THE PRISONERS.

Wairoa Bell, Volume V, Issue 174, 2 December 1892, Page 7

THE PRISONERS.

There was no sound in the forest except the slight rustle of the snow as it fell upon tho trees. It had been falling, small and fine, since mid-day ; it powdered the branches with a frosty moss, cast a silver veil over the dead leaves in the hollow, and spread upon the pathways a great, soft, white carpet that thickened the immeasurable silence amid this ocean of trees. Before the door of the keeper’s lodge stood a bare firmed young woman, chopping wood with fin axe upon a stone. She was tall, thin, and strong—a child of the forest, a daughter and wife of game keepers. A voice called from within the house : ■' Come in, Berthine ; we are alone tonight, and it is getting dark There may be Prussians or wolves about ’ She who was chopping wood replied by splitting another block ; her bosom rose and fell with she heavy' blows, each time she lifted her arm. ‘I have finished, mother. I’m hero, I’m here. There’s nothing to be frightened at ; it isn’t dark yet.’ Then she brought in her fagots and her logs, and piled them up at the chimney side, went out again to close the shutters enormous shutters of solid oak—and then, when she again earns in, pushed the heavy bolts of the door,

Her mother was spinning by the fire, a wrinkled old woman who had grown timorous with age. ‘ I don’t like father to be out,’ said she, ‘ two women have no strength.’ The younger answered : ‘ Oh, I coulcl very well kill a wolf or a Prussian, I can tell you,’ And she turned her ey'es to a large revolver, hanging over the fire place. Her husband had been put into the army at the beginning of tbe Prussian invasion, and the two women had remained alone with her father, the old gamekeeper, Nicholas Picliou, who had obstinately refused to leave his home and go into the town. The nearest town was Bethel, an old fortress perched on a rock. It was a patriotic place, and the townspeople had resolved to resist the invaders, to close their gates and stand a seige, according to the traditions of the city. Twice before, under Henry IV. and under Louis XIV., the inhabitants of Rethel had won fame by heroic defences. They would do the same this time ; by Heaven, they would, or they would be burned within their walls. fc-o they had bought cannons and rifles, aud equipped a force, and formed battal lions and companies, and they drilled all day long in the Place d’Armes. All of them—bakers, grocers, butchers,” notaries, attorneys, carpenters, booksellers, even the chemists —went through their manoeuvres in due rotation at regular hours, under the orders of M. Lavigne, who had once been a non-commissioned officer in the dragoons, and now was a draper, having married t the daughter and inherited the shop of old M. Ravaudan. He had taken the rank of major in command of the place, and all the young men having gone to join the army, he enrolled all the others who were eager for resistance. The stout men now walked the streets at the pace of professional pedestrians, in order to bring down their fat, and to lengthen their breath; the weak ones carried burdens, in order to strengthen their muscles. The Prussians were expected. But the Prussians did not appear. Vet they were not far off ; for their scouts had already twice pushed across the forest as far as Nicholas Pichou’s lodge. The old keeper, who could run like a fox, had gone to warn the town. The gnns had been pointed, but tho enemny had not shown. The keeper’s lodge served as a kind of outpost in the forest of Aveline. Twice a week the man went for provisions, and carried to the city news from the outlying country. He had gone that day to announce that a small detachment of German infantry had stopped at his House, the day before, about two in the afternoon, and had gone away again almost directly. The subaltern in command spoke French, When tho old man went on such errands ho took with him his two dogs— two great beasts with the jaws of lions— because of the wolves who were beginning to get fierce ; and he left his two women, advising them to lock themselves in the house as soon as night began to fall. The young one was afraid of nothing, but tho old one kept on trembling and repeating . ‘ It will turn out badly, all this sort of thing. You’ll see, it will turn out badly.’ This evening she was more anxious even than usual. ‘Do you know what time your father will be back ?’ said she. ‘ Oh, uot before eleven for certain. When he dines with the Major ho is always late.’ She was hanging her saucepan over the fire to make soup, when she stopped short, listened to a vague sound which had reached her by way of the chimney, and murmured : ‘ There’s someone walking in the wood —seven or eight men at least.’ Her mother, alarmed, stopped her wheel and muttered : ‘ Oh, good Lord 1 And father not here !’ She had not finished speaking when violent blows shook the door. The women made no answer, and a loud guttural voice called out : ‘ Open the door,’ Then, after a pause, the same voice re peated : ‘ Open the door, or I’ll break it in.’ Then Berthine slipped into her pocket the big revolver from over the mantelpiece, and having put her ear to the crack of the door, asked : ‘ Who are you ?’ The voice answered : ‘ I am the detachment that carae the other day.’

The woman asked again : * What do you want ?’ ‘ I hace lost my way, ever since the morning, in the forest, with my detachment. Open the door, or I will break it in.’ The keeper’s wife had no choico ; she promptly drew the great bolt, and pulling back the door she beheld six men in the pale snow—shadows —six Prussian men, the same who had come the day before. She said in a firm tone : ‘ What do you want here at this time of the night ?’ The officer answered : ‘ I have lost my way, lost it completely ; I recognised the house. I have had nothing to eat since the morning, nor my men either.’ Berthine replied : ‘ But I am all alone with mother, this evening.’ The soldier, who seemed a good sort of fellow, answered, ‘ That makes no difference. I shall not do any harm ; but you must give us something to eat. We are faint and tired to death.’ The keeper’s wife stepped back, * Come in,’ said she. They came in, powdered with snow and with a sort of mossy cream on their helmets that made them look like meringues. They seemed tired, worn out. s The young woman pointed to the wooden benches on each side of the big table. ‘ Sit down,’ said she, 1 and I’ll make you some soup, "You do look quite knocked up.’ Then she bolted the door again. She poured some more water into her saucepan, threw in more water and potatoes; then, unhooking a piece of bacon that hung in the chimney, she cut off half, and added that also to the stew. The eyes of the six men followed her every movement with »n air of awakened hunger. They had set their guns and helmets in a corner, and sat waiting on their benches, like well-be-haved school children. The mother had begun to spin again, but she threw terrified glances at the invading soldiers. There w’as no sound except the slight purring of the wheel, the crackle of the fire, and the bubbling of the water as it grew hot. But all at once a strange sound made them all start—something like a hoarse breathing at the door, the breathing of an animal, deep and snorting, One of the Germans had sprung towards the guns. The woman with a movement and a smile stopped him. ‘lt is the wolves,’ said she, ‘ They are like you ; they are wandering about, hungry- ’ The man would hardly believe, he wanted to see for himself ; and as soon as the door was opened, he perceived two great grey beasts making off at a quick, long trot. He came back to his seat, murmuring : ‘ I should not have believed it.’ And he sat waiting for his meal. They ate voraciously ; their mouths opened from ear to ear to take the largest of gulps • their round eyes opened sympathetically with their jaws, and their swallowing was like the gurgle of rain in a water pipe. The two silent women watched the rapid movements of the great red beards ; the potatoes seemed to melt away into these moving fleeces. Then, as they were thirsty, the keeper’s wife went down into the cellar to draw cider for them. She was a long time gone ;it was a little vaulted cellar, said to have served both as prison and hiding-place in the days of the Revolution. The way dow’n was by a narrow winding stair, shat in by a trapdoor at the end of the kitchen. When Berthine came back, she was laughing, laughing slyly to herself. She gave the Germans her pitcher of drink. Then she too had her supper, with her mother, at the other end of the kitchen. The soldiers had finished eating and were falling asleep, all six, around the table. From time to time, a head would fall heavily on the board, then the man, starting awake, would sit up, Berthine said to the officer : ‘ You may just as well lie down here before the fire. There’s plenty of room for six. I’m going up to my room with my mother.’ The two women went to the upper floor They were heard to look their door and to walk about for a little while, then they made no further sound. The Prussians stretched themselves on the stone floor, their feet to the fire, their heads on their rolled-up cloaks, and soon all six were snoring on six different notes, sharp or deep, but all sustained and alarming.

(To be Continued.)