Part 48 (1/2)
But the butchery was not ended; around the bend of the road galloped more Uhlans, halted, wheeled, and galloped back with harsh cries. The cries were echoed from above and below; the franc-tireurs were surrounded.
Then Trica.s.se raised his smeared sabre, and, bending, took the dead woman by the wrist, lifting her limp, trampled body from the dust. He began to mutter, holding his sabre above his head, and the men took up the savage chant, standing close together in the road:
”'ca ira! ca ira!'”
It was the horrible song of the Terror.
”'Que faut-il au Republicain?
Du fer, du plomb, et puis du pain!
”'Du fer pour travailler, Du plomb pour nous venger, Et du pain pour nos freres!'”
And the fierce voices sang:
”'Dansons la Carmagnole!
Dansons la Carmagnole!
ca ira! ca ira!
Tous les cochons a la lanterne!
ca ira! ca ira!
Tous les Prussiens, on les pendra!'”
The road trembled under the advancing cavalry; they surged around the bend, a chaos of rearing horses and levelled lances; a ring of fire around the little group of franc-tireurs, a cry from the whirl of flame and smoke:
”France!”
So they died.
XXVIII
THE BRACONNIER
Lorraine had turned ghastly white; Jack's shocked face was colourless as he drew her away from the ridge with him into the forest. The appalling horror had stunned her; her knees gave way, she stumbled, but Jack held her up by main force, pus.h.i.+ng the undergrowth aside and plunging straight on towards the thickest depths of the woods. He had not the faintest idea where he was; he only knew that for the moment it was absolutely necessary for them to get as far away as possible from the Uhlans and their butcher's work. Lorraine knew it, too; she tried to recover her coolness and her strength.
”Here is another road,” she said, faintly; ”Jack--I--I am not strong--I am--a--little--faint--” Tears were running over her cheeks.
Jack peered out through the trees into the narrow wood-road.
Immediately a man hailed him from somewhere among the trees, and he shrank back, teeth set, eyes fixed in desperation.
”Who are you?” came the summons again in French. Jack did not answer. Presently a man in a blue blouse, carrying a whip, stepped out into the road from the bushes on the farther side of the slope.
”Hallo!” he called, softly.
Jack looked at him. The man returned his glance with a friendly and puzzled smile.