THE TWO CANNONEERS.
Elise uttered a cry of terror, and stared at her lover with
wide-opened eyes. But Gotzkowsky's countenance was illuminated with a
dark and savage joy. "Ah, at last, then!" said he, letting go the arm
of his daughter, and grasping his sword.
But the colonel advanced proudly and collectedly toward him. "Here am
I, sir," said he; "here am I, to defend myself and avenge an insult."
"I have driven you out of your hiding-place, as the fox draws the
badger out of his kennel," cried Gotzkowsky, with derisive laughter,
purposely calculated to irritate the anger of the young officer to the
highest pitch.
The two men stood opposite to each other, and gazed at one another
with faces full of hatred and rage. Elise threw herself between them,
and falling on her knees before her father, exclaimed, "Kill me,
father; save your honor--kill me!"
But Gotzkowsky slung her pitilessly aside. "Away!" cried he, roughly.
"What do you here? Make room for us! Here is a man with whom I can
fight for my honor."
Feodor stepped quickly toward Elise, who was still kneeling on the
floor, wringing her hands, and sobbing from intense pain. He raised
her up, and whispering a few words in her ear, led her to the sofa.
He then turned to Gotzkowsky, and said, "Your honor is pure and
unspotted, sir! Whatever you may think of me, you must respect the
virtue of your daughter. She is innocent."
"Innocent," cried Gotzkowsky derisively, "innocent! why, your very
presence has polluted the innocence of my daughter."
"Father, kill me, but do not insult me!" cried she, a dark glow
suffusing her cheeks.
"Pour out your anger on me," said Feodor ardently. "It is a piece of
barbarism to attack a defenceless girl."
Gotzkowsky laughed out loud and scornfully: "You speak of barbarism,
and you a Russian!"
An exclamation of rage escaped the colonel; he seized his sword and
drawing it quickly advanced toward Gotzkowsky.
"At last!" cried Gotzkowsky, triumphantly, raising his blade. But
Elise, beside herself, and heedless of the flashing steel, threw
herself between them. With burning words she entreated Feodor to spare
her father, and not to raise his sword against him. But Gotzkowsky's
voice overpowered hers. Such wild words of contempt and insulting rage
issued from his lips, that the young officer, hurt in his military
honor, did not dare to listen to the voice of his beloved. It was
he now who pressed Elise back, and with raised arm placed himself
opposite to her father.
"You must kill me, sir, or wash out this insult with your blood,"
cried he, preparing himself for the combat.
Both were then silent. It was a terrible, unearthly silence, only
broken by the clash of their swords or the occasional outcries of
anger or savage joy, as one or the other received or gave a blow.
Elise raised her head to heaven and prayed; every thing became
confused before her eyes, her head swam, and she felt as if she would
go crazy. She prayed God that He would release her by madness or death
from the suffering of this hour, or that He would point out to her
some way of deliverance or escape. But in the violence of their
dispute and combat, the two men had not heard that there arose
suddenly in the house a loud tumult and uproar; they had not perceived
that a guard of soldiers was drawn up in the street, and that the
commanding officer with a loud voice was demanding the delivery of the
cannoneer who had taken refuge in this house.
As no attention was paid to the demand, the officer had ordered his
soldiers to break open the doors of the house and enter by force. But
Bertram had anticipated this proceeding by having the door opened, and
requesting the Austrian officer to search the house with his men,
and convince himself that no one was concealed in it. With most
industrious energy, and mindful of the price which had been set on the
head of the cannoneer, the soldiers searched every room in the house,
and had finally arrived at the closed door of the hall.
Just as the combat between the two had reached its greatest violence,
it was interrupted by fierce blows at the door from butts of muskets,
and they were compelled to refrain from their imbittered struggle.
They stopped and listened, but Elise sprang from her knees, rushed
with a cry of delight to the door and threw it open. An officer of De
Lacy's chasseurs entered with some of his soldiers, while the rest of
the men filled the entrance hall and passages of the house with noise
and confusion.
With a commanding tone the Austrian officer demanded the delivery of
the cannoneer, who, he asserted, had been seen by all to take refuge
in this house, whence it was impossible that he could have escaped,
as it had been immediately surrounded. And as no one answered his
threats, but only a sullen silence was opposed to his violently
repeated demand, he swore that he would burn down the house and let no
one escape if the refugee was not given up at once.
Gotzkowsky had at first stood like one stunned, and scarcely heard
what the officer demanded of him. Gradually he began to recover from
his stupefaction and regain strength to turn his attention to things
around him. He raised his head from his breast, and, as if awaking
from a dream, he looked around with bewildered amazement. The Austrian
officer repeated his demand still more haughtily and threateningly.
Gotzkowsky had now recovered presence of mind and composure, and
declared with a determined voice, that no one was concealed in his
house.
"He is here!" cried the Austrian. "Our men have followed his track
thus far, and marked this house well. Deliver him up to us, to avoid
bloodshed," and, turning to his soldiers, he continued, "Search all
the rooms-search carefully. The man is hidden here, and we--"
Suddenly he interrupted his order, and gazed earnestly at the door
through which his soldiers were pressing in.
"Had not this cannoneer, as he fled thither, a white cloak around him,
and did he not wear a broad-brimmed hat?" asked he.
As the soldiers answered affirmatively, the officer stepped toward the
door, and drew from under the feet of his men the cloak and hat of the
cannoneer. A wild yell of joy broke from the soldiers.
"Do you still persist in denying that this man is concealed here?"
asked the officer, raising the cloak.
Gotzkowsky did not answer, but gazed on the ground absorbed in deep
thought.
As the soldiers thronged into the room, the young Russian colonel had
withdrawn himself to a remote part of the room, and taken the most
lively interest in the scene acted before him. A word from him would
have brought the whole affair to an end, for, as an involuntary
listener, he had heard all that had transpired concerning the
cannoneer. Consequently he knew exactly the hiding-place in which the
latter had been concealed. But it had never come into his mind to
play the informer and traitor. He was only intensely interested in the
issue of the scene, and firmly determined, if the danger should grow
more urgent, to hasten with his weapon to Gotzkowsky's assistance, and
to defend him against the fury of the Austrians.
Gotzkowsky still stood silent. He was trying to devise some plan by
which he might save the brave defender of Berlin, whose presence,
after such positive proof, he could no longer deny.
As suddenly as lightning an idea seemed to penetrate his mind, his
countenance cleared, and he turned with a singular expression in his
eye to Colonel von Brenda.
"Well!" asked the officer, "do you still deny it?
"No, I cannot deny it any longer," said he, in a determined tone. "You
are right, sir; the cannoneer who shattered your ranks is here in my
house!"
The soldiers broke out again in a triumphant roar. But Elise looked at
her father with anxious terror, and sought, trembling, to read in his
countenance the meaning of these words. "Can he possibly be capable of
betraying this man whom he has sworn to protect?" thought Feodor, and
yielding to his curiosity he approached the group in the middle of the
hall. Suddenly he felt Gotzkowsky's hand laid on his shoulder, and met
his dark eye, full of hatred.
"Well," said Gotzkowsky, with a loud, defiant voice, "you are looking
for the artilleryman, Fritz. Here he is!"
A scream and a burst of laughter were heard. It was Elise who uttered
the scream, and the colonel who greeted this unexpected turn with a
merry laugh. But Gotzkowsky did not allow himself to be confused by
one or the other.
He laid his arm on Feodor's neck, and forced his countenance to assume
a friendly expression. "Dear friend," said he, "you see it is vain any
longer to deny it. Our stratagem has unfortunately failed."
"What stratagem?" asked the Austrian and Feodor, simultaneously.
Gotzkowsky replied in a sorrowful tone to Feodor: "Do not disguise
yourself any longer, my son! you see it is useless." Then turning
to the officer, he continued: "We had hoped that he might escape
detection in this Russian uniform, left here by the adjutant of
General Sievers, who was formerly a prisoner of war in my house, but
unfortunately the hat and cloak have betrayed him."
Feodor von Brenda looked at Gotzkowsky with admiring wonder, and this
rapidly invented _ruse de guerre_ pleased him astonishingly.
It was a piquant adventure offered him by Gotzkowsky's hate and
cunning, and he did not feel inclined to throw away such an original
and interesting chance of excitement. He, the Russian colonel, and
Count von Brenda, the favorite of the empress, degraded to a Prussian
cannoneer, whose life was in danger! His wilful and foolhardy
imagination was pleased with the idea of playing the part of a
criminal condemned to death.
"Well," asked the Austrian officer, "do you acknowledge the truth of
this statement, or do you deny being the cannoneer, Fritz?"
"Why should I deny it?" answered Feodor, shrugging his shoulders.
"This gentleman, who ought to have saved me, has already betrayed me.
I am the man whom you seek!"
With a scream of surprise, Elise threw herself toward her lover.
"No!" cried she, loudly, "no, he is--"
Her father's hand pressed heavily on her lips. "Another word, and you
are a murderess!" whispered he.
The officer looked suspiciously at them. "You do not deny," asked he
of Feodor, "that you are he who directed such a murderous fire on our
lines? You do not deny that you are the artilleryman, Fritz, and that
this cloak and hat belong to you?"
"I deny nothing!" replied Feodor, defiantly.
The officer called to some of his men and ordered them to shoulder
arms, and take the prisoner in their midst; enjoining them to keep a
sharp watch on him, and at the first attempt to escape, to shoot
him down. But when he demanded his sword of the colonel, the latter
recoiled, shocked, and resisted.
He now became aware of his foolhardiness and rashness, and that he
had not considered or foreseen the dangerous and perhaps dishonorable
consequences. However, as he had gone so far, he considered that it
would be disgraceful and cowardly to retreat now. He was also desirous
of pursuing to the end this adventure which he had begun with so much
boldness and daring. He drew his sword, and with considerable strength
breaking it in pieces, he threw them at the feet of the Austrian
officer.
That officer shrugged his shoulders. "Your insolence will only make
your situation worse. Remember, you are our prisoner."
"He must and shall die!" shouted the soldiers, thronging around
Feodor, angrily.
The officer ordered silence. "He must die," said he, "that is true;
but we must first carry him to the general, to obtain the price
offered for him."
The soldiers surrounded him and shoved him toward the door. But Elise
broke through the crowd. With flashing eyes, and cheeks burning with
a feverish excitement, she rushed toward Feodor. "No!" cried she, with
all the ardor of love, "no, I will not leave you. You are going to
your death!"
Feodor kissed her lightly on the forehead, and replied with a smile,
"I fear nothing. Fortune does not forsake a brave soldier."
He then took her by the hand and led her to her father. Gazing on him
with a long and speaking look, he continued: "Here, Father Gotzkowsky,
I bring your daughter to you: be a better father to her than you have
been a friend to me. These are my farewell words."
He leaned forward as if to give Gotzkowsky a parting embrace, and
whispered to him: "I hope we are now quit! I have atoned for my fault.
You will no longer wish to punish your daughter for my transgression."
He then threw the white cloak around him, and bidding Elise, who
leaned half fainting against her father, a tender farewell, he stepped
back into the ranks of the guard.
"Attention! shoulder arms!" commanded the officer; and the Austrians
left the hall with closed ranks, the prisoner in their midst.
* * * * *