The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Young Franc Tireurs, by G. A. Henty This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Young Franc Tireurs And Their Adventures in the Franco-Prussian War Author: G. A. Henty Illustrator: F. T. Young Release Date: July 13, 2007 [EBook #22060] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG FRANC TIREURS *** Produced by Martin Robb THE YOUNG FRANC TIREURS And Their Adventures in the Franco-Prussian War By G. A. Henty. CONTENTS Preface. CHAPTER 1:The Outbreak Of War. CHAPTER 2:Terrible News. CHAPTER 3:Death To The Spy! CHAPTER 4:Starting For The Vosges. CHAPTER 5:The First Engagement. CHAPTER 6:The Tunnel Of Saverne. CHAPTER 7:A Baffled Project. CHAPTER 8:The Traitor. CHAPTER 9:A Desperate Fight. CHAPTER 10:The Bridge Of The Vesouze. CHAPTER 11:A Fight In The Vosges. CHAPTER 12:The Surprise. CHAPTER 13:The Escape. CHAPTER 14:A Perilous Expedition. CHAPTER 15:The Expedition. CHAPTER 16:A Desperate Attempt. CHAPTER 17:A Balloon Voyage. CHAPTER 18:A Day Of Victory. CHAPTER 19:Down At Last. CHAPTER 20:Crossing The Lines. CHAPTER 21:Home. ILLUSTRATIONS Rescue of a Supposed Spy. Among the German Soldiers. The Children on the Battlefield. The Sea! The Sea! Preface. My Dear Lads, The present story was written and published a few months, only, after the termination of the Franco-German war. At that time the plan--which I have since carried out in The Young Buglers, Cornet of Horse, and In Times of Peril, and which I hope to continue, in further volumes--of giving, under the guise of historical tales, full and accurate accounts of all the leading events of great wars, had not occurred to me. My object was only to represent one phase of the struggle-- the action of the bodies of volunteer troops known as franc tireurs. The story is laid in France and is, therefore, written from the French point of view. The names, places, and dates have been changed; but circumstances and incidents are true. There were a good many English among the franc tireurs, and boys of from fifteen to sixteen were by no means uncommon in their ranks. Having been abroad during the whole of the war, I saw a good deal of these irregulars, and had several intimate friends amongst them. Upon the whole, these corps did much less service to the cause of France than might have been reasonably expected. They were too often badly led, and were sometimes absolutely worse than useless. But there were brilliant exceptions, and very many of those daring actions were performed which--while requiring heroism and courage of the highest kind--are unknown to the world in general, and find no place in history. Many of the occurrences in this tale are related, almost in the words in which they were described to me, by those who took part in them; and nearly every fact and circumstance actually occurred, according to my own knowledge. Without aspiring to the rank of a history, however slight, the story will give you a fair idea of what the life of the franc tireurs was, and of what some of them actually went through, suffered, and performed. Yours sincerely, The Author. Chapter 1: The Outbreak Of War. The usually quiet old town of Dijon was in a state of excitement. There were groups of people in the streets; especially round the corners, where the official placards were posted up. Both at the Prefecture and the Maine there were streams of callers, all day. Every functionary wore an air of importance, and mystery; and mounted orderlies galloped here and there, at headlong speed. The gendarmes had twisted their mustaches to even finer points than usual, and walked about with the air of men who knew all about the matter, and had gone through more serious affairs than this was likely to be. In the marketplace, the excitement and buzz of conversation were at their highest. It was the market day, and the whole area of the square was full. Never, in the memory of the oldest inhabitant, had such a market been seen in Dijon. For the ten days preceding, France had been on the tiptoe of expectation; and every peasant's wife and daughter, for miles round the town, had come with their baskets of eggs, fowls, or fruits, to attend the market and to hear the news. So crowded was it, that it was really difficult to move about. People were not, however, unmindful of bargains--for the French peasant woman is a thrifty body, and has a shrewd eye to sous--so the chaffering and haggling, which almost invariably precede each purchase, went on as briskly as usual but, between times, all thoughts and all tongues ran upon the great event of the day. It was certain--quite certain, now--that there was to be war with Prussia. The newspapers had said so, for some days; but then, bah! who believes a newspaper? Monsieur le Prefect had published the news, today; and everyone knows that Monsieur le Prefect is not a man to say a thing, unless it were true. Most likely the Emperor, himself, had written to him. Oh! There could be no doubt about it, now. It was singular to hear, amidst all the talk, that the speculation and argument turned but little upon the chances of the war, itself; it being tacitly assumed to be a matter of course that the Germans would be defeated, with ease, by the French. The great subject of speculation was upon the points which directly affected the speakers. Would the Mobiles be called out, and forced to march; would soldiers who had served their time be recalled to the service, even if they were married; and would next year's conscripts be called out, at once? These were the questions which everyone asked, but no one could answer. In another day or two, it was probable that the orders respecting these matters would arrive and, in the meantime, the merry Burgundian girls endeavored to hide their own uneasiness by laughingly predicting an early summons to arms to the young men of their acquaintance. At the Lycee--or great school--the boys are just coming out. They are too excited to attend to lessons, and have been released hours before their usual time. They troop out from the great doors, talking and gesticulating. Their excitement, however, takes a different form to that which that of English boys would do, under the same circumstances. There was no shouting, no pushing, no practical jokes. The French boy does not play; at least, he does not play roughly. When young he does, indeed, sometimes play at buchon--a game something similar to the game of buttons, as played by English street boys. He may occasionally play at marbles but, after twelve years of age, he puts aside games as beneath him. Prisoners' base, football, and cricket are alike unknown to him; and he considers any exertion which would disarrange his hair, or his shirt collar, as barbarous and absurd. His amusements are walking in the public promenade, talking politics with the gravity of a man of sixty, and discussing the local news and gossip. This is the general type of French school boy. Of course, there are many exceptions and, in the Lycee of Dijon, these were more numerous than usual. This was due, to a great extent, to the influence of the two boys who are coming out of the school, at the present moment. Ralph and Percy Barclay are--as one can see at first sight--English; that is to say, their father is English, and they have taken after him, and not after their French mother. They are French born, for they first saw the light at the pretty cottage where they still live, about two miles out of the town; but their father, Captain Barclay, has brought them up as English boys, and they have been for two years at a school in England. Their example has had some effect. Their cousins, Louis and Philippe Duburg, are almost as fond of cricket, and other games, and of taking long rambles for miles round, as they are themselves. Other boys have also taken to these amusements and, consequently, you would see more square figures, more healthy faces at the Lycee at Dijon than at most other French schools. The boys who joined in these games formed a set in themselves, apart from the rest. They were called either the English set or, contemptuously, the "savages;" but this latter name was not often applied to them before their faces, for the young Barclays had learned to box, in England; and their cousins, as well as a few of the others, had practised with the gloves with them. Consequently, although the "savages" might be wondered at, and sneered at behind their backs, the offensive name was never applied in their hearing. At the present moment, Ralph Barclay was the center of a knot of lads of his own age. "And so, you don't think that we shall get to Berlin, Ralph Barclay? You think that these Prussian louts are going to beat the French army? Look now, it is a little strong to say that, in a French town." "But I don't say that, at all," Ralph Barclay said. "You are talking as if it was a certainty that we were going to march over the Prussians. I simply say, don't be too positive. There can be no doubt about the courage of the French army; but pluck, alone, won't do. The question is, are our generals and our organization as good as those of the Prussians? And can we put as many, or anything like as many, men into the field? I am at least half French, and hope with all my heart that we shall thrash these Germans; but we know that they are good soldiers, and it is safer not to begin to brag, till the work is over." There was silence, for a minute or two, after Ralph ceased speaking. The fact was, the thought that perhaps France might be defeated had never once, before, presented itself to them as possible. They were half disposed to be angry with the English boy for stating it; but it was in the first place, evident now that they thought of it, that it was just possible and, in the second place, a quarrel with Ralph Barclay was a thing which all his schoolfellows avoided. Ralph Barclay was nearly sixteen, his brother a year younger. Their father, Captain Barclay, had lost a leg in one of the innumerable wars in India, two or three years before the outbreak of the Crimean war. He returned to England, and was recommended by his doctors to spend the winter in the south of France. This he did and, shortly after his arrival at Pau, he had fallen in love with Melanie Duburg; daughter of a landed proprietor near Dijon, and who was stopping there with a relative. A month later he called upon her father at Dijon and, in the spring, they were married. Captain Barclay's half pay, a small private income, and the little fortune which his wife brought him were ample to enable him to live comfortably, in France; and there, accordingly, he had settled down. His family consisted of Ralph, Percy, and a daughter--called, after her mother, Melanie, and who was two years younger than Percy. It had always been Captain Barclay's intention to return to England, when the time came for the boys to enter into some business or profession; and he had kept up his English connection by several visits there, of some months' duration, with his whole family. The boys, too, had been for two years at school in England--as well as for two years in Germany--and they spoke the three languages with equal fluency. A prettier abode than that of Captain Barclay would be difficult to find. It was in no particular style of architecture, and would have horrified a lover of the classic. It was half Swiss, half Gothic, and altogether French. It had numerous little gables, containing the funniest-shaped little rooms. It had a high roof, with projecting eaves; and round three sides ran a wide veranda, with a trellis work--over which vines were closely trained--subduing the glare of the summer sun, casting a cool green shade over the sitting rooms, and affording a pretty and delightfully cool retreat; where Mrs. Barclay generally sat with her work and taught Melanie, moving round the house with the sun, so as to be always in the shade. The drawing and dining rooms both opened into this veranda The road came up to the back of the house; and upon the other three sides was a garden, which was a compromise between the English and French styles. It had a smooth, well-mown lawn, with a few patches of bright flowers which were quite English; and mixed up among them, and beyond them, were clumps of the graceful foliaged plants and shrubs in which the French delight. Beyond was a vineyard, with its low rows of vines while, over these, the view stretched away to the towers of Dijon. In the veranda the boys, upon their return, found Captain Barclay reading the papers, and smoking. He looked up as they entered. "You are back early, boys." "Yes, papa, there was so much talking going on, that the professor gave it up as hopeless. You have heard the news, of course?" "Yes, boys, and am very sorry to hear it." Captain Barclay spoke so gravely that Ralph asked, anxiously: "Don't you think we shall thrash them, papa?" "I consider it very doubtful, Ralph," his father said. "Prussia has already gained an immense moral victory. She has chosen her own time for war; and has, at the same time, obliged France to take the initiative, and so to appear to be the aggressor--and therefore to lose the moral support of Europe. She has forced this quarrel upon France, and yet nine-tenths of Europe look upon France as the inciter of the war. History will show the truth, but it will then be too late. As it is, France enters upon the war with the weight of public opinion dead against her and, what is worse, she enters upon it altogether unprepared; whereas Prussia has been getting ready, for years." "But the French always have shown themselves to be better soldiers than the Prussians, papa." "So they have, Percy, and--equally well led, disciplined, and organized--I believe that, in anything like equal forces, they would do so again. The question is, have we generals to equal those who led the Prussians to victory against Austria? Is our discipline equal--or anything like equal--to that of the Prussians? Is our organization as good as theirs? And lastly, have we anything like their numbers? "I don't like the look of it, boys, at all. We ought, according to published accounts, to be able to put a larger army than theirs in the field, just at first and, if we were but prepared, should certainly be able to carry all before us, for a while. I question very much if we are so prepared. Supposing it to be so, however, the success would, I fear, be but temporary; for the German reserves are greatly superior to ours. Discipline, too, has gone off sadly, since I first knew the French army. "Radical opinions may be very wise, and very excellent for a nation, for aught I know; but it is certain that they are fatal to the discipline of an army. My own opinion, as you know, is that they are equally fatal for a country, but that is a matter of opinion, only; but of the fact that a good Radical makes an extremely bad soldier, I am quite clear, and the spread of Radical opinion among the French army has been very great. Then, too, the officers have been much to blame. They think of pleasure far more than duty. They spend four times as much time in the cafes and billiard rooms as they do in the drill ground. Altogether, in my opinion, the French army has greatly gone off in all points--except in courage which, being a matter of nationality, is probably as high as ever. It is a bad lookout, boys--a very bad lookout. "There, don't talk about it any more. I do not want to make your mother unhappy. Remember not to express--either as my or your own opinion--anything I have said, in the town. It would only render you obnoxious, and might even cause serious mischief. If things go wrong, French mobs are liable to wreak their bad temper on the first comer." "Percy," Mrs. Barclay said, coming into the room, "please to run down to the end of the garden, and cut some lettuces for salad. Marie is so upset that she can do nothing." "What is the matter with her, mamma?" both the boys asked, at once. "Victor Harve--you know him, the son of the blacksmith Harve, who had served his time in the army, and came back two months ago to join his father in his forge, and to marry our Marie-- has left to join his regiment. He was here, an hour since, to say goodbye. By this time he will have started. It is not wonderful that she weeps. She may never see him again. I have told her that she must be brave. A Frenchwoman should not grudge those she loves most to fight for France." "Ah! Melanie," Captain Barclay said, smiling, "these little patriotic outbursts are delightful, when one does not have to practice them at one's own expense. 'It is sweet and right to die for one's country,' said the old Roman, and everyone agrees with him but, at the same time, every individual man has a strong objection to put himself in the way of this sweet and proper death. "Although, as you say, no Frenchwoman should grudge her love to her country; I fancy, if a levee en masse took place, tomorrow, and the boys as well as the cripples had to go--so that Ralph, Percy, and I were all obliged to march--you would feel that you did grudge us to the country, most amazingly." Mrs. Barclay turned a little pale at the suggestion. "Ah! I can't suppose that, Richard. You are English, and they cannot touch you, or the boys; even if you could march, and if they were old enough." Captain Barclay smiled. "That is no answer, Melanie. You are shirking the question. I said, if they were to make us go." "Ah, yes! I am afraid I should grudge you, Richard, and the boys, except the enemy were to invade France; and then everyone, even we women, would fight. But of that there is no chance. It is we who will invade." Captain Barclay made no reply. "The plums want gathering, papa," Percy said, returning from cutting the lettuces. "It was arranged that our cousins should come over, when they were ripe, and have a regular picking. They have no plums, and Madame Duburg wants them for preserving. May we go over after dinner, and ask them to come in at three o'clock, and spend the evening?" "Certainly," Captain Barclay said; "and you can give your mamma's compliments, and ask if your uncle and Madame Duburg will come in, after they have dined. The young ones will make their dinner at our six o'clock tea." In France early dinner is a thing scarcely known, even among the peasantry; that is to say, their meals are taken at somewhat the same time as ours are, but are called by different names. The Frenchman never eats what we call breakfast; that is, he never makes a really heavy meal, the first thing in the morning. He takes, however, coffee and milk and bread and butter, when he gets up. He does not call this breakfast. He speaks of it as his morning coffee; and takes his breakfast at eleven, or half-past eleven, or even at twelve. This is a regular meal, with soup, meat, and wine. In England it would be called an early lunch. At six o'clock the Frenchman dines, and even the working man calls this meal--which an English laborer would call supper--his dinner. The Barclays' meals, therefore, differed more in name than in reality from those of their neighbors. Louis and Philippe Duburg came in at five o'clock, but brought a message that their sisters would come in with their father and mother, later. Melanie was neither surprised nor disappointed at the non-arrival of her cousins. She greatly preferred being with the boys, and always felt uncomfortable with Julie and Justine; who, although little older than herself, were already as prim, decorous, and properly behaved as if they had been women of thirty years old. After tea was over, the four boys returned to their work of gathering plums; while Melanie--or Milly, as her father called her, to distinguish her from her mother--picked up the plums that fell, handed up fresh baskets and received the full ones, and laughed and chattered with her brothers and cousins. While so engaged, Monsieur and Madame Duburg arrived, with their daughters, Julie and Justine. Monsieur Duburg--Mrs. Barclay's brother--was proprietor of a considerable estate, planted almost entirely with vines. His income was a large one, for the soil was favorable, and he carried on the culture with such care and attention that the wines fetched a higher price than any in the district. He was a clear-headed, sensible man, with a keen eye to a bargain. He was fond of his sister and her English husband, and had offered no opposition to his boys entering into the games and amusements of their cousins--although his wife was constantly urging him to do so. It was, to Madame Duburg, a terrible thing that her boys--instead of being always tidy and orderly, and ready, when at home, to accompany her for a walk--should come home flushed, hot, and untidy, with perhaps a swelled cheek or a black eye, from the effects of a blow from a cricket ball or boxing glove. Upon their arrival at Captain Barclay's, the two gentlemen strolled out to smoke a cigar together, and to discuss the prospects of the war and its effect upon prices. Mrs. Barclay had asked Julie and Justine if they would like to go down to the orchard; but Madame Duburg had so hurriedly answered in their name, in a negative--saying that they would stroll round the garden until Melanie returned--that Mrs. Barclay had no resource but to ask them, when they passed near the orchard, to call Milly--in her name--to join them in the garden. "My dear Melanie," Madame Duburg began, when her daughters had walked away in a quiet, prim manner, hand in hand, "I was really quite shocked, as we came along. There was Melanie, laughing and calling out as loudly as the boys themselves, handing up baskets and lifting others down, with her hair all in confusion, and looking--excuse my saying so--more like a peasant girl than a young lady." Mrs. Barclay smiled quietly. "Milly is enjoying herself, no doubt, sister-in-law; and I do not see that her laughing, or calling out, or handing baskets will do her any serious harm. As for her hair, five minutes' brushing will set that right." "But, my dear sister-in-law," Madame Duburg said, earnestly, "do you recall to yourself that Milly is nearly fourteen years old; that she will soon be becoming a woman, that in another three years you will be searching for a husband for her? My faith, it is terrible--and she has yet no figure, no manner;" and Madame Duburg looked, with an air of gratified pride, at the stiff figures of her own two girls. "Her figure is not a bad one, sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said, composedly; "she is taller than Julie--who is six months her senior--she is as straight as an arrow. Her health is admirable; she has never had a day's illness." "But she cannot walk; she absolutely cannot walk!" Madame Duburg said, lifting up her hands in horror. "She walked upwards of twelve miles with her father, yesterday," Mrs. Barclay said, pretending to misunderstand her sister-in-law's meaning. "I did not mean that," Madame Duburg said, impatiently, "but she walks like a peasant girl. My faith, it is shocking to say, but she walks like a boy. I should be desolated to see my daughter step out in that way. "Then, look at her manners. My word, she has no manners at all. The other day when I was here, and Monsieur de Riviere with his sons called, she was awkward and shy; yes, indeed, she was positively awkward and shy. It is dreadful for me to have to say so, sister-in-law, but it is true. No manners, no ease! Julie, and even Justine, can receive visitors even as I could do, myself." "Her manners are not formed yet, sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said, quietly, "nor do I care that they should be. She is a young girl at present, and I do not wish to see her a woman before her time. In three years it will be time enough for her to mend her manners." "But in three years, sister-in-law, you will be looking for a husband for her." "I shall be doing nothing of the sort," Mrs. Barclay said, steadily. "In that, as in many other matters, I greatly prefer the English ways. As you know, we give up our house in two years, and go to England to reside. We have economized greatly, during the seventeen years since our marriage. We can afford to live in England, now. "At sixteen, therefore, Milly will have good masters; and for two years her education will be carried on, and her walk and manner will, no doubt, improve. In England, fathers and mothers do not arrange the marriage of their children; and Milly will have to do as other girls do--that is-- wait until someone falls in love with her, and she falls in love with him. Then, if he is a proper person, and has enough to keep her, they will be married." Madame Duburg was too much shocked at the expression of these sentiments to answer at once. She only sighed, shook her head, and looked upwards. "It is strange," she said at last, "to hear you, sister-in-law--a Frenchwoman--speak so lightly of marriage. As if a young girl could know, as well as her parents, who is a fit and proper person for her to marry. Besides, the idea of a young girl falling in love, before she marries, is shocking, quite shocking!" "My dear sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said, "we have talked this matter over before, and I have always stated my opinion, frankly. I have been a good deal in England; and have seen, therefore, and know the result of English marriages. I know also what French marriages are; and no one, who does know the state of things in the two countries, can hesitate for a moment in declaring that married life in England is infinitely happier, in every respect, than it is in France. The idea of telling your daughter that she is to marry a man whom she has never seen--as we do in France--is, to my mind, simply monstrous. Fortunately, I myself married for love; and I have been happy, ever since. I intend Milly, when the time comes, to do the same thing." Before Madame Duburg had time to answer, the gentlemen joined them, and the conversation turned upon the war. In a short time the three girls came up. "What a rosy little thing you are, Milly," her uncle said; "where do you get your plump cheeks, and your bright color? I wish you could give the receipt to Julie and Justine. Why, if you were to blow very hard, I do think you would blow them both down." "I am really surprised at you, Monsieur Duburg," his wife said, angrily. "I am sure I do not wish Julie and Justine to have as much color as their cousin. I consider it quite a misfortune for poor Milly. It is so very commonplace. Poor child, she looks as if she had been working at the vintage." "That is right, madame; stand up for your own," and her husband, who was accustomed to his wife's speeches, laughed. "But for all that, commonplace or not commonplace, I should like to see some of Milly's bright, healthy color in my girls' cheeks; and I should like to see them walk as if they had forgotten, for a moment, their tight boots and high heels." His wife was about to make an angry reply, when the arrival of the four boys--bearing in triumph the last basket of plums--changed the conversation; and shortly afterwards, Madame Duburg remarking that the evening was damp, and that she did not like Julie and Justine to be out in it any later, the Du burgs took their leave. Chapter 2: Terrible News. The ten days succeeding the declaration of war were days of excitement, and anticipation. The troops quartered at Dijon moved forward at once; and scarcely an hour passed but long trains, filled with soldiers from Lyons and the South, were on their way up towards Metz. The people of Dijon spent half their time in and around the station. The platform was kept clear; but bands of ladies relieved each other every few hours, and handed soup, bread, fruit, and wine to the soldiers as they passed through. Each crowded train was greeted, as it approached the station, with cheers and waving of handkerchiefs; to which the troops as heartily responded. Most of the trains were decorated with boughs, and presented a gay appearance as, filled with the little line men, the sunburned Zouaves, swarthy Turcos, gay hussars, or sober artillerymen, they wound slowly into the town. Some of the trains were less gay, but were not less significant of war. Long lines of wagons, filled with cannon; open trucks with the deadly shell--arranged side by side, point upwards, and looking more like eggs in a basket than deadly missiles--came and went. There, too, were long trains of pontoons for forming bridges while, every half hour, long lines of wagons filled with biscuits, barrels of wine, sacks of coffee, and cases of stores of all sorts and kinds passed through. The enthusiasm of Dijon, at the sight of this moving panorama of war, rose to fever heat. The sound of the Marseillaise resounded from morning to night. Victory was looked upon as certain, and the only subject of debate was as to the terms which victorious France would impose upon conquered Prussia. The only impatience felt was for the news of the first victory. Captain Barclay sent down several casks of wine, for the use of the passing troops; and his wife went down, each day, to assist at the distribution. In the evening she and Milly scraped old rags, to make lint for the wounded. The Lycee was still closed--as it was found impossible to get the boys to attend to their studies--and Ralph and Percy spent their time in watching the trains go past, and in shouting themselves hoarse. Captain Barclay did not share in the general enthusiasm and, each morning at breakfast, he looked more and more grave as, upon opening the papers, he found there was still no news of the commencement of hostilities. "What difference does it make, papa?" Ralph asked, one day; "we are sending fresh troops up, every hour, and I do not see how a few days' delay can be any disadvantage to us." "It makes all the difference, Ralph, all the difference in the world. We had a considerably larger standing army than the Prussians, and had the advantage that the main body of our troops were very much nearer to the frontier than those of the Prussians. If things had been ready, we ought to have marched two hundred thousand men into Germany, three or four days--at latest-- after the declaration of war. The Germans could have had no force capable of resisting them. We should have had the prestige of a first success--no slight thing with a French army--and we should also have had the great and solid advantage of fighting in an enemy's country, instead of upon our own. "The German reserves are far greater than our own. We know how perfect their organization is, and every hour of delay is an immense advantage to them. It is quite likely now that, instead of the French invading Germany, it will be the Prussians who will invade France." The boys were but little affected by their father's forebodings. It was scarcely possible to suppose that everyone could be wrong; still more impossible to believe that those great hosts which they saw passing, so full of high hope and eager courage, could be beaten. They were, however, very glad to sit round the table of an evening, while Captain Barclay opened a great map on the table, explained the strength of the various positions, and the probability of this or that line of attack being selected by one or the other army. Day after day went by until, on the 2nd of August, the news came at last. The first blow had been struck, the first blood shed--the French had taken Saarbruck. "It is too late," Captain Barclay said, as Ralph and Percy rushed in, to say that the news was posted up at the Prefecture. "It is too late, boys. The English papers, of this morning, have brought us the news that the Germans are massing at least seven or eight hundred thousand men, along the line from Saar Louis to Spiers. It is evident that they fell back from Saarbruck without any serious resistance. In another two or three days they will be in readiness and, as they must far outnumber our men, you will see that the advantage at Saarbruck will not be followed up, and that the Prussians will assume the offensive." "Then what do you really think will be the result, papa?" "I think, Ralph, that we shall be forced to do what--not having, at once, taken the offensive-- we ought to have done from the first. We shall have to fall back, to abandon the line of frontier-- which is altogether indefensible--and to hold the line of the Moselle, and the spurs of the Vosges; an immensely strong position, and which we ought to be able to hold against all the efforts of Prussia." The exultation of Dijon was but short lived for, on the 5th, the boys came up in the afternoon, from the town, with very serious faces. "What is the matter, Ralph?" "There is a rumor in the town, papa, that the Swiss papers have published an account of the capture of Weissenburg, by the Prussians. A great many French are said to be prisoners. Do you think it can be true?" "It is probable, at any rate, Ralph. The Swiss papers would, of course, get the news an hour or so after it is known in Germany. We must not begin by believing all that the telegram says, because both sides are certain to claim victories; still, the absolute capture of a town is a matter upon which there can be no dispute, and is therefore likely enough to be true. We know the Prussians were massed all along that line and, as I expected, they have taken the offensive. Their chances of success in so doing were evident; as neither party know where the others are preparing to strike a blow, and each can therefore concentrate, and strike with an overwhelming force at any given point. "Now that the Germans have made the first move, and shown their intention, both parties will concentrate in that direction. You see, from Weissenburg the Germans can either march south upon Strasburg, or southwest upon Metz or Nancy; but to reach this latter place they will have to cross the spurs of the Vosges. The French will, of course, try to bar their further advance. We may expect a great battle, in a day or two." The news came but too soon for--two days later--Dijon, as well as all France, stood aghast at the news of the utter rout of MacMahon's division, after the desperately contested battle of Woerth; and the not less decided, though less disastrous, defeats of the French left, at Forbach, by the troops of Steinmetz. Some little consolation was, however, gleaned by the fact that the French had been beaten in detail; and had shown the utmost gallantry, against greatly superior numbers. They would now, no doubt, fall back behind the Moselle; and hold that line, and the position of the Vosges, until fresh troops could come up, and a great battle be fought upon more even terms. Fresh levies were everywhere ordered, and a deep and general feeling of rage prevailed. No one thought of blaming the troops--it was evident that they had done their best; the fault lay with the generals, and with the organization. Captain Barclay pointed out, to the boys, that the officers and men were somewhat to blame, also; for the utter confusion which prevailed among MacMahon's troops, in their retreat, showed that the whole regimental system was faulty; and that there could have been no real discipline, whatever, or the shattered regiments would have rallied, a few miles from the field of battle. In Dijon, the change during the last fortnight was marvelous The war spirit was higher than ever. Cost what it might, this disgrace must be wiped out. The Mobiles were hard at work, drilling. The soldiers who had long left the army were starting, by every train, to the depots. The sound of the Marseillaise rang through the streets, night and day. The chorus, "To arms," gained a fresh meaning and power and, in spite of these first defeats, none dreamed of final defeat. Every day, however, the news became worse. Strasburg was cut off; and the Prussians marched unopposed across the spurs of the Vosges, where a mere handful of men might have checked them. "Boys, there are terrible days in store, for France," Captain Barclay said, when the news came that the enemy had entered Nancy. "The line of the Moselle is turned. Bazaine will be cut off, unless he hurries his retreat; and then nothing can stop the Prussians from marching to Paris." The boys sat speechless at this terrible assurance. "Surely it cannot be as bad as that," Mrs. Barclay said. "Frenchmen cannot have lost all their old qualities; and all France will rise, like one man, to march to the defense of Paris." "Raw levies will be of no use, whatever, against the Prussian troops, flushed with victory," Captain Barclay said; "even if they were armed--and where are the arms, for a levy en masse, to come from? If Bazaine be beaten, the only hope of France is for all the troops who remain to fall back under the guns of the forts of Paris; and for France to enter upon an immense guerrilla war. For hosts of skirmishers to hang upon their flanks and rear; cutting every road, destroying every bridge, checking the movements of every detached body, and so actually starving them out, on the ground which they occupy. "This, however, will demand an immense amount of pluck, of endurance, of perseverance, of sacrifice, and of patriotism. The question is, does France possess these qualities?" "Surely, Richard, you cannot doubt the patriotism of the French," Mrs. Barclay said, a little reproachfully. "My dear Melanie," her husband said, "I am sorry to say that I very greatly doubt the patriotism of the French. They are--more than any people, more even than the English, whom they laugh at as a nation of shopkeepers--a money-making race. The bourgeoise class, the shopkeepers, the small proprietors, are selfish in the extreme. They think only of their money, their business, and their comforts. The lower class are perhaps better, but their first thoughts will be how the war will affect themselves and, unless there is some chance of the enemy approaching their homes, driving off their cattle, and plundering their cottages, they will look on with a very calm eye at the general ruin. "I believe, remember, that those who will be called out will go and, if affairs go as I fear that they will do, every man under fifty years old in France will have to go out; but it is not enough to go out. For a war like this, it will require desperate courage and endurance, and an absolute disregard of life; to counterbalance the disadvantages of want of discipline, want of arms, want of artillery, and want of organization I may be wrong--I hope that I am so--but time will show." "And do you think that there is any chance of their coming down here, as well as of going to Paris, papa?" Percy asked. "That would depend upon the length of the resistance, Percy. If France holds out, and refuses to grant any terms which the Prussians might try to impose upon them, they may overrun half the country and, as this town is directly upon their way for Lyons--the second town of France--they are exceedingly likely to come this way." "Well, if they do, papa," Ralph said, with heightened color, "I feel sure that every man who can carry a gun will go out, and that every home will be defended." "We shall see, Ralph," Captain Barclay said, "we shall see." Another pause, and then came the news of that terrible three days' fighting--on the 14th, 16th, and 18th--near Metz; when Bazaine, his retreat towards Paris cut off, vainly tried to force his way through the Prussian army and, failing, fell back into Metz. Even now, when the position was well-nigh desperate--with the only great army remaining shut up and surrounded; and with nothing save the fragment of MacMahon's division, with a few other regiments, collected in haste, and the new levies, encamped at Chalons, between the victorious enemy and the capital-- the people of France were scarcely awake to the urgency of the position. The Government concealed at least a portion of the truth, and the people were only too ready to be deceived. In Dijon, however, the facts were better known, and more understood. The Swiss newspapers, containing the Prussian official telegrams and accounts, arrived daily; and those who received them speedily spread the news through the town. The consternation was great, and general, but there was no sign of despair. Those of the Mobiles who were armed and equipped were sent off, at once, to Chalons. At every corner of the street were placards, calling out the Mobiles and soldiers who had served their time; and, although not yet called to arms, the national guard drilled in the Place d'Armes, morning and evening. "You will allow, Richard, that you were mistaken as to the patriotism of the people," Mrs. Barclay said, one evening, to her husband. "Everyone is rushing to arms." "They are coming out better than I had expected, Melanie; but at the same time, you will observe that they have no choice in the matter. The Mobiles are called out, and have to go. All who can raise the most frivolous pretext for exemption do so. There is a perfect rush of young men to the Prefecture, to obtain places in the clothing, medical, arming, and equipping departments; in any sort of service, in fact, which will exempt its holder from taking up arms. "At the same time, there is a great deal of true, earnest patriotism. Many married men, with families, have volunteered; and those belonging to the categories called out do go, as you say, cheerfully, if not willingly and, once enrolled, appear determined to do their duty. "France will need all the patriotism, and all the devotion of her people to get through the present crisis. There is no saying how it will end. I have no hope, whatever, that MacMahon's new army can arrest the march of the enemy; and his true course is to fall back upon Paris. Our chance, here, of remaining free from a visit of the enemy depends entirely upon the length of time which Strasburg and Metz hold out. Bazaine may be able to cut his way out but, at any rate, he is likely to remain where he is, for some little time, under the walls of Metz; for he occupies the attention of a considerably larger force than that which he commands. "The vital point, at present, is to cut the roads behind the Germans. If it were not for this cork leg of mine, Melanie, I would try and raise a small guerrilla corps, and set out on my own account. I have lived here for seventeen years, now, and the French fought by our side, in the Crimea. Could I do so, I should certainly fight for France, now. It is clearly the duty of anyone who can carry a musket to go out." Just at this moment the door opened, and Ralph and Percy entered hastily. They both looked excited, but serious. "What is it, boys?" "Papa," Ralph said, "there is a notice up, signed by your friend Captain Tempe. He calls for a hundred volunteers, to join a corps of franc tireurs--a sort of guerrillas, I believe--to go out to harass the Germans, and cut their communication. Those who can are to provide their own arms and equipments. A meeting is to be held, tonight, for subscribing the money for those who cannot afford to do so. "We have come to ask you to let us join, papa. Louis and Philippe have just gone to ask uncle's leave." Captain Barclay listened in silence, with a very grave face. Their mother sat down in a chair, with a white face. "Oh, my boys, you are too young," she gasped out. "We are stronger, mamma, than a great many of the men who have been called out; and taller and stouter, in every way. We can walk better than the greater portion of them. We are accustomed to exercise and fatigue. We are far more fit to be soldiers than many young men who have gone from here. You said yourself, mamma, that everyone who could carry a gun ought to go out." "But you are not French, boys," Mrs. Barclay said, piteously. "We are half French, mamma. Not legally, but it has been home to us, since we were born and, even if you had not been French, we ought to fight for her." Mrs. Barclay looked at her husband for assistance, but Captain Barclay had leaned his face in his hands, and said nothing. "Ah, Ralph; but Percy at least, he is only fifteen." "I am nearly as big, nearly as strong as Ralph, mamma. Besides, would it not be better to have two of us? If one is ill or--or wounded--the other could look after him, you know. "Mamma, dearest, we have talked it over, and we think we ought to go. We are very strong for our ages; and it is strength, not years, which matters. Mamma, you said a Frenchwoman should not grudge those she loves to France; and that if France was invaded all, even the women, should go out." Mrs. Barclay was silent. She could not speak. She was so deadly pale, and her face had such an expression of misery, that the boys felt their resolution wavering. Captain Barclay looked up. "Boys," he said, very gravely, "I have one question to ask; which you will answer me truly, upon your faith and honor Do you wish to go merely--or principally--from a desire to see the excitement and the adventure of a guerrilla war; or do you go out because you desire earnestly to do your best, to defend the country in which you were born, and lived? Are you prepared to suffer any hardship and, if it is the will of God, to die for her?" "We are, papa," both boys said. And Ralph went on: "When we first talked over the possibility of everyone being called out--and of our going, too--we did look upon it as a case of fun and excitement; but when the chance really came, we saw how serious it was. We knew how much it would cost you, and dear mamma; and we would not have asked you, had we not felt that we ought to go, even if we knew we should be killed." "In that case, boys," Captain Barclay said, solemnly, rising and laying one hand on the shoulder of each of his sons, "in that case, I say no more. You are a soldier's sons, and your example may do good. It is your duty, and that of everyone, to fight for his country. I give you my full consent to go. I should not have advised it. At your age, there was no absolute duty. Still, if you feel it so, I will not stand in your way. "Go then, my boys, and may God watch over you, and keep you, and send you safe home again." So saying, he kissed them both on the forehead, and walked from the room without saying another word. Then the boys turned to their mother, who was crying silently and, falling upon her neck, they kissed her and cried with her. It was understood that her consent was given, with their father's. Milly, coming in and hearing what was the matter, sat down in sudden grief and astonishment on the nearest chair, and cried bitterly. It was a sad half hour, and the boys were almost inclined to regret that they had asked for leave to go. However, there was no drawing back now and, when they left their mother, they went on to tell their cousins that they were going. They found Louis and Philippe in a state of great disappointment, because their father had altogether refused to listen to their entreaties. Upon hearing, however, that Ralph and Percy were going, they gained fresh hope; for they said, if English boys could go and fight for France, it was shameful that French boys should stay at home, in idleness. Captain Barclay, after giving permission to his sons to go as franc tireurs, first went for a walk by himself, to think over the consequences of his decision. He then went down into Dijon, and called upon Captain Tempe. The commander of the proposed corps had served for many years in the Zouaves, and was known to be an able and energetic officer. He had left the service, five or six years previously, upon his marriage. He lived a short distance, only, from Captain Barclay; and a warm friendship had sprung up between them. Upon Captain Barclay telling him why he had come to see him, Captain Tempe expressed his satisfaction at the decision of the young Barclays. "I have already the names of one or two lads little, if any, older than your eldest boy," he said; "and although the other is certainly very young yet, as he is very stout and strong for his age, I have no doubt he will bear the fatigue as well as many of the men." "I wish I could go with you," Captain Barclay said. "I wish you could, indeed," Captain Tempe replied, warmly; "but with your leg you never could keep up, on foot; and a horse would be out of the question, among the forests of the Vosges mountains. "You might, however--if you will--be of great use in assisting me to drill and discipline my recruits, before starting." "That I will do, with pleasure," Captain Barclay said. "I had been thinking of offering my services, in that way, to the municipality; as very few of the officers of the Mobiles, still less of the national guard, know their duty. As it is, I will devote myself to your corps, till they march. "In the first place, how strong do you mean them to be?" "One strong company, say one hundred and twenty men," Captain Tempe answered. "More than that would be too unwieldy for guerrilla work. I would rather have twenty less, than more; indeed, I should be quite satisfied with a hundred. If I find that volunteers come in, in greater numbers than I can accept, I shall advise them to get up other, similar corps. There ought to be scores of small parties, hanging upon the rear and flank of the enemy, and interrupting his communication." "How do you think of arming them?" "Either with chassepots...