The Young Franc Tireurs, and Their Adventures in the Franco-Prussian War

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 6: The Tunnel Of Saverne

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

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

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

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

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

"This is infamous! Infamous!"

"What is it?" Major Tempe asked.

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

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

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

Major Tempe looked grieved, as well as indignant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That they are, Ralph.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lights out."

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

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

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

Major Tempe was silent a minute.

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

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

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

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

"So I resolved to say nothing about it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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