But as fast as they climbed up the sides of the mountains, they were stunned with the butt-ends of the guns, and fell back among their ranks like hail. It was at this juncture that there was witnessed an act of bravery on the part of the old wood-cutter, Rochart. Singlehanded he overthrew more than ten of those sons of old Germany. Seizing them under the arms, he flung them back upon the road. Old Materne had his bayonet reeking with blood. And the little tailor Riffi kept incessantly reloading his great gun, and firing energetically upon the heaving, struggling crowd below; and Joseph Larnette, who unfortunately received a shot in the eye; Hans Baumgarten, who had his shoulder fractured; Daniel Spitz, who lost two fingers by a sword-thrust; and a crowd of others whose names will be honoured and revered from generation to generation, never ceased for one second to load and discharge their guns. Below, nothing was heard but fearful shouts and cries; and above, nothing was to be seen but bristling bayonets, and men on horseback. This state of things lasted a good quarter of an hour; no one knew what the Germans intended to do, since they could not clear a passage. Nearly all the students had fallen, and the others, old campaigners, used to honourable retreats, did not throw themselves into the fray with the same ardour. They began by beating a retreat, slowly; then more quickly. The officers, behind them, struck them with the flat of their swords; shots came whizzing after them, and finally, they fled with as much precipitation as they had advanced in good order. Materne, standing erect upon his eminence, with fifty others round him, brandished his carbine, laughing heartily. At the foot of the ascent heaps of the wounded were dragging themselves painfully along. The trampled snow was red with blood. In the midst of the heaps of dead were to be seen two young officers, still alive, but crushed and entangled under the corpses of their horses. It was a horrible sight! But men are really ferocious; there was not one among the mountaineers who pitied these unfortunates; on the contrary, the more of them they saw, the more rejoiced they were. The little tailor, Riffi, at this moment, flushed with a noble enthusiasm, let himself slide down the whole length of the steep ascent. He had just perceived, a little to the left, below the barricades, a superb horse, that of the colonel shot by Materne, and which was standing quietly in a corner, safe and sound. [Illustration: "AS THEY CLIMBED UP THEY WERE BRAINED."] "You shall be mine," said he to himself; "won't Sapience be astonished, that's all!" All the others envied him. He seized the horse by the bridle, and got upon his back. But judge of the general astonishment, and that of Riffi above all, when the noble animal set off at full gallop towards his friends the Germans. The little tailor raised his hands to heaven, invoking all the saints.