The two field-pieces were distinctly visible, with their cramp-irons, levers, drags, artillerymen, and commanding officer, a tall, bony, broad-shouldered man, with long, light, waving moustaches. The azure vault of the valley brought far-off things so near, that you might have thought him within arm's length; but Hullin and Materne knew better; there were a good six hundred yards between them; no gun could reach as far as that. Nevertheless, the old huntsman, before returning to the barricades, wished to have a clear conscience. So he advanced as near as possible to the ravine, followed by his son Kasper and a few mountaineers, and leaning against a tree, he slowly took aim at the tall officer with light moustaches. All those who saw him held their breath, for fear of disturbing him, and marring his aim. The shot winged its way through the air, and when Materne leaned the butt-end of his gun upon the ground to see what had happened, no change had taken place. "It is astonishing how age dims the sight," said he. "You! your sight dimmed!" exclaimed Kasper; "there is not one, from the Vosges to Switzerland, who can boast of sending a ball, at two hundred yards, as well as you!" The old forester knew it well, but he did not want to discourage the others. "Perhaps so," he replied; "we have no time to discuss that now. Here comes the enemy; let each man do his duty." In spite of these words, Materne, to all appearance simple and calm, inwardly felt great anxiety. As he entered the trench, confused sounds reached his ear; the clashing of arms, the regular tramp of footsteps: he looked down over the side of the ascent, and beheld the Germans, this time coming with long ladders, furnished with grappling-irons. This was a disagreeable sight for the old huntsman. He signed to his son to approach him, and whispered to him: "Kasper, this is bad, this is very bad; the beggars have brought scaling-ladders with them. Give me your hand. I would wish to have you near me, and Frantz also; but we will defend our lives as best we may. If we come off with whole skins, so much the better." At this moment a terrible shock shook all the barricades to their foundations; a hoarse voice was heard to exclaim, "Oh! my God!" Then a heavy sound not a hundred paces off. A fir-tree bent slowly forward, and fell right down into the abyss below. It was the first cannon-shot: it had carried away with it both the legs of old Rochart. This shot was followed almost at the same moment by another, which came crashing along, covering in its headlong course all the mountaineers with splinters of ice; Old Materne himself bent beneath the force of this terrific explosion, but immediately recovering himself, he shouted: "Let us avenge ourselves, lads! They are here! Let us conquer or die!"