Warlike Adventures of a Peaceful Man (Godey’s Lady’s Book)
WARLIKE ADVENTURES OF A PEACEFUL MAN.
FROM THE GERMAN.
BY MISS MARY E. LEE.
CHAPTER FIRST.
NINE-AND-THIRTY YEARS OF AGE.
IT was in the year 18—, and while residing in the garret of a house in Berlin, that I was awakened on one Sunday morning by the ringing of the church bells, and on collecting my drowsy senses, I felt a cold shudder pass over me on recalling to mind that this was my thirty-ninth birthday. The youth of nineteen looks with eagerness to the freedom of twenty-one—for ere that period his whole existence seems narrow and unripe; nine-and-twenty moves on with a thoughtful mien to thirty, for then all the spangles and glitter of life are probably worn off; but worst of all is it to enter on one’s fortieth year, unblest with lucrative employment or a beloved helpmate. Such a fate was mine, though certainly none of my own making; and I, therefore, determined, that so long as I was a member of the order of bachelors, it was unnecessary to acknowledge beyond nine-and-thirty. With this desperate resolve, I arose, and selected my Sunday attire with some care, although my soul was oppressed with bitter sorrow. Thirty-nine, and yet only a poor theological student, unmarried, without a prospect of any lucrative situation—for I had not yet been even able to attain the arduous station of teacher in a public school. To what purpose all my hoarded knowledge, my thirty years’ patient study, my exemplary conduct through life? I had neither relatives nor patrons; day after day I was hastening from street to street, giving private lessons to enable me to support my sad and friendless existence; and in my leisure hours, I was compelled to turn author, made almanacks, and contributed to numerous petty journals. Ah, it was hard work, when booksellers paid me in copper coin for the pictured paradise of my muse, while others, who had not laboured half so hard as myself, were rejoicing in a golden harvest. Oh, the heavenly dreams of my youth, how had they all vanished! Ah, the beloved Frederica!—how needless was it that she should remain true, doomed as she was to wither like an Alpine flower in maiden solitude! Tears gushed to my eyes with this last thought, and yielding to my sorrow, I wept like a very child.
Frederica had been for eight years my promised bride. She was poor as myself in worldly wealth, being the daughter of a counsellor of Berlin, who died shortly after becoming a bankrupt; and as her mother’s circumstances were too humble to allow her daughter to reside with her, the dutiful maiden, in her anxiety to assist her needy parent, obtained a place as domestic in a family, where, although treated with the greatest kindness, she still felt her depressed condition.
CHAPTER SECOND.
THE LETTER.
While yielding to these mournful reflections, during the operation of dressing, a tap was heard at my door, and the letter-carrier entered and handed me a huge package, for which he charged five pence, a large amount from the purse of a poor student. Throwing myself into a chair, I gazed for some minutes on the unknown superscription, examined the seal, and peeped into the folds of the letter, as well to repress my ungovernable curiosity as, perhaps, to give full play to the delicious hope which its contents were probably doomed to overthrow. The question was, whether I should immediately open it or delay the perusal until the next day—for one must acknowledge that a man is apt to be superstitious when suffering beneath a succession of misfortunes, and it seemed to me that the reception of bad tidings on my birthday would throw a dark shadow over the whole succeeding year. At length, defying fate and banishing fear, I equipped trembling doubt with the armour of valiant resolution, and breaking the seal, read on until my eyes were blinded with tears. Then laying the letter aside, I made an effort to recover myself, read it once more, and falling on my knees, poured out a torrent of gratitude to my Heavenly Benefactor for a most unexpected blessing. The above-mentioned letter was from my most influential friend, a merchant of Frankfort, in whose family I had formerly resided as tutor. By chance, or rather, I should say, through the interest of this kind friend—for there is no such thing as chance in God’s world—I now received the appointment of curate to the patrimonial estate of Count C, with a salary of seven hundred florins, the use of house, garden, firewood, and, furthermore, the hope of becoming the instructor of his sons, should a personal interview prepossess him in my favour; and this interview, as I was advised by my Frankfort friend, might take place on the 19th of October, when the count would await my appearance in Magdeburg.
And now behold me, most unexpectedly, at the summit of my twenty years’ desire. Hastily finishing my toilet, I thrust the packet in my pocket, and went, or rather flew, to impart the joyful tidings to my beloved Frederica, whom, by good luck, I found unoccupied, her mistress being at church.
Frederica started back in alarm as she observed my breathless agitation, the glowing hue of my usually pale cheek, and the strange excitement of my demeanour, till, when I seized her wildly in my arms and pressed her hand against my burning brow, she cried aloud—“Ah, tell me, what misfortune has happened? What new disappointment has come to crush your already bruised heart?”
“Ah, Frederica,” exclaimed I, “I am so inured to misfortune, that I have even learned to meet it with smiles; but joy is an unexpected guest, and finds me all unarmed.”
“Joy!—joy did you say, doctor?” repeated the astonished maiden, (I had received from the university the degree of Doctor of Philosophy,) and she looked eagerly for a reply.
“Do you remember that happy night in the garden of Sans Souci, Frederica?—when, beneath the starry heavens, with but one Eye watching over us, we plighted our vows of love and fidelity—vows that, for nine long years, we have preserved hopelessly yet steadfastly. And now, wilt thou be mine, Frederica, since my fate has suddenly brightened?” It was my first thou, and I whispered it timidly. “A pleasant home awaits us; a lovely garden; a . Wilt thou share my happiness, dearest?” And drawing out the letter, I added—“See, here is an appointment from Count C, and I am chosen curate to his estates.”
Frederica took the letter, and as she read the contents, a stream of joyful surprise ran over every feature, till, laying her hand in mine, she looked up in my face with a beaming blush, and pearly tears rolled down her cheek as she replied—“I will go with thee wherever thou wilt, Ferdinand,” and then sank sobbing on my breast.
The holy angels were hardly happier than we during those first moments of delicious silence, till, tearing herself from my embrace, the pious maiden clasped her hands in grateful praise to Heaven; and then, turning on me her streaming yet joyful eyes, she softly murmured—“Is it, indeed, true? Is it not a dream, Ferdinand? Show me the letter once more; I have forgotten every word of its contents.”
CHAPTER THIRD.
BETROTHAL AND SEPARATION.
“One thing I am resolved on, dearest,” continued I, “and that is, that I will not even enter the door of my parsonage until I am married. What time would I have for all the little domestic arrangements that are so necessary to a housekeeping establishment, amid the first agitating cares of my holy office? How could I determine which should be the sitting-room, the study, the storehouse? Ah, Frederica, you must arrange all that; you must make the strange house look to me like a friendly homestead. Only take care, friend, to choose my study where a window opens on your flower-garden, for in the spring I shall have to watch that you do your task faithfully among the plants while I am at my sermon.”
Frederica blushed and turned laughingly away, as though she would not hear of such unseemly haste; but she soon began to talk of new window curtains, and how the garden must be re-arranged, and how her dear mother must come to live with us, and whether it would not be cheapest and best to buy all our furniture at Frankfort, with numerous other hints regarding kitchen and cellar, in all of which I heartily concurred.
Under present happy circumstances, my best plan seemed to enter immediately on every arrangement; to afford Frederica’s mistress due notice of her removal; to advise my landlady and pupils of the same on my part; and, pleasantest of all, to have the matrimonial bans published from the pulpit on the following Sabbath. All these things proceeded in proper form; presents and good wishes poured in from every quarter. I was richer in this world’s wealth than I had ever been; and, furthermore, the father of one of my pupils kindly offered me the use of his traveling-carriage for the journey—an offer which I did not refuse. I took care to provide myself with the necessary passports, for it was a stormy period, war and the rumour of war being everywhere talked of, and our king even then at the head of his army at Thüringen, awaiting the approach of the yet victorious Napoleon, though the general opinion was that, in the next fortnight, the French would be driven back over the Rhine by my brave countrymen. In fact, by way of speculation, I had already, in the seclusion of my quiet garret, prepared twenty-five songs of war and victory, which were so arranged as to suit the issue of many expected conflicts, the names of the heroes and battle-fields only being omitted. For these productions, I had hoped to receive a liberal compensation from the Berlin booksellers, and thinking now that I might dispose of them to yet greater advantage at Magdeburg, I determined to carry them with me. On the 14th of October, the very day of the defeat of the Prussian troops at Jena, I said farewell to Frederica; and although my return was to be the summons for our immediate marriage, and the future stretched in bright perspective before us, yet our hearts were oppressed with sadness on the evening of separation. While, as a doctor of philosophy, I tried to repel all weak forebodings, I could not, as a lover, shake off my silly fears; and Frederica herself, overcome by the same fancies, exclaimed, as she sobbed a farewell—“Ferdinand, dear Ferdinand, God be with you! God take care of you!—but, alas! I fear that we shall never meet again!”
CHAPTER FOURTH.
JOURNEY TO MAGDEBURG.
On the 15th of October, I passed through the Brandenburg gate, bearing with me my patriotic songs and my patron’s appointment; and as I was compelled to remain for a night at Potsdam, to transact some necessary business, I turned at twilight towards the garden of Sans Souci, and amid its beautiful shades, renewed the vow which, nine years previously, I had pledged to my beloved Frederica. On returning to the hotel, I sat up until midnight, busied with an epistle, in which I wrote out a whole Iliad of hopes and pleasant fancies, and sketched for the eye of the beloved, bright pictures of our home-life in the quiet parsonage, shut out from the noise and tumult of a vain and thoughtless world. “Thou and I, dearest,”—it was thus I concluded,—“will be completely blest; for what need we more, even if we could draw heaven itself to earth. Our cottage, our garden, will they not seem to us the most beautiful portion of God’s creation, where, unenvied by others, we will not covet the bliss of the angels, but will live completely blest in ourselves.” With these pleasant fancies, I fell asleep, and my dreams were only a vivid continuation of my waking thoughts, until at length another happy day broke upon me, and I started up to prepare for my onward journey. Oh the varied dreams that crowded into that opening day. As I rode along, at one moment I fancied my first interview with the count, and how I presented myself in a most attractive light; then, again, I was leading my bride into the parsonage, saying, as I did so—“See, angel, here is your earthly domain;” and, lastly, I seemed to stand for the first time in my parochial office, a wide-spread congregation waiting to receive instruction from my lips as the shepherd of their souls, till, as I proceeded in my eloquent discourse, every eye that gazed upon me grew blind with tears, and all hastened to express their delight in their new pastor, while my wife gave me—that sweetest of all rewards—a loving kiss.
On reaching Brandenburg, I found the inn in a complete tumult, and every body talking of the great conflicts that had taken place between Napoleon and our beloved monarch.
“And how goes it with the emperor?” I asked.
“Oh, he is missing.”
“And Marshal Lannes?”
“Dead.”
“And Davoust?”
“Dead.”
“And Ney?”
“Dead—all dead!”
I could no longer restrain my delight, but thrust my hand into my traveling coat, and was about to draw out the songs of victory. An old man who stood near me put down his pipe, and stooping as if accidentally towards me, said, in a deep whisper—“Would to God it were so, but it is all false, sir. On the contrary, our troops have been very unfortunate.”
My hand was stayed in its eager course; I let the odes wait their proper time and place, and repeating, mechanically, the words, “Very unfortunate,” I gave full reins to my anxiety, and even asked myself, “What if Napoleon should come between Frederica and myself?”
The very thought produced a violent ague-fit.
CHAPTER FIFTH.
EVIL FOREBODINGS.
On the following day, as I journeyed along the state road, a courier passed me at full speed. He appeared to return from the army, and was hastening to Berlin, but from his profound silence I augured nothing good—for joy, even when unquestioned, is apt to seek for sympathy. On approaching the next village, I observed a crowd of people at the inn door, and drawing near, saw at the window a troop of Prussian hussars, while saddled horses stood at the door. “Is there any thing new?” was my inquiry of the gaping crowd, as I stopped my carriage for a moment.
“Ah, bad enough—bad enough!” cried an old woman; “our king has lost every thing, and they say that the French will be here in an hour’s time!”
I gave little credit to the old wife’s tale, but anxious to inquire further, rode up to the entrance of the dwelling, and springing from my carriage, entered within. Every chamber swarmed with occupants; hussars, peasants, magistrates, stood crowding together, smoking their pipes, drinking, swearing and talking confusedly. One told of the retreat of the Prussians, another of the advance of the French, and a third gave an account of some general who was unable to ride on horseback because of his numerous wounds, and for whom they were even then seeking out a conveyance in the neighbourhood. I was greatly excited by their relations, and choosing a place at one of the tables, I ordered a tankard of the landlord’s miserable beer, for the purpose of gaining intelligence from the soldiers. In about ten minutes, the hussars hurriedly left the chamber. At the sudden cry of “they are going! they are going!” I hurried to the window, and reached it just in time to see the troops disappear in the turn of the street, while my traveling-carriage went at full speed before them.
“Stop! halt! that is my carriage!” I shouted from the window; but finding that my cry was of no avail, I worked my way through the crowd into the open street: but, alas! the troops were entirely out of sight, and I gazed upon empty space.
“Do not be alarmed,” said an old man, who wore the badge of a magistrate; “the general will soon return your carriage; he only wishes to be conveyed to the next post—for he is half dead with his wounds, and seemed anxious to reach his estate as soon as possible.”
“And who is this general?” I inquired. No one knew his name. “And how far will he need my equipage?” No one could tell.
I ran for some distance up the road, and found that it branched off in four different directions, so that all further search seemed fruitless; so, trusting to obtain some information from the crowd, I returned to the inn, but only to find that every one appeared perfectly indifferent to my misfortune, and totally engrossed with their own near danger through the proximity of the French.
“You must give me a protocol of this shameful affair,” I demanded of the magistrate; “the whole village can bear witness to this act of unjust force; and furthermore, write down that I shall remain here at the expense of the general’s purse, until my wagon is returned.”
The old man readily wrote down what I required. I had a duplicate of the protocol drawn out, and placing it carefully among my patriotic songs, tried to wait patiently until the morrow, when I confidently expected the return of the conveyance. Alas, it was a hope that was destined to remain unrealized, for the carriage never came. By good luck, I had some ready money with me; but then the general had carried off my whole wardrobe; my Berlin friend would certainly expect the value of his equipage; and, worse than all, the 19th of October was drawing near, and the count would be waiting my arrival in Magdeburg. Ah! was not all this a heavy trial of faith for the nominated curate! In my despair, I determined to wait no longer, but cutting a knobbed stick from the road-side, set off for a pedestrian journey; and as I wandered along the scented fields and by the perfumed hedges, I was even able to sing in a loud, clear voice, some favourite stanzas of a German hymn.
CHAPTER SIXTH.
THE RETURN.
Walking briskly along the road-side, I every now and then encountered straggling groups of Prussian soldiers, with or without their baggage-wagons; and fearful of coming into collision with these heroes of war, I passed on in entire silence, till, on reaching the little village of Burg, I was thus accosted, in a gay and familiar tone—
“Ha, doctor, is that you?—and where are you bound?”
It proved to be a lieutenant, who had formerly boarded in the same house in Berlin, and whom I then jestingly called “Charles the Great,” because he always boasted of being a descendant from that monarch.
“I am on my way to Magdeburg.”
“Then you are journeying in vain, friend; for the French have already besieged it with one hundred and fifty thousand men. Turn back with us, if you will allow me to advise you. To Berlin!—the enemy is at our heels—all is lost. Braunschirog dead; Mollendorf a prisoner; the king no one knows where.”
“But, lieutenant, I must go to Magdeburg.”
“What, to be run through with French bayonets? Well, a pleasant journey to you, doctor;” and he was about hurrying on, when, just at that moment, two dragoons dashed by, shouting aloud, “The enemy has already crossed the Elbe at Wittenburg.”
At this alarm, the troops hastened their march, and feeling that my onward course must be a fruitless one, since I could not hope to find admittance into a besieged city, I accepted the lieutenant’s invitation, and resigned all present hope of meeting with the count, all prospect of the parsonage, and, saddest of all, my glowing visions of a speedy marriage. Now, in truth, I had reached the darkest spot in my never over-bright lot; now, again, I found myself an obscure doctor of philosophy, a lonely bachelor, and an honest, well-intentioned, but most unfortunate man.
“Ah,” thought I, as I slowly trudged along, “it is hard to say who has lost most by this victorious Napoleon—I or my king.”
CHAPTER SEVENTH.
OUR HERO MADE CHAPLAIN.
“Cheer up—cheer up, poor heart! thy master marches beneath the banner of Charles the Great, and will plead for his protection as far as Berlin.” This was my playful soliloquy, as I overtook the lieutenant, who greeted me once more with a warm welcome.
“You shall not suffer for your decision,” exclaimed my commander; “I can boast of a platoon of Prussians as brave as any in the kingdom; and if we had but one cannon, we would not yield to two regiments of those hateful Frenchmen. And so, doctor, on the spot, I tender you the appointment of chaplain to my platoon.”
As the office seemed a suitable one, I accepted it cheerfully; and while at every village the lieutenant ordered a flourish of trumpets, and tried to arouse the patriotism of the lazy peasants with the cry of “to arms! to arms!” I formed an acquaintance with one of the sutler women, who, trudging along with the brandy wagon, of which she was the proprietor, found time to give me a minute detail of the whole plan of warfare, blamed many of the manœuvres of the Prussians, and threw out numerous hints with regard to the necessary stratagems of war. Bess—for this was the name of my new acquaintance—closely resembled the wood-cuts of her namesake, Queen Bess of merry England, and like her was opposed to all matrimonial connections; while such was her influence among the troops, that in every weighty discussion, she was allowed to take her place in council. It was on the fourth day of our march that Charles the Great called me mysteriously aside, and with a countenance that betokened some great undertaking, observed—“Depend upon it, doctor, war is the best way for making a man’s fortune. I have been lieutenant for eight years, but expect soon to be made general. At present I command two hundred men, who will probably increase to as many thousand by the time we reach the Oder, where I hope to present them to my king, yet not before we have achieved some chivalrous exploit.”
“What! are we not on our way to Berlin?” I asked, in an alarmed tone, as I remembered the beloved Frederica.
“No; we are proceeding direct to Mittenwalde; and as the office of chaplain does not exactly seem to suit you, you must be made a soldier, doctor. A cocked hat, a sword and charger, with the rank of adjutant-general. What say you to that?”
All opposition on my part was needless; and as there was a horse in view, which might, perhaps, aid me on my homeward journey, should an opportunity present itself for absconding, I accepted the flattering commission; and on the same evening, our general (for so he now styled himself) created several new captains, lieutenants and corporals, and unfolded to the astonished troops his gigantic plans for the future.
“Comrades,” cried he, and waved his arms repeatedly towards them, “all is arranged. By our deeds we will once more recall honour to the Prussian name. The spirit of the great Frederic hovers around us. The trembling, bleeding fatherland looks to us for deliverance. And shall we yield to ignoble bondage? What shall be our choice—victory before the world, or a hateful subjection to the French power? Whoever is true to me, their general—whoever will follow me for the sake of his god, his king and his fatherland, let him join in the shout of victory or death!”
This speech was received with great acceptance by our little army, and most of them lent their aid to the patriot cry; but a few who sighed after the flesh pots of Berlin, exchanged it for “victory or bread.”
Unfortunately, the sutler-woman, or, as I should rather call her, Queen Bess, had been forgotten in the arrangements and consultations of the previous evening, and, enraged by the neglect, she secretly vowed vengeance against us for the affront. On the following morning we turned out in our full strength. Charles the Great, with imperial bearing, rode in front, and I, mounted on a somewhat hard-going steed, took my place at his side, with a cheerful countenance, but an aching heart; for of the two roads which lay before us, the left led to Berlin, and the right—for us the path to honour and immortal fame—to Mittenwalde. The army followed in regular array, while in the rear came the baggage-wagons with their brandy casks, and attended by their owner, Queen Bess, who, however, by way of retaliation, parted us company at the fork of the road, and took the direction leading to Berlin.
Alas! she was not permitted to go alone; for no sooner had the rear guard observed the movement of the wagons containing their favourite beverage, than, wheeling right about, they followed its course, and their example, acting instantly on the others, before we were aware, (for in our earnest discourse concerning intended manœuvres, the general and I had advanced considerably,) the whole army, with not a single exception, had become deserters, and marched rapidly after the rumbling conveyance of the sutler woman.
It is difficult to imagine the consternation of our commander, when, on looking accidentally behind, he discovered that his brave troops had entirely disappeared. Putting spurs to his horse, he galloped towards the Berlin road, and soon found the whole corps swarming around the wagon, where sat Bess on a brandy cask, as on a triumphal car, singing in a loud, shrill voice, some stanzas which were boisterously encored.
Not Xenophon or Plutarch’s heroes could have made a more powerful harangue than did our valorous general to his disorderly troops; yet, although they listened with seeming deference and attention, the least onward movement of the enchantress-wagon, caused them to start and show an eagerness to follow in its track. Indeed, I know not how the affair would have terminated if an appeal had not just then been made to their feelings in a way which my next chapter shall explain.
CHAPTER EIGHTH.
MARCH OF THE ARMY OF CHARLES THE GREAT.
Just then, while we were in the very heat of expostulation with our disloyal troops, came at full gallop a hussar, from the very road leading to Berlin, and saluting us with a volley of imprecations, abruptly inquired whither we were hastening.
“To Berlin,” was our ready reply.
“To Berlin!” he exclaimed. “What would you there? The French have already entered that city, and you are completely cut off. Even the king has retreated to West Prussia. All that can be done is to steal a march across the Oder.”
“We are Prussians, sir,” rejoined our commander, with haughty bearing, “and will not steal a passage by any route. We will cut our way through with our good swords.”
This daring resolve seemed to have some weight with the noisy hussar, for he stroked his black moustache, and approaching the commander with a respectful air, entered into a low discourse of some minutes.
“If you wish to join the troops which I have collected for the deliverance of my king, you are at liberty to do so,” observed Charles the Great, with an air of dignity, as he bowed to the hussar at the conclusion of the confab; “and in that case I appoint you to the command of the cavalry, which is somewhat in advance,” (said cavalry consisted of two dragoons and four trumpeters;) “but with this proviso, that all must be under my authority as head;” and acknowledging the hussar’s assent, he added, in loud tones—“And now, battalions, right about! The first man who looks towards Berlin shall be treated as a deserter and left hanging on yonder tree. March!” and so we went along the narrow, muddy path of honour towards Mittenwalde, no one daring even to turn his head towards Berlin, not through dread of the threatened gallows-tree, but fearful of the French, whose vicinity they had just learned.
Even Bess moderated her tone of triumph, and moved along with us as if totally dispirited. I also marched with my head drooping on my breast, now that I heard that Napoleon had become possessed of half of Prussia in its beautiful capital, Berlin; and worse yet, when I recollected that Frederica might, perhaps, be in his power. Ah! she was right when, at our parting, she exclaimed, “Ferdinand, dear Ferdinand, we shall never meet again!” What changes had a few days brought about! Our army completely defeated; our kingdom overrun with the enemy; my bride probably in the power of the most gallant and amorous nation under heaven; my patron in a besieged city; my parsonage I knew not where; and I, the peace-loving, quiet, studious doctor of philosophy, neither more nor less than adjutant-general to Charles the Great. Sometimes, when weary with pondering on my fate, I gave way to fantasy, and once more pictured Frederica’s presence, or dreamt that I was quietly busied in my Berlin attic; a false step of my charger would arouse me suddenly to a sense of my novel yet most disastrous situation, and then I would feel perfectly provoked with myself that I was not hurrying on the wings of love to Berlin, instead of taking part in any warlike adventures. But again a single thought would reconcile me to my fate; not the certainty of Frederica’s constant faith, nor the prospect of a conqueror’s trophies, but the wretched state of my purse. How could I subsist in Berlin? My pupils were by this time become another’s, my patriot songs but dead stock, my hopes of a curacy all vanished, while now, as adjutant-general, I lived at least free of cost and lodging. “Who knows, too,” thought I, “to what success I may not arrive in this my soldier-life. Moreau was once an advocate only, and yet as general he furnished an exact counterpart to the retreat of Xenophon. Who can tell but that I, a humble doctor of philosophy, may yet astonish the world by some similar successful action.”
CHAPTER NINTH.
CONFLICT AND VICTORY.
During the next two days there was incessant boasting with regard to the great deeds we were about to accomplish; but the hussar was half right when he advised a stolen march across the Oder; for we really moved with the greatest precaution, only stopping at the most miserable villages, where we always made ourselves secure with a strong guard.
“My intention,” observed our general to the hussar and myself, as on the third evening we halted at a small village at some distance from the main road, “my intention is to fall on the rear of Napoleon’s army;” and as he spoke there was a self-satisfied expression, that gave us to understand that even more was meant than spoken.
“It may be so,” rejoined the hussar; “if they are not on our heels before morning.”
This alarming suggestion furnished food for thought, and we all became suddenly silent, when, just then, there was a report of arms, and the cry of our troops, “The French! the enemy! they are on us!”
Meanwhile the drums beat, the four trumpeters vied with each other who should blow the loudest peal, and the brave hussar became deadly pale. To conceal my excessive alarm, I stormed about the little inn, exclaiming, “Out upon them, brave Prussians! out upon them, my countrymen!” and went towards the direction of the door; but strange to tell, I was struck as if by sudden blindness, and unable to find the portal, I sprang in my anguish upon the cupboard of the old landlady, still crying, “Prussians, brave Prussians, on—on! follow me! forsake me not!”
All was confusion. The hostess loudly lamented her fate; the children shrieked murder; cats and dogs leapt over chairs and tables, even to the top of the old Dutch tile stove; and such was the alarm and outcry, that it seemed to me the French must have already entered the inn, and were probably—the savage monsters—driving their spears into the hearts of the innocent children.
“God have pity on me but this once,” was my first thought, “and nought again shall tempt me to take part in any warlike deeds.” My noise and blustering, interpreted most favourably by my coadjutors, infused into them new courage, and drawing their swords, they rushed out to the assembled troops, while I slowly followed. It was really well that I was in the background, and therefore not observed; for, although not generally fearful, I seemed now as if struck with a panic. It may have been that I am naturally more timid at evening than in broad daylight.
Suddenly I was aroused from my terror by the voice of my commander—“Adjutant-general, march with twenty men to the churchyard, for our post is there attacked. We will remain here, as it seems only a skirmish; but if needs be, send for succour.”
It was fortunate that my courage was not called in question, for self-respect restored it to me; till, when we reached the churchyard, all again became suddenly black before my eyes, and taking the old wall, covered with dry briars, for French troops, and the thorns for bayonets, I sprung aside, while calling aloud, “Take aim—fire!”
The flash of the powder immediately discovered to us that we were waging battle against a wall, but at the same moment there was a cry of “pardon! pardon!” from the opposite side, and seven French infantry crept under the wall, where they had been concealed, and laid their arms at my feet. The fools—if they had but kept quiet, they would have entirely escaped observation. My prisoners were speedily disarmed and conducted to head-quarters; and it may be supposed that it was not without some honest pride that I presented myself before my commander-in-chief. He embraced me most cordially in the sight of the whole army, adding, “Adjutant, your courage and prompt action have done you honour; and be assured that you shall be speedily reported to his majesty the king.”
From our prisoners we learned that a corps of French artillery was stationed in the adjacent village; that seeking for fuel they were surprised to find a numerous band of Prussians in the neighbourhood, as they were led to believe us much larger than we really were, from the number of our guard and the noise made by our drums and trumpets; and that in their sudden retreat the seven captives had been unfortunately taken. In my exultation, I treated the vanquished with every thing that our stores allowed, and the poor fellows really seemed to enjoy their good luck, and freely informed me that the whole corps were then on their way from Saxony to Berlin, under the command of Marshal Davoust. I mentioned this fact to my general, who, flushed by our great achievement, rubbed his hands, exclaiming, with exultation—“Aha, we are certainly on the rear of Napoleon’s army,” while the hussar hung down his head and became pale with terror.
CHAPTER TENTH.
SECOND SKIRMISH, WITH ITS TERMINATION.
WHAT gave me most pleasure in my late military achievement, was the fact that I had not shed a drop of a fellow-creature’s blood. Certainly this was not owing to any individual merit of mine, and yet I suspect that the exploits of our greatest generals are quite as doubtful when viewed in the light of truth. Often, in some great onset, the lucky thought of a lieutenant, the bon-mot of a corporal, or the accidental saying of a private, has more effect in determining the chance of a battle than is usually suspected. Would that we could read accounts of the conflicts of Marathon, Pharsalia, Marengo and Jena, as written by an omniscient being, to prove the truth of my assertion. At daybreak we were ready for decampment. The weather proved exceedingly cold, but our commander significantly observed that we would probably have a hot day of it, since, according to the statements of the peasants, troops of the enemy hovered in every direction, and it was therefore determined, in a council of war, that we should defile through the woods by by-paths.
Scarcely had we left the village, when, lo! just before us, and issuing from the very direction we were about to take, marched a detachment of the French troops. Our general was noways disconcerted, but with admirable coolness made his arrangements for the encounter, and set his little army in battle array—the right wing leaning towards a ditch, under the hussar, the left near an old walnut tree, with myself at its head.
“And now, comrades,” said he, “remember this day that you are Prussians; and since we boast no banner, follow the white plume of your commander, and be assured that it shall ever be seen in the thickest of the combat.”
This speech reminded me of Henry the Fourth, who made a similar one under less critical circumstances.
“If our small host cannot conquer,” continued he, “let us at least determine that we will not be vanquished. The worst that can befall us is, to sup to-night with Ziethen, Schwerin, Winterfield and Frederic the Great, instead of at some wretched village.”
Leonidas spoke not with greater emphasis when he addressed his devoted Spartans at the dread pass of Thermopylæ, than did our valorous chief; and yet our troops appeared to enjoy the prospect of an earthly supper of pork and turnips, however common it might be, more than the view of a festal board, though spread in the fields of Elysium; and for myself, a crust of bread from Frederica’s hand had been sweeter than ambrosia itself, though quaffed in the society of all the heroes of antiquity.
It was a fearful spectacle, to watch the long column of the enemy as it slowly advanced over the stubble-fields; and as I stood at my post near the walnut tree, it seemed as though every limb had become suddenly palsied, and judging from the countenance of the hussar who had charge of the left wing, where his four trumpeters were blowing their loudest blasts, I suspect that he was in a similar condition with myself.
A moment before the conflict commenced, Charles the Great dashed towards me, and hurriedly exclaimed, “Adjutant-general, I feel that on this day your valour will show itself in its full extent; but, let me entreat of you, do not yield to the impetuosity of your feelings. Be prudent amid your enthusiasm; and should I fall in the conflict, take immediate command of the army, and drawing back to the village we have just left, maintain your ground there even to the last man!” Then setting spurs to his horse, he left me, unfortunate man that I was, to the misgivings of my agitated mind.
In the meanwhile, Queen Bess had attempted to make a precipitate movement to the rear of the ditch, but probably interfering with some of the hussar’s evolutions, she was forced with her brandy casks directly in view of the enemy’s fire, and thus, by this accidental movement, as I shall presently explain, an unfortunate issue was given to the combat ere it had really commenced.
CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
CONTINUATION.
Just at that moment, when our thirsty troops were watching the safe locomotion of the wagons which contained their spirituous treasure, the enemy fired their first cannon upon us. Sad to tell, the ball found its way direct into the largest brandy cask, and as the nectar gushed out in a crystalline torrent, the horses of the vehicle took fright and dashed wildly across the battle-field, while the courage of the soldiers seemed to ooze out as their favourite liquor, for the van-guard began to hesitate, and the rear-guard made a retrograde movement towards the village they had just left. In tones of authority, Charles the Great cried, “Forward, march!” but our men seemed as if suddenly dispossessed of life, since there was not one who made the least advance. Probably their conduct was owing to the fact, that while their leader had insisted that they should follow the direction of his plume, that plume was constantly seen, though, perhaps, unintentionally, in the rear, as if to imply that the path of honour lay towards the village.
The second cannon was fired, and again with some effect, for my horse became very restless, and I could not refrain from glancing occasionally round, to discover whether the path of retreat was still unoccupied, till, when the enemy let fall their musket shots and several of the French cavalry rode towards my detachment, I shrieked aloud, in frantic tones, “Take aim—fire!” and then pressing my hand over my eyes, exclaimed, involuntarily, “Heaven have pity on me!” as I sought to turn my hard-mouthed nag in the direction of the village. Just then my obedient soldiery fired, and my horse, frightened as much as his master, leapt high in air, and then tore directly to the open plain, where the enemy were stationed. Three French cavalry galloped after me, but as they saw me suddenly turn upon them, (thanks to my bewildered steed,) with drawn sabre in my hand, the effort to keep my chapeau on my head with the sabre hand gave me quite a military mien, they in turn became alarmed by my seeming valour, and dashed off at full speed, while my Pegasus, in spite of bit and bridle, galloped madly after them.
I swore, I lamented, I cried aloud, “Halt! halt!” but no, nothing would suit him but to follow in their track. At length they chose a narrow by-way through the woods; instantly my steed took the same direction, while, struck as if with panic, the enemy drove spurs in their horses’ sides, while my bewitched Rosinante drew upon them at every moment. Doubtless my foes held me for a most determined fellow, if one might judge from the frightened glances which they occasionally cast behind them. On turning the corner of the pine forest, we suddenly reached the open plain, where the Freneh army had pitched their tents, and just then, because of my losing my stirrup, the fugitives escaped, and several soldiers fired upon me, while my horse, making a side leap, threw me, like a heavy sack, to the ground. “Farewell, Frederica! false world, farewell!” I sighed—for, like the soldiers, I gave myself up for dead.
The fellows sprang towards me; tremblingly I looked up. They demanded my sword, and I relinquished it without a word. One of them now proposed rifling me of my small effects, but just then my three fugitives came up, and declared that, as a reward for my valour and courage, I had a right to their full protection; and now, as prisoner of war, I was led to a small tent, where sat a French colonel, along with several of his officers, at breakfast. After inquiring from the guard the circumstances of my capture and the reason of my having thus rashly driven into their very camp, they turned towards me, and questioned of my rank and station in the army, and whether war was my constant occupation.
What could I answer? They would have thought me insane had I declared myself Master of Arts and Doctor of Philosophy; therefore, thinking it best to make the most of my hateful military title, I informed them that I was adjutant-general of the Prussian troops! Some one has said that clothes make the man, and I am sure that titles do, for the colonel immediately insisted that I should partake of their breakfast of cold roast and Malaga.
CHAPTER TWELFTH.
PRISONER OF WAR.
The officers now mounted their steeds, and I remained under the care of a strong guard, in whose company I sat before a huge fire, and gladly warmed my frost-bitten limbs, while my reflections naturally turned to conjectures concerning the issue of my present imprisonment; for although in all sincerity I had assured the officers that I would give them my word of honour never again to be found in arms against the emperor, yet they declared that my fate rested with a higher power; that they could not act in the matter, but that I must be carried to Frankfort, and from thence would be probably transported, with other prisoners of war, to France. “To France! to a prison for life!” was my sad expectation. What a change from the time when I sat quietly in my poet’s chamber, adding a fresh ode to my list of expected victories, or reading Plutarch in the society of my tobacco pipe; then, after giving lessons to my scholars in their respective houses, to pass a few moments each evening in the vicinity of the beloved Frederica, who listened in smiling trustfulness as I sketched glowing pictures of some far-off future.
But just then a thought struck me—it was the fact of having those very productions at that very minute in my pocket, all filled as they were with invectives and taunts against Napoleon. I felt there was not a moment to lose, and watching an opportunity when my guard were called to the window by some passing excitement, I drew the dangerous manuscript from its hiding-place, tossed it quickly into the blazing fire, and watched its destruction with even more joy than I had hailed its birth.
But the deed was not entirely unnoticed, for just then one of the guard turned round, and inquired what it was that I had tossed on the fire, muttering some threat of announcing me as a spy.
I was at a loss for an immediate answer, and thus made matters worse, till, in their suspicion, one of the guard insisted that I should take off overcoat, boots and hat, to show that I had no other secreted papers, and then taking possession of the same, he left the hut immediately, and I never saw my habiliments again, but barefooted and bootless, obeyed orders to accompany the enemy in their evening march.
CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
It was about twilight, when I observed a long line of lights in the distance, and on approaching nearer, found that they proceeded from the encampment-ground of the French. I passed near a fine country-house, where torches flared in every direction, and sentinels, both on foot and horseback, kept watch before the doors, and was ordered to take my place at the huge fire of burning faggots, around which sat several men, apparently enjoying their evening meal, and on approaching nearer, I found them to be no other than my old comrades, Charles the Great and the hussar.
“Ah, general,” I jestingly exclaimed, “is this the feast you promised us, to be eaten in company with Ziethen, Schweren, Winterfield and Frederic the Great?”
At my well-known voice, the lieutenant sprang forward, and pressing me most affectionately in his arms, exclaimed, “Heaven be praised that you yet live, and that our king has not lost one of his bravest soldiers! Ah, how much we regretted your probable death. But why did you not seek to moderate the excess of your courage? I knew exactly how it would turn out, when I saw you rushing so wildly into the very teeth of the enemy. However, your valour really enkindled my dispirited troops, for they fought bravely for a half hour; but the foe was too strong, and we were at length forced to surrender. But come, my dear lieutenant, you will share our supper with us, although we have only a crust to offer,” and the good-natured fellow drew me with friendly force to his side.
We had not held long companionship, when one of the sentinels approached, attended by a corporal, who politely inquired, “Who among you, gentlemen, is the Prussian adjutant-general?”
Charles the Great chuckled loud, as he pointed me out with a self-satisfied air.
“Adjutant,” exclaimed the officer, as he pressed my hand with respectful courtesy, “I regret much the shameful treatment whch so brave a man as yourself has received. Will you oblige me by making use of these articles of clothing, along with a few bottles of excellent wine, which may cheer you in your present circumstances? Be assured, sir, that Frenchmen know how to prize a brave man even in a foe, and that the plunderers and marauders you may have met with, were only exceptions to the general rule.”
I, in turn, proffered my warmest thanks to my polite adversary, assuring him that, through his kind attentions, I had been that day twice vanquished by the conqueror of the world—a courteous and full-sounding speech when uttered, as it was, in the language of the most polite nation under heaven.
CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.
ON PAROLE.
On the following day we reached the city of Frankfort on the Oder, where I had many acquaintances, a fact which, under present circumstances, gave me little pleasure. As we marched through the principal gate, my heart beat violently; and anxious to disguise myself, if possible, I drew my military hat over my eyes and buried my chin in my ample cravat—for I truly dreaded to appear as a prisoner and impostor; the latter I certainly was, in accepting of military honours which were not honestly mine. Crowds of inquisitive and, perhaps, sympathizing people, followed us in our humbling march through the principal street, and I was glad to shrink behind some of my more shameless comrades, who strutted along with an air that seemed to say, “See how much we have to suffer in defence of our king and our country,” till at length we reached the inn selected for our night-quarters, and where we were allowed to remain unguarded, on giving our written parole that we would on no account attempt to escape. As I added my name as adjutant-general, it struck me that such an oath was in no way binding in my true vocation, that of a poor curate; and, accordingly determining to act thereon, I requested permission to visit some friends who were residents in Frankfort, and this being readily granted, I set off about dusk, bidding an eternal farewell to my military title, and most happy in resuming my former humble station.
After an hour’s rapid walk through the narrow and dirty alley ways, I ventured on a wider and more agreeable path, which soon led me to the outskirts of the city, where, amid the perfume of the pine groves, the murmur of the streams, and the sight of the silver moon, as she steered amid fleecy clouds, I might at some other time have fallen into a romantic mood, but, under present circumstances, felt that I would cheerfully resign all the beauties of nature for a straw pallet and a dry crust. And now I questioned myself concerning my plan for the future. Where was I going, and on what would I subsist? were inquiries which I found it impossible to answer. Perhaps it is well that man cannot foresee these secondary matters—for does it not give a certain zest to life when we are thus turned at random on the wide world, without any definite aim or purpose, and with only hope and curiosity to bear us on? So it seems to me now, if not at that time.
I once knew a man who, in the enjoyment of a full share of worldly goods, was cruelly afflicted with ennui. He despised, aye, even loathed the existence which had never given him any real cause of anxiety, and, at times, actually meditated suicide. But what alone prevented him, day by day, from rudely snapping off the brittle thread of life? The reading of the Gazette—the wishing to know what would be the next news—and so he postponed from morning to morning, until, at length, a certain honest merchant, a friend of his, embezzled the greatest part of his wealth, and by a pious act of fraud, reduced him almost to bankruptcy. Now there was necessity for exertion, and that necessity drove away ennui. Hunger is never so voracious as when it knows not where to find food, nor life so alluring as when it is exposed to some imminent peril. These reflections fully engaged me as I traced my weary course through the murmuring pine forest, curious to know for what new adventures my fate had reserved me. Just now the barking of dogs was heard, lights gleamed from a distant window, and I presently found myself in an obscure village, while before the door of its only inn stood a neat chaise drawn by two fine horses, whose faces turned to the road I was about to take.
The stand-board of this said chaise was not furnished, as they frequently are, with iron-guards to keep off weary passengers, who are willing to be carried through the world at other people’s expense, and therefore I determined to seize on a fair opportunity for resting my aching limbs, and yet making progress in my journey. A fumble in my pockets, in the hope of finding some stray penny to buy a crust of bread, brought me no success, and accordingly, trusting to chance, I took my way into the house. On a corn-bin in the corner lay a peasant’s felt hat, round frock and whip, and with a blessing on the faculty of ready wit, I quickly exchanged my handsome chapeau for the dirty felt, relinquished my handsome uniform coat for the dusty, broad-backed frock, and had I possessed a sword, would have certainly left it in exchange for the whip, which, however, I took possession of, thinking it might serve to defend me from the village curs if from nothing worse. I could not act the thief so far as to seek for a gratuitous meal, but heartily thanking the good Providence which afforded me means of continuing my journey in a less conspicuous garb than that of the adjutant-general of the Prussian troops, I returned to the street, where I stood a moment viewing the chaise, behind which I hoped soon to take an unobserved station. Suddenly the door opened behind me, a stentorian voice thundered out, in French, “Let us be off—let us be off!” A violent blow on the back threw me prostrate in the dust, and ere I could recover my position, the assailant seized me by the collar, placed me on the front seat of the conveyance, and then springing in, ordered me to drive on immediately.
Mistaken as I probably was for the postillion, I cheerfully submitted to my fate, and with a free use of the whip, succeeded in driving at full gallop from the village, ensconced in the seat of honour in front, instead of sneaking stealthily behind the chaise, and leaving my apparell of adjutant-general to the unknown, whose office I now probably usurped.
CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.
CONFLICT AND BLOOD.
My rapid driving won repeated encomiums from my new master, who seemed to be in as great a hurry as myself. From what I could gather from his half-uttered soliloquy, his conscience was no cleaner than my own; and as far as could be seen in the cloudy night, he appeared to be one of those personages who, in the French army, are denominated attachès. Our conversation was necessarily monosyllabic, for he spoke not a word of German, and I, in conformity to my supposed origin, no French; yet, with some difficulty, by means of signs and gestures, I gave him to understand that I was hungry and desirous of something to eat: so on that hint he produced a huge roll of bread.
And now behold me, seated on my bench, as happy as a king on his throne, perfectly reconciled to my situation, and looking with hope to some bright future—for whether as curate, postillion, adjutant, or field-chaplain, it mattered not to me, the man dignifies the station, and not the station the man.
We took the direct road to Poland, and as we trotted along the dim pathway, various conjectures flitted through my mind. “Who knows,” thought I, “but that I may be rolling to the command of some army on the bank of the Vistula, or to some high office of state, such as I never dreamt of? Who knows! Let no one despond. There is a Providence that rules above; and although the clouds look dark, there are yet gleams of light, and the sunshine will certainly break through.”
Suddenly I was startled from my pleasant reverie by the flash of fire-arms in the moonlight, and my companion, who must have perceived it at the same moment, drew his sword, and cocked his pistol so near my ear that the snapping of the weapons actually brought on a cold sweat. “Faster! drive faster!” he shouted aloud, as he himself slapped his sheath on the horses’ backs.
“Halt! for your lives, halt!” was the command of the party of soldiers, who now sprang to the side of the chaise and held their bayonets in alarming proximity to my ribs.
Whom was I to obey? My situation was, indeed, bewildering, till, suddenly, the hope of rescue through an innocent falsehood flashed in my mind, and with momentary courage, and a notion that they were French soldiers, I cried out, in tones of authority, “Make way for the French general—make way!”
Alas! for my mistake!
“Halt! surrender!” was the shout from the whole band of assailants; and with a loud oath, the so-called general sprang fearlessly from the chaise, with such speed as to knock down two of the soldiers; and piff! paff! puff! sounded on each side, as the pistol balls whizzed by my ear, filling me with a shrinking terror. The horses felt a like aversion to the noise of fire-arms, for off they dashed at full speed—a pace which my well-applied whip would not allow them soon to relinquish; that is to say, not until the clash of swords was lost in the distance, for only then, thanks to their terror and activity, did I feel myself safe.
My first care was to take a chirurgical examination of every limb, for it seemed as if the balls must have pierced my skin like a sieve. Pleasant to relate, not a hair was harmed. And now again I had time for thought and conjecture. To whom did the equipage belong? Ought I to return and incur the risk of being bayoneted and cut to pieces, or ought I to continue my journey? The last was quickly resolved on, since my duty as postillion could not require such a sacrifice, and accordingly I kept on my route, and never learned what became of the attachè, although in my travels along the same road several months after, I made diligent inquiry concerning him.
As my horses were greatly exhausted, I went along at a slow pace, till, on reaching the outskirts of another village, I drew in my reins, and took time to consider how I should next act. Should I enjoy a night’s repose at the village or hasten on my journey? What should be done with the chaise and pair, now that I had become proprietor, neither by force of arms nor robbery, but purely through accident? How dispose of the baggage which it contained? Shall it be sold, given away, or retained at its just value? For the first I had no right, for the second no inclination, for the last no money. Thus perplexed, I reached the village inn, and found that the hour was much earlier than I imagined. The stable boy came; I assisted in taking the horses from the chaise, saw them plentifully supplied with fodder, ordered a tankard of good warm beer, and stretched myself comfortably by the huge stove, determining, if driven to necessity, to pay my tavern expenses with the felt hat and frock, as the first was too small and the other too large.
CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.
DANGEROUS COMPANY.
The fat hostess now stood with arms akimbo before me, and politely inquired whether I intended to remain for the night? I answered no. Whether I should proceed as far as the next town? Yes. Whether I would take charge of a young lady who had arrived at the inn on foot, and was now lying down to recover from her fatigue? Certainly. And this assent proceeded from my heart, for, besides feeling happy in the thought of a gentle companion, I did not fail hearing her added hint that I should be liberally rewarded—a prospect which removed my anxiety with regard to my tavern account.
Emboldened by my seeming good nature, she next inquired if I would be willing to postpone my departure till the dawn, as the young lady was timid about night-riding, now that the roads were infested with vagrant stragglers, and every day brought to light some murder which had taken place during the preceding night.
Shudderingly I bowed an assent to this prudent suggestion, for, beside the comfort of the lady and the fact that my horses needed longer repose, it seemed that the early dawn must be the safest time for travelers, since guilt naturally shuns the holy light of morning. With these necessary preliminaries all settled, I retired to rest.
The village clock struck four as I stood beside my chaise, and while the stable boy harnessed the horses, I took a hasty view of its contents by the light of a dull lantern. I found the box carefully locked, and the proprietor had very unnecessary possession of the key, but in the pocket was stuck a scimetar sheath—the weapon was gone—a handsome Turkish pipe, an embroidered and well-filled tobacco pouch, with forget-me-not’s gracefully interwoven with the words “pensez à moi,” probably some token of remembrance won by the gallant attachè from some susceptible German maiden.
My hostess now appeared, and yawningly counted over the amount due for my night’s lodgings—an amount which was immediately settled by the young lady, who now made her appearance, and was handed into the equipage, while I leapt after, taking the seat formerly occupied by the attachè, both because it was warmer and more comfortable, as that it placed me at the side of the stranger maiden. With a cheerful adieu to my landlady, we set off on our early ride, and I endeavoured to engage my companion in conversation, but, shrinking into the corner of the carriage, she effectually set aside all my attempts at sociability by answering my modest remarks—that the weather was cold, that it was still quite dark, or that it was an unpleasant time for traveling—by a sleepy “yes” or “no,” until, at length, I was entirely left to my own reflections.
My pretty companion, mean time, (in the early dawn it was only conjecture, not certainty, that she was pretty,) inclined nearer and nearer towards me, as the chaise tossed her about, until, at length, out of compassion for the gentle sleeper, I ventured to draw a few inches nearer, and in a few minutes, when her head sank on my shoulder, (a hard pillow it must have been,) I even bashfully placed my arm around her slender waist, and thus kept her in my embrace. She slept as quietly as innocence could sleep. Strange that she was not awakened by the beatings of my restless heart, that trembled and fluttered as though its owner were committing some heinous deed.
It was the first time that my arm had ever encircled a feminine form during a whole hour! But thou wilt forgive me the deed, my own Frederica, when I tell thee that my soul remained faithful throughout, and that the thought of thee alone occupied me in that agitating season. How often did I imagine that thou wast at my side! The gentle pressure with which I drew the sleeper nearer was for thee alone. The deep sighs that stole from my excited bosom were all thine; and, ah, Frederica, dearest, thine too, thou wilt not doubt it, was the hurried, half-uttered, stolen kiss which, with daring yet nervous audacity, I perpetrated on her bonnet!
CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.
BREAK OF DAY.
Our chaise now rolled gently along through the light sand, and giving my horses a loose rein, I planted myself firmly by the youthful sleeper, and closing my weary eyelids, gave myself up to a delicious dream of Frederica, the curacy and Heaven. Soon the sandy soil became changed to a pebbly one, and a sudden jerk awoke both the maiden and myself from a refreshing nap.
The shadows had passed away; the road was perfectly clear, and the distant landscape, as seen through a vista among the trees, seemed bathed in rosy light. My first glance was towards my faithful steeds, my next to the half-awakened maiden, who, like me, was rubbing her heavy eyelids at the needless arousal. We both looked shyly at one another; then she rubbed her eyes again, and I must needs do the same, for methought I was quite blinded by the morning’s glare. Once more I met her gaze and she mine, and yet I seemed to sleep, for how else could I metamorphose the stranger maiden into her whom I best loved on earth.
“For Heaven’s sake, doctor, is it you?” exclaimed a clear, merry, silvery-toned voice, in my vicinity. I would have known it among a thousand as that of my betrothed.
“Frederica, is it thou?” was my astonished answer, as I fully returned the bewildered stare with which she gazed upon my large beard and moustache, (the only remains of my military costume,) my dirty felt hat and my tattered frock.
Not another word was spoken; our eyes swam in tears of ecstacy; our tongues were speechless; and letting the reins fall from my hands, I clasped her passionately to my breast; cheek touched cheek, lip sought lip, and in one long, lingering, ever-renewed kiss, we exchanged our very beings.
Oh, to meet again, so strangely and unexpectedly, after such hopeless separation! The sorrows and privations of the past were all forgotten. My carking cares, her bitter tears, the future with its mists of uncertainty, our want of resources, our certain poverty—all became as nothing in that blissful present, where, breathing a new atmosphere of joy, our pulses tingling with delight, our hearts throbbing almost to faintness, the earthly passed away, and the heavenly, steeped in colouring of the rainbow, beamed full around us.
At length we found speech, and questions and answers flowed out in rapid succession, as, clasping each other’s hands, we pressed nearer together, as though we feared that some dark power might yet separate us. Again I took up the reins, and again I let them fall, so overpowered was I by Frederica’s loveliness, as the morning light wrapt her like a glory.
The warlike exploits which won from my betrothed her most breathless and absorbed attention, are already known to my readers; but Frederica’s adventures, although simple, must be briefly narrated. Having received a discharge from her mistress, who left Berlin at the first rumour of the approach of the French, she remained in that city, agitated with cruel misgivings at my long silence, until, at length, she received a letter from her anxious mother, bidding her leave her present unprotected home and hasten to her. Like a dutiful daughter, she set off immediately on her journey, giving all necessary information to a mutual acquaintance in case that I should arrive during her absence, and reached Frankfort very undisturbedly, when, finding that the French had taken possession of every possible equipage, she was forced to continue her lonely way on foot. Weary and thoroughly dejected, she reached the village only an hour before my arrival, and there, thanks to an overruling Providence, found her happy lover in her willing coachman.
CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.
FULL DAY.
Even the most devoted lovers cannot subsist without eating, and as the residence of Frederica’s mother was yet some miles distant, we stopped at a near inn by the road-side, where, while I was happily engaged in freeing my face from its unbecoming excrescences with the aid of a good razor, my betrothed contrived to purchase for me, where I know not, a neat overcoat and hat, such as made me appear as a more seemly escort to a lovely and well-dressed maiden. After a hasty meal we continued our journey in the morning light, and to our excited feelings all looked bright as mid-day, so happily occupied were we in talking over our future prospects and in mutually agreeing that an immediate marriage was absolutely necessary after the already published bans, while I determined to write that very day to Frankfort on the Maine, and make inquiry concerning the ex-count and the much-needed curacy.
By the closest economy Frederica had saved one hundred dollars from the scanty wages of gone-by years; this, she declared, would keep us going for some time, and I suggested that if the worst came and no curacy could be had, I could readily open a private school; and, at any rate, we felt that with only bread and water, if shared in company, we could be perfectly happy.
While thus, amid utter poverty, we chatted gaily together, she boasting of her skill in concocting cheap soups, I calculating the income that must certainly ensue to an industrious teacher, something was heard to strike against the board-stand behind the chaise, and on looking out I found that it was a bright Louisd’or which had just found its way to the ground. “You had almost lost it, Frederica,” I smilingly observed, as I sprang in, after taking possession of the precious coin.
“I had no gold about me to lose, Ferdinand,” was her reply, as she looked wonderingly on the piece of money.
With this assurance I quietly pocketed the same as a sort of recompense for my services as driver to its probable owner, the attachè.
Presently we heard another clink, and again a Louisd’or was found. “Some good fairy has taken us under her especial favour,” I observed to my companion as, seizing on the treasure, I searched in vain for its companion. None was to be seen, and so we quietly jogged on until the mysterious game was for the third time played, and another Louisd’or was revealed.
“There must be something wrong about this chaise,” was my sudden thought, and on making search I perceived a fourth coin which was just about issuing through a small crevice in one corner of the chaise box, which proved to be our gold mine. With some slight effort of strength I succeeded in breaking it open, and found that the noise and continual rattling which I had supposed to proceed from some secret spring or chain, was really a bag of gold, which had become worn into holes by the constant movement of the chaise. Other bags, but closely fastened, were within the box, and on being handled, seemed to be filled with similar contents.
How my predecessor of the chaise had come into possession of so much gold, or whether it was really his, I know not, but Frederica and I mutually agreed that we had no right to a cent of the same; that it was far more than we, with our modest desires, could ever need, and that our first duty must be to advertise for its owner. With these observations, we made the contents more sure, carefully closed the box, and continued our journey as if nothing especial had taken place.
At length the ride was ended, and Frederica’s loving mother received and embraced us both with tears and blessings. The treasure was given over to her safe keeping; a full advertisement of chaise, horses and money was written out and despatched to the Gazette office, whence it was issued during several months, but no one came forward to lay claim to the property, and it necessarily became my own.
And thus my adventures have reached a most happy termination, for, besides being blest with the possession of a most amiable, faithful and lovely wife, I found myself richer in worldly goods than even in my most sanguine moments I had hoped to be. After sending a generous remuneration to my Berlin friend for his lost equipage, I wrote a letter declining the expected curacy, and purchased a beautiful little country-seat, with its tasteful cottage completely embowered in linden and chestnut trees, and just large enough to afford free space to my wife, my wife’s mother, and myself—which three were the first inmates of that earthly paradise.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
| Original: |
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
|---|---|
| Translation: |
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
