it was after bourbaki's defeat in the east of france. the army, broken up, decimated, and worn out, had been obliged to retreat into switzerland after that terrible campaign, and it was only its short duration that saved a hundred and fifty thousand men from certain death. hunger, the terrible cold, forced marches in the snow without boots, over bad mountain roads, had caused us 'francs-tireurs', especially, the greatest suffering, for we were without tents, and almost without food, always in the van when we were marching toward belfort, and in the rear when returning by the jura. of our little band that had numbered twelve hundred men on the first of january, there remained only twenty-two pale, thin, ragged wretches, when we at length succeeded in reaching swiss territory.

there we were safe, and could rest. everybody knows what sympathy was shown to the unfortunate french army, and how well it was cared for. we all gained fresh life, and those who had been rich and happy before the war declared that they had never experienced a greater feeling of comfort than they did then. just think. we actually had something to eat every day, and could sleep every night.

meanwhile, the war continued in the east of france, which had been excluded from the armistice. besancon still kept the enemy in check, and the latter had their revenge by ravaging franche comte. sometimes we heard that they had approached quite close to the frontier, and we saw swiss troops, who were to form a line of observation between us and them, set out on their march.

that pained us in the end, and, as we regained health and strength, the longing to fight took possession of us. it was disgraceful and irritating to know that within two or three leagues of us the germans were victorious and insolent, to feel that we were protected by our captivity, and to feel that on that account we were powerless against them.

one day our captain took five or six of us aside, and spoke to us about it, long and furiously. he was a fine fellow, that captain. he had been a sublieutenant in the zouaves, was tall and thin and as hard as steel, and during the whole campaign he had cut out their work for the germans. he fretted in inactivity, and could not accustom himself to the idea of being a prisoner and of doing nothing.

“confound it!” he said to us, “does it not pain you to know that there is a number of uhlans within two hours of us? does it not almost drive you mad to know that those beggarly wretches are walking about as masters in our mountains, when six determined men might kill a whole spitful any day? i cannot endure it any longer, and i must go there.”

“but how can you manage it, captain?”

“how? it is not very difficult! just as if we had not done a thing or two within the last six months, and got out of woods that were guarded by very different men from the swiss. the day that you wish to cross over into france, i will undertake to get you there.”

“that may be; but what shall we do in france without any arms?”

“without arms? we will get them over yonder, by jove!”

“you are forgetting the treaty,” another soldier said; “we shall run the risk of doing the swiss an injury, if manteuffel learns that they have allowed prisoners to return to france.”

“come,” said the captain, “those are all bad reasons. i mean to go and kill some prussians; that is all i care about. if you do not wish to do as i do, well and good; only say so at once. i can quite well go by myself; i do not require anybody's company.”

naturally we all protested, and, as it was quite impossible to make the captain alter his mind, we felt obliged to promise to go with him. we liked him too much to leave him in the lurch, as he never failed us in any extremity; and so the expedition was decided on.

ii

the captain had a plan of his own, that he had been cogitating over for some time. a man in that part of the country whom he knew was going to lend him a cart and six suits of peasants' clothes. we could hide under some straw at the bottom of the wagon, which would be loaded with gruyere cheese, which he was supposed to be going to sell in france. the captain told the sentinels that he was taking two friends with him to protect his goods, in case any one should try to rob him, which did not seem an extraordinary precaution. a swiss officer seemed to look at the wagon in a knowing manner, but that was in order to impress his soldiers. in a word, neither officers nor men could make it out.

“get up,” the captain said to the horses, as he cracked his whip, while our three men quietly smoked their pipes. i was half suffocated in my box, which only admitted the air through those holes in front, and at the same time i was nearly frozen, for it was terribly cold.

“get up,” the captain said again, and the wagon loaded with gruyere cheese entered france.

the prussian lines were very badly guarded, as the enemy trusted to the watchfulness of the swiss. the sergeant spoke north german, while our captain spoke the bad german of the four cantons, and so they could not understand each other. the sergeant, however, pretended to be very intelligent; and, in order to make us believe that he understood us, they allowed us to continue our journey; and, after travelling for seven hours, being continually stopped in the same manner, we arrived at a small village of the jura in ruins, at nightfall.

what were we going to do? our only arms were the captain's whip, our uniforms our peasants' blouses, and our food the gruyere cheese. our sole wealth consisted in our ammunition, packages of cartridges which we had stowed away inside some of the large cheeses. we had about a thousand of them, just two hundred each, but we needed rifles, and they must be chassepots. luckily, however, the captain was a bold man of an inventive mind, and this was the plan that he hit upon:

while three of us remained hidden in a cellar in the abandoned village, he continued his journey as far as besancon with the empty wagon and one man. the town was invested, but one can always make one's way into a town among the hills by crossing the tableland till within about ten miles of the walls, and then following paths and ravines on foot. they left their wagon at omans, among the germans, and escaped out of it at night on foot; so as to gain the heights which border the river doubs; the next day they entered besancon, where there were plenty of chassepots. there were nearly forty thousand of them left in the arsenal, and general roland, a brave marine, laughed at the captain's daring project, but let him have six rifles and wished him “good luck.” there he had also found his wife, who had been through all the war with us before the campaign in the east, and who had been only prevented by illness from continuing with bourbaki's army. she had recovered, however, in spite of the cold, which was growing more and more intense, and in spite of the numberless privations that awaited her, she persisted in accompanying her husband. he was obliged to give way to her, and they all three, the captain, his wife, and our comrade, started on their expedition.

going was nothing in comparison to returning. they were obliged to travel by night, so as to avoid meeting anybody, as the possession of six rifles would have made them liable to suspicion. but, in spite of everything, a week after leaving us, the captain and his two men were back with us again. the campaign was about to begin.

iii

the first night of his arrival he began it himself, and, under pretext of examining the surrounding country, he went along the high road.

i must tell you that the little village which served as our fortress was a small collection of poor, badly built houses, which had been deserted long before. it lay on a steep slope, which terminated in a wooded plain. the country people sell the wood; they send it down the slopes, which are called coulees, locally, and which lead down to the plain, and there they stack it into piles, which they sell thrice a year to the wood merchants. the spot where this market is held in indicated by two small houses by the side of the highroad, which serve for public houses. the captain had gone down there by way of one of these coulees.

he had been gone about half an hour, and we were on the lookout at the top of the ravine, when we heard a shot. the captain had ordered us not to stir, and only to come to him when we heard him blow his trumpet. it was made of a goat's horn, and could be heard a league off; but it gave no sound, and, in spite of our cruel anxiety, we were obliged to wait in silence, with our rifles by our side.

it is nothing to go down these coulees; one just lets one's self slide down; but it is more difficult to get up again; one has to scramble up by catching hold of the hanging branches of the trees, and sometimes on all fours, by sheer strength. a whole mortal hour passed, and he did not come; nothing moved in the brushwood. the captain's wife began to grow impatient. what could he be doing? why did he not call us? did the shot that we had heard proceed from an enemy, and had he killed or wounded our leader, her husband? they did not know what to think, but i myself fancied either that he was dead or that his enterprise was successful; and i was merely anxious and curious to know what he had done.

suddenly we heard the sound of his trumpet, and we were much surprised that instead of coming from below, as we had expected, it came from the village behind us. what did that mean? it was a mystery to us, but the same idea struck us all, that he had been killed, and that the prussians were blowing the trumpet to draw us into an ambush. we therefore returned to the cottage, keeping a careful lookout with our fingers on the trigger, and hiding under the branches; but his wife, in spite of our entreaties, rushed on, leaping like a tigress. she thought that she had to avenge her husband, and had fixed the bayonet to her rifle, and we lost sight of her at the moment that we heard the trumpet again; and, a few moments later, we heard her calling out to us:

“come on! come on! he is alive! it is he!”

we hastened on, and saw the captain smoking his pipe at the entrance of the village, but strangely enough, he was on horseback.

“ah! ah!” he said to us, “you see that there is something to be done here. here i am on horseback already; i knocked over an uhlan yonder, and took his horse; i suppose they were guarding the wood, but it was by drinking and swilling in clover. one of them, the sentry at the door, had not time to see me before i gave him a sugarplum in his stomach, and then, before the others could come out, i jumped on the horse and was off like a shot. eight or ten of them followed me, i think; but i took the crossroads through the woods. i have got scratched and torn a bit, but here i am, and now, my good fellows, attention, and take care! those brigands will not rest until they have caught us, and we must receive them with rifle bullets. come along; let us take up our posts!”

we set out. one of us took up his position a good way from the village on the crossroads; i was posted at the entrance of the main street, where the road from the level country enters the village, while the two others, the captain and his wife, were in the middle of the village, near the church, whose tower served for an observatory and citadel.

we had not been in our places long before we heard a shot, followed by another, and then two, then three. the first was evidently a chassepot —one recognized it by the sharp report, which sounds like the crack of a whip—while the other three came from the lancers' carbines.

the captain was furious. he had given orders to the outpost to let the enemy pass and merely to follow them at a distance if they marched toward the village, and to join me when they had gone well between the houses. then they were to appear suddenly, take the patrol between two fires, and not allow a single man to escape; for, posted as we were, the six of us could have hemmed in ten prussians, if needful.

“that confounded piedelot has roused them,” the captain said, “and they will not venture to come on blindfolded any longer. and then i am quite sure that he has managed to get a shot into himself somewhere or other, for we hear nothing of him. it serves him right; why did he not obey orders?” and then, after a moment, he grumbled in his beard: “after all i am sorry for the poor fellow; he is so brave, and shoots so well!”

the captain was right in his conjectures. we waited until evening, without seeing the uhlans; they had retreated after the first attack; but unfortunately we had not seen piedelot, either. was he dead or a prisoner? when night came, the captain proposed that we should go out and look for him, and so the three of us started. at the crossroads we found a broken rifle and some blood, while the ground was trampled down; but we did not find either a wounded man or a dead body, although we searched every thicket, and at midnight we returned without having discovered anything of our unfortunate comrade.

“it is very strange,” the captain growled. “they must have killed him and thrown him into the bushes somewhere; they cannot possibly have taken him prisoner, as he would have called out for help. i cannot understand it at all.” just as he said that, bright flames shot up in the direction of the inn on the high road, which illuminated the sky.

“scoundrels! cowards!” he shouted. “i will bet that they have set fire to the two houses on the marketplace, in order to have their revenge, and then they will scuttle off without saying a word. they will be satisfied with having killed a man and set fire to two houses. all right. it shall not pass over like that. we must go for them; they will not like to leave their illuminations in order to fight.”

“it would be a great stroke of luck if we could set piedelot free at the same time,” some one said.

the five of us set off, full of rage and hope. in twenty minutes we had got to the bottom of the coulee, and had not yet seen any one when we were within a hundred yards of the inn. the fire was behind the house, and all we saw of it was the reflection above the roof. however, we were walking rather slowly, as we were afraid of an ambush, when suddenly we heard piedelot's well-known voice. it had a strange sound, however; for it was at the same time—dull and vibrating, stifled and clear, as if he were calling out as loud as he could with a bit of rag stuffed into his mouth. he seemed to be hoarse and gasping, and the unlucky fellow kept exclaiming: “help! help!”

we sent all thoughts of prudence to the devil, and in two bounds we were at the back of the inn, where a terrible sight met our eyes.

iv

piedelot was being burned alive. he was writhing in the midst of a heap of fagots, tied to a stake, and the flames were licking him with their burning tongues. when he saw us, his tongue seemed to stick in his throat; he drooped his head, and seemed as if he were going to die. it was only the affair of a moment to upset the burning pile, to scatter the embers, and to cut the ropes that fastened him.

poor fellow! in what a terrible state we found him. the evening before he had had his left arm broken, and it seemed as if he had been badly beaten since then, for his whole body was covered with wounds, bruises and blood. the flames had also begun their work on him, and he had two large burns, one on his loins and the other on his right thigh, and his beard and hair were scorched. poor piedelot!

no one knows the terrible rage we felt at this sight! we would have rushed headlong at a hundred thousand prussians; our thirst for vengeance was intense. but the cowards had run away, leaving their crime behind them. where could we find them now? meanwhile, however, the captain's wife was looking after piedelot, and dressing his wounds as best she could, while the captain himself shook hands with him excitedly, and in a few minutes he came to himself.

“good-morning, captain; good-morning, all of you,” he said. “ah! the scoundrels, the wretches! why, twenty of them came to surprise us.”

“twenty, do you say?”

“yes; there was a whole band of them, and that is why i disobeyed orders, captain, and fired on them, for they would have killed you all, and i preferred to stop them. that frightened them, and they did not venture to go farther than the crossroads. they were such cowards. four of them shot at me at twenty yards, as if i had been a target, and then they slashed me with their swords. my arm was broken, so that i could only use my bayonet with one hand.”

“but why did you not call for help?”

“i took good care not to do that, for you would all have come; and you would neither have been able to defend me nor yourselves, being only five against twenty.”

“you know that we should not have allowed you to have been taken, poor old fellow.”

“i preferred to die by myself, don't you see! i did not want to bring you here, for it would have been a mere ambush.”

“well, we will not talk about it any more. do you feel rather easier?”

“no, i am suffocating. i know that i cannot live much longer. the brutes! they tied me to a tree, and beat me till i was half dead, and then they shook my broken arm; but i did not make a sound. i would rather have bitten my tongue out than have called out before them. now i can tell what i am suffering and shed tears; it does one good. thank you, my kind friends.”

“poor piedelot! but we will avenge you, you may be sure!”

“yes, yes; i want you to do that. there is, in particular, a woman among them who passes as the wife of the lancer whom the captain killed yesterday. she is dressed like a lancer, and she tortured me the most yesterday, and suggested burning me; and it was she who set fire to the wood. oh! the wretch, the brute! ah! how i am suffering! my loins, my arms!” and he fell back gasping and exhausted, writhing in his terrible agony, while the captain's wife wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and we all shed tears of grief and rage, as if we had been children. i will not describe the end to you; he died half an hour later, previously telling us in what direction the enemy had gone. when he was dead we gave ourselves time to bury him, and then we set out in pursuit of them, with our hearts full of fury and hatred.

“we will throw ourselves on the whole prussian army, if it be necessary,” the captain said; “but we will avenge piedelot. we must catch those scoundrels. let us swear to die, rather than not to find them; and if i am killed first, these are my orders: all the prisoners that you take are to be shot immediately, and as for the lancer's wife, she is to be tortured before she is put to death.”

“she must not be shot, because she is a woman,” the captain's wife said. “if you survive, i am sure that you would not shoot a woman. torturing her will be quite sufficient; but if you are killed in this pursuit, i want one thing, and that is to fight with her; i will kill her with my own hands, and the others can do what they like with her if she kills me.”

“we will outrage her! we will burn her! we will tear her to pieces! piedelot shall be avenged!

“an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!”

v

the next morning we unexpectedly fell on an outpost of uhlans four leagues away. surprised by our sudden attack, they were not able to mount their horses, nor even to defend themselves; and in a few moments we had five prisoner, corresponding to our own number. the captain questioned them, and from their answers we felt certain that they were the same whom we had encountered the previous day. then a very curious operation took place. one of us was told off to ascertain their sex, and nothing can describe our joy when we discovered what we were seeking among them, the female executioner who had tortured our friend.

the four others were shot on the spot, with their backs to us and close to the muzzles of our rifles; and then we turned our attention to the woman. what were we going to do with her? i must acknowledge that we were all of us in favor of shooting her. hatred, and the wish to avenge piedelot, had extinguished all pity in us, and we had forgotten that we were going to shoot a woman, but a woman reminded us of it, the captain's wife; at her entreaties, therefore, we determined to keep her a prisoner.

the captain's poor wife was to be severely punished for this act of clemency.

the next day we heard that the armistice had been extended to the eastern part of france, and we had to put an end to our little campaign. two of us, who belonged to the neighborhood, returned home, so there were only four of us, all told: the captain, his wife, and two men. we belonged to besancon, which was still being besieged in spite of the armistice.

“let us stop here,” said the captain. “i cannot believe that the war is going to end like this. the devil take it! surely there are men still left in france; and now is the time to prove what they are made of. the spring is coming on, and the armistice is only a trap laid for the prussians. during the time that it lasts, a new army will be raised, and some fine morning we shall fall upon them again. we shall be ready, and we have a hostage—let us remain here.”

we fixed our quarters there. it was terribly cold, and we did not go out much, and somebody had always to keep the female prisoner in sight.

she was sullen, and never said anything, or else spoke of her husband, whom the captain had killed. she looked at him continually with fierce eyes, and we felt that she was tortured by a wild longing for revenge. that seemed to us to be the most suitable punishment for the terrible torments that she had made piedelot suffer, for impotent vengeance is such intense pain!

alas! we who knew how to avenge our comrade ought to have thought that this woman would know how to avenge her husband, and have been on our guard. it is true that one of us kept watch every night, and that at first we tied her by a long rope to the great oak bench that was fastened to the wall. but, by and by, as she had never tried to escape, in spite of her hatred for us, we relaxed our extreme prudence, and allowed her to sleep somewhere else except on the bench, and without being tied. what had we to fear? she was at the end of the room, a man was on guard at the door, and between her and the sentinel the captain's wife and two other men used to lie. she was alone and unarmed against four, so there could be no danger.

one night when we were asleep, and the captain was on guard, the lancer's wife was lying more quietly in her corner than usual, and she had even smiled for the first time since she had been our prisoner during the evening. suddenly, however, in the middle of the night, we were all awakened by a terrible cry. we got up, groping about, and at once stumbled over a furious couple who were rolling about and fighting on the ground. it was the captain and the lancer's wife. we threw ourselves on them, and separated them in a moment. she was shouting and laughing, and he seemed to have the death rattle. all this took place in the dark. two of us held her, and when a light was struck a terrible sight met our eyes. the captain was lying on the floor in a pool of blood, with an enormous gash in his throat, and his sword bayonet, that had been taken from his rifle, was sticking in the red, gaping wound. a few minutes afterward he died, without having been able to utter a word.

his wife did not shed a tear. her eyes were dry, her throat was contracted, and she looked at the lancer's wife steadfastly, and with a calm ferocity that inspired fear.

“this woman belongs to me,” she said to us suddenly. “you swore to me not a week ago to let me kill her as i chose, if she killed my husband; and you must keep your oath. you must fasten her securely to the fireplace, upright against the back of it, and then you can go where you like, but far from here. i will take my revenge on her myself. leave the captain's body, and we three, he, she and i, will remain here.”

we obeyed, and went away. she promised to write to us to geneva, as we were returning thither.

vi

two days later i received the following letter, dated the day after we had left, that had been written at an inn on the high road:

“my friend: i am writing to you, according to my promise. for the moment i am at the inn, where i have just handed my prisoner over to a prussian officer.

“i must tell you, my friend, that this poor woman has left two children in germany. she had followed her husband, whom she adored, as she did not wish him to be exposed to the risks of war by himself, and as her children were with their grandparents. i have learned all this since yesterday, and it has turned my ideas of vengeance into more humane feelings. at the very moment when i felt pleasure in insulting this woman, and in threatening her with the most fearful torments, in recalling piedelot, who had been burned alive, and in threatening her with a similar death, she looked at me coldly, and said:

“'what have you got to reproach me with, frenchwoman? you think that you will do right in avenging your husband's death, is not that so?'

“'yes,' i replied.

“'very well, then; in killing him, i did what you are going to do in burning me. i avenged my husband, for your husband killed him.'

“'well,' i replied, 'as you approve of this vengeance, prepare to endure it.'

“'i do not fear it.'

“and in fact she did not seem to have lost courage. her face was calm, and she looked at me without trembling, while i brought wood and dried leaves together, and feverishly threw on to them the powder from some cartridges, which was to make her funeral pile the more cruel.

“i hesitated in my thoughts of persecution for a moment. but the captain was there, pale and covered with blood, and he seemed to be looking at me with his large, glassy eyes, and i applied myself to my work again after kissing his pale lips. suddenly, however, on raising my head, i saw that she was crying, and i felt rather surprised.

“'so you are frightened?' i said to her.

“'no, but when i saw you kiss your husband, i thought of mine, of all whom i love.'

“she continued to sob, but stopping suddenly, she said to me in broken words and in a low voice:

“'have you any children?'

“a shiver rare over me, for i guessed that this poor woman had some. she asked me to look in a pocketbook which was in her bosom, and in it i saw two photographs of quite young children, a boy and a girl, with those kind, gentle, chubby faces that german children have. in it there were also two locks of light hair and a letter in a large, childish hand, and beginning with german words which meant:

“'my dear little mother.

“'i could not restrain my tears, my dear friend, and so i untied her, and without venturing to look at the face of my poor dead husband, who was not to be avenged, i went with her as far as the inn. she is free; i have just left her, and she kissed me with tears. i am going upstairs to my husband; come as soon as possible, my dear friend, to look for our two bodies.'”

i set off with all speed, and when i arrived there was a prussian patrol at the cottage; and when i asked what it all meant, i was told that there was a captain of francs-tireurs and his wife inside, both dead. i gave their names; they saw that i knew them, and i begged to be allowed to arrange their funeral.

“somebody has already undertaken it,” was the reply. “go in if you wish to, as you know them. you can settle about their funeral with their friend.”

i went in. the captain and his wife were lying side by side on a bed, and were covered by a sheet. i raised it, and saw that the woman had inflicted a similar wound in her throat to that from which her husband had died.

at the side of the bed there sat, watching and weeping, the woman who had been mentioned to me as their best friend. it was the lancer's wife.