The Invasion of France in 1814 by Erckmann-Chatrian

  CHAPTER XVI

  PAINFUL SCENES

  The Germans, huddled together in Grandfontaine, fled in crowds in thedirection of Framont, on foot and on horseback, hurrying, draggingalong their ammunition-wagons, strewing the road with their knapsacks,and looking behind as though they feared to find the partisans at theirheels.

  In Grandfontaine they destroyed everything out of sheer revenge; theysmashed in doors and windows, maltreated the people, demanded food anddrink indiscriminately. Their shouts and curses, the commands of theirofficers, the murmurs of the townsfolk, the artillery rolling over thebridge of Framont, the shrill cries of the wounded horses, were heardas a confused murmur at the breastworks.

  The hill-side was covered with arms, shakos, and dead; in fact, withall the signs of a great rout. In front was Marc Dives's cannondirected down the valley, ready to fire in case of a fresh attack.

  All was finished, and finished well. Yet no shout of triumph rose fromthe intrenchments: the losses of the mountaineers, in this lastassault, had been too great for that. There was something solemn inthis silence succeeding to the uproar; all these men who had escapedthe carnage, looked grave, as though astonished to see each otheragain. Some few called a friend, others a brother, who did not answer;and then they searched for them in the trenches, along the breastworks,or on the slopes, calling "Jacob, Philip, is it thou?"

  Night came on; and the gray shadow creeping over everything, addedmystery to these fearful scenes. The people came and went among thewrecks of the battle without recognizing each other.

  Materne, having wiped his bayonet, called hoarsely to hisboys:--"Kasper! Frantz!" and seeing them approach in the darkness, heasked, "Is that you?"

  "Yes, we are here."

  "Are you safe? are you wounded?"

  "No."

  The old hunter's voice became hoarser and more trembling still:--"Thenwe are all three united once more," said he, in a low tone.

  And he, whom none would have thought to be so tender, embraced his sonswarmly. They could hear his chest heaving with suppressed sobs. Theywere both much moved, and said to each other,--"We never dreamed thathe loved us so much!"

  But the old man, soon recovering from his emotion, called out, "It wasa hard day, though, my boys. Let us have something to drink, for I amthirsty."

  Then, casting one last look on the dark slopes, and seeing that Hullinhad placed sentinels at short distances apart, they proceeded towardthe farmhouse.

  As they were picking their way carefully through the trenches,encumbered with the dead, they heard a stifled voice, which said tothem, "Is it thou, Materne?"

  "Ah! forgive me, my poor old Rochart," replied the hunter, bending overhim, "if I touched thee. What, art thou still here?"

  "Yes, I cannot get away, for I have no longer any legs to carry me."

  They remained silent for a moment, when the old wood-cuttercontinued,--"Thou wilt tell my wife that in a bag behind the closet,there are five pieces of six. I have saved them up, in case we eitherof us fell ill. I no longer need them."

  "That is to say--that is to say--But thou mayst recover still, my poorold fellow. We will carry thee away."

  "No; it is not worth the trouble: I cannot last more than an hour. Itwould only make me linger."

  Materne, without answering, signed to Kasper to place his carbine withhis own, so as to form a stretcher, and Frantz placed the oldwood-cutter upon them, notwithstanding his moans. In this way theyarrived at the farm.

  All the wounded who during the combat had had strength to dragthemselves to the ambulance were now assembled there; and DoctorLorquin and his comrade Dubois, who had arrived during the day, hadwork enough to do. But all was far from being over yet.

  As Materne, his boys, and Rochart were traversing the dark alley underthe lantern, they heard to their left a cry which made their blood runcold, and the old wood-cutter, half dead, called out, "Why do you takeme there? I will not go; I will not have anything done to me."

  "Open the door, Frantz," said Materne, his face streaming withperspiration. "Open it! Be quick!"

  Frantz having pushed open the door, they beheld in the centre of thelow room with its large brown beams, Colard's son stretched out fulllength on a great kitchen-table, a man at each arm and a bucket beneathhim. Doctor Lorquin, his shirtsleeves turned up to his elbows, and ashort saw in his hand, was cutting off the poor fellow's leg, whileDubois stood by with a large sponge. The blood trickled into the pail.Colard was as white as death.

  Catherine Lefevre was there with a roll of lint on her arm. She seemedcalm; but her teeth were clinched, and she fastened her eyes on theground as though determined to witness nothing.

  "It is finished," said the doctor, turning round; and perceiving thenew-comers, "Ha! it is you, Father Rochart!" he exclaimed.

  "Yes, it is I; but I will not let any one touch me. I would rather dieas I am."

  The doctor lifted up a candle, looked at him, and made a grimace.

  "It is time to see to you, my poor old fellow. You have lost muchblood, and if we wait longer it will be too late."

  "So much the better! I have suffered enough in my life."

  "As you like. Let us pass on to another."

  He cast his eyes over a long line of straw mattresses at the end of theroom; the two last were empty, but covered with blood. Materne andKasper laid the old wood-cutter down on the last, while Dubois,approaching another wounded man, said, "Nicolas, it is thy turn!"

  Nicolas Cerf raised his pale face and his eyes glistened with fright.

  "Let him have a glass of brandy," said the doctor.

  "No, I would rather smoke my pipe."

  "Where is thy pipe?"

  "In my waistcoat pocket."

  "Good, I have found it. And the tobacco?"

  "In my trousers."

  "All right. Fill his pipe, Dubois. He is a plucky fellow; it givesone pleasure to see a man like that. We are going to take off thy armin a trice."

  "Is there no way of saving it, Monsieur Lorquin, to bring up my poorchildren? It is their only resource."

  "No; it is no use; the bone is smashed. Light the pipe, Dubois. Now,Nicolas, smoke away."

  The unhappy fellow began, though evidently without relish.

  "Is all ready?" asked the doctor.

  "Yes," replied Nicolas, in a husky voice.

  "Good. Attention, Dubois! Sponge away."

  And he made a rapid turn in the flesh with a great knife. Nicolasground his teeth. The blood spurted up, and Dubois bound up somethingtightly. The saw grated for two seconds, and the arm fell heavily onthe boards.

  "That is what I call a well-performed operation," said Lorquin.

  Nicolas was no longer smoking; the pipe had fallen from his lips.David Schlosser, of Walsch, who had held him, let go. They bound upthe stump with linen, and, all unaided, Nicolas went to lie down on thestraw.

  "One more finished! Sponge the table well, Dubois, and let us go on toanother," said the doctor, washing his hands in a large bowl.

  Each time that he said, "Let us go on to another," the wounded moveduneasily, terrified by the screams they heard and the glittering knivesthey saw. But what was to be done? Every room in the farm, thegranary, and the lofts was full. They were thus obliged to operateunder the eyes of those who would soon in their turns come beneath thepainful knife.

  The operation had taken but a few seconds. Materne and his sons lookedon for the same reason as one looks at other horrible things,--to knowwhat they are like. Then in the corner, under the old china clock,they saw a heap of amputated limbs.

  Nicolas's arm had already been cast among them, and a ball was nowbeing extracted from the shoulder of a red-whiskered mountaineer of theHarberg. They opened deep gashes in his back; his flesh quivered, andthe blood coursed down his powerful limbs.

  The dog Pluto, behind the doctor, looked on with an attentive air, asthough he understood, and from time to time stretched himself andyawned loudly. r />
  Materne could look on no longer.

  "Let us get out of this," said he.

  Hardly were they outside the door, when they heard the doctor exclaim,"I have got the ball!" which must indeed have been satisfactory to theman from the Harberg.

  Once outside, Materne, inhaling the cold air with, delight, exclaimed:"Only think that the same might have happened to us!"

  "True," said Kasper; "to get a ball in one's head is nothing; but to becut up in that style, and then to beg one's bread for the rest of one'sdays!"

  "Bah! I should do the same as old Rochart," said Frantz. "I shoulddie quietly. The old fellow was right. When one has done one's duty,why should one be afraid?"

  Just then the hum of voices was heard on their right.

  "It is Marc Dives and Hullin," said Kasper, listening.

  "Yes; they must be just returning from throwing up breastworks behindthe pine-wood, to protect the cannon," added Frantz.

  They listened again; the footsteps came nearer.

  "Thou must be very much bothered with these three prisoners," saidHullin, roughly. "Since thou returnest to the Falkenstein to-night toget ammunition, what prevents thee from taking them away?"

  "Where are they to be put?"

  "Why, in the communal prison of Abreschwiller, to be sure. We cannotkeep them here."

  "All right, I understand, Jean-Claude. And if they try to escape onthe way, I am to use my sword?"

  "Just so."

  By this time they had reached the door, and Hullin, perceiving Materne,could not suppress a shout of enthusiasm: "Ah! Is it thou, old fellow?I have been searching for thee an hour. Where the devil wert thou?"

  "We have been carrying poor Rochart to the ambulance, Jean-Claude."

  "Ah! it is a sad affair, isn't it?"

  "Yes; it is sad."

  There was a moment's pause, and the satisfaction of the worthy managain became visible.

  "It is not at all lively," said he; "but what is to be done when onegoes to the war? You are not hurt any of you?"

  "No; we are all three safe and sound."

  "So much the better. Those who are left can boast of being lucky."

  "True," cried Marc Dives, laughing. "At one time I thought Materne wasgoing to give way. Without those cannon-balls at the finish, thingswould have gone badly."

  Materne colored, and glanced sideways at the smuggler.

  "Perhaps so," said he, dryly; "but without the cannon-balls at thebeginning, we should not have needed those at the end. Old Rochart,and fifty other brave men, would still have had their arms and legs,and our victory would not have been clouded."

  "Bah!" interrupted Hullin, anticipating a dispute between the two bravefellows, neither of whom was remarkable for his conciliatorydisposition. "Leave that alone. Every one has done his duty; and thatis the chief thing."

  Then, addressing Materne: "I have just sent a flag of truce to Framont,to bid the Germans carry away their wounded. In an hour, I dare say,they will be here. Our sentries must be warned to let them approach ifthey come without arms and with torches. If in any other way, let thembe received with a volley."

  "I will go at once," answered the old hunter.

  "Materne, thou wilt afterward sup at the farm with thy boys."

  "Agreed, Jean-Claude."

  And he went off.

  Hullin then bade Frantz and Kasper light great bivouac fires; Marc wasat once to feed his horses, so that he might go without delay toprocure ammunition. Seeing them hurrying away, Hullin turned into thefarm.