Of the various vicissitudes which befell our unhappy country from the
time that, egged on to ruin by unscrupulous men, she drove her sovereign
across the border to seek an asylum elsewhere, it would be impossible
for me to speak in anything like detail. It must suffice, therefore,
that the long record of chicanery and blundering, of mismanagement and
oppression found its climax in the war to which I referred at the end of
the previous chapter. Dark as the outlook seemed, it was destined to
become even blacker before many months were passed. The battles which
marked the opening of the campaign have long since become a matter of
history, partly by reason of the desperate heroism shown by our troops,
but more, I fear, on account of the inability and blunderings of their
leaders. How heartrending that time was to us I must leave my readers to
imagine. Max seemed lost for ever; I was in exile, and yet we were
compelled to remain inactive, watching our devoted country rushing
headlong to the ruin which had been so long prophesied for it. Had it
not been for the counsels of my friends I should have returned to
Pannonia at the outbreak of hostilities, and have offered myself for
service in her army in any capacity they might have chosen for me. This,
however, I was earnestly implored not to do. Accordingly I remained in
England, watching the struggle with an aching heart, dreading the worst,
yet unable to do anything to avert the catastrophe I felt sure must
come. Then came the chance I was so eagerly awaiting, and, as all the
world knows, on the sixteenth of September, a most fateful day in
Pannonia's history, the Republic was overthrown, and, at the unanimous
wish of the country, I returned to act as Regent until my brother's
whereabouts should be discovered. Of the emotions I experienced when
once more I set foot upon Pannonian soil, I will not speak here. They
are too sacred for the cold publicity of print.
Having thus roughly summarised the events that occurred between the time
that Max and Bertram had decided to see service in Pannonia, and my
return to that country, I must now follow the record of my brother's
doings. Of all the strange events in Max's life, there was not one
stranger or more characteristic of him than his decision in this matter.
It was on the 31st of July, that is to say, a fortnight before the
battle of Depzig, the same in which our forces suffered such a
disastrous defeat, that he set foot with his faithful companion upon his
native soil. A week later, as if to make amends, General Groplau, with a
zeal and gallantry that is beyond all praise, met and defeated a force
of the enemy much greater than his own. It was with his army that Max
took service, not as became his rank, but in the capacity of a private
soldier. That he and his companion had seen service before soon became
apparent, but little did anyone guess that the stalwart, handsome man,
who did not know the meaning of the word fear, who was never tired, and
whose only apparent desire was to be placed where the danger was
greatest, was none other than their king. During the first month of his
new life he was present at no less than three battles, in each of which
he displayed conspicuous heroism. Brave as our soldiers were, such
valour as his could scarcely fail to have passed unnoticed. But it was
not until that dreadful day when Gredlau was lost, and all the officers
of his own regiment had been killed, and he had rallied what remained of
the men, continuing the fight until they were nearly all disabled and
shot down, that any recognition of his bravery was afforded him. Then he
was summoned to the general's presence. He had been wounded in the arm,
and was still weak from loss of blood.
"Your conduct has been reported to me," said the general, who, being a
brave man himself, could recognise courage in others. "I can only regret
that your efforts were not rewarded with success. I am proud to offer
you a commission in the regiment you have served so well. I know of no
man who has a better right to it."
Max saluted.
"Pardon me, general," he said respectfully, but firmly, "but--but, with
your permission, I must decline the honour."
"Decline the honour!" cried the other in surprise, and also with some
asperity. "What do you mean? Surely you understand the honour that has
been done you?"
"I understand perfectly," Max replied. "Yet I would prefer to remain as
I am."
Whatever the general's thoughts may have been, it is certain that his
surprise equalled them. His experience of men had shown them to be more
ready to seek rewards than to decline them. However, he had no time to
analyse such a phenomenon just then.
"As you please, as you please," he answered. "Remain in the ranks if you
prefer it. It seems to me, however, that you are throwing away the one
chance of your life."
Then calling one of his aides-de-camp, he turned his attention to
another matter, and Max, having saluted, returned to his bivouac. But
though the general appeared to have set the matter aside, it did not
seem as if he had altogether forgotten it, for later on, commenting on
the incident, he said to one of his officers, "That man's face worries
me. He is like a person I have seen before, but I cannot, for the life
of me, think whose face it is, or where I met its owner."
On two other occasions Max came even nearer to being discovered. A week
or so later he was on sentry duty, when a man, who had for many years
acted as intermediary between the Count von Marquart and our father in
England, stopped his horse and addressed a question to him. For a moment
Max thought he could scarcely fail to recognise him, but the beard he
wore, and the uniform of a private soldier must have changed his
appearance, for the officer passed on without comment. The third
occasion, however, was more desperate than either I have yet described.
It was in the early morning on the day when the battle of Hehnsdorff was
fought, and Max's regiment, with two others of the line, were sent to
occupy the village on the right bank of the river. For hours they
defended it with the tenacity of despair. At last, the general, seeing
that it was hopeless to continue to hold it, despatched an aide with an
order to the officer in command to abandon it and to fall back upon a
wood some three-quarters of a mile or so to the rear. The aide had
scarcely entered the main street of the little hamlet, when a shell
burst in the road, killing his horse and tearing a great gaping wound in
the young fellow's side. Seeing what had happened, Max, who, with
Bertram and several others, was in a cottage close at hand, ran to his
assistance. It was a shocking spectacle they had before them, but,
despite the blood, Max recognised the man. Picking him up as tenderly as
possible, he bore him to the cottage where the commander was located.
The poor fellow had just strength enough left to say, "The general bids
you retire, and take up your position in the wood behind the church,"
when his head fell forward and he fainted. A moment later the order was
given, the village was vacated, and the troops were slowly and sullenly
retiring in the direction indicated. The aide-de-camp still lay where
they had placed him, his life-blood slowly ebbing from him and forming a
pool by his side.
"He's a man I've known all my life," said Max hoarsely to Bertram. "I
can't leave him here. Between us we'll carry him to the rear, though I
fear the surgeons can do nothing for him."
Thus encumbered they set off across the open ground, now being ploughed
by the shells of the enemy. How it was they were not hit it is
impossible to say, yet, incredible as it may appear, they reached the
wood in safety. On the further side the surgeons were at work, and
thither they bore the dying man. But officer or no officer, it was
necessary that he should wait his turn, and seeing this, Max placed him
upon the ground and endeavoured to make him as comfortable as possible.
That his case was hopeless there could be no sort of doubt. Indeed, he
was little more than a dead man as it was. Rising to his feet, for he
had been kneeling beside the other, Max was about to return to where his
comrades had taken up their position, when the wounded man opened his
eyes and looked up at him. Max saw that he was trying to speak, and he
accordingly knelt down beside him, for he saw that the other had
recognised him.
"Your Majesty," he whispered. Then after a pause he added, "Thank God
you are found at last!"
"Hush! hush!" Max replied. "I am no king, only a Pannonian soldier!"
"You are both," gasped the dying man. "They have searched everywhere for
you. This must be told."
"No, no!" answered Max. "I can never consent."
But the other was not to be denied. Putting forth all the strength that
remained in him, he raised himself and called one of the doctors by
name.
The surgeon, who happened to be disengaged at the moment, hastened
towards him. Before he could reach him, however, the poor fellow had
fallen upon the ground, and was dead. With a cold sweat upon his
forehead, such as the fear of battle had never been able to produce, Max
staggered to his feet.
"He is dead," said the doctor, after a brief examination. "Poor Fritz!
poor Fritz! it will break his mother's heart. Where did this happen, my
man?"
"In the village yonder," Max replied. "He was conveying an order to our
colonel to retire."
Then with a choking feeling in his throat he made his way, accompanied
by Bertram, to the wood.
"That was a very near thing for you," said the latter, as they hurried
along. "Oh, why won't you declare yourself and take up the position
which is yours by right?"
"Not yet, not yet," said Max, shaking his head. "Fate will decide
everything for me in good time. I intend to leave it to her."
Fate very nearly decided it for him on three occasions during the next
few hours. Once his helmet was knocked off by a bullet, once he was only
saved by the butt of his rifle, which he had lowered to reload, while on
the third occasion he was giving water to a wounded man, who had fallen
beside him, when a bullet shattered the bottle he held in his hand.
Next morning it was rumoured in the camp that I, Prince Paul, had
returned to Pannonia, that the Republic was no more, and that the
Ramonyi dynasty had come to its own again. Later in the day the news was
officially communicated to the troops, and with his comrades, ragged,
tattered, weary, half-starved, and altogether forlorn, Max swore
allegiance to himself. A more grotesque situation could scarcely be
imagined.
"Prince Paul is declared Regent for his brother," said a grey-haired
sergeant, as they ate their frugal supper by the camp fire. "I wonder
where the king is?"
I have often conjectured what he would have said had he known that the
missing man was at that moment seated beside him.
Strange though it may seem, from the very moment of the return of our
family to Pannonia, a change took place in the war. Success after
success crowned our efforts, in consequence of which our troops took
heart, until, at last, instead of carrying on the strife in our own
country, on the twenty-second day of October we, for the first time,
crossed the borders, driving the enemy before us. Little by little, but
with a sureness and steadiness there could be no mistaking or denying,
Groplau was working out the plan he had long since formed in his mind.
With what sort of good fortune it was attended all those who have
followed the history of the war will be familiar. They will recall how
fifty thousand troops, by culpable negligence on the part of the enemy's
leaders, were divided into two portions and were prevented from uniting
again; how the Count von Leckstein, by a swift flank movement, cut off
their retreat, thus compelling them to take refuge in the city of
Zaarfburg. No success could have been more complete, no movement more
thoroughly prepared, or more admirably carried out. Contesting every
inch of the way, fighting with the fury that was the outcome of despair,
for they must have known that they were lost, hemmed in on every side,
they at length entered the gates of the same city as that into which
Rudolf the Brave had once brought a victorious army and more than two
thousand prisoners. Still working with the same mathematical precision,
Groplau's army took up its position on the plain that surrounded it, and
there and then the siege commenced. Winter came and found the garrison
still holding out. It was, however, as impossible for them to escape as
it was for us to get in. Their vigilance was only equalled by our own.
In other parts of the country the war was proceeding with varying
success; here, however, save for the continual artillery duel, there was
little or no fighting. The suspense, to say nothing of the inactivity,
was wearying in the extreme, until, at last, every one felt convinced
that something must be done to relieve it.
"It seems strange," said Bertram to Max one day, as they stood watching
the picturesque old city across the river, "that it should be so
difficult to get inside those walls. Surely there must be some way of
managing it?"
"That's just what I've been thinking lately," answered Max. "I should
very much like to make the attempt. It would be an adventure after my
own heart."
"If you are willing to try," returned the other, "I would go into it
with you. What a grand thing it would be!"
"If only we could open the gates to admit our troops!" said Max. "It
seems impossible at first glance, but we might do our best. Even if we
did not succeed it would not very much matter. I've a good mind to ask
permission to make the attempt."
That evening he announced that he had been fortunate enough to obtain
his commanding officer's consent to investigate the walls and river bank
with a view to entering the city.
"You can never succeed," said that gruff and grim old officer when he
had heard everything, "and your life will in all probability pay the
forfeit. But you have earned the right to make the attempt, my lad, and
if you are willing to be such a fool as to run the risk, Heaven forbid
that I should attempt to prevent you. Try your luck, and let me know, if
you are not killed, how you succeed."
Permission having been thus grudgingly obtained, Max and Bertram
repaired to their quarters to work out their plans and to make the
preparations for the adventures of the evening. Undeterred by any
thought of the risk they would run, they worked away as happily as
schoolboys. A little before midnight they left the camp and made their
way cautiously across the open country toward the somewhat sluggish
river that made the circuit of the city walls. Fortunately for them the
night was dark, and a thick drizzle was falling, blotting out the
landscape effectually, and making it extremely difficult to see more
than a few yards ahead. Though they knew that for this reason the guards
would in all probability be more on the alert than usual, they had the
consolation of knowing that the chances were that, hidden by the mist,
their presence would be less likely to be discovered than on other
occasions. For some time past a certain portion of the wall had
exercised a great fascination for Max. The particular section in
question was not a great distance removed from the main gate, and, for
more reasons than one, it seemed to him that if an attack was to be made
at all this was the place at which it should be attempted. It was
towards this point, accordingly, that they directed their steps,
proceeding with the greatest caution, until at length they reached the
river's bank.
"It strikes me we're likely to have a cold swim," Max whispered to his
companion, as he looked across the water. "Keep as close to me as you
can, and, above all, make no noise. If you do they'll fire upon us that
instant."
A few moments later they were in the water, striking out for the
opposite bank. As Max had predicted, the water was bitterly cold;
fortunately, however, they were both strong swimmers, and the distance
was not sufficiently great to subject them to any great amount of risk
so far as cramp was concerned.
As they got a footing on the opposite bank, above them towered the city
wall, rising to a height of scarcely less than forty feet. At its foot,
and directly in front of them, was a strip of sloping bank some six or
eight feet in width. Taking care to make no noise, even though it would
be scarcely likely to be heard had they done so, they climbed up, and
then carefully walked along this narrow platform, pausing now and again
to carefully examine the wall and to make a note of the facilities it
presented for effecting the purpose they had in view. Much to their
disappointment, however, no fitting place presented itself. It is true
that with the assistance of a ladder it might have been possible to
scale the wall, but the strip of bank before referred to was so short
and narrow, and the height of the wall itself was so great, that the
number of ladders which could have been set upon it would have been
quite inadequate to carry the force of men necessary to ensure the
success of such a gigantic undertaking.
"And yet it is the only place," said Max, in a disappointed whisper, "in
the whole circuit of the walls where it would be safe to try. Let me get
fifty men over at this point and I guarantee to seize the main gate and
to have the troops in the city before anyone could tell what had
happened. As it is, there is nothing for it but for us to return and to
test some other place another night."
Seeing that it was no use their remaining, and remembering that every
moment they delayed added to their danger, they determined to set off.
As noiselessly as otters, therefore, they slipped into the water and
re-crossed the river. Immediately on their return to camp, Max reported
himself to his commanding officer and informed him of the ill-success
which had followed their enterprise.
"As I expected," he answered, when they had unfolded to him the various
details of the attempt.
"However, it's a good thing you got back safely and without arousing
their suspicions. Do I understand you to say that you desire to try your
luck again?"
"Again and again until we succeed," Max replied. "There must be some way
of getting in, if it can only be found. I mean to find it."
The colonel looked curiously at the man before him. He noticed that he
did not speak like a common soldier, and he wondered what his history
could be. He asked one or two further questions, and then bade him
return to his quarters, giving them permission to make the attempt
again, if they were still crack-brained enough to desire to do so.
The next night proved too fine for the attempt, but on the night
following, having made a careful inspection of the neighbourhood during
the day, and finding that it was sufficiently dark for them to cross the
river, they set off. This time, however, they met with no better success
than before, and returned from their expedition disappointed, but by no
means disheartened.
"No," said Max to Bertram, when they discussed the matter in solemn
conclave afterwards, "there can be no sort of doubt about one thing, and
that is the fact that the place we first tried near the main gates is
the point, and the only one that is likely to serve our purpose."
For the next few days he was occupied in a brown study, turning and
twisting the situation in his mind. Then an idea occurred to him, an
idea so luminous that he wondered he had not thought of it before. He
described it to Bertram, who, sanguine as ever, declared that it could
not be anything but successful. They therefore set off once more to
interview the colonel, to whom Max explained his scheme.
"I scarcely know what to say," the other replied, when he had heard him
out. "The notion certainly seems feasible enough, and, given a
considerable slice of luck, might possibly succeed; the question is,
however, whether the enemy would allow it to be carried out. One small
slip and it would result in a _fiasco_. However, I will lay it before
General Groplau without delay, and hear what he has to say. If there is
any chance of success in it you may be sure it will be tried. The Prince
Regent is expected here next week, and I have no doubt the general would
like to present him with the keys of the city as a souvenir of his first
visit to his army."
Bertram has since informed me that Max turned very pale on hearing this.
The colonel, however, was too much occupied with another matter, which
had just been presented to him to notice his consternation. Even had he
done so, I doubt very much whether he would have had any suspicion of
the cause which had given rise to it. Later that evening he sent an
orderly to call Max to his presence once more.
"I have spoken to the general," he said, "and I may tell you that he is
favourably inclined towards the scheme you have submitted. He desires to
question you upon the subject personally, so that you had better make
your way to his quarters with me and tell him everything."
Max did as he was directed, and followed his colonel along the hillside
to the chateau, where General Groplau had taken up his residence. The
General was in his study.
"Your commanding officer," he said, as Max entered, "has informed me
that you and one of your fellow-men are desirous of making an attempt to
enter the city. Furnish me, in detail, with your plan."
Thus encouraged, Max set to work and gave the general an outline of the
idea he had formed in his own mind. After he had finished, the other
rapped upon the writing-table softly with his fingers, and his brow was
knitted in thought. On his calling for a plan it was brought to him, and
he studied it attentively.
"I hear you have already crossed the river under cover of night. Is this
so?"
Max respectfully replied that it was, whereupon the other put several
further questions to him. When he had heard the answers he once more
turned to the plan before him.
"You have an adventurous spirit," he said, looking up after some minutes
had elapsed, "I have heard of you before. If I am not mistaken, you are
the man to whom I offered a commission, and who surprised me by
declining it. Is not that so?"
Max replied in the affirmative, and when he saw the searching way in
which the general scanned his face, began to wish he had not been so
ready to come to headquarters.
"Well, well," said the other at last, "you have your own reasons, I
suppose; reasons which have nothing whatsoever to do with me. However,
with regard to this scheme of yours, it seems feasible, and if you are
willing to make the attempt I shall be pleased to grant you the
necessary permission. A dark night must be chosen, however, and the men
must be selected with the utmost care. If your attempt is successful,
you will have done a deed which I do not think you will have reason ever
to regret. If it fails, I don't suppose we shall hear of you again. Now
you can go and make your preparations. Inform your commanding officer of
everything you do. And, above all, do not act until you hear from me."
Thus encouraged, Max spent the next few days in preparing for the
desperate attempt upon which he and Bertram had so set their hearts.
There was so much to be done, so many matters to be arranged; there were
competent and trustworthy men to be chosen and instructed in the parts
they were to play, and, above all, there was the necessity of preventing
the enemy from having any suspicion of what they were about to do.
December 12th, as, alas! many unfortunate families have good reason to
remember, opened with sunshine, and was more like a spring than a
winter's day. Towards noon, however, clouds appeared in the sky, and as
day closed in, snow commenced to fall, and showed every sign of
continuing. Nothing could have been better suited to the expedition Max
had in view. To his commanding officer he applied for permission to act
that night, which permission, all the necessary preparations being made,
was readily accorded him. It was still snowing heavily, and, in
consequence, the night was so dark and thick that it was scarcely
possible to see half a dozen steps ahead. Sad though the recollections
of that dreadful time must naturally be to me, for the honour of my
House, I like to try and picture Max as he was at that moment. It was
his fertile brain which had originated the scheme; it was he who was
leading the assault. His valour was well known to the men who were
accompanying him, and they would follow wherever he might lead;
nevertheless, I fancy they would have gone with him with even greater
eagerness had they been aware that their leader was also their king. In
order that their presence should run no risk of attracting attention,
the order was given to advance towards the river in skirmishing order.
Once there they laid themselves down in a sheltered spot upon the bank
and waited while Max, who this time would not permit Bertram to
accompany him, made his preparations for crossing the river. A small
raft, capable of carrying the implements and the stores it was necessary
he should take with him, had already been built, and this, with its
precious cargo, was now placed in the stream. The men had been
instructed before setting out that not a word was to be spoken or a
movement made until Max rejoined them. Then, creeping down the bank he
lowered himself into the black, icy water below, and struck out for
mid-stream, pushing his raft before him as he went. So heavy was the
snowstorm, and consequently so dark was the night, that he could see
nothing of his direction, and was therefore compelled to trust mainly to
chance, in order to arrive safely at the proper spot on the other side.
Above all, he knew he must make no noise. While, under existing
conditions, he had small fear of being observed by the sentries on the
battlements above, yet he had no desire to run any unnecessary risks.
Only let one of them, he argued, entertain the least suspicion of what
was going on below, and farewell to the success of his plans. As events
turned out, he was luckier than he expected to be. Having made better
allowance for the sluggish current than he had imagined, he was at last
rewarded by feeling the further side of the raft grating against the
bank. Next moment his feet touched the bottom, and he knew that he was
at his destination. So far, everything had progressed admirably, but it
was at this point that his real work began. Having reached the security
of the bank, he removed the various articles from the raft, drew it out
of the water, and placed it carefully against the wall. He feared that
if he sent it floating on down stream, it might chance to be observed
from the gates, and thus suspicion be aroused. Then, with as little
noise as possible, he set to work to dig a hole at the foot of the wall;
this finished, he began another one, a short distance further along the
shelving bank. The ground was frozen, and so loud did the ring of the
pick seem upon it that every moment he expected to receive a challenge
from the walls above and to hear a bullet whistle across the water.
In something less than an hour, however, the mines with which he had
been furnished were properly laid, after the fashion in which he had
been instructed by the engineers. Now, if only he could manage to apply
the match to the slow fuses unseen by the enemy, and to make his way
back to the men who were waiting for him on the opposite bank, all
appeared as if it would be well. Using the raft he had brought with him
as a screen, he lit a match and applied it to the fuse. As soon as it
had ignited, he crept along the bank and did the same to the second
mine; then, having reassured himself that both were burning steadily, he
slipped into the water and struck out to join his comrades, and to await
the result of his labours. As he reached the opposite shore the clocks
in the beleagured city struck midnight, the hour at which the remainder
of troops were to take up their positions at the various posts assigned
to them. Snow was still falling heavily, and the wind blew mournfully
across the plain as if in anticipation of the agonising drama that was
soon to be acted. The fuses were timed to burn in twenty minutes, and
before that time had elapsed it was certain that the guards would be
changed at the main gates, the objective it was so necessary they should
reach. To the hundred men crouching upon the bank every minute seemed an
hour. To Max, wet and cold as he was, each was like an eternity. He was
possessed by all sorts of fears. What if the fuses should have gone out!
What if any mistake should have been made in the arrangements, and the
troops not be in their proper places at the stipulated time! What if,
when they had broken in, the garrison should turn out and intercept them
before they could reach the main gate and overpower the guard! In the
horrible uncertainty of the moment, anything seemed likely to happen.
Again and again he tried to be patient, but his efforts were in vain.
Surely the fuses must be near the mines by this time. If daylight should
come all would be lost. He looked about him as the thought occurred,
almost expecting to see the dawn breaking over the mountains. Then, with
a suddenness that was terrifying, and with a roar that might have been
heard for many miles, and with a wealth of flame that lit up the
country-side, the first of the mines exploded, followed scarcely an
instant later by its fellow. For a moment the air was filled with the
shattered fragments of the walls, some of which fell among the men
waiting on the river bank, some in the river itself, but none in the
doomed city. Then Max sprang to his feet.
"Come, my lads," he cried, "follow me!"
Rifle in hand he dashed into the river, the men imitated his example,
and almost before anyone could have told what had happened they were
half-way to the other side. Before they reached the opposite bank,
however, the sound of another explosion on the further side of the city
came to them, followed by a heavy cannonading and the shrieking of
shells. It was the ruse which they had arranged to adopt in order to
make the enemy believe that the principal attack would take place on
that side. Panting after their swim, the men clambered up the bank,
which was now littered with fragments of masonry. A breach between
thirty and forty feet in length had been made in the wall, and through
this they dashed. In the city, by this time, the bells were pealing and
bugles sounding. The street, however, immediately behind the breach was
empty, and now a distance of scarcely a hundred yards separated them
from the main gate.
"On, on, my lads!" cried Max; and with his party behind him he dashed
along the thoroughfare. As he was well aware, the success of their
enterprise depended upon the next few minutes. If they could not capture
the gate, all the rest was useless. At last they reached the corner of
the street in which stands the ancient church of Saint Peter and Saint
Paul. It looked very peaceful in its white mantle, but, sad to say, that
mantle was destined to be stained with crimson soon enough. Only a few
yards now separated them from the gate, and already, by the light of the
great lantern above the arch, they could discern the hurrying figures of
the guard.
"Charge!" cried Max, in a voice that rang through the deserted square
like a trumpet-call. A moment later, they were upon the enemy, and the
ghastly carnage had commenced. Never before had the old church looked
down upon such a scene. The issue, however, was never for a moment in
doubt. Outnumbered as they were, desperate as were their efforts to hold
the gate, the struggle had scarcely begun before it was ended. The main
entrance to the city being now in their possession, Max struck a match
and applied it to the precious rocket he had brought with him for that
purpose. There was a slight hissing noise, and then the fiery note of
triumph shot up into the darkness, throwing out myriad blue lights to
acquaint the troops who were waiting outside that the capture of the
gate had been effected. By this time, however, the guns which had been
trained upon the bridge from the market square were manned by gunners,
and a hail of grape was showered upon the gallant little band. The keys
of the gate were, of course, in the possession of the governor of the
city, but Max knew that before many minutes could elapse the engineers
would be blowing it in, as if it were of tissue paper. All this time the
three guns were doing terrible execution. Almost half of his small force
had fallen, and he knew that unless they were stopped certain death
would be the portion of the remainder.
"Those guns must be silenced!" he cried. "Forward, my lads, and let us
do it!"
The gallant fellows replied with a cheer, and, regardless of the storm
of bullets that was being poured in upon them, dashed across the stones
of the market-place towards the spot where the guns stood. It was
madness even to dream that they could be successful, but the madness, if
madness it were, was certainly heroic. Rudolf Kellerman, the giant
corporal of Max's own company, fell, shot through the heart, before they
had advanced ten yards; fair-haired Otto Stedicz, who looked like a
poet, and who fought like a devil, was struck down a few yards further
on. The heavy fire was more than flesh and blood could face, and for a
moment the men wavered. Max, however, called to them to come on. Gaining
fresh courage by his example, they hurled themselves upon the gunners.
Once there nothing could stand against them. The men went down like corn
before the sickle. They had scarcely captured them, however, before the
welcome sound of an explosion reached them from the main gate. The great
doors, which had remained closed for so long, were burst asunder, and
immediately our troops poured into the city. Furious cannonading was
still proceeding on the other side, while the garrison, roused from
sleep, and surrounded on every hand, were unable to tell what to do or
whom to attack first. One portion of the troops hastened to the west
side, the remainder, marching to the east, were met by the brigade which
had entered through the main gate. Meanwhile, another strong detachment
of our army had crossed the river, and having made its way in, by means
of the breach by which Max and his party had entered, passed quickly
through the streets to the great square of the city, thus effectually
preventing the two forces from joining company again. So swiftly and
well were these arrangements carried out, that no hitch of any sort
occurred, and though for some little time the fighting was very severe
in certain quarters, when day dawned the enemy's general, seeing how
futile further resistance would be, capitulated, and thus the city fell
into our hands.
All the arrangements having been completed, and as soon as General
Groplau was at liberty to think of other things, he gave orders that
inquiries should be made concerning the whereabouts of the man to whom
their great success was mainly due.
To take up the thread of my story again at the point where I left off,
in order to describe the victory gained by our troops, it is necessary
that I should revert to the disastrous effect upon Max's small force.
Feeling sure that it would only be a question of time before the guns
would be retaken from him, and realising that if they were left in their
present position, they would in all human probability be turned upon the
brigade now entering by the main gate, he and his men between them
dragged them from the spot to a dark alley on the other side of the
square, where it was unlikely they would be found in time to work
further mischief. They had scarcely done this before they, in their
turn, were compelled to beat a retreat before a regiment that was coming
towards them at the double. Nothing was left, therefore, but for them to
ascend the steps leading to the old church to which I have before
referred. Seeing them, the enemy poured a volley into the portico of the
sacred building, and then prepared to drive them out with the bayonet.
Here, however, the small band that was left had somewhat of an
advantage. Being in the dark themselves, and having what light there was
in front of them, they could see their foes, who could not see them.
Wearied, however, as they were, it was impossible that they could hold
out for long. The pile of the dead that lay at the foot of the steps
when dawn broke was a proof, if any were wanted, of the gallantry with
which they fought. It was not long before a force was despatched to
their assistance, and the enemy retired, having lost thirty men in that
short encounter.
"Who are you, and how do you come to be here?" inquired the officer of
the relieving force, as he ascended the steps. Max informed him, but had
scarcely sufficient strength left to articulate the words. When he had
finished he fell back against the wall, knowing that he was wounded, and
believing it to be to the death. The officer--it was Fritz von
Mulhaus--caught him in his arms before he could touch the ground, while
Bertram, who was unwounded, hastened to his side. Between them they laid
him gently down.
"Let me lie so," said Max; "I think it is all over with me now. Can you
tell me if the city is ours?"
"There is not the least doubt about it, I should say," Mulhaus replied.
"And if it is, we owe it to you."
"And to the brave fellows who accompanied me," answered Max, faintly. "I
could have done nothing without them. And now you must not stay with me.
I shall be quite comfortable here."
But Mulhaus would not be sent away. Whatever the circumstances might be,
he would not leave him until he had seen him conveyed to a house near
by, and until he himself had given orders that a surgeon should be sent
for.
"Have you discovered what became of the man who led the storming party?"
inquired General Groplau, when his aide-de-camp returned to the house
which he had made his headquarters.
"I have seen him, sir," the officer replied; "and I have questioned the
surgeon who is attending him. If he is not a dead man by this time, he
very soon will be."
"That is sad news, indeed," answered the general. "He was a brave man,
and there is no doubt that we owe all our success to him. I should have
liked to have presented him to Prince Paul. He would have rewarded him
as he deserves. Well, well, it's the fortune of war."
Two hours earlier I had crossed the Border, and at mid-day, if all went
well, I should be with the army. At ten o'clock, as we halted in a tiny
village, news was brought me from the front, and, for the first time, I
learnt the story of the city's downfall. The officer who brought it gave
me a description of a certain private soldier's bravery, and informed me
that the brave fellow was reported to be mortally wounded.
"God grant he may live till I have an opportunity of giving him my
thanks for the service he has rendered his king and country."
Then turning to one of the equerries, with whom Max had played as a boy,
I continued, "This is a deed which the king would have loved to share."
Then we pushed on for the city, little knowing the surprise that awaited
me there.