Major Tempe, in exceeding the hundred and twenty determined upon, was influenced partly by these arguments; but more by the fact that difficulties would arise about food, cooking, and various other points, if the driver were not upon the same footing as the rest of the corps.

The march was not a long one—only to the railway station. A few carriages, with a truck for the cart, and a horse box, were drawn up alongside the platform in readiness; and in ten minutes more all were in their places, the carriages attached to the ordinary train and—amidst great cheering and waving of handkerchiefs and hats, from hundreds of people collected in the station to see them off—they started for the Vosges.

Railway traveling, at no time rapid, was extremely slow at this period; and it was evening before they arrived at Epinal, where they were to pass the night. The journey, shortened by innumerable songs and choruses, had scarcely seemed long. The railway ran throughout its whole distance through pretty, undulating country; indeed, towards the end of their journey, when they were fairly among the Vosges, the scenery became wild and savage. At Vesoul, which was about halfway, the train had stopped for two hours; and here wine, bread and cheese, cold sausages, and fruits were distributed to the men by the inhabitants—who were assembled in large numbers at the station, and gave the corps an enthusiastic reception. They were the first band of franc tireurs who had passed through, and the inhabitants regarded them as protectors against the wandering Uhlans; whose fame, although as yet far off, had caused them to be regarded with an almost superstitious fear.

At Epinal, a similar and even warmer greeting awaited them; Epinal being so much nearer to the enemy that the fear of Uhlans was more acute. The station was decorated with green boughs; and the Maire, with many of the leading inhabitants, was at the station to receive them. The corps formed upon the platform; and then marched through the little town to the Hotel de Ville, loudly cheered by the people as they passed along. Here they were dismissed, with the order to parade again at half-past four in the morning.

There was no trouble as to billets for the night, as the Maire had already made out a list of the inhabitants who had offered accommodation—the number being greatly in excess of the strength of the corps. These persons now came forward, and each took off the number of franc tireurs who had been allotted to them.

The sergeant of the first company, knowing the relationship and friendship of the young Barclays and Duburgs, had promised them that—when practicable—he would always quarter them together. Upon the present occasion, the four were handed over to a gentleman whose house was a short distance outside the town. Upon the way, he chatted to them on the proposed course of the corps, upon its organization and discipline; and they asked for the first time the question which was so often, in future, to be upon their lips:

"Had he any news of the enemy?"

The answer was that none, as yet, had come south of Luneville; and that indeed, at present they were too much occupied at Metz, and Strasburg, to be able to detach any formidable parties. Small bodies of Uhlans occasionally had made raids, and driven in sheep and cattle; but they had not ventured to trust themselves very far into the mountains.

Upon arriving at the residence of their host, they were most kindly received by his wife and daughter; who, however, could not refrain from expressing their surprise at the youthfulness of their guests.

"But these are mere boys!" the lady said to her husband, in German; "are all the franc tireurs like these?"

"Oh no," her husband said, in the same language, "the greater part are sturdy fellows but, as they marched by, I observed some twelve or fourteen who were scarcely out of their boyhood.

"It is cruelty to send such youngsters out as these. What can they do against these Prussians, who have beaten our best soldiers?"

"Fortunately," Ralph said in German—which he spoke fluently, as has already been stated—and with a merry laugh—which showed that he was not offended at the remark—"fortunately, fighting now is not an affair of spears and battle axes Age has nothing to do with shooting; and as for fatigue, we shall not be the first in the corps to give up."

"I must really apologize very much, but I had no idea that you understood German, or I should not have made any remarks," the lady said, smiling; "but so few French boys, out of Alsace, do understand it that it never struck me that you spoke the language. You will find it an immense advantage for, outside the towns, you will scarcely meet a person understanding French. But I am sure you must be all very hungry, and supper is quite ready."

They were soon seated at a well-spread table—waited upon by the daughter of the family—while their host and hostess sat and chatted with them, as to their corps, while the meal went on.

"Excuse another remark upon your personal appearance," the lady said, smiling, "but two of you look more like Alsatians than French. You have the fair complexion and brown, wavy hair. You do not look like Frenchmen."

"Nor are we," Ralph laughed. "My brother and myself, although French born, are actually English. Our father is an English officer, but our mother is French and, as you see, we take after him rather than her."

"But I wonder that, as your father is English, he lets you go out upon this expedition—which is very perilous."

"We wished to go—that is, we thought it was our duty," Ralph said; "and although they were very sad at our leaving, they both agreed with us."

"I wish all Frenchmen were animated by the same feeling," their host said warmly. "Your gallant example should shame hundreds of thousands of loiterers and skulkers.

"You speak French perfectly. I should have had no idea that you were anything but French—or rather, from the way you speak German, that you were Alsatian."

"We have lived in France all our lives, except for two years which we passed in Germany; and two years at one time, together with one or two shorter visits, in England."

"And do you speak English as well as French?"

"Oh yes, we always speak English at home. Our father made a rule that we should always do so; as he said it would be an immense disadvantage to us, when we returned to England, if we had the slightest French accent. Our mother now speaks English as purely and correctly as our father."

"Are your friends any relations of yours?"

"They are our cousins," Ralph said; "their father is our mother's brother."

For some time longer they chatted, and then their host said:

"It is half-past nine; and we are early people, here. You will have to be up by five, so I think that it is time you were off to bed. We shall scarcely be up when you start; but you will find a spirit lamp on the table, with coffee—which only requires heating—together with some bread and butter. You will have some miles to march before you breakfast.

"And now, you must all promise me that, if you come to this place again, you will come straight up here, and look upon it as your home. If you get ill or wounded—which I hope will not happen—you will, of course, go home; but something may occur not sufficiently important for you to leave the corps, but which could be set straight by a few days' nursing, and rest. In that case, you will come to us, will you not?"

The boys all gratefully promised to avail themselves of the invitation, in case of need; and then said good night and goodbye to their host, and went off to the room prepared for them. In the morning they were up in good time, dressed as quietly as they could—so as not to disturb their host—and went downstairs; lit the spirit lamp under a glass bowl full of coffee and milk and, in ten minutes, were on their way towards the town.

"We shall be lucky if we are often as comfortable as that," Percy said, looking back; and there was a general assent.

"There goes the bugle," Louis Duburg said; "we have a quarter of an hour, yet.

"What pretty girls those were!"

Louis was nearly seventeen and, at seventeen, a French lad considers himself a competent judge as to the appearance and manners of young ladies.

"Were they?" Percy said carelessly, with the indifference of an English boy of his age as to girls. "I did not notice it. I don't care for girls; they are always thinking about their dress, and one is afraid of touching them, in case you should spoil something. There is nothing jolly about them."

The others laughed.

"I am sure Milly is jolly enough," Philippe Duburg said.

"Yes, Milly is jolly," Percy answered. "You see, she has been with us boys, and she can play, and doesn't screech if you touch her, or mind a bit if she tears her frock. So are our cousins in England—some of them. Yes, there are some jolly girls, of course; still, after all, what's the good of them, taking them altogether? They are very nice in their way—quiet and well behaved, and so on—but they are better indoors than out."

The clock was just striking half-past five, as the boys reached the place of assembly. Most of the men were already upon the spot, and the bugler was blowing lustily. In another five minutes all were assembled; including Tim Doyle, with his horse and cart.

"Good-morning, Tim," the boys said, as they came up to him. "I hope you had as comfortable quarters as we had, last night."

"Splendid, your honor—downright splendid; a supper fit for a lord, and a bed big enough for a duchess."

The boys laughed at the idea of a duchess wanting a bed bigger than anyone else, and Tim went on:

"Ah, your honor, if campaigning was all like this, sure I'd campaign all my life, and thank you; but it's many a time I shall look back upon my big supper, and big bed. Not that I should like it altogether entirely; I should get so fat, and so lazy, that I shouldn't know my own shadow."

And now the bugle sounded again, and the men fell in. As they started, they struck up a lively marching song; and several windows opened, and adieus were waved to them as they passed down the street into the open country. Everyone was in high spirits. The weather, which had for some time been unfavorable, had cleared up; the sun was rising brightly, and they felt that they had fairly started for work. The road was rough, the country wild and mountainous, thick forests extended in every direction, as far as the eye could carry.

"There is one comfort, Percy," Ralph said, "if we are beaten and driven back, we might get into this forest, and laugh at the Prussians."

Percy cast rather a doubtful eye at the dark woods.

"The Prussians might not be able to discover us, Ralph; but I would as leave be killed by Prussian balls as die of hunger, and our chances of getting food there, for a hundred men, would be very slight."

"They don't look hospitable, certainly, Percy. I agree with you. We had better keep in the open country, as long as possible."

The first village at which they arrived was Deyvilliers. Here a halt was called for ten minutes, five miles having already been marched. Many of the men—less fortunate than the Barclays and Duburgs—had had nothing to eat upon starting and, when the arms were piled, there was a general dispersal through the village, in search of provisions. Bread had been bought over night, at Epinal, and brought on in the cart; which was fortunate, for the village was a very small one, and there would have been a difficulty in obtaining more than a loaf or two. Cheese and fruit were in abundance; and the boys bought some apples, and sat down by the little feeder of the Moselle which passes through the village, and watched it tumbling past on its way to join the main stream, a few miles below Epinal.

In a quarter of an hour, they were again on the march. In another five miles they reached Fontaine, lying a little off the road to their right. They had now marched ten miles, and Major Tempe ordered a halt for three hours. A piece of level ground was chosen, arms were piled, blankets and haversacks taken off, and then preparations began for their first meal. Men were sent off with kettles, for water. Others went up to the village with cans for wine—or beer for, in Alsace, beer is more common than wine. Tim took the horse out of the shafts, and gave him some oats. Some of the men were sent from each company to fetch wood, and the old soldiers prepared for the important operation of cooking.

Several little fireplaces were made, with stones and turf, open on the side facing the wind. In these sticks were placed and, when they were fairly alight, the saucepans—each holding the allowance of ten men—were placed on them. In these the meat—cut up in pieces of about half a pound—was placed; with pepper, salt, onions, rice, and potatoes peeled and cut up, and the whole filled up with water.

When the preparations were finished, the men threw themselves down under the shade of some trees; and smoked and chatted until, in about an hour, the cooking was complete. Each man then brought up his tin canteen, and received his portion of soup in the deep side, and his meat and vegetables in the shallow can. The bread had already been cut up. The tin drinking pots which, with knives, forks, and spoons, were carried in the canteens, were filled with beer and, with much laughing and fun, each man sat down on the grass, or scattered rocks, to eat his breakfast.

Many of the villagers had come down; and these brought, for the most part, little presents: a few apples, a little fresh cheese, or a bunch of grapes. It was a merry meal, and the boys agreed that it was the jolliest picnic that they had ever been at.

At two o'clock the bugle sounded. The cooking things were packed up and placed in the cart again; the blankets and haversacks slung on, and the rifles shouldered and, with many a good wish from the peasants, they marched forward again.

Eight miles further marching brought them to the end of their day's journey, the village of Destord. It was a tiny place, with scarcely over a half-dozen houses. Major Tempe in consequence determined, as the weather was fine, upon bivouacking in the open air. For a time, all were busy collecting wood. A sheltered place was chosen, for the village lay very high, close to the source of a little stream running into the river Mortagne.

The cooking places were again prepared for supper. At seven o'clock the meal was served, differing but little from that of the morning; except that after the men had eaten the soup, and the meat from it (in France called bouilli), they fried some thin slices of meat in the lids of their canteens, and concluded the meal with a cup of coffee.

Then four large fires were lit—one for each company—and a smaller one for the officers. Blankets were spread out on the ground round these fires, and the men lit their pipes and chatted gaily. All were more or less tired for, although their month's hard drill had accustomed them to work, eighteen miles with arms, ammunition, and accouterments had tired them more than they had anticipated.

As this was their first night out, Major Tempe told them that he should not place a regular cordon of sentries; but that in future he should do so, whether they were near the enemy or not. By nine o'clock the fires began to burn low, the talking gradually ceased, and the men—rolling themselves up in their blankets, and putting their haversacks under their heads, for pillows—soon dropped off to sleep; a solitary sentry keeping guard against pilferers.

A short march of ten miles took them, next day, to Rambervillers, where they were billeted among the inhabitants; and fourteen miles on the day after to Baccarat, on the river Meurthe, where they also obtained quarters. They were now approaching the neighborhood of the enemy, and Major Tempe advised a halt for the next day; in order that he might make inquiries, and investigate thoroughly the best route to be pursued.



Chapter 5: The First Engagement.

The news which the commandant of the franc tireurs heard, at Baccarat, determined him to change his intentions; and to push on without delay to Halloville—a tiny hamlet on the lower spurs of the Vosges, some four miles from Blamont; and overlooking the valley of the Vexouse, in which the latter town was situated.

It was a long march, and the weather had again changed, the rain descending all day in a steady pour. The men—in their light, waterproof cloaks, and the flaps of their forage caps down—plodded steadily on; their spirit sustained by the thought that, ere another twenty-four hours, they might be in action. The news which hurried them forwards had been to the effect that a body of two hundred Uhlans had left Sarrebourg, and were advancing towards Blamont. They were going quietly, stopping to levy contributions at the villages on the way. It was probable that they would enter Blamont on the same evening that the franc tireurs reached Halloville. It was supposed that they would proceed, with the sheep and cattle that they had swept up, by the valley of the Vexouse to Luneville.

To within four miles of Halloville, the road had been a fair one; but it was here necessary to turn off, by a track that was little better than a goat path. In vain, a dozen of the men were told off to help with the cart; in vain they pushed behind, and shoved at the spokes of the wheels. The road was altogether impracticable. At last the horse and cart were taken aside into a thick wood and left there; with Tim Doyle, a corporal, and six of the men who were the most footsore, and incapable of pushing on. Tim was dreadfully disgusted at being thus cut off from the chance of seeing, and joining in, any fighting; and only consoled himself with the hope that a vacancy would be likely to occur the next day, and that he would then be able to exchange his whip for a rifle.

The rest of the corps plodded on until, long after dusk, they arrived at the half-dozen houses which form the village of Halloville. Their appearance, as they marched up to it, was greeted by a scream from a woman, followed by a perfect chorus of screams and cries. Men, women, and children were seen rushing out of the houses, and taking to flight; and it was with the greatest difficulty that they were made to understand the truth, that the formidable body, which had so suddenly dropped upon them, was not composed of the dreaded invaders.

When the truth was known, they did their best to receive them hospitably. Their means, however, were small; their houses equally so. However, in a short time blazing fires were lighted on the hearths; blankets having been put up before the windows, to prevent any light being visible from the valley. A fire was allotted for the cooking of each company, and preparations for supper were soon commenced. Then an examination was made of the facilities in the way of sleeping; and two barns were found, well provided with straw. This was shaken out and, after eating their suppers, the men packed close together upon the straw, and soon forgot both damp and fatigue; numerous sentries being thrown out, in various directions, to prevent the possibility of surprise—for the peasants had informed them that the information which they had received was correct; and that the Uhlans, about two hundred strong, had entered Blamont that afternoon, and had laid a requisition of twenty thousand francs upon the inhabitants, besides a considerable amount of stores of all sorts.

At three o'clock they were roused and found, to their great pleasure, that the rain had ceased. Guided by one of the villagers, they made their way down to a point where the wood approached quite close to the road, at a narrow point of the valley. Here Major Tempe posted his men along in the wood. Several coils of wire had been brought with them; and these were now stretched tightly from tree to tree, at a distance of about eighteen inches from the ground. Some forty yards farther back, young trees were felled and branches cut; and these were laid with the bushy parts towards the road, wires being twisted here and there among them, so as to form abattis perfectly impenetrable for horsemen, and difficult in the extreme for infantry. All worked hard and, by eight o'clock in the morning, everything was in readiness.

A small party had been left upon the high ground near Halloville, and one of them had brought down news every half hour. Soon after daybreak, a party of Uhlans had been seen to leave Blamont, and to visit Barbas and Harboise—two villages in the flat of Blamont—and then to retire, driving some cattle and sheep before them. At ten o'clock the rest of the men from Halloville came down, with the news that the Uhlans—about two hundred strong—had just left Blamont, and were coming down the valley.

Each man now took the station allotted to him: thirty men behind the trees, next to the road; the main body being stationed behind the abattis, each man having previously settled upon a spot where he could fire through the leaves, which entirely concealed them from view from the road. Number one company was placed to the right and, consequently, near to Blamont. Ralph and Percy were both in the front line, behind the trees.

Not a shot was to be fired, on any consideration, until Major Tempe gave the word. The men behind the trees were all ordered to lie down among the low undergrowth and brushwood. The line extended nearly a hundred yards. The waterproofs, blankets, and all other impediments had been left behind at Halloville, so that the men had the free use of their arms. The rifles were loaded, the pouches shifted round so as to be ready at hand and—orders having been given that not a word should be spoken, even in a whisper—a perfect silence reigned over the spot.

Ralph and Percy were near to each other. They had exchanged a hearty grip of the hand, before lying down; and now lay, with beating hearts and hands firmly grasping their rifles, in readiness for the signal.

The time was not very long—only a few minutes—but it seemed to them an age before they heard the tramp of horses. Nearer and nearer they came, and now they could hear the jingling of accouterments First, through their leafy screen, they could see two Uhlans pass at a walk; scanning keenly the woods, and looking for possible danger. The bushes were thick, and they noticed nothing, and kept on at the same pace. It is probable, indeed, that they really anticipated no possibility of an attack, as the Dijon franc tireurs were the first who appeared upon the scene of action; and the Prussians were, consequently, in entire ignorance of the vicinity of any armed body of the enemy and, at worst, apprehended a stray shot from a straggler from one of the French armies, hidden in the woods.

In another minute or two four more Uhlans passed; and after the same interval came the main body, escorting a number of cattle and sheep. The greater portion had passed the spot where the boys were lying, and were opposite the whole line of franc tireurs, when the silence of the wood was broken by Major Tempe's shout:

"Now!"

Before the Uhlans had time to rein in their horses, or to ask each other what was the meaning of the cry, the flash of thirty rifles broke from the trees, and several men fell from their horses. There was a momentary panic, followed by a hurried discharge of carbines at the invisible foe.

The captain of the Uhlans—a handsome young officer, with light mustache and beard—shouted to his men:

"Steady, they are only a handful. Form line, charge!"

Quickly as the maneuver was executed, the franc tireurs had time to fire again; and then—in accordance with their orders—retreated, and joined their comrades by passages left in the abattis, on purpose. In another instant the Uhlans charged but, as quickly, the direst confusion reigned, where before had been a regular line. The wire had served its purpose. Horses and men went down on the top of each other, and thirty rifles again fumed their deadly hail into the confused mass.

The second line of Uhlans—who had not charged—returned the fire of their invisible enemies and, although they could not see them, several of the balls took effect. Nothing could be cooler than the officers of the Uhlans, and their voice and example steadied their men. Under cover of the fire of their comrades the men, in part, extricated themselves and their horses, and drew back behind the wood. Orders were then given for all to dismount and, leaving their horses to be held by parties of their comrades—four horses to one man—the rest advanced on foot against their apparently greatly inferior foe, keeping up a heavy fire with their carbines. This was what the commandant of the franc tireurs had hoped for, and expected.

The wire had been broken down by the weight of the horses; and the Prussians advanced, opposed only by a feeble return to their heavy fire, until within five paces of the leafy wall. Then the fire from a hundred rifles flashed out upon them.

The effect was terrible, and a cry of surprise and rage burst from those who had escaped its effect. It was evident that they had fallen into an ambush. The captain—wild with rage and mortification, at the fault he had committed—rushed forward; and his men gallantly seconded his efforts. In vain, however, did they try to separate the interlaced boughs while, as they struggled, the shots from the enemy flashed out thick and fast. In another moment the young captain threw up his arms and fell, shot through the heart. The officer next in command ordered a retreat, the horses were regained and, amidst a continuous fire from the franc tireurs, the diminished troop galloped back towards Blamont.

The franc tireurs now quitted their leafy fortress. A small party was at once sent forward up the valley, to give notice if the Uhlans showed any signs of returning. A strong body set to work to drive in the scattered animals—which were galloping wildly about the valley—while the rest collected the dead and wounded.

Of the franc tireurs eight were killed, fourteen wounded. Of the Uhlans forty-seven were killed, and nineteen wounded remained on the ground. Their large number of killed, in proportion to the wounded, was accounted for by the fact that the firing was so close that, in many cases, the coats of the dead men were actually singed by the explosion; while the slightly wounded men had been able to regain their horses, and escape.

The first impulse of the young Barclays, when the fire ceased, was to turn round and to embrace each other with delight—on finding that they had each escaped without a scratch—and then to shake hands heartily with their cousins, whose fortune had been equally good. There was no time for words, however; for Major Tempe's order came, sharp and decisive:

"You the Barclays, you also the Duburgs, sling your arms, and go assist to drive in the cattle. Quick, lose no time.

"You have done well. I am content with you, my boys."

With a flush of pleasure, the boys started off to carry out the orders; which had been given, by their commander, with the kind thought of sparing the lads the terrible sight of the battle ground.

The short but desperate conflict through which they had passed seemed, to the young Barclays, almost like a dream. In the excitement of loading and firing, in the tumult and the rattle, they had scarcely had time even to give a thought to the danger.

Fear is seldom felt by the soldier when engaged in close conflict. The time when his nerves are most tried is while waiting inactive, at a distance, exposed to a heavy shell fire; or while advancing to an attack, under a storm of musketry and artillery. In a hand-to-hand conflict, he has no time to think. His nerves are strung up to so high a pitch that he no longer thinks of danger, or death. His whole thoughts are given to loading and firing.

Any thought that the boys had given to danger was not for themselves, but for each other; and Ralph—though his own position was unsheltered—had once or twice spoken, to Percy, to keep his body better sheltered by the trees behind which he was standing.

It was a long chase before the frightened animals were collected together, and driven up towards the spot where the fight had taken place. By the time that it was accomplished, the wounded had been collected, and the surgeons had bandaged many of their wounds. A qualified surgeon had accompanied the corps, as its regular doctor, and two other young surgeons had enlisted in its ranks; and these, their arms laid by, were now assisting to stanch the wounds and to apply bandages. Of the franc tireurs, there were only four so seriously wounded that they were unable to walk.

By that time two carts arrived from the village of Douteppe, which stood in the valley, half a mile only from the scene of action; and to which place Major Tempe had sent off a messenger directly the affair had terminated. In one of these the wounded were placed, while in the other were piled the arms and accouterments of the fallen Uhlans. One of the young surgeons was to accompany the wounded as far as Baccarat, where they were to remain for treatment.

Twenty-three horses of the Uhlans had also been captured, by the party who had driven in the cattle—among whom they were galloping. Four men were told off to take them back to Epinal, and there dispose of them, with their accouterments, for the benefit of the military chest of the corps.

The question then arose as to what was to be done with the Prussian wounded. Major Tempe decided this by saying that, as it was quite impossible for the corps to be burdened with wounded men, the best plan was to allow one of the slightly wounded among the prisoners to walk back to Blamont; with a message that the Uhlans could come back to fetch their wounded without molestation, as the franc tireurs were upon the point of taking their departure.

The corps then assembled round a grave which had already been dug, and into it the bodies of their comrades who had fallen were placed. Major Tempe then said a few brief words of adieu, hoping that all who fell might die equally bravely, and victoriously. Then the sods were shoveled in; and the men, saddened by the scene—though still flushed with the triumph of their first, and signal, success—prepared to leave the spot.

Major Tempe had already held a consultation with his officers, and their plan of operation had been decided upon. The difficulty which they had encountered the evening before, with the horse and cart, had already proved that it would be impossible to drag it about with them. They had also taken thirty fine cattle, and upwards of a hundred sheep from the enemy; and it was therefore resolved to establish a sort of headquarters in the mountains, where they could retire after their expeditions, and defy the efforts of the Prussians to disturb them. The spot fixed upon was the forest of Bousson, high up among the Vosges, and distant two hard days' marching.

A portion of the troop, therefore, went round to Halloville, to fetch the accouterments, blankets, etc. which had been left there; while the rest marched, by the road, to the place where the cart had been left the night before. Two peasants were engaged as guides and, in the afternoon, the corps started for their destination.

It was a terrible march. The roads were mere tracks, and the weather was terrible. Over and over again, the men had to unload the carts, shoulder the contents, and carry them for a considerable distance, until ground was reached where the cart could again be loaded.

It was not until late on the evening of the third day's march that, thoroughly done up by fatigue and hardship, the corps reached the little village of Raon, in the heart of the forest of Bousson. There was no possible fear of attack, here; and the commandant decided that, for the night, there was no occasion for any of the men to be out as sentries. The villagers at once took charge of the animals, and turned them into a rough enclosure. The men were too much done up even to care about keeping awake until supper could be cooked and—being divided among the houses of the village—they threw themselves down, and were fast asleep in a few minutes.

The next morning, the sun shone out brightly; and the men, turning out after a long sleep, felt quite different creatures to the tired band who had wearily crawled into the village. The bright sky, the fresh morning air, the pleasant odor of the great pine forest around them, and the bracing atmosphere—at the height of fifteen hundred feet above the sea—at once refreshed and cheered them.

There was a brief morning parade—at which Tim Doyle, for the first time, took his place with a rifle on his shoulder—and then the major dismissed them, saying that there would be no further parade that day, and that the men could amuse themselves as they liked. In a short time, every man was following the bent of his own inclination. First, however, there was a general cleaning of the rifles and accouterments; then most of the men went down to the stream, and there was a great washing of clothes, accompanied with much laughing and joking. Then needles and thread were obtained, from the women of the village, and there was much mending and darning—for the past three days' work, among rocks and woods, had done no little damage to their uniforms.

Next came the grand operation of breakfast, for which two of the sheep had been killed. This, being the first regular meal that they had had, for three days, was greatly enjoyed. After it was eaten most of the men lit their pipes, and prepared to pass a day of delightful idleness. Two or three of the village boys had been engaged, as cowherds and shepherds; and the animals were all driven out into the woods where, in the open glades, they would find an abundance of food.

The cart was unanimously condemned as worse than useless. An empty shed was turned into a storehouse; and it was determined that such stores of powder, etc. as might be required, upon each expedition, should be packed upon the horse's back and, if the horse could not take all required, that other horses should be hired.

The Barclays, with their cousins, started for a ramble in the wood; taking with them the Irishman, whose good humor and unflagging spirits, during the last three days, had made him a general favorite.

"Sure, and are there any wild bastes in the wood, your honor Because, if there be, it would be well to take our rifles with us. It would be mighty unpleasant to come across a lion, or a tiger, and not to be able to pass him the time of day."

"No, Tim, we shall meet neither lions nor tigers, so you need not trouble yourself with a rifle. A hundred years ago, we might have met with a bear, or a wild boar; but they have disappeared, long since. It is possible that there are a few wolves scattered about; but they are never formidable to any but a solitary person, even in winter; and at all other times fly from man's approach."

The party had a charming ramble, for the scenery here was very fine. At times, the forest was so thick that they could see no glimpse of the sky, and the trunks of the trees seemed to make a wall, all round them; then again, it would open, and they would obtain a glimpse over the country far away, rise beyond rise, to the plain of Champagne or—if the view were behind, instead of in front of them—they could see the tops of the highest range of the Vosges, rising hill above hill, and often wooded to the very summit—the Donon, one of the highest points of the range, being immediately behind them.

The villages are, here, few and far between, and the people extremely poor; for the soil is poor, and although in summer the cattle—which form their only wealth—are able to pick up an abundance of food, in the forests, they have a hard struggle to keep them alive during the winter. Their language is German, and their appearance and dress rather German than French but, notwithstanding this, they were thoroughly French in spirit, and regarded the invaders with an intense hatred.

Another day, passed in rest, completely restored the most exhausted of the band. Orders were therefore issued for an early start, the next morning; the object, this time, being to endeavor to cut the railway. The band were to march in a body for the slopes of the Vosges, behind Sarrebourg and Saverne; and were then to divide into companies, and scatter themselves among the villages between Lorquin and Marmontier, so as to act together or separately, as it might seem expedient.



Chapter 6: The Tunnel Of Saverne.

It is needless to follow the corps, step by step, through their marches; for the names of the little villages through which they passed would not be found in any maps published in England, and would therefore possess little interest for English readers. After two days' long marches, the main body of the corps reached a village situated in a wood, at about four miles from the great rock tunnel of Saverne. The fourth company had been left at a village, five miles to the left; while the third company were, next day, to march forward to a place at about the same distance to the right. Their orders were to keep a sharp lookout, to collect news of the movements and strength of the enemy; but not to undertake any expedition, or to do anything, whatever, to lead the enemy to guess at their presence in the neighborhood—as it was of vital importance that they should not be put upon their guard, until the great blow was struck.

As soon as they had marched into the village, the principal inhabitants came forward, and a consultation was held as to providing lodgings. After some conversation, it was agreed that the officers should have quarters in the village; and that the schoolrooms—two in number—should be placed at the disposal of the men. They were good-sized rooms, and would hold thirty men each, without difficulty. The company who were to march forward in the morning were provided with quarters in the village.

Ralph and Percy Barclay, as usual, acted as interpreters between Major Tempe and the inhabitants; for neither the major, nor any of his officers, spoke German. That language, indeed, was spoken only by a few men in the whole corps; and these the commandant had divided among the other companies, in order that each company might be able to shift for itself, when separated from the main body.

"Have you seen this proclamation?" one of the villagers asked. "You see that we are running no little risk, in taking you in."

Ralph read it, and as he did so his face flushed with indignation, and he exclaimed:

"This is infamous! Infamous!"

"What is it?" Major Tempe asked.

"It is a proclamation from the Prussian General commanding the district, major, giving notice that he will shoot every franc tireur he may catch; and also giving notice to the inhabitants that if any Prussian soldier be killed, or even shot at, by a franc tireur—if a rail be pulled up, or a road cut—that he will hold the village near the spot accountable; will burn the houses, and treat the male inhabitants according to martial law, and that the same penalties will be exacted for sheltering or hiding franc tireurs."

"Impossible!" Major Tempe said, astounded. "No officer of a civilized army could issue such an edict. Besides, during an invasion of Germany, the people were summoned by the King of Prussia to take up arms, to cut roads, destroy bridges, and shoot down the enemy—just as we are going to do, now. It is too atrocious to be true."

"There it is, in black and white," Ralph said. "There can be no mistake as to the wording."

Major Tempe looked grieved, as well as indignant.

"This will be a terrible business," he said, "if the war is to be carried on in this way. Of course, if they give us no quarter, we shall give them none. That is, we must make as many prisoners as we can in order that, if any of our men are taken prisoners, we may carry out reprisals if they shoot them.

"It will, besides this, do us great harm. Naturally, the villagers, instead of looking upon us as defenders, will regard us as the most dangerous of guests. They will argue:

"'If we make no resistance, the Prussians may plunder us, but at least our houses and our lives are safe; whereas if these franc tireurs are found to have been with us, or if they make any attack in our neighborhood, we are not only plundered, but burnt out, and shot!'

"Of course, we are always liable to treachery. There are scoundrels always to be found who would sell their own mothers, but now even the most patriotic cannot but feel that they are running an immense risk in sheltering us.

"Never before, I believe, in the annals of civilized nations, did a man in authority dare to proclaim that persons should suffer for a crime with which they had nothing, whatever, to do. If we arrive at a little village, how are the people to say to us, 'We will not allow you to pull up a rail!'? And yet, if they do not prevent us, they are to be punished with fire and sword. And these people call themselves a civilized nation!

"One of the evil consequences of this proclamation is that we shall never dare trust to the inhabitants to make inquiries for us. They will be so alarmed, in case we should attempt anything in their neighborhood, that they would be sure to do and say everything they could to dissuade us from it and, if inclined to treachery, might even try to buy their own safety by betraying us."

Major Tempe was speaking to the other officers, who thoroughly agreed with his opinion. Ralph and Percy had remained in the room, in case any further questions might be asked in reference to the proclamation. They now asked if anything else were required and, upon a negative answer being given, saluted and took their leave. It was dusk when they went out and, as they walked towards the schoolroom, they heard a great tumult of voices raised in anger, among which they recognized that of Tim Doyle.

"Howld yer jaw, you jabbering apes!" he exclaimed, in great wrath. "Give me a lantern, or a candle, and let me begone. The boys are all waiting for me to begin."

Hurrying up, they found Tim surrounded by a few of the principal inhabitants of the village, and soon learned the cause of the dispute. Supper was served, but it was too dark to see to eat it; and Tim—always ready to make himself useful—had volunteered to go in search of a light. He had in vain used his few words of French with the villagers he met, and these had at last called the schoolmaster, the only person in the village who understood French. This man had addressed Tim first in French and then in German and, upon receiving no coherent answer in either language, had arrived at the conclusion that Tim was making fun of them. Hence the dispute had arisen.

The boys explained matters, and the villagers—whose knowledge of England was of the very vaguest description; and most of whom, indeed, had previously believed that all the world spoke either French or German—were profuse in apologies, and immediately procured some candles, with which Tim and the boys hastened to the schoolroom. Two candles were given to each company and—one being lighted at each end of the room, and stuck upon nails in the wall—the boys were enabled to see what the place was like.

Clean straw had been littered, a foot deep, down each side of the room; and fifteen blankets were folded, side by side, along by each wall. Upon pegs above—meant for the scholars' caps—hung the haversacks, water bottles, and other accouterments; while the rifles were piled along the center of the room, leaving space enough to walk down upon either side, between them and the beds. At the farther end of the room was a large fireplace, in which a log fire was blazing; and a small shed, outside, had been converted into a kitchen.

"We might be worse off than this, a long way, Ralph," said Louis Duburg, as Ralph took his place on the straw next to him.

"That we might, Louis. The fire looks cheerful, too, and the nights are getting very cold."

"That they are, Ralph.

"Ah! Here is supper. I am quite ready for that, too."

The men who officiated as cooks—and who, by agreement, had been released from all night duty in consideration of their regularly undertaking that occupation—now brought in a large saucepan full of soup; and each man went up with his canteen, and received his portion, returning to his bed upon the straw to eat it.

"Anything new, Barclay?" one of the men asked, from the other side of the room.

"Yes, indeed," Ralph said. "New, and disagreeable. Mind none of you get taken prisoners, for the Prussian General has issued a proclamation that he shall shoot all franc tireurs he catches."

"Impossible!" came in a general chorus, from all present.

"Well, it sounds like it, but it is true enough," and Ralph repeated, word for word, the proclamation which he had translated to Major Tempe.

As might have been expected, it raised a perfect storm of indignation; and this lasted until, at nine o'clock, the sergeant gave the word:

"Lights out."

In the morning, after parade, Ralph and Percy strolled away together and had a long talk and, at the end of an hour, they walked to the house where Major Tempe had established his headquarters.

"Good morning, my friends," he said, as they entered. "Is there anything I can do for you? Sit down."

"We have been thinking, sir—Percy and I—that we could very easily dress up as peasants, and go down to Saverne, or anywhere you might think fit, and find out all particulars as to the strength and position of the enemy. No one would suspect two boys of being franc tireurs. It would be unlikely in the extreme that anyone would ask us any questions and, if we were asked, we should say we belonged to some village in the mountains, and had come down to buy coffee, and other necessaries. The risk of detection would be next to nothing, for we speak German quite well enough to pass for lads from the mountains."

Major Tempe was silent a minute.

"You know you would be shot, at once, if you were detected."

"No doubt, sir, but there is no reason in the world why we should be detected. The Prussians can't know everyone by sight, even within the town itself; and will not notice us, at all. If they do, our answer is sufficient."

"I tell you frankly, boys, I was thinking only last night of the matter; but—however much you may make light of it—there is, of course, a certain amount of danger in acting as spies; and your father—my friend Captain Barclay—might say to me, if evil came of it:

"'I gave you my boys to fight for France, and you have sent them to their death, as spies.'

"So I resolved to say nothing about it."

"But now we have offered, sir, the case is different," Ralph said. "From our knowledge of the language, and from our age, we are better fitted than anyone in the corps to perform this service; and therefore it would be clearly our duty to perform it, were it greatly more dangerous than it is. Our father said to us, at starting:

"'Do your duty, boys, whatever the danger.'

"We will see about our clothes—there can be no difficulty about that, there are several lads in the village whose things would fit us. Shall we come in this afternoon, for instructions?"

"Thank you, lads," Major Tempe said, warmly. "I trust, with you, that no harm will come of it. But your offer is of too great advantage to the corps for me to persist in my refusal."

Upon leaving the quarters of the commandant, the boys went at once to the house of a farmer a short distance from the village where, the day before, they had noticed two boys of about their own size. They explained to the farmer that they wanted to buy of him a suit of the working clothes of each of his sons. Greatly surprised at this request, the farmer had inquired what they could possibly want them for; and Ralph—who thought it better not to trust him with the secret—replied that, as the Prussian General had given notice that he should shoot all franc tireurs he might take prisoners, they wanted a suit of clothes, each, which they might slip on in case of defeat or danger of capture. The pretense was a plausible one; and the farmer sold them the required clothes, charging only about twice their cost, when new.

The boys took the parcel and, instead of returning to the village direct, they hid it carefully in a wood, at a short distance away. They then returned and, in the afternoon, received detailed instructions from Major Tempe.

It was arranged that the matter should be kept entirely secret, lest any incautious word might be overheard and reported. They were to start at daybreak, upon the following morning. Their cousins and Tim Doyle being—alone—taken into their confidence, their friends regretted much that they could not accompany them, and share their danger. The boys pointed out however that—even could they have spoken German fluently—they could not have gone with them as, although two strangers would excite no attention, whatever, five would be certain to do so.

The next morning they started together, as if for a walk. Upon reaching the spot in the wood where the peasants' clothes were hidden, the boys took off their uniforms—which were wrapped up, and concealed in the same place—and put on the clothes. They fitted fairly; and more than that was not necessary, as peasants' clothes are seldom cut accurately to the figure. Rounding their shoulders, and walking with a clumping sort of stride, no one would have imagined that they were other than they pretended to be—two awkward-looking young Alsatian lads.

They cut two heavy sticks, exchanged a hearty goodbye with their friends, and started for Saverne. Two hours later they were walking in its streets; staring into the shop windows, and at everything that was going on, with the open-mouthed curiosity of two young country lads. Then they made a few purchases—some coffee, sugar, and pepper—tied them in a colored pocket handkerchief, and then went into a small cabaret—where they saw some German soldiers drinking—sat down at a table, and called for some bread and cheese and beer.

While they were taking them, they listened to the conversation of the soldiers. The only information that they gleaned from it was that the men seemed to have no expectation, whatever, of any early movement; and that they were heartily sick of the monotony of the place, and the hard work of patrolling the line of railway, night and day. Presently the soldiers paid for their beer, and left; and some of the townspeople came in, and took the places they had left. Their conversation, of course, turned on the Prussian occupation, and deep were the curses heaped upon the invaders. The only thing mentioned in their favor was the smallness of their number. There were not over two hundred men; and this amount weighed but lightly upon Saverne, compared with the fifty, sixty, or a hundred quartered at every little village along the line of railway.

The boys had now learned what they most wanted to know and, paying for their refreshment, went out again into the street. Then they walked to the railway station—where they saw several soldiers, on guard—and then set off to a point where they could see the entrance to the tunnel. There two soldiers were on guard; while others were stationed, at short distances, all along the line.

The boys now went up to a wood whence, unseen themselves, they could watch the trains passing. They came along nearly every half hour; immensely long trains, filled with stores of all kinds. As it became dusk, they saw a body of Prussian soldiers marching down the line; relieving the sentries, and placing fresh ones at distances of little more than fifty yards apart. These marched backwards and forwards, until they met each other; then returning, until they faced their comrade at the other end of their beat.

"We can be off now, Percy," Ralph said, rising. "Our news is bad, for it will be by no means so easy to cut the line as we had expected. These weasels won't be very easily caught asleep."

"No, indeed," Percy said. "The idea of cutting the line sounded so easy, when we were at a distance; but it is quite a different matter, now we are here."

Upon their return they found—with some difficulty—the place where they had hidden their uniforms; again changed clothes, and then—carrying those they had just taken off, made up into bundles—they re-entered the village, and went straight to headquarters.

Major Tempe was at dinner with the other officers, and received them with great pleasure; for he had been anxious, all day, lest any misfortune might befall them. Finding that they had had nothing to eat, since early in the morning, he at once invited them to sit down to dinner; for military discipline is far less strict in these matters, in France, than it is in England; and among the corps of franc tireurs especially—as among the English volunteers, where the private is in many cases equal to, or superior to, his officer in social standing—the difference of rank is very much put aside, except on duty.

"And you say that they have a sentinel at every fifty or sixty yards, along the line?" Major Tempe said, when Ralph had given an account of their day's investigation. "That appears, to me, to be fatal to our plans."

"Why so?" Lieutenant de Maupas—who commanded the first company—asked. "It seems to me that nothing could be easier. Suppose we fell upon any given point, the sentries near it would be at once killed, or made prisoners; and even allowing—as young Barclay says—that there are troops in all the villages, it would be a good half hour before a force, sufficient to disturb us, could arrive."

"That is true enough," Major Tempe answered. "But what could we do, in half an hour? We might pull up two hundred yards of rail. What real advantage would be gained by that? The line of sentries along the rail would, by firing their rifles, pass the news ten miles, in half as many minutes; and the trains would be stopped long before they arrived at the break. Each train carries, I know, workmen and materials for repairing the line; and as it would be impossible for us to carry away the rails, after pulling them up, they would be replaced in as short a time as it took us to tear them up; and the consequence would be that the traffic would only be suspended for an hour or two, at most. For a break to be of any real utility, whatever, it must last for days, if not for weeks.

"The great coup, of course, would be the destruction of the rock tunnel of Saverne, which was the special object of our presence here. Failing that, we must try a bridge. The tunnel, however, is the great affair. Once destroyed, there would be no repairing it, for many weeks. My proposition is, therefore, that we turn our attention at once to that point."

There was a general murmur of assent.

"The best course would be for Hardin's company to march direct to the other end of the tunnel, seize it, and prevent interference from that end; while the others then seize the Saverne end, and hold it while preparations are made for blowing it up. Then, when the match is lighted, fall back—if possible—before the arrival of heavy bodies of the enemy."

"Nothing could be better," Lieutenant de Maupas exclaimed, and the other officers agreed with him.

"What day do you propose for the movement?"

"The day after tomorrow, at daybreak," Major Tempe said. "That will give us plenty of time to send orders to the other two companies; and the sooner it is done, the better."

The conference was about to break up, when the surgeon—who had listened in silence—said:

"The general plan is simple enough but, tell me, how do you propose to set about blowing the tunnel up? You may be able to hold it for half an hour, at most. How do you think of proceeding?"

Major Tempe and his officers looked at each other. They had not, as yet, thought the matter over; but the instant it was put plainly before them, they saw the difficulty.

"Oh," Lieutenant de Maupas said, confidently, "we shall, of course, put the nitroglycerine somewhere in the middle of the tunnel, and blow the whole affair up."

Lieutenant de Maupas had been a sailor; and his quickness of decision and go-ahead, straight-forward way of doing everything made him, at once, a favorite and an amusement to the men; who had nicknamed him "Grande Vitesse," or, as we should say in English, the "Express."

"I am afraid the matter is rather more difficult than you imagine, De Maupas," Major Tempe said, with a smile. "This is in Ribouville's way; as he was in the Engineers, he will know all about it."

The officer named, however, did not reply for some little time; but sat with his head on his hand, in deep thought.

"I feel ashamed to own it," he said, at last; "but I really do not know how one could set about the matter so as to have a chance of really destroying the tunnel, after so short a time for preparation. Were the tunnel an ordinary, brick-lined tunnel, the proposition of De Maupas—slightly modified—would no doubt have the effect of bringing down the brick lining, and the earth behind would fall in, of itself; but with a tunnel cut in the solid rock, it would be difficult. The natural strength of the tunnel would be so great that the force of the explosion would simply be lost, through the ends. It might or might not bring down a few masses of rock, but one could not rely upon it doing even that.

"If I had time, the matter would be easy enough. I should make a deep chamber in the solid rock, at the side of the tunnel; insert my charge, and then tamp or fasten it in, with masonry. This would ensure its destruction, at the point of explosion; but I have no hope of any great damage being done, by merely putting two barrels of nitroglycerine down upon the line, and then firing them. I can assure you the point mooted by the doctor is more serious and, as far as I see at present, I could do nothing in half an hour which would, in any way, ensure the destruction of the tunnel. To make such a chamber as I speak of to hold two barrels of nitroglycerine would be the work of four or five days, working night and day—even with the aid of powder—and of course, it would be out of the question to hope for as many hours."

There was a pause of consternation, as Lieutenant Ribouville spoke. Here was the end of the grand scheme, from which they had expected so much. At this time, the Germans had no other line of rail at their command; and the destruction of the tunnel would have been a disaster, equal to that of the loss of a pitched battle.

"There would be no chance, would there, of our hiding in the woods under which the tunnel runs; so as to bore down to it, and blow it in from above?" Major Tempe asked.

"None whatever. The depth to be bored would be considerable. The stone is hard, and it could not be pierced without the use of powder, which would betray our presence; and even could we use it, and were the men all good miners, it would be a work of months, at the very least."

There was a silence for some minutes, and then the commandant said:

"We cannot give it up, without a trial. Think it over, Ribouville, for the next three or four days. You may be able to pitch upon some plan. If you cannot do so, we must at least try the experiment of exploding our nitroglycerine in the middle of the tunnel—or, at any rate, as far in as we can carry it—and make our retreat in the half hour, which is all the time we can calculate upon holding the entrance."



Chapter 7: A Baffled Project.

Before leaving the headquarters of the commandant, the young Barclays asked if he wished that they should continue to keep silence upon the subject of their expedition. The commandant replied that he did not see that it could do any harm, provided that they impressed upon their comrades the necessity of maintaining an absolute silence upon the subject, when any of the people of the neighborhood were present. Although the villagers might appear to understand no language but German, they might yet know enough French to glean what was said and, if traitorously inclined, to warn the Germans, and thus enormously increase the danger when the Barclays should again go down to the town.

Their cousins had already heard of their return; for the boys, upon sitting down to dinner at the commandant's, had requested leave to send a line to their cousins, who would be anxiously expecting them.

"Hallo! You Barclay, where have you been to, all day?" was the general exclamation, as they entered.

"On duty," Ralph said.

"On duty—yes, but what duty? The Duburgs have been mysterious, and would say nothing. The sergeant here knew nothing about it, except that our lieutenant told him that you had leave; and Irish Tim has been hanging about all day, as restless as a cow that has lost its calf."

"We have been down to Saverne," Ralph said.

There was a general exclamation of astonishment. Those of the men who had already lain down upon their straw for the night sat up again, and all crowded round to hear Ralph's story, which he at once told at length; and which, when finished, gave rise here—as it had done at the officers' table—to an animated discussion. Several of the men shook hands warmly with the Barclays, congratulating them on their offer to undertake this dangerous service, and upon the valuable—though unfavorable—information which they had obtained.

From this time forward, the men ceased to attempt to pass jokes at the expense of any of the boys. When the corps was first raised, many of the young men had been inclined to protest against boys being accepted, when the list could have been readily filled with men but, by this time, the boys had proved that they were quite as capable of supporting fatigue as were the men. They had behaved equally well in action; and now the enterprise of the Barclays testified to the fact that, in a dangerous expedition requiring coolness, presence of mind, and nerve, they were equally to be relied upon. Henceforward there was no distinction, or difference, between the various members of the corps.

Another four days passed and—as the ex-officer of Engineers could suggest no certain plan, for the destruction of the tunnel, which could be carried out in the time which a surprise of the sentries at its mouth would give them—Major Tempe resolved upon delaying no longer; but on sending four men into the tunnel, under Lieutenant Ribouville, with instructions to go as far as they could in a quarter of an hour, to set down the barrels against the rock, to light a fuse cut to burn a quarter of an hour, and then to return at full speed to the mouth of the tunnel.

One company was to seize the other end, to tear up seven, eight, or ten rails, and to retire at once into the woods; as the delay in getting the rails into their places again would prevent any train entering, from that end, in time for its occupants to see and extinguish the burning fuse.

The other company—which was absent—was to join the headquarters, the evening before the attempt; and it was hoped that the three companies would be able to keep the enemy at bay for half an hour, so as to give time to the party with the nitroglycerine to take it to the required position, and rejoin their comrades. Immediately upon their doing so the retreat was to commence; as the enemy could not possibly penetrate the tunnel, and extinguish the fuse, before the explosion took place.

The attempt was not to be made till the following evening; in order that the Barclays might go down, and see that all was as before at Saverne, and along the line. The next day, accordingly, the boys again put on their disguises and started; as before, taking the precaution to change in the wood, so as not to be seen by any of the villagers. Upon reaching the spot from which a view of the tunnel was obtainable, they stopped, with a simultaneous exclamation of dismay. Not only were two sentries stationed near the entrance; but some fifteen or twenty German soldiers were sitting or standing by a small building, at a short distance, which had evidently been turned into a guard house.

"This looks very much against us, Ralph. One would think that they had got information of our being near."

"It looks bad, indeed, Percy. Let us go on into the town. We shall, perhaps, learn something about it, there."

A sharp walk soon brought them to Saverne. A sentry was on duty at the entrance to the town, and several of his comrades stood near. The sentry looked as if about to stop them; but seeing, when they came up, that they were only boys, he let them pass without question.

"Worse and worse, Percy. Something is up, sure enough."

This became more evident at every step they took, for the little town was absolutely crowded with German soldiers.

"Unless they are merely halting here, upon their march through, it is all up with our plan, Percy. There must be over two thousand men here, at the very least."

Upon questioning a lad of the town, of about their own age, they found that the fresh troops had arrived upon the preceding day; the infantry—two thousand strong—coming in by train, late in the evening before; and three hundred cavalry marched in, only half an hour before the boys' arrival. They were all quartered upon the inhabitants, and there appeared to be no sign of their early departure.

For some time the boys walked about, without obtaining any information; although they entered a dozen cabarets, and drank considerable quantities of beer. At last, before one of the principal cafes, they saw ten or twelve German officers sitting, talking. None of the inhabitants were sitting at the cafe; and the boys dared not go in to ask for anything, there, as it would not have been in accordance with their appearance.

"How are we to get within hearing, Percy?"

"Look here, Ralph; I will limp along, as if I had something in my shoe which hurts me. Then I will sit down on a doorstep, close to them, and take off my boot. You can sit down, too, and take some of the bread and cheese which we put in our pockets, because we could not eat it at the last place we went in. I will keep my boot off, to ease my foot; and we can eat our bread and cheese, as slowly as we like."

"That will do capitally, Percy."

In another couple of minutes the two lads were sitting, as agreed, upon the step of a door close to the cafe. They could not hear all that was said; but could catch the sense, as the German officers—as is their custom—spoke in a very loud voice. They belonged to the infantry; and were, it appeared, in ignorance of the reason of their sudden move to Saverne.

Presently a captain of the cavalry came along the street.

"Ah, Von Rausen," a major in the infantry exclaimed, "are you here? I have not seen you since the day you marched from Coblentz."

"No, indeed, major," the other said, saluting—as a Prussian officer always does, to his superior in rank—the other infantry officers all rising, and saluting in turn. "We have just come in from Hagenau."

"Are you in a hurry?" asked the major. "If not, sit down and let us talk."

The cavalry officer accepted the invitation and, for a few minutes, their talk ran upon mutual friends. Then the major said:

"By the way, do you know what we are here for? We were bustled off at a moment's notice; no one knows why, except of course the colonel, and he has not thought necessary to tell us and, naturally, we have not asked him."

"Do you not know?" Captain Von Rausen said. "It is no secret—at least, no secret from us, but a secret from the people here. I will speak in French; no doubt there are plenty of spies about."

"There is no one in hearing," the major said, "except those two stupid-looking lads, munching bread and cheese."

"The more likely to be spies," Von Rausen said. "Fellows who look like fools are just the people chosen."

"Well, speak in English then, Von Rausen," the major said; "we both understand it, and we should be safe, then, if all Saverne were listening."

"Yes, that will be safe.

"Well, then, the general received information, yesterday, that that corps of franc tireurs who cut up our cavalry near Blamont, the other day, are hid up in some village in the woods, four or five miles from here; no doubt with the intention of making an attempt to blow up the tunnel. The idea is a daring one and, if the plan had succeeded, it would have done us incalculable harm. As it is, we are safe; and tomorrow night we shall, I believe, make an expedition, and sweep the woods clear of these troublesome gentry.

"These franc tireurs will be mischievous if we do not give them a sharp lesson. The general's proclamation gave notice that every one of them taken would be shot, and our colonel is just the man to carry out the order."

"This is indeed important," the major said. "But how did we get the information? Is it certain?"

"Quite certain. A scoundrel of a schoolmaster at Grunsdorf—a village somewhere up in the woods—turned traitor; and sent a letter to the general, bargaining that he should be taken on as a spy, at some fabulous salary, and offering to begin by leading the troops to the village where these franc tireurs are hidden."

"An infamous scoundrel!" the major said warmly. "Of course, one cannot refuse to deal with traitors, when the information is of importance; but one longs to put a pistol bullet into them. Badly as the French have come out in many particulars, since the war began, there is not one which gives me such a mean idea of them as the number of offers which have been sent in to supply information, and betray their countrymen."

"Put on your boots, Percy," Ralph said, in a low voice. "It is time for us to be off. Don't hurry; and above all, if they should take it into their heads to address us suddenly in French, or English, don't start or seem to notice."

The major was, however, so absorbed in the information he had received—and so confident that the English, in which it had been told, would be unintelligible to anyone who might overhear it—that he paid no attention to the boys who—one of them limping badly—went slowly down the street; stopping, occasionally, to look in at the shop windows. It was not until they were fairly outside the town, and out of sight of the German sentries, that they either spoke or quickened their pace.

"The franc tireurs of Dijon may thank their lucky stars that they sent down spies to Saverne today, Percy; and especially that we, of all the members of the corps, were selected. If we had not been where we were, just at that moment, and if we had not understood English, it would have been all up with the corps, and no mistake."

"What an infamous scoundrel, as the major said, that schoolmaster must be, Ralph! What do you think the commandant will do?"

"He has nothing to do but to retreat, as quickly as we can go, Percy; but if it costs him half the corps, I hope he will hang that schoolmaster, before he goes."

"I hope so, too," Percy said; and scarcely another word was spoken, until they reached the village.

It was still early, scarcely two o'clock, and Major Tempe was drilling the whole corps—the two detached companies having arrived that morning—when the boys, having again put on uniform, approached him.

Major Tempe nodded to them, as they came up.

"You are back early," he said. "You are excused from drill. I will see you at my quarters, when it is over."

"If you please, major," Ralph said, respectfully, "you had better dismiss the men, at once. We have news of the highest importance to tell you."

The major looked surprised but, seeing by the boys' faces that the news was very serious, he at once dismissed the men; telling them to keep near, as they might be wanted. Then, calling his officers, he proceeded at once with the Barclays towards his quarters.

"Excuse me, major," Ralph said, "but instead of going to your quarters, would you move to some open space, where we can speak without a possibility of being overheard by anyone?"

Still more surprised, Major Tempe led the way to some felled trees at the edge of the forest, a short distance from the village. Here he sat down, and motioned to the others to do the same. Ralph then told his story, interrupted many times by exclamations of rage, upon the part of his auditors; and giving full credit to Percy for his idea of the plan by which, unnoticed, they had managed to get within hearing of the German officers. The fury of the French officers knew no bounds. They gesticulated, they stamped up and down, they swore terribly, they were ready to cry from sheer rage.

Major Tempe, alone, uttered no remark during the whole narration. When it was concluded, he sat silent for a minute or two; with his lips pressed together, and a look of deep indignation on his face. Then he rose, and said in a solemn tone:

"As sure as the sun shines, and as sure as my name is Edward Tempe, so sure shall that schoolmaster, of Grunsdorf, be hung before tomorrow morning!

"Lieutenant Ribouville, order the assembly to be sounded, and form the men here in hollow square.

"Messieurs Barclay, you will fall in with your company."

A little surprised—and hurt that the commandant had said no word of commendation to them, for the service they had performed—the boys hurried off to their quarters, to get their rifles.

"Sure, Master Ralph, and what is the matter, at all?" Tim Doyle said, as they entered. "Sure the major, honest man, must have gone off his head, entirely! Scarcely had we finished our male, and began to smoke the first pipe in aise and comfort, when the bugle blows for parade.

"'Confound the bugle!' says I, and I shoved me pipe aside, and put on my belt and fell in.

"Hardly had we begun the maneuvers when your honors arrived and said a word, private, to the major. The words weren't out of your mouth before he dismisses us from drill.

"'Botheration!' says I, 'is there no pace for the wicked?'

"Back I comes again, and takes off me belt and piles me firelock; and before I had got three draws at me pipe, and was just beginning to enjoy the creetur when, crack! and there goes the assimbly again. Sure and the major, honest man, has lost his head entirely; and it's a pity, for he is an illegant man, and a good officer, says I."

"Come along, Tim," Ralph said, laughing, "else you'll be late for parade. You will hear all about it in time, I have no doubt."

In five minutes the men were all assembled in a hollow square, two deep, facing the officers in the center The men saw at once, by the faces of Major Tempe and the officers, that something very serious had happened; and they had no sooner taken their places than there was a deep hush of expectancy, for it was evident that the commandant was about to address them.

"My men," he said, after a pause of a minute or two, "a great calamity has happened; and a still greater one would have happened, had we not providentially received warning in time. It had been resolved—as you would have heard this evening, had all gone well—that tonight we should attack the German sentries, and blow up the rock tunnel of Saverne. The affair would have been hot, but it would have been a vital service to France; and the franc tireurs of Dijon would have merited, and obtained, the thanks of all France. It was for the purpose of the attack that the two companies detached from us were recalled.

"All promised well for success. Two of your number had been down into Saverne, in disguise, and had brought us full information respecting the force and disposition of the enemy. All was prepared, the chance of success favorable, and the force the enemy could have brought against us was no larger than our own. We should have saved France, and immortalized ourselves.

"At the present moment there are two thousand five hundred men in Saverne. Tomorrow night this village is to be attacked, and every franc tireur found here put to the sword."

A cry of surprise and rage broke from the men.

"And how, think you, has the change been wrought? By treachery!"

Those cries of rage were renewed.

"By treachery! A Frenchman has been found, base and vile enough to sell us to Prussia. All hope of success is over, and we have only to retreat."

"Who is he? Who is he?" burst from the infuriated men. "Death to the traitor! Death to the traitor!"

"Yes, men, death to the traitor!" the major said, solemnly. "It is the schoolmaster of Grunsdorf who has sold you to the Prussians; who wrote that letter to their general, telling him of your intentions, which has caused these great reinforcements to be sent; and who has offered to guide a force to surround us, tomorrow night."

Another low cry of horror and indignation broke from the men.

"Is it your opinion that this man has deserved death?"

"Yes," was the unanimous answer.

"Then he dies," Major Tempe said, solemnly. "You were to have been his victims; you are his judges.

"Grunsdorf is three miles from here, in the woods, not far from Saverne. A party will be told off, presently, who will be charged with the execution of this sentence.

"I have now another duty. The corps has been saved from destruction. You—all of us—have been preserved from death by the intelligence and courage of two of your number.

"Ralph and Percy Barclay, stand forward!"

The two boys stepped two paces forward into the hollow square.

"Selected by me," continued Major Tempe, "for the duty, from their perfect acquaintance with German; they, upon their first visit to Saverne, obtained all the information required. Upon their second visit, this morning—finding the enemy had been immensely reinforced—they perceived the extreme importance of discovering the reason for the arrival of the reinforcements, and their intention. With a coolness and tact which does them the greatest credit, they contrived to arrive, and to remain within hearing of, a number of officers; and then learned the whole particulars of the treachery of this man, and of the intention of our enemies. So important was the secret judged that the Germans were afraid of telling it in German, or in French, lest they might be overheard. To prevent the possibility of this, they conversed in English; and the consequence is that we are saved, almost by a miracle.

"Ralph and Percy Barclay, your names will be inserted in the order of the day, being the first of the corps to whom that honor has been given; and I hereby offer you, in the name of myself, my officers, and the whole corps, my hearty thanks for your courage, coolness, and devotion.

"The parade is dismissed. The men will assemble at five o'clock, in full marching order, with all necessaries and accouterments."

As Major Tempe ceased speaking, the men broke up from the order in which they had been standing, and crowded round the young Barclays; shaking them by the hand, patting them on the shoulder, and congratulating them heartily upon the service that they had rendered, and upon the terms in which their commandant had thus publicly acknowledged it.

At five o'clock the corps assembled again in heavy marching order and, after inspection, the second, third, and fourth companies marched off; with their officers, who alone knew their destination, at their head. Major Tempe remained on the ground, with the first company. After waiting for a few minutes, they were marched off in the direction which the others had taken but—after getting out of sight of the village, and fairly entering the forest—they turned sharp off, and took the direction of Saverne.



Chapter 8: The Traitor.

After the company had marched for half an hour, a halt was called, and their commandant said:

"I daresay you have all guessed the object which we have in view. We are going to carry out the sentence pronounced by the whole corps. We are going to have that schoolmaster—that traitor—who has sold our lives to the Prussians; and who—which is of infinitely greater importance—has done immense injury to France, by betraying our intention of blowing up the tunnel. That traitor I intend to have, tonight; and if I have him, I will hang him, as sure as fate.

"This lane which we are following leads to Grunsdorf; which, according to the information I collected before leaving, cannot be above a mile distant. Now, we must be cautious. It is quite possible that a detachment of the enemy may have been sent up to the village, and in that case we might catch a Tartar. Even if there are no Germans there, we must be cautious, or the bird will escape. We neither know him, nor the house he lives in and—as he would naturally guess that his treachery had been discovered, and that we had come for him—he would slip out into the forest, the instant he saw the first bayonet approaching. It is essential, therefore, that we should obtain accurate information of the state of affairs, and of the position of this traitor's house.

"In another half hour it will be dusk. The Barclays have again volunteered to go in, and find out what we require. They will go on at once; and in an hour we will follow, and remain concealed, just outside the village, until they return.

"Sergeant, you will go forward with them, and agree upon the place where we shall remain hid, until they join us.

"Now, my lads, you have already received your instructions. Change your things, and go forward at once."

The distance was farther than they had expected, and it was nearly dark before the boys entered Grunsdorf. There was no one moving in the quiet village, for a fine rain was falling as the boys walked slowly along.

"There is no one to ask, Percy. We must go into the public house, as arranged, and ask where the priest's house is. It would not do for two strangers to ask for the schoolmaster. The priest will tell us where he lives."

So saying, they entered the little cabaret, walked down a long passage leading from the door, and paused for a moment at the threshold—for in the room were some eight or ten Prussian soldiers.

"It is too late to retreat, Percy. Come in boldly."

Lifting their caps, they walked up to an unoccupied table; and called for some bread, cheese, and beer. The landlord brought the refreshments, and the boys had scarcely begun to eat when a Prussian sergeant—who had exchanged a word with the landlord, evidently in reference to them—strode up to them and, laying his hand upon Ralph's shoulder, said:

"Who are you, young fellows? The landlord says you do not belong to the village."

"We belong to a party of woodcutters, from Colmar," Ralph said, quietly.

Illustration: Among the German Soldiers.

"Oh, indeed!" the sergeant said, in an incredulous voice, "and where are your party?"

"Out in the forest, at the place where we have begun to fell trees," Ralph said.

"But people do not come to cut wood without horses, or carts to take it away," the sergeant persisted.

"They are up in the forest with our father," Ralph said.

"Have you heard anything about this party?" the sergeant asked the landlord.

The man hesitated a moment. He evidently suspected, also, that the boys might belong to the franc tireurs; and was anxious to say nothing which could harm them.

"No," he said, after a pause, "I can't say that I have heard of them; but I know some of the forest was sold, not long ago, and they might have come from Colmar without coming this way."

"We only arrived this morning," Percy said, quietly, "so that you could hardly have heard of us, unless some of the people of your place happened to pass, when we were at work; and we have not seen anyone, all day."

"At any rate," the sergeant said, "I shall see if your story be true, and you will at once take us to the place.

"Corporal, get ten men in readiness."

"Certainly," Ralph said, "if you will allow us to finish our supper, we will show you the way, at once."

The sergeant nodded, and resumed his seat.

"Look here, Percy," Ralph said, quietly, "we are in a nasty fix, this time. There is only one thing to be done, that I can see. If we both go they will shoot us, to a certainty; for although one might make a bolt in the wood, it is certain we could not both get away.

"Only one thing is to be done. I will say your foot is bad, and ask for you to stay here. Directly we have gone, you slip out and go—as hard as you can—to the place where our men are hid. I will bring them in that direction. We shall have passed the place before you can reach it—at least, unless you can get out, at once—and pass on in the darkness. Take off your shoes, so as to run lightly. As we pass, fire a volley right into us; and I will make a dart into the wood, in the confusion."

"But you might be shot by our men, Ralph. They could not possibly distinguish you, in the dark. No, I will go with the men, and you make your way to Tempe."

"No, no, Percy, I won't have that."

"Very well," Percy said, doggedly, "then we will go together."

There was a silence for a minute or two, and then Ralph said:

"Look here, Percy, this is madness; however, as you won't do as I tell you, we will draw lots. I will put a piece of crumb in one of my hands. You shall guess which it is in. If you guess right, I will go with the Germans. If you guess wrong, you shall go."

"Very well," Percy said; "I agree to that."

Ralph then broke off a small piece of bread, and put it in one of his hands—having already, before he made the proposition, broken off a similar piece, unobserved by Percy. He then put both hands under the table, and then lifted them again; all the time trying to appear not to be engaged upon anything out of the way, as he knew that some of the Germans were watching them.

"Left," Percy said.

Ralph replied by opening the left hand, and dropping the piece of bread on the table; at the same time putting his right hand back into his pocket, as if to get out his handkerchief—and dropping, as he did so, the piece of bread it contained into the place.

"There, Percy, fortune has decided it.

"Goodbye; God bless you. I daresay I shall get out of it but, if not, give my love to them all, at home."

Then he finished his beer and rose, without giving Percy time to reply, even could he have done so; but the lad was so much choked, with the effort to keep from crying, that he could not have spoken. Ralph turned to the sergeant and—stretching his arms, with the natural air of a tired boy, objecting to be disturbed—said:

"Now, sir, I am ready to start. I suppose there is no occasion for us both to go, for my brother has hurt his foot. We shouldn't have come in, tonight; but it is his first time out with the woodmen, and he is not accustomed to sleeping out, in the wet."

"Yes, one is enough. He can stay," the sergeant said.

"You had better ask the landlord to show you a corner, where you can sleep on the straw, Karl," Ralph said. "It is no use waiting for me. I shall be back in an hour."

With a nod to Percy, Ralph now walked steadily to the door. The sergeant, with the men told off for the duty, accompanied him. When they reached the street, it was raining heavily.

"I wonder," Ralph said, "whether the landlord would lend me a sack, to put on my shoulders."

"Is this place far off, youngster?" the sergeant asked, peering out into the darkness.

Ralph's heart gave a jump; for he detected, in the tone, a certain hesitation as to taking the men out in such a night, upon such slight suspicion. He was, however, too shrewd to show any desire to dissuade the sergeant from it, so he replied:

"No, it is no distance to speak of; not a mile, at most. We should be there and back in half an hour, if it was light; but there is only a path among the woods and it is dark.

"I think we had better have some lanterns, for I do not think I could find my way without them, tonight; at any rate, it would take us much longer."

"There, boy, that will do," the sergeant said, laying his hand on his shoulder. "I am satisfied, now, with the truth of your story. I thought, for a bit, you had something to do with the franc tireurs who are about here, but I see I was mistaken.

"Turn in again, lads. It is no use taking you out on a useless search, such a night as this, among these forests."

Ralph laughed aloud, as they turned to go down the passage again to the corner.

"Won't father laugh," he said, "when he hears that you thought I was a franc tireur. We haven't seen any, about Colmar. I don't think you need be afraid of them, if they ain't bigger or older than I am."

By this time they had entered the room again, and Ralph saw that Percy was already talking to the landlord—with whom, indeed, he was on the point of leaving the room. He turned round, upon hearing the party come in again, and gave a slight start of pleasure.

"I am soon back, Karl, and am glad that it is so for, frankly, I too am tired; and it is not a night for a dog to be out. I will go in with you."

"Stay, landlord," the sergeant said. "Give the boys another glass, each, before they go off."

"Thank you," Ralph said. "A glass of good beer never comes amiss."

The boys stopped, while the landlord filled their glasses.

"Now," said the sergeant, raising his arm. "Here's a health, to King William."

"Here's a health, to King William," Ralph repeated. "I am sure I wish him no harm.

"And now, with your permission, I will be off."

The landlord led them to an outhouse, in which were some trusses of straw. Just as he was about to leave them, Ralph said, suddenly:

"Ah! I had nearly forgotten about the priest. You have a priest here, have you not?"

"Of course," the landlord said. "Do you take us for heathens?"

"Not at all," Ralph said, apologetically; "but father told me to call, and pay him for some masses. My eldest sister was very ill, when we came away, and father worries about her.

"Where does the priest live?"

"The last house on the left, as you go out from the farther end of the village. But anyone will show you it, in the morning.

"You don't want the light any longer?"

For the boys had, while speaking, been taking off their boots, and making a show of preparing to lie down on the straw.

"No, thank you. Good night.

"Oh, I forgot—what do you charge, a cask, for your best beer? Father wanted to know and, if the price suits, will send down a cart to fetch it."

The landlord named the price, and then said good night, and left them.

When he returned to the room where he had left the German soldiers, the sergeant asked him a question or two concerning the boys; and the landlord repeated the substance of the conversation which he had just had. This allayed the last suspicions which had remained in the sergeant's mind; and he congratulated himself, greatly, that he had not taken his men out, in such a night, upon a mere groundless suspicion.

"If the landlord repeats that yarn to the Germans, it will allay all suspicion," Ralph said, when they were left alone. "Otherwise the sergeant might have taken it into his head to come to have a look at us and, although it would not very much matter that he should discover that the birds had flown, still it would have put him on his guard, and he might have doubled the sentries, and made it much more difficult for us.

"We have had a very narrow squeak for it this time, Percy, old boy."

"Very, Ralph! I would rather go through twenty battles, again, than feel as I felt when I saw you start, and thought that I should never see you again, alive."

"Well, we have no time to lose now, Percy. Have you got your boots on again? If so, let us start at once. The major and men must be very anxious, long before this. It must be full an hour since we came."

"It has been the longest hour I ever passed, Ralph. There now, I am ready, if you are."

"We must go out very quietly, Percy. I have no doubt that they have got sentries posted all about. They know that we are in the neighborhood I wish I knew how many there are of them."

"I found out, from the landlord, that all the fifteen men we saw here were billeted upon him," Percy said. "He told me at first, when I asked him, that he could do nothing for me in the way of a bed, because there were three or four in every room. I said that a stable and a little straw would do for us, very well, and then he thought of this outhouse.

"At the same rate, there must be at least a hundred men in the village."

They now opened the door of the outhouse, went quietly out, and made their way through a garden at the back of the house towards the wood.

"Stand still a few minutes, Percy," Ralph said, in a whisper, "and let us see if we can find out where the sentries are placed. I expect that they form a cordon round the village.

"Lie down by this wall. We can see them, there, and they cannot see us."

It was well that they did so for, in another minute, they heard a tread quite close to them; and a Prussian soldier passed, within a yard of where they were lying. They could dimly see that his hood was over his head, and hear that he was humming to himself a scrap of some German air. They lay there until he had again passed the spot; and then—having found out the direction of his beat—they crawled noiselessly away and, in five minutes, had reached the edge of the forest.

They did not enter it, as it would have been impossible—in the dense darkness—to have made their way without running against trees, and snapping off boughs, which would have given the alarm. They therefore skirted the edge—knowing that, with the trees behind them, they would be invisible at the distance of a yard or two—and in ten minutes reached the place where their company was awaiting them. As they approached the spot, they gave a short, low whistle; which was the agreed sign, among the band, for knowing each other on night expeditions. It was answered at once and, in another minute, they were among their friends.

"What has happened?" Major Tempe asked. "We were getting very anxious about you. I sent Favarts to reconnoiter, ten minutes ago; and he has just returned, saying that he can hear someone pacing backwards and forwards on the road, and that he believes it to be a sentry."

"He was quite right," Ralph said; "the village is full of Germans. There must—as far as we can see—be seventy or eighty of them, at the very lowest; and there are probably a hundred. We have been prisoners, or something very like it, and have had a monstrously close shave of it.

"But I will tell you all that, when we have time. Do you still think of carrying out your plans?"

"Certainly," Major Tempe said, "that schoolmaster I am determined to have, even if we fight our way in, and shoot him in bed. Have you found out where he lives?"

"No, sir, but we have found out where the priest lives. It is this end house: the end of the village, on the left-hand side as you come out."

"Are the sentries very close together?"

"They are pretty close, but not too close to prevent our crawling between them, unobserved, on such a night as this."

Major Tempe hesitated for a while.

"It would be too hazardous," he said. "We know nothing of the ground over which we should have to crawl, and it would be hardly possible for thirty men—with our accouterments, and firearms—to crawl along without snapping sticks, or striking rifles against a stone and giving the alarm.

"No, the sentry at the entrance of the village must be silenced."

So saying, the commandant turned to the men who were standing round, and explained briefly the purport of the whispered conversation which he had had with Ralph. He then chose two active young men, and told them to take off their cloaks, belts, and accouterments of all kinds; and to leave them, with their rifles, with the men who were to remain at the spot at which they then were—to cover their retreat, if necessary. They were to take nothing with them but their sword bayonets—which were not to be used, except in case of necessity—and a coil of light rope. Definite instructions were given them as to the manner in which their attack was to be made.

They then took off their boots, and set off noiselessly upon their enterprise. They went on rapidly, until they were within plain hearing of the footsteps of the sentinel; and then very cautiously and, crouching almost to the ground, so as not to bring their bodies on a level with his eye, they crept up foot by foot to the end of his beat. Here they waited a short time, while he passed and repassed them, unthinking of the deadly foe who, had they stretched out their hands, could have touched his cloak as he went past them.

At last, the second time he passed them on his way towards the village, they rose together behind him. In an instant one had garroted him—with a choking grip, that almost strangled him, and prevented him uttering the slightest sound—while the other grasped his rifle by the lock, so as to prevent the possibility of its being fired. In another instant, the rifle was torn from the grasp of the almost stupefied man; cords were passed tightly round his arms and legs; a handkerchief was thrust into his mouth, and fastened there by a cord going across the mouth and tied behind the head and, before the bewildered man fairly knew what had happened, he was lying bound and gagged by the roadside.