Jena or Sedan?

Excerpt

CHAPTER I

"Must I go, must I go,
Away into the town?"

(Swabian Folk-song.)

Franz Vogt was on his way home. He carried a neatly tied-up parcel containing the under-linen and the boots that he had been buying in the town. He had trodden this same road a countless number of times during his life; but now that he must bid good-bye to it so soon, the old familiar surroundings presented themselves to him in a new light.

Of course it was not good-bye for ever, nor was it even as though he were going to America. At the most he would only be away for his two years of military service, and between-whiles there would, he supposed, be leave now and again; moreover, this was not the first time he had left the village. But there was one circumstance peculiar to this going away--he was obliged to go.

Franz Vogt did not trouble his head much about the why and the wherefore of this obligation. He reasoned it out thus: Germany had enemies--the French and the Russians, to wit--who might some day and for some unknown reason begin a war; therefore, of course, it behoved Germany to keep watch and ward, and for that soldiers were necessary. Furthermore, there was a certain consolation in the thought that this authoritative call took no respect of persons; the sons of the two richest peasants in the village had been called up just like himself--they to the Uhlans, he to the field-artillery.

The life, however, must be so different from anything hitherto experienced that one could not but feel a little nervous about it. For the men on leave whom he had come across were never tired of talking about the hard words and harder usage that fell to a soldier's lot. Never mind! hard words break no bones. He was strong and active; no one had done better than he in athletics. One must take things as they come, and perhaps after all they won't turn out as bad as they have been painted.

The young man pushed his hat back from his brow and began to whistle as he stepped forward more briskly.

It was fairly warm for October. The broad dusty road that led onward up the hill lay shining as brightly in the sun as if it were July and the corn rising on either side, tall and golden. But instead the stubble showed in paler streaks against the darker ground that was already prepared for a new sowing. Further on in the valley green meadows stretched away to the border-line of a forest.

On the hither side of those woods, but disappearing at last in the dense verdure, ran the straight line of the railway. A cloud of white smoke could just be seen above the trees, and then the train would glide out into the open. By that line Franz Vogt must travel on the morrow to the place where he would have to sojourn for the next two years; and again the thought, "How shall I get on there?" forced itself upon his mind, and absorbed his thoughts until he reached the cross-roads where stood the paternal dwelling. Years ago, when toll was still levied on the highway, it had been the gate-keeper's cottage; and Franz Vogt's father, the last turnpike-keeper, had bought it from the State when the toll was abolished....