d from the main body.
"Have you seen this proclamation?" one of the villagers asked. "You
see that we are running no little risk, in taking you in."
Ralph read it, and as he did so his face flushed with indignation,
and he exclaimed:
"This is infamous! Infamous!"
"What is it?" Major Tempe asked.
"It is a proclamation from the Prussian General commanding the
district, major, giving notice that he will shoot every franc
tireur he may catch; and also giving notice to the inhabitants that
if any Prussian soldier be killed, or even shot at, by a franc
tireur--if a rail be pulled up, or a road cut--that he will hold
the village near the spot accountable; will burn the houses, and
treat the male inhabitants according to martial law, and that the
same penalties will be exacted for sheltering or hiding franc
tireurs."
"Impossible!" Major Tempe said, astounded. "No officer of a
civilized army could issue such an edict. Besides, during an
invasion of Germany, the people were summoned by the King of
Prussia to take up arms, to cut roads, destroy bridges, and shoot
down the enemy--just as we are going to do, now. It is too
atrocious to be true."
"There it is, in black and white," Ralph said. "There can be no
mistake as to the wording."
Major Tempe looked grieved, as well as indignant.
"This will be a terrible business," he said, "if the war is to be
carried on in this way. Of course, if they give us no quarter, we
shall give them none. That is, we must make as many prisoners as we
can in order that, if any of our men are taken prisoners, we may
carry out reprisals if they shoot them.
"It will, besides this, do us great harm. Naturally, the villagers,
instead of looking upon us as defenders, will regard us as the most
dangerous of guests. They will argue:
"'If we make no resistance, the Prussians may plunder us, but at
least our houses and our lives are safe; whereas if these franc
tireurs are found to have been with us, or if they make any attack
in our neighborhood, we are not only plundered, but burnt out, and
shot!'
"Of course, we are always liable to treachery. There are scoundrels
always to be found who would sell their own mothers, but now even
the most patriotic cannot but feel that they are running an immense
risk in sheltering us.
"Never before, I believe, in the annals of civilized nations, did a
man in authority dare to proclaim that persons should suffer for a
crime with which they had no
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