After the fall of Wallenstein's colonels Malcolm was led away a
prisoner, and was conducted to a dungeon in the castle. It was not until
the door closed behind him that he could fairly realize what had taken
place, so sudden and unexpected had been the scene in the banqueting
hall. Five minutes before he had been feasting and drinking the health
of Wallenstein, now he was a prisoner of the Imperialists. Wallenstein's
adherents had been murdered, and it was but too probable that a like
fate would befall the general himself. The alliance from which so much
had been hoped, which seemed to offer a prospect of a termination of the
long and bloody struggle, was cut short at a blow.
As to his own fate it seemed dark enough, and his captivity might last
for years, for the Imperialists' treatment of their prisoners was harsh
in the extreme. The system of exchange, which was usual then as now,
was in abeyance during the religious war in Germany. There was an almost
personal hatred between the combatants, and, as Malcolm knew, many of
his compatriots who had fallen into the hands of the Imperialists had
been treated with such harshness in prison that they had died there.
Some, indeed, were more than suspected of having been deliberately
starved to death.
However, Malcolm had gone through so many adventures that even the scene
which he had witnessed and his own captivity and uncertain fate were
insufficient to banish sleep from his eyes, and he reposed as soundly on
the heap of straw in the corner of his cell as he would have done in the
carved and gilded bed in the apartment which had been assigned to him in
the castle.
The sun was shining through the loophole of his dungeon when he awoke.
For an hour he occupied himself in polishing carefully the magnificently
inlaid armour which Wallenstein had presented him, and which, with the
exception of his helmet, he had not laid aside when he sat down to the
banquet, for it was very light and in no way hampered his movements, and
except when quartered in towns far removed from an enemy officers seldom
laid aside their arms. He still retained his sword and dagger, for his
captors, in their haste to finish the first act of the tragedy, and to
resist any rising which might take place among the soldiery, had omitted
to take them from him when they hurried him away.
On examination he found that with his dagger he could shove back the
lock of the door, but this was firmly held by bolts without. Thinking
that on some future occasion the blade might be useful to him, he pushed
the dagger well into the lock, and with a sharp jerk snapped it off at
the hilt. Then he concealed the steel within his long boot and cast the
hilt through the loophole.
Presently a soldier brought him his breakfast--a manchet of bread and
a stoup of wine. He was visited again at dinner and supper. Before the
soldier came in the first time Malcolm concealed his sword in the straw,
thinking that the soldier would be sure to remove it if he noticed it.
The man who brought his breakfast and dinner was taciturn, and made
no reply to his questions, but another man brought his supper, and he
turned out of a more communicative disposition.
“What has happened?” he repeated in reply to Malcolm's question. “Well,
I don't know much about it myself, but I do know that Wallenstein is
dead, for the trooper who rides next to me helped to kill him. Everyone
is content that the traitor has been punished, and as the troops have
all pronounced for the emperor every thing is quiet. We had a good
laugh this afternoon. The colonel sent out one of our men dressed up in
Wallenstein's livery to meet the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg and invite him
to come on at once and join him here. The duke suspected no danger, and
rode on ahead of his troops, with a few attendants, and you should have
seen his face, when, after passing through the gates, he suddenly found
himself surrounded by our men and a prisoner. Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar
will be here tomorrow, as they say, and we shall catch him in the same
way. It's a rare trap this, I can tell you.”
The news heightened Malcolm's uneasiness. The capture of Duke Bernhard,
the most brilliant of the German generals on the Protestant side, would
be a heavy blow indeed to the cause, and leaving his supper untasted
Malcolm walked up and down his cell in a fever of rage at his impotence
to prevent so serious a disaster.
At last he ate his supper, and then threw himself upon the straw, but he
was unable to sleep. The death of Wallenstein had made a deep impression
upon him. The Imperialist general was greatly respected by his foes. Not
only was he admired for his immense military talents, but he carried on
the war with a chivalry and humanity which contrasted strongly with the
ferocity of Tilly, Pappenheim, and Piccolomini. Prisoners who fell into
his hands were always treated with courtesy, and although, from motives
of policy, he placed but little check upon the excesses of his soldiery,
no massacres, such as those which had caused the names of Tilly and
Pappenheim to be held in abhorrence by the Protestants of Germany, were
associated with that of Wallenstein. Then, too, the princely dignity and
noble presence of the duke had greatly impressed the young soldier, and
the courtesy with which he had treated him personally had attracted
his liking as well as respect. To think that this great general, this
princely noble, the man who alone had baffled the Lion of the North, had
been foully murdered by those he had trusted and favoured, filled him
with grief and indignation, the more so since two of the principal
assassins were Scotchmen.
The thought that on the morrow Duke Bernhard of Weimar--a leader
in importance second only to the Chancellor of Sweden--would fall
unsuspiciously into the trap set for him goaded him almost to madness,
and he tossed restlessly on the straw through the long hours of the
night. Towards morning he heard a faint creaking of bolts, then there
was a sound of the locks of the door being turned. He grasped his sword
and sprang to his feet. He heard the door close again, and then a man
produced a lantern from beneath a long cloak, and he saw Wallenstein's
steward before him. The old man's eyes were bloodshot with weeping, and
his face betokened the anguish which the death of his master had caused
him.
“You have heard the news?” he asked.
“Alas!” Malcolm replied, “I have heard it indeed.”
“I am determined,” the old man said, “to thwart the projects of these
murderers and to have vengeance upon them. None have thought of me. I
was an old man, too insignificant for notice, and I have passed the day
in my chamber lamenting the kindest of lords, the best of masters. Last
evening I heard the soldiers boasting that today they would capture
the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, and I determined to foil them. They have been
feasting and drinking all night, and it is but now that the troopers
have fallen into a drunken slumber and I was able to possess myself of
the key of your dungeon.
“Here is your helmet. I will lead you to the stable, where I have
saddled the best and fastest of my master's horses. You must remain
there quietly until you deem that the gates are open, then leap upon the
horse, and ride for your life. Few will know you, and you will probably
pass out of the gate unquestioned. If not, you have your sword to cut
your way. Once beyond the town ride to meet the duke. Tell him my master
has been murdered, that Egra is in the hands of the Imperialists, and
that Saxe-Lauenburg is a prisoner. Bid him march on this place with his
force, take it by assault, and leave not one of the assassins of my lord
living within its walls.”
“You will run no risk, I hope, for your share in this adventure,”
Malcolm said.
“It matters little to me,” the old man replied. “My life is worthless,
and I would gladly die in the thought that I have brought retribution on
the head of the murderers of my master. But they will not suspect me. I
shall lock the door behind us, and place the key again in the girdle of
the drunken guard, and then return to my own chamber.”
Quietly Malcolm and his conductor made their way through the castle and
out into the courtyard. Then they entered the stables.
“This is the horse,” the steward said, again uncovering his lantern. “Is
he not a splendid animal? He was my master's favourite, and sooner than
that his murderers should ride him I would cut the throat of the noble
beast with my dagger; but he has a better mission in carrying the
avenger of his master's blood. And now farewell. The rest is in your
own hands. May Heaven give you good fortune.” So saying, the old man set
down his lantern and left Malcolm alone.
The latter, after examining the saddle and bridle, and seeing that every
buckle was firm and in its place, extinguished the light, and waited
patiently for morning. In two hours a faint light began to show itself.
Stronger and stronger it grew until it was broad day. Still there were
but few sounds of life and movement in the castle. Presently, however,
the noise of footsteps and voices was heard in the courtyard.
Although apprehensive that at any moment the stable door might open,
Malcolm still delayed his start, as it would be fatal were he to set out
before the opening of the gates. At last he felt sure that they must
be opened to admit the country people coming in with supplies for the
market. He had donned his helmet before leaving his cell, and he now
quietly opened the stable door, sprang into the saddle, and rode boldly
out.
Several soldiers were loitering about the courtyard. Some were washing
at the trough and bathing their heads beneath the fountain to get rid
of the fumes of the wine they had indulged in overnight. Others were
cleaning their arms.
The sudden appearance of a mounted officer armed from head to foot
caused a general pause in their occupation, although none had any
suspicion that the splendidly attired officer was a fugitive; but,
believing that he was one of Leslie's friends who was setting out on
some mission, they paid no further heed to him, as quietly and without
any sign of haste he rode through the gateway of the castle into the
town. The inhabitants were already in the streets, country women with
baskets were vending their produce, and the market was full of people.
Malcolm rode on at a foot pace until he was within sight of the open
gate of the town. When within fifty yards of the gate he suddenly came
upon Colonel Leslie, who had thus early been making a tour of the walls
to see that the sentries were upon the alert, for Duke Bernhard's force
was within a few miles. He instantly recognized Malcolm.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “Captain Graheme--treachery! treachery! shut the
gate there,” and drawing his sword, threw himself in Malcolm's way.
Malcolm touched the horse with his spur and it bounded forward; he
parried the blow which Leslie struck at him, and, with a sweeping cut
full on the traitor's helmet, struck him to the ground and then dashed
onward. A sentry was beginning to shut the gate, and his comrades were
running out from the guardhouse as Malcolm galloped up.
The steward had fastened the holsters on to the saddle, and Malcolm,
before starting, had seen to the priming of the pistols in them. Drawing
one he shot the man who was closing the gate, and before his comrades
could run up he dashed through it and over the drawbridge.
Several bullets whizzed around him, but he was soon out of range, and
galloping at full speed in the direction in which the steward had told
him that Duke Bernhard was encamped. In half an hour he reached the
Swedish lines, and rode at once to the tent of the duke who was upon the
point of mounting; beside him stood a man in the livery of Wallenstein.
As he rode up Malcolm drew his pistol, and said to the man:
“If you move a foot I will send a bullet through your head.”
“What is this?” exclaimed the duke in astonishment, “and who are you,
sir, who with such scant courtesy ride into my camp?”
Malcolm raised his vizor. “I am Captain Graheme of Munro's regiment,”
he said, “and I have ridden here to warn your excellency of treachery.
Wallenstein has been foully murdered. Egra is in the hands of the
Imperialists, the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg has been beguiled into a trap
and taken prisoner, and this fellow, who is one of Butler's troopers,
has been sent here to lead you into a like snare.”
“Wallenstein murdered!” the duke exclaimed in tones of horror.
“Murdered, say you? Impossible!”
“It is but too true, sir,” Malcolm replied; “I myself saw his friends
Illo, Terzky, and Kinsky assassinated before my eyes at a banquet.
Wallenstein was murdered by his favourites Leslie and Gordon and the
Irishman Butler. I was seized and thrown into a dungeon, but have
escaped by a miracle to warn you of your danger.”
“This is a blow indeed,” the duke said mournfully. Turning to his
attendants he ordered them to hang the false messenger to the nearest
tree, and then begged Malcolm to follow him into his tent and give him
full details of this terrible transaction.
“This upsets all our schemes indeed,” the duke said when he had
concluded. “What is the strength of the garrison at Egra?”
“There were Butler's dragoons and an infantry regiment in garrison there
when we arrived; six regiments accompanied us on the march, and I
fear that all these must now be considered as having gone over to the
Imperialists.”
“Then their force is superior to my own,” the duke said, “for I have but
six thousand men with me, and have no artillery heavy enough to make
any impression upon the walls of the town. Much as I should like to meet
these traitors and to deal out to them the punishment they deserve, I
cannot adventure on the siege of Egra until I have communicated this
terrible news to the Swedish chancellor. Egra was all important to us as
affording an entrance into Bohemia so long as Wallenstein was with
us, but now that he has been murdered and our schemes thus suddenly
destroyed I cannot risk the destruction of my force by an assault upon
the city, which is no longer of use to us.”
Much as Malcolm would have liked to have seen the punishment of
Wallenstein's treacherous followers, he could not but feel that the
duke's view was, under the circumstances, the correct one. The tents
were speedily struck, and the force fell back with all speed towards
Bavaria, and after accompanying them for a march or two, Malcolm left
them and rode to join his regiment, the duke having already sent off
a messenger to Oxenstiern with a full account of the murder of
Wallenstein.
As none could say what events were likely to follow the changed
position of things, Malcolm determined at once to carry out the original
intention of placing Thekla under the care of his friends at Nuremberg,
in which direction it was not probable that the tide of war would
for the present flow. After staying therefore a day or two with his
regiment, where his relation of the events he had witnessed caused
the greatest excitement and interest, Malcolm obtained leave from his
colonel to escort Thekla to Nuremberg.
In order that they might pass in perfect safety across the intervening
country Munro gave him an escort of twelve troopers, and with these he
journeyed by easy stages to Nuremberg, where the worthy syndic of the
clockmakers and his wife gladly received Thekla, and promised to treat
her as one of their own daughters.
Here Malcolm took possession of his arms and valises, which he had sent,
upon starting for Prague, to the care of Jans Boerhoff; not indeed that
he needed the armour, for the suit which Wallenstein had given him was
the admiration and envy of his comrades, and Munro had laughingly said
that since Hepburn had left them no such gallantly attired cavalier had
ridden in the ranks of the Scottish brigade.
There were many tears on Thekla's part as her young protector bade her
adieu, for there was no saying how long a time might elapse before she
might again see him, and Malcolm was sorely tempted to tell her that
he had her father's consent to wooing her as his wife. He thought it,
however, better to abstain from speaking, for should he fall in the
campaign her grief would be all the greater had she come to think of
him as her destined husband, for her hearty affection for him already
assured him that she would make no objection to carrying out her
father's wishes.
Shortly after rejoining his regiment Malcolm received a communication
from the Swedish chancellor expressing in high terms his approbation of
the manner in which he had carried out his instructions with regard to
Wallenstein, and especially for the great service he had rendered
the cause by warning the Duke of Saxe-Weimar of the trap which the
Imperialists had set for him.
The death of Wallenstein was followed by a short pause in the war. It
had entirely frustrated all the plans and hopes of the Protestants, and
it caused a delay in the movement of the Imperialists. The emperor, when
he heard of Wallenstein's death, heaped favours and honours upon the
three men who had plotted and carried out his murder, and then appointed
his son Ferdinand, King of Hungary, to the chief command of the army,
with General Gallas as his principal adviser.
The Duke of Lorraine marched with an army to join the Imperialists, who
were also strengthened by the arrival of 10,000 Spanish veterans, and
early in May the new Imperial general entered the Palatinate and marched
to lay siege to Ratisbon. To oppose the Imperial army, which numbered
35,000 men, Duke Bernhard, after having drawn together all the troops
scattered in the neighbourhood, could only put 15,000 in the field. With
so great a disparity of force he could not offer battle, but in every
way he harassed and interrupted the advance of the Imperialists, while
he sent pressing messages to Oxenstiern for men and money, and to
Marshal Horn, who commanded in Alsace, to beg him march with all haste
to his assistance.
Unfortunately Horn and Duke Bernhard were men of extremely different
temperaments. The latter was vivacious, enterprising, and daring even to
rashness, ready to undertake any enterprise which offered the smallest
hope of success. Marshal Horn, on the other hand, although a good
general, was slow, over cautious and hesitating, and would never move
until his plans appeared to promise almost a certainty of success.
Besides this, Horn, a Swede, was a little jealous that Duke Bernhard, a
German, should be placed in the position of general-in-chief, and this
feeling no doubt tended to increase his caution and to delay his action.
Consequently he was so long a time before he obeyed the pressing
messages sent by the duke, that Ratisbon, after a valiant defence,
surrendered on the 29th of July, before he had effected a junction with
the duke's army. The Imperialists then marched upon Donauworth, and this
place, after a feeble defence, also capitulated. The duke, heartbroken
at seeing the conquests, which had been effected at so great a loss of
life and treasure, wrested from his hands while he was unable to strike
a blow to save them, in despair marched away to Swabia to meet the
slowly advancing army of Marshal Horn.
No sooner was the junction effected than he turned quickly back and
reached the vicinity of Nordlingen, only to find the enemy already there
before him, and posted on the more advanced of the two heights which
dominate the plain. By a skillful manoeuvre, however, he was enabled to
throw within its walls a reinforcement to the garrison of eight hundred
men.
Nordlingen, an important free town, stands on the south bank of the
Ries, some 18 miles to the northeast of Donauworth. It was surrounded by
a wall, interspersed with numerous towers, sufficiently strong to guard
it against any surprise, but not to defend it against a regular siege by
a numerous army. The vast plain on which the town stands is broken near
its centre by two heights rising at a distance of three thousand yards
from each other.
The height nearest to the town, which is very steep and craggy, is known
as the Weinberg, the other is called Allersheim; a village stands some
three hundred yards in advance of the valley between the heights, and is
nearer to the town than either of the two eminences.
The Scotch brigade formed part of Duke Bernhard's command. It was now
nearly two years since a pitched battle had been fought, for although
there had been many skirmishes and assaults in the preceding year no
great encounter had taken place between the armies since Gustavus fell
at Lutzen, in October, 1632, and the Scotch brigade had not been present
at that battle. In the time which had elapsed many recruits had arrived
from Scotland, and Munro's regiment had been again raised to the
strength at which it had landed at Rugen four years before. Not half a
dozen of the officers who had then, full of life and spirit, marched in
its ranks were now present. Death had indeed been busy among them. On
the evening of their arrival in sight of the Imperialist army the two
Grahemes supped with their colonel. Munro had but just arrived from the
duke's quarters.
“I suppose we shall fight tomorrow, Munro,” Major Graheme said.
“It is not settled,” the colonel replied; “between ourselves the duke
and Horn are not of one mind. The duke wants to fight; he urges that
were we to allow Nordlingen to fall, as we have allowed Ratisbon and
Donauworth, without striking a blow to save it, it would be an evidence
of caution and even cowardice which would have the worst possible effect
through Germany. Nordlingen has ever been staunch to the cause, and the
Protestants would everywhere fall away from us did they find that we had
so little care for their safety as to stand by and see them fall into
the hands of the Imperialists without an effort. It is better, in
the duke's opinion, to fight and to be beaten than to tamely yield
Nordlingen to the Imperialists. In the one case honour would be
satisfied and the reformers throughout Germany would feel that we had
done our utmost to save their co-religionists, on the other hand there
would be shame and disgrace.”
“There is much in what the duke says,” Nigel Graheme remarked.
“There is much,” Munro rejoined; “but there is much also in the
arguments of Horn. He reasons that we are outnumbered, the enemy is
superior to us by at least a third, and to save the town we must attack
them in an immensely strong position, which it will cost us great
numbers to capture.
“The chances against our winning a victory are fully five to one.
Granted the fall of Nordlingen will injure us in the eyes of the princes
and people of Germany; but with good management on our part the feeling
thus aroused will be but temporary, for we should soon wipe out the
reverse. Of the 35,000 men of which the Imperial army is composed, 8000
at least are Spaniards who are on their way to Flanders, and who will
very shortly leave it.
“On the other hand the Rhinegrave Otto Ludwig is with 7000 men within a
few marches of us; in a short time therefore we shall actually outnumber
the enemy, and shall be able to recover our prestige, just as we
recovered it at Leipzig after suffering Magdeburg to fall. We shall
recapture the towns which he has taken, and if the enemy should dare
to accept battle we shall beat him, and shall be in a position to march
upon Vienna.”
“Horn's arguments are the strongest,” Nigel Graheme said gravely; “the
course he advises is the most prudent one.”
“Undoubtedly,” Munro replied; “but I think that it will not be followed.
The duke is of a fiery spirit, and he would feel it, as most of us would
feel it, a disgrace to fall back without striking a blow for Nordlingen.
He has, too, been goaded nearly to madness during the last few days by
messengers and letters which have reached him from the reformed princes
and the free towns in all parts of Germany, reproaching him bitterly for
having suffered Ratisbon and Donauworth to fall into the hands of the
enemy without a blow, and he feels that his honour is concerned. I have
little doubt that we shall fight a great battle to save Nordlingen.”