THE NIGHT OF HORRORS AT HEILINGHAFEN.
Without firing another shot, we reached Heilinghafen, and found the
town in a state of unparalleled uproar. Terrified by the noise of
the cannon and musketry at Oldenburg, and still more by the rapid
advance of the enemy, the mariners of the Danish and Scottish ships,
with their masters and mates, would not leave their anchorage to haul
inshore and embark the troops, who were all crowded on the beach and
mole--officers and soldiers, horse and foot, women, baggage, and
pioneers, pikemen and musketeers, without formation or discipline,
and struck with a panic by the vicinity of the foe--a panic which our
appearance, as we advanced in dense column towards the beach or pier,
with arms sloped and matches lighted, increased.
I thought of Ernestine and Gabrielle; where were they amid all that
frightful commotion?
The enemy were close at our heels; there was not a moment to be lost
between deciding upon instant embarkation, or a surrender of the
whole eight thousand men to Count Tilly. Duke Bernard and his
bravest and most distinguished officers, even the Baron Karl and
Rittmaster Hume, had lost all authority, for a terror of the
victorious Imperialists bore all before it; and there, as if to
tantalize us, was our fleet lying in the roadstead, with the loosened
sails glimmering in the broad moonlight, which shed a blaze of
splendour on the wide blue Baltic.
A mole, or broad pier of stone, which jutted out into the sea, was
densely crowded by a column of cavalry, nearly a thousand German
Reitres and Danish lancers, who were waiting the approach of two
large vessels, the _Scottish Crown_ of Leith, and a Dane, whose
crews, more courageous than others, were fast warping inwards, and
had approached within fifty yards of the shore. A shout of rage
burst from our ranks, when we found ourselves compelled to halt
before this hopelessly disorganized mass.
"Duke of Saxe-Weimar," said our colonel to the general, "after
holding the pass of Oldenburg for the whole evening against ten
thousand men, are my brave soldiers--the children of my tribe--to
fall into the hands of the foe, because these Danish cowards will
neither fight nor flee!"
"Taunt me not, Sir Donald Mackay," replied the brave Bernard, lifting
the umbriere of his helmet by one hand, and reining in _Raven_, his
fiery war-horse, by the other; "for they have sealed their own
doom--not I. But they have covered with disgrace the name I have won
me on two-and-twenty battle-fields."
"Seven hundred brave hearts yet remain to you," replied the stately
chief, who was an old comrade of the duke, "and these will embark
your excellency, or perish on the shore."
"By the grey stone of M'Gregor, we will!" added M'Alpine, who led the
first company.
"Dioul! it was well said, stout colonel," said Ian; "shall we be the
victims of these hen-hearted cowards! Are these figures in iron,
women or slaves?"
"Let us clear the pier of the horsemen! Let us attack and cut to
pieces this band of cowards who bar the way!" cried McAlpine.
"Let us form square and fire on them," said M'Kenzie of Kildon.
"But they will charge us," added another officer.
"Dioul!" said Tan; "let us charge them, and then their blood be on
their own heads. Hark--by the Holy Iron! there are the cannoniers of
the enemy."
"Pikemen to the front--to the front against horsemen!" cried Sir
Donald in a voice of thunder, while high in his stirrups he raised
his towering form; "heed not the wolves behind--but bear away those
sheep in front! Shoulder to shoulder, Highlandmen--forward, charge!"
At this terrible moment the yell of our pibroch, and the distant boom
of the Imperial cannon, were but additional spurs to us. Formed in
line, eight ranks deep, the whole breadth of the mole, our pikemen
rushed like a hedge of steel upon the mass of mailed horsemen, whose
officers strove, but vainly, to put them in some order to resist an
attack so unexpected.
"Draw swords--unsling carbines! blow matches--goad flanks! Denmark!
Denmark! Vivat Christian IV!" we heard them exclaiming, and
endeavouring by the unsparing use of their swords to enforce
obedience, but in vain. The horses in front recoiled madly upon
those in rear, and in two minutes the unwieldy crowd was driven over
the shelving edge of the open pier, headlong into the water, where
they fell in piles over each other surging heavily down, horses and
riders, for our charge was so fatally victorious that the old Count
of Rantzau alone escaped.
The fiery temperament of the Highland soldier admirably calculates
him for the assault and charge; thus, in every battle since the field
of Luncarty, a charge of clans has been irresistible. In the onset,
the fierce enthusiasm spreads along the line from heart to heart,
like wild-fire or lightning; for if the impetuous rush and shock of
falling headlong, and weapon in hand, among the ranks of a shrinking
foe, will kindle a blaze of chivalry even in the dullest heart, how
much must it inspirit and inspire a race of hereditary soldiers, like
the clans of the Scottish Gael!
Along the side of the pier, on both hands, the scene was literally
awful!
Heilinghafen was now in flames; for the Duke, like a wise general, to
prevent the foe from finding shelter, had fired the old wooden town
in six places, and thus six columns or sheets of fire shed a livid
blaze of light upon the harbour, where in a seething mass of
foam--the result of their frantic efforts--a thousand armed horses
and their mailed riders were drowning or struggling for life. Among
the froth and surf, the men clung wildly to each other, and to their
horses, sinking in groups, and rising singly to disappear again. The
cries of the despairing and the drowning, the splashing of their
futile struggles for life, as they swam or sank among a mass of
maddened chargers, terrified by the blood-red blaze shed from the
burning town upon the water, were piteous in the extreme. The
commotion made by them in the surf, actually rolled it in billows on
the shore--billows which soon became tinged with blood; for the
Imperial cavalry, which now came up with a few light falconets,
cruelly opened a fire upon this frightful chaos, and thus the few of
the Danish horsemen who might have escaped the waves and a watery
grave, perished under the shower of iron poured upon them from the
shore.
Our soldiers made a halt, and a half-smothered cry of pity rose from
their ranks; for these drowning troopers had been our comrades in
more than one encounter.
At that moment a man appeared at the edge of the mole, to which he
had scrambled up--Heaven alone knows how--and with a light hatchet he
hewed with furious zeal to sever the warps by which the ships were
approaching to save us.
"Bandolo, the spy!" I exclaimed, recognising my Schönberg trader in
the canvass doublet. "By Heaven, it is Bandolo!"
Gillian M'Bane, Donald M'Vurich, and another soldier, levelled their
muskets; all fired at once, and with a yell Bandolo tumbled headlong
into the water, to swell the list of the drowning.
"Ah--spy and assassin--thou art gone at last!" thought I.
"Captain Rollo, the enemy's horse are close upon us. Cover our rear
with your company until Duke Bernard is on board," said Sir Donald,
as he passed me on foot, dragging by the bridle his snorting charger.
Aided by a temporary gangway, our soldiers crowded on board the first
ship that reached the mole; and, in token that she was ours, Sir
Donald planted the Scottish ensign on her poop.
Though they were fired at by the panic-stricken Danes, who crowded
the beach in thousands, two regiments of Austrian horsemen swept
along the pier to cut us off; but with my company of musketeers I
boldly confronted them. Ian, M'Alpine, Phadrig Mhor, and stout
sergeant M'Gillvray were close by my side, and we all fell on with
pike and musket, like true Scottish hearts. M'Alister of Lairgie, a
poor young ensign, who had lost Kildon's company in the confusion and
joined mine, was shot dead; but I snatched from him the _Brattach
Bane_, the white banner of Mackay, as he fell into the water, and,
throwing myself forward with it in my left hand, and a cocked pistol
in my right--
"Gentlemen and comrades!" I exclaimed, "if you would not lose your
honour, defend this standard, for thus far shall the enemy come--but
no farther." I placed the staff between two stones of the pier, and
a fresh conflict began around it. I was the aim of a hundred
pistols; but, though horsemen seldom or never hit their mark, the
bullets tore the standard to pieces.
Conspicuous among the black-mailed Reitres, I recognised the Count of
Carlstein in his polished steel, with his scarlet plume, the golden
fleece at his breast, and his beautiful charger Bellochio streaming
with blood.
"On--on, Kœningheim!" we heard this splendid soldier exclaiming as
he brandished his sword--the famous _Ironhewer_ (so often mentioned
in the _Svedish Intelligencer_.) "Charge with your lancers and
Reitres! To the left--to the left; upon the Danes and down with
them, but spare the poor lads in tartan! Close up--close up! forward
Kœningheim, for my daughters are on board one of those very
vessels!"
How my heart beat at these words, which I heard distinctly amid the
hellish uproar around me and below.
On came the Reitres and lancers mingled, their armour dimmed by blood
and dew; on--on, seeming like men and horses of black marble, when
seen between us and the red blaze of the town, now sheeted with
flame, in their rear. There was a shock, as with levelled weapons
and bare knees on the ground, our pikemen met them like a wall; then
sharp swords rang on polished helmets; bright lances reeking with
blood flashed in the air, as they were thrust, withdrawn, and thrust
again; banners rustled and bullets whistled; musketry rattled and
cannon boomed along the echoing beach; while the dull roar of the
conflagration, and the last cries of the still drowning horsemen,
made up a medley of horrors which no mortal pen could ever relate, or
pencil portray.
From the poop and forecastle our musketeers, under Kildon and
Culcraigie, now opened a fire upon the Austrian horsemen, levelling
right over our heads, while our drums were beating for us to retreat
on board, that the warp might be cut or cast off.
"On--on, Kœningheim! On, Halbert Cunningham of the
Boortree-haugh!" I heard the count again crying, but in his own
mother tongue; for in the excitement of the moment, his German passed
away. "Let us spare, if we can, our kindly Scots; but press on--thou
to recover thine affianced wife--I my daughters. To your pistols, my
Reitres, and fire on the Danish mariners; to your pistols!"
All my company were now on board save myself and a few more. All at
once I found myself beneath this brave soldier of fortune, who, in
his rage and anxiety to recover his daughters; had forced a passage
to the very gunnel of the ship. By one downward blow his sword broke
mine; his next would have been through me; but I sprang upon him and
grasped _Ironhewer_ by the blade, which almost cut my gloves and
hands to boot. To the very edge of the pier he spurred his plunging
horse, and, in striving to shake me from his sword, kicked me
repeatedly with his heavy jackboots, which were strongly ribbed with
iron; for, in his blind efforts to thrust me into the water, it was
evident that he never recognised me.
"Count, count!" I exclaimed, hanging wildly on his sword; but in a
moment I was free, for by one blow of his ponderous Highland blade,
Ian almost clove asunder the head of his already wounded horse.
Then, with its rider, the dying Bellochio fell heavily into the
water, while Phadrig Mhor like a giant grasped me by the plaid, and
half dragged, half threw me on board of the ship. "Save him, Ian!" I
exclaimed; "let us save _him_ at least--he is the father of
Ernestine!"
"The father of--who do you say?" asked Ian and Phadrig.
"Ernestine----"
"Who is she?--but it is too late--too late--he is swept away! If he
were Father Adam, or Father Time himself, we could not save him; away
with the warp--out sweeps--hurrah!" cried twenty voices.
At that moment a horseman in full armour galloped madly along the
mole; burst through the Austrians like a thunderbolt; and dealing a
deadly blow at Kœningheim, who tried to intercept him, then urged
his horse to a frantic leap, and bounded on board of the ship, which
was already in motion, and receding from the pier! It was one of the
most daring feats of horsemanship ever performed!
"It is the duke--Bernard of Saxe-Weimar!" cried a hundred voices, all
expressive of astonishment.
What a scene did the water around us exhibit! Here and there a
drowned or dying horse drifted past, with the rider's spurred boots
still in the saddle, though perhaps his whole body was reversed and
below water; a few kettle-drums were floating about like
anchor-buoys; here and there rose and sank a gauntleted hand or a
helmeted head; and, thick as rushes on a mountain lake, the
demi-pikes and cavalry standards were floating on the surge.
Swimming near a dead horse, we saw one solitary trooper, who cried to
us to save him.
His horse was white, and the drenched plume in his helmet was red.
It was the count, and Ian recognised him; this was fortunate, for a
severe bruise, obtained I know not how, incapacitated me from
rendering the least assistance at that time.
"For your sake, Philip, I will save him," said my gallant cousin; "a
brave soldier is ever grateful; but now, while I souse me overboard,
make our master-mariner lay his foreyard to the wind."
Ian threw off his helmet and cuirass, tied a cord to his waist,
sprang over and swam to the sinking veteran, whom he saved from a
miserable death. The count had Eisenhauer grasped firmly in his
hand; but poor Bellochio had gone to feed the fishes of the Sound.
The moment the count and his rescuer were both on board, we bore
away; and, by the dying blaze of Heilinghafen, could perceive the
wreck of Duke Bernard's army surrender their horses, their cannon,
colours, drums, and themselves to the Imperialists--in all
_thirty-six_ troops of horse, and _five_ strong regiments of Danish
and German Infantry. Rittmaster Hume's Scottish pistoliers, who had
preserved their discipline, cut a passage towards Flensburg in
triumph; but of the foot, the regiment of Strathnaver had alone
escaped!