bygones.

All is fair in war, you know, and we did not touch a single hair of

any of your men's heads. All we wanted was the schoolmaster. It

would not do you any good to talk about it, now, and it might do us

harm. It's quite bad enough for us, as it is."

"You're nice boys, you are," the sergeant said, with his face

relaxing into a smile. "To think of my being taken in, by two lads

like you. Well, you did it well--monstrously well, I will say--for

you never flinched an eyelash.

"So you are officers, after all. I never suspected anything about

it, till three hours afterwards, when we went to relieve the

sentry; and found him lying there, tied up like a bundle. We

couldn't think, even then, what it meant, for you had made no

attack; and it wasn't till morning that we found that the old

schoolmaster had been fetched out of bed, and carried off on the

heads of twenty men.

"Well, it was well done, and I bear you no malice."

"That's right, sergeant. Now come and have a jug of beer with us;

you know, we had one with you, before. Don't you remember, we drank

to the health of King William? If you like, you shall return the

pledge, by drinking to Napoleon."

The sergeant laughed.

"I'll do that," he said. "You said, if you remember, when I

proposed the king, that you did not wish to hear of his death; and

I can say the same for your Napoleon. Especially," he added with a

chuckle, "as he's our prisoner."

The boys went into a cabaret near, and drank a glass of beer with

the sergeant; and then--saying "Goodbye," very heartily--left him,

and went into the town; well pleased to have got so well out of a

scrape which might have been a very unpleasant one.

They slept at a hotel, and were down at the station at the

appointed time. It was a long journey--thirty-six hours--to

Mayence. But the boys were too pleased--when they saw the line that

the train was following--to have cared, had it been twice as far.

The difficulties of escape from the western fortresses would have

been immense; whereas, at Mayence, they were comparatively close to

the frontier. At Mayence, too, the position of the prisoners was

comfortable. They were allowed to live anywhere in the town, and to

take their meals when they chose. They were obliged, twice a day,

to answer at the muster roll; and were not, of course, allowed to

go outside the fortifications.

The one drawback, to the position of the French officers, was the

utterly insufficient sum which the Prussian Government allowed them

for board and lodging--only forty-five francs a month; that is to

say, fifteen pence a day. It is needless to say that the officers

who had nothing else to depend upon literally starved, upon this

pittance; which was the more inexcusable that the French Government

allowed more than twice this sum to the German officers who were

taken prisoners.

Upon this head, however, the boys had no discomfort. They had

plenty of money in their pockets, for present uses; and they knew

that they could obtain further supplies by writing home, via

Switzerland. They were, therefore, unaffectedly glad when the train

came to a stop at the station of Mayence, and the order was given

for all to alight.

Chapter 13: The Escape.

The first thing that the Barclays did, after reporting themselves,

was to settle themselves in a lodging--no very easy thing to find,

for the town was crowded with troops, and prisoners. However, as

they were able to pay a higher sum than the great majority of

French officers, in their position, they had no very great

difficulty in finding a place to suit them. The rooms were

purposely taken in a large house, with a staircase common to a

number of families living on different floors; so that anyone going

in or out would be less likely to be noticed than in a smaller

house. They were also careful in choosing rooms so placed that they

could go in and out of the door on to the staircase, without being

noticed by the people with whom they lodged.

Ralph's arm was now extremely painful, the long march having

inflamed the wound. He had, therefore, on reporting himself, begged

that a surgeon might attend him; and had also asked, as a great

favor, that his servant--the hussar Doyle--might be allowed to

remain with him; stating that, in that case, he would pay for his

lodgings and provide him with food. As the prison in which the

private soldiers were confined was, at the time, crowded; the

request was complied with.

For the next week Ralph suffered greatly with his arm, and had to

keep his room. After that the inflammation subsided; and in another

fortnight he was able to dispense, for the first time since he

received his wound, with a sling. In the meantime he had made the

acquaintance of the people with whom he lodged; who were very kind

to their wounded lodger, and whose hearts he completely won by

being able to chat to them in their native tongue, like one of

themselves. The family consisted of a father, who was away all day

at the railway station, where he was a clerk; the mother, a

garrulous old woman; and a daughter, a pretty blue-eyed girl of

about Ralph's age, who assisted her mother to wait upon them. She

had a lover, away as a soldier in the army besieging Paris; and the