Part 17 (1/2)
”We're off!” laughed Georges. ”Thank G.o.d! and the devil take the rear-guard! Will you ride with us, Jack? We've driven the Prussians across the Saar.”
He turned to his troopers and signalled the trumpeter. ”Trot!” he cried; and the squadron of hussars moved off down the hill in a whirl of dust and flying pebbles.
Jack wheeled his horse and brought him alongside of Georges' wiry mount.
”It didn't last long--eh, old chap?” laughed the youthful hussar; ”only from ten o'clock till noon--eh? It's not quite noon yet.
We're to join the regiment, but where we're going after that I don't know. They say the Prussians have quit Saarbruck in a hurry. I suppose we'll be in Germany to-night, and then--vlan!
vlan! eh, old fellow? We'll be out for a long campaign. I'd like to see Berlin--I wish I spoke German.”
”They say,” said Jack, ”that most of the German officers speak French.”
”Bird of ill-omen, croaker, cease! What the devil do we want to learn German for? I can say, 'Wein, Weib, und Gesang,' and that's enough for any French hussar to know.”
They had come up with the whole regiment now, which was moving slowly down the valley, and Georges reported to his captain, who in turn reported to the major, who presently had a confab with the colonel. Then far away at the head of the column the mounted band began the regimental march, a gay air with plenty of trombone and kettle-drum in it, and the horses ambled and danced in sympathy, with an accompaniment of rattling carbines and clinking, clas.h.i.+ng sabre-scabbards.
”Quelle farandole!” laughed Georges. ”Are you going all the way to Berlin with us? Pst! Look! There go the Hundred-Guards! The Emperor is coming back from the front. It's all over with the sausage-eaters, et puis--bon-soir, Bismarck!”
Far away, across the hills, the white mantles of the Hundred-Guards flashed in the suns.h.i.+ne, rising, falling, as the horses plunged up the hills. For a moment Jack caught a glimpse of a carriage in the distance, a carriage preceded by outriders in crimson and gold, and followed by a ma.s.s of glittering cuira.s.siers.
”It's the Emperor. Listen, we are going to cheer,” cried Georges.
He rose in his saddle and drew his sabre, and at the same instant a deep roar shook the regiment to its centre--
”Vive l'Empereur!”
X
AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER
It was a little after noon when the regiment halted on the Saint-Avold highway, blocked in front by a train of Guard artillery, and on either flank by columns of infantry--voltigeurs, red-legged fanta.s.sins loaded with camp equipment, engineers in crimson and bluish-black, and a whole battalion of Turcos, scarlet fez rakishly hauled down over one ear, canvas zouave trousers tucked into canvas leggings that fitted their finely moulded ankles like gloves.
Jack rested patiently on his horse, waiting for the road to be cleared, and beside him sat Georges, chatting paternally with the giant standard-bearer of the Turcos. The huge fellow laughed and showed his dazzling teeth under the crisp jet beard, for Georges was talking to him in his native tongue--and it was many miles from Saint-Avold to Oran. His standard, ornamented with the ”opened hand and spread fingers,” fluttered and snapped, and stood out straight in the valley breeze.
”What's that advertis.e.m.e.nt--the hand of Providence?” cried an impudent line soldier, leaning on his musket.
”Is it the hand that spanked Bismarck?” yelled another. The Turcos grinned under their scarlet head-dresses.
”Ohe, Mustapha!” shouted the line soldiers, ”Ohe, le Croissant!”
and their band-master, laughing, raised his ta.s.selled baton, and the band burst out in a roll of drums and cymbals, ”Partons pour la Syrie.”
”Pet.i.te riffa!” said the big standard-bearer, beaming--which was very good French for a Kabyle.
”See here, Georges,” said Jack, suddenly, ”I've promised to be back at Morteyn before dark, and if your regiment is going to stick here much longer I'm going on.”
”You want to send your despatches?” asked Georges. ”You could ride on to Saarbruck and telegraph from there. Will you? Then hunt up the regiment later. We are to see a little of each other, are we not, old fellow?”
”Not if you're going Prussian-hunting across the Rhine. When you come back crowned with bay and laurel and pretzels, you can stop at Morteyn.”