Doctor Lorquin, having looked at him, said: "It is a fine specimen of the Tartar race; if I had time, I should put it in a lime-bath, so as to obtain a skeleton of this tribe."
He then knelt down, and opening the long tunic,--"The ball has traversed the pericardium, and has produced almost the same effect as aneurism of the heart."
The others kept silence.
Kasper, with his hand on the muzzle of his rifle, seemed quite contented with his game; and old Materne, rubbing his hands, said: "I was sure I would bring you back something: my boys and I never return empty-handed. There now!"
Hullin then pulled him aside. They entered the farm together, and after the first surprise was over, every man began to make his own personal reflections on the Cossack.
CHAPTER XIII
ROUND THE WATCHFIRES
That night, which was on a Friday, the anabaptist"s little farm-house never ceased for an instant to be filled with people coming in and going out.
Hullin had established his head-quarters in the large room on the ground floor, to the right of the barn, facing Framont: on the other side of the pa.s.sage was the ambulance: the upper part was inhabited by the farm people.
Although the night was very still and the stars were shining in myriads, the cold was so intense that there was nearly an inch of ice on the panes.
Outside, one could hear the challenge of the sentinel, the pa.s.sing of the patrols, and, on the surrounding peaks, the howling of the wolves, who followed our armies in hundreds since 1812. These wild beasts crouched on the ice, their sharp muzzles between their paws, with hunger at their entrails, calling each other, from the Grosmann to the Donon, with moaning sounds like that of the north wind.
It made more than one mountaineer grow pale.
"It is Death who calls," thought they; "he scents the battle, he summons us!"
The oxen lowed in the stables, and the horses gave frightful neighs.
About thirty fires blazed on the plateau; all the anabaptist"s wood was taken; f.a.gots were heaped one upon another. Their faces were scorched, and their backs frozen; they warmed their backs, and the ice hung from their mustaches.
Hullin, alone, before the great pinewood table, was taking thought for all. According to the latest tidings of the evening, announcing the arrival of the Cossacks at Framont, he was convinced that the first attack would take place the next day. He had distributed cartridges, doubled the sentries, appointed patrols, and marked all the posts along the outworks. Every one knew beforehand what place he was to occupy.
Hullin had also sent orders to Piorette, Jerome of St. Quirin, and Labarbe, to send him their best marksmen.
The little dark pathway, lit by a dim lantern, was full of snow, and pa.s.sing under the immovable light every instant one could see the chiefs of the ambush, with their hats pressed down to their ears, the ample sleeves of their great-coats pulled down over their wrists, with their dark eyes and beards stiffened with ice.
Pluto no longer growled at the heavy step of these men. Hullin, with his head between his hands and his elbows on the table, listened thoughtfully to all their reports:--
"Master Jean-Claude, there is a movement in the direction of Grandfontaine; and the sounds of galloping are distinguishable."
"Master Jean-Claude, the brandy is frozen."
"Master Jean-Claude, many of the men are in want of powder."
"They are in want of this: they are in want of that."
"Let some one be sent to watch Grandfontaine, and let the sentries on that side be changed every half-hour." "Let the brandy be brought to the fire." "Wait until Dives comes: he brings us ammunition. Let the remainder of the cartridges be distributed. Let those who have more than twenty give some to their comrades."
And so it went on all the night.
At five in the morning, Kasper, Materne"s son, came to tell Hullin that Marc Dives, with a load of cartridges, Catherine Lefevre on a cart, and a detachment from Labarbe, had just arrived together, and that they were already on the plateau.
The tidings pleased him, especially on account of the cartridges, for he had feared delay.
He immediately rose and went out with Kasper. The plateau presented a curious spectacle.
On the approach of day, clouds of mist began to rise from the valley, the fires hissed with the damp, and all around could be seen sleeping men: one stretched on his back, with his arms thrown under his hat, a blue face, and doubled-up legs; another with his cheek on his arm and his back to the fire; the greater number seated, with bent heads and their muskets slung across their shoulders. All was silent, wrapped in purple light or gray tints, just as the fire blazed or smouldered.
Then, in the distance, could be discerned the profile of the sentinels, with their muskets across their arms or clubbed upon the ground, gazing into the cloud-filled abyss beneath them.
To the right, fifty paces from the last fire, could be heard the neighing of horses, and people stamping with their feet to warm themselves, and talking aloud.
"Master Jean-Claude is coming," said Kasper, going toward them.
One of the partisans having thrown a few sticks of dry wood on to the fire, there was a bright blaze; and Marc Dives"s men on horseback, twelve tall fellows, wrapped in their long gray cloaks, their felts slouched back over their shoulders, with their long mustaches either turned up or falling down to their necks, their sabres in their grasp, stood motionless round the load of cartridges. Farther on Catherine Lefevre crouched down in her cart, her hood over her face, her feet in the straw, her back against a large barrel. Behind her was a caldron, a gridiron, a fresh-killed pig, scalded all white and red, with some strings of onions and cabbages for making soup. All stood out of the darkness for a second, and then relapsed into night.
Dives, having quitted the convoy, advanced on his powerful horse.
"Is it you, Jean-Claude?"
"Yes, Marc."
"I have some few thousand cartridges there. Hexe-Baizel is working day and night."
"Good!"
"Yes, old fellow. And Catherine Lefevre brings provisions as well; she killed yesterday."
"All right, Marc: we shall want all that. The battle is impending."
"Yes, yes, I thought so; we came quickly. Where is the powder to be put?"
"There, under the cart-house behind the farm. Ah, is that you, Catherine?"
"Of course, Jean-Claude. It is dreadfully cold this morning!"
"You are always the same. Have you no fear?"
"What! should I be a woman if I were not curious? I must poke my nose everywhere."
"Yes, you always make excuses for the fine and n.o.ble things you do."
"Hullin, you are wearisome with your repet.i.tions; let me alone with your compliments. Must not all those people eat? Can they live on air in such weather as this? And is not air fattening on a day so cold--like needles and razors. So I took my measures. Yesterday we slaughtered an ox--poor Schwartz, you know--he weighed a good nine hundred. I have brought his hind-quarters for this morning"s soup."
"Catherine, it is in vain I have known you so long," cried Jean-Claude, quite touched; "you are always astonishing me. No sacrifice is too great for you, neither money, care, nor trouble."
"Ah," replied the old farm-wife, rising and springing from her cart, "you tease and worry me, Jean-Claude. I am going to warm myself."