So saying, he pulled the valve.

"Keep a sharp lookout, and look at the compass."

"There, there!" the boys cried, as the clouds opened again, for an instant. "It is the sea, and we are going west."

"Then we are over the Atlantic," Monsieur Teclier said.

The gas was roaring from the valve above, and the balloon sank rapidly into the stratum of clouds. For a minute, all was silent; and then a cry broke from them all. They were a considerable distance from the coast, and were driving along with great rapidity. Immediately under the balloon was an island, of no great size and, beyond that, no land whatever was visible.

"We must descend on that island, or we are lost. It is our only chance."

The valve was still open; and its influence was easily seen, for the balloon sank rapidly down through the opening of the clouds.

"We shan't be down in time," the boys exclaimed, simultaneously.

It was but too evident. The balloon, when the first general view of the situation had been obtained, was fully a mile high; and was traveling seaward at the rate of thirty miles an hour. The island, at the point at which they were crossing, was about three miles wide; but they had passed fully half a mile over it, before they obtained a fair view. In five minutes, therefore, they would be beyond the land again; and they had to fall a mile, in that time.

"Cut the balloon to pieces," Monsieur Teclier said. "Tear it up. We must risk everything."

The boys seized the silk, tore, and hacked at it; as did the aeronaut. In two minutes, a vast quantity of gas had escaped from the rents, and the silk was doubled up near the top of the net.

Illustration: The Sea! The Sea!

"That will do," Monsieur Teclier said. "We shall be down in time, now."

The boys looked over the car and, accustomed as they had been to face danger, were appalled.

"It is all up with us, this time," Ralph said; "we shall he smashed, altogether."

"No," the aeronaut exclaimed, "the silk is acting as a parachute, now, and checking the descent. Now, help me to throw out all the bundles."

They did so, working silently and with difficulty; for the car was oscillating so greatly that they were obliged to hold on, by its side, not to be thrown out. The descent was less rapid than it had been, but was still sufficiently alarming.

"Is there a chance?" Ralph said.

"We shall get off with a shaking," Monsieur Teclier said. "The car is made of wicker work, and is as elastic as a ball. Drop the grapnel, now; in another minute, we shall be within holding distance."

As the balloon neared the ground, the oscillation became less violent, and the pace diminished.

"The grapnel is on the ground," Percy said, looking over.

"Hold tight, hold tight," Monsieur Teclier said, warningly. "We shall catch fast on to those trees."

There was a tearing and rending, a series of tremendous jerks, and then a bump against the ground; which threw them all into the bottom of the car, from which the next jerk threw them out on to the ground. Fortunately the ground was even, and the soil had lately been plowed; but the shock was so violent that it was some minutes before either of the boys recovered consciousness. When they did so, they found that two or three gentlemen were leaning over them; while several peasants were endeavoring, under the direction of Monsieur Teclier, to hold the balloon—which was thrashing the ground with great violence.

"Thank God, you are all alive," one of the gentlemen said.

A peasant now came running up, with some water. The gentleman who had spoken dashed a little in their faces.

"I do not think any of your limbs are broken," he said. "Do you feel any pain?"

"I feel sore and bruised, all over," Ralph said, getting up with some assistance; "but I don't think that anything serious is the matter.

"How are you, Percy?"

"I don't think I am hurt seriously, Ralph; but I would rather lie still, for the present."

Ralph explained to the gentleman—who again leaned over Percy, and felt his pulse—that his brother had been recently ill, and was still weak.

"Ah, that accounts for it," the gentleman said. "I do not think that he is seriously hurt. I am a doctor; and was luckily out riding with these gentlemen, when we happened to look up and saw your balloon falling, like a stone, from the clouds. We thought at first that you must be dashed to pieces; but when we saw that the speed was being a little checked, we had some hope, and galloped in the direction in which it was falling. We were within five hundred yards when you fell, but we hardly expected to see anyone alive.

"Do not try to move," he said to Percy. "We sent a man for a vehicle, and a few necessaries, before we set off ourselves."

"Where have we fallen?" Ralph asked. "We were astonished to find ourselves over the sea, for the wind was north when we started."

"You have fallen upon Belle Isle," the gentleman said, "so the wind must have changed materially, since you started."

Monsieur Teclier now came up.

"I must really congratulate you both," he said to Ralph, "upon your coolness and presence of mind, in a very frightful position. The oldest aeronaut could not have shown more nerve."

"You see," Ralph said, "we have been pretty often in danger, now; and although the sort of danger was new, the degree of danger was not."

The gentlemen smiled a little, as Ralph spoke. The Barclays had come out in plain clothes, bringing their uniform in the balloon for, in the event of the balloon having fallen among the Germans, it was of course essential that they should be able to get off, unobserved. They therefore looked mere lads; and their talk, of having passed through as great a danger as that which had just made the spectators of it feel faint and sick only to witness, appeared to be a mere bit of exaggerated braggadocio.

A light cart now arrived, in which some mattresses had been laid; some bandages, and other surgical necessaries had also been added, together with a bottle of brandy.

"Fortunately we do not want any of these, except the brandy," the surgeon said. "A little of that will do you all good.

"Now a few strips of plaster,"—this was to Monsieur Teclier, whose face was cut a good deal—"and then you will do, till you get to the town."

The three voyagers were now helped into the cart; for they were all very stiff and greatly shaken, and were glad to stretch themselves out on the mattresses, covered over with blankets, until they reached the little town. Here they were met by the whole population, cheering lustily. Another wagon had been sent off for the balloon; and a number of people now set out to search for the bags of dispatches, etc. which had been thrown out during the last part of the descent. The Sous Prefect at the island placed his house at once at their disposal. But they said that they would rather go to a hotel, first, and take a hot bath—which the doctor recommended them—but should be very happy to breakfast with him, after that. Before going to the hotel, however, Monsieur Teclier sent off a dispatch to Tours; saying that he had arrived at Belle Isle with news from Paris, at a quarter to seven; and that, at that time, everything was going on well.

He next inquired as to means of reaching the mainland. The wind was dead off shore, and a sailing vessel would have taken a long time to make the passage. However, there was a small steamer in harbor; and the Sous Prefect took upon himself to engage that the fires should be lighted, at once, and that they should cross in two or three hours.

After reaching the hotel they were examined carefully by the surgeon; who pronounced that no harm, whatever, had been done to them, and that they had escaped with a few contusions, and a good shaking.

The breakfast was quite an ovation. All the principal people of the place were assembled; and when Monsieur Teclier entered, followed by the young Barclays, the gentlemen clapped their hands and cheered, and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs. After breakfast, the Sous Prefect proposed an adjournment into the drawing room; and now the voyagers each became the center of a knot of questioners as to the voyage.

Monsieur Teclier—as was natural—conversed with the Sous Prefect and other leading men of the town, while their wives and daughters gathered round the lads. Ralph had given his name as Barclay, and had stated that Percy was his brother; but he had said nothing as to their being in the army, as he wished to avoid the oft-repeated tale which the declaration of his rank was sure to necessitate. He had even said a word to Monsieur Teclier, begging him to say the Messieurs Barclay, instead of Captains Barclay—unless, of course, he were actually questioned upon the matter. Percy was allowed to sit in an easy chair, unmolested—for he was quite done up—and Ralph talked for both, relating many details of their journey from Paris; and the ladies examined him most minutely as to his sensation, and especially whether he was not horribly frightened.

Among those standing in a group round the young Barclays was a lieutenant of Mobiles; who evidently by no means approved of the attention, and interest which they excited among the ladies; and who had made several sarcastic remarks, during the course of the narrative. Presently a servant came in and, walking up to Monsieur Teclier, said that two swords had been picked up; had they fallen from the balloon?

"Yes," Monsieur Teclier said, "they belong to those gentlemen."

The servant came up to Ralph, and told him that the swords had been picked up. Ralph at once drew out a five-franc piece, and asked the servant to give it to the man who had found them.

"Ah," said the officer of Mobiles, with a scarcely concealed sneer, "so you have come out from Paris to serve? I should have imagined that there were plenty of opportunities to distinguish yourselves, there. However, you must have had good interest, to get places in a balloon."

"We have fair interest," Ralph said calmly, "as apparently you have, yourself. Each of us have, you see, used our interest in the way most pleasing to us. We have used ours to enable us to go with the army in the field, instead of being forced to remain inactive in Paris. You, upon your part, have used yours to get away from the army in the field, and to remain inactive, here."

These words were spoken with such an air of boyish frankness, and an apparent innocence of any desire to say anything unpleasant, that everyone within hearing was ready to burst with laughter at Ralph's hit—which happened to be thoroughly well deserved.

The officer turned white; and would have burst out into a violent answer, had not a couple of friends at his elbow begged him to restrain himself. The boy evidently meant nothing; besides, he was only a boy, and what could be done with him? Besides which, again, one of them put in, though he was only a boy, he looked an awkward customer. This latter argument weighed more with the lieutenant than any other.

Ralph was not yet seventeen, and looked much younger than a French lad of the same age would do; but in point of size he was considerably taller than the officer of Mobiles, and his broad shoulders gave promise of unusual strength. There was, too, a look of fearlessness and decision about his face which marked him emphatically as an "awkward customer." Seeing this, the lieutenant burst into a constrained fit of laughter; and said that it was "very good—really very good, for a boy."

Everyone else was so occupied in the endeavor to stifle their laughter that the lieutenant again took up the part of questioner.

"I suppose, young gentleman, that you come from Saint Cyr or the Polytechnic; although I should hardly imagine that you have completed your studies, in either of them?"

"I have not the advantage of having been at either of the military academies," Ralph said quietly. "Have you?"

Again there was a laugh and, by this time, most of those in the room had gathered round.

"May I ask to which arm of the service you belong?" the officer asked, with difficulty keeping his temper.

"You may ask, certainly; and I have no objection to answer," Ralph said. "My brother and myself both belong to the general staff."

The officer looked surprised.

"Have you served already, sir, or has your service yet to commence?"

"I have seen some little service already," Ralph said.

"May I ask what general has had the benefit of your assistance?" the lieutenant said, with an affectation of politeness.

At this moment the Sous Prefect pushed forward.

"Silence, sir!" he said to the officer. "There has been too much of this. These gentlemen have performed a great service to France, and are my guests; and I look upon it as a personal attack upon myself."

"Excuse me, sir," Ralph said, rising from his seat for the first time. "I am grateful to you, for your interference in my behalf; but I can make no claim, upon the present occasion, to have rendered any service to France. I had nothing to do with the dispatches, nothing to do with the balloon. I came out as a passenger, upon my private desire and pleasure, at the risk of course of being killed. Undoubtedly I nearly was killed; and I look upon the entertainment that you have given us as a kind congratulation upon our not having broken our necks.

"Kindly, then, permit me to answer this officer for myself. I think I can hold my own."

The Sous Prefect shrugged his shoulders; to signify that, in that case, he washed his hands of the whole business.

"Now, sir," Ralph said, "I will answer the question. The general upon whose staff my brother and myself served was General Cambriels."

The officer shrugged his shoulders.

"Since that time," Ralph said, more sternly than he had yet spoken, "my brother and myself have had the offer of posts upon the staffs of General Trochu, General Ducrot, and General Vinoy."

"Oh, come now," the lieutenant said, with a laugh of derision, "that is a little too strong. Imagine a scramble upon the part of Trochu, Ducrot, and Vinoy for the services of these very young officers."

This time the speaker had the laugh with him, for no one could believe that Ralph could be speaking the truth. Ralph grew a little pale.

"Monsieur Teclier," he said, "do me the favor to introduce my brother and myself to this lieutenant of Mobiles, in due form."

The matter had now become so serious that there was a dead hush in the room, while Monsieur Teclier advanced. He had once or twice already made a motion of coming forward, to take Ralph's part; but a motion from the latter had arrested him. He was aware of the furore which the gallant and successful expedition of the Barclays had created, in Paris; and he had been greatly struck and pleased by the calmness of the boys in a great—and to them altogether new—peril. He now advanced slowly.

"May I ask your name, sir, and regiment?" he said to the officer.

"Lieutenant Desmaret, of the Mobiles of Vienne," the officer said, frowning.

"Lieutenant Desmaret of the Mobiles of Vienne, I beg to introduce you to—"

"No, sir," the officer said, passionately, "you introduce them to me, not me to them. The inferior rank is introduced to the superior."

"I know perfectly well what I am doing, sir, and require no lesson from you," Monsieur Teclier said, quietly. "I repeat, I introduce you—Lieutenant Desmaret, of the Mobiles of Vienne—to Captain Ralph Barclay, and Captain Percy Barclay, staff officers, and commanders of the legion of honor."

There was a dead silence of surprise throughout the room.

"Is it possible?" the Sous Prefect said, coming forward again, "that these gentlemen are the Captains Barclay, of whom the Paris papers—which we received three days since—were full, as having passed through the German lines, and having swam the Seine at night, under fire? They had previously been decorated for great acts of bravery, in the Vosges; and were now made commanders of the Legion.

"Is it possible that you are those officers, gentlemen?"

"It is so, monsieur," Ralph said. "We had the good fortune to distinguish ourselves but, as we did not wish to make ourselves conspicuous by new uniforms, and new ribbons, we have put aside our uniforms until required for service; and asked Monsieur Teclier to be silent upon the subject. Of course, we could not guess that, upon our way, we should meet so rude and unmannerly a person as Monsieur the Lieutenant of the Mobiles of Vienne."

The lieutenant stamped his feet furiously.

"You shall answer to me, sir," he said, "for this insult."

"Stop, sir," Ralph said, in a steady voice—which silenced those who were about to interfere. "You have asked me questions, with rare freedom. I have answered them. I am now going to give you my opinion of you, and my advice to you, equally freely.

"If you mean, by what you have said, that you are going to challenge me to a duel, I tell you at once that I shall not accept it. I have, sir," and he raised his head proudly, "proved my courage; and France has recognized it, in the rank and honor she has given me. We English—for I am English—do not fight duels.

"But I will make an exception. When you, Monsieur Desmaret, come to me decorated as I am; or having, in any signal way, proved your courage and devotion to France, I will meet you. At present I see that you—an officer in the French army, well in health—are staying here in idleness, instead of being in the field. Go and fight the enemies of France, first, Monsieur Desmaret; and after that talk, if you like, about fighting her friends."

There was a loud exclamation of applause and satisfaction, at these words, from those who had been looking on at this unpleasant scene; and the Sous Prefect warmly shook Ralph by the hand.

"Well said, Captain Barclay; well said, indeed. I believe I may say that everyone here agrees with you, entirely. There are too many officers continually absent from the army upon 'private affairs;' and those of Monsieur Desmaret have taken longer to arrange than usual, for he has been staying here for five weeks now.

"However," he said, significantly, "he will hardly prolong his stay in the island.

"Enough upon that subject," he said, as Monsieur Desmaret left the room, pale and furious. "I am glad—I am proud, sir—to make the acquaintance of yourself and your brother; and I can really, at heart, feel grateful to that fellow, for having forced you to declare who you are. Had he not done so, you would have left without our knowing that we had you among us."

There was now quite an ovation to the boys. The ladies, especially, would hardly conceive that it was possible that these quiet-looking young fellows had performed feats of such daring. They now begged to hear the details of the adventures but, at this moment, word was brought that steam was up, and the vessel ready to start; and as Monsieur Teclier was most anxious to get on, and as Percy was quite done up, Ralph was glad to seize the excuse, and to make his apologies for leaving at once. The Sous Prefect, all the breakfast party, and a large proportion of the population of the little place accompanied them thence to the landing place; and then, amidst hearty cheering, the little steamer—carrying the voyagers, the dispatches, and the remains of the balloon—started for the mainland.



Chapter 18: A Day Of Victory.

After traveling all night, the Barclays arrived at Tours at ten o'clock, on the morning of the day after that upon which they had left Belle Isle. At the station they said adieu to Monsieur Teclier; who went at once to Gambetta, with the dispatches; while the Barclays turned away to Colonel Tempe's lodgings and, to their great surprise as well as delight, found him in.

The colonel gave quite a shout of joy, when he saw them.

"Ah, my brave boys, my brave boys, I am glad to see you," and he took them in his arms, and kissed them as heartily and as earnestly as if he had been their father.

"I am glad to see you," he repeated, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. "I was sure you would do it. I never really doubted—I told Gambetta it was as good as done—but I could not help being nervous, horribly nervous; and when the news came, five days ago, by the balloon which left three days after you got in, I almost lost my head. I laughed, I cheered, I shook everyone by the hand—ma foi, I don't know what I did, I was so pleased.

"Your Irishman was the funniest thing. He was not surprised, or pleased, or even interested. I explained to him over and over again, thinking he did not understand; but he only shook his head and said, in his strange English:

"'Sure, colonel, I never doubted them for a moment. Aren't they clever enough to decaive the ould gintleman, himself? It was as sartin as peas is peas that they would slip in, somehow; and if they did get into a scrape, that they were the boys for getting themselves out of it. It's the coming out I am afraid of.'

"I looked surprised, naturally enough, and he went on:

"'And doesn't your honor know that they are talking of coming out in a balloon? Only to think of it, colonel, flying through the clouds, shut up in a big ball of silk! It's just flying in the face of Providence. What's the use of scheming, or of courage? You can't decaive a cloud, though it's as aisy as dancing to take in a German. When you tell me, colonel, that they're safe out of the balloon; then I'll shout, as loud as you like.'

"Yesterday, when the telegram from Teclier came—saying that he had fallen in Belle Isle, had had a narrow escape of being driven into the sea, but had avoided that by running the risk of breaking his neck—and mentioned that you were with him; and had, like himself, escaped with a few bruises, Tim went nearly out of his mind with joy. He has been cleaning his sword and accouterments, this morning.

"I am off tomorrow, and you are only just come in time to see the fighting.

"But you are looking ill, Percy; far too ill for service, just at present."

"Yes, he has been very ill," Ralph said. "He had a touch of brain fever, the night we got into Paris; and was delirious for two days. He has picked up quickly, but that balloon descent was not the thing for an invalid. The doctor in Paris ordered a month, at least, of absolute rest; and has given him a sick certificate."

"He needs rest, certainly," Colonel Tempe said, "but he cannot go home, at present. The Prussians hold Dijon in considerable strength. There are far too many people in the town who have heard of your connection with the franc tireurs. Some spy or other would be certain to peach."

"Yes," Ralph assented, "we have been talking it over, and quite agree that Percy could not go back as—although he would willingly run the risk, himself—it would bring such serious consequences upon them at home, if he were found there, that he has determined to go down to Nice for a while, and rejoin as soon as he gains strength again."

"Yes," Colonel Tempe said, "but above all things, do not let him be in a hurry.

"You have gone through an immense deal, Percy; and have done a great deal more than your share for France, and have gained great honor and credit. Be content with that. You might ruin your constitution for life, by further exertions."

"But about yourself colonel, where are you going?"

"I am starting, tomorrow, to join General Chanzy's staff."

"I have not heard his name before," Ralph said.

"He commands the Sixteenth Corps. He has not had much opportunity yet, but he is a good soldier. If you like, Ralph, I will go with you at once, to Freysinet, and get you attached with me."

"Thank you very much, colonel. I should like it of all things."

"Come along, then; Freysinet is in his office."

Percy accompanied them, to obtain a signature to his leave of absence, and left next day for the south. An hour later, Colonel Tempe and Ralph were in the train, upon their way to Orleans—Tim, again in his hussar uniform, and half wild with delight—being, with Colonel Tempe's orderly, in charge of the horses.

Colonel Tempe, as Ralph was not mounted, had offered to lend him one of his own; but Ralph had refused it, unless the colonel would sell it, as he said he should be always afraid of getting the animal shot, unless it was his own. Seeing that Ralph was determined upon this score, the colonel had reluctantly agreed to take the sum he had paid for the horse. Ralph's only other purchase in Tours was a fur greatcoat.

"And now, colonel," Ralph said, when the train had started, "we have time to talk—tell me, what chances have we of success?"

"Between ourselves, Barclay," Colonel Tempe said, "I do not think that our prospects are brilliant. In my opinion, Aurelles de Paladine—or rather Gambetta, for it was he who ordered the advance—made an immense mistake in attacking Von der Tann when he did. Of course, he drove him back, and took Orleans; but what was the use of that? Absolutely nothing. He was not strong enough to push his advantage; but the movement served to draw the attention of the Germans to his force, and Prince Frederick Charles—who was marching south from Metz—has been hurried towards Orleans, and has now united his forces with those of Von der Tann and the Duke of Mecklenburg; so that, although we have received large reinforcements—for the whole of the army of the east is up, now—the Germans have been equally reinforced, and are quite as strong as we are.

"We ought never to have attacked, until we were ready to follow up our advantage at once. It was nothing short of madness; yet what can you expect, with a civilian acting as commander-in-chief? I believe that we shall make a tough fight of it, but I can hardly hope that our new levies can prove a match for the veterans of Frederick Charles."

"When do we begin, do you think?"

"In two or three days at latest. You have not seen a great battle yet, Barclay."

"No," Ralph said, "nor shall I see much of it, now; for the country is so perfectly flat that it will be impossible to get anything like a general view of it. Do you know, colonel, I feel a good deal more comfortable than I did during my last journey between Tours and Orleans; for although I thought that we should manage, somehow, to get through into Paris; still, I could not conceal from myself that it was a very serious undertaking.

"How bitterly cold it is."

"It is, indeed," Colonel Tempe assented. "Being upon the staff we shall, no doubt, manage to get a roof of some sort over our heads; but for the sentries it must be terrible. The tents d'abri—if the men can scrape away the snow, and get an armful of straw to lie on—are snug enough; the men lie close together, and share their blankets."

Half an hour after arriving at Orleans, Colonel Tempe and Ralph were riding out upon the north road; followed by Tim Doyle, and the colonel's orderly. The frost was keen, but the afternoon was bright and clear; and as they cantered along the road—beaten flat and hard, with the enormous traffic—their spirits rose, and Ralph regretted that Percy was not there to share in his enjoyments.

Colonel Tempe shook his head when the wish was mentioned.

"No, no, Barclay, it is far better as it is. You are young enough, in all conscience, for this iron work of war; your brother has done far more than a man's share already, and will find it difficult enough to go back as a schoolboy. He has escaped thus far, almost by a miracle; but he was looking shaken, and worn. I am glad that he is not here."

Three hours' riding took them to the little village near which General Chanzy was quartered. The Sixteenth Corps lay to the left of the French army, facing the Germans; who held the line of villages of Guillonville, Terminiers, and Conier. It was already dark when they arrived. The general's quarters were in a chateau, a quarter of a mile distant from the village. When they reached it, they were at once shown in; and found General Chanzy leaning over a map, which he was trying to examine by the light of a solitary candle.

"How are you, colonel?" he asked, shaking hands with him heartily—for they were old friends. "I am very glad you have come. There is plenty to do, and few to do it; at least, very few indeed who know anything about their work.

"Who have you here?"

"Allow me to introduce Captain Barclay, general. Freysinet has attached him to your staff. He served with me in the Vosges, distinguished himself greatly, and won his lieutenancy and the Cross. Since then he has been into Paris. No doubt you saw the account of his swimming the Seine, with his brother."

"Of course, of course," General Chanzy said, warmly. "I am very glad to have you with me, Captain Barclay. You will not be long before you are at work, for the affair is just beginning. I have just got news that there has been some sharp fighting, today, at Beaurre la Rolande."

"With what results, sir?" Colonel Tempe asked.

"We gained a great deal of ground, in the morning," General Chanzy said; "but they brought up reinforcements, and no material advantage is claimed.

"And now," the general went on, "as to quarters, you must shift for yourselves. Beds are out of the question; but you will find some empty rooms upstairs and, fortunately, there is a little straw in the stable. The outhouses are extensive, and you will be able to get your horses under shelter. I should advise you to see about them, at once. In an hour we shall have something to eat. I cannot call it dining.

"Captain Barclay, will you kindly see to these matters? I shall be glad to go through this map, at once, with Colonel Tempe."

Ralph at once obeyed the order, much pleased with his new commander. General Chanzy was a man to inspire confidence in all those who served under his orders. He was a young man, for a general; but was very bald, and had a quiet and thoughtful air which made him look older than he was. He was a man of few words; and had a sharp, steady look which seemed to master, at once, the important points of anything that was said to him. When he smiled, the whole of his face seemed to light up.

"Just the man to serve under," Ralph thought to himself. "Cool, self possessed, and with an eye that will see a weak point in a moment.

"Is my orderly still at the door?" he asked a soldier in the passage.

"Yes, sir; two orderlies, with the four horses."

"Can you get me a light of any sort?" Ralph asked. "I want to go round to the stables, and get the horses somewhere in shelter."

"I will get you a lantern, sir," the man said. "But I fear that you will find the place all crowded; but of course, you can turn some of them out."

The orderly accompanied Ralph, with a lantern, across the yard; Tim and Colonel Tempe's orderly following. Round the yard were many cavalry horses, tied to pegs; driven in close by the wall of the stables, so as to give them some little shelter from the intense cold. The poor animals stood, side touching side, for warmth.

The orderly opened the door of one of the stables; and Ralph entered, and looked round by the light of the lantern. The horses were ranged together in the stalls, as closely as they could stand; while the rest of the area was completely covered with cavalry soldiers, some sitting up smoking and talking, others already wrapped in their cloaks and stretched at full length.

A sergeant, seeing the marks of Ralph's rank, at once rose to his feet and saluted.

"I have two horses here, sergeant; my own, and one of Colonel Tempe's. General Chanzy told me I should find room here, but it does not look like it."

"I will turn two of these horses out, sir," the sergeant said.

"Is there no other place?" Ralph asked.

"They are all as full as this, sir."

"There is a little shed, down at the end of the garden," one of the men said. "I noticed it this afternoon. The door was locked. I looked in, and it seemed a cow shed. I don't know whether anyone is there. I will go down with you, sir, and show you the way, if you like."

The shed was soon found, and the soldier forced the door open with his sword bayonet. The place had, as he supposed, been a cow shed; but the walls and roof were in good order, and the ground hard.

"This will do first rate, your honor," Tim said. "There is room for all four horses, if they squeeze a bit; and for Jacques here, and myself. I suppose, your honor, there will be no harm in knocking up some of this woodwork, to make a bit of a fire? It's too dark to look for sticks, tonight; and they would be so damp, from the snow, that the smoke would choke the bastes entirely—to say nothing of us."

"Well, under the circumstances, Tim, I agree with you; but don't do more damage than you can help, and only make enough fire to make the water hot for coffee, and so on. You will be warm enough, here, with the four horses. You must go and see if you can get them some forage."

"But how about your honor's and the colonel's dinner?" Tim asked. "I haven't drawn rations; but I have got plenty of bread and meat, in the haversack. I got them at Tours, for I thought there wouldn't be much to be had here."

"Thank you for thinking of it, Tim, but we dine with the general. When you have got the horses comfortable, and lit your fire, one of you bring up our cloaks to the house. Keep the horses' saddles on, with loosened girths. We may want them suddenly, at any moment of the night."

The next morning, General Chanzy said to Ralph:

"I should recommend you, Captain Barclay, to spend an hour studying this map; and getting up, from these lists, the exact position of our forces. When you think you have mastered them, ride through the whole of the positions occupied by the corps and, without exposing yourself, gain as good an idea as you can of the country beyond. Tomorrow you may have to ride straight to certain points, with orders; and it may save important time if you are thoroughly acquainted with the ground, and position."

After a couple of hours' study of the staff map, so as to know every little by-lane and hamlet, for ten miles on either side, Ralph mounted his horse and went for a long ride. When he returned, Colonel Tempe told him that General Chanzy was gone over to General D'Aurelle's quarters, to arrange the details; and that the attack was to take place the next day.

At five o'clock the general returned; and Colonel Tempe and the chief of his staff were occupied with him, for two hours, in drawing up the specific orders for each corps. Colonel Tempe had not been out, all day; and he therefore offered his horse to Ralph, in order that Ralph's own might be fresh for the next day.

Four staff officers set off in various directions with the dispatches; and Ralph congratulated himself upon having been upon the ground he was now traversing once before that day as, even with that previous acquaintance, it was hard work to find the way through the darkness, from the snow altering the general appearance and apparent distance of each object. Thanks, however, to his ride of the morning, he reached the various corps to which he was dispatched without any serious mistakes in his way; and got back to headquarters by eleven o'clock.

Tim was waiting up for him.

"Sure, your honor, and it's a mighty cold night. I've got a pot of coffee on the boil in the stables."

"Thank you, Tim. I will just go in and make my report to the general, and then go off to bed. Bring the coffee into my room. We shall be up early, for we fight tomorrow."

"Do we, now?" Tim said, admiringly. "And it's about time; for we should be all frozen into skeletons, if we were to wait here doing nothing much longer. Bad luck to the weather, says I."

At ten o'clock the next morning the French troops were in motion, the objects of their attack being the villages of Guillonville, Terminiers, and Conier. The country was extremely flat and, for an hour, they saw no bodies of the enemy. A few videttes, only, were seen. These galloped off hastily, the moment they caught sight of the heavy masses of the French debouching from the wood. Ralph was riding, with the rest of the staff, behind the general.

"That is Terminiers," Colonel Tempe said, pointing to a house or two at a distance, on the plain.

As he spoke, a puff of smoke came from the houses.

"There is the first shell," was the general exclamation.

In another instant the missile burst near some infantry, at two hundred yards to the right.

"Take orders to that battery, there, to take position on that little eminence to the left there, Captain Barclay. Tell them to keep the guns a little back among the trees, and to open sharply upon Terminiers."

It was just twelve o'clock now and, in five minutes, there was a roar of cannon along the whole length of both lines. For half an hour the combat continued a mere artillery duel. The shells fell in all directions; cutting the dry branches from the trees, tearing up the ground, and leaving deep black gashes in the white snow; crashing through a wall or, occasionally, exploding among the troops.

"Their fire is slackening a little," General Chanzy said. "It is time to be pushing forward.

"Lieutenant Porcet, take my orders to the colonel of that regiment of Mobiles to advance at once, covered by skirmishers.

"Captain Barclay, order that Line regiment to support.

"Captain Maillot, order the artillery to concentrate their fire upon the village, and to advance by batteries."

The orders were carried out, and the Mobiles advanced to within five hundred yards of the village. The musketry fire was now tremendous, and the Mobiles wavered. The Germans were entrenched in the gardens and walled enclosures of the village. Every wall, every house was loopholed; and rough barricades had been erected, to fill up the breaks in the walls.

General Chanzy was sitting on horseback, a short distance in the rear of the fighting. Mounted officers rode up and left again, every moment, with news of the battle going on near the other villages.

"Ride up and order the Mobiles to lie down, Captain Barclay; then tell the colonel of the Line to bring his troops up in line with them. Let them lie down, also.

"Tempe, have the two reserve batteries of artillery brought up, at full speed, to silence that battery in the wood to the left of the village. Its fire crosses the ground we have to pass over."

Ten minutes more of continuous cannonading, and then it was apparent that the Prussian fire was weakening.

"Now, Barclay, tell them to charge, at the double."

Ralph set spurs to his horse but, just as he reached the troops, a shell exploded just under his horse. Ralph heard a crash; felt a shock, and a whirling through the air; and then fell heavily upon the ground. Believing he was dangerously wounded, he made no effort to get to his feet; but sat up and shouted to the colonel of the Mobiles, who were not thirty yards from him:

"The Mobiles and Line are to charge, at the double, and to carry the village with the bayonet."

The Mobiles had flinched a little before, as they had advanced with the deadly fire of shot and shell; but they did not flinch now, and leaping upon their feet, with a cry of "Vive la France!" the Mobiles and Line soldiers literally made a race of it for the village.

Ralph, after having given his message, lay back again, with a sort of bewildered sensation. A minute afterwards he heard a rapid galloping; and Colonel Tempe rode up, followed by Tim Doyle.

"Are you badly hurt, my dear boy?" the former exclaimed, as he leaped from his horse. "The general himself asked me to come, and see after you."

"I don't quite know, colonel," Ralph answered. "I feel, at present, as if my head was knocked in, and my legs shot off."

"You had a tremendous shake," said Colonel Tempe—who was, with Tim, by this time kneeling beside him—"and your horse is blown almost to pieces; but I don't think, as far as I can see, at present, that you are hit anywhere. Here, take a sip of brandy. It will bring you round; you are stunned a little, you know.

"There, you are better now," he said; as Ralph, having drunk a little brandy, sat up and looked round.

"I am all right, I think, colonel; don't stay any longer. Tim will wait here. I don't think I was stunned, else I could not have given the order. No, I imagine I had a near escape of breaking my neck.

"Please, don't wait. I shall be all right again, in five minutes. I will take Tim's horse, and join you again. Tim will pick up a musket—there are plenty about—and do a little fighting on his own account."

Colonel Tempe jumped on his horse, and rode off. In a minute or two, Ralph was able to mount Tim's horse, and ride slowly up to the village, where a heavy musketry fire was still going on; but as no shell or shot were now coming in the direction in which Ralph was, it was evident that the French had taken the position, and had opened fire upon the retreating Germans. The fight still raged, both to the right and left; but in another quarter of an hour it slackened also, here, and the three villages were all in the hands of the French.

In a quarter of an hour, Ralph felt quite himself again and, seeing one of his fellow staff officers gallop up, he asked him where he could find the general.

"He is at Guillonville. But he will be here, in a few minutes. The advance is to continue. We are to carry the villages of Monneville, Villepani, and Faverolles."

In half an hour, the troops were again moved forward; but this time the resistance was more obstinate than before, the Prussians having received reinforcements. Hour after hour the fight continued. The short winter day faded, and the gathering darkness was favorable to the assailants and, at half-past five, they carried the villages by assault.

The scene was a wild one. It was perfectly dark, save from the incessant flashes of rifle and cannon. In the streets of the village men fought, hand to hand. Some of the Germans, taking refuge in the houses, refused to surrender. Others threw down their arms, and cried for quarter. Shouts, screams, curses, cheers, the explosion of firearms and the clash of steel mingled, in one wild and confusing din. When it ceased, the village remained in the hands of the French; and the Prussians retreated, sullenly, into the darkness.

There was no rest for the staff, for hours—they were galloping about, carrying orders—but at last Ralph returned to Villepani, at which village General Chanzy had his headquarters. At the door of the cottage which was pointed out, as that in which the general was, Tim was waiting.

"Faith, your honor, if this is war, I've had enough of it."

"What is it, Tim?"

"What is it, your honor! Here have we been fighting all day, and not a blessed thing to eat or to drink. No one knows what became of the wagons; and here we are, without as much as a biscuit to ate—and in such weather as this, too; and another battle in the morning."

"Ay, Tim, it's bad enough, but think of the thousands of poor fellows lying wounded, and freezing to death, on the snow."

"I do think of them, Mister Ralph; and I've been at work, ever since we got in here, carrying the poor creatures in from the gardens and fields. There is not a house here that's not full, from the top to the bottom.

"Have you lost the wallet off my saddle, your honor?"

"No, Tim; why should I do that?"

"I don't know why you should, sir, but I have been making up my mind that you would, all along; either that you would have had it shot off, or that you'd throw it away to aise the horse. Now, we shall do."

"Why, what's in the wallet, Tim?"

"Just a big chunk of bread, your honor It was left on the table when you had breakfast, this morning; and I said to myself, it may be useful before night, and so just slipped it into the wallet."

In another minute the bread was taken out, and cut into two portions.

"I would not eat it all tonight, Tim, if I were you," Ralph said. "It is not by any means too large for supper, but a mouthful in the morning will be a great comfort. I suppose there is no chance of getting anything for the horse?"

"Trust me, your honor One of the first things I did, when the firing was over, was to pop into a stable and to get a big armful of hay; and take it out and hide it away, under a hedge. It was lucky I did; for the minute afterwards we could not have got a handful, if we had offered a Napoleon for it."

"Where are you going to sleep, Tim?"

"Under that same hedge, Mister Ralph. The horse always lies down; and he's so tired he won't break the rule, tonight; so I'll give him half the hay for his supper and, when he's laid down, I'll put the rest between him and the hedge, and roll myself up in my cloak and—what with the cloak, and the horse, and the hedge, and the hay, not to mention the supper—I shall be as warm as a lord; and it's a comfort to think that there will be something to eat, both for the baste and myself, in the morning."

"Well, good night then, Tim."

"Good night, your honor."

If Tim Doyle slept, there were not many of his comrades that did, on that night. The cold was fierce, in the extreme; and those who could obtain wood of any kind made fires, and crouched over them. Others lay on the ground, and huddled together for warmth. Others dragged their feet wearily backwards and forwards. Many and deep were the curses poured out upon the intendance—or commissariat—whose utter incompetence, throughout the war, was one of the great reasons of the continuous bad fortune of the French.

When Ralph entered the room, he was saluted by a variety of voices. The only light was a dim lantern. The room was half full of officers; some dozing in corners, others sitting round the table, smoking.

"Where is the general?"

"He has got a room, about half the size of this, for the use of himself, Tempe, and the chief of the staff. They are writing; and will go on writing all night, I expect. These are the only two rooms not full of wounded in the whole village.

"You had a narrow escape, today. We have had our share of casualties. Poor Maillet and Porcet are both killed, and we have three wounded. Were you hurt at all?"

"No," Ralph said; "but I was tremendously shaken, and feel stiff all over. I will lie down by the wall, here, and get a few hours' sleep."

And so ended the 1st of December.



Chapter 19: Down At Last.

At half-past eight o'clock the next morning horsemen came dashing in, with the news that the Germans were advancing in force. Stiff—many half frozen, and half starved—it was an absolute relief, to the men, to have some break to the monotony of cold and hunger. They were already assembled under arms and, in a few minutes, the artillery upon both sides was at work.

"I fear you will see that we shall be beaten, today," Colonel Tempe said to Ralph as they mounted. "The men are worn out with hunger; disgusted at the wretched mismanagement, which sends them into a battle without having had food for twenty-four hours, and with no prospect whatever of it for another twenty-four. Besides, we ought to have been reinforced.

"Our line is too long, Ralph. There is neither direction nor management."

For a time the French held their position well, against the tremendous artillery fire which was maintained upon them. Gradually, however, the Germans pushed their heavy masses of troops forwards; and the French reserves had already been brought up.

Several of the mobile regiments showed signs of wavering. General Chanzy rode backwards and forwards along the front of the position; exposing himself recklessly, in order to give courage and confidence to his men. Cigar after cigar he smoked, as tranquilly as if sitting in an armchair, a hundred miles away from the din of battle. At last, after exchanging a few words with the generals of brigade, he called Ralph—who happened to be the only aide-de-camp unemployed—up to him.

"Captain Barclay," he said, "ride at once to General Sonis. Tell him that my division—not having received the promised reinforcements—must fall back. He has already sent, to say he is hard pressed. Ask him to hold his ground, if possible, for another half hour; by which time I shall have fallen back towards the position I left yesterday morning—but will draw rather to my right, so as to keep our connections nearer, and to afford him help, if necessary."

Without a word Ralph turned his horse, and galloped off at full speed. A quarter of an hour's riding, and he rode up to General Sonis; who was just calling upon several regiments, among whom were the Papal Zouaves, to make a charge.

This fine body of men—the Papal Zouaves—acquired, and justly acquired, more glory than any other French corps throughout the war. They behaved, upon every occasion, magnificently. In the first fight at Orleans, upon this 2nd of December, and afterwards at the battle of Le Mans, the Zouaves of Charette fought with the courage of lions. A great many of them were men of good family. All were inspired by the ardor and spirit of their chief. Their uniform was similar in cut to that of the French Zouaves; but was of a quiet gray color, trimmed with a little red braid.

Ralph rode up, and delivered his message.

"I am going to carry that position, sir," the general said; "and in that case I shall not have to fall back at all, and General Chanzy can close up on me—throwing back his left, so as not to be outflanked. If you wait a few minutes, you will see the result of this charge.

"Now, gentlemen."

So saying he rode, with his staff, in front of the line.

"Forward, men!" he shouted, drawing his sword.

Ralph had naturally fallen in with the staff, and was now able to see and admire the daring of the proposed movement which, if successful, would have changed the fortunes of the day. Upon an eminence, some three-quarters of a mile distant, were several batteries of artillery; supported by a large body of infantry, who extended to within about half the distance between the French line and their own reserves. The fire was terrific—so terrific that several of the French regiments refused to advance. Others started; but withered away so fast, under the deadly fire, that only two corps—besides the Zouaves—persevered to the end.

The Zouaves advanced at a double, but with as much coolness as if on parade. They did not fire a shot, but made straight at the Prussian infantry. As they approached the enemy's line, General Sonis and his staff fell in between the Zouaves, and a regiment of Mobiles next to them, in order not to interfere with the fire.

"For God and France!" Charette shouted, as he led the charge; and the whole regiment responded, as one man, "For God and France!"

So fierce was this onslaught that the Prussian infantry refused to face it, and fell back upon their supports. Still the Zouaves rushed on, and again the Prussians fell back; but the assault was growing more and more hopeless. The Zouaves were unsupported, save by a few hundred men. The other regiments were far in the rear. The shot and shell were mowing lanes through them. An army was in front.

At last, they halted. Colonel Charette marched on in front, waving his sword. General Sonis, with his staff, again rode forward. It was heroic, but it was heroic madness.

Again the Zouaves advanced. Again a storm of shell poured upon them, and then a regiment of German cavalry swept down. There was a crash. Charette and his officers disappeared, beneath the hoofs of the cavalry. General Sonis and his staff went down like straw before them; but the Zouaves stood firm, fired a volley into them; and then—having lost eight hundred men, in that desperate attempt to retrieve the fortunes of the day—the remainder retreated, sullenly, with their faces to the foe.

Ralph Barclay, when the cavalry swept upon them, had shot the first two of his foes with his revolver; and had then been cut down by a tall German dragoon, just at the moment that his horse fell dead, shot through the head. Ralph had a momentary vision of gleaming hoofs above him; and then he remembered nothing more, until he came to himself, hours afterwards.

His first sensation was that of intense cold. He endeavored to rise, but was powerless to move hand or foot. He lay quiet for a few minutes; and then made another effort, but with a similar want of success. This time, however, he felt that his limbs would have moved, had they not been fastened down by some weight.

He now concentrated all his strength upon one arm. It yielded suddenly and, when it was free, he was able to turn partly round, so as to feel what it was that had confined it. He found that his own blood, and that of the horse, had frozen his arm fast to the ground. It required a considerable effort before he could get altogether free, for he was stiff with the cold. Putting his sword up to his head, he found that he had been saved by the very means which were now giving him so much pain. The intense cold had frozen the blood, as it flowed; and stanched it more effectively than any surgeon could have done.

Ralph—after rubbing his hands and arms, to restore circulation—now endeavored, by the remains of twilight, to see where he was, and how he had been saved. His horse lay next to him, and almost covering him. The poor animal had fallen on to its back; or had rolled over, afterwards and, in the latter case, it was fortunate indeed, for Ralph, that it had not taken another half turn. Had it done so, it would have crushed him to death. As it was, it had reached to within an inch or two of him; partly concealing him from sight, protecting him from the cold, and also greatly diminishing his chance of being trampled upon by cavalry passing over.

A short distance off, Ralph could see parties with lanterns; and one of them seemed approaching. Far in his rear, he could hear an occasional shot; and it rushed across his mind, at once, that the French had been defeated, and were falling back upon Orleans. These lights, therefore, must be in the hands of Germans.

The thought that a German prison awaited him roused Ralph from his inactivity. It flashed across his mind that, as he had escaped before, they would take care and give him but little chance of escaping again and—although stiff, and bruised from head to foot; half frozen, and faint from loss of blood—the hope of liberty roused him to new exertion. With some effort, he got at the holster of his pistol; in which was a flask of strong brandy and water which, though icy cold, had yet a sensibly warming influence. The lights were still at some distance off; and Ralph, after considerable trouble, and after cutting the straps which fastened it to the saddle, succeeded in getting at his fur overcoat. This he put on, picked up the cap of one of the German troopers who had fallen near, and then walked slowly away, over the deserted battle ground.

Ten minutes later, he heard a horse's hoofs upon the hard ground. He cocked the pistol—which had remained fastened to his belt, when he fell—pulled forward the German soldier's cap, and walked quietly on.

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

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

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

"What are you doing here?"

"I am servant to Lieutenant Falchen, who fell today; and I had been to look for his body. It was somewhere about here, when we charged the gray Zouaves."

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

"I don't know where they are, sir," Ralph said, "for I had my head laid open, with a sword bayonet, just as I was cutting down the man I had seen shoot my master. I was carried to the rear, but the surgeon had gone on; and my wound stopped of itself and, when I reached the hospital, the doctors were so busy that I asked leave to go, and see if I could find my master."

"Where are the ambulances now?" one of the officers asked, as they turned to ride off.

"Over in that direction. Look, sir, there are some of the searchers, with lanterns. They will direct you, at once."

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

Ralph had noticed a cottage, standing by itself at the edge of a wood, at some little distance from the bivouac of the night of the 30th of November; and had stopped for a moment, and asked a few questions of the woman who lived there. She had appeared a kind-hearted woman, full of hatred for the invader; and had two sons in the Mobiles, who had marched north when Paris was first threatened, and who were now besieged there. For this cottage Ralph determined to make, in order—if the owners would receive him—to take shelter in the house; otherwise, to find a refuge in the wood, itself, where he doubted not that they would assist him to lie hid for a few days. He had no great fear of a very active search being made for fugitives, at present, as the Prussians had only driven back two divisions of the French army; and had, Ralph believed, plenty of work on their hands, for some time.

It was fortunate for Ralph that he had studied the ground so carefully; for he soon came upon the road, and the stars—which were shining brightly—gave him his direction and bearings. The battle had extended over the whole of this ground. Many times Ralph could hear groans; and saw, in places, dark forms thickly scattered over the ground—showing where a stand had been made, or where a regiment had lain exposed, for hours, to an artillery fire.

The distance was considerable to the place Ralph had marked out for himself. Eight miles, at least, he thought; for it was away behind what had, two days before, been Chanzy's left. It was, in Ralph's state of feebleness, a very long journey. Over and over again, he had to sit down and rest. He did not feel the cold, now; the fur coat, and the exertion of walking, kept his body in a glow. He took great pains, however, not to exert himself, so as to make himself too hot; as he feared that his wound might break out, if he did so. He was fully twelve hours upon the road; and daylight was just breaking in the east when—exhausted by hunger, fatigue, and loss of blood—he crawled up to the door, and knocked.

There was a movement inside, but it was not until he had knocked twice that a voice within asked:

"Who is there?"

"A wounded officer," Ralph said.

There was a whispered talk, inside.

"Let me in, my friends," he said, "for the remembrance of your boys in Paris. There is no danger to you in doing so as, if the Germans come, you have only to say you have a wounded officer. I can pay you well."

"We don't care for pay," the woman of the house said; opening the door, with a candle in her hand—and then falling back, with a cry of horror, at the object before her: a man, tottering with fatigue, and with his face a perfect mask of stiffened blood.

"You do not remember me," Ralph said. "I am the captain of the staff who chatted to you, two days ago, about your boys in Paris."

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

"Monsieur will pardon me," she went on, apologetically, "for speaking so, but I called you the boy captain, when I was telling my good man what a bright—

"But there, what you want now is rest, and food. The question is where to put you. We may be searched, at any time; though it's not likely that we shall be, for a few days. The battle has gone away in the direction of Orleans, and we have not seen half a dozen men since I saw you, two days ago.

"The first thing is to give you something warm. You are half frozen. Sit down for a few minutes. I will soon make a blaze."

Ralph sank down—utterly exhausted and worn out—in the settle by the fireplace; and fell into a half doze, while the woman lit a bright fire on the hearth. In a few minutes she had drawn some liquor from the pot-au-feu—the soup pot—which stands by the fireside of every French peasant, however poor; and into which all the odds and ends of the household are thrown. This liquor she put into a smaller pot; broke some bread into it, added an onion—which she chopped up while it was warming—together with a little pepper and salt and, in ten minutes from the time of Ralph's entry, she placed a bowl of this mixture, smoking hot, before him.

At first, he seemed too exhausted to eat; but gradually his appetite returned, and he finished off the hot broth.

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

"It is the cold which saved my life, I fancy," Ralph said, "by stopping the bleeding; but now it wants bathing in warm water, for some time, and then bandaging.

"But where are you going to put me?"

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

"I have no doubt it is very comfortable," Ralph said, "but all this country is certain to be scoured, by the enemy's cavalry. I do not want to be taken prisoner; and rather than that I would go and live out in the woods, and only crawl here, once a day, for some food."

The husband had now come downstairs and, as he aided his wife to first bathe and then bandage the wound, they talked over the matter; and agreed that Ralph could be hid in a loft over a shed, a hundred yards from the house, and very much concealed in the woods, without much fear of discovery. The farmer at once started to make the place as comfortable as he could; and the wife followed with a couple of blankets, a quarter of an hour later.

Ralph, by this time, could scarcely crawl along. The fever consequent upon the wound, the fatigue, and the cold made his head throb so terribly that he could scarcely hold it up and, had it not been for the assistance of the farmer's wife, he could not have crawled across the short distance to the shed. The loft was low and small and, when the wooden shutter of the window—or rather opening, for it was unglazed—was closed, it was lighted only by the light which came in at the crevices. The shed was altogether of wood; so that the shutter—which happened to be at its back—would scarcely have been noticed while, from the shed being high and the loft very low, anyone inside would scarcely have suspected the existence of any loft, at all. It was reached by a ladder and trap door.

The farmer assisted Ralph up the ladder. The shutter was open, and Ralph saw that the farmer had made a bed of straw, upon which his wife was spreading one of the blankets. Ralph now took off his uniform, and lay down; and was covered first by the other blanket, and then with his own fur-lined coat. The farmer's wife had thoughtfully brought a pillow with her; and Ralph in a few minutes was lying in what—had it not been for the pain of his wound—would have been intense comfort, after the cold and fatigue. His hostess went away, and returned with a large jug of water and a glass, which she put down within reach of his arm.

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

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

"I shall shut this shutter," the farmer said. "Enough light will come through the cracks to see well, when your eyes get accustomed to the darkness. I shall shut the trap close down after me, as I go, and lift down the ladder. It is very light, and my wife can easily put it into its place again. We will come and see you again, in the afternoon. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Ralph answered, faintly; and before the sound of their footsteps had died away, he fell into a sort of feverish doze.

For a time he turned uneasily, muttered incoherent words, and moved his hands restlessly. Soon, however, the effects of the cloth soaked in icy-cold water, which the farmer's wife had placed on the bandages over the wound, began to subdue the feverish heat; and in half an hour he was sleeping soundly, and quietly. He woke at last, with a flash of light in his face and, opening his eyes, saw the good woman again bending over him.

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

"No, no," Ralph said, with a faint smile; "a long way from that, yet. My sleep has done me a world of good. What o'clock is it?"

"Nine o'clock," his hostess said. "I could not come before, for I have had several parties going past, and the house was searched once. I kept on wondering whether you wanted me, until I nearly worked myself into a fever."

"Thank you," Ralph said. "I have been all the better for being allowed to sleep on. I have had nearly thirteen hours of it. I feel queer, about the head; but otherwise I feel all right.

"I am terribly thirsty."

"I have got nothing but water to offer you," the woman said. "The Germans drank the last drop of our wine up, months ago. But I had a few apples; and I have roasted them, and put them in this jug of water. It will give it a taste, and is good for fever.

"In this jug is some herb tea, which you must drink when you feel feverish.

"And now, do you feel as if you could eat some broth?"

"That I do," Ralph said.

His hostess put her arm under him, and raised him up into a sitting posture; in which she retained him by kneeling down beside him, and holding him up as if he had been a child. Then she gave him a basin of bread broth, and a drink of water; shook up his pillow, arranged the things over him; and put a fresh cloth, dipped in water, on his head.

"Here is a box of matches," she said, "and here is the water and herb tea, in reach of your arm. You're not cold, are you?"

"No, thank you," Ralph said, "and in spite of the sleep I have had, I feel as if I could go off again till morning, comfortably."

"Be patient, if I am late," the woman said. "I will come as soon as I can. If I am late, you will know that there are Germans about."

Ralph's idea of his capacity for sleep turned out correct. It was still dark when he woke but, striking a match, he found that it was nearly seven o'clock. He at once blew out the match, felt for the apple water, took a drink, and then nestled down deep into the fur coat.

"It will be getting light in another hour," he said to himself. "It's awfully cold, too; but I am better off, here, than I should be in the field. I hope she will be here soon; I want to know if she has any news. Well, there is only an hour to lay awake," and, almost as he murmured the words, Ralph dropped off again, and slept until ten o'clock.

This time, he woke with the slight creaking which the trap door made.

"How are you today, Monsieur le Capitaine?" his hostess said.

"I am getting on capitally, thanks to your care," Ralph said. "And what have you there?"

"Your breakfast and some plaster. My husband started, yesterday evening, to walk to the doctor, who lives twelve miles off. He told him all about you; but the doctor would not come, himself. However, he sent word that the wound was to be washed well, twice a day, with warm water; and that a little lint is to be laid in it each time, after the bathing and, when the inflammation ceases to look angry, I am to draw the edges together as closely as I can, and strap them together with these strips of plaster."

"It is very kind of your husband," Ralph said, "very kind. Did the doctor say how long I should be, before I could be about again?"

"No," the woman said. "Jacques asked him, but he said that he could not say without seeing the wound, and examining you. Jacques described its position: coming down from the back of the head, taking off just a little bit of the top of the ear, and then ending on the cheekbone. He said that Monsieur le Capitaine must have a head as thick as a wall, or it would have killed him."

Ralph smiled, and his hostess set to work to carry out her instructions.

"Shall I take away your uniform and hide it away so that, in case the enemy search and find you, they will have no proof against you?"

"No, no," Ralph said; "the uniform shows I am not a franc tireur; and so will prevent my being hung, and you having your house burnt over your head. Besides which, I should be entitled to be treated as an officer. My uniform is the best protection for us all.

"Have you any news of what is going on?"

"We heard firing yesterday," the woman said, "and today we can hear a constant booming, from the direction of Orleans."

Ralph listened, but the bandage prevented his hearing anything.

"You are very kind," he said, "but you can hardly think how I want to be off. However, I fear that I am here for a week, at the very least. Just think what I am missing."

"It seems to me," the woman said, "you are missing a great many chances of being killed; which I should consider to be a very fortunate miss, indeed. I should not like Jacques to have that gash on the head; but I would a great deal rather that he was lying here wounded, just as you are, than to know that he was in the middle of all that fighting at Orleans.

"Be patient, my friend. We will do our best for you. If you have no fever, tomorrow, Jacques will try and buy some meat and some wine for you, at one of the villages; and then you will soon get quite strong."

When Ralph had eaten his breakfast, he again laid down; and his kind hostess left him, as her husband was obliged to be out and at work, and it was necessary that she should be at home, to answer any straggling troops of the enemy who might pass.

"I wish I had Tim with me," Ralph said, to himself. "Tim would amuse me, and make me laugh. It would be desperately cold for him. I am all right, under my blanket and this warm coat. Well, I suppose I must try to sleep as many hours away as I can."



Chapter 20: Crossing The Lines.

Ralph was destined to a longer stay upon his hay bed in the loft than he had anticipated. The next day, instead of being better he was a good deal worse. Inflammation had again set in, and he was feverish and incoherent in his talk. He was conscious of this, himself, by seeing the dismay in the face of the nurse, when he had been rambling on to her for some time, in English.

At last, with an effort, he commanded his attention, and said to her:

"How far is it from here to Orleans?"

"Seventeen miles," she said.

"Look here," he said, "you are very kind, and I know that you do not want to be paid for your kindness; but I am well off, and I know you have lost your horse and cow, and so you must let me pay you for what you do for me.

"I am afraid I am going to have fever. I want your husband to go into Orleans. The Prussians went in yesterday, you say; and so your husband will not have to cross any outposts to get there. There is an English ambulance there. I will write a line in pencil; and I am sure they will give him some fever medicine, and anything else I may require. Please feel in the breast pocket of my coat; you will find a pocket book, with a pencil in it."

The woman did as he told her; and Ralph, with a great effort, wrote:

"I am an Englishman, though a captain in the French service. I am wounded with a saber, in the head; and am sheltered in a loft. Inflammation has set in and, I fear, fever. I am obliged, indeed, to make a great effort to master it sufficiently to write this. Please send some fever medicine, by the bearer, and some arrowroot. A lemon or two would be a great blessing.

"Ralph Barclay."

He then tore out the leaf, folded, and directed it to the head of the English ambulance, Orleans.

"How is he to know the English ambulance?"

"It has a red cross on a white ground, as all the others have; and an English flag—that is, a flag with red and white stripes going from corner to corner, and crossing each other in the middle. But anyone will tell him."

"I am sure he will set out at once," the woman said, and left the loft.

In ten minutes she returned.

"He has started," she said, "but not to Orleans. My husband, directly I gave him the message, said that he had heard that there was an English ambulance at Terminiers, attending to the wounded picked up on the battlefield. It is only five miles from here."

"Thank God for that," Ralph said.

Three hours later the farmer returned, with a bottle of medicine, some arrowroot, lemons, a bottle of wine, some Liebig's essence of meat—for making broth—and a message that the English surgeon would ride over, as soon as he could get away. The farmer had given him detailed instructions for finding the house; but was afraid of stopping to act as his guide as, had he been seen walking by the side of the surgeon's horse, the suspicions of any German they might encounter would be at once excited.

The surgeon arrived an hour later, and was at once taken to Ralph's bedside. Ralph, however, could not speak to, or even recognize the presence of his countryman; for he was in a high state of fever. The surgeon examined his wound carefully.

"I think he will get over it," he said, to the farmer's wife. "It is a nasty cut; but there is nothing dangerous in the wound, itself. It is the general shock to the system, together with the hardships and suffering he had gone through. He is a mere boy—not above seventeen or eighteen. He says in his note he is a captain, but it can hardly be so."

"He is a captain, sir. There is his uniform hanging up."

"Yes," the surgeon said, "that is the uniform of a captain in the staff, and he has got the commander's button of the legion of honor. I wonder who he can be.

"Ralph Barclay," he said thoughtfully, looking at the pencil note Ralph had sent him. "Ah, now I remember the name. I thought it was familiar to me. This is the young Englishman who made his way through the lines into Paris, with dispatches He is a fine young fellow. We must do what we can for him."

"Could you take him into your hospital, sir?" the woman asked.

"He will be better where he is, if you will continue to nurse him."

"Yes, I will do that; but I thought he would be so much better looked after, in the hospital."

"No," the surgeon said, "that is just what he would not be. Every room is literally crowded with wounded; and wounds do infinitely better in fresh, pure air, like this, than in a room with a close atmosphere, and other bad wounds.

"The fever medicine I sent over will last him for some days. I have brought over a tin of little biscuits. Give him the fever medicine, every two hours, until there is a change; and whenever you can get him to take it, give him a little broth made of a spoonful of the essence of meat in a liter of boiling water or, for a change, some arrowroot. I will show you how to make it, when we get back to the house.

"Can you manage to stay with him? He will want a good deal of looking after, for the next two days."

"Yes, sir, I was talking to Jacques about it, today. He will go over to the next village—it is only a mile away—and will fetch my sister, who lives there, to keep house for a bit."

"That is capital," the surgeon said. "And now, watch attentively how I put this bandage on; and do it the same way, once a day. When you have put the bandage on, you must put wet cloths to his head, as long as he remains delirious. I am awfully busy; but I will ride over again, in three or four days, to see how he is getting on.

"By the way, it may be an advantage to you if I give you a paper, signed by me, to say that you are taking care of a wounded French officer at my request as—although you wished to send him to the ambulance—I refused because, in the first place, he could not bear moving; and in the second, the ambulance was as full as it could possibly hold. That will clear you, in case any German parties come along and find him."

It was a week before Ralph opened his eyes with any consciousness of what he saw. He looked round, with a vague wonderment as to where he was. In a minute or two, a look of recognition came into his face. Looking round, he saw that there were changes. A small piece had been sawn out of the shutter, so as to let in air and light while it remained closed. A table and a chair were beside his bed. In a corner of the loft was a small flat stove, with a few embers glowing upon it, and a saucepan standing upon them. Upon the opposite side of the loft to that where he was lying was a heap of hay, similar to his own; with a figure, rolled up in a blanket, lying on it.

For some time, Ralph thought all this over in the vague, wondering way peculiar to people recovering from a long illness. Most, he puzzled over the occupant of the other bed; and at last concluded that it was some fugitive, like himself. For some time he lay and watched the figure until, presently, it moved, threw off the blanket and rose and, to his surprise, he saw that it was his nurse.

"Thanks to all the saints!" she exclaimed, when she saw him looking at her. "You are better, at last. I think that I was asleep, too. But you were sleeping so quiet, that I thought I would take a nap; for I was so sleepy."

"How long have I been here?" Ralph asked.

"Just a week, from the time the fever took you. The English doctor came over and saw you, and sent lots of things for you, and said you were not to be left; so I had the bed made up here, and my sister came over to take care of Jacques. And now, you must not talk any more. Drink this broth, and then go off to sleep again."

Ralph complied. He was too tired and weak to ask any more questions, and it was not until next day that he heard of the obstinate battles which General Chanzy had fought—on the 7th, 8th, and 10th—near Beauguency.

"Thank goodness," Ralph said, "we can't have been very badly beaten, if we were able to fight three drawn battles within about twenty miles of a first defeat."

For the next two days, Ralph improved in health. Then he had a relapse, and was very ill, for some days. Then he began, steadily but slowly, to gain strength. It was three weeks after his arrival at the cottage before he could walk, another week before he had recovered his strength sufficiently to think of moving.

One of his first anxieties—after recovering consciousness after his first, and longest, attack of fever—had been upon the subject of the terrible anxiety which they must be feeling, at home, respecting him. They would have heard, from Colonel Tempe, that he was missing and, as he would have been seen to fall, it was probable that he was reported as dead. Ralph's only consolation was that, as the Germans were at Dijon, the communication would be very slow, and uncertain; and although it was now ten days since the engagement, it was possible—if he could but get a letter sent, at once—that they would get it nearly, if not quite as quickly as the one from Colonel Tempe; especially if as was very probable the colonel would be a great deal too engaged, during the week's tremendous fighting which succeeded the day upon which Ralph was wounded, for him to be able to write letters.

The first time that he saw the English surgeon, he mentioned this anxiety, and the doctor at once offered to take charge of a letter; and to forward it with his own, in the military post bag, to the headquarters of the ambulance at Versailles, together with a note to the head of the ambulance there, begging him to get it sent on in the first bag for Dijon. In this way, it would arrive at its destination within four or five days, at most, of its leaving Orleans.

It was on the 2nd of January—exactly a month from the date of the fight in which he was wounded—that, after very many thanks to his kind host and hostess, and after forcing a handsome present upon them, Ralph started—in a peasant's dress which had been bought for him—for Orleans. He had still plenty of money with him; for he had drawn the reward, of fifty thousand francs, in Paris. The greater portion of this money he had paid into the hands of a banker, at Tours, but Percy and he had kept out a hundred pounds each; knowing by experience how useful it is, in case of being taken prisoner, to have plenty of money. Ralph's wound was still bound up with plaster, and to conceal it a rabbit-skin cap with flaps had been bought so that, by letting down the flaps and tying them under the chin, the greater part of the cheeks were covered.

The farmer had made inquiries among his neighbors and, finding one who was going into Orleans, with a horse and cart, he had asked him to give Ralph a lift to that place. The start had been effected early, and it was three o'clock when they drove into Orleans. Here Ralph shook hands with his driver—who wished him a safe journey home—and strolled leisurely down the streets.

Orleans presented a miserable aspect. The inhabitants kept themselves shut up in their houses, as much as possible. The bishop was kept a prisoner, by the Prussians, in his own palace; troops were quartered in every house; the inhabitants were, for the most part, in a state of poverty; and the shops would have been all shut, had not the Prussians ordered them to be kept open. The streets were thronged with German troops, and long trains of carts were on their way through, with provisions for the army. These carts were requisitioned from the peasantry, and were frequently taken immense distances from home; the owner—or driver, if the owner was rich enough to pay one—being obliged to accompany them.

Many were the sad scenes witnessed in these convoys. The grief of a father dragged away, not knowing what would become of his wife and children, during his absence. The anguish of a laborer at seeing his horse fall dead with fatigue, knowing well that he had no means of taking his cart home again; and that he had nothing to do but to return to his home, and tell his wife that the horse and cart—which constituted his sole wealth—were gone.

Ralph waited until, late in the afternoon, he saw a long train halt by one of the bridges. It was evidently intending to cross, the next morning, and go down south. In a short time the horses were taken out, and fastened by halters to the carts; two or three soldiers took up their posts as sentries, and the drivers were suffered to leave—the Germans knowing that there was no chance of their deserting, and leaving their horses and carts.

The poor fellows dispersed through the town. Those who had any money bought food. Those who had not, begged; for the Germans allowed them no rations, and left them to shift for themselves—or starve—as they liked. Ralph joined in conversation with a group of these, who were relating their hardships to two or three sympathetic listeners. An old man, especially, was almost heartbroken. His wife was dying, and he had been forced from her bedside.

"What could I do?" he asked, pitifully. "I was a carrier. My horse and cart were all I had in the world. If I had not gone with them they were lost for ever. What was I to do?"

No one could answer him but, when the party had broken up, Ralph went up to him.

"How much are your horse and cart worth?" he asked.

"The horse is worth five hundred francs," he said. "The cart is an old one—two hundred and fifty would pay for it. It is not much, you see, but it is all I have."

"Look here, old man," Ralph said, "I am not what I look. I am a French officer, and I want to get down near the Prussian outposts, but without passes I could not get on. Besides I have been wounded, and am too weak to walk far. I will give you the seven hundred and fifty francs which are the value of your horse and cart, and will take your place as driver; so that you can start back, at once, to your wife. Do you agree?"

The old man was so affected with joy that he burst into tears.

"God bless you, sir," he said. "You have saved my life, and my poor wife's life, too."

"Very well, it is a bargain, then," Ralph said. "Here is half the money. You shall have the rest tomorrow.

"Now you must go with me tomorrow morning, at the hour for starting; and tell the officer in charge that I am a nephew of yours—living here, but out of work, at present—and that you have arranged with me to drive the cart, as long as it's wanted, and then to take it home again."

After a few more words, the peasant took him back and showed him his cart; in order that he might know where to find him, in the morning.

"We start at daybreak," he said, "so you had better be here by half-past six."

"Where do you sleep?" Ralph asked.

"I? Oh, I don't sleep much. I lie down for a bit, underneath the carts; and then walk about to warm myself."

"Take this warm fur coat of mine," Ralph said. "It will keep you warm tonight, anyhow. I shan't want it; I shall get a bed somewhere."

The coat was the one Ralph had worn on his night walk, after being wounded. He had had all the braid, and the fur of the collar and cuffs taken off; and had had it purposely dirtied, so that it was no longer a garment which could attract attention, on the back of a man with a cart.

After some difficulty, Ralph got a bed; and was at the agreed place at the appointed time. The old man went up to the Prussian sergeant in command, and told the tale Ralph had dictated to him. The sergeant agreed to the arrangement, with a brief nod. The old man handed Ralph his whip, and returned him the fur coat; which Ralph was glad enough to put on, for the morning was bitterly cold, and Ralph—enfeebled by his illness—felt it keenly. In another five minutes, the carts were in motion across the bridge, and then away due south.

For half an hour Ralph walked by the side of his cart and—being, by that time, thoroughly warm—he jumped up in the cart and rode, during the rest of the day; getting down and walking—for a short time only—when he found his feet getting numbed with the cold.

In the afternoon they arrived at La Ferte, some fifteen miles from Orleans. There they remained for the night. There were not very many troops here, and Ralph could have obtained a bed by paying well for it; but he feared to attract attention by the possession of unusual funds and, therefore, slept in a hay loft; afraid, in spite of his fur coat, to sleep in the open air.

The next morning the train was divided, twenty of the carts going down towards Romorantin; while the rest—now fifteen in number—kept on towards Salbris. Ralph's cart formed part of this latter division. The night after they left La Ferte, they halted at La Motte Beuvron, where there was a strong force of Germans. The following day only four carts continued their route to Salbris, Ralph happening again to be among them. He had regretted two days before that he had not formed part of the division for Romorantin, as from that place he would have been less than twenty miles from Tours, which the Prussians had not yet entered; but as he had the good fortune to go on to Salbris, he did not mind—as Salbris, like Romorantin, was one of the most advanced stations.

They arrived late in the afternoon, and the carts were at once unloaded. The sergeant in charge told them to wait, while he got their papers for them; and in ten minutes he returned.

"You will have tomorrow to rest your horses, and the next day a train will start for the north. Your work is over now, as there is nothing to go back. Here are the passes for you, saying that you have carried goods down here for the army; and are therefore to return back, without your carts being further requisitioned."

Ralph put up his horse and cart for an hour in the village, while he went to search for some farm house upon which no Prussian soldiers were quartered. He was unable, for some time, to find one; but at last, over a mile from the town, he found a small place which had escaped the attention of the Prussian quartermaster, and where there was a small, unoccupied stable. Ralph soon struck a bargain with its owner; returned to Salbris, mounted his cart, drove out; and was soon settled in the little farm house.

He anticipated no great difficulty in passing out through the outposts; as there was no French force of any importance, near, and the German troops interfered but little with the movements of the country people. The affair, however, turned out more easy than he had anticipated for, towards morning, he was awoke by the distant sound of bugles.

"Something is up," he said to himself; "either a French attack, a general advance, or a recall. If it should be the latter, I am in luck."

It turned out to be as Ralph hoped. The peasant in whose house he was stopping went into Salbris, early; and came back with the news that there was no longer a German there. Orders had come for them to fall back, towards Orleans.

"I am not at all surprised," Ralph said, when he heard it, "for Orleans was emptying fast of troops. This sudden march of Bourbaki for the east, and the necessity to reinforce Frederick Charles, near Vendome must try even Prussian resources to the utmost."

Half an hour later, Ralph was jogging along on his way to Vierzon. There he found that the railway was open to Bourges, from which town he should have no difficulty in getting on to Dijon. He soon found a purchaser for his horse and cart, at ten pounds, and the next morning started on his way home.



Chapter 21: Home.

It was a long journey from Vierzon to Dijon. At Bourges Ralph had taken advantage of a delay of some hours—necessitated by the fact that no train was going—to get some suitable clothes, instead of the peasant's suit in which he had traversed the lines. He had, of course, brought his papers with him; so that he had no difficulty, whatever, in getting on by the train. But the train itself made but slow work of it. Bourbaki had passed west only the week before, with all his army, upon his march to the relief of Belfort; and the railway was completely choked. However, Ralph was not inclined to grumble at the cause of his delay; for it was only upon Bourbaki's approach that the Germans had evacuated Dijon—which was now held by Garibaldi's irregulars, and a considerable force of Mobiles.