The smugglers, with outstretched necks, sword in hand, sniffed the carnage, impatiently awaiting the signal from their leader. "Now it is our turn," said Marc. "The cannon be our prize!" And forth from the woody fastnesses, with their long cloaks floating behind them like wings, leaning eagerly forward on their saddles, and their swords poised, onward they came, rushing like the wind. "Don't cut--stab, stab," said Marc. And this was every word he uttered. In a second the twelve vultures had swooped down upon the guns. There were among the number four old Spanish dragoons, and two ex-cuirassiers of the Guard, whom the taste for danger attached to Marc. Blows from every imaginable weapon that the artillerymen had at hand, rained round them as thick as hail. They were all parried beforehand, and every stroke brought a man down. Marc Divès met the fire of two pistols full in his face; one of the shots blackened his left cheek, and the other carried away his hat. He, bending over his saddle, with his long arm outstretched, pinned at the same moment the tall officer with light moustaches to one of the guns. To conceive the effect of this terrible scene, we must picture to ourselves the deadly conflict on the heights of the Minières; the groans of the dying, the neighing of the horses, the cries of rage, the flight of some, casting away their weapons to run more quickly, the savage ardour of others. Marc Divès was not of a contemplative turn: he did not waste time in making poetical reflections on the tumult and senseless fury of the wars men wage with each other. He saw the situation at a glance, and leaping from his horse, flung himself upon the first cannon, still loaded, seized the levers of the gun-carriage to change its direction, levelled it at the foot of the ladders, and, snatching a match which was smoking on the ground, fired. Then at a distance arose strange clamours, and the smuggler, through the smoke, saw a bloody gap in the enemy's ranks. "Now on, boys," said he to his men, "we must not sleep upon it. A cartridge here; a ball, some turf: we'll sweep the road. Look out!" The smugglers took up their position; and the fire was kept up upon the white uniforms with untiring zeal. Volleys of bullets whizzed through their ranks. At the tenth discharge there was a general rout. About six hundred men perished on that day. There were mountaineers, and there were _Kaiserlicks_ in far greater numbers; but had it not been for the cannonade of Divès all would have been lost. [Illustration] CHAPTER XVII. The Germans, driven back in multitudes upon Grandfontaine, fled in bands in the direction of Framont, on foot and on horseback, hurrying along, dragging with them their baggage, throwing their knapsacks across the road, and then looking behind them as if they feared to see the mountaineers at their heels.