Henty George Alfred
The Young Franc Tireurs, and Their Adventures in the Franco-Prussian War
There was a rapid discharge of their carbines, but men at full gallop make but poor shooting. Ralph felt he was untouched but, by the convulsive spring which his horse gave, he knew the animal was wounded. For a couple of hundred yards, there was but little difference in his speed; and then Ralph–to his dismay–felt him flag, and knew that the wound had been a severe one. Another hundred yards, and the animal staggered; and would have fallen, had not Ralph held him up well, with knee and bridle.
The Uhlans saw it; for they gave a shout, and a pistol bullet whizzed close to his head. Ralph looked round. An officer, twenty yards ahead of his men, was only about forty yards in his rear. In his hand he held a revolver, which he had just discharged.
"Surrender!" he shouted, "or you are a dead man!"
Ralph saw that his pursuers were too close to enable him to carry out his intention of dismounting, and taking to the wood–which, here, began to approach thickly close to the road–and was on the point of throwing up his arm, in token of surrender; when his horse fell heavily, with him, at the moment when the Prussian again fired. Almost simultaneously with the crack of the pistol came the report of a gun; and the German officer fell off his horse, shot through the heart.
Ralph leaped to his feet, and dashed up the bank in among the trees; just as another shot was fired, with a like fatal result, into the advancing Uhlans. The rest–believing that they had fallen into an ambush–instantly turned their horses' heads, and galloped back the road they had come.
Ralph's first impulse was to rush down into the road, and catch the officer's horse; which had galloped on a short distance when its master fell, and was now returning, to follow its companions. As he did so, the old peasant appeared, from the wood.
"Thank you," Ralph said warmly. "You have saved my life or, at any rate, have saved me from a German prison."
The peasant paid no attention to him; but stooped down to examine, carefully, whether the Germans were both dead.
"Two more," he said, with a grim smile. "That makes fifteen. Three apiece."
Then he picked up the officer's revolver, took the cartridge belonging to it from the pouch and, with a wave of the hand to Ralph, strode back into the wood.
Ralph removed the holsters from the saddle of his own horse–which had fallen dead–placed them on the horse of the German officer and then, mounting it, rode off at full speed, to inform General Cambriels of the results of his investigation.
"Hallo, Barclay!" one of his fellow officers said, as he rode up to the headquarters, "what have you been up to? Doing a little barter, with a German hussar? You seem to have got the best of him, too; for your own horse was a good one, but this is a good deal better, unless I am mistaken.
"How has it come about?"
Quite a crowd of idlers had collected round, while the officer was speaking; struck, like him, with the singularity of the sight of a French staff officer upon a horse with German trappings. Ralph did not wish to enter into explanations, there; so merely replied, in the same jesting strain, that it had been a fair exchange–the small difference in the value of the horses being paid for, with a small piece of lead. Then, throwing his reins to his orderly–who came running up–he went in to report, to the general, the evident forward movements of the Germans.
"Are they as strong as we have heard?" the general asked.
"Fully, I should say, sir. I had no means of judging the infantry, but they seemed in large force. They were certainly strong in cavalry, and I saw some eight or ten batteries of artillery."
"Let the next for duty ride, with all speed, to Tempe; and tell him to hold the upper end of this valley. Send Herve's battery forward to assist him. Have the general assembly sounded."
Ralph left to obey these orders, while the general gave the colonel of his staff the instructions for the disposition of his forces.
The army of the Vosges–pompous as was its name–consisted, at this time, of only some ten thousand men; all Mobiles or franc tireurs, with the exception of a battalion of line, and a battalion of Zouaves. The Mobiles were almost undisciplined, having only been out a month; and were, for the most part, armed only with the old muzzle loader. Many were clothed only in the gray trousers, with a red stripe, which forms part of the mobile's uniform; and in a blue blouse. Great numbers of them were almost shoeless; having been taken straight from the plow, or workshop, and having received no shoes since they joined. Half disciplined, half armed, half clothed, they were too evidently no match for the Germans.
The fact was patent to their general, and his officers. Still, his instructions were to make a stand, at all hazards, in the Vosges; and he now prepared to obey the orders–not hoping for victory, but trusting in the natural courage of his men to enable him to draw them off without serious disaster. His greatest weakness was his artillery, of which he had only two batteries; against eight or ten of the Germans–whose forces were, even numerically, superior to his own.
In half an hour, the dispositions were made. The valley was wide, at this point; and there were some five or six villages nestled in it. It was pretty thickly wooded and, two miles behind, narrowed again considerably. Just as the troops had gained their appointed places, a faint sound of heavy musketry fire was heard, in the gorge ahead; mingled, in a few minutes, with the deep boom of cannon.
The general, surrounded by his staff, moved forward towards the spot. From the road at the entrance to the narrow part of the valley, nothing could be seen; but the cracking of rifles among the trees and rocks on either side, the bursting of shells and the whistling of bullets were incessant. The general and his staff accordingly dismounted, handed their horses to the men of the escort, and mounted the side of the hill.
After a sharp climb, they reached a point from whence they could see right down the long narrow valley. On beyond, the trees–except near the road–were thin; the steep sides of the hills being covered with great blocks of stone, and thick brushwood. Among these–all down one side, and up the other–at a distance of some five hundred yards from the post taken up by the general, a succession of quick puffs of smoke told where Colonel Tempe's franc tireurs were placed; while among the trees below there came up great wreaths of smoke from the battery, which was supporting them by firing at the Germans.
These formed a long line, up and down the sides of the valley, at three or four hundred yards distance from the French lines. Two German batteries were down in the road, a few hundred yards to the rear of their skirmishers; and these were sending shells thickly up among the rocks, where the franc tireurs were lying hid; while two other batteries–which the Germans had managed to put a short way up on the mountain sides, still farther in the rear–were raining shell, with deadly precision, upon the French batteries in the road.
A prettier piece of warfare it would have been difficult to imagine–the lofty mountain sides; the long lines of little puffs of smoke, among the brushwood and rocks; the white smoke arising from the trees, in the bottom; the quick, dull bursts of the shells–as a spectacle, it was most striking. The noise was prodigious. The steep sides of the mountain echoed each report of the guns into a prolonged roar, like the rumble of thunder. The rattle of the musketry never ceased for an instant, and loud and distinct above the din rose the menacing scream of the shells.
"This is grand, indeed, Ralph!" Percy said, after a moment's silence.
"Splendid!" Ralph said, "but it is evident we cannot hold the gorge. Their skirmishers are three to our one, and their shells must be doing terrible damage."
"Barclay," General Cambriels said, "go down to the battery, and bring me back word how they are getting on."
The scene quite lost its beauty to Percy, now, as he saw Ralph scramble rapidly down the hillside in the direction of the trees; among which the French battery was placed, and over and among which the shells were bursting, every second. It seemed like entering a fiery furnace.
It was a terribly long ten minutes before Ralph was seen, climbing up the hillside again; and Percy's heart gave a jump of delight, when he first caught sight of his figure. As Ralph came near, his brother saw that he was very pale, and had a handkerchief bound round one arm. This was already soaked with blood. He kept on steadily, however, until he reached the general; who had, upon seeing he was wounded, advanced to meet him.
"One gun is dismounted, sir, and half the men are killed or wounded."
"Go down, Harcourt, and tell Herve to fall back at once; and to take position in the clump of trees, a quarter of a mile down the valley, so as to sweep the entrance.
"Laon, go to the right, and you, Dubois, to the left. Order the franc tireurs to retreat along the hillside and, when they get to the end of the gorge, to form in the plain, and fall back to the first village.
"You are wounded, Barclay. Not seriously, I hope?" he said, kindly, as the officers hurried away on their respective missions.
"A splinter of a shell, sir," Ralph said, faintly. "I don't think it has touched the bone, but it has cut the flesh badly."
Ralph was just able to say this, when his head swam; and he would have fallen, had not Percy caught him in his arms, with a little cry.
"He has only fainted from loss of blood," the general said. "Two or three handkerchiefs, gentlemen.
"Now, major, bind them round his arm.
"Now take off his sash, and bind it as tightly as you can, over them. That's right.
"Now carry him down the rocks, to the horses. We have no time to lose."
Two of the officers at once put their arms under Ralph's shoulders, while Percy took his feet; and they hastened down to the horses. As they did so, Ralph opened his eyes.
"I am all right, now," he said, faintly.
"Lie quiet," the major said, kindly. "It is only loss of blood. There is no real harm done.
"There, here are the horses."
Ralph was placed, sitting, on the ground; a little brandy and water was given to him and, as the blood was oozing but slowly through the bandage, he felt sufficiently restored to sit on his horse.
"Doyle, you go with Lieutenant Barclay," the colonel of the staff said. "Ride slowly, and keep close beside him; so as to catch him, if you see him totter. You will find the surgeons ready at the general's quarters.
"Halt, stand aside for a moment. Here comes the artillery."
"Well done, lads, well done!" the general said, as the diminished battery rattled past, at full gallop.
Then he himself, with his staff, put spurs to his horse and went off at full speed; while Tim followed at a walk, riding by the side of Ralph. The flow of blood had now stopped, and Ralph was able to sit his horse until he reached the house which had served as the general's headquarters, in the morning. Here one of the staff surgeons had fitted up a temporary ambulance; and Ralph's bandages were soon taken off, and his coat removed. Tim turned sick at the sight of the ugly gash in his young master's arm, and was obliged to go out into the air.
The artillery were already at work, and their fire told that the franc tireurs had retired from the gorge, and that the Germans were entering the wider valley.
"You have had a narrow escape," the surgeon said, after examining Ralph's arm, "a quarter of an inch lower, and it would have cut the main artery; and you would have bled to death in five minutes. As it is, there is no great harm done. It is a deepish flesh wound but, with your youth and constitution, it will heal up in a very short time. I will draw the edges together, with a needle and thread: put a few straps of plaster on, and a bandage; and then you had better get into an ambulance wagon and go to the rear, at once."
"Can't I go into the field again, now?" Ralph asked; "I feel as if I could ride again, now."
"No, you can do nothing of the sort," the surgeon said. "You have lost a lot of blood; and if you were to ride now, it might set off the wound bleeding again, and you might be a dead man before you could be brought back here. Keep quiet, and do as you are ordered, and in a week you may be in the saddle again."
"It seems very hard," Ralph began.
"Not at all hard," the surgeon said. "You will see plenty more fighting, before this war is over.
"This is a hard case, if you like; you have every reason to be thankful."
As he spoke, he pointed to a young mobile who was brought in, his chest literally torn open with a shell.
"I can do nothing for him," the surgeon said, after a brief inspection of his wound; "he has not half an hour to live, and will probably not recover consciousness. If he does, give him some weak brandy, and water."
Wounded men were now being brought in fast, and Ralph went out and sat down by the door.
"Fasten my horse up here, Tim. The ambulance will be full of poor fellows who will want them more than I shall. If I see that we are being driven back, I shall mount and ride quietly back.
"No, there is nothing more you can do for me. Go and join Percy."
The fight was now raging furiously. The Germans, covered by the fire of their artillery, had debouched from the pass and were steadily pressing forward. They had already carried the village nearest to them. This the French had set fire to, before retreating, to prevent its serving as a shelter for the enemy. The Mobiles stood their ground, for the most part well, under the heavy fire of shot and shell; but their muzzle loaders were no match for the Germans' needle guns, and the enemy were pressing steadily forward. Just as Tim Doyle rode up to the staff, the Germans had taken another village.
"That village must be retaken," the general said. "Barclay, ride and order the Zouaves to carry it, with the bayonet."
Percy galloped off to where the Zouaves, lying behind a ridge in the ground, were keeping up a heavy fire in answer to the storm of shot and shell which fell around them. He rode up to the officer in command.
"The Zouaves are to retake the village, with the bayonet," he said.
The colonel gave the order, but the fire was so heavy that the men would not face it. Again and again the officer reiterated the order; standing exposed on the bank, in front of his men, to give them confidence. It was in vain, and the colonel looked towards Percy with an air of despair. Percy turned his horse, and galloped back to the general.
"The colonel has done all he can, sir, but the men won't advance."
"The fire is very heavy," the general said, "but we must have the village back again."
And he rode off, himself, to the battalion of Zouaves. The shot and shell were flying around him, but he sat on his horse as immovable as if at a review.
"My lads," he said, in a loud, clear tone, "generally the difficulty has been to prevent the Zouaves rushing to an attack. Don't let it be said that a French general had to repeat, to French Zouaves, an order to charge before they obeyed him."
In an instant the Zouaves were on their feet and, with a cheer, went at the village. The Germans in possession fired rapidly, as the French approached, and then hastily evacuated it; the Zouaves taking possession, and holding it, under a tremendous fire.
All the afternoon the battle raged, villages being taken and retaken, several times. The Germans, however, were gradually gaining ground. Some of the regiments of Mobiles had quite lost all order and discipline, and their officers in vain tried to persuade them to hold the position in which they were placed. Two of the staff officers were killed, three others wounded.
Percy had escaped, almost by a miracle. Over and over again, he had carried the general's orders across ground swept by the enemy's shot and shell. A horse had been killed under him, but he had not received even a scratch; and now, mounted upon the horse of one of the officers, who was killed, he was returning from carrying an order across a very open piece of ground, at full gallop. Suddenly he came upon a sight which–hurried as he was, and exposed as was the position–caused him instantly to draw his rein, and come to a full stop.
There, in the open field, were two children: the one a boy, of six or seven years old; the other a little flaxen-haired, blue-eyed girl, of five. They were quietly picking flowers.
"What are you doing here?" Percy asked, in astonishment.
He spoke in French and, receiving no answer, repeated the question in German.
"What are you doing here?"
"If you please, sir," the boy answered, "I have been out in the wood, with Lizzie, to pick flowers; and when I came back there was a great fire in the house, and a great noise all round, and I couldn't find father and mother; and so we came out, to look for them."
Percy did not know what to do. It was too pitiful to leave the poor little creatures where they were; and yet, he could not carry them away. He had no doubt that their parents were hid in the woods.
"Look here," he said; "if I take Lizzie upon my horse, will you run along after me?"
"No, no," the little girl said, vehemently.
There was no time for parley.
"Look here, do you see those soldiers lying down in a ditch?" Percy asked, pointing to a line of Mobiles, not fifty yards in front.
The children nodded.
"Now look here, the best thing you can possibly do is to play at being soldiers. It is capital fun. You lie down quite flat in that ditch, and throw little stones over the bank. Don't you go away. Don't get up, whatever you do; and if you are good children, and play nicely, I will send father and mother to you, if I can find them. If they don't come, you go on playing at soldiers till all this noise stops; and then, when it is quite quiet, you go home, and wait there till father and mother come back."
The children were delighted with the idea, and threw themselves flat in the bottom of the ditch; and Percy went on again, at full gallop. The French were now being driven back, towards the point where the valley narrowed again; and many of the Mobiles were in full flight. General Cambriels, therefore, withdrew his artillery to a point where they could cover the movements; and then ordered a rapid retreat–ten regiments of line, and the Zouaves, acting as rear guard.
It was already getting dark, and the movements were carried out with but slight loss. The Germans, contented with their success, attempted no movement in pursuit.
Chapter 12: The Surprise
After the check in the Vosges, General Cambriels found it impossible to restore sufficient order, among the Mobiles, to enable him to show face again to the enemy. He was, besides, in want of many articles of urgent necessity. Half his force were shoeless; and the thin blouses which were–as has been said–all the covering that many of the Mobiles had, were ill calculated to resist the bitter cold which was already setting in. Ammunition, too, as well as food, was short.
The general determined, therefore, upon falling back upon Besancon, and reorganizing his forces there. A wound in his head, too, which was insufficiently healed when he took the command, had now broken out again; and his surgeon ordered absolute repose, for a while.
Upon the day of the fight, Ralph had ridden slowly to the rear, when he saw that the fight was going against the French. Hardened as he was by his work, and with an excellent constitution, his wound never for a moment assumed a troublesome aspect; but at the end of a week he was able–keeping it, of course, in a sling–to mount his horse, and report himself ready for duty. The headquarters were now at Besancon; and Ralph could, had he applied for it, have obtained leave to go to Dijon; but he had not done so, as he had been so lately at home, and he thought that the sight of his arm in a sling would be likely to make his mother more nervous, and anxious on their account, than before.
The Germans were still at some distance from Besancon, being watched by Colonel Tempe and his franc tireurs, and by the irregular forces. A considerable army was now fast gathering at Besancon, and the regimental and superior staff officers were hard at work at the organization As aides-de-camp, the boys had little to do; and therefore requested leave, for two or three days, to go up to their old friends, the franc tireurs of Dijon. The general at once granted the required permission; adding, with a smile:
"Don't forget you are officers now, lads, and get into any hare-brained adventures, you know; and be sure you are back on Thursday, as I expect General Michel–my successor–to arrive on Friday; and I shall have to give you, as part of my belongings."
"We are sure to be back, general."
And so they set off; taking, as usual, Tim Doyle with them, as orderly and servant.
"Faith, and I am glad enough to be out in the open again, Mister Ralph," Tim said, as they left Besancon behind. "After living out in the woods, for six weeks; there does not seem room to breathe, in a crowded town."
"It's jolly to be out again, Tim; but I don't know that I mind a town again, for a few days."
"Ah, it's all very well for the likes of yees, Mister Ralph–with your officer's uniform, and your arm in a sling, and the girls all looking at you as a hero–but for me it's different, entirely. Out in the open I feel that–except when there's anything to do for your honors–I am my own master, and can plase myself. Here in the town I am a common hussar; and my arm is just weary with saluting to all the fellows, with a sword by their side, that I meet in the street.
"Then there's no chance of any fighting, as long as we're shut up in the walls of a town; and what's the use of being decked up in uniform, except to fight? Is there any chance of just the least scrimmage in the world, while we are back again with the boys?" he asked, persuasively.
The boys laughed.
"Not much, Tim; but we shall be pretty close to the enemy, and something may turn up, at any moment. But surely you've had enough, in the last six weeks?"
"Pretty well, Mister Percy–pretty well; but you see, the last affair didn't count."
"Oh, didn't it count!" Ralph said, looking at his arm. "I think it counted for two or three fights and, if you were not hit, I am sure you were fired at often enough to satisfy the most desperate lover of fighting, Tim."
"I was fired at often enough, I daresay, Mister Ralph; and I can't say that I liked it, entirely. It isn't so mighty pleasant–sitting like a stiff statue behind the general, with the shells falling about you like peas, and not allowed the divarshin of a single shot back, in return.
"'Shoot away,' says I, 'as hard as you like; but let's shoot back, in return.'"
The boys laughed, and the day passed pleasantly as they rode, and talked. The dusk had already fallen when they reached a party of franc tireurs. It was not their own corps, nor could the officer in command tell exactly where they could find them.
"We are scattered over a considerable extent of country," he said; "and the colonel, alone, could tell you how we are all placed. I expect that he will be here, tonight; and your best plan will be to stay here, till he comes. We have not much to offer you, but such as it is, it is at your service."
After a moment's consultation, the boys agreed to accept the offer; as they had palpably more chance of meeting Colonel Tempe, there, than in a journey through the woods, at night; and in another ten minutes their horses were tied to trees, and they were sitting by a blazing fire, with the officers of franc tireurs. The village consisted of only three or four houses and, as there were fifty men in the party upon which they had come, they bivouacked under the trees, hard by.
"How far off are the Germans?" Ralph asked, when dinner was over; and they lay by the fire, smoking cigars.
"Ten miles or so," the officer answered, carelessly.
"No chance of their coming this way, I hope," Ralph laughed. "We were very nearly caught near Saverne, once."
"So I heard," the officer said, "but I am rather skeptical as to these night surprises. In nine cases out of ten–mind, I don't mean for a moment that it was so in your case–but in nine cases out of ten, these rumors of night attacks are all moonshine."
"Perhaps so," Ralph said, a little gravely–for he had already noticed that the discipline was very different, among these men, than that to which he had been accustomed among the franc tireurs of Dijon; "perhaps so, but we can hardly be too careful.
"How do you all like Colonel Tempe?"
"The colonel would be an excellent fellow, were he not our colonel," the officer laughed. "He is a most unconscionable man. For ever marching, and drilling, and disciplining. If he had his way, he would make us like a regiment of line; as if there could be any good in carrying out all that sort of thing, with franc tireurs. He had about half of us together, for three or four days; and I give you my word it was as bad as slavery. Drill, drill, drill, from morning till night. I was heartily glad, I can tell you, when I got away with this detachment."
Ralph saw that his new acquaintance was one of that innumerable class who conceived that drill and discipline were absurdities, and that it was only necessary for a Frenchman to shoulder a gun for him to be a soldier; so he easily avoided argument, by turning the subject. For a couple of hours they chatted; and then, as the fire was burning low, and the men had already laid down to sleep, Ralph suggested that they should do the same.
"I will walk round the sentries first, with you, if you like," he said.
"Sentries!" the other said, with a laugh; "there is my sentry," and he pointed to a man standing, ten paces off, leaning against a tree. "The men have marched all day–they only came in an hour before you did–and I am not going to waste their strength by putting half of them out to watch the forest.
"No, no, I am no advocate for harassing my men."
"Good night, then," Ralph said, briefly, and he wrapped himself in his cloak, and lay down.
"We are not accustomed to this sort of thing, Percy," he whispered to his brother, in English, "and I don't like it. No wonder our franc tireurs do so badly, if this is a sample of their discipline."
"I don't like it either, Ralph. The Prussians are advancing; and if that fellow last heard of them as ten miles off, they are as likely as not to be only two. I shan't be sorry when morning comes."
"Nor I either, Percy. However, here we are, and we have no authority over this fellow; so we must make the best of it, and hope that–for once–folly will not have its just reward."
So saying, the boys remained silent for the night. But although silent, neither of them slept much–Ralph especially, whose arm was still very sore, and at times painful, hardly closed his eyes. He told himself it was absurd, but he could not help listening, with painful attention.
Had the night been a quiet one, he need not have strained his ears; for as he knew, from the many hours he had passed at night upon guard, the hush is so intense–in these great forests–that one can hear the fall of a mountain stream, miles away; and the snapping of a twig, or almost the falling of a leaf, will catch the ear. The night, however, was windy; and the rustle of the pine forest would have deadened all sound, except anything sharp, and near.
The sentry did not appear similarly impressed with the necessity for any extraordinary attention. He was principally occupied in struggling against cold, and drowsiness. He walked up and down, he stamped his foot, hummed snatches of songs, yawned with great vigor, and so managed to keep awake for two hours; when he roused the next for duty, and lay down with a grunt of relief.
At last, after keeping awake for hours, Ralph dozed off. How long he slept, he knew not; but he was roused into full wakefulness by a touch on the shoulder, and by hearing Tim Doyle whisper:
"Hist, Mister Ralph, I've my doubts that there is something wrong. I couldn't sleep, in this camp without watch or outposts; and for the last quarter of an hour, I fancy I've been hearing noises. I don't know which way they are coming, but it seems to me they are all round us. I may be wrong, sir, but as sure as the piper–"
"Hush, Tim!" Ralph said to the Irishman, who had crawled noiselessly along, and had lain down by his side.
"Percy, are you awake?"
"Yes, I woke at Tim's whisper. Listen."
They did listen; and distinctly, above the sighing of the wind, they could hear a rustling, cracking noise. Day was just breaking, but the light was not sufficiently strong to show objects with any distinctness, among the trees.
"By Jove, we are surrounded!" Percy said; and was just going to alarm the camp when the sentry, startled into wakefulness, challenged and fired.
The franc tireurs woke, and leaped to their feet. Percy and Tim were about to do the same, when Ralph held them down.
"Lie still," he said, "for your lives."
His words were not out of his lips, when a tremendous volley rang out all round them; and half the franc tireurs fell.
"Now!" Ralph said, leaping up, "make a rush for a house.
"To the houses, all of you," he shouted, loudly. "It is our only chance. We shall be shot down, here, like sheep."
The officer of the franc tireurs had already atoned for his carelessness, by his life; and the men obeyed Ralph's call and, amidst a heavy fire, rushed across the fifty yards of open space to the houses. The door was burst in, with the rush.
Ralph had not stopped at the first house but, followed by his brother and Tim Doyle, had run farther on; and entered the last house in the village.
"Why did you not go in with the others, Ralph? We have no chance of defending ourselves, here. We have only our revolvers."
"We have no chance of defending ourselves anywhere, Percy," Ralph said. "There must be a couple of hundred of them, at least; and not above fifteen or twenty, at most, of the franc tireurs gained the houses. Resistance is utterly useless; and yet, had I been with those poor fellows, I could not have told them to surrender, when they would probably be shot, five minutes afterwards. We should be simply throwing away our lives, without doing the least good."
