While Colonel Munro and his companions were discussing the matter a
council of war was being held, and Duke Bernhard's view was adopted by
all his generals, who felt with him that their honour was involved in
the question, and that it would be disgraceful to march away without
striking a blow to save the besieged city. Horn, therefore, being
outvoted, was forced to give way. Up to nightfall the Imperialists had
showed no signs of an intention to occupy the Weinberg, their forces
being massed on and around the Allersheim Hill. It was determined
therefore to seize the Weinberg at once, and the execution of this step
was committed to Horn.
The choice was most unfortunate. The service was one upon the prompt
carrying out of which victory depended, and Horn, though a brave and
capable commander, was slow and cautious, and particularly unfitted for
executing a service which had to be performed in a dark night across a
country with which he was not familiar. Taking with him four thousand
chosen musketeers and pikemen and twelve guns he set out at nine
o'clock, but the rough road, the dikes, and ditches which intercepted
the country impeded him, and the fact that he was unacquainted with the
general position of the country made him doubly cautious, and it was not
until midnight that he reached the foot of the hill.
Here, unfortunately, he came to the conclusion that since he had
encountered such difficulties in crossing the flat country he should
meet with even greater obstacles and delays in ascending the hill in the
dark; he therefore took the fatal resolution of remaining where he
was until daylight, and accordingly ordered the column to halt. Had he
continued his march he would have reached the summit of the Weinberg
unopposed, and the fate of the battle on the following day would have
been changed. But the Imperialist leaders, Gallas and Cardinal Infanta
Don Fernando, had not been unmindful of the commanding position of the
hill upon which Horn was marching, and had given orders that it should
be occupied before daylight by four hundred Spaniards.
The commander of this force was as over prompt in the execution of his
orders as Horn was over cautious. He reached the top of the Weinberg
before midnight, and at once set his men to work to intrench themselves
strongly. As soon as daybreak enabled Horn to see the fatal consequences
which had arisen from his delay he ordered his men to advance. With
their usual gallantry the Swedes mounted the hill and rushed at the
intrenchment. It was defended with the greatest obstinacy and courage by
the Spaniards; but after desperate fighting the Swedes forced their way
into the work at two points, and were upon the point of capturing the
position when an ammunition wagon accidentally exploded in their midst,
killing great numbers and throwing the rest into a temporary disorder,
which enabled the Spaniards to drive them out and again occupy the
intrenchments.
Before the Swedes had fully recovered themselves the Spanish cavalry,
which at the first sound of the conflict the cardinal had ordered to
the spot, charged them in flank and forced them to a precipitate retreat
down the hillside. Bitterly regretting his delay at midnight, Horn
brought up fresh troops, and after addressing encouraging words to those
who had been already repulsed, led the united body to the assault.
But the Weinberg, which had been occupied in the early morning by only
four hundred men, was now defended by the whole of the Spanish infantry.
Vain now was the energy of Horn, and ineffectual the valour of his
troops. Time after time did the Swedes climb the hill and strive to
obtain a footing on its crest, each assault was repulsed with prodigious
slaughter. Duke Bernhard was now fully engaged with the Imperialists on
the Allersheim, and was gradually gaining ground. Seeing, however,
how fruitless were the efforts of Horn to capture the Weinberg, he
despatched as many of his infantry as he could spare to reinforce the
marshal. Among these was Munro's regiment.
“Now, my brave lads,” Colonel Munro shouted, as he led his regiment
against the hill, “show them what Scottish hearts can do.” With a cheer
the regiment advanced. Pressing forward unflinchingly under a hail
of bullets they won their way up the hill, and then gathering, hurled
themselves with a shout upon the heavy masses of Spanish veterans. For a
moment the latter recoiled before the onset; then they closed in around
the Scotch, who had already lost a third of their number in ascending
the hill.
Never did the famous regiment fight with greater courage and fury; but
they were outnumbered ten to one, and their opponents were soldiers of
European reputation. In vain the Scotchmen strove to break through the
serried line of pikes which surrounded them. Here and there a knot of
desperate men would win a way through; but ere others could follow them
the Spanish line closed in again and cut them off from their comrades,
and they died fighting to the last.
Fighting desperately in the front rank Munro and his officers encouraged
their men with shouts and example; but it was all in vain, and he at
last shouted to the remains of his followers to form in a solid body and
cut their way back through the enemy who surrounded them. Hemmed in as
they were by enemies the Scottish spearmen obeyed, and, headed by their
colonel, flung themselves with a sudden rush upon the enemy. Before the
weight and fury of the charge the veterans of Spain gave way, and the
Scots found themselves on the crest of the hill which they had lately
ascended. No sooner were they free from the Spanish ranks than the
musketeers of the latter opened fire upon them, and numbers fell in the
retreat. When they reached the foot of the fatal hill, and bleeding and
breathless gathered round their commander, Munro burst into tears on
finding that of the noble regiment he had led up the hill scarce enough
remained to form a single company. Seven times now had Horn striven
to carry the hill, seven times had he been repulsed with terrible
slaughter, and he now began to fall back to join the force of Duke
Bernhard. The latter, recognizing that the battle was lost, and that
Horn, if not speedily succoured, was doomed, for the Imperialists,
flushed with victory, were striving to cut him off, made a desperate
attack upon the enemy hoping to draw their whole forces upon himself,
and so enable Horn to retire. For the moment he succeeded, but he was
too weak in numbers to bear the assault he had thus provoked. John of
Werth, who commanded the Imperial cavalry, charged down upon the Swedish
horsemen and overthrew them so completely that these, forced back upon
their infantry, threw them also into complete disorder.
The instant Horn had given the orders to retreat, Colonel Munro, seeing
the danger of the force being surrounded, formed up the little remnant
of his regiment and set off at the double to rejoin the force of the
duke. It was well that he did so, for just when he had passed over the
intervening ground the Imperialist cavalry, fresh from the defeat of the
Swedes, swept across the ground, completely cutting off Horn's division
from that of the duke. A few minutes later Marshal Horn, surrounded
on all sides by the enemy, and feeling the impossibility of further
resistance with his weakened and diminished force, was forced to
surrender with all his command.
Duke Bernhard narrowly escaped the same fate; but in the end he managed
to rally some nine thousand men and retreated towards the Maine. The
defeat was a terrible one; ten thousand men were killed and wounded, and
four thousand under Horn taken prisoners; all the guns, equipage, and
baggage fell into the hands of the enemy.
Nordlingen was the most decisive battle of the war; its effect was to
change a war which had hitherto been really only a civil war--a war of
religion--into one with a foreign enemy. Hitherto France had contented
herself with subsidizing Sweden, who had played the principal part.
Henceforward Sweden was to occupy but a secondary position. Cardinal
Richelieu saw the danger of allowing Austria to aggrandize itself at the
expense of all Germany, and now took the field in earnest.
Upon the other hand Nordlingen dissolved the confederacy of the
Protestant German princes against Ferdinand the Second. The Elector of
Saxony, who had ever been vacillating and irresolute in his policy,
was the first to set the example by making peace with the emperor. The
Elector of Brandenburg, Duke William of Weimar, the Prince of Anhalt,
the Duke of Brunswick-Luneburg, the Duke of Mecklenburg, Pomerania, and
the cities of Augsburg, Wurzburg, and Coburg, and many others hastened
to follow the example of all the leading members of the Protestant
Union.
Dukes Bernhard of Weimar and William of Cassel were almost alone in
supporting the cause to maintain which Gustavus Adolphus had invaded
Germany. The Swedish army, whose exploits had made the court of Vienna
tremble, seemed annihilated, and well might the emperor deem that his
final triumph over Protestantism was complete when he heard of the
battle of Nordlingen, for as yet he dreamed not that its result would
bring France into the field against him.
Malcolm Graheme was one of the few officers of Munro's regiment who
burst his way through the Spanish lines on the top of the Weinberg. He
was bleeding from several wounds, but none of them were serious. Nigel
was beside him as they began to descend the hill; but scarcely had he
gone a step when he fell headlong, struck by a ball from an arquebus.
Malcolm and one of the sergeants raised him, and between them carried
him to the foot of the hill; then, when the remains of the regiments
started to rejoin Duke Bernhard, they were forced to leave him. Although
Malcolm kept up with his regiment in the retreat he was so utterly
exhausted by loss of blood that he could no longer accompany them. By
the death of so many of his seniors he was now one of the majors of the
regiment, if that could be called a regiment which was scarce a company
in strength. A few days after the battle Colonel Munro received orders
to march with his shattered remnant, scarce one of whom but was from
wounds unfit for present service, by easy stages to North Germany, there
to await the arrival of reinforcements from Scotland, which might raise
the regiment to a strength which would enable it again to take the
field.
Malcolm remained behind until his strength slowly returned. The colonel,
before leaving, had bade him take his time before rejoining, as months
would probably elapse before the regiment would again be fit for
service. As soon as he was able to travel he journeyed to Nuremberg.
On arriving at the abode of Jans Boerhoff he learned that Thekla was
no longer an inmate of the family. The Count of Mansfeld had died in
prison, and the countess had arrived at Nuremberg and had taken up her
abode there. Malcolm made his way to the house she occupied. The meeting
was an affecting one. Malcolm was greatly grieved over the death of
his staunch friend, and joined in the sorrow of the countess and her
daughter. A few days after his arrival the countess said to him:
“I am of course aware, Malcolm, of the conversation which the count had
with you concerning Thekla, and my wishes fully agreed with his on the
subject. In other times one would not speak of marriage when
Thekla's father had been but two months dead; but it is no time for
conventionalities now. All Southern Germany is falling away from the
Protestant cause, and ere long we may see the Imperialists at the gate
of Nuremberg, and it may be that in a few months the whole of Germany
will be in their power. Therefore, I would that there should be no
delay. Thekla is nearly seventeen; you are twenty-one--over young both
to enter upon the path of matrimony; but the events of the last few
months have made a woman of her, while you have long since proved
yourself both in thoughtfulness and in valour to be a man. Thekla is
no longer a great heiress. Since Nordlingen we may consider that her
father's estates have gone for ever, mine may follow in a few months.
Therefore I must ask you, are you ready to take her without dowry?”
“I am,” Malcolm said earnestly, “and that right gladly, for I love her
with all my heart.”
“It needs no questioning on my part,” the countess said, “to know that
she loves you as truly, and that her happiness depends wholly on you. I
saw her anguish when the news came of the terrible defeat at Nordlingen
and of the annihilation of some of the Scottish regiments. My heart was
wrung by her silent despair, her white and rigid face, until the news
came that you were among the few who had survived the battle, and, in
the outburst of joy and thankfulness at the news, she owned to me that
she loved you, her only fear being that you cared for her only as a
sister, since no word of love had ever passed your lips. I reassured her
on that score by telling her of your conversation with her father, and
that a feeling of duty alone had kept you silent while she remained
under your protection.
“However, Malcolm, she will not come to you penniless, for, seeing that
it was possible that the war would terminate adversely, and determined
to quit the country should he be forbidden to worship according to
his own religion here, the count has from time to time despatched
considerable sums to the care of a banker at Hamburg, and there are now
10,000 gold crowns in his hands.
“There are, moreover, my estates at Silesia, but these I have for
sometime foreseen would follow those of my husband and fall into the
hands of the emperor. Before the death of the count I talked over the
whole matter with him, and he urged me in any case, even should you fall
before becoming the husband of Thekla, to leave this unhappy country and
to take refuge abroad.
“Before his death I had an interview with my nearest kinsman, who
has taken sides with the Imperialists, and to him I offered to resign
Thekla's rights as heiress to the estate for the sum of 10,000 crowns.
As this was but three years revenue of the estates, and it secured their
possession to him whether the Imperialists or Swedes were victorious in
the struggle, he consented, after having obtained the emperor's consent
to the step, and I have this morning received a letter from him saying
that the money has been lodged in the hands of the banker at Hamburg,
and Thekla and I have this morning signed a deed renouncing in his
favour all claim to the estate. Thus Thekla has a dowry of 20,000 gold
crowns--a sum not unworthy of a dowry even for the daughter of a Count
of Mansfeld; but with it you must take me also, for I would fain leave
the country and end my days with her.”
“Do you keep the dowry so long as you live, countess,” Malcolm said
earnestly. “It is more than the richest noble in Scotland could give
with his daughter. My own estate, though small, is sufficient to keep
Thekla and myself in ease, and my pleasure in having you with us will
be equal to hers. You would wish, of course, that I should quit the army
and return home, and, indeed, I am ready to do so. I have had more
than enough of wars and fighting. I have been preserved well nigh by
a miracle, when my comrades have fallen around me like grass. I cannot
hope that such fortune would always attend me. The cause for which I
have fought seems lost, and since the Protestant princes of Germany are
hastening to desert it, neither honour nor common sense demand that I,
a soldier of fortune and a foreigner, should struggle any longer for it;
therefore I am ready at once to resign my commission and to return to
Scotland.”
“So be it,” the countess said; “but regarding Thekla's dowry I shall
insist on having my way. I should wish to see her in a position similar
to that in which she was born, and with this sum you can largely
increase your estates and take rank among the nobles of your country.
Now I will call Thekla in and leave you to ask her to agree to the
arrangements we have made.
“My child,” she went on, as Thekla in obedience to her summons entered
the apartment, “Malcolm Graheme has asked your hand of me. He tells
me that he loves you truly, and is willing to take you as a penniless
bride, and to carry you and me away with him far from these terrible
wars to his native Scotland--what say you, my love?”
Thekla affected neither shyness or confusion, her colour hardly
heightened as in her sombre mourning she advanced to Malcolm, and laying
her hand in his, said:
“He cannot doubt my answer, mother; he must know that I love him with my
whole heart.”
“Then, my daughter,” the countess said, “I will leave you to yourselves;
there is much to arrange, for time presses, and your betrothal must be
quickly followed by marriage.”
It was but a few days later that Malcolm led Thekla to the altar in St.
Sebald's Church, Nuremberg. The marriage was a quiet one, seeing that
the bride had been so lately orphaned, and only Jans Boerhoff and
his family, and two or three Scottish comrades of Malcolm's, who were
recovering from their wounds at Nuremberg, were present at the quiet
ceremony. The following day the little party started for the north.
Malcolm had already received a letter from Oxenstiern accepting
his resignation, thanking him heartily for the good services he had
rendered, and congratulating him on his approaching wedding.
Without adventure they reached Hamburg, and there, arranging with the
banker for the transmission of the sum in his hands to Edinburgh, they
took ship and crossed to Scotland.
Three months later Malcolm was delighted by the appearance of his uncle
Nigel. The latter was indeed in dilapidated condition, having lost an
arm, and suffering from other wounds. He had been retained a prisoner
by the Imperialists only until he was cured, when they had freed him in
exchange for an Imperial officer who had been captured by the Swedes.
Thekla's dowry enabled her husband largely to increase his estates. A
new and handsome mansion was erected at a short distance from the old
castle, and here Malcolm Graheme lived quietly for very many years with
his beautiful wife, and saw a numerous progeny rise around them.
To the gratification of both, five years after her coming to Scotland,
the Countess of Mansfeld married Nigel Graheme and the pair took up
their abode in the old castle, which was thoroughly repaired and set in
order by Malcolm for their use, while he and Thekla insisted that the
fortune he had received as a dowry with his wife should be shared by the
countess and Nigel.
THE END