THE PRISONERS OF THE PISTOLIERS.
The horsemen came up rapidly. We challenged, and they proved to be
the baron's troop of pistoliers retiring from the front with a dozen
of prisoners, whom they had taken somewhat by mistake, when falling
suddenly among the cantonments of the enemy, having been misled, as
their leader informed us, by the statements of a Schönburg
cattle-dealer as to the locality of Tilly's outposts.
So dense was the smoke which had rolled from the burned wood across
the country, that we could scarcely discern each other, and the
baron's inquiries about the conflagration which had so greatly
alarmed him were soon satisfied; and now, like a true man of the
sword, perceiving that among the prisoners there were two ladies on
horseback, I approached to discover whether they were young or old,
pretty or plain, and prepared to sympathize with them. Both were
clad in dark riding habits, and broad hats with gracefully drooping
feathers; and both wore masks of black velvet.
"We have given the enemy's outguards an alerte," said the baron,
"and, in revenge for it, some of the restless Croats will assuredly
come this way. Allow me to direct that you should halt your
musketeers here, until I report unto the Duke of Saxe-Wiemar the
utter impracticability of attempting to make any junction with the
king's troops by the way of Holstein; besides, I have just learned
that he has fallen back on Flensburg, and that the whole duchy is in
the possession of Tilly's troops, while those of Wallenstein are
daily pouring in from Silesia."
"Then we must again seek flight by our ships."
"Such would be our wisest course; but no doubt Duke Bernard, who is
brave as a lion, will endeavour to fall down into Holstein, if the
sword can cut a passage for him. He will remember how Mansfeldt's
Scots and Germans hewed their passage through the Spaniards at
Fleura."
"And your fair prisoners--who are they?"
"Ladies of rank I believe, or," he added with one of his impudent
winks, "ladies attached to the staff of one of Tilly's generals. By
her voice, and her hands when ungloved, I could swear that the
tallest one--she who sits in her saddle so erectly--is the most
beautiful woman in Germany. 'Pon my soul I am quite enchanted, and
shall become ensnared at last, like Mark Antony. As for that little
one, with her nose somewhat _retroussé_, she is, also, enchanting."
"Where did you pick them up?" I asked, a little piqued at hearing any
woman so praised--but _one_.
"We fell suddenly upon them near a village--shot four of the
escort--scattered the rest--dismounted the officer (a dainty cavalier
wearing a black velvet hat and white feather), and carried them off,
with three other prisoners and ten horsemen, as you may perceive.
"Sir," said one of the ladies in a low voice, urging her horse
sidelong towards me; "I beseech you to protect me from insult, if you
have not forgotten that old chateau of Luneburg."
"Ernestine!" said I, as my blood rushed back upon my heart.
The Count of Carlstein had obtained the baron's castle and estate;
and now the baron had unwittingly made reprisals by seizing the
count's two daughters. Here was a catastrophe the end of which it
was impossible to foresee.
"Ah, madame!" said I, timidly touching the hand which grasped her
riding whip, "I owe you my life, and with that life I will protect
you. And this is----"
"My sister Gabrielle!"
"Ah, Herr Kombeek!--I knew it was the Herr Kombeek," cried Gabrielle,
almost riding me over, as she pushed her horse towards me; "ah, speak
to me--I have not had one good laugh since you left us. How merry we
used to be!"
"You are safe among us, ladies," said I, kissing the little hand of
the childlike Gabrielle; "for we have no regiments of Croats or
Merodeurs under the banner of Christian IV."
"His soldiers have indeed the reputation of being good and gentle, as
they are valiant and strong," replied the haughty Ernestine; "but we
are now prisoners, and at the mercy of these uncourteous
pistoliers----"
"Mention my name to any one who would insult you; and believe me,
madame, it will be a sufficient protection in the Danish camp."
"Oh yes!" said Gabrielle, bustling up in her saddle, "I will just say
our friend is Herr Kombeek--or M'Combeek, is it?"
"The Highlanders call me M'Combich, because I am the friend of their
chief; but my proper name----"
Here the baron uttered an impatient cough.
"Klosterfiord," said I; "you will protect these ladies, and see them
conveyed to a place of safety."
"Undoubtedly--I have commanded a baggage guard before this."
"In both I have discovered friends----"
"What! is one the señora Prud----"
"Pshaw!" I exclaimed, placing my glove before his mouth; "treat them
with every respect; to-morrow we shall have a cartel for their
release. They are the daughters of the great Count of Carlstein,
camp-master and colonel-general of the Imperial horse."
"Der teufel! the holder of my fief in Luneburg!"
"The same."
"By Jove! my boy, I shall take most particular care of them," replied
the baron, twirling his mustaches; "they are my prisoners, and the
price of ransom lies with me. This is a fortunate stroke of the
goddess--that blind jade with the wheel. Ha! ha! Sir Count--thou
hast my domain, with its parks and woods; my house, with its library,
its wine-cellar, and other appendages--I have thy daughters. Let us
see which we value most. 'Pon my soul, as things go I would rather
have the women than the old house."
Knowing the baron to be somewhat of a gay man, and a roué, I felt my
anger rise at his remarks; while he, probably piqued at the familiar
terms on which I stood with his fair captives, said suddenly--
"You will halt here, my friend, until orders are sent to you to
withdraw, and fear not for the ladies. I have had the care of all
the women of an army before this----"
"Now, Karl, I must protest against this appropriation."
"Der teufel! appropriation--are they not my prisoners? ha! ha! ha!
Do you want both, my unconscionable Scot! Wait till to-morrow, and
we may share the spoil in fair camaraderie, but not till then.
Pistoliers--forward--trot!"
The troop moved off towards Heilinghafen; I received a wave of the
hand from Ernestine; Gabrielle brandished her whip, and then the
whole group disappeared into the smoke which still rested on the face
of the peninsula, for we occupied but a narrow headland which jutted
out into the Baltic.
Any pleasure which I felt at the prospect of being able again to
enjoy the society of Ernestine and her sister, and of having it
perhaps in my power to return them the kindness with which they had
treated me at Luneburg, was considerably clouded by the knowledge
that they were the prisoners of this gay and provoking baron, whose
gallantry and intrigues had gained him rather an evil reputation in
our camp, and at the quiet court of Copenhagen. Besides, though both
of us were captains, he was doubly my senior officer, for the Danish
pistoliers ranked next to the king's regiment of guards. I knew not
how he might be disposed to treat them; for the appropriation of his
German property by the count, would naturally make the baron a little
vindictive. One reflection consoled me; while they were Danish
prisoners, I knew that Ernestine would be safe from the addresses of
Count Kœningheim on one hand, and the daring stratagems of his
worthy rival, Count Tilly's friend, on the other; but then they might
be exposed to the insults of drunken soldiers or hostile boors, to
the hardship and danger of that wandering and desultory warfare we
were about to maintain among the Danish Isles; and, if I was shot or
taken prisoner, they might be utterly unfriended.
My speculations had just reached this point, and I was about to
become pathetic at the double prospect of my own demise and their
unprotected condition, when day began to dawn; a rising wind rolled
away the vapour, and, amidst the beautiful green of the landscape, we
saw the scathed site of the burned wood, and the blackened trunk of
many a pine, standing scorched and branchless among the mass of ashes
and charcoal. In some places, a slight puff of smoke arose, to show
where the embers yet were smouldering.
On that dark spot lay the bodies of sixteen of our comrades--men who
yesterday morning were in the full enjoyment of life and all their
faculties; but we had no time to bury them, so their poor remains
were left to the wild animals, the "devouring dogs and hungry
vultures," or to the polecats and weasels that lurked among the
adjacent marshes.
While the morning was yet grey, the right wing of our regiment under
the colonel, Sir Donald, came up with pipes playing; we joined, and
together advanced towards the enemy.
"I have heard of all that has happened overnight, Captain Rollo,"
said the colonel; "and this day, before sundown, you shall perhaps
have ample room to revenge your danger and loss. Duke Bernard has
ordered us to seize the pass of Oldenburg and maintain it against
Tilly until he has reimbarked his troops for Flensburg, as we have
not the slightest chance of successfully reaching it by the way of
Holstein. Our Scottish ships, and three others of the Danish fleet,
are now close in shore at Heilinghafen."
"But can we undertake this desperate service with honour to
ourselves?"
"With honour to ourselves we can undertake any thing," said Ian
proudly; "and with honour to ourselves we hope to fulfil whatever we
undertake. Look on the blade of my sword, Philip, and see what my
ancestor, Gillespoc M'Farquhar, wrote there before he drew it against
the Danes at the glorious battle of Luncarty, where _we_ fought under
King Kenneth III."
Ian held the blade, then brown with age, before my eyes, and I read
upon it the noble sentiment, in the old Gaëlic letter, "_Na tarruig
mi gun obhair, 'sna cuir air ais mi gun onair_."*
* It is curious, that many old Persian sabres are similarly
inscribed.--Draw me not without cause--sheathe me not without honour.
"If ever I fall in battle, Philip, this sword is yours, but you must
convey it to my father's house in Strathdee; for while they possess
this sword, the Clan Farquhar will flourish, at least unto the tenth
generation."
The sun rose brightly from the azure Baltic, the flowers put forth
their perfume, and with our war-pipes pouring an old Highland march
on the breeze--the cool fresh breeze of the autumn morning that
floated over the fields--we advanced, with the fate of Duke Bernard's
army in our hands (for we had to cover their retreat or perish), and
entered the narrow pass of Oldenburg, four hundred strong; all stout
fellows of the best clans in Scotland--resolute hearts as ever met
death front to front, by flood or field.
In an hour we reached Oldenburg, a venerable town where Otho the
Great founded a bishopric in the eighth century. It once had a noble
harbour; but in the wars of Margaret of Denmark, whose chemise was
carried on a lance against the armies of the Count of Holstein, the
port and town were alike destroyed, since when it has been a poor
place, and of little consideration. But it is of great antiquity;
for I remember reading in an old MS. history, that on Harold Klack,
King of Sleswig in 826, turning Christian, and being defeated in
battle by his subjects near Flensburg, he took shelter in Oldenburg,
and had himself, with his favourite wife and charger, built up in a
stone wine tun, where the lady is heard to sing, the charger to
neigh, and the king to wind his war-horn, until this day. We made
the MS. up into ball cartridges; thus the reader may be assured, this
account of Harold Klack's exit would be found in no other book extant
than these memoirs.
We took possession of the pass, and proceeded at once to cut a trench
across the road, to throw up a breastwork, and get under cover, on
being further reinforced by the baron's pistoliers and a few Danish
field culverins of brass, upon travelling carriages.
Book the Seventh.