"One gun is dismounted, sir, and half the men are killed or wounded."

"Go down, Harcourt, and tell Herve to fall back at once; and to take position in the clump of trees, a quarter of a mile down the valley, so as to sweep the entrance.

"Laon, go to the right, and you, Dubois, to the left. Order the franc tireurs to retreat along the hillside and, when they get to the end of the gorge, to form in the plain, and fall back to the first village.

"You are wounded, Barclay. Not seriously, I hope?" he said, kindly, as the officers hurried away on their respective missions.

"A splinter of a shell, sir," Ralph said, faintly. "I don't think it has touched the bone, but it has cut the flesh badly."

Ralph was just able to say this, when his head swam; and he would have fallen, had not Percy caught him in his arms, with a little cry.

"He has only fainted from loss of blood," the general said. "Two or three handkerchiefs, gentlemen.

"Now, major, bind them round his arm.

"Now take off his sash, and bind it as tightly as you can, over them. That's right.

"Now carry him down the rocks, to the horses. We have no time to lose."

Two of the officers at once put their arms under Ralph's shoulders, while Percy took his feet; and they hastened down to the horses. As they did so, Ralph opened his eyes.

"I am all right, now," he said, faintly.

"Lie quiet," the major said, kindly. "It is only loss of blood. There is no real harm done.

"There, here are the horses."

Ralph was placed, sitting, on the ground; a little brandy and water was given to him and, as the blood was oozing but slowly through the bandage, he felt sufficiently restored to sit on his horse.

"Doyle, you go with Lieutenant Barclay," the colonel of the staff said. "Ride slowly, and keep close beside him; so as to catch him, if you see him totter. You will find the surgeons ready at the general's quarters.

"Halt, stand aside for a moment. Here comes the artillery."

"Well done, lads, well done!" the general said, as the diminished battery rattled past, at full gallop.

Then he himself, with his staff, put spurs to his horse and went off at full speed; while Tim followed at a walk, riding by the side of Ralph. The flow of blood had now stopped, and Ralph was able to sit his horse until he reached the house which had served as the general's headquarters, in the morning. Here one of the staff surgeons had fitted up a temporary ambulance; and Ralph's bandages were soon taken off, and his coat removed. Tim turned sick at the sight of the ugly gash in his young master's arm, and was obliged to go out into the air.

The artillery were already at work, and their fire told that the franc tireurs had retired from the gorge, and that the Germans were entering the wider valley.

"You have had a narrow escape," the surgeon said, after examining Ralph's arm, "a quarter of an inch lower, and it would have cut the main artery; and you would have bled to death in five minutes. As it is, there is no great harm done. It is a deepish flesh wound but, with your youth and constitution, it will heal up in a very short time. I will draw the edges together, with a needle and thread: put a few straps of plaster on, and a bandage; and then you had better get into an ambulance wagon and go to the rear, at once."

"Can't I go into the field again, now?" Ralph asked; "I feel as if I could ride again, now."

"No, you can do nothing of the sort," the surgeon said. "You have lost a lot of blood; and if you were to ride now, it might set off the wound bleeding again, and you might be a dead man before you could be brought back here. Keep quiet, and do as you are ordered, and in a week you may be in the saddle again."

"It seems very hard," Ralph began.

"Not at all hard," the surgeon said. "You will see plenty more fighting, before this war is over.

"This is a hard case, if you like; you have every reason to be thankful."

As he spoke, he pointed to a young mobile who was brought in, his chest literally torn open with a shell.

"I can do nothing for him," the surgeon said, after a brief inspection of his wound; "he has not half an hour to live, and will probably not recover consciousness. If he does, give him some weak brandy, and water."

Wounded men were now being brought in fast, and Ralph went out and sat down by the door.

"Fasten my horse up here, Tim. The ambulance will be full of poor fellows who will want them more than I shall. If I see that we are being driven back, I shall mount and ride quietly back.

"No, there is nothing more you can do for me. Go and join Percy."

The fight was now raging furiously. The Germans, covered by the fire of their artillery, had debouched from the pass and were steadily pressing forward. They had already carried the village nearest to them. This the French had set fire to, before retreating, to prevent its serving as a shelter for the enemy. The Mobiles stood their ground, for the most part well, under the heavy fire of shot and shell; but their muzzle loaders were no match for the Germans' needle guns, and the enemy were pressing steadily forward. Just as Tim Doyle rode up to the staff, the Germans had taken another village.

"That village must be retaken," the general said. "Barclay, ride and order the Zouaves to carry it, with the bayonet."

Percy galloped off to where the Zouaves, lying behind a ridge in the ground, were keeping up a heavy fire in answer to the storm of shot and shell which fell around them. He rode up to the officer in command.

"The Zouaves are to retake the village, with the bayonet," he said.

The colonel gave the order, but the fire was so heavy that the men would not face it. Again and again the officer reiterated the order; standing exposed on the bank, in front of his men, to give them confidence. It was in vain, and the colonel looked towards Percy with an air of despair. Percy turned his horse, and galloped back to the general.

"The colonel has done all he can, sir, but the men won't advance."

"The fire is very heavy," the general said, "but we must have the village back again."

And he rode off, himself, to the battalion of Zouaves. The shot and shell were flying around him, but he sat on his horse as immovable as if at a review.

"My lads," he said, in a loud, clear tone, "generally the difficulty has been to prevent the Zouaves rushing to an attack. Don't let it be said that a French general had to repeat, to French Zouaves, an order to charge before they obeyed him."

In an instant the Zouaves were on their feet and, with a cheer, went at the village. The Germans in possession fired rapidly, as the French approached, and then hastily evacuated it; the Zouaves taking possession, and holding it, under a tremendous fire.

All the afternoon the battle raged, villages being taken and retaken, several times. The Germans, however, were gradually gaining ground. Some of the regiments of Mobiles had quite lost all order and discipline, and their officers in vain tried to persuade them to hold the position in which they were placed. Two of the staff officers were killed, three others wounded.

Percy had escaped, almost by a miracle. Over and over again, he had carried the general's orders across ground swept by the enemy's shot and shell. A horse had been killed under him, but he had not received even a scratch; and now, mounted upon the horse of one of the officers, who was killed, he was returning from carrying an order across a very open piece of ground, at full gallop. Suddenly he came upon a sight which—hurried as he was, and exposed as was the position—caused him instantly to draw his rein, and come to a full stop.

Illustration: The Children on the Battlefield.

There, in the open field, were two children: the one a boy, of six or seven years old; the other a little flaxen-haired, blue-eyed girl, of five. They were quietly picking flowers.

"What are you doing here?" Percy asked, in astonishment.

He spoke in French and, receiving no answer, repeated the question in German.

"What are you doing here?"

"If you please, sir," the boy answered, "I have been out in the wood, with Lizzie, to pick flowers; and when I came back there was a great fire in the house, and a great noise all round, and I couldn't find father and mother; and so we came out, to look for them."

Percy did not know what to do. It was too pitiful to leave the poor little creatures where they were; and yet, he could not carry them away. He had no doubt that their parents were hid in the woods.

"Look here," he said; "if I take Lizzie upon my horse, will you run along after me?"

"No, no," the little girl said, vehemently.

There was no time for parley.

"Look here, do you see those soldiers lying down in a ditch?" Percy asked, pointing to a line of Mobiles, not fifty yards in front.

The children nodded.

"Now look here, the best thing you can possibly do is to play at being soldiers. It is capital fun. You lie down quite flat in that ditch, and throw little stones over the bank. Don't you go away. Don't get up, whatever you do; and if you are good children, and play nicely, I will send father and mother to you, if I can find them. If they don't come, you go on playing at soldiers till all this noise stops; and then, when it is quite quiet, you go home, and wait there till father and mother come back."

The children were delighted with the idea, and threw themselves flat in the bottom of the ditch; and Percy went on again, at full gallop. The French were now being driven back, towards the point where the valley narrowed again; and many of the Mobiles were in full flight. General Cambriels, therefore, withdrew his artillery to a point where they could cover the movements; and then ordered a rapid retreat—ten regiments of line, and the Zouaves, acting as rear guard.

It was already getting dark, and the movements were carried out with but slight loss. The Germans, contented with their success, attempted no movement in pursuit.



Chapter 12: The Surprise.

After the check in the Vosges, General Cambriels found it impossible to restore sufficient order, among the Mobiles, to enable him to show face again to the enemy. He was, besides, in want of many articles of urgent necessity. Half his force were shoeless; and the thin blouses which were—as has been said—all the covering that many of the Mobiles had, were ill calculated to resist the bitter cold which was already setting in. Ammunition, too, as well as food, was short.

The general determined, therefore, upon falling back upon Besancon, and reorganizing his forces there. A wound in his head, too, which was insufficiently healed when he took the command, had now broken out again; and his surgeon ordered absolute repose, for a while.

Upon the day of the fight, Ralph had ridden slowly to the rear, when he saw that the fight was going against the French. Hardened as he was by his work, and with an excellent constitution, his wound never for a moment assumed a troublesome aspect; but at the end of a week he was able—keeping it, of course, in a sling—to mount his horse, and report himself ready for duty. The headquarters were now at Besancon; and Ralph could, had he applied for it, have obtained leave to go to Dijon; but he had not done so, as he had been so lately at home, and he thought that the sight of his arm in a sling would be likely to make his mother more nervous, and anxious on their account, than before.

The Germans were still at some distance from Besancon, being watched by Colonel Tempe and his franc tireurs, and by the irregular forces. A considerable army was now fast gathering at Besancon, and the regimental and superior staff officers were hard at work at the organization As aides-de-camp, the boys had little to do; and therefore requested leave, for two or three days, to go up to their old friends, the franc tireurs of Dijon. The general at once granted the required permission; adding, with a smile:

"Don't forget you are officers now, lads, and get into any hare-brained adventures, you know; and be sure you are back on Thursday, as I expect General Michel—my successor—to arrive on Friday; and I shall have to give you, as part of my belongings."

"We are sure to be back, general."

And so they set off; taking, as usual, Tim Doyle with them, as orderly and servant.

"Faith, and I am glad enough to be out in the open again, Mister Ralph," Tim said, as they left Besancon behind. "After living out in the woods, for six weeks; there does not seem room to breathe, in a crowded town."

"It's jolly to be out again, Tim; but I don't know that I mind a town again, for a few days."

"Ah, it's all very well for the likes of yees, Mister Ralph—with your officer's uniform, and your arm in a sling, and the girls all looking at you as a hero—but for me it's different, entirely. Out in the open I feel that—except when there's anything to do for your honors—I am my own master, and can plase myself. Here in the town I am a common hussar; and my arm is just weary with saluting to all the fellows, with a sword by their side, that I meet in the street.

"Then there's no chance of any fighting, as long as we're shut up in the walls of a town; and what's the use of being decked up in uniform, except to fight? Is there any chance of just the least scrimmage in the world, while we are back again with the boys?" he asked, persuasively.

The boys laughed.

"Not much, Tim; but we shall be pretty close to the enemy, and something may turn up, at any moment. But surely you've had enough, in the last six weeks?"

"Pretty well, Mister Percy—pretty well; but you see, the last affair didn't count."

"Oh, didn't it count!" Ralph said, looking at his arm. "I think it counted for two or three fights and, if you were not hit, I am sure you were fired at often enough to satisfy the most desperate lover of fighting, Tim."

"I was fired at often enough, I daresay, Mister Ralph; and I can't say that I liked it, entirely. It isn't so mighty pleasant—sitting like a stiff statue behind the general, with the shells falling about you like peas, and not allowed the divarshin of a single shot back, in return.

"'Shoot away,' says I, 'as hard as you like; but let's shoot back, in return.'"

The boys laughed, and the day passed pleasantly as they rode, and talked. The dusk had already fallen when they reached a party of franc tireurs. It was not their own corps, nor could the officer in command tell exactly where they could find them.

"We are scattered over a considerable extent of country," he said; "and the colonel, alone, could tell you how we are all placed. I expect that he will be here, tonight; and your best plan will be to stay here, till he comes. We have not much to offer you, but such as it is, it is at your service."

After a moment's consultation, the boys agreed to accept the offer; as they had palpably more chance of meeting Colonel Tempe, there, than in a journey through the woods, at night; and in another ten minutes their horses were tied to trees, and they were sitting by a blazing fire, with the officers of franc tireurs. The village consisted of only three or four houses and, as there were fifty men in the party upon which they had come, they bivouacked under the trees, hard by.

"How far off are the Germans?" Ralph asked, when dinner was over; and they lay by the fire, smoking cigars.

"Ten miles or so," the officer answered, carelessly.

"No chance of their coming this way, I hope," Ralph laughed. "We were very nearly caught near Saverne, once."

"So I heard," the officer said, "but I am rather skeptical as to these night surprises. In nine cases out of ten—mind, I don't mean for a moment that it was so in your case—but in nine cases out of ten, these rumors of night attacks are all moonshine."

"Perhaps so," Ralph said, a little gravely—for he had already noticed that the discipline was very different, among these men, than that to which he had been accustomed among the franc tireurs of Dijon; "perhaps so, but we can hardly be too careful.

"How do you all like Colonel Tempe?"

"The colonel would be an excellent fellow, were he not our colonel," the officer laughed. "He is a most unconscionable man. For ever marching, and drilling, and disciplining. If he had his way, he would make us like a regiment of line; as if there could be any good in carrying out all that sort of thing, with franc tireurs. He had about half of us together, for three or four days; and I give you my word it was as bad as slavery. Drill, drill, drill, from morning till night. I was heartily glad, I can tell you, when I got away with this detachment."

Ralph saw that his new acquaintance was one of that innumerable class who conceived that drill and discipline were absurdities, and that it was only necessary for a Frenchman to shoulder a gun for him to be a soldier; so he easily avoided argument, by turning the subject. For a couple of hours they chatted; and then, as the fire was burning low, and the men had already laid down to sleep, Ralph suggested that they should do the same.

"I will walk round the sentries first, with you, if you like," he said.

"Sentries!" the other said, with a laugh; "there is my sentry," and he pointed to a man standing, ten paces off, leaning against a tree. "The men have marched all day—they only came in an hour before you did—and I am not going to waste their strength by putting half of them out to watch the forest.

"No, no, I am no advocate for harassing my men."

"Good night, then," Ralph said, briefly, and he wrapped himself in his cloak, and lay down.

"We are not accustomed to this sort of thing, Percy," he whispered to his brother, in English, "and I don't like it. No wonder our franc tireurs do so badly, if this is a sample of their discipline."

"I don't like it either, Ralph. The Prussians are advancing; and if that fellow last heard of them as ten miles off, they are as likely as not to be only two. I shan't be sorry when morning comes."

"Nor I either, Percy. However, here we are, and we have no authority over this fellow; so we must make the best of it, and hope that—for once—folly will not have its just reward."

So saying, the boys remained silent for the night. But although silent, neither of them slept much—Ralph especially, whose arm was still very sore, and at times painful, hardly closed his eyes. He told himself it was absurd, but he could not help listening, with painful attention.

Had the night been a quiet one, he need not have strained his ears; for as he knew, from the many hours he had passed at night upon guard, the hush is so intense—in these great forests—that one can hear the fall of a mountain stream, miles away; and the snapping of a twig, or almost the falling of a leaf, will catch the ear. The night, however, was windy; and the rustle of the pine forest would have deadened all sound, except anything sharp, and near.

The sentry did not appear similarly impressed with the necessity for any extraordinary attention. He was principally occupied in struggling against cold, and drowsiness. He walked up and down, he stamped his foot, hummed snatches of songs, yawned with great vigor, and so managed to keep awake for two hours; when he roused the next for duty, and lay down with a grunt of relief.

At last, after keeping awake for hours, Ralph dozed off. How long he slept, he knew not; but he was roused into full wakefulness by a touch on the shoulder, and by hearing Tim Doyle whisper:

"Hist, Mister Ralph, I've my doubts that there is something wrong. I couldn't sleep, in this camp without watch or outposts; and for the last quarter of an hour, I fancy I've been hearing noises. I don't know which way they are coming, but it seems to me they are all round us. I may be wrong, sir, but as sure as the piper—"

"Hush, Tim!" Ralph said to the Irishman, who had crawled noiselessly along, and had lain down by his side.

"Percy, are you awake?"

"Yes, I woke at Tim's whisper. Listen."

They did listen; and distinctly, above the sighing of the wind, they could hear a rustling, cracking noise. Day was just breaking, but the light was not sufficiently strong to show objects with any distinctness, among the trees.

"By Jove, we are surrounded!" Percy said; and was just going to alarm the camp when the sentry, startled into wakefulness, challenged and fired.

The franc tireurs woke, and leaped to their feet. Percy and Tim were about to do the same, when Ralph held them down.

"Lie still," he said, "for your lives."

His words were not out of his lips, when a tremendous volley rang out all round them; and half the franc tireurs fell.

"Now!" Ralph said, leaping up, "make a rush for a house.

"To the houses, all of you," he shouted, loudly. "It is our only chance. We shall be shot down, here, like sheep."

The officer of the franc tireurs had already atoned for his carelessness, by his life; and the men obeyed Ralph's call and, amidst a heavy fire, rushed across the fifty yards of open space to the houses. The door was burst in, with the rush.

Ralph had not stopped at the first house but, followed by his brother and Tim Doyle, had run farther on; and entered the last house in the village.

"Why did you not go in with the others, Ralph? We have no chance of defending ourselves, here. We have only our revolvers."

"We have no chance of defending ourselves anywhere, Percy," Ralph said. "There must be a couple of hundred of them, at least; and not above fifteen or twenty, at most, of the franc tireurs gained the houses. Resistance is utterly useless; and yet, had I been with those poor fellows, I could not have told them to surrender, when they would probably be shot, five minutes afterwards. We should be simply throwing away our lives, without doing the least good."

There was a heavy firing now heard and, a moment after, half a dozen shots were fired through the window. Then there was a rush of soldiers towards the door, which Ralph had purposely left open.

"We surrender," Ralph shouted, in German, coming forward to meet them. "We are French officers."

"Don't fire," a voice said, and then a young officer came forward.

"You are not franc tireurs?" he asked, for the light was still insufficient to enable him to distinguish uniforms.

"We are officers of the army, upon General Cambriels' staff. This man is an orderly.

"Here are our swords. We surrender, as prisoners of war."

The German officer bowed.

"Keep your swords, for the present, gentlemen. I am not in command."

At this moment, another officer came up.

"Who have we here, Von Hersen? Why do you make prisoners?"

"They are two staff officers, major."

"Hem," said the major, doubtfully.

"Well, if you are an officer," he continued, "order your men to cease their resistance."

The franc tireurs, most of whom had taken refuge in the same cottage, were still defending themselves desperately; and were keeping up a heavy fire, from the windows.

"I will order them to surrender, at once," Ralph said, quietly; "if you give me your word that they shall be treated as prisoners of war."

"I will do nothing of the sort, sir," the German answered.

"Then I shall certainly not advise them to surrender," Ralph said, firmly. "I have no authority, whatever, over them; but if I give advice, it would be that they should sell their lives as dearly as possible."

The officer swore a deep German oath, and strode off. For five more minutes the fight continued round the cottage, many of the Germans falling; then a rush was made, there was a fierce contest inside the house—shouts, shrieks, cries for mercy—and then all was still.

The young Barclays and Tim were now told to sit down near a tree, at a short distance off; with two sentries, with loaded rifles, standing over them. The German soldiers took from the houses what few articles they fancied, and then set fire to them; sitting down and eating their breakfast as the flames shot up. At a short distance from where the Barclays were sitting was a group of some eight or ten franc tireurs, and six or seven peasants, guarded by some soldiers.

Near them the German major and two lieutenants were talking. One of the young men appeared to take little interest in the conversation; but the other was evidently urging some point, with great earnestness; and the major was equally plainly refusing his request, for he stamped his foot angrily, and shook his head.

"What a type that major is, of the brutal species of German," Ralph said. "One used to meet them, sometimes. Their officers are either particularly nice fellows, mere machines, or great brutes; apparently we have a specimen of each of them, here."

The officers passed near enough for the Barclays to catch what they were saying.

The young lieutenant was very pale.

"For the last time, major, I implore you."

"For the last time, Lieutenant von Hersen," the major said, brutally, "I order you to do your duty and, by Heavens, if you speak another word, I will put you in arrest!"

The young lieutenant turned silently away, called up twenty men, and ordered them to place the franc tireurs and the peasants against a wall.

"This is horrible, Ralph," Percy said. "That scoundrel is going to shoot them, in cold blood."

"I protest against this execution," Ralph said, in a loud tone, advancing towards the major, "as a cold-blooded murder, and a violation of all the rights of war."

"Hold your tongue, sir," the German major said, turning to him furiously, "or, by Heavens, I will put you up there, too!"

"You dare not," Ralph said, firmly. "Outrage, as you do, every law of civilization and humanity; you dare not shoot an officer of the army, in cold blood."

The major turned black with passion.

"By Heavens!" he exclaimed.

But the officer who had not—hitherto—interposed, threw himself before him.

"Pardon me, major," he said, respectfully, "but the Frenchman is right. It would bring discredit upon the whole army to touch these prisoners of war.

"In the other matter, I have nothing to say. The order has been published that franc tireurs, and peasants sheltering them, shall be shot; and it is not for me to discuss orders, but to obey them—but this is a matter affecting all our honors."

The major stood, for a moment, irresolute; but he knew well that the German military authorities would punish, probably with death, the atrocity which he meditated; and he said hoarsely, to some of the men near:

"Tie their arms behind their backs, and take them farther into the wood."

Ralph, his brother, and Tim Doyle were hurried into the wood by their guards but—strict as is the discipline of the German army—they could see that they disapproved, in the highest degree, of the conduct of their commanding officer.

They were still near enough to see what was passing in the village. Not a man of the franc tireurs begged his life, but stood upright against the wall. Two of the peasants imitated their example, as did a boy of not over thirteen years of age. Two other lads of the same age, and a peasant, fell on their knees and prayed piteously for life.

The young officer turned round towards the major in one, now mute, appeal. It was in vain.

"Put your rifles within a foot of their heads," the lieutenant said. "Fire!"

When the smoke cleared away, the soldiers were standing alone; and the peasants and franc tireurs lay, in a confused mass, on the ground.

The lieutenant walked up to the major with a steady step, but with a face as pale as ashes.

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

Then, without another word, he drew out his revolver, put it rapidly to his temple, and blew out his brains [an historical fact].

Brutal as Major Kolbach was, he started back in horror as the young lieutenant fell dead at his feet; while a cry of surprise and consternation broke from the men. The major did not say a word, but turned away and paced up and down, with disturbed steps; while the other lieutenant bent over the body of his comrade and, seeing that he was dead, in a hushed voice ordered the men who had run up to dig a grave, under the trees, and bring him there.

When this was done he ordered the men to fall in—placing the Barclays, and Tim in their midst—and then went up to the major and saluted, saying coldly that the men were ready to march. The major nodded, signed to the orderly who was holding his horse to approach, vaulted into the saddle, and rode along the road back toward the main body of the army. The lieutenant gave the word, and the column marched off; leaving behind it the still smoking houses, and the still warm bodies of some sixty men.

There was a general gloom over the faces of the men; and no one could suppose, from their air, that they were returning from a successful expedition, in which they had annihilated a body of enemy fifty strong, with the loss of only five or six of their own men. Discipline was, however, too strict for a word of blame, or even of comment to be spoken; and not a sound was heard but the heavy, measured tramp as the troops marched back through the forests. The major rode on, moodily, some forty or fifty yards ahead of the main body.

They had not gone half a mile before there was a shot fired in the wood, close to the road. The major gave a start, and nearly fell from his horse; then recovered himself, and turned to ride back to the column, when there was another shot, and he fell off his horse, heavily, to the ground.

The column had instinctively halted, and the lieutenant gave the word, "Load."

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

"That's the old fellow who saved my life, ten days ago, Percy," Ralph said; "and by Jove! much obliged to him as I was, then, I do think that I am more grateful now."

Finding that the shots were not repeated, some twenty or thirty skirmishers were sent into the woods; but returned, in ten minutes, without finding any trace of the man who had shot the major.

The lieutenant now took the command. There was a continuation of the halt, for ten minutes, while the major was hastily buried by the roadside; a rough cross being put up to mark the spot, and a deep cross cut made in the two nearest trees so that, even if the cross were overthrown, the place of the burial might be found afterwards, if necessary. Then the corps marched on again.

The first use which the lieutenant made of his authority—even before giving directions for the burial—was to order the cords of the prisoners to be cut. Then the corps continued its march and, by the brightened faces of the men, it could be seen easily enough how unpopular their late commander had been; and that they cherished but slight animosity against the slayer. In a short time they struck up one of their marching songs and—prisoners as they were—the Barclays could not but admire the steady, martial bearing of the men, as they strode along, making the woods echo with the deep chorus.

In three hours' march they reached the village which the troops had left, the evening before, to surprise the franc tireurs; having, as Ralph had learned from the lieutenant in command, received information from a spy of their arrival at the village, late at night; and having started at once, under his guidance.

Here a considerable German force was assembled. The prisoners were not unkindly treated; but Tim Doyle was, of course, separated from them. Some astonishment was expressed at their youth; but it was assumed that they had been pupils at Saint Cyr or the Polytechnic, many of whom received commissions owing to the impossibility of finding officers for the immense new levies. Several of the officers came in to chat with them and, as these had been also engaged in the fights, ten days before, there were many questions to ask, upon either side.

The boys learned that they would be sent on, next day; would be marched to Luneville, and sent thence by train.

"They are a fine set of fellows," Ralph said, when their last visitor had left them. "Good officers, unquestionably; and when they are nice, capital fellows. I can't make out why they should be so brutal, as soldiers; for they are undoubtedly a kindly race."

"No doubt," Percy said, but he was thinking of other matters, and not paying much attention to his brother.

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

"Oh, we shall escape, fast enough," Ralph answered, confidently. "With our knowledge of German, and looking so young, there can be no great difficulty about it, when we once get to the end of our journey; but it's no use our thinking about it, at present. We shall be a good deal too closely looked after. I only hope they will send us to Mayence, or Coblentz; and not to one of the fortresses at the other end of Germany.

"Mind, we must not give our parole."

The next day, when they were summoned to start, they found that there were fifty or sixty other prisoners who had been brought in, from other directions. Some belonged to line regiments; but the greater portion, by far, were Mobiles who, in the retreat of General Cambriels, had been cut off or left behind and, after hiding in the woods for some days, were being gradually found and brought in. The Barclays were the only officers. They therefore took their places at the head of the prisoners; who formed, four deep—with an escort of Uhlans—and set off on their march.

It was four days' march. The weather was cold and clear, and the Barclays were but little fatigued when they marched into Luneville. The greater part of the prisoners were, however, in a pitiable condition. Some were so footsore that they could hardly put one foot before the other. Others tottered with fatigue, and the men of the escort frequently used the flats of their swords, to compel them to keep together. As they marched through the streets of Luneville, the people in the streets uncovered; and the women waved their hands to them, and pressed forward and offered them fruit and bread, in spite of the orders of the escort.

They were taken straight to the railway station, where they were put into a shed. Ralph and Percy had gained the goodwill of the sergeant in command of the escort, by the manner in which they had aided him by interpreting to the rest of the prisoners, and by doing their best to cheer them up, and take things smooth; and they now asked him to request the officer in command, at the railway station, to allow them to walk about until the train started, on parole. The request was—upon the favorable report of the sergeant—granted at once; and they were told that no train would go off until next morning, and that they might sleep in the town, if they chose.

Thanking the officer for the permission, they went out of the station; when a tall, big-bearded German sergeant stopped before them.

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

The boys gave a little start; for they recognized, at once, the sergeant who had so closely questioned them in the cabaret, upon the night when they had carried off and hung the schoolmaster. Ralph saw, at once, the importance of conciliating the man; as a report from him of the circumstances might render their position a most unpleasant one and—even in the event of nothing worse coming of it—would almost ensure their captivity in some prison upon the farther side of Prussia, instead of at one of the frontier fortresses.

"Ah, sergeant, how are you?" he said, gaily. "It is our fate, you see, to be made prisoners. You were very nearly taking us, and now here we are."

"A nice trick you played me," the sergeant said, surlily, "with your woodcutters, and your lame brother, and your sick sister, and your cask of beer. I got a nice reprimand over that affair."

"Come, sergeant," Ralph said, laughing, "let bygones be bygones. All is fair in war, you know, and we did not touch a single hair of any of your men's heads. All we wanted was the schoolmaster. It would not do you any good to talk about it, now, and it might do us harm. It's quite bad enough for us, as it is."

"You're nice boys, you are," the sergeant said, with his face relaxing into a smile. "To think of my being taken in, by two lads like you. Well, you did it well—monstrously well, I will say—for you never flinched an eyelash.

"So you are officers, after all. I never suspected anything about it, till three hours afterwards, when we went to relieve the sentry; and found him lying there, tied up like a bundle. We couldn't think, even then, what it meant, for you had made no attack; and it wasn't till morning that we found that the old schoolmaster had been fetched out of bed, and carried off on the heads of twenty men.

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

"That's right, sergeant. Now come and have a jug of beer with us; you know, we had one with you, before. Don't you remember, we drank to the health of King William? If you like, you shall return the pledge, by drinking to Napoleon."

The sergeant laughed.

"I'll do that," he said. "You said, if you remember, when I proposed the king, that you did not wish to hear of his death; and I can say the same for your Napoleon. Especially," he added with a chuckle, "as he's our prisoner."

The boys went into a cabaret near, and drank a glass of beer with the sergeant; and then—saying "Goodbye," very heartily—left him, and went into the town; well pleased to have got so well out of a scrape which might have been a very unpleasant one.

They slept at a hotel, and were down at the station at the appointed time. It was a long journey—thirty-six hours—to Mayence. But the boys were too pleased—when they saw the line that the train was following—to have cared, had it been twice as far. The difficulties of escape from the western fortresses would have been immense; whereas, at Mayence, they were comparatively close to the frontier. At Mayence, too, the position of the prisoners was comfortable. They were allowed to live anywhere in the town, and to take their meals when they chose. They were obliged, twice a day, to answer at the muster roll; and were not, of course, allowed to go outside the fortifications.

The one drawback, to the position of the French officers, was the utterly insufficient sum which the Prussian Government allowed them for board and lodging—only forty-five francs a month; that is to say, fifteen pence a day. It is needless to say that the officers who had nothing else to depend upon literally starved, upon this pittance; which was the more inexcusable that the French Government allowed more than twice this sum to the German officers who were taken prisoners.

Upon this head, however, the boys had no discomfort. They had plenty of money in their pockets, for present uses; and they knew that they could obtain further supplies by writing home, via Switzerland. They were, therefore, unaffectedly glad when the train came to a stop at the station of Mayence, and the order was given for all to alight.



Chapter 13: The Escape.

The first thing that the Barclays did, after reporting themselves, was to settle themselves in a lodging—no very easy thing to find, for the town was crowded with troops, and prisoners. However, as they were able to pay a higher sum than the great majority of French officers, in their position, they had no very great difficulty in finding a place to suit them. The rooms were purposely taken in a large house, with a staircase common to a number of families living on different floors; so that anyone going in or out would be less likely to be noticed than in a smaller house. They were also careful in choosing rooms so placed that they could go in and out of the door on to the staircase, without being noticed by the people with whom they lodged.

Ralph's arm was now extremely painful, the long march having inflamed the wound. He had, therefore, on reporting himself, begged that a surgeon might attend him; and had also asked, as a great favor, that his servant—the hussar Doyle—might be allowed to remain with him; stating that, in that case, he would pay for his lodgings and provide him with food. As the prison in which the private soldiers were confined was, at the time, crowded; the request was complied with.

For the next week Ralph suffered greatly with his arm, and had to keep his room. After that the inflammation subsided; and in another fortnight he was able to dispense, for the first time since he received his wound, with a sling. In the meantime he had made the acquaintance of the people with whom he lodged; who were very kind to their wounded lodger, and whose hearts he completely won by being able to chat to them in their native tongue, like one of themselves. The family consisted of a father, who was away all day at the railway station, where he was a clerk; the mother, a garrulous old woman; and a daughter, a pretty blue-eyed girl of about Ralph's age, who assisted her mother to wait upon them. She had a lover, away as a soldier in the army besieging Paris; and the thought that he might be wounded, or taken prisoner, made her very pitiful to the young officers.

Ralph Barclay had—for some days—been intending to sound her as to her willingness to aid them when she, herself, began it one day. She had cleared away their dinner, and was standing—as she often did—talking with them, when she lowered her voice, so as not to be overheard by her mother in the next room:

"I wonder you don't try to get away. Lots of French officers have done so."

"That is just what we are thinking of, Christine. We have only been waiting till my arm was out of a sling, and we want you to help us."

"How can I help you?" the girl asked.

"In the first place, you can buy us clothes. It would excite suspicion if we were to buy them, ourselves. Percy and I were thinking of going as girls—not pretty girls, of course, like you, Christine—but great, rough peasant girls."

Christine laughed, and colored

"You would be too tall," she said.

"We should be rather tall," Ralph said, ruefully. "We have grown so horribly, in the last few months. Still, some women are as tall as we are."

"Yes, some women are," Christine said, "but men look after them and say, 'What big, gawky women!' and you don't want to be looked after. If people did so, they would see that you didn't walk one bit like a woman, and that your shoulders were very wide, and your arms very strong, and—

"Oh no! It wouldn't do at all. I must think it over.

"I suppose you want that great blue-coated bear to go?" and she nodded at Tim Doyle who—not being able to speak a word of her language—was always indulging in the most absurd pantomime of love and devotion; causing screams of laughter to the merry German girl.

"Yes, Tim must go too, Christine."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the girl. "Fancy him as a woman."

"What is she saying about me, Mister Percy?"

"She says you would make a very pretty woman, Tim."

"Tare and ages, Mister Percy," Tim said, taking it quite seriously, "how could I do it, at all? I'd have to shave off all my beautiful beard and mustaches and, even then, I doubt if you would mistake me for a woman."

The boys screamed with laughter, and translated the Irishman's speech to Christine; who laughed so that her mother came into the room.

"Look here, children," she said, smiling, "I don't want to know what you are talking about. If anything of any sort happens, I may be asked questions; and I don't want to have to tell stories. I can't help hearing, if you leave the door open, and laugh so—indeed, all the neighborhood might hear it; so please shut the door, in future."

So saying, she again went back to her work in the next room.

"Goodbye, I'm going, too," Christine said. "I will think it over, by tomorrow morning, and tell you what you are to do."

The next morning, the boys were very anxious to hear Christine's proposals; for although they had quite made up their minds to try their own plan, if hers was not feasible, still they felt that, with her knowledge of the country, she was likely, at any rate, to give them good advice.

Until she had cleared away breakfast, Christine said nothing. Then she took out her knitting, and sat against the window.

"Now," she began, "I will tell you what I have thought of. It would be easy enough, if it was not for him. He's so big, and so red, and he doesn't speak German.

"Oh dear, he's very tiresome!" and she shook her head at Tim; who smiled, laid his hand on his breast, and endeavored to look affecting.

Christine laughed.

"The only thing I can think of, for him, is that he shall go out as a Jew peddler; with one of their broad hats, and a tray of little trinkets. He might pass, if none of the soldiers took it into their heads to buy."

The proposition was translated to Tim Doyle.

"Is it me, your honor—me, Tim Doyle, a good Catholic, and come of honest people—that's to turn myself into a haythin Jew?" the Irishman burst out, with great indignation. "It was bad enough that I should be made into a woman, but a haythin Jew! I put it to your honors, it's nayther sinsible nor dacent."

The boys went off in screams of laughter. Christine laughed for a moment, too, when they translated Tim's speech to her; and then looked indignant that the proposition, which had cost her so much thought, should be so scornfully rejected.

Tim saw the look, and at once went on, persuasively:

"Sure now, darlint Miss Christine, don't be angry wid me, out of your bright blue eyes! But is it raisonable—is it natural to ask a Christian man to make a haythin Jew of himself? Would you like it, yourself?"

When the boys could stop laughing, they translated Tim's appeal.

"Did you ever see such an absurd man?" she said, laughing. "As if it could make any difference to his religion. Tell him I am a good Catholic, too, but I should not mind dressing up as a Jewess."

"Sure, thin, darlint," Tim exclaimed, when her speech was translated, "I will go as a Jew, directly, if you'll go with me and be my Jewess."

Christine laughed, blushed, shook her head and said, "Nonsense!" upon hearing Tim's proposition.

"But seriously, Christine," Ralph said, "the objection which you mention to the Jew pedlar's disguise is important. Full as the streets are of soldiers looking about, he could hardly hope to go from here through the streets, and out at the gate, without someone asking him about the contents of his box."

Christine allowed—a little pettishly, at the failure of her plan—that it certainly was likely.

"The real difficulty is to get outside the gate," Ralph said, thoughtfully. "After that, I should have no fear."

"What are you thinking of doing, then?" Christine asked.

"I was thinking of dressing Percy, and myself, in the clothes of young peasants; and putting Tim into something of the same sort, with a great bandage round his face. Then I should say that we were two lads, from some place near the frontier, who had come here to meet our uncle; who had had his jaw shattered, in battle. That would explain Tim's not being able to talk at all; and as to looks, he is red enough for a German, anywhere."

"Yes," Christine said, "that would do, very well; but of course, you would be liable to be asked for papers."

"Of course," Ralph said, "but we must risk something."

"I have an idea," Christine said, suddenly, clapping her hands. "I have some cousins living at Wiesbaden. These are three boys, and I am sure they would do anything for me. I will go out to Wiesbaden, tomorrow, and ask them to lend me their papers, just for one day. Wiesbaden is not your way, at all; but for that very reason you would get out more easily there, and be less likely to be suspected, or followed. You could cross the Rhine somewhere near Saint Goar.

"I shall have to tell some sad stories to my cousins, and coax them a great deal. Still, I daresay I shall succeed; and then you can go boldly across the bridge, and into the railway station, and take a ticket for Wiesbaden. You can have an envelope, ready directed, and put the papers into the post there."

"The very thing, Christine. You are a darling!" Ralph exclaimed, catching her by the waist and kissing her, before she had time to think of resistance.

"I shan't do anything at all for you," Christine said, laughing and blushing, "if you misbehave in that way."

"I couldn't help it, Christine—not even if your mother had been looking on.

"And now, about our clothes."

"I couldn't buy them," Christine said. "I never could go into a shop and buy men's clothes."

The thing was so evident that, for a moment, the boys' looks fell. Then Christine said, coloring very much:

"There is a box, in my room, of Karl's things. He is my cousin, you know; and he was working as a gardener, here, till he had to go out in the Landwehr—so, of course, he left his things here, for us to take care of. He is about your size. I will take out one suit—it won't hurt it—and you can put it on, and go out into the town, and buy the things for all three of you."

"Capital!" the boys exclaimed. "It couldn't be better."

Ten minutes afterwards, Ralph went down the stairs and out into the street, dressed as a German laborer in his best suit. He was a little uneasy, at first; but no one noticed him, and he was soon in a shop, haggling over the price of a peasant's coat—as if the matter of a thaler, one way or other, was a thing of vital importance to him. He bought the three suits at three different shops—as he thought that it would look suspicious, if he were to get them all at the same—and in an hour was back again. An hour afterwards, Christine started for Wiesbaden.

The Barclays had reason to congratulate themselves that they had not longer deferred their preparations for escape; for when presenting themselves, as usual, that afternoon at the roll call, they were told that they must hold themselves in readiness to leave for one of the eastern fortresses, upon the following evening; as another large batch of prisoners, from Metz, was expected to arrive upon the following day.

In the evening, Christine returned from Wiesbaden; which is distant only a quarter of an hour, by rail, from Mayence.

"I have got them," she said, "but if you only knew the trouble I have had! What a bother boys are, to be sure!"

"Especially cousins—eh, Christine?"

"Especially cousins," Christine said, demurely.

After thanking her very warmly for her kindness, the Barclays started out, and bought a variety of things which they thought might be useful. They also bought a pretty gold watch and chain, to give to Christine as a parting present.

The next morning they answered, as usual, to their early roll call; and then, returning at once to their lodgings, changed their clothes for those which Ralph had purchased. It was agreed that they should not say goodbye to Christine's mother; in order that, whatever she might suspect, she might be able to say that she knew nothing of any idea, on the part of her lodgers, to make their escape. Then Christine herself came in, to say goodbye; and went half wild with delight, at the present. Then she said goodbye, kissed the boys—without any affectation of objecting to it—and then went to a window, to watch if they went safely down the street.

The boys had no uneasiness, whatever, upon their own account—for they had before passed so easily, among the Prussian troops, that they felt quite confident in their disguise—but they were uncomfortable as to Tim, whose inability to answer questions would have at once betrayed them, had anyone addressed him. They had not ventured to bandage up his face, as if wounded; as he would have naturally, in that case, had a military pass. As the best thing they could think of, they had shoved a large lump of cotton into one of his cheeks—which gave him the appearance of having a swelled face—and had instructed him to frequently put his hand up to it, as if in great pain. Tim had plenty of shrewdness, and acted his part admirably.

They passed across the bridge of boats, without question; and into the railway station, which is just opposite its end. Here soldiers and other officials swarmed; but the three walked along carelessly, the two boys chatting together in German, Tim walking with his hand up to his face, and giving an occasional stamp of pain. He sat down with Percy on a seat in the station, while Ralph went to the little window where tickets were being delivered. There were a good many people waiting and, when it came to Ralph's turn, and he put the papers in at the window, and asked for three third-class tickets to Wiesbaden, the clerk scarcely glanced at them; but handed the tickets over, without a question.

They then went into the third-class waiting room, and sat down. There were a good many peasants, and others there; and when the doors opened for them to go on to the platform, and enter the carriages, they saw it was hopeless to try and get a carriage to themselves. They did, therefore, the best they could; putting Tim next to the window, while Percy sat next to, and Ralph opposite to him. The rest of the compartment was filled with country people.

"He seems in great pain," a good-natured peasant woman said, to Ralph; as Tim rocked himself backwards and forwards, in his anguish.

"Yes, he is very bad," Ralph said.

"Toothache?" asked the woman.

"Worse than that," Ralph said, gravely, "an abscess in the jaw. He has just been to the hospital."

"Poor fellow!" the woman said. "Why does he not poultice it?

"I should advise you to poultice," she said, addressing Tim.

Tim gave a grunt—which might have meant anything—and Ralph said, in a whisper:

"Don't talk to him. Poor uncle, he is so bad tempered, now, it puts him in a rage if anyone speaks to him; because it hurts him so, to answer. At ordinary times, he is very good tempered; but now, oh!" and Ralph made a little pantomime, to express the extreme badness of Tim's temper.

"You are not of Wiesbaden, are you?" the woman asked. "I do not know you by sight."

"No," Ralph said; "we are from Holzhausen, a village some eight miles upon the other side of Wiesbaden."

"Ah!" the woman said, "I have a sister living there; surely you must know her. She is the wife of Klopstock, the carpenter."

"Surely," Ralph said, "she is my neighbor; everyone knows her. She is very like you."

"Well now, you are the first person who has ever said that," the woman said, surprised. "I am so short, and she is so tall."

"Yes, she is tall—very tall," Ralph said, very gravely; "but there is something about the expression of your eyes which reminds me of Mrs. Klopstock.

"Yes, the more I look at you, the more I see it," and Ralph looked so earnestly, at the woman, that Percy had the greatest difficulty in preventing himself going off into a shout of laughter.

"I wonder I have never seen you, at Holzhausen," Ralph continued.

"Well," the woman said, "it is years since I have been there. You see, it is a long way, and my sister often comes into Wiesbaden, and I see her; but in truth, her husband and I don't get on very well together. You know his temper is—" and she lifted up her hands.

"Yes, indeed," Ralph said. "His temper is, as you say, terrible. Between ourselves, it is so well known that we have a saying, 'As bad tempered as Klopstock the carpenter.' One can't say more than that—

"But we are at Wiesbaden. Good morning."

"Good morning. I hope your uncle's tooth will be better, ere long."

"I hope so, indeed, for all our sakes," Ralph said. "He is as bad as Klopstock, at present."

So saying, they got out of the train and walked into the town. When they had separated from the crowd, Percy could restrain himself no longer, and went off into a scream of laughter.

"What is it, Mister Percy?" Tim asked, opening his lips for the first time since they had left the house.

"Oh, Tim, if you had but heard!" Percy said, when he recovered his voice. "Do you know you are as bad tempered as Klopstock, the carpenter?"

"Sure, I never heard tell of him, Mister Percy; and if I have been bad tempered, I haven't said much about it; and if the carpenter had a wad of cotton as big as a cricket ball in one cheek, as I have, it's small blame to him if he was out of temper."

Both the boys laughed, this time; and then Ralph explained the whole matter to Tim, who laughed more heartily than either of them.

"Which way shall we go, Ralph?"

"I looked at the map, the last thing before starting, Percy; and I noticed that the road went out past the gambling place. I dare not take out the map again, to look at the plan of the town—it would look too suspicious—so let us wander about, till we find the place. It has large grounds, so we cannot miss it."

They were not long in finding the place they were looking for. There was no mistaking it; with its long arcades leading up to the handsome conversation rooms, its piece of water, and its beautifully laid-out grounds.

"I should like to go in, and have a look at it," Percy said. "I can hear the band playing, now."

"So should I," Ralph said, "but time is too precious. They will find out at the muster, this afternoon, that we are missing and, as we answered this morning, they will know that we cannot have got far. We had better put as many miles between us as we can.

"First of all, though, let us put those papers Christine got us into the envelope, and drop them into that post box. We should not do badly, either, to buy three dark-colored blankets before we start. It is terribly cold; and we shall want them, at night."

They therefore turned up into the town again; and then Ralph separated from the others, and went in and bought the blankets. Ten minutes later they were walking along, at a steady pace, from the town. Each carried a stick. The boys carried theirs upon their shoulder; with a bundle, containing a change of clothes and other articles, slung upon it. Tim carried his bundle in one hand, and walked using his stick in the other. When a short distance out of the town, they stopped in a retired place; and put some strips of plaster upon Tim's cheeks, and wrapped up his face with a white bandage. It was, as he said, "mighty uncomfortable," but as he was now able to dispense with the ball of cotton in his mouth, he did not so much mind it.

The day was bitterly cold, for it was now the beginning of the second week of November; but the party strode on, full of the consciousness of freedom. They met but few people, upon their way; and merely exchanged a brief good day with those they did meet. They had brought some bread and cold meat with them, from Mayence; and therefore had no need to go into any shops, at the villages they passed.

They did not dare to sleep in a house, as it was certain that some official would inquire for their papers; and therefore, when it became dark, they turned off from the road and made for a wood, at a short distance from it. Here they ate their supper, laid a blanket on the ground, put the bundles down for pillows, and lay down close together, putting the other two blankets over them.

"It's mighty cold," Tim said, "but we might be worse."

"It's better than a prison in Pomerania, by a long way," Ralph answered. "By the look of the sky, and the dropping of the wind, I think we shall have snow before morning."

At daybreak, next morning, they were up; but it was some little time before they could start, so stiffened were their limbs with the cold. Ralph's prognostication as to the weather had turned out right, and a white coating of snow lay over the country. They now set off and walked, for an hour, when they arrived at a large village. Here it was agreed they should go in, and buy something to eat. They entered the ale house, and called for bread, cheese, and beer.

The landlord brought it and, as they expected, entered into conversation with them. After the first remarks—on the sharpness of the weather—Ralph produced a tin of portable soup, and asked the landlord if he would have it heated, for their uncle.

"He cannot, as you see, eat solid food," Ralph said; "He had his jaw broken by a shell, at Woerth."

"Poor fellow!" the landlord said, hastening away with the soup.

"Are you going far?" he asked, on his return.

"To Saint Goar," Ralph said.

"But why does he walk?" the landlord asked. "He could have been sent home, by train."

"Of course he could," Ralph said. "We walked over to see him, and intended to have walked back again; but when the time came for us to start, he said he would come, too. The surgeon said he was not fit to go. Uncle had made up his mind to be off and, as the surgeon would not give him an order, he started to walk. He says it does not hurt him so much as the jolting of the train, and we shall be home to breakfast."

An hour later they arrived at Saint Goarshaus. They were now quite out of the track which prisoners escaping from Mayence would be likely to take, and had not the slightest difficulty in getting a boat to cross the Rhine.

"How beautiful the river is, here," Percy said.

"Yes it is, indeed," Ralph answered. "I believe that this is considered one of the most lovely spots on the whole river. I can't say that I think that that railway, opposite, improves it."

They landed at Saint Goar, and tramped gaily on to Castellan, and slept in a barn near that village.

The next morning they were off before daybreak and, eight miles farther, crossed the Moselle at Zell. They left the road before they arrived at Alf; for they were now approaching the great road between Coblentz and the south, and might come upon bodies of troops upon the march, or halting; and might be asked troublesome questions. They therefore struck upon a country lane and, keeping among the hills, crossed the main road between Bertrich and Wittlech; and slept in a copse, near Dudeldf. They had walked five-and-thirty miles, and were so dead beat that even the cold did not keep them awake.

Next morning they got a fresh supply of bread and cheese, at a tiny village between Dudeldf and Bittburg and, leaving the latter place to the left, made straight for the frontier, across the hills. The road to the frontier ran through Bittburg; but they were afraid of keeping to it, as there were sure to be troops at the frontier. Several times they lost their way; but the pocket compass and map, which they had brought with them, stood them in good stead and, late in the evening, they arrived at the stream which forms the frontier. It was, fortunately, very low; for the cold had frozen up its sources. They had, therefore, little difficulty in crossing and, tired as they were, gave a cheer upon finding themselves in Luxembourg.

They tramped along merrily, until they came to a cottage; where they boldly entered, and were received with the greatest kindness, and hospitality. The Luxembourg people at once feared and hated Prussia, and were delighted to do anything in their power for the escaped prisoners. The peasant made a blazing fire, and some hot coffee; and the tired travelers felt what a blessing it was to sit down without listening, every moment, for the step of an enemy.

The peasants told them, however, that they were not yet altogether safe for that, owing to the complaints of Prussia, both the Dutch and Belgian Governments were arresting, and detaining, escaped prisoners passing through their territories. After some discussion the boys agreed that, next morning, they should dress themselves in the change of clothes they had brought—which were ordinary shooting suits—and should leave their other clothes behind; and then walk as far as Spa, twenty miles to the north. They would excite no suspicion in the minds of anyone who saw them arrive; as they would merely be taken for three Englishmen, staying at one of the numerous hotels there, returning from a walk. Their feet however were so much swollen, the next morning, that they were glad to remain another day quiet in the cottage; and the following day they started, and walked gaily into Spa.

After strolling about the place, some time, they went to the railway station at the time the evening train started for Brussels; asked for tickets—in very English French—and, at eleven o'clock at night, entered Brussels. Here their troubles were over. A good night's rest, in a good hotel, completely set them up again and, the next morning, they left by train for Dunkirk.

There they reported themselves to the French officer in command; and received permission to go on board a Government steamer which was to leave, the next morning, for Cherbourg.



Chapter 14: A Perilous Expedition.

Upon the eleventh of November the boys arrived at Tours. They had started for that place, as the national headquarters, the moment they arrived at Cherbourg. At Tours men's hopes were high for, a week before, Aurelles de Paladine had driven back Von der Tann, and reoccupied Orleans. Every hour fresh troops were arriving, and passing forwards. The town was literally thronged with soldiers, of all sorts: batteries of artillery, regiments of cavalry, squadrons of Arab Spahis—looking strangely out of place in their white robes, and unmoved countenance, in this scene of European warfare—franc tireurs, in every possible variety of absurd and unsuitable uniform.

In all this din and confusion, the young Barclays felt quite bewildered. The first thing was, evidently, to get new uniforms; then to report themselves. There was no difficulty about the former matter, for every tailor in Tours had, for the time being, turned military outfitter and, by dint of offering to pay extra, their uniforms were promised for the next morning. That matter settled, they determined to go at once to the Prefecture, and report themselves.

As they turned out of the crowded Rue Royal, they received two hearty slaps on the shoulder, which almost knocked them down; while a hearty voice exclaimed:

"My dear boys, I am glad to see you!"

They looked round and—to their astonishment and delight—saw Colonel Tempe. For a minute or two, the hand shakings and greetings were so hearty that no questions could be asked.

"I thought a German prison would not hold you long, boys," the colonel said. "I saw your father, as I came through Dijon; and I said to him that I should be surprised if you did not turn up soon, especially when I heard from him that you were at Mayence, only two days' tramp from the frontier."

"But what are you doing here, colonel?"

"Just at present, I am working at headquarters. Between ourselves, the army of the east is coming round to join Aurelles. Our poor fellows were pretty nearly used up, and I found that I could do little real good with the other corps. So I gave up the command; and was sent here to confer with Gambetta, and he has kept me.

"Now, what are you going to do?"

"We were going to report ourselves, colonel."

"No use going today—too late. Come and dine with me, at the Bordeaux. Have you got rooms?"

"Not yet, colonel."

"Then I can tell you you won't get them, at all. The place is crowded—not a bed to be had, for love or money. I've got rooms, by the greatest good luck. One of you can have the sofa; the other an armchair, or the hearth rug, whichever suits you best."

"Thank you, very much; we shall do capitally," the boys said.

"And now, have you any news from Paris?"

"We have no late news from Paris but, worse still, the news gets very slowly and irregularly into Paris. The pigeons seem to get bewildered with the snow, or else the Prussians shoot them."

"But surely, with such an immense circle to guard, there could be no great difficulty in a messenger finding his way in?"

"There is a difficulty, and a very great one," Colonel Tempe said; "for of all who have tried, only one or two have succeeded. Now come along, or we shall be late for dinner."

It was a curious medley at the table d'hote, at the Hotel de Bordeaux. Generals, with their breasts covered with orders, and simple franc tireurs; officers, of every arm of the service; ministers and members of the late Corps Legislatif; an American gentleman, with his family; English newspaper correspondents; army contractors; and families, refugees from Paris. After dinner they went to a cafe—literally crowded with officers—and thence to Colonel Tempe's rooms, where they sat down quietly, to chat over what had taken place since the last visit.

"But where is your Irishman? Your father told me he was with you. I suppose you could not get him out."

"Oh yes, Tim's here," Ralph said, laughing, "but he ran across a couple of Irishmen belonging to the foreign legion and—as he would have been in our way, and we did not know where we were going to sleep—we gave him leave till to-morrow morning, when he is to meet us in front of the railway station."

"By the way, boys, I suppose you know you have each got a step?"

"No," the boys cried. "Really?"

"Yes, really," the colonel said. "That good fellow, Cambriels, sent in a strong report in your favor upon resigning his command; rehearsing what you did with us, and requesting that the step might be at once given to you. As a matter of course it was, in the next Gazette."

"Of course, we feel pleased, colonel; but it seems absurd, so young as we are. Why, if we go on like this, in another six months we may be majors."

"In ordinary times it would be absurd, lads; and it would not be possible for you to hold the grade you do now—still less higher ones—unless you understood thoroughly your duty. At the present moment, everything is exceptional. A man who, perhaps, only served a few months in the army, years ago, is made a general, and sent to organize a camp of new levies. Of course, he could not command these troops in the field, could not even drill them on the parade ground. But that is of no matter. He has a talent for organization, and therefore is selected to organize the camp and, to enable him to do so efficiently, he receives the nominal rank of general.

"In ordinary times a man could not get promoted—three or even four times, in as many weeks—over the heads of hundreds of others, without causing an immense amount of jealousy; without, in fact, upsetting the whole traditions of the army.

"Now, it is altogether different. The officers of the regular army are almost all prisoners. Everyone is new, everyone is unaccustomed to his work; and men who show themselves to be good men can be rewarded and promoted with exceptional rapidity, without exciting any feeling of jealousy, whatever. Besides which, the whole thing is provisional. When the war is over, everyone will either go back into private life or, if they continue to serve, will be gazetted into the regular army, according to some scale or other to be hereafter determined upon. Some inconveniences no doubt will arise, but they will hardly be serious.

"I was offered a general's rank, a month ago; but I declined it, as it would have entailed either my undertaking duties for which I am unfit; or setting to, to organize young levies, and giving up active service.

"No, if you go on as you have hitherto done, boys, you may be colonels in another six months; for when a name is recommended for promotion for good service, by a general, you may well suppose there is no question asked as to his age. Of course, no general would recommend you as captains to command companies in a regiment, because you are altogether ignorant of a captain's duty; but you are quite capable of filling the duties of captain, on the staff, as those duties require only clear headedness, pluck, attention, and common sense.

"What I should like to win, even more than a company—were I in your place—would be a commander's cross in the legion of honor. I had the cross, years ago; but I only had the commander's cross a fortnight ago, for the Bridge of Vesouze."

"Ah, yes," Ralph said, "that would be worth winning, but that is hopeless."

Colonel Tempe was silent. Ralph and Percy looked at him.

"You mean," Ralph said, after a pause, "that there is a chance of our winning it."

"Well, boys," Colonel Tempe said, "I don't know that I am right in leading you into danger, but I do think that you might win it. I was mentioning your names, only yesterday, to Gambetta. A dispatch had just come in from Paris, grumbling at receiving no news from the country; and Gambetta was lamenting over the impossibility of arranging for simultaneous movements, owing to the breakdown of the pigeons, and the failure of the messengers; when I said:

"'There were two young English fellows with us, in the Vosges—they were on Cambriels' staff last, and are now prisoners—who if they were here would, I believe, get in if anyone could. They went down, over and over again, among the Germans; and I could lay any money that they would succeed.'

"'How did they get taken prisoners?' Gambetta asked, as sharp as a knife.

"'By no fault of their own,' I answered. 'They went out on leave, to see me; and slept with a party of franc tireurs—where they of course had no authority, as to sentries—and the party was surprised, at night, and completely cut up. They were taken prisoners, but I do not expect that they will remain so for long.'

"Gambetta did not say anything, then; but when I left him, an hour afterwards, he remarked:

"'If you hear of those young fellows you were speaking of having returned, send them to me, Tempe.'"

Ralph looked at Percy, and checked the offer to go which he saw was on his brother's lips.

"I think it might be done, colonel," he said, quietly; "but it is a serious matter, and we will think it over, before we give an opinion."

Ralph then changed the subject, and they talked over the events which had happened in the Vosges, the strategy and maneuvers of General Michel, the arrival of Garibaldi, the doings of the franc tireurs, etc.

"By the way," the colonel said, "there was a telegram in, this evening—just as I left the office—that the Germans occupied Dijon, yesterday."

"You don't say so!" the boys said, jumping from their seats. "Was there any fighting?"

"Yes, some Mobiles and franc tireurs made a very plucky defense, outside the town. Owing to some gross mismanagement, the great bulk of the troops had been withdrawn, only the day before. After two or three hours' fighting, our men fell back; the Prussians, as usual, shelled the town; and the authorities surrendered."

"The fighting could not have been our side of the town," Ralph said, thoughtfully.

"No, just the other side," Colonel Tempe said. "As my wife is still at home, and our place is not many hundred yards from yours, that was the first thing I thought of."

"I wonder if papa was in the fight?" Percy said, anxiously.

"I should think it probable, boys, that my old friend would have gone out; but I do not think that you need be uneasy about it for, from what the telegram said, our loss was small. The troops fell back into the town, and retreated unmolested through it. So your father would, no doubt, have changed his things in the town, and have walked quietly back again.

"He had volunteered into the national guard, when I came last through Dijon; and was hard at work, drilling them. Of course, he had his old rank of captain."

At ten o'clock the boys said that they would go for a stroll, before lying down for the night. They were out upwards of an hour; and returned, at the end of that time, with serious but resolved faces. The colonel was out, when they returned; and found them stretched on the sofa and hearth rug, when he came in. They gave him a sleepy good night, and no other word was exchanged.

In the morning, they were up at eight o'clock. Colonel Tempe was already dressed, and they went out together to get their coffee and milk. As they were taking it, Ralph told him that they had made up their minds to make the attempt to enter Paris, with dispatches; but that they saw but one way to do so; and that, unless they could be furnished with the necessary papers, they should abandon all idea of the enterprise.

Ten minutes later, they entered the Prefecture. Colonel Tempe went in at once to see Gambetta, while the boys remained in the anteroom. In ten minutes their friend came out again, and beckoned to them to come into the next room.

"These are the Lieutenants Barclay," he said.

The boys bowed; and examined, with attentive curiosity, the man who was, at that time, the absolute ruler of France. A dark man; with a short black beard, keen eyes, and a look of self reliance and energy. A man who committed endless mistakes, but who was the life and soul of the French resistance. A man to whom—had he lived in olden times—the Romans would have erected a statue because, in her deepest misfortunes, he never despaired of the Republic.

He looked keenly at the young men.

"Colonel Tempe tells me that you have rendered very great service, by going among the enemy in disguise; and that you are willing to make an attempt to carry dispatches into Paris."

"We are ready to try," Ralph said, respectfully; "but after talking it over in every way, we can see but one disguise which would enable us to penetrate the enemy's lines, near enough to the ground between the two armies to render an attempt possible; and even that disguise will be useless, unless we can procure certain papers."

"What is your plan?" Monsieur Gambetta asked.

"We intend to go as German Jews," Ralph said. "The Prussians strip all the clocks, pictures, and furniture of any value from the villas they occupy, and send them back to Germany. There are a number of Jews who follow the army; and either buy these stolen goods from them, or undertake to convey them back to Germany at a certain price. Several of these Jews—with their wagons full of clocks, and other articles—have been captured by our franc tireurs or troops and, no doubt, papers of some kind have been found upon them. These papers would naturally be sent here. If we could be provided with them we could, I have little doubt, penetrate their lines."

"An excellent idea," the minister said. "I have no doubt that we have such papers."

And he struck a small hand bell on the table. An attendant entered.

"Tell Captain Verre I wish to speak to him."

"Captain Verre," he said, when that officer entered, "there were some papers came last week, from General Faidherbe, relative to those wagons—laden with clocks, ladies' dresses, and so on—that were captured near Mezieres. Just look through them, and see if there were any German permits for the bearers to pass freely, for the purpose of trading. If so, let me have them at once."

The officer at once left the room.

"Supposing—as I have no doubt—that we can give you the papers, what is your course?"

"Speed is, naturally, an essential," Ralph said. "We shall disguise ourselves at once and, upon receipt of the dispatches, start from here to Orleans by train; with two good horses—which can, of course, be furnished us. We shall ride through the forest of Orleans, and so to Montargis; cross the Loing there, and make straight for Melun—keeping always through by-lanes. As far as we know, there are no large bodies of the enemy along that line.

"When we get near the town, we shall leave our horses with some village Maire, or give them to a farmer, and walk into the place boldly. You will furnish us with a note to the Maire of Melun, as well as a circular to all French authorities, to give us any help; and we shall get him to assist us at once to buy a wagon, and two strong horses. With these we shall drive round, direct, to Versailles. Our pass will admit us into the town, without difficulty; and then we shall naturally be guided by circumstances. We must be furnished with a considerable sum of money, to make purchases of plunder."

"An admirable plan," said the minister, warmly, "and one that deserves—even should it not obtain—success.

"I need not speak to you of reward because, as gentlemen, I know that you make the attempt from the love of honor Colonel Tempe has before spoken to me of you, and you were highly commended by General Cambriels. Your names will, therefore, be in the next Gazette for the cross of the legion of honor; and if you succeed, you will come back captains and commanders of the Legion. I may mention—although I know that it will not add to your motive to succeed—that you will be entitled to the reward, of fifty thousand francs, which has been offered to anyone who will carry in dispatches to Paris."

At this moment the officer entered.

"Here are the papers the Jews with the captured wagons carried," he said. "They are signed by the general at Frankfort, and countersigned by at least a dozen military authorities. There are three of them."

The minister glanced at them.

"They will do well," he said. "Will you be ready to start tomorrow morning?"

"Quite ready," Ralph said.

"Very well. Then if you will be here at half-past five, the dispatches will be ready; written, of course, so as to fold up in the smallest possible compass.

"Captain Verre, will you see that two of the best horses in my stable are put into boxes, in the train that leaves at six tomorrow morning."

The boys now rose to leave.

"Good morning," the minister said. "All the letters of recommendation, the dispatches, and the money will be ready when you come, in the morning."

The boys, on going out, held a long consultation over their disguises. Examining the papers, they found that one was for two persons of the same name—Isaac Kraph and Aaron Kraph—father and son; the father, as described in the pass, forty-five years old, the son eighteen. This pass they determined to use.

The task of changing Percy into a Jew boy, of eighteen, was evidently an easy one. His clear complexion was the only difficulty, and this could be readily disguised. Ralph's disguise was a more difficult one; and there was a considerable debate as to whether he had better go as a red Jew, or a dark Jew. The latter was finally determined upon as, otherwise, the contrast between the supposed father and son would be too striking.

They then went to their tailor, and found their uniforms ready. They at once put them on, as the peculiarity of the purchases they intended to make was so great that, had they been in their civilian dress, it was certain that they would have been regarded with suspicion; and would have, perhaps, had difficulty in obtaining what they wanted.

Their first visit was to a hairdresser's shop. Rather to the astonishment of the proprietor, they told him that they wished to speak to him in a private room; and still more to his astonishment, when the door was closed, they told him that they wanted their hair dyed quite black. The hairdresser could hardly believe his ears. The boys had both brown, wavy hair—Percy's being the lightest—and that two young officers of the staff should, at such a time, desire to dye their hair struck the man almost dumb with astonishment.

Ralph smiled.

"No wonder you are surprised, but we have an important mission to carry out, and it is essential that we should be completely disguised. We are going as spies into Von der Tann's camp. This, of course, is in the strictest confidence."

The hairdresser was at once struck with the importance of the occasion.

"You want an instantaneous dye?" he asked.

"Certainly," Ralph said, "and one that will last, at any rate, for a week."

There was no difficulty whatever in complying with the request and, in ten minutes, the boys' heads were raven in their blackness.

"Now," Ralph said, "I want my brother's hair—which is fortunately very long—to be completely frizzled; and I want a pair of the tongs you do it with, so as to be able to do it for ourselves."

This also was easy enough.

"Now," Ralph went on, "for myself, I want my hair to be very long; to come down over my ears on to my collar, all the way round."

"But the only way to do that is to have a wig specially made for you."

"Not at all," Ralph said. "I could not put on a wig, even if you had one just as I want it, ready. The parting always shows, if it is narrowly looked at. I want some long flat bands of hair, like those you use for chignons. It must be black, to match my hair as it is now; but put a few streaks of gray into it. I must have a band of this hair, long enough to go round the head, from just above one ear to just above the other. If you part my hair, just at the place where the band is to go; brush the hair up; put the band of artificial hair on, with shoemaker's wax, or something else to hold tight; then brush the hair back again over the band, it would be absolutely impossible to see it was not all natural. Then cut the long hair so as to lie on my coat collar, frizzle it and the natural hair, and I will defy the keenest-eyed Prussian to see anything wrong about it."

As soon as the hairdresser understood exactly what Ralph wanted, he entered heartily into his plans; and several of the short flat bands of black hair, used for chignons, were sewn on to a band. This was fastened on to Ralph's head, in the way he had suggested; the long tresses were cut to the required length; the tongs were used on them, and on the natural hair; and plenty of oil put on and, in an hour, his headdress was perfect—an immense bush of frizzly hair. The cloth was taken from round his neck and, as he looked at himself in the glass, he joined heartily in Percy's shout of laughter.

"But, Ralph, how are you to go out in your uniform, and that head of hair?"

"Dear me," Ralph said, "I had quite forgotten that. Go to the tailor's, Percy, and tell them to send the suit I changed there in here, directly."

Percy went off for the clothes, and Ralph then went on:

"Now I want a black or grayish beard, whiskers, and mustache."

"I have not got such a thing," the hairdresser said, "but I know a man who keeps them. I will get it for you, in a quarter of an hour."

In a few minutes Percy returned, with a boy with Ralph's clothes. In a short time they were ready to start.

"You do look a strange object, Ralph."

"Never mind, Percy, there are plenty of strange objects here. No one will notice me."

Then saying that they would call in again in half an hour, for the beard, they went to a chemist's; from whom—after some talk—they obtained a mixture to give a slightly brown tinge to their faces.

They now dived into the back streets of the town, found a second-hand clothes shop, and speedily got the articles they required. Ralph had a long greatcoat, with a fur collar; and a pair of high boots, coming up to his knees and to be worn over the trousers. A black fur cap completed his costume. Percy had a black cap, made of rough cloth, with a peak and with flaps to come down over the ears; an old greatcoat, with fur round the pockets and collar; a bright-colored handkerchief, to go two or three times round the neck; and high boots like those of Ralph.

They then returned to the hairdresser, and Ralph insisted that the beard and mustache should be fastened on not only in the ordinary manner—with springs—but with cobbler's wax.

"My life," he said, "might depend upon the things not slipping, at any moment."

They now went home. The moment that they entered their rooms, Ralph exclaimed:

"Why, we have forgotten all about Tim!"

"So we have," Percy said. "He was to have met us in front of the railway station at nine o'clock and, of course, he has no idea where to find us. I will go there. Very likely the poor fellow is waiting still."

Percy hurried off; and found Tim, as he had expected, sitting upon the steps going up to the railway station. He jumped up, with a cry of joy, upon seeing Percy.

"The Vargin be praised, Mister Percy! I began to think that you must have been sent off somewhere, without time to warn me; and I couldn't, for the life of me, make out what to do."