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

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

Chapter 8: The Traitor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Corporal, get ten men in readiness."

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

The sergeant nodded, and resumed his seat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Left," Percy said.

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

"There, Percy, fortune has decided it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boys stopped, while the landlord filled their glasses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where does the priest live?"

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

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

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

"No, thank you. Good night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are the sentries very close together?"

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

Major Tempe hesitated for a while.

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

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

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

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

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

One of the franc tireurs now ran back, to tell the commandant that the men could advance; while the other–selected specially because he understood a little German–put on the spiked helmet of the captured sentry, and began to walk up and down, in readiness to repeat the cry of "All well," should it be passed round.

The whole company were now moved up. Ten men were left at the point where the sentry was posted, to cover a retreat; or to assist the sentry, in case of any party coming out to relieve guard, and so discovering the change which had taken place. The others, led by the commandant, proceeded forward until opposite the priest's house, in which lights were still burning; for it was not, as yet, ten o'clock.

Major Tempe, accompanied only by two men–and by Ralph Barclay, to interpret, if necessary–now went cautiously up to the house. The light was in a room on the ground floor. To this Major Tempe advanced and, looking in, saw the priest sitting reading, alone. He tapped very gently at the window; and the priest, looking up, gave a start upon seeing an armed man looking in at the window.

Major Tempe put his finger to his lips, to enforce the necessity for silence, and made signs to him to open the window. After a moment's hesitation the priest rose from his seat, came to the window, and unfastened it; taking great precautions against noise.

"Are you French?" he asked, in a whisper.

"Yes; a commandant of franc tireurs."

"Hush, then, for your life," the priest said, earnestly. "The village is full of Prussians. The officer, with a soldier as his servant, is upstairs. He arrived in a state of fever; and is, tonight, quite ill. The soldier is up with him. I believe the sergeant, who is at the inn, is in command for to-night. A soldier was dispatched, this evening, to ask for another officer to be sent out.

"What can I do for you?"

"I only want you to tell me in which house the schoolmaster lives. He is a traitor, and has betrayed us to the Prussians. It is owing to him that they are here."

"He has a bad name, in the village," the priest said; "and we had applied to have him removed. He lives in the third house from here, on the same side of the road."

"Has he any Germans quartered upon him?"

"Twenty or thirty men," the priest said. "The schoolroom is full of them."

"Do you know which is his room?" Major Tempe asked. "It would be a great thing, if we could get at him without alarming the enemy. I have thirty men here, but I do not want to have a fight in the village, if I can help it."

"I know his house," the priest said. "The schoolroom is at the side of the house, and his sitting room and kitchen on the ground floor of the house itself. There are three bedrooms over. His room is in front of the house, to the right as you face it."

"Thank you," Major Tempe said. "Have you a ladder?"

"There is one lying on the ground by the wall, to the left. I hope you do not intend to shed blood?"

"No," Major Tempe said, grimly. "I think that I can promise that there will be no blood shed–that is to say, unless we are attacked by the Prussians.

"Good night, and thank you. I need not say that–for your own sake–you will not mention, in the morning, having seen us."

The commandant now rejoined his party, and they advanced to the house indicated. He then chose ten men to accompany him; ordering the rest to remain at a distance of twenty yards, with their rifles cocked, and in readiness for instant action. The ladder was then brought forward by the men selected, and placed against the window.

Major Tempe had, before starting, provided himself–from the carpenter of the village–with an auger, a small and fine saw, a bottle of oil, and a thin strip of straight iron. He now mounted the ladder and, after carefully examining the window–which was of the make which we call, in England, latticed–he inserted the strip of iron, and tried to force back the fastening. This he failed in doing, being afraid to use much force lest the fastening should give suddenly, with a crash. He had, however, ascertained the exact position of the fastening.

Having, before mounting, carefully oiled the auger and saw, he now applied the former; and made a hole through the framework at the junction of the two sides of the window, just above the fastening. Introducing the saw into this hole, he noiselessly cut entirely round the fastening, with a semi-circular sweep, to the junction of the window below it; and as he did so, the window swung partially open, by its own weight. He now descended the ladder again, took off his boots; and ordered two of the men to do the same, and to put aside all arms, and accouterments, that could strike against anything and make a noise.

Then, taking a coil of strong rope in his hand, and followed by the two men, he again mounted the ladder. The instructions to the men were that one was to enter at once, with him; the other to remain where he was, until he received the signal. The major entered the room noiselessly, and dropped at once on to his hands and knees; and was, a minute after, joined by his follower. He now crawled forward–groping his way with the greatest caution, so as to make no noise–until he found the bed. Then, rising to his feet, he threw himself upon the sleeping man and, in a moment, had him tightly by the throat with one hand, while the other was placed firmly on his mouth.

Paralyzed by the suddenness of the attack, and with his arms tightly kept down by the bedclothes, and the weight of his assailant, the schoolmaster was unable to struggle.

"Now, light the light," Major Tempe said, quietly.

His follower at once struck one of the noiseless German matches–which are used almost exclusively, in these parts of France–and lighted a lamp which was standing upon the table. He then came up to the bed, and assisted the major to securely gag and bind the prisoner–whose looks, when he saw into whose hands he had fallen, betokened the wildest terror.

"Search his pockets," Major Tempe said. "We may find something of importance."

In the breast pocket of his coat was a pocket book; and in it among the papers was a letter, from the colonel commanding at Saverne–which had evidently been brought to him by the officer of the detachment, that morning–telling him to come down to Saverne, on the following evening, to guide the troops to the village in which the franc tireurs were stationed. The letter also enclosed ten hundred-thaler notes [a thaler is about equal to two shillings].