ON BOARD THE GOOD SHIP ANNA CATHARINA.
As I ascended to the upper deck my heart was full of joy, at the
thought that Ernestine, whom I had considered all but lost to me for
ever, was so suddenly restored; that her father was with us, and that
we were now all together sailing quietly on the Danish waters, and
far from the rival he had proposed--that Count Kœningheim,
whom--though he was a brave and honest fellow--I cordially wished at
the bottom of the Red Sea.
The first sentiment that Ernestine had awakened within me returned
with renewed force; the sound of her voice--one glimpse of that
well-remembered form--had recalled it all, as it were, from the depth
of my heart, and I felt that I loved her as she deserved to be loved.
But the count, her father!--the thought of him gave me an unpleasant
twinge. What would he, a Catholic, an Imperialist, a noble and high
military officer under that ambitious Emperor who had bestowed upon
him so many princely gifts, think of me loving his daughter; for I
was but a poor soldier of fortune--a captain of musketeers, under the
unfortunate King of Denmark.
My heart sank at the comparison; but I reflected that the count was
brave, generous, and not indisposed to love me: that he, too, had
probably left our Scottish hills, a poor cavalier with no other
inheritance than his sword: and that my birth and blood were perhaps
as good as his own. My heart rose again at these thoughts, and now I
looked towards the shore.
The wind had changed. We were lying a westward course, and had run
about fifteen Danish miles; the lights of the burning town had
disappeared upon our larboard quarter, and we were now off the mouth
of the bay of Kiel; the glassy sea and the level shores within it,
lay sleeping in the moonlight, in the cold white lustre of which our
sails shone like new-fallen snow. Here and there, to mark a
promontory or a shoal, a great beacon of coals or other fuel was
blazing on the summit of a cairn or an ancient tower, and shedding a
long and tremulous line of light upon the heaving water.
As we passed the mouth of the Kielerfiord, we saw afar off the
capital of Holstein, with its spires; for the pure blue of the
northern sky made all beneath it, distinct to us, as at noonday, and
what a change of scene was that quiet shore, with its gentle slopes,
its thatched farm-houses and green islets, its clumps of waving trees
and glassy water, all steeped in the silver splendour of a full
autumnal moon, when compared to the carnage and the horrors I had
witnessed a few hours before!
The pride of my profession sank in my breast, and a disgust at war
almost arose within me. For a moment I wondered not at the old
Danish story of Adolphus IV., the conquering Count of Holstein, who,
in the thirteenth century, exchanged in old age his armour for the
cassock of a mendicant friar, and, surrendering all he possessed to
God and the poor, begged his bread from door to door through the
streets of yonder town, his capital of Kiel; and I sorrowfully
reflected that in another day the victorious legions of Tilly would
spread over these fair districts like a desolating flood.
Like a courteous noble and gallant soldier, Duke Bernard resigned the
great cabin to the count and his daughters; and he supped with us
that night on salted Hamburgh beef and Rostock beer. We drank deep
bickers to the health of Christian IV.; to our countrywoman the fair
Queen of Bohemia; and to the confusion of those Imperialists, against
whom the little power of Denmark was struggling so fruitlessly; and
the lights of Skovbye were shining on the waters of the Lesser Belt
before we rolled ourselves in our plaids, and lay down to sleep on
the hard planks of the lower deck; for there--as in the field--the
officer could fare no better than the private musketeer.
Next morning the wind blew freshly from the shore; the water was
rough, and the _Anna Catharina_ lurched heavily.
A message from the count and his daughters, invited Ian and me to
join them at breakfast in the great cabin; and we put ourselves in
the best attire that circumstances would permit. We were still in
our fighting doublets. Phadrig Mhor, with a piece of buff belt,
polished our corslets and gorgets till they shone like mirrors; we
adjusted our plaids and garters, curled our long love-locks, gave our
mustaches a trim, and presented ourselves at the cabin door. I heard
my heart beating.
"The brave gentleman who saved me from a frightful death," said the
count, presenting Ian to his daughters, who hastened towards him with
their eyes full of tears, and their young hearts brimming with
gratitude.
Ernestine, at all times self-possessed, presented her pretty hand
with the air of a princess; but the more impulsive or less guarded
Gabrielle clasped Ian's hands in her own, and kissed them before he
could prevent her.
"'Tis well that a certain Moina is not here," thought I; "for the
young lady might have good reason to be jealous."
"And here is that other brave soldier who was the means of nearly
drowning me," continued the laughing count; "our old friend, Herr
Kombeek, as Gabrielle calls him."
"I am lost," thought I. "They will never forgive me for that,
count," I said; "on my honour I did all that man could do to avoid
you. I grasped your sword at the risk of having my hands cut off,
and cried aloud to you. I knew not that you recognised me," I added,
at the recollection of how he had striven to throw me into the water.
"Nor did I, my brave friend, until the moment when my poor horse
Bellochio was cloven through the head by your major's broadsword, and
then I fell over the pier. My dear fellow, I do but jest. We met
there, not like friends as we do now, but as enemies in our
harness--enemies under banner and baton; and what would it have
mattered then if you had shot me, instead of wounding Merodé's
captain-lieutenant, for I saw your pistol bring him down!"
"Shot you--_you_, count!" I reiterated with a shudder, as I glanced
at Ernestine. "Oh! I should never have forgiven myself for so
unfortunate an act--not even until my dying hour."
"Tush--heed it not, captain; let us to breakfast, and dismiss all
memory of the last night's camisado, with its contingent horrors.
Let us converse about poor old Scotland, and tell me whether our
unwise king and valiant kirk are likely to be embroiled."
On such a topic, I alone could afford any information. Ian, as a
Highland gentleman, disliking, or perhaps disdaining, the Lowlanders,
neither cared for nor knew of any thing that passed beyond the
Highland frontier;--the fishing and hunting expeditions of his clan,
and the endless feuds and intrigues of his neighbours the Grants, and
Frazers, their creaghs, battles, and lawsuits, had sufficiently
occupied his attention to prevent him entering into politics; though
to please our kinsman, M'Coll of that Ilk, he had once marched five
hundred claymores as far as the Garioch to fight the Gordons of
Huntly.
Eminently handsome and noble in aspect and bearing, he was the
beau-ideal of a Scottish chief; and, had his heart not been left in
his own beloved glen, I might have found him a formidable though
unintentional rival; for the fair sisters chatted with him without
cessation, and as their conversation was maintained in a strange
compound of German and Spanish, mingled with our own language, the
medley and its mistakes excited frequent and immoderate bursts of
merriment.
The breakfast passed, and my breast expanded with delight, for I
found myself firmly established as the friend of the count and his
two charming daughters, and every hour we were on board increased
this intimacy; for in a ship there are innumerable little attentions
which gentlemen may, and must, bestow upon a lady, thus affording a
thousand opportunities for kind and graceful services, which cannot
be offered upon the land. On board of ship, ladies are naturally
restless; thus, if Ernestine wished to enjoy the fresh air on deck,
my arm was immediately proffered, and we clambered to the weather
quarter. There she got her dress wetted, and her pretty mouth filled
by the salt spray.
Then we slid to leeward, where the water came in through the
gun-ports and scupper-holes, causing her infinite alarm.
Then she wished to be below again, and we descended once more to the
cabin; but no sooner was my fair charge safely deposited on the sofa,
than the rolling of the vessel, the creaking of the timbers, the
scraping of the gun-slides, and the noise on deck, made her sick, and
she longed to reach the poop again. At last, as the strait narrowed,
the wind blew right ahead, and the high-pooped vessel laboured
heavily, shipping many a tremendous wave; the fair prisoners became
too ill to remain on deck; we sat chatting in the cabin, playing
chess and ombre at intervals, or watching from the little windows of
the stern the sunlight fading on the Isle of Alsen. The rolling of
the ship increased; but even then, under all these disadvantageous
circumstances, I could not help being struck by the different
appearance of the sisters.
Gabrielle, being fair and blue-eyed, appeared pale and languid; the
brightness of her expression had faded, and the rosy tinge of her
cheek had died.
The dark orbs of Ernestine--those magnificent eyes, which she
inherited from her mother, a lady of Spanish Flanders--still
presented their wonted fire and brilliance. Gabrielle's gentle
spirit sank; she became fearful, docile, and child-like; but when the
ship lurched, the wind freshened, when chairs and tables went
crashing all to leeward, when the loose cannon-shot rolled from side
to side, and the weather-guns strained their lashings until the
ringbolts almost started from the stancheons, the proud
Ernestine--wilful, and perhaps unmanageable at other times--laughed
at her sister's terror.
Then the count praised her firmness, calling her his brave girl, and
Gabrielle his poor little baby.
Every moment increased the respect and tenderness, the vague
sensation of mingled joy and sadness, with which the merit and beauty
of Ernestine had first inspired me; and I felt, that if she had not
already divined my important secret, I could not conceal it very
long. A hundred times I was on the point of recalling to her
memory--or rather, seeking to resume--our last conversation, and my
farewell to her at Luneburg. I was certain she could not have
forgotten it; but now an unconquerable timidity repressed me.
Being young, and but a plain soldier, I was naturally backward. One
moment I resolved to let events develop themselves, and the next to
declare my passion to the count and to her; but there was a polished
dignity--a terrible air of self-possession about them both--that put
all my resolutions completely to rout; for the fear of her refusal,
the memory of his preference for Count Kœningheim, and his promise
to him, damped my rising courage, and I felt that I would rather, a
thousand times, have faced a brigade even of Lowland pikes, than
ventured on a subject which seemed so distant from _their_ thoughts,
though it involved my whole future happiness and fate.
"The count might ask," I reflected, "where are your estates?" I
could but lay a hand on my sword, and "Here--with this blade I clothe
and feed myself." "And your home, Master Philip?"--"Wherever the
colours of my regiment happen to be." These soldier-like answers
would assuredly do very well for a baggage-wife, but were scarcely
suited to the present purpose; and so I cogitated, until I--poor
devil!--made myself as miserable as it was possible to be.
Without any determination being come to on my part, four days passed,
and the _Anna Catharina_ came to anchor close by the wooden pier of
Assens, in the isle of Funen. We had lost much time in touching at
various ports inquiring for the residence of the king, of whose exact
locality we had some doubts. The whole regiment prepared at once for
disembarkation, while Duke Bernard sent an officer (Red Angus
M'Alpine) to the king, who was then residing in an old castle near
the small town of Assens, with a hastily prepared despatch,
announcing the loss of his division, and his arrival with the wreck
or remnant thereof--the Scottish invincibles of Sir Donald Mackay.
His letter (which I afterwards transcribed from the _Svedish
Intelligencer_) was in that style of military brevity which so
delighted the brave spirits of that sanguinary war.
"_To the most excellent Prince, Christian IV., King of Denmark, of
the Goths and Vandals; Duke of Sleswig, Holstein, Stormar, and
Ditmarsch; Earl of Oldenburg and Delmenhorst; Knight of the Garter,
the Dannebrog, and Elephant--these,_
"Comrade and Confederate,--Ruined by their own cowardice, the
soldiers of my division have surrendered to the Emperor, and taken
service under his standard. All are lost save the Scottish regiment
of Strathnaver.
"BERNARD OF WEIMAR."