Volume 8 — Chapter XIII.

That whole night long the little farm of the Anabaptist was filled with partisans going and coming.

Hullin had established his headquarters in the large hall of the ground floor of the house; on this floor, too, was the hospital, and the farm people occupied the upper stories.

Although the night was calm and innumerable stars shone in the sky, the cold was so keen that the frost seemed almost an inch thick upon the window-panes.

Without, the cry of "Who goes there?" occasionally broke the stillness, while ever and anon the howling of wolves was borne on the air from the neighboring peaks; for since 1812 wolves had followed our armies by hundreds, and now, stretched on the snow, their pointed muzzles between their fore-paws, they called from Grosmann to Donon, and from Donon to Grosmann, until the breeze seemed filled with their plaintive cries. More than one mountaineer grew pale as he listened to them, and muttered:

"It is the song of death; he scents the battle from afar, and calls us to follow him."

Then the cattle lowed in their stables, and the horses neighed with affright.

Some thirty fires were burning on the plateau where was the camp; the old Anabaptist's wood-pile had paid tribute, and log after log was heaped on; but though the face might scorch, the back quivered with the cold, and frost hung from the beards and moustaches of those who stood warming their backs.

Hullin, in the house, sat before the great fir table, absorbed in thought. From the latest reports he had received, he was convinced that the first attack would be made the next day. He had had cartridges distributed, had doubled the sentries, ordered patrols through the mountain, and fixed the posts of all along the abatis. He had also caused Piorette, Jerome of Saint-Quirin, and Labarbe to send their best marksmen to him.

The hall where he sat was lit by a dim lantern, and full of snow; and every moment his officers came and went, their hats drawn far down over their heads, and icicles hanging from their beards.

"Master Jean-Claude, something is moving near Grandfontaine; we can hear horses galloping."

"Master Jean-Claude, the brandy is frozen."

"Master Jean-Claude, many of the men are without powder."

Such were the reports and complaints that every moment assailed the leader's ears.

"Watch well toward Grandfontaine and change the sentries on that side every half-hour."

"Thaw the brandy at the fires."

"Wait until Dives comes; he has ammunition. Distribute what cartridges remain, and let all who have more than twenty rounds divide the surplus among their comrades."

And so the night passed.

Toward five in the morning Kasper reported that Marc-Dives with a load of cartridges, Catherine Lefevre, and a detachment from Labarbe had arrived and were at the farm.

The news eased the old sabot-maker's mind, for he feared greatly the result of a delay in the supplies. He rose at once and went out with Kasper.

At the approach of day, huge masses of fog had begun to rise from the valley; the fires crackled in the damp air, and all around lay the sleeping mountaineers. All was silent, and a cloud, purple or grey, as the fire rose or fell, hung around each bivouac. Further off, the dim outlines of the sentinels could be seen as they paced to and fro with arms shouldered, or stood gazing into the misty abysses.

To the right, fifty yards beyond the last fire, horses were neighing, and men stamping to keep their feet warm.

"Master Jean-Claude is coming," said Kasper approaching the group.

One of the partisans had just thrown a bundle of dry sticks upon the fire, and by the light of the blaze Hullin saw Marc-Dives and his twelve men on horseback, standing sabre in hand, motionless around their charge. Catherine was further on, half covered with the straw of her wagon, her back leaning against a large cask; behind her were a huge pot, a gridiron, a fresh-killed hog ready for cooking, and some strings of onions and cabbages for soup. All started for a moment from the darkness, and disappeared again as the blaze fell.

Dives left his party and rode forward.

"Is that you, Jean-Claude?"

"Yes, Marc."

"I have already several thousand cartridges. Hexe-Baizel is working night and day."

"Good! good!"

"And Catherine Lefevre is here with provisions."

"We shall need all, Marc. The battle is near."

"I do not doubt it; we shall not have long to wait. But where shall I put the powder?"

"Yonder; under the shed, behind the house. Is that you, Catherine?"

"It is indeed, Jean-Claude. A cold morning."

"Always the same, Catherine. Do you fear nothing?"

"Would I be a woman if I lacked curiosity? I must see all that is going on, you know."

"Yes, you have always excuses for your good deeds."

"No compliments, Hullin. People cannot live on air, and I have taken my measures. Yesterday we killed an ox—poor Schwartz—he weighed nine hundred, and I have brought a quarter for soup. Let me warm myself."

She threw the reins to Duchene and alighted, saying:

"Those fires yonder are a pretty sight, but where is Louise?"

"Louise has passed the night making bandages with Pelsly's two daughters. She is there in the hospital, where you see my lantern shining."

"Poor child!" said Catherine; "I will run and help her. It will warm me."

Hullin gazing at her retreating figure could only mutter, "What a woman! What a woman!"

Dives and his men took the powder to the shed; and what was Jean-Claude's surprise, on approaching the nearest fire, to see the fool Yegof, his crown upon his head, gravely sitting upon a stone, his feet at the embers, and his rags draped around him like a royal mantle.

Nothing could be stranger than his figure. He was the only one waking there, and seemed a barbarian king surrounded by his sleeping horde.

Hullin, however, only saw the fool, and gently placing his hand upon his shoulder, said in a tone of ironical respect:

"Hail, Yegof! thou art come to offer us the aid of thine invincible arm and the help of thy numberless armies!"

The fool, without showing the least surprise, answered:

"That depends upon thee, Hullin. Thy fate and that of thy people around thee are in thy hands. I have checked my wrath, and I leave it to thee to pronounce the sentence."

"What sentence?" asked Jean-Claude.

The fool, without replying, continued in a low and solemn tone:

"We are here now, as we were sixteen hundred years ago, on the eve of a great battle. Then I, the chief of so many nations, came to thy clan to demand a passage—"

"Sixteen hundred years ago!" interrupted Hullin; "that would make us fearfully old, Yegof. But no matter; go on."

"Yes," said the fool; "but thine obstinacy would hear nothing; hundreds of dead lie at Blutfeld; they cry for vengeance!"

"Ah! yes, Blutfeld," said Jean-Claude; "it is an old story; I have heard you tell it before."

Yegof rose with flushed face and flashing eyes.

"Barest thou boast of thy victory?" he cried. "But beware, beware! Blood calls for blood!"

Then his tone softened, and he added:

"Listen! I would not harm thee; thou art brave, and the children of thy race may mingle their blood with mine. I desire thy alliance—thou knowest it."

"He is coming back to Louise," thought Jean-Claude, and, foreseeing another demand in form, he said:

"Yegof, I am sorry, but I must leave you; I have so many things to see to—"

The fool bent an angry look on him.

"Dost refuse me thy daughter?" he cried, raising his finger solemnly.

"We will talk of it hereafter."

"Thou refusest!"

"Your cries are arousing my men, Yegof."

"Thou hast refused, and for the third time. Beware! Beware!"

Hullin, despairing of calming him, strode away, but the fool's voice followed:

"Woe to thee, Huldrix! Thy latest hour is nigh. Soon will the wolves banquet upon thy flesh! The storm of my wrath is unchained, and for thee and thine there is no longer grace, pity, nor mercy! Thou hast spoken thy doom!"

And throwing the ragged end of his cloak over his shoulder, the poor wretch hurried toward the peak of Donon.

Many of the partisans, half awakened by his voice, gazed with dull eyes at his vanishing form. They heard a flapping of wings around the fire, but it seemed like a dream, and they turned and slept again.

An hour later, the horn of Lagarmitte sounded the reveille. In a few moments every one was upon his feet.

The chiefs assembled their men. Some went to the shed, where cartridges were distributed; others filled their flasks at the cask, but everything was done in order. Then each platoon departed in the grey dawn to take its place at the abatis.

When the sun rose, the farm was deserted, and, save five or six fires yet smoking, nothing announced that the partisans held all the passes of the mountain, and had so lately been encamped there.