第 39 页

So fierce was this onslaught that the Prussian infantry refused to

face it, and fell back upon their supports. Still the Zouaves

rushed on, and again the Prussians fell back; but the assault was

growing more and more hopeless. The Zouaves were unsupported, save

by a few hundred men. The other regiments were far in the rear. The

shot and shell were mowing lanes through them. An army was in

front.

At last, they halted. Colonel Charette marched on in front, waving

his sword. General Sonis, with his staff, again rode forward. It

was heroic, but it was heroic madness.

Again the Zouaves advanced. Again a storm of shell poured upon

them, and then a regiment of German cavalry swept down. There was a

crash. Charette and his officers disappeared, beneath the hoofs of

the cavalry. General Sonis and his staff went down like straw

before them; but the Zouaves stood firm, fired a volley into them;

and then--having lost eight hundred men, in that desperate attempt

to retrieve the fortunes of the day--the remainder retreated,

sullenly, with their faces to the foe.

Ralph Barclay, when the cavalry swept upon them, had shot the first

two of his foes with his revolver; and had then been cut down by a

tall German dragoon, just at the moment that his horse fell dead,

shot through the head. Ralph had a momentary vision of gleaming

hoofs above him; and then he remembered nothing more, until he came

to himself, hours afterwards.

His first sensation was that of intense cold. He endeavored to

rise, but was powerless to move hand or foot. He lay quiet for a

few minutes; and then made another effort, but with a similar want

of success. This time, however, he felt that his limbs would have

moved, had they not been fastened down by some weight.

He now concentrated all his strength upon one arm. It yielded

suddenly and, when it was free, he was able to turn partly round,

so as to feel what it was that had confined it. He found that his

own blood, and that of the horse, had frozen his arm fast to the

ground. It required a considerable effort before he could get

altogether free, for he was stiff with the cold. Putting his sword

up to his head, he found that he had been saved by the very means

which were now giving him so much pain. The intense cold had frozen

the blood, as it flowed; and stanched it more effectively than any

surgeon could have done.

Ralph--after rubbing his hands and arms, to restore

circulation--now endeavored, by the remains of twilight, to see

where he was, and how he had been saved. His horse lay next to him,

and almost covering him. The poor animal had fallen on to its back;

or had rolled over, afterwards and, in the latter case, it was

fortunate indeed, for Ralph, that it had not taken another half

turn. Had it done so, it would have crushed him to death. As it

was, it had reached to within an inch or two of him; partly

concealing him from sight, protecting him from the cold, and also

greatly diminishing his chance of being trampled upon by cavalry

passing over.

A short distance off, Ralph could see parties with lanterns; and

one of them seemed approaching. Far in his rear, he could hear an

occasional shot; and it rushed across his mind, at once, that the

French had been defeated, and were falling back upon Orleans. These

lights, therefore, must be in the hands of Germans.

The thought that a German prison awaited him roused Ralph from his

inactivity. It flashed across his mind that, as he had escaped

before, they would take care and give him but little chance of

escaping again and--although stiff, and bruised from head to foot;

half frozen, and faint from loss of blood--the hope of liberty

roused him to new exertion. With some effort, he got at the holster

of his pistol; in which was a flask of strong brandy and water

which, though icy cold, had yet a sensibly warming influence. The

lights were still at some distance off; and Ralph, after

considerable trouble, and after cutting the straps which fastened

it to the saddle, succeeded in getting at his fur overcoat. This he

put on, picked up the cap of one of the German troopers who had

fallen near, and then walked slowly away, over the deserted battle

ground.

Ten minutes later, he heard a horse's hoofs upon the hard ground.

He cocked the pistol--which had remained fastened to his belt, when

he fell--pulled forward the German soldier's cap, and walked

quietly on.

"Who goes there?" shouted a voice, and two German officers rode up.

It was far too dark, now, to distinguish faces.

"Karl Zimmerman, of the Seventh Dragoons," Ralph said, in German,

saluting.

"What are you doing here?"

"I am servant to Lieutenant Falchen, who fell today; and I had been

to look for his body. It was somewhere about here, when we charged

the gray Zouaves."

"But your regiment is miles off," one of the officers said. "I saw

them an hour ago."

"I don't know where they are, sir," Ralph said, "for I had my head

laid open, with a sword bayonet, just as I was cutting down the man

I had seen shoot my master. I was carried to the rear, but the

surgeon had gone on; and my wound stopped of itself and, when I

reached the hospital, the doctors were so busy that I asked leave

to go, and see if I could find my master."

"Where are the ambulances now?" one of the officers asked, as they

turned to ride off.

"Over in that direction. Look, sir, there are some of the

searchers, with lanterns. They will direct you, at once."

"Thanks," the officer said, riding off; "good luck in your search."

Ralph had noticed a cottage, standing by itself at the edge of a

wood, at some little distance from the bivouac of the night of the

30th of November; and had stopped for a moment, and asked a few

questions of the woman who lived there. She had appeared a

kind-hearted woman, full of hatred for the invader; and had two

sons in the Mobiles, who had marched north when Paris was first

threatened, and who were now besieged there. For this cottage Ralph

determined to make, in order--if the owners would receive him--to

take shelter in the house; otherwise, to find a refuge in the wood,

itself, where he doubted not that they would assist him to lie hid

for a few days. He had no great fear of a very active search being

made for fugitives, at present, as the Prussians had only driven

back two divisions of the French army; and had, Ralph believed,

plenty of work on their hands, for some time.

It was fortunate for Ralph that he had studied the ground so

carefully; for he soon came upon the road, and the stars--which

were shining brightly--gave him his direction and bearings. The

battle had extended over the whole of this ground. Many times Ralph

could hear groans; and saw, in places, dark forms thickly scattered

over the ground--showing where a stand had been made, or where a

regiment had lain exposed, for hours, to an artillery fire.

The distance was considerable to the place Ralph had marked out for

himself. Eight miles, at least, he thought; for it was away behind

what had, two days before, been Chanzy's left. It was, in Ralph's

state of feebleness, a very long journey. Over and over again, he

had to sit down and rest. He did not feel the cold, now; the fur

coat, and the exertion of walking, kept his body in a glow. He took

great pains, however, not to exert himself, so as to make himself

too hot; as he feared that his wound might break out, if he did so.

He was fully twelve hours upon the road; and daylight was just

breaking in the east when--exhausted by hunger, fatigue, and loss

of blood--he crawled up to the door, and knocked.

There was a movement inside, but it was not until he had knocked

twice that a voice within asked:

"Who is there?"

"A wounded officer," Ralph said.

There was a whispered talk, inside.

"Let me in, my friends," he said, "for the remembrance of your boys

in Paris. There is no danger to you in doing so as, if the Germans

come, you have only to say you have a wounded officer. I can pay

you well."

"We don't care for pay," the woman of the house said; opening the

door, with a candle in her hand--and then falling back, with a cry

of horror, at the object before her: a man, tottering with fatigue,

and with his face a perfect mask of stiffened blood.

"You do not remember me," Ralph said. "I am the captain of the

staff who chatted to you, two days ago, about your boys in Paris."

"Poor boy!" the woman said, compassionately. "Come in.

"Monsieur will pardon me," she went on, apologetically, "for

speaking so, but I called you the boy captain, when I was telling

my good man what a bright--

"But there, what you want now is rest, and food. The question is

where to put you. We may be searched, at any time; though it's not

likely that we shall be, for a few days. The battle has gone away

in the direction of Orleans, and we have not seen half a dozen men

since I saw you, two days ago.

"The first thing is to give you something warm. You are half

frozen. Sit down for a few minutes. I will soon make a blaze."

Ralph sank down--utterly exhausted and worn out--in the settle by

the fireplace; and fell into a half doze, while the woman lit a

bright fire on the hearth. In a few minutes she had drawn some

liquor from the pot-au-feu--the soup pot--which stands by the

fireside of every French peasant, however poor; and into which all

the odds and ends of the household are thrown. This liquor she put

into a smaller pot; broke some bread into it, added an onion--which

she chopped up while it was warming--together with a little pepper

and salt and, in ten minutes from the time of Ralph's entry, she

placed a bowl of this mixture, smoking hot, before him.

At first, he seemed too exhausted to eat; but gradually his

appetite returned, and he finished off the hot broth.

"What shall I do to your wound, sir?" the woman said. "It is a

terrible sight, at present."

"It is the cold which saved my life, I fancy," Ralph said, "by

stopping the bleeding; but now it wants bathing in warm water, for

some time, and then bandaging.

"But where are you going to put me?"

"In the boys' room, upstairs, sir. It is just as they left it."

"I have no doubt it is very comfortable," Ralph said, "but all this

country is certain to be scoured, by the enemy's cavalry. I do not

want to be taken prisoner; and rather than that I would go and live

out in the woods, and only crawl here, once a day, for some food."

The husband had now come downstairs and, as he aided his wife to

first bathe and then bandage the wound, they talked over the

matter; and agreed that Ralph could be hid in a loft over a shed, a

hundred yards from the house, and very much concealed in the woods,

without much fear of discovery. The farmer at once started to make

the place as comfortable as he could; and the wife followed with a

couple of blankets, a quarter of an hour later.

Ralph, by this time, could scarcely crawl along. The fever

consequent upon the wound, the fatigue, and the cold made his head

throb so terribly that he could scarcely hold it up and, had it not

been for the assistance of the farmer's wife, he could not have

crawled across the short distance to the shed. The loft was low and

small and, when the wooden shutter of the window--or rather

opening, for it was unglazed--was closed, it was lighted only by

the light which came in at the crevices. The shed was altogether of

wood; so that the shutter--which happened to be at its back--would

scarcely have been noticed while, from the shed being high and the

loft very low, anyone inside would scarcely have suspected the

existence of any loft, at all. It was reached by a ladder and trap

door.

The farmer assisted Ralph up the ladder. The shutter was open, and

Ralph saw that the farmer had made a bed of straw, upon which his

wife was spreading one of the blankets. Ralph now took off his

uniform, and lay down; and was covered first by the other blanket,

and then with his own fur-lined coat. The farmer's wife had

thoughtfully brought a pillow with her; and Ralph in a few minutes

was lying in what--had it not been for the pain of his wound--would

have been intense comfort, after the cold and fatigue. His hostess

went away, and returned with a large jug of water and a glass,

which she put down within reach of his arm.

"There is nothing else you want?" she asked.

"Nothing, thank you, except to sleep," Ralph said.

"I shall shut this shutter," the farmer said. "Enough light will

come through the cracks to see well, when your eyes get accustomed

to the darkness. I shall shut the trap close down after me, as I

go, and lift down the ladder. It is very light, and my wife can

easily put it into its place again. We will come and see you again,

in the afternoon. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Ralph answered, faintly; and before the sound of their

footsteps had died away, he fell into a sort of feverish doze.

For a time he turned uneasily, muttered incoherent words, and moved

his hands restlessly. Soon, however, the effects of the cloth

soaked in icy-cold water, which the farmer's wife had placed on the

bandages over the wound, began to subdue the feverish heat; and in

half an hour he was sleeping soundly, and quietly. He woke at last,

with a flash of light in his face and, opening his eyes, saw the

good woman again bending over him.

"I am glad," were her first words. "I thought, for a moment, you

were dead."

"No, no," Ralph said, with a faint smile; "a long way from that,

yet. My sleep has done me a world of good. What o'clock is it?"

"Nine o'clock," his hostess said. "I could not come before, for I

have had several parties going past, and the house was searched