Part 44 (2/2)

”He is at Guillonville. But he will be here, in a few minutes. The advance is to continue. We are to carry the villages of Monneville, Villepani, and Faverolles.”

In half an hour, the troops were again moved forward; but this time the resistance was more obstinate than before, the Prussians having received reinforcements. Hour after hour the fight continued. The short winter day faded, and the gathering darkness was favorable to the a.s.sailants and, at half-past five, they carried the villages by a.s.sault.

The scene was a wild one. It was perfectly dark, save from the incessant flashes of rifle and cannon. In the streets of the village men fought, hand to hand. Some of the Germans, taking refuge in the houses, refused to surrender. Others threw down their arms, and cried for quarter. Shouts, screams, curses, cheers, the explosion of firearms and the clash of steel mingled, in one wild and confusing din. When it ceased, the village remained in the hands of the French; and the Prussians retreated, sullenly, into the darkness.

There was no rest for the staff, for hours--they were galloping about, carrying orders--but at last Ralph returned to Villepani, at which village General Chanzy had his headquarters. At the door of the cottage which was pointed out, as that in which the general was, Tim was waiting.

”Faith, your honor, if this is war, I've had enough of it.”

”What is it, Tim?”

”What is it, your honor! Here have we been fighting all day, and not a blessed thing to eat or to drink. No one knows what became of the wagons; and here we are, without as much as a biscuit to ate--and in such weather as this, too; and another battle in the morning.”

”Ay, Tim, it's bad enough, but think of the thousands of poor fellows lying wounded, and freezing to death, on the snow.”

”I do think of them, Mister Ralph; and I've been at work, ever since we got in here, carrying the poor creatures in from the gardens and fields. There is not a house here that's not full, from the top to the bottom.

”Have you lost the wallet off my saddle, your honor?”

”No, Tim; why should I do that?”

”I don't know why you should, sir, but I have been making up my mind that you would, all along; either that you would have had it shot off, or that you'd throw it away to aise the horse. Now, we shall do.”

”Why, what's in the wallet, Tim?”

”Just a big chunk of bread, your honor It was left on the table when you had breakfast, this morning; and I said to myself, it may be useful before night, and so just slipped it into the wallet.”

In another minute the bread was taken out, and cut into two portions.

”I would not eat it all tonight, Tim, if I were you,” Ralph said.

”It is not by any means too large for supper, but a mouthful in the morning will be a great comfort. I suppose there is no chance of getting anything for the horse?”

”Trust me, your honor One of the first things I did, when the firing was over, was to pop into a stable and to get a big armful of hay; and take it out and hide it away, under a hedge. It was lucky I did; for the minute afterwards we could not have got a handful, if we had offered a Napoleon for it.”

”Where are you going to sleep, Tim?”

”Under that same hedge, Mister Ralph. The horse always lies down; and he's so tired he won't break the rule, tonight; so I'll give him half the hay for his supper and, when he's laid down, I'll put the rest between him and the hedge, and roll myself up in my cloak and--what with the cloak, and the horse, and the hedge, and the hay, not to mention the supper--I shall be as warm as a lord; and it's a comfort to think that there will be something to eat, both for the baste and myself, in the morning.”

”Well, good night then, Tim.”

”Good night, your honor.”

If Tim Doyle slept, there were not many of his comrades that did, on that night. The cold was fierce, in the extreme; and those who could obtain wood of any kind made fires, and crouched over them. Others lay on the ground, and huddled together for warmth. Others dragged their feet wearily backwards and forwards. Many and deep were the curses poured out upon the intendance--or commissariat--whose utter incompetence, throughout the war, was one of the great reasons of the continuous bad fortune of the French.

When Ralph entered the room, he was saluted by a variety of voices.

The only light was a dim lantern. The room was half full of officers; some dozing in corners, others sitting round the table, smoking.

<script>