Chapter XVI: In Front of Metz

And now to relate that catastrophe which caused such grief and horror to the hearts of all in that hitherto peaceful German home.

We have said that on the 13th of August the Prussian advanced guard was at Pont-à-Mousson. The following day saw them defiling, with drums beating, colours flying, and bayonets flashing in the sun, across the great bridge which there spans the Moselle, and gives its name to the town. This was on a Sunday morning, after the Herr Pastor of the 95th had preached on the text of 'Peace on earth and goodwill to all men'--French excepted, apparently--as the Colonel, while the regiment was yet in a hollow square, issued special orders as to the cleaning of the needle-guns and mode of carrying the ammunition in the pouches.

General Steinmetz having orders to make a demonstration against the French troops lying between him and the great fortress of Metz, at two o'clock on the afternoon of Sunday ordered his seventh corps, including the Thuringians and Westphalians, under General Von Zastrow, to proceed to the attack.

As if inspired by one of those presentiments of coming evil that come unbidden to many, and at times to the bravest of soldiers, on this day Charlie Pierrepont was unusually taciturn, thoughtful, and sunk in reverie. 'Rouse yourself, Carl, rouse!' Heinrich said to him, cheerfully; 'you have had a little romance that is not yet ended. The enemy is before us, and war brings promotion and glory.'

'To some.'

'And to others, Carl?'

'Death, perhaps.'

'Why so gloomy in an hour like this?' asked his friend.

'Life, Heinrich, is, alas! so full of the unforeseen!'

'Of course; but life has pleasant things in store for you yet. You have been having some gloomy dream of our Ernestine again.'

'I have not,' replied Charlie, with a sad smile.

'All will yet be well and happy for you both. _My_ sister does not require to look for wealth or position. These she had already, and the Baron of Grünthal is lower in rank than a Grafine of the family of Frankenburg,' he added so proudly, that there was much in his tone and bearing which reminded Charlie of the Countess, his mother.

'This brigade will deploy into line, and throw forward skirmishers from the flank of each regiment,' were now the orders of General Von Zastrow; 'the other brigades will deploy in succession.'

And, on the spur, his aides-de-camp went skurrying hither and thither to the commanders of battalions to have the requisite formation completed with as little delay as possible.

'Take courage, Carl,' said Heinrich; 'my dear sister shall yet be your wife--or the wife of no one else.'

'You forget that, save my pay, I am all but penniless. A terrible crime in the eyes of the Grafine Adelaide.'

'Penniless girls are often married for their beauty,' said young Frankenburg, laughing; 'why should not a penniless man be married for his talents or bravery?'

And, as the subdivisions were somewhat apart, those two brothers in heart shook hands, saluted each other with their swords, and took their places in the new _alignement_.

The day was a bright and beautiful one. Over all Lorraine the green woods and vineyards seemed to be sleeping in the glowing summer sunshine, and the scared peasant near Courcelles Chaussy paused in his work with the sweat on his brow, and spoke with bated breath, as the marching troops went past to death and slaughter, and his honest sunburnt face grew pale, perhaps at the thought of what might be.

Around Ars and Grigy, Borny and Colombey, and many other hamlets and picturesque chateaux, the cattle, rich in colour and sleek in hide, were chewing the cud among the knee-deep pastures; the fresh blue streams ran on their course as if rejoicing to escape the scenes of blood that were about to ensue; the blue kingfishers flitted about, and the sparrows twittered in the green hedge-rows, the branches of which were matted and intertwined with gorgeous wild flowers. The corn was waving in the ripening fields, the swallows skimmed in the air, and from their cottage doors the buxom peasant girls, their cheeks dusky with southern blood and their black eyes sparkling with tears and terror, stood by their mother's side and watched in sorrow and terror the forward march of the Prussian troops to conquest and carnage, and the village bells, from more than one Gothic spire, rang out the hour that was to be the death-knell of thousands closing in the shock of steel.

The moment the formation of the infantry in line was complete, the cavalry scouts went galloping to the front, and in a few minutes a green ridge in front of the Prussian infantry was studded by Uhlans, with their figures and tall lances clearly defined against the pure blue of the sky. Anon, these weapons were slung, and pistols were resorted to, and a sharp cracking of these announced that the enemy was in sight.

In a cloud of dust, a body of dragoons in close column of troops now poured along the broad highway, with swords and helmets flashing in the sun. There were the escort of the artillery, which came rumbling along, with rammers and sponges ready for use, the limber-boxes unlocked, the gunners ready to leap down, and wheel their muzzles to the enemy.

When deploying from close column into line, the companies marched over everything, treading to mud and mire the golden grain--the hope of the husbandman and farmer; while the horses of the cavalry ate it standing in their ranks.

Resolutely marched on the Prussian infantry, each man with his blue greatcoat rolled over his right shoulder, the deadly zundnadelgewehr with bayonet fixed, sloped on his left shoulder, the chain of his helmet down, lest it should fall off in the mêlée. The Uhlans fell back round the flanks, and then the French were seen lurking in rifle-pits, which on one hand afforded them protection, and, on the other, enabled them over the little earthen banks to take sure aim at the invaders.

These rifle-pits and other defences extended over a considerable space of ground, from Colombey, with its fields of scarlet poppies, to Ars-sur-Moselle (so famous for its red wines), including Laguenxey, Grigy, and Borny, all pretty little hamlets. The firing first began at the village of Ste. Barbe, within seven miles from the walls of Metz, in front of which were the principal corps of the French army under Marshal Bazaine, according to the Prussian account.

The fire from the chassepots was deadly, and in their eagerness to come to close quarters, the Prussian officers were seen brandishing their straight-cutting swords and heard crying--

'Vorwarts! vorwarts! Hoch Germania!'

On the other hand the French were not slow in crying--

'En avant! en avant! à bas la Prusse, et vive la France.' For they were ceasing to shout the Emperor's name now.

The whole of the villages had to be stormed by the Prussians in succession. The French resisted nobly; hence the slaughter was terrible. In one rifle-pit alone there lay seven hundred and eighty-one corpses; the chateau of Colombey was taken and recaptured three times at the point of the bayonet.

The livelong day the battle lasted over all the ground before Metz, seven and a half miles in length. The air was loaded with the smoke of cannon and musketry, enveloping alike the dead and wounded, who lay everywhere, in fields and gardens, under hedgerows and hayricks, in vineyards and rifle-pits.

The Prussians were every moment receiving fresh reinforcements, and the troops of Bazaine, unable to check their advance, fell slowly back upon Metz, but fighting every foot of the way.

The 95th were at the third capture of the Chateau of Colombey, out of which the French Voltigeurs were driven in a fair hand-to-hand conflict, leaving behind them a vast number of wounded and slain. Among the former, supporting himself against a fragment of the shot-shattered wall, was a French captain bleeding profusely from a wound in the breast.

The fähnrich of Charlie's company, young Donnersberg, approached and offered him his handkerchief to staunch the bleeding, when the Frenchman, inspired by some sudden gust of national hate and rancour, uttered 'a good garrison oath,' and with all the strength that yet remained in his arm, ran his sword through the body of the German, and killed him on the spot.

Both fell nearly at the same time, as two or three bayonets clashed in the body of the Frenchman, who lay over a pile of dead, bleeding from several wounds. A few minutes after, Charlie chanced to pass where he still lay in the courtyard of the chateau, to all appearance dead. On his breast was the handsome white enamelled Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour, conspicuous among his Crimean medals.

'A present for my Ernestine!' thought he; 'and it is no use now to this treacherous fellow.'

'Not yet, not yet,' muttered the Frenchman, while his white lips quivered and his blood-shot glazing eyes turned slowly on Charlie; 'accursed Prussian, I am not yet done with it.'

Charlie drew back. He would have taken it from the dead man without compunction, but shrank from touching the living.

'A little time--a little time,' moaned the Frenchman, 'and I shall indeed be done with it, and all--earthly things.'

'Pardon me,' said Charlie, and was about to pass on, when the Frenchman spoke again.

'Water,' said he, in a low piteous voice, like a sigh; 'one drop of water on my lips, for the love of God!'

Charlie glanced for a moment at the body of young Donnersberg that lay close by, with the Voltigeur's sword nearly up to the hilt in his breast; and then, inspired by pity, placed his water-bottle to the lips of his slayer, whose face was ghastly now and covered with the dew of death.

'_Merci! Merci!_ I am dying!' said he. 'Take my cross, or less worthy hands will soon do so,' he added, trying with a feeble and fatuous hand to detach the ornament from his breast; 'but what will you do with it?'

'Hang it round the neck of her I love,' replied Charlie, who spoke French fluently, and hoping its destination might please a Frenchman's love of gallantry.

'Take it, then. Take it,' replied the latter, as he rent the cross from his breast by a last effort; 'take it, accursed Prussian!' he hissed, through his clenched teeth, 'and when you hang it round the neck of her you love, may she be like--like me!'

'What mean you?'

'_A corpse!_'

With this dreadful and inhuman wish, the vindictive Gaul sank back; a deadlier pallor overspread his features--there was a terrible sound in his throat, and all was over. For a moment Charlie stood bewildered, with the cross in his hand, and half-tempted to cast it from him. But he changed his mind, and carefully placed it in his breast-pocket as a _souvenir_ for Ernestine of the battles before Metz, and hurried to join the shattered remnant of his regiment, now hurrying with others, double-quick, to take part in the attack of the orchards of the farm of Bellecroix, where two batteries of mitrailleuses made dreadful havoc among the assailants, sweeping whole ranks away.

By the time the batteries were taken, the French, after losing _nineteen_ thousand men (and the Prussians fully an equal number), were in rapid retreat for Metz. Charlie Pierrepont's work was over for the day, and like his friend Heinrich, he still found himself untouched.

The sun was setting, and the shadows were darkening in the orchards of Bellecroix, when the 95th were ordered to pile arms and take a little rest; and a singular scene--singular by way of contrast, and yet terrible--did these orchards present. The trees were still in full foliage and bearing, and thickly among the green leaves the apples, golden and red, the yellow pears, the downy peaches, and the purple plums were all mingling on the branches above; below lay the dead and the dying, some of whom in their agony had burrowed their faces into the very earth; others had torn it up in handfuls. A few, who had been wounded early in the day, lay dead now, with their hairy knapsacks under their heads, and many with sweet smiles on their waxen faces, as if their last thoughts had been of home, and those who loved them there.

Some had died with their fingers clasped in prayer, others with their hands clenched, as if in rage or pain, and with their faces terribly contorted. Everywhere lay knapsacks, shakos, kepis, helmets, arms, and water-bottles. Pierrepont gladly quitted these dreadful orchards of Bellecroix, and retired to a grassy bank by the side of the highway to Metz, where a few of his brother officers, apart from the rest, were sharing the contents of their havresacks and comparing notes on the dire events of the day.

There he found young Frankenburg mounted on the horse of the adjutant, who had fallen in the attack on Bellecroix, and whose duty he had been ordered to take in the interim, an office that was nearly costing him very dear soon after.

As the troops were to halt on the field pending those operations which led to the battle of Gravelotte, a chain of out-pickets was detailed for the night, and Charlie Pierrepont, as many of his seniors had been killed off or wounded in that day's strife, had command of one of these, consisting of two non-commissioned officers and thirty men, with whom he was ordered to take possession of a little chateau nearer Metz than Bellecroix, to use it as his picket-house, and post his sentinels as to him seemed best.

He accordingly marched for this place, the Chateau de Caillé, belonging to a French gentleman of that name. It was a quaint-looking little place, with latticed windows of iron, two or three little stone _tourelles_, with conical roofs and vanes, and it was quite buried among masses of ivy, jasmine, and clematis, and embosomed, among rich fruit-trees.

Having posted ten sentinels, equidistant and in communication with those of the adjacent pickets, with orders to stand on their posts and keep their faces steadily turned in the direction of Metz, the dark mass of the citadel which, together with the spires of the churches, could be traced against the now moonlit sky, he approached the chateau with the main body of his picket, never doubting that they would find it deserted, and that the family of M. de Caillé had fled.

Passing down the little avenue which led to the front door, brilliant lights were visible in the lower rooms; loud and noisy voices were heard. Charlie ordered his men to look to their cartridges. As for the bayonets, they were never unfixed now; but a loud, hoarse German chorus that rang out upon the night showed that the place was already in possession of friends, and on entering the dining-room of the chateau, a curious scene presented itself.

It was a handsome apartment, with an elaborately polished floor, and modern furniture in the fashion of the time of Louis XIV. Wax candles in great profusion were burning on the elaborately inlaid table, on which were spread in great confusion dishes, plates, glasses, and bottles with viands and fruit of every kind. M. de Caillé, as he proved to be, a fine-looking old French gentleman, with hair and moustache white as the thistle-down, was there tied hand and foot with a rope, the end of which was secured to the knob of a shutter, compelling him to look helplessly on at the desolation of his dwelling, into which a dozen or so of stragglers from some Bavarian regiment, as they appeared to be, as their helmets were crested with black bearskin and not spikes, had broken, and were now making merry, eating, drinking, singing, and roughly pulling about Mademoiselle de Caillé, her terrified _bonne_, and other female servants; and it was only too evident that but for the timely arrival of Charlie and his picket, something very disastrous must have ensued, as these fellows were fast maddening themselves by drinking all kinds of wines and spirits in succession.

On Charlie's entrance, sword in hand, such is the influence of the epaulette, that they all started to their feet; their noise died away instantly, and every man raised his right hand to the peak of his helmet. Believing they were utterly lost now on the appearance of this fresh arrival, the young lady uttered a cry of despair, and shrank to the side of her father, who was unable to put forth even a hand to shield her, and who eyed Charlie Pierrepont with a half-piteous, half-defiant expression.

He was considerably reassured, however, when he heard the latter announce the duty which brought him there, and ordered the Bavarians, on pain of being treated as mutineers or deserters, at once to return to their quarters. They hurried to obey with more alacrity than goodwill, one alone venturing to explain that they had been fighting all day without food or drink, and were in an enemy's country. By a wave of his sword, Charlie cut him short, and ere he had shot it into the sheath, the chateau was empty of all but his own men, who crowded into the kitchen, and there certainly made free with all that the cook's pantry contained.

Charlie now apologized to M. de Caillé for the conduct of the Bavarians, and hastened to cut the cord that bound him. He was so weak and faint from all he had undergone, that he could only stagger into an arm-chair, when his daughter caressed him and chafed his hands, and while the _bonne_ poured out some wine for him and Charlie, to whom she curtseyed, and tendered her thanks again and again.

After a time all became more composed, and the conversation naturally ran on the events of the day, and the dreadful din of cannon and musketry which had been ringing for miles around the little chateau; and somehow, while chatting over their wine, and Charlie received again and again the heartfelt thanks of the old Frenchman, the latter, by some word or exclamation that escaped him, discovered the nationality of the former.

'Thank God, monsieur is an Englishman!' he exclaimed.

'Yes,' said Charlie, with one of his pleasant smiles.

'And yet you fight for those horrible barbarians, the Prussians?' exclaimed the young lady.

'I am a soldier of fortune, my dear child,' said Charlie, laughing, for the girl was only in her fifteenth year, apparently, and he could not but remember that Ernestine was one of those 'horrible barbarians.'

'I could have guessed as much,' said the girl.

'How, Mademoiselle?

'By a certain boldness in your bearing, and by something in your eyes that tells of----' she paused shyly and coloured at her own impetuosity.

'An expression that tells of what?' asked Charlie.

'I don't know, unless it is of--sorrow.'

'You are an acute observer, Mademoiselle,' said Charlie, bowing. 'I have indeed undergone much sorrow but lately.'

The girl had a pretty, innocent, and most lovable little face. She was, probably, half German in blood; her eyes were bright blue; her cheeks delicate and peach-like; her lips a ruddy red, though cheek and lips were ashy white with terror when Charlie first saw her, being pulled about roughly by the Bavarians, who had boisterously dragged her from one another, under the eyes of her helpless and agonized father.

She nestled up to Charlie's side, and shaking the masses of her rich brown hair--hair that in its tint reminded him of Herminia--she put a pretty hand on each of his epaulettes, and looking into his face with pure childish confidence, said--

'I shall like you. I am sure I shall. I am so happy you are not one of those barbarians, though you do wear a spike-helmet!'

'Why? How should you like me?'

'Can you ask me _why_, Monsieur, after saving our lives? In gratitude, I can love you and pray for you.'

Charlie laughed, and said--

'_Ma belle_, I am, indeed, thankful that we were in time to turn these marauders out of doors.'

And then he thought of his three sisters at home, and what his emotions would be if such a scene, as he had just interrupted, had taken place in his father's quiet house in Warwickshire.

'What is your name, Monsieur?' she asked, 'as I must never forget it.'

'Carl--Charles Pierrepont.'

She repeated it two or three times, and laughing, said:

'It sounds very droll!'

Charlie could not help laughing at the girl's _naïve_ manner, and thought that the old Warwickshire squire, who was fond of deducing his descent from Robert, who received the manor of Hurstpierpoint, in Sussex, from the Conqueror, would have found nothing 'droll' in it.

'And what is yours, Mademoiselle?'

'Célandine--Célandine de Caillé.'

'Well, I cannot say it is _droll_. I think it very pretty.'

'Your little rebuke is a just one, Monsieur,' said the smiling old gentleman, who, had Charlie been a genuine Prussian, would little have relished all this conversation between him and his daughter.

'We shall be very good friends, I doubt not, for to-night, at least, Monsieur.'

'Only for to-night?'

'To-morrow shall relieve you of our hateful presence, as we shall probably move against Metz.'

'Don't say "hateful," Monsieur, when we owe you so much, and esteem you so much,' urged Célandine.

'Ernestine will never have a rival, even here,' thought Charlie, as he begged them to excuse him, as he had to go his rounds, and, with his sergeant, post fresh sentinels.

That duty done, he undid his belt, but without undressing, threw himself on a sofa, and, utterly exhausted and worn out by the whole events of the day, oblivious of the presence of Mademoiselle de Caillé and her father in the dining-room, he slept as soundly as Hood's old woman,

'Who might have worn a percussion cap,
And been knocked on the head without hearing it snap.'