LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5992, 29 July 1887, Page 1

LITERATURE.

THE PEASANT HERO.

It was after Froeohswiller. The French were retreating towards Chalons, having twenty houra 1 ' start of the enemy— an offensive movement was to bo attempted by returning through Montmedy. The bulk of the retreating army had already crossed the Meuse; and down the wholo length of the river, by speoial order, all the bridges were being blown np or torn away, to open an abyss— to create an obstacle. Thia may have delayed tho Germans, indeed; but it proved the ruin of those of our soldiers who were last to retreat, and

who came to the broad, deep river only to find their way. barred. Night comes. Silent figures are wandering along the banks ; a group, all confusion and gesticulation, has gathered before the wreck of a bridge—a single arch alone remains— rising from the middle of the water, beyond reaoh. As the hours pass the shadows become more numerous, the group more compact ; and soldiers of all grades, all regiments— the waifs of the great lost battle — move hastily hither and thither, calling to each other, questioning eaoh other, tasting the depth of the river with long poles, shouting", swearing, throwing up their arms in despair, shaking their fi_ts at fate, and regretting not to have died a brave death in the sun, in the morning battle. A fire is lighted, and immediately- .becomes a rallying point. The wounded men crawl to the worm light ; a great circle is formed around a heap of lazing briars. Time passes slowly and

dumbly. Suddenly the distant silence is broken by a strong voice calling out, " Down the river eight leagues from here, there is a bridge — perhaps it has not been blown up. Let us try it I" The speaker is a lieutenant of artillery. Standing in the scarlet glow of the fire, he consult, by the lurid light an unfolded pocket map, and with his finger nail scratches a mark under a little pomt — the La Fourohe bridge.. Other officers gather anxiously about him— a short consultation is held— then there is a ory, "It is true ! Let ua go 1" All rise to their feet. Then a great moaning is heard. The wounded who shiver and bleed, and who feel the warmth of the good fire grateful, do not wish to walk further, but fear to ba left behind. " Who is in oommand ?" asks a voice. The officers interrogate each other with a glance : then, all silently lifting their Kepis, salute the one asking the question. He is a tall commander o£ dragoons, looking still taller in the black cloak which falls to his knees. He ib the only superior officer left. " Thank you, gentlemen !" he observes. " Well, let all the able bodied horsemen without distinction of rank, give up their horses to the wounded men. Put out that fire and let us start !" Setting the example— though he himself had blood upon his face, the dragoon unbitohes his horse, lifts up from the ditch a little moving moaning chasseur, who has been shot through the thigh, and places .him in the saddle like a baby. " Hold on, boy, as well as you can." Then taking the bridle of the animal, which he knowß to be somewhat skittiah, the leader of the route takes his place at the head of the column of phantoms moving through the night, and marohes on, leading the horse, with great tranquil strides. Among these soldiers so incongruously uniformed, and strangers to eaoh other, some have formed spontaneously into groups, guided by that sense of instinct which survives disaster. Par from their scattered regiments, their dead chiefs, their missing standard bearers, they recognise each other by the accent of their respective I provinces ; and these improvised, particoloured detachments could still, as in the old days, answer to the military oalls of "Picardie!" "Gasconge!" "Oampagne!" or any other great or sonorous name of a Frenoh territory. On the way the troop increases. As it passes by men rise up from the brushwood, emerge from the shadows, and join the ranks. Like the companions of the Oid, when leaving they were but three hundred, arriving the^ will be three thousand. Eight leagues is no diffioult maroh for soldiers in good condition, who oan leave their encampment on a cool morning after a refreshing rest, but for these foundered and bleeding fugitives every step is a pang, and the goal ever Beems to recede as they advance. Still they manage to proceed in some way or other. Already many of them have thrown away their equipments, and they advance with arms pendant, their guns slung behind them, their eyes half closed, for want of sleep, stumbling and swaying like drunkards. Tall lancers stagger on, supporting themselves with their lances. A drummer #ings away his drum which goes rolling down an embankment with a rolling hollow sound . the weariness of death comes upon all. Then a start of anxiety nins through the ranks ; a noise haß been heard in a thicket on the flank of the column — something stealthy and intermittent like an animal gliding through the woods. The commander has stopped and turned his head. What is it? Scout. or spies of the enemy 5 they are ! being followed for certain. Several zouaves approaoh the edge of the woods with loaded rifles ready for use? the sound ceases, then begins again; but the cause of it remains undiscovered. A gray light commences to grow behind the hills; the day is breaking. They have been Bix hours on the maroh. As the brightness increases and rises higher these tired men in flight assume a more and more /sinister and pitiful aspeot. Night had veiled their misery. Now they gaze at each other with affright. Their faces are colourless and ghastly, their bodies bent nearly double with fatigue, as if broken. Duut, mud, all ike filth of the night march has mingled with their sweat; red stains verging to black make dramatic those torn uniforms o£ theirs; most of them have bandages wrapped about their foreheads or their feet ; some who fell down on the march are entirely covered with mud ; and all moan and shiver in the bitter cold of the early morning. Suddenly the commander cries "Halt!" but in so grave a tone, so melancholy a voice, that a shudder passes through the column as at the announcement of a great misfortune. From either side of the river a blackened ruin plunges into the water. It was there the La Fourohe bridge used ite be. Tbe Meuse rolls by deep and still, All run forward and stare at the sight in stupefied silence; then cries are heard from every side, and in their grotesque despaii they grimace, gesticulate, roll madly or the ground, those warriors so well battle' tried. Some fling stoneß at the river anc curse it 1 others, smash their rifles and lie down; others laugh idiotically at this tragioal farce that fate has played them The officers, standing apart, hang theii heads in the discouragement of help leseness. A dragoon suddenly strips himself naked. Is he mad P No. He advances cautiously into the water. Twenty others follow his example; but the swift current carries thorn away. They Bink, wildly waving their arms. No matter, all the rest now want to try their luok, and make the opposite bank by Bwimming — all, even thoßO who do not know how to awim — all, even the wounded who have no strength left. It is a contagious madness ; and the water plashes and heaves with the shock of plunging bodies. The captains vainly command, entreat, swear; no one heeds them. Entangled tho one by the other, at least one hundred men are drowned. No •one.4n%ht4eoide^wliether it-zs.R.frenzjiof

desire to escape or a mania o£ deliberate Buiclcto. Then, in the midsfc of that vertigo of death, the under-brush is thrust aside, and a peasant, aged and dishevelled, wildlooking aa a savage, strides forth and Bhouts with, all tho power of hiß lungs, *' Thero is a ford!" They hear him through the din; and from man to man the news is spread, "There is a ford!" And like so many children those desperate men, at the mere sound of the words, cheer up. They gather about the peasant. The commander asks, " Where did yon come from P" "I belong- here." "Then it was you who followed us through the woods ?" " Yes." " By yourself ?" " By myself." " Where is the ford ?" " Just a league from here." And the peasant pointed up the road already traversed. " Then we passed by it ?" « Y_s." "And you knew the bridge had been destroyed P" " Yes." "Then why did you let us travel this far for nothing ?" " Because it had to be done." "HowP" . „ „ The old man smiles and explains that ] they are being followed j that the German cavalry will catch up with them in less than three hours unlesß they croBS ; that if their tracks ceased at the ford the fact would show they had passed there. So it was necessary first for them to go furtfeer down; their return now would help to obliterate or confuse the trail; and the> Germans would be delayed a long time in trying to discover at what point the French had crossed. "That is true," said the commander, " guide us to the ford." An hour after the fugitives cross the river, up to their armpitß in water ; the river has risen. The commander himself, last to cross, stands a moment on the bank and extends hia hand to the old man. "Thanks!" . .

"Adieu," responds the peasant, slowly trudging away. Far away on the other side of the Meuse, the column recedes, growing smaller and smaller in the distance, and finally is lost to view in the misty horizon. All is quiet again. The peasant hastens with great Btridea through the dusty grass along the shore. Suddenly he halts. "So soon!" he mutters between his teeth. Barring the whole breadth of the road, two squadrons of Uhlans now advanced at full trot, plashing through the mud, sabres tinging and banners flying. The peasant crouches down in the weeds ; but he has been seen. " Hay, there, man !" He is surrounded, jostled, dragged before the German officer. A new interrogatory commences ; but the old man suddenly becomes idiotic and deaf ; he can understand nothing, knows nothing, has not seen anybody. "We can't lose time in this way, ones j a captain; "he'll talk by-and-by, when we choose to make him. Run ahead !"

Limping, stumbling, poked from behind with lances, the old man runs before the horses. Sometimes he falls— a lance thrußt lifts him up again. "Jump, Frenchy!" He goes along thus for a while, though his breath fails, and his limbs weaken; he iB ready to fall, but ho makes a heroic effort, for he is now passing the ford. Two hundred yards further on he falls to the ground exhausted, livid, panting. " Keep the horses at a walk," orders the commander. " And you walk in front of us."

So they arrive at La Fourche bridge. The Germans know it had been destroyed ; nevertheless all tracks cease there. Further down the ruddy bank offers no traces of footprints. It seems as though the retreating French had leaped into the river. There is a general stupor. Surely there could not be a ford immediately below a bridge. The mounted staff discuss the dilemma furiously, the old man smiles

in his beard. "We have been deceived by a feint o£ Borne kind," observes an officer; "they have doubled on their tracks— let us go back I"

Another declares it wovdd now be impossible to follow the trail, since they had ridden over it themselves _ but the old man must certainly know where the ford is. No, the old man does not know 1 " We'll soon see that !" roara the leader,

— " get into that water, you brute." The peasant himself .is to sound the water for them. The bank is a gentle slope. The old man waits into the water resignedly. The water rises to his knees ; to his waist — to his shoulders ; and he still advances. " Come back I" cries the leader, " Gentlemen, the ford in not there." At every successive hundred yards the old man was driven into the river. The Germans follow his every move attentively with their eyes ; but he always loses his footing, splashes about, and makes his way back with the greatest dfficulty. There is no doubt so far that the water is very deep. Finally after a repetition of this terrible experiment for the amusement of tha Uhlans, the peasant finds himself at the eutrance of tho real ford. Ragged, wet, shivering, more wild-looking then ever, the old man casts a furtive glance at the other bank. The men he wants to save are scarcely three leagues away ; if the passage be discovered they are lost. " Get into that water." "I am used up—l can't do it any more." "So much the better— where is that ford?" " I don't know." " Get into that water." He obeys. As he walks he bends his limbs, in order to give those watching him a false idea of the depth of the stream. But they j have observed the involuntary action of the i muscles, uplifting his shoulders at each ! movement in advance; and there is a j clamour from the bank. Then the peasant j murmurs something to himself, crouches lower and lower in the water as he proceeds ; and with only his head and shoulders above the river, turns to his enemies with a beseeching look. "Go on 1" He goes on, and stoops still more. The water is now to hia chin. Suspecting a trick, they call out to bim, " Further yet 1 go on ! " He proceeds a little further, and looks back once more. The Uhlans laugh and point to the middle of i the river. With his feet well upon the bottom, . having only to stand up in order to live, . he gives one last look at the land, the sun, ■ the living world — and resolutely plunges . under the waves. The laughing stops. "It can't be there," said the leader 1 "but the poor old clown is drowned." i Deceived once more, the German cavalry i continue their useless search; while the . corpse of the heroic " brute," vanquished ? only by voluntary death, rolls away with • the current, under the sunrise glow.