The Young Franc Tireurs, and Their Adventures in the Franco-Prussian War by Henty (good fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

the boys, upon their return, found Captain Barclay reading the papers, and smoking. He looked up as they entered.

"You are back early, boys."

"Yes, papa, there was so much talking going on, that the professor gave it up as hopeless. You have heard the news, of course?"

"Yes, boys, and am very sorry to hear it."

Captain Barclay spoke so gravely that Ralph asked, anxiously:

"Don't you think we shall thrash them, papa?"

"I consider it very doubtful, Ralph," his father said. "Prussia has already gained an immense moral victory. She has chosen her own time for war; and has, at the same time, obliged France to take the initiative, and so to appear to be the aggressor--and therefore to lose the moral support of Europe. She has forced this quarrel upon France, and yet nine-tenths of Europe look upon France as the inciter of the war. History will show the truth, but it will then be too late. As it is, France enters upon the war with the weight of public opinion dead against her and, what is worse, she enters upon it altogether unprepared; whereas Prussia has been getting ready, for years."

"But the French always have shown themselves to be better soldiers than the Prussians, papa."

"So they have, Percy, and--equally well led, disciplined, and organized--I believe that, in anything like equal forces, they would do so again. The question is, have we generals to equal those who led the Prussians to victory against Austria? Is our discipline equal--or anything like equal--to that of the Prussians? Is our organization as good as theirs? And lastly, have we anything like their numbers?

"I don't like the look of it, boys, at all. We ought, according to published accounts, to be able to put a larger army than theirs in the field, just at first and, if we were but prepared, should certainly be able to carry all before us, for a while. I question very much if we are so prepared. Supposing it to be so, however, the success would, I fear, be but temporary; for the German reserves are greatly superior to ours. Discipline, too, has gone off sadly, since I first knew the French army.

"Radical opinions may be very wise, and very excellent for a nation, for aught I know; but it is certain that they are fatal to the discipline of an army. My own opinion, as you know, is that they are equally fatal for a country, but that is a matter of opinion, only; but of the fact that a good Radical makes an extremely bad soldier, I am quite clear, and the spread of Radical opinion among the French army has been very great. Then, too, the officers have been much to blame. They think of pleasure far more than duty. They spend four times as much time in the cafes and billiard rooms as they do in the drill ground. Altogether, in my opinion, the French army has greatly gone off in all points--except in courage which, being a matter of nationality, is probably as high as ever. It is a bad lookout, boys--a very bad lookout.

"There, don't talk about it any more. I do not want to make your mother unhappy. Remember not to express--either as my or your own opinion--anything I have said, in the town. It would only render you obnoxious, and might even cause serious mischief. If things go wrong, French mobs are liable to wreak their bad temper on the first comer."

"Percy," Mrs. Barclay said, coming into the room, "please to run down to the end of the garden, and cut some lettuces for salad. Marie is so upset that she can do nothing."

"What is the matter with her, mamma?" both the boys asked, at once.

"Victor Harve--you know him, the son of the blacksmith Harve, who had served his time in the army, and came back two months ago to join his father in his forge, and to marry our Marie--has left to join his regiment. He was here, an hour since, to say goodbye. By this time he will have started. It is not wonderful that she weeps. She may never see him again. I have told her that she must be brave. A Frenchwoman should not grudge those she loves most to fight for France."

"Ah! Melanie," Captain Barclay said, smiling, "these little patriotic outbursts are delightful, when one does not have to practice them at one's own expense. 'It is sweet and right to die for one's country,' said the old Roman, and everyone agrees with him but, at the same time, every individual man has a strong objection to put himself in the way of this sweet and proper death.

"Although, as you say, no Frenchwoman should grudge her love to her country; I fancy, if a levee en masse took place, tomorrow, and the boys as well as the cripples had to go--so that Ralph, Percy, and I were all obliged to march--you would feel that you did grudge us to the country, most amazingly."

Mrs. Barclay turned a little pale at the suggestion.

"Ah! I can't suppose that, Richard. You are English, and they cannot touch you, or the boys; even if you could march, and if they were old enough."

Captain Barclay smiled.

"That is no answer, Melanie. You are shirking the question. I said, if they were to make us go."

"Ah, yes! I am afraid I should grudge you, Richard, and the boys, except the enemy were to invade France; and then everyone, even we women, would fight. But of that there is no chance. It is we who will invade."

Captain Barclay made no reply.

"The plums want gathering, papa," Percy said, returning from cutting the lettuces. "It was arranged that our cousins should come over, when they were ripe, and have a regular picking. They have no plums, and Madame Duburg wants them for preserving. May we go over after dinner, and ask them to come in at three o'clock, and spend the evening?"

"Certainly," Captain Barclay said; "and you can give your mamma's compliments, and ask if your uncle and Madame Duburg will come in, after they have dined. The young ones will make their dinner at our six o'clock tea."

In France early dinner is a thing scarcely known, even among the peasantry; that is to say, their meals are taken at somewhat the same time as ours are, but are called by different names. The Frenchman never eats what we call breakfast; that is, he never makes a really heavy meal, the first thing in the morning. He takes, however, coffee and milk and bread and butter, when he gets up. He does not call this breakfast. He speaks of it as his morning coffee; and takes his breakfast at eleven, or half-past eleven, or even at twelve. This is a regular meal, with soup, meat, and wine. In England it would be called an early lunch. At six o'clock the Frenchman dines, and even the working man calls this meal--which an English laborer would call supper--his dinner. The Barclays' meals, therefore, differed more in name than in reality from those of their neighbors.

Louis and Philippe Duburg came in at five o'clock, but brought a message that their sisters would come in with their father and mother, later. Melanie was neither surprised nor disappointed at the non-arrival of her cousins. She greatly preferred being with the boys, and always felt uncomfortable with Julie and Justine; who, although little older than herself, were already as prim, decorous, and properly behaved as if they had been women of thirty years old. After tea was over, the four boys returned to their work of gathering plums; while Melanie--or Milly, as her father called her, to distinguish her from her mother--picked up the plums that fell, handed up fresh baskets and received the full ones, and laughed and chattered with her brothers and cousins.

While so engaged, Monsieur and Madame Duburg arrived, with their daughters, Julie and Justine. Monsieur Duburg--Mrs. Barclay's brother--was proprietor of a considerable estate, planted almost entirely with vines. His income was a large one, for the soil was favorable, and he carried on the culture with such care and attention that the wines fetched a higher price than any in the district. He was a clear-headed, sensible man, with a keen eye to a bargain. He was fond of his sister and her English husband, and had offered no opposition to his boys entering into the games and amusements of their cousins--although his wife was constantly urging him to do so. It was, to Madame Duburg, a terrible thing that her boys--instead of being always tidy and orderly, and ready, when at home, to accompany her for a walk--should come home flushed, hot, and untidy, with perhaps a swelled cheek or a black eye, from the effects of a blow from a cricket ball or boxing glove.

Upon their arrival at Captain Barclay's, the two gentlemen strolled out to smoke a cigar together, and to discuss the prospects of the war and its effect upon prices.

Mrs. Barclay had asked Julie and Justine if they would like to go down to the orchard; but Madame Duburg had so hurriedly answered in their name, in a negative--saying that they would stroll round the garden until Melanie returned--that Mrs. Barclay had no resource but to ask them, when they passed near the orchard, to call Milly--in her name--to join them in the garden.

"My dear Melanie," Madame Duburg began, when her daughters had walked away in a quiet, prim manner, hand in hand, "I was really quite shocked, as we came along. There was Melanie, laughing and calling out as loudly as the boys themselves, handing up baskets and lifting others down, with her hair all in confusion, and looking--excuse my saying so--more like a peasant girl than a young lady."

Mrs. Barclay smiled quietly.

"Milly is enjoying herself, no doubt, sister-in-law; and I do not see that her laughing, or calling out, or handing baskets will do her any serious harm. As for her hair, five minutes' brushing will set that right."

"But, my dear sister-in-law," Madame Duburg said, earnestly, "do you recall to yourself that Milly is nearly fourteen years old; that she will soon be becoming a woman, that in another three years you will be searching for a husband for her? My faith, it is terrible--and she has yet no figure, no manner;" and Madame Duburg looked, with an air of gratified pride, at the stiff figures of her own two girls.

"Her figure is not a bad one, sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said, composedly; "she is taller than Julie--who is six months her senior--she is as straight as an arrow. Her health is admirable; she has never had a day's illness."

"But she cannot walk; she absolutely cannot walk!" Madame Duburg said, lifting up her hands in horror.

"She walked upwards of twelve miles with her father, yesterday," Mrs. Barclay said, pretending to misunderstand her sister-in-law's meaning.

"I did not mean that," Madame Duburg said, impatiently, "but she walks like a peasant girl. My faith, it is shocking to say, but she walks like a boy. I should be desolated to see my daughter step out in that way.

"Then, look at her manners. My word, she has no manners at all. The other day when I was here, and Monsieur de Riviere with his sons called, she was awkward and shy; yes, indeed, she was positively awkward and shy. It is dreadful for me to have to say so, sister-in-law, but it is true. No manners, no ease! Julie, and even Justine, can receive visitors even as I could do, myself."

"Her manners are not formed yet, sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said, quietly, "nor do I care that they should be. She is a young girl at present, and I do not wish to see her a woman before her time. In three years it will be time enough for her to mend her manners."

"But in three years, sister-in-law, you will be looking for a husband for her."

"I shall be doing nothing of the sort," Mrs. Barclay said, steadily. "In that, as in many other matters, I greatly prefer the English ways. As you know, we give up our house in two years, and go to England to reside. We have economized greatly, during the seventeen years since our marriage. We can afford to live in England, now.

"At sixteen, therefore, Milly will have good masters; and for two years her education will be carried on, and her walk and manner will, no doubt, improve. In England, fathers and mothers do not arrange the marriage of their children; and Milly will have to do as other girls do--that is--wait until someone falls in love with her, and she falls in love with him. Then, if he is a proper person, and has enough to keep her, they will be married."

Madame Duburg was too much shocked at the expression of these sentiments to answer at once. She only sighed, shook her head, and looked upwards.

"It is strange," she said at last, "to hear you, sister-in-law--a Frenchwoman--speak so lightly