(原版)澳大利亞語文第五冊(cè) LESSON 39

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LESSON 39 THE LITTLE DRUMMER-BOY

THE LITTLE DRUMMER-BOY

ONE cold December morning about the beginning of the last century, a French army was crossing the Alps ［1］ . The men looked thin and heavy-eyed, from want of food and sleep ; and the poor horses that were dragging the heavy guns stumbled at almost every step.

But there was one in that army who seemed to enjoy the rough marching, and who tramped along through the deep snow and cold grey mist, as merrily as if he were going to a picnic.

He was a little drummer-boy, ten years old, whose fresh, rosy face looked very bright and pretty among the grim, scarred ［2］ faces of the old soldiers. When the cutting wind whirled a shower of snow in his face, he dashed it away with a laugh, and awoke the echoes with the lively rattle of his drum, till it seemed that the huge black rocks around were all ringing in chorus.

Bravo, little drummer! cried a tall man in a shabby gray cloak. This officer was marching at the head of the line with a long pole in his hand, which he struck into the snow every now and then, to see how deep it was. "Bravo, Pierre, my boy! With such music as that, one could march all the way to Moscow!"

The boy smiled, and raised his hand to his cap in salute; for this rough-looking man was no other than the general himself— "Fighting Macdonald," as he was called —one of the bravest soldiers in France, of whom his men used to say that one sight of his face in battle was worth a whole regiment ［3］ .

Just then a strange, unearthly sound was heard far away up the great white mountain- side. Every moment it grew louder and harsher, till at length it swelled into a deep, hoarse roar. "On your faces, lads!" shouted the general. "An avalanche ［4］ is coming."

Before his men had time to obey, the ruin ［5］ was on them. Down thundered the tremendous mass of snow, sweeping like a waterfall along the narrow ledge-path; and, crashing along with it, came heaps of stones and gravel and loose earth, and uprooted bushes and great blocks of ice.

For a moment all was dark as night; and, when the avalanche had passed, many of the brave fellows who had been standing on the path were nowhere to be seen. They had been carried over the precipice ［6］ , and were either killed or buried alive in the snow.

When there was a chance to look around, one cry arose from nearly every mouth: "Where is our drummer ? Where is our little drummer- boy?"

All at once, far below them, out of the dark, unknown gulf that lay between those frowning rocks, arose the faint roll ［7］ of a drum, beating the charge ［8］ ! The soldiers started, and bent eagerly forward to listen. Then up went a shout that shook the air!

He is alive, comrades! Our Pierre is alive, after all! He is beating his drum still like a brave lad! He wanted to have the old music to the very last! But we must save him, lads, or he'll freeze to death down there. He must be saved!

He shall be! broke in a deep voice; and the general himself was seen standing on the brink ［9］ of the precipice, throwing off his cloak.

No, no, general! cried the grenadiers ［10］ , with one voice; "you must not run such a risk as that. Let one of us go instead; your life is worth more than all of ours put together!"

My soldiers are my children, answered Macdonald, quietly, "and no father grudges his own life to save his son. Quick now, boys! cast loose the drag-rope ［11］ of that cannon, loop it under my arms, and let me down."

The soldiers obeyed in silence; and the next moment their brave tender-hearted general was swinging in midair, down, down till he vanished into the cold, black depth below.

Macdonald landed safely at the foot of the precipice, and looked anxiously around in search of Pierre; but the beating of the drum had ceased, and, in that awful silence, there was nothing to guide the brave general.

PIERRE AND THE GENERAL

Pierre! he shouted, as loudly as he could "where are you, my boy?"

Here, general! answered a weak voice.

And sure enough, there was the little fellow, half buried in a huge mound of soft snow. Macdonald went towards him at once and, although he sank waist-deep at every step, at last reached the spot.

All right now, my brave boy! said the general. Tearing off his sash, and knotting one end of it to the rope, he bound Pierre and himself firmly together with the other end, and then gave the signal to draw up.

When the two came swinging up once more into the daylight, and the soldiers saw their pet still alive and unhurt, cheer upon cheer rang out rolling far back along the line, till the very mountains themselves seemed to rejoice.

We've been under fire and under snow together, said Macdonald, chafing the boy's cold hands tenderly; "and nothing shall part us after this, so long as we both live."

And the general kept his word. Years later, when the great wars were all over, there might have been seen, walking in the garden of a quiet country house in the south of France, a stooping white-haired old man, who was no other than the famous Marshal Macdonald; and the tall, soldierlike fellow upon whose arm he leaned for support had once been little Pierre, the drummer.

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［1 ］ Alps: High mountains of Switzerland.

［2 ］ scarred: Deeply marked.

［3 ］ regiment: Body of soldiers.

［4 ］ avalanche: A large body of snow or ice sliding down a mountain.

［5 ］ ruin: Fall, that which destroys.

［6 ］ precipice: Overhanging cliff.

［7 ］ roll: The beat of a drum.

［8 ］ beating the charge: Sounding the signal to attack.

［9 ］ brink: Edge.

［10 ］ grenadiers: Foot-soldiers.

［11 ］ drag-rope: The rope by which the cannon was drawn along.