The officer cried:
“Fire!”
The twelve shots were as one.
Monsieur Sauvage fell forward instantaneously.
Morissot, being the taller, swayed slightly and fell
across his friend with face turned skyward and blood
oozing from a rent in the breast of his coat.
The German issued fresh orders.
His men dispersed, and presently returned with ropes
and large stones, which they attached to the feet
of the two friends; then they carried them to the
river bank.
Mont-Valerien, its summit now enshrouded in smoke,
still continued to thunder.
Two soldiers took Morissot by the head and the feet;
two others did the same with Sauvage. The bodies,
swung lustily by strong hands, were cast to a distance,
and, describing a curve, fell feet foremost into the
stream.
The water splashed high, foamed, eddied, then grew
calm; tiny waves lapped the shore.
A few streaks of blood flecked the surface of the
river.
The officer, calm throughout, remarked, with grim
humor:
“It’s the fishes’ turn now!”
Then he retraced his way to the house.
Suddenly he caught sight of the net full of gudgeons,
lying forgotten in the grass. He picked it up,
examined it, smiled, and called:
“Wilhelm!”
A white-aproned soldier responded to the summons,
and the Prussian, tossing him the catch of the two
murdered men, said:
“Have these fish fried for me at once, while
they are still alive; they’ll make a tasty dish.”
Then he resumed his pipe.
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.
