THE first week of captivity passed slowly and heavily for Gavin and St.
Arnaud, and it was not lightened when, a few days after, came the news
of the defeat of Prince Charles at Leuthen by Frederick of Prussia.
Naturally, every waking hour was spent in planning and dreaming of
escape, but St. Arnaud counselled patience.
“Wait until we know something more of our surroundings and the people
about us. I have an idea in my mind about the commandant. And, besides,
we shall hear from Madame Ziska in time, and I have the greatest
confidence in that woman’s friendship.” To all of which Gavin gave a
grumbling assent.
In that time, St. Arnaud and Gavin, who, a month before, had never
exchanged a word, came to know each other better than they knew any
other men in the world. Gavin’s trustful and generous nature was filled
with admiration at the calmness and even gayety with which St. Arnaud
bore his misfortunes. He made a careful toilet every day, sang and
whistled cheerfully, and amused himself and Gavin, too, by supplying
what he called the deficiencies of a limited education. He studied
German industriously, and succeeded in borrowing from the commandant a
few old books on military science, which he read with diligence if not
with profit.
“You see,” he said to Gavin, “I was taught no end of Latin and Greek
and music and grammar and fencing, and all sorts of things that an
officer should know; but this original person, the King of Prussia,
has made all these things perfectly useless. Some of our generals whom
he has defeated knew more Latin and Greek and fencing than I; but yet
they were whipped. However, if England, your country, will continue to
assist the Empress Queen, we may yet beat Frederick. And meanwhile I
am doing my best to study the art of war, although, according to the
books, the King’s tactics are all wrong.”
Gavin would smile at this and listen, but left to himself, he had not
the calm fortitude of the older man. Nothing in the way of danger or
privation could quench Gavin’s spirit as long as he was on horseback
and roaming about the country; but the confinement of a prison for a
week did more to depress him than a month of dangers and hazards. Often
he would toss about on his narrow bed and groan loudly in the very
anguish of his heart, and then be shamed into fortitude by St. Arnaud
laughing at him. And St. Arnaud declined to consider either of them the
most unfortunate of men.
“I grant you,” said he, “that I would rather be at Versailles, as
I was a year ago, than shut up here in Glatz. But the other was an
imprisonment, too. What do you think of getting up at five o’clock,
spending the whole day in attendance on the King, in court clothes and
periwig? Ah! how hot it was in summer, and how cold it was in winter!
Never a moment to sit down, always wearing a grin, when one would much
rather have scowled. I was freer when I was a captain in Dufour’s
regiment than ever I was in the King’s Musketeers, where even the
private soldiers are gentlemen.”
“But we will _never_ get out. Prince Charles beaten, what is there to
keep that long-nosed Frederick from marching to Vienna? Tell me that, I
say.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about that. Let us see how we can get to Vienna
ourselves. It is time we were hearing from Madame Ziska, for I am sure
she has not forgotten us.”
The very next morning a parcel was brought them, with an unsealed
letter. All had been opened and the letter read. It ran:
“DEAR CAPTAIN ST. ARNAUD: Knowing you and your fellow-prisoner,
Sublieutenant Hamilton, were well fed by the excellent commandant, I
had difficulty in thinking of something you needed. But remembering
how excessively particular you are about your toilet, I send you some
powder and scented soap. I am leaving here to-day in hopes of some
time reaching Vienna, where I expect to find an engagement at the
opera house. I shall stop a few days on the road with some relatives
of mine, honest shopkeepers. How strange is life! One day I sup with
the greatest king in the world; the next I visit people who hang a
bag of wool in one window and a hank of yarn in the other, to signify
what they have to sell. I scorn, as you see, the common affectation of
representing my family to be more important than it really is.
“I beg you both to hold me in remembrance, and I promise not to forget
you. We shall meet again.
ROSA ZISKA.”
The soap bore evident marks of having been pricked through with
darning-needles, to make sure that neither files nor money were
concealed inside. Nevertheless, as soon as they were locked up for the
night Gavin and St. Arnaud proceeded to dissolve the soap in a basin
of water by the light of the brilliant moon, which flooded their cells
through the narrow window. They were rewarded by finding small scraps
of paper, so cunningly laid inside the soap that a needle could pass
through it without trouble. After carefully saving every scrap and
drying them all, daylight revealed them to be, when pieced together, a
bank-note for a hundred ducats and a map of the country around Glatz,
showing, in particular, the road to the Bohemian mountains. Several
villages on the route were marked by crosses, indicating it was safe to
stop at them.
“And I thought she had forgotten us!” said Gavin remorsefully.
“Women, my dear boy, rarely desert us in misfortune. They carefully
choose our time of prosperity to play the deuce. They are considerate
even in tormenting us. One thing is sure about this particular woman,
Madame Ziska--she thinks us a couple of enterprising fellows, and
evidently expects us to escape, and I cannot bear to disappoint the
expectations of a lady.”
“It seems to me,” said Gavin, “that for prisoners captured by the
King’s own hand we have very little attention shown us by the
commandant. He might have asked us to dinner, at least.”
The very next morning Pfels, the tall, thin adjutant, appeared with the
compliments of General Kollnitz and an invitation to dinner at four
o’clock. Pfels, who was a very civil, pleasant fellow, explained that
this would have been done before, but that the commandant had been
suffering from rheumatism, and had been obliged to keep his bed for
some time past. His health, however, was now restored.
The invitation was promptly accepted, and then Gavin began to tease St.
Arnaud to tell him the plan of escape in which the commandant figured.
St. Arnaud good-naturedly refused, and then Gavin cried:
“But let us swear never to be divided from each other, for I believe
our chance of safety is increased tenfold by being together.”
St. Arnaud smiled; he read Gavin like a book, and saw that this
pretense of finding safety together was only the heart of Gavin
clinging to what it loved.
Precisely at a quarter to four Pfels appeared, and led them through a
maze of corridors, stairs, and passages, to the commandant’s quarters.
These were a handsome suite of rooms, directly on the sallyport.
On entering, they found General Kollnitz seated in a huge chair; he
managed to rise from it, in spite of his vast bulk and stiff joints, to
welcome his guests.
“You will find us a small party,” said he, “but the fact is we are very
short of officers at present, the King having need of all that could be
spared, and my military family is much reduced.”
Dinner was soon announced, and proved an excellent one. St. Arnaud
exerted himself, as usual, to be agreeable, and he never failed at
that. Gavin, too, recovered his spirits at the sight of a good dinner,
and sent the fat general into roars of laughter by saying, when
Frederick’s name was mentioned:
“And to think I should have been led, like a great calf, out of that
closet! Oh, I am afraid the King thinks me a wretched coward!”
The dinner passed pleasantly, and Gavin’s heart was made glad by a
polite offer from General Kollnitz to forward letters for them. Gavin
immediately began in thought a letter to his mother.
Evidences of vigilance and watchfulness on the part of the garrison
were not wanting, even when the commandant and his adjutant were
supposed to be taking their ease at dinner. Every hour Pfels was
called into the anteroom to receive reports from every quarter of the
fortress. About half-past eight o’clock the general, who had been
talking gayly, suddenly stopped, laid his head back, and in a moment
was slumbering peacefully. Pfels smiled and said: “That has been his
habit for years. He is quite unconscious of it, though, and if you hint
he has been asleep he grows very angry. He wakes of himself in a half
hour or so, and goes back to what he was talking about when he dropped
off. I was warned, when I was ordered here, that more aides had been
sent back to their regiments for mentioning to the general that he had
fallen asleep than one could count. It is quite the garrison joke.”
Sure enough, as Pfels said, the general waked after a while and
resumed: “Gentlemen, as we were saying a moment ago, your letters
should be ready to-morrow.” None of the young men as much as smiled.
At nine o’clock the rumbling of a carriage under the archway was heard.
“That is no new arrival,” remarked General Kollnitz. “The regulations
require me to make the circuit of the fortress, inside and out, at nine
o’clock every evening. My disabilities compel me to make the outer
circuit in a carriage. But, let none think that the only inspection had
is that of a gouty old gentleman, the rattling of whose carriage may
be heard a mile off. That is merely perfunctory. Better legs and eyes
than mine are on watch day and night. Not a prisoner has escaped since
I have been here, and every deserter has been recaptured. On all three
sides of the fortress a heavy siege-gun is kept loaded, and as soon as
a prisoner or deserter is missed, those guns are fired, one immediately
after the other. That gives notice, and arouses not only the garrison,
but the town and the surrounding country. As I offer a handsome reward
for every prisoner or deserter captured, the peasants and townspeople
may be relied on for vigilance; and difficult as the escape is from
the fortress, the real obstruction is outside and beyond the walls. I
tell you this for your profit, because, being young and adventurous,
you may tempt fate; and you will certainly fail unless you can get at
least two hours’ start before your absence is discovered.”
Pfels then went to a press in the room, and took out a huge cloak and
chapeau, which he placed upon the general; and, putting on his own
cloak and hat, and calling an orderly to show the guests the way back
to their cells, opened the door and carefully escorted the rheumatic
old gentleman down a winding stair. Gavin and St. Arnaud heard the
clank of muskets as the guard presented arms, and in another moment the
carriage rolled under the sallyport.
The next day Gavin spent writing to his mother. He covered many pages,
and when Pfels made his rounds that evening handed him the letter. It
was well written and well expressed, and Gavin felt decidedly proud of
his educational accomplishments. Pfels made a polite apology for being
compelled to read the letter before sending it.
“Read it now,” cried Gavin.
Pfels glanced over it, and handed it back with a smile.
“Pardon me for calling your attention to a singular circumstance; you
have not told your mother one word about yourself, as far as I have
seen; it is all about your fellow-prisoner.”
“Oh!” cried Gavin with a blush. “Give me the letter,” and he added at
the bottom: “Dear mother, forgive me for forgetting to tell you that I
am very well. Your devoted son, G. H.”
So agreeable was the impression made by the two upon the commandant,
that they were invited to dine with him constantly. Life in the
fortress was monotonous to the officers, and the presence of
interesting prisoners was a genuine resource to the commandant and
Pfels. St. Arnaud and Gavin had by no means given up the thought of
escape, in spite of the general’s well-meant warning; and as the
prospect of exchange grew fainter, they dwelt the more upon the idea
of getting away. Both of them realized the numerous difficulties they
would encounter, even if they should be fortunate enough to get beyond
the walls; yet that did not cause them to give up their hopes. One
night, after they had been dining with the commandant and Pfels, and
were returned to their cells, St. Arnaud whispered:
“Do you know, Gavin, I think you look something like the general.
Of course, you are not so large, but a couple of pillows, and the
general’s cloak and hat--”
“What!” replied Gavin, in an indignant whisper; for this young man had
no small opinion of his own comeliness of face and figure; and then
suddenly stopping, he realized a hidden meaning in St. Arnaud’s words.
The two conversed half the night in whispers; and when, toward morning,
they dropped off asleep, St. Arnaud was saying: “All’s fair in war, as
in love.”
They anxiously awaited another invitation to dine, and when the
invitation and the day came they were ready for something more than a
dinner with the general and Pfels. St. Arnaud had given Gavin half the
money he had left; poor Gavin had only a few francs of his private’s
pay remaining. Gavin carried the bank-note concealed about him, and
St. Arnaud the map. Each had in his pocket his comb and soap and such
poor preparations as could be made for flight; and each, on leaving
the cell, gave a last look back, and knew that he would never enter it
again, for before nine o’clock they meant to make a dash for liberty,
and if they failed and were brought back, they would be consigned to a
far more rigorous confinement.
General Kollnitz received them with his usual kindness, and Gavin felt
a qualm at the thought of the perplexity and chagrin in which they
were about to plunge the old gentleman. Liberty, however, was too dear
to be forsworn; and they both knew it to be their duty, as well as
their right, to make every effort to restore their services to their
own country. Thoughts of the same kind had passed through St. Arnaud’s
brain, and he had said to Gavin the night before:
“Our oath obliges us to do all in our power to annoy the enemy.
Egad, we will annoy the enemy fearfully in this case--poor, dear old
Kollnitz! I believe he will be more annoyed at having his record broken
than at the loss of our valuable company; that is, if--” St. Arnaud
made a significant pause.
Neither he nor Gavin indicated by the flutter of an eyelash that a
moment of destiny was approaching. The short January twilight made
candles necessary before dinner was half over, and then a heavy fog
crept down the mountains, and enveloped town and fortress in a white
and death-like mist. The ground was covered with snow, and General
Kollnitz shivered as he said:
“Ugh! To take my rheumatism out a night like this!”
By what seemed a strange fatality the conversation turned on escapes
from prison, and the general said frankly: “I pride myself not on the
strength of my bolts and bars, but on the inability of an escaped
prisoner or deserter to get beyond the radius in which he is sure to be
captured. I believe it has been proved that human ingenuity can break
through any bond which human ingenuity can devise. But under my system
every peasant within ten miles is made a scout the instant the guns
are fired; and the prospect of a hundred florins sharpens their wits
amazingly.”
Gavin and St. Arnaud frankly agreed with him that the real difficulties
existed outside rather than inside the prison.
Dinner over, the servants left the room, and pipes were produced; but
St. Arnaud and Gavin had not acquired the practice of smoking, common
even then among Prussian officers. General Kollnitz was a picture as he
sat back, his huge form filling his chair, with a long pipe in front of
him. Pfels was no less active and vigilant than ever; at six, seven,
and eight o’clock he went into the anteroom to receive the report of
the officer of the guard, and at nine he was to make the tour of the
fortress with the commandant.
By eight o’clock the commandant was taking his usual doze. Pfels went
out into the anteroom, and as soon as his back was turned Gavin rose
and, taking a knife from the table, softly cut all the cords from the
curtains and bell-ropes, and quickly rolled them into a pile, which
he threw on the sofa, and carefully placed the sofa-cushions over
them. Then he gently tried the handle of the closet door in which the
general’s huge pelisse and hat and Pfels’ hat and cloak were kept, and,
to his joy, all were hanging in their accustomed places. When Pfels
returned he found St. Arnaud and Gavin still seated at the table, and
apparently absorbed in a game of patience, while the commandant snored
loudly.
“The commandant’s practice of going to sleep over his pipe is rather
awkward with certain guests,” said Pfels, laughing and reseating
himself at the table, “but nothing can change his habit. Luckily, I
keep wide-awake enough for two.”
“We don’t object in the least to the commandant’s taking his ease,
although we enjoy his company; but I observe, unlike most inert men, he
keeps other people’s eyes open.”
The three young men continued to converse pleasantly until the hand
of the clock pointed to ten minutes before nine. Then Gavin rose and,
going to the window which was at Pfels’ back, peered out. The solid
mass of the fortress, the town, the river, the snow-covered earth,
all were wrapped in a white veil of fog, through which they loomed
mysteriously. This cold and silvery mist brought with it silence as
well as obscurity. All sounds were deadened, and the dim figures of the
sentries, as they passed to and fro, were like ghosts, so noiseless
were their steps. The thought came into Gavin’s mind, “The guns will
not carry far to-night.” At that moment there was the slight commotion
outside of relieving the guard, and Pfels said to St. Arnaud:
“My work for the day will soon be over. Bohm is officer in charge
to-night, and I always feel particularly safe when he--”
The next instant Gavin pinioned him from behind, and St. Arnaud slipped
a gag made of the playing-cards and a napkin into the poor adjutant’s
mouth. He had not a moment to cry out, and could not utter an
articulate sound; and the slight scuffle he was able to make, while his
hands and feet were securely tied with bell cords by St. Arnaud, could
not be heard outside the room. He was then blindfolded with a napkin,
St. Arnaud saying:
“Sorry, dear Pfels, but, you know, it is a soldier’s duty to escape if
he can, and you would do as much by me. You are one of the best fellows
in the world”--here he fixed the gag more firmly in the mouth of poor
Pfels, who groaned faintly--“and as you and the general often told us
getting out of the fortress was nothing--we were certain to be caught
within two hours--so, now, we will have a chance to test our respective
theories.”
Pfels could only writhe about and wag his head violently; but they
thought it as well to tie him to his chair, a precaution which they
also took with the general, as he slumbered peacefully.
All was done in an almost inconceivably short time. They dared not turn
the lock of the door for fear of awaking suspicion in the anteroom,
but as no one would enter without knocking, they could safely count on
a few minutes of time. St. Arnaud noiselessly opened the door of the
press and got out the general’s best cloak and chapeau, while Gavin
firmly tied a couple of sofa-pillows around his body; and when he had
on the huge cloak, with the collar turned up to his eyes, and the
chapeau pulled down over his ears, it was not a bad imitation of the
general’s grotesque figure. St. Arnaud put on Pfels’ cloak and hat, and
they looked at the clock and saw that they had yet five minutes to wait.
St. Arnaud went to the door of the anteroom, and kept his hand on the
key, ready to turn it at a moment’s notice, while Gavin carried out the
last detail of their carefully studied plan by stuffing bits of his
handkerchief in the ears of Pfels and the commandant. They had then
four minutes to wait for the carriage, and it was the longest interval
of time that either one was ever to spend in his life.
The roll of the carriage was then heard, and in another moment they had
softly opened the door that led to the stairs, and were going lightly
down.
They came down so much quicker than the commandant usually did, that
the orderly, who was standing on the pavement a little way off, did not
have time to open the carriage door; St. Arnaud, however, saved him
the trouble, and, as he ran forward, Pfels, as he thought, was just
stepping into the carriage. The orderly put up the steps, jumped on the
box, and the coachman drove through the sallyport, the orderly giving
the countersign.